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Aidan was still frowning. He bowed his head at her. “I do apologize for his behavior.”

“You get what you deserve when you keep company with that lot,” Ethan said.

“It’s protocol,” Aidan’s serious eyes were wry. “Can’t say keeping company with Iron Crows will do you much good either, Miss Foxglove.”

“Probably not,” Briar replied, the spot of blood on her throat stinging in agreement.

She stayed rooted to the spot as the Keepers collected Twyla and Aidan made another circuit of the cottage before leaving. She heard him gently close the front door.

“He’ll be back,” Ethan said, having not moved an inch.

A sound came from the window before Briar could find a reply. She half expected to see the rose vines cracking the glass, but it was the tap of iron scissors. Tap, tap, tap.

Bramble’s iron scissors.

Briar surged forward, pushing her magic at the vines and the thorns hard enough that they parted. Her witch knot burned. Her swan bellowed in pain. Briar kept pushing, sweat beading under her hair.

Petal’s bare feet dangled from the rooftop.

Ethan was suddenly at her side. He reached up, grabbing her sister by the hips and pulling her inside. Petal unfurled on the floor, as limp and unresponsive as she had been all along. It must have taken Herculean strength for Bramble to pull her out of the window and onto the roof. Not just strength—panic.

Bramble slipped into the bedroom, snarling and covered in bloody thorn scratches. She crouched over Petal, wielding her scissors, magic biting the air around her. Ethan towered over them, his dagger in hand.

Briar slipped between them, panting with the exhaustion of pushing her magic through whatever spell had fueled the roses, and the honey spell below. Her vision blurred around the edges. “Don’t.” She was speaking to both of them.

Ethan did not move, staring down at her unconscious sister. “The infamous Petal, I presume.”