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When it became too much, Lily found Lillian waiting for her in the Mist. They sat on the raft, facing each other, their feet pulled in and their chins resting on their knees.
But you didn’t go to the pyre, Lily said in confusion. Why are you here?
I am here every night now, Lillian replied.
Your cancer is that bad?
Lillian smiled at Lily as they bobbed on top of the dark water. It won’t be for much longer, she replied after a quiet spell.
Lily thought of Toshi’s deep red willstone, and regretted not claiming him, if only for Lillian’s sake.
Can I help you in any way?
Yes. You can help me destroy Bower City.
Lily didn’t reply. She thought of all the people in Bower City who had no idea what Grace had done. They didn’t deserve to die. Lily had no idea how to keep them safe, though, once the war began in earnest. While she was thinking about this, Lillian asked her another question.
How did you get your coven from the sand dunes to Salem?
I can’t tell you that yet.
Why not?
I need you to wait for me and hear what I have to say.
I can’t wait. I’m dying.
Hold on, Lillian. I’m coming.
Lily woke with the sun. Her stinging eyes peeled open to see stone walls, wide windows, and on the far side of
the room, a fireplace large enough for her to stand in.
She knew this room. She was in Lillian’s bedroom in the Citadel.
Lily sat up and saw that she wasn’t alone in the bed. Rowan lay next to her, a bare arm thrown over his eyes to block out the light. Tristan was there, too, down by her feet. Juliet, Breakfast, Una, and Samantha were draped uncomfortably over various pieces of furniture. The only person missing was Caleb.
She felt Tristan twitch as he shook himself awake. His blue eyes opened and he sighed with relief when he saw her.
Hi there, he said. You’re looking much better.
I still feel like hammered garbage. Lily smiled at him. Where’s Caleb?
Tristan’s eyes unfocused as he searched for his stone kin. Off somewhere with a friend. He’s still angry, Tristan answered.
Have I lost him? The thought tightened her throat.
He hasn’t decided yet. He had to smash his first willstone when he was still a kid to get away from his first witch, and he has no desire to repeat the experience.
Lily remembered Caleb telling her about his brief time training at the Citadel. He’s been claimed by a cruel witch who used to possess him for fun. He’d never shared any of those memories, and Lily hadn’t pushed it. It occurred to her that she had done the same thing to him, although for very different reasons. She could only hope that her reasons were good enough for Caleb and that he came back to her. For now it was out of her hands.
Not sure what to do, Lily glanced around absently at the basins of bloody water, the shreds of gauze pads, and the bottles of herbs piled around her. Detritus from the battle to heal her. Her coven slept deeply and in odd positions, as if exhaustion had hit them like the tide and left them scattered like driftwood.
It was quite a night, Tristan said in mindspeak. Lily caught glimpses of it from his mind.
They’d appeared inside the courtyard of the Citadel—the geographical parallel to Lily’s backyard in her version of Salem. The few guards who had been left behind to defend Walltop had believed she was Lillian, and they’d ushered the group inside without a word of protest. They’d looked in amazement at Samantha, back from the grave, but these were Walltop soldiers. They did not question their Witch. Everyone had been relieved to see Lord Fall back at the Citadel, especially with the Witch as injured as she was. Lily saw herself from Tristan’s perspective—a patchwork of black soot and red blood in Rowan’s arms.
She heard the words Lord Fall echoing in Tristan’s mind and she felt the struggle between envy and respect that had always plagued him sparking afresh. The elite Walltop soldiers honored Rowan and felt safer with him in command, while Tristan was merely an afterthought to them. Tristan looked at Rowan’s slack body, at the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and something other than rivalry began to creep in on him.
