Mirael’s fist loosens. The vines recoil. They slither back into the earth with a hiss, and I collapse forward, hacking, every breath agony as I clutch Amara tighter against me.
“Take her,” Mirael commands.
The Tenders swarm me. Hands claw at my arms, prying, pleading, pulling, but my grip locks like iron.
Mirael looms above. “If you want her saved, you must let her go.”
Her words strike deeper than thorns, deeper than steel. They carve into me, severing something vital. My fingers twitch. My chest caves and then, gods forgive me, Amara slips from my arms.
The Tenders catch her, their arms weaving beneath her broken body like the sacred creature she is. They lift her high, carrying her toward the vine wall. Mirael follows, her scarred face set like stone, her emerald cloak trailing behind her, its edges darkened with dirt and blood.
“Wait,” I croak, clutching at my raw throat, stumbling forward. My breath scrapes, my vision veils in shadow, but I will not stop.
Through the blur I see Amara, her scorched skin, her fragile chest barely rising, her body swaying in the arms of those who bear her into the forest.
“Please…” My voice shreds itself on the word. “Use your rune.”
Mirael casts a bitter glance over her shoulder, her scar stark in the dappled light.
“Only the earth can heal her now.”
She turns away before I can respond, her cloak whispering over roots and stone. I stumble after her, dropping to a knee, dragging myself upright with a growl.
Just as I manage to find my footing, a rustle in the distance pulls my attention north. My head snaps toward the sound, senses sharpening in an instant, smoke crackling faintly at my fingertips. Through the lush green tangle of the forest, towering trees, hanging vines, and drifting mists, I see a swarm of darkness cutting through the wild beauty. Theirheavy boots crush the moss beneath them, their armor clinks and hums, the sound sharp enough to startle birds from their branches.
“Quiet,” I snap, voice low but commanding. Orios halts immediately, raising his fist to signal the Blades behind him to still themselves.
The only one who doesn’t heed the silence is Solena. The moment her eyes find Amara, carried deeper into the forest in the arms of the Tenders, she surges forward.
“Where are they taking her?” she demands.
I catch her by the elbow before she can push past me. Her glare is sharper than shattered glass.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, not wanting the Tenders to hear my doubt. “She needs the earth now. Whatever that means. So leave them to their work, Solena.”
She twists in my grip, a growl in her throat, but her strength is no match for mine.
“I said enough,” I snarl, leaning close. “I will not earn the Tenders’ wrath and risk Amara’s life again. Stay with Orios. Guard the Grove. Stay out of their way. Understand?”
Solena’s jaw tightens, but she nods. Beneath her fury, I see the same fear that coils like a noose around my own throat.
Ahead, Mirael pauses, glancing back at us before she turns away again to follow the procession. My chest tightens when I realize how far Amara has gotten from me. I let Solena go, and she steps back, stopping only when Orios catches her shoulder and draws her close. Together they watch as I push forward, following Mirael and the Tenders deeper into the forest.
The path winds endlessly, twisting through roots and rocks. My boots catch, my balance falters, exhaustion gnaws at my edges, but I force my body onward. I will not stumble. I will not fail.Not when the only purpose left to me is keeping Amara alive.
We walk for so long my legs feel they will give way beneath me. My vision blurs, but slowly the forest brightens. The canopy parts, spilling sunlight into a glade awash in lavender bloom. The air thickens with the perfume of a thousand blossoms, the scent so rich I feel it in my blood. The ground is impossibly soft beneath my boots, as though I tread upon clouds, and for a breath I think I might float away.
The Tenders carry Amara to the heart of the clearing. Their hands are gentle, reverent, as though she is not broken flesh and bone but something divine. They lay her upon the bed of lavender and step back as one, forming a circle. Knees press into earth. Headsbow. A hundred whispers rise, threads of prayer weaving with the sigh of the wind, with birdsong spiraling through the trees.
At her feet, Mirael stands. Waiting. Watching. Not reaching for her rune. Not summoning the power of the Vornahl.
My restraint wilts. My voice tears the reverence apart.
“What are you doing?” The words hiss, earning incensed glares from the kneeling Tenders. I do not care. “She is dying!”
Mirael’s eyes snap to mine, molten with fury.
“And it is your fault!” Her voice rings through the glade. “I do not doubt that for a second. Yet even with all your infinite, ancient power, you brought her here because you cannot save her. So keep your mouth shut!”
