Page 80 of The Filigree Key

Ice glittered like diamond and crystal as it rained down on the rushing river. Splinters of dull gray wood, none larger than a sewing needle, caught in the wind and drifted along the air before settling like feathers upon the surface of the water. The river sucked them under to bury them in the silt.

At the water’s edge, I sank down to my knees and framed Sawyer’s whiskered face in trembling hands.

I’d just mastered the element of water, and I’d just condemned us both.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Crashing in the forest behind us overcame the rush of the water and the drumming of my heart. Battle magic resurfaced as I snapped my gaze over my shoulder.

The forest had changed.

Dozens of trees had grown, perhaps hundreds, and they weren’t saplings, either. Walnut, cedar, maple, sycamore, scrub pine, beech, and elm, they all packed together shoulder to shoulder like Roman infantry. Autumn olive trees and wild rambler roses knitted between them all in a maddening lattice.

Buying me time.

I wrenched my attention back to the soaked cat, his paws pressing on my bare thighs squeezing the water out from between his toes to trickle in runnels down the slopes of my knees.

“Oh.” It was more exhale than sound, and with a twirl of my fingers, the cold water left his fur in one sinuous tendril that funneled back into the river.

“Meadow,” the tomcat wailed, leaping into my arms. Sawyer thrust his head up hard under my chin, rubbing against me with all his strength. His paws, still so ridiculously large, kneaded against my shoulder. Then his purrs began, robust enough to set my teeth vibrating.

I crushed him against me, just once, just long enough for my heart to break, before I pulled him away.

“No!” His claws stabbed through my woolen dress and into my skin like thorns. They left stinging red wounds as I pried him off and set him firmly on the pebbled shore.

“You need to go.” As the words left me, my body was suddenly robbed of warmth. The abrupt cold set me shivering, trembling uncontrollably. I swallowed thickly, my throat threatening to glue shut as if I’d just gulped down a large spoonful of peanut butter.

With one hand braced against his chest, preventing him from jumping back into my lap, I smoothed the other one over his head. “Don’t you understand? He knows you’re mine. He already has Arthur. He can’t have you too.”

He shoved against my hand. “But we’re in this together!”

“I can survive this, but you can’t, little cat, not unless you run.” One hand left his striped fur to slice through the air. Another channel appeared in the river, connecting our pebbled beach to the rocky bank on the opposite side.

Sunlight glittered along the bits of quartz stuck in the silt, beckoning. In the trees on the opposite shore, a chickadee twittered. Hurry its dee-dee-dee seemed to say. They’re coming!

“Get away from here,” I urged, giving him a little shove towards the channel. His massive paws and even larger claws dug into the pebbled bank. “Leave Redbud. Go to Grimalkin, beg Fanga Longclaw to keep you safe until this is all over.”

Behind us, the cracking of trees as they were blown apart by copper-colored blasts grew frighteningly louder. The potent scent of tree sap and pine resin permeated the air, and the nearby birds fled with startled chirps.

“But you need me!” Sawyer’s large amber eyes turned glassy with tears. “We can figure this out. We can trick him again.”

His tears speared my heart until I couldn’t hold mine back any longer. “I’ll break if he hurts you. I’ve already lost some of myself to him, and you’re too good. He’ll take that from you, Sawyer, and I can’t let that happen. I won’t let him ruin you like he has—”

I couldn’t finish. It hurt too much to admit aloud that the Stag Man had changed me. I had more anger, more hatred, in my heart than I had ever known, and it was poisoning me. The daily lies I’d been forced to maintain had bored into me like carpenter bees into wood and now I was riddled with holes. Where was my honor and integrity and kindness? I don’t know when I’d set those aside for survival, manipulation, and revenge.

If the Stag Man twisted the last truly good thing in my life, he would take away my hope. The one virtue that promised me a pathway to redemption when this was all over.

“Oh, Sawyer,” I begged, stroking him one last time. By the Green Mother, his fur was so soft, so stretchy since he still had more to grow into. More life to live. His white whiskers, that ruddy pink nose, the way his top canines always seemed to peek out below his lips, amber eyes as beautiful and warm as fine cognac. “Please go.”

“But I love you.”

I choked on a sob, weakening, and the tomcat pounced.

With his paws pressed over my heart, his faithful gaze capturing mine, he said solemnly, “Animus ligare totum.”

My fears and worries and heartbreak melted away. Joy, and a presence I’d sensed before, flooded into me. A glowing cat seemingly made of amber stars appeared in my mind’s eye and leapt this way and that, leaving a shimmering trail in his wake. Sawyer’s spirit pranced and frolicked his way to the magic oak tree. The wide-reaching canopy of leaves shivered in anticipation. Danced.

The tree’s golden-green light brightened, swelling to the crescendo of unheard music. The glowing cat had reached its base and now craned his whiskered head back before placing a paw firmly against the trunk. The tree rippled with delight.