Page 56 of The Crown of Moonlight
I can’t trust that none of them will climb out.
Drowning them is the only answer.
Panic is not an option, but my heart pounds at my ribs, desperate to escape.Drawing in a deep breath, I push every other thought out of my mind so I can concentrate.
That’s when I feel it.Not a voice.Not even a whisper.A thought that prompts me to feel for what’s around me.To use it.
I bite my lip, doubting the magic, doubting myself.
Ravenhounds are paddling, coming closer.One scrabbles at the edge of a tuft of earth and peat, pulling its front legs up.The edge of the sod breaks off, leaving a fresh, dark ridge of soil.The hound yelps and splashes back into the water.
Reaching for the pulse of magic that lives in the earth, I follow it down through the bog.It’s sluggish moving through the water, like a spoon pulled through porridge—but despite that, there’s no pain.
I let go and allow the magic to flow through me, let myself float away on it.Eyes closed, I sort through what I feel within the bog, the water and peat and various plants.
Magic and moss breathe beneath my feet.Sticky sundews and butterworts wait to capture their prey, and the stalks of cottongrass bow in the wind, faint brushes of white only hinting at the fluffy heads to come.None of that is useful, but the toadstail moss at the edge of the bog is exactly what I need.
Untangling the long roots and creeping stems, I drag them towards me, then wrap a strand around the nearest thrashing Ravenhound and drag him down beneath the peat.I loop it around a few more times, anchoring it so it will never come up for air.
The next Ravenhound yelps as it disappears beneath the water.Its legs churn as it tries to save itself.I pull more toadstail, but whatever excess magic I had is leaving me.The effort is harder, and the pain of using it returns as I anchor the second hound beneath the peat.
The third hound gives up and sinks beneath the surface.It feels like I’m scraping my own flesh away as I make sure it can’t come up again.I barely manage to wrap a few roots around its legs.
Pain roars through every nerve, but the bog is still, as if it’s waiting with me.
I look up, and Chyr stands at the edge, the last Ravenhound motionless at his feet.The remaining hounds lie bloody and scattered where he killed them all.
His face pale, he steps towards me.“What in the Pit was that, Flora?What did you do?”
“Stop!The bog’s not safe.”
“You’renot safe.You made the Ravenhounds chase you when you knew there was no way out.Why didn’t you let me kill them?”
“You killed twelve of them.That wasn’t enough for you?Anyway, I’m not that good with a sword.Drowning them seemed more efficient.”
I’m not going to argue with Chyr.I feel drained and exhausted, but also proud.Not for taking lives, though I’m not sure the Ravenhounds were alive at all, but for stopping them, for removing something from the world that is so terrible it should never have existed.
Chyr’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly, and then he laughs.It’s a deep, low sound that echoes off the hills.A laugh that shivers through me, more dangerous than the Ravenhounds.
He holds out his hand, and I will my feet to move, pick my way back through the bog towards him, step by step, searching for solid footing.I reach him, and he pulls me close with such force that I fall against his chest, and he holds me as though I’m something precious and breakable.I’m neither of those things, so I don’t know how to feel about that.But as usual, when I’m around him, I feel too much, too many conflicting emotions.
Pressed against Chyr’s chest, I feel the even beat of his heart, a contrast to the wild pace of mine.Both of us are breathing too fast.
I step back and open Chyr’s coat to check for blood.“Did you reopen your wound?Did they bite you?”
He says something, his face drawn into sudden lines of worry.His hand cups my face.His lips move, but I can’t hear anything over the ringing in my ears.
“I’m fine,” I try to say.“We should—” The ground tilts.I lock my knees, blinking hard, and my hands won’t stop shaking.Every part of me is shivering, and then the dark closes in.
Chapter 23
Depleted
Flora
I
wake with my head in Chyr’s lap and his fingers rubbing circles along my temples.It’s still dark, still raining.My head throbs as if a smith is pounding the inside of my skull with a hammer.
