Lakesedge (World at the Lake's Edge #1)(87)

I close my eyes and think of gold and heat and sun. When I call on my power, the ache of absence quickly follows, the vision of myself bereft and alone in a blackened field. I push it away, pretend I am in the garden with my hands around the bramble vines. I see the thread of my magic strung loosely around me, feel the petals of heat bloom at my palms.

I reach for the spell, and the Lord Under’s power is there alongside my own, another thread, one of sharp, spun steel. I clench my fingers closed, and his claws pierce my palms. I suck in a breath at the bright, sudden pain. The twinned threads of our magic snap tight, light pours through me, and our power ignites in a swift rush.

Shadows unfurl from his palms like silken ribbons. They weave around my wrists. His power is pale fire and new-moon shadows. It burns in me with a frostbitten ache. Apprehension rises through me but I force it down. I won’t flinch from this. I’ve touched shadows and darkness before. I’m not afraid.

Instead, I let my own power—unsparing, brutal, granted for a single moon—blossom in my chest. I feed more of my magic into the spell, sparks blistering at my fingertips. The ground trembles as the lines of the sigil ignite.

And then, a sound starts up above.

The Corruption starts to call. At first it’s soft and sibilant—like the wind. Then it turns sharper, harder. A plea, a snarl, a whine. It’s familiar now, this voice, this song of want and hunger. I’ve felt it. I’ve spoken to it. I’ve kissed Rowan and tasted its poison in his mouth. I know you.

I open my hands and turn them up toward the sky. I let my magic answer the call. Light pours from me and spirals upward in thin, golden strands. The darkness in the sky churns and seethes. The air is alight with frost and sparks and ash.

The Lord Under sends more of his own magic into the spell. As we cast the spell together, I feel as though I’m undressed past clothes and skin. I’ve shown him some hidden piece of myself I didn’t even know I had. His power on my power. His skin on my skin. His breath on my throat.

My power matches the cold slither of his shadows. At this moment, we are equal. We are connected.

I should be horrified. I’ve come to his world and seen things that aren’t meant to be seen by anyone human, anyone alive. But buried further down—so far that I could almost pretend I didn’t notice—is pride.

The Corruption writhes through the branches overhead. Water pours down over us, pooling within the circled stones. A cold, ink-dark wave washes over my feet. I send out more power into the seething darkness. Tendrils slither up from the earth, and I cry out, startled, as they snare my skin. Lines of darkness wind around my hands, my wrists. My mouth tastes of poison.

“Oh—!” I start to pull away from the Lord Under, but he tightens his hold on my hands. His eyes meet mine, and for one brief breath, his expression gentles. He blinks, slow, and his lashes fringe his frosted gaze. The darkness has spread over him, too, a tracery of thin, black lines beneath his bone-white skin.

“Violeta.” He whispers my name, low and tense. “It will destroy both our worlds.”

I know it will. I can’t pull back. I have to keep going.

From above, more darkened water pours down. And then I can make out shapes. Slender arms and sightless faces and razored claws. The creatures that rose from the lake. Their hands reach out and tear through the branches of the trees. There’s a pained, pitiful cry. Then another and another. They echo around us. The sound of souls turned gone as the trees are destroyed; devoured by the Corruption and absorbed to become part of the hunger.

I look back desperately toward the trees where the souls of Rowan’s family sleep. They’re untouched for now, but in no time at all, the darkness will be upon them. There are lives here, a whole forest of souls. I picture them all, enclosed in sap and bark, as mist trails through the branches. I picture Arien and Clover and Rowan, in the world Above, being overwhelmed by the creatures.

“No!” I feel the burn of my magic across my skin, my palms, my fingertips. “No. They are not yours to have. Come to me. To me.”

I remember what Rowan told me about the Corruption, how it first woke up and how he took the darkness inside himself to make it stop. I need to do the same. I need to let it in.

The dark lines on my skin snare tighter and spread farther, crossing my forearms and curving around my elbows. I cough, drag in a rasping breath. Blood streams from my nose and across my mouth. Even as the darkness covers me, I let the vicious brilliance of my magic burn through it all. The hurt, the fear, the darkness. I will fight this. I will mend this. I reach for my power. The threads of my magic, with the Lord Under’s magic, are knotted around my hands. I pull on them, drawing them tighter and tighter. Light fills my palms. I let the brutal power gather, then send it up toward the sky.

At my wrist, the sigil hums, and when I close my eyes, I catch the far-off flicker of the world Above. It’s the barest glow—rose and peach and gold—but it’s there. I want to go back. To the shore, to my garden, to my home. But I can’t. Not now.

I hope Rowan knows that I’m sorry. That I chose this, all of this. To fight with him and lie to him. To show him my scars. To make this terrible bargain. To fall in love.

I chose this.

I turn my face up to the wounded, ruinous heart of the Corruption.

“To me.”

I let the darkness come.

The creatures fall—hungry, hungry. Ravenous. They’ve waited so long. They were so desperate, so starved, and now—and now—