Lakesedge (World at the Lake's Edge #1)(86)

My heart beats wildly, and I stumble forward, past the heartwoods that hold Rowan’s family, into the grove. Here, the forest is blackened and bare. The trees are torn open, with leafless branches that stretch across the sky like desperate hands. I touch the nearest trunk. Beneath my palm, the bark is blistered, cracked, and rough. And it’s quiet. There’s no song, no pulse. “They’re—”

“Gone. The souls within are destroyed, completely lost. And it will happen to the others, to the whole forest, if you don’t mend it.” He points upward. “You can see it, Violeta. You know what must be done.”

I stare up in wordless horror. In the canopy above the clearing, the air is dark, full of heavy shadows that shift and churn between the branches. I’ve seen the darkness on the shore. I’ve seen the darkness turn Rowan into a monster. I’ve seen it fed and felt the endlessness of its hunger. And now I stand beneath its heart.

It seethes and writhes, an open, poisoned wound. It calls to me. A sound of despair and fury and depthless want. It knows me. Knows the taste of my power, the heat of my magic, the feel of my palms against the mud.

Darkness trails down over the trees, and I realize the Corruption has woken again on the shore above. I picture Arien with his hands sunk in the earth, fighting alongside Clover to hold it back. Rowan, poison filling his veins until there is only darkness left. This has to end now.

I rush toward the center of the clearing, where there’s a circle of granite stones—like the stones that ringed the Summersend bonfire in the village. I slip as I scramble over, scrape one hand and both knees. Hurriedly, I sketch a sigil on the ground inside the stones, repeating the names of the symbols under my breath as I move across the ashen ground. When I’m done, the lines are blurred and unsteady, nowhere near as tidy as what Clover would mark.

I clean my hands against my skirts and step forward quickly to stand at the center. But before I start to cast the spell, I glance back to the Lord Under. He waits outside the stones, back beneath the ruined trees. He’s watching me intently.

“Go ahead,” he says when I look at him. “Cast the spell like you did on the shore.”

There’s a desperate hunger in his face that reminds me so much of Rowan, that first day I saw him in the village. I dig my fingers into the crescent scar on my palm, trying to push down my wariness.

“That’s all I need to do? Just cast the spell, and it will be mended?”

“Yes.” The Lord Under smiles, and even his smile is hungry. “Don’t be frightened. I’ll be right here.”

I remind myself that he has no reason to trick me again. All he’s done—even the deception—has been for my benefit. I asked for his help, and so he’s helped me. He’s brought me here because this is where I need to mend the Corruption. And he wants it mended, too. The evidence of how much he has at stake is all around us in this ruined grove.

I force down the doubt that rises through me even as I ready the spell. Arien and Clover can’t fight forever. I have to do this, and I have to do it now.

My magic has already started to build, rising in response to the churn of the Corruption. I feel the heat, the same heat that burned through me so fiercely before in the world Above. I flex my fingers open and closed, and light flares eagerly at my palm like a handful of bright petals.

Then I look at the Lord Under. His cold, cruel face and his sharp, pleased smile. I stretch out my hand to him, my palm upturned, the same way I did long ago in the midwinter forest.

“When I was on the shore, I wasn’t alone.” I reach toward him. “I want you to cast the spell with me.”





Chapter Twenty-Six


The Lord Under looks at me so sharply that I’m certain he can see right down to my bones, my blood, my frantic heart. It takes everything within me to hold my face calm, keep my voice steady.

I don’t move, and neither does he. I wait, daring him to call my challenge. If he means to harm me, if there is danger in this spell, then he won’t step forward.

My hand, outstretched, begins to tremble. “I want you beside me. I’ve given up so much to be here. Surely you can grant me this. You need me, and I need you. We’re connected.”

At this, the hunger in his gaze intensifies, and he smiles, baring his too-sharp teeth. He crosses the stones easily and enters the circle. His cloak sweeps across the ground, stirring the dust as he steps carefully over the lines of the sigils.

He looks at my outstretched hand, then at me, and I can see myself reflected in his eyes. The pale smear of my face, my bright hair like a captured flame.

“You know,” he says, “you may not like the taste of my magic.”

“I’ve cast with Arien before. I’m not afraid of shadows.”

He laughs. “We’ll see.”

The Lord Under reaches to me, darkness already drifting from his hands. The frost of his skin is a shock against the heat of my magic, but I force myself to weave my fingers through his until our palms are pressed tightly together. We stand facing each other, his hands clasped around mine, his fingers over my fingers.

I take a deep breath. I thought I’d feel reassured with him close to me like this, but I’m still as uncertain as ever. A nervous laugh catches in my throat. “Aren’t you going to wish me luck?”

He leans down until his mouth almost brushes my cheek. “Good luck, my Violet.”