Page 58 of May: Bloom & Bane

I’m going to use something, Ashán hums.

“So, Sage.” He whistles while walking in a wide circle around me. “Pestilence seems to be rather fond of how your mate smells.”

The ground beneath my feet begins to tremble. Pestilence. The name alone feels like rot in my mouth. I picture that bone-beaked shadow standing next to Eden, and my vorí begins to spread. “Don’t,” I warn, my voice dropping to a whisper.

Therael continues to circle me like a scholarly predator. “He was in your meadow, was he not? Dragged her into the middle of the night in that little white nightgown?”

The pressure in my chest surges, clawing at my ribcage, demanding to be let out. My left hand begins to shimmer, the skin dissolving into the void.

End this vahskér, Ashán snarls. (Bastard)

“He won’t touch her.” I step toward him.

“Oh, but Sage, he already did.” He hums. “He left his mark on her mind. He planted seeds of doubt like no one else can.”

The earth cracks beneath my heel, and a jagged shadow races toward his feet. He simply steps over it, his expression remaining annoyingly calm.

“Root, Sage!” he commands. “The storm is here. Your mate is in danger, your enemy is laughing, and you are going to blow away. Root.”

I drive my awareness downward, searching for the bedrock, reaching for the root network he showed me, but Pestilence’s words are still crawling through my skull.

He left a mark on her mind.

The roots I’ve threaded through the soil snap back into me like a whip.

“He planted seeds of doubt,” I snarl, stepping toward Therael. “In her mind. Do you understand what that means? Do you understand what he⁠—”

“Root, Sage.”

“I. Am. Trying⁠—”

The meadow explodes into a shockwave of winter. Above us, leaves crumble into fine, gray ash before falling lazily like charcoal snow settling over a ruined world.

“Sage.”

Her soft voice breaks through the chaos. She’s standing in the doorway, a small canvas tucked under one arm, a paintbrush in her other hand. There’s a streak of white paint on her left cheekbone.

Her eyes move slowly over the meadow. “…How’s the lesson going, halíshe?”

Big Bird is very bad at this. He’s turning the yard into a cold volcano, Droot chirps.

“It’s… informative,” I manage. I force my wings to fold, the emerald tips rustling as I shake out the debris.

Her gaze falls to the charred earth beneath my feet.

“Informative.” Her lips twitch. “Is that what we’re calling accidentally terraforming the meadow, my love?”

Her words are like cool rain hitting a forest fire. The dark edges of my consciousness retreat rapidly, ashamed to be seen by her light.

Therael keeps his eyes on the ground.

A cloud of gold swirls through the air before I can stop it. The meadow looks like the site of a small apocalypse, and apparently, my body still cannot handle seeing Eden’s bare feet.

“Sage,” Therael calls out dryly.

“I’m aware,” I rasp.

CHAPTER 20