“You were drowning.Isavedyou.”
“I caught you because I knew you’d save me.That’s who you are.You’ll sacrifice yourself for others every time—that’s why the land chose you.”
I spin her back around, and her eyes are enormous in the moonlight.Drowning in them, I cradle her face in my palms and give her one last kiss, a barely-there kiss.I’ve no doubt it will be the last, because she’ll fight us tooth and claw through what comes next.
The Crown of Vines is only the first of the three she must win to become the Cailleach Queen.The second is the Crown of Flame, and for that she’ll need the Father’s blessing.Then there’s the third crown.
It must all happen by Beltane morning.
Then there’s the doorway—and with luck, an army waiting.
I rest my forehead against hers, my lips still tingling from her kiss.Her heart beats like a caged bird, frantic to escape.
“Forgive me,” I whisper again, my heart imprisoned along with hers.
The silence echoes when she doesn’t answer.
The Sword of the Anvar’thaine scrapes free of its scabbard.Moonlight catches on the yellow crystal, and Flora goes rigid.I hold her in place and press celestial steel against her throat.
“Don’t,” she begs, eyes brimming.“Please, Chyr.I don’t want it.”Her pulse hammers visibly beneath the blade.
My lips still taste of Flora’s kiss while the words spill from me in a voice that isn’t mine.The whole ritual is an oath etched into my arm.
“Father of Light, the Master of the Anvar’thaine commends this soul to your eternal judgement, her fate to your wisdom.Bless her with flame—or condemn her to the sword.”
Flora’s eyes bore into me, sharp enough to cut through skin and bone.I can’t reassure her.I can only watch my sword and believe, to my core, that the crystal pommel will catch fire.Flora is the best of us.Still, the gods are fickle, so I hope.I pray.
Father help me, I don’t know how to kill this woman.Yet if it has to be done, I would rather the last face she sees, the one she blames, is mine.The other Riders are oathbound to do it if I refuse, but they don’t know her.
No moment is more vulnerable, more intimate, than the cusp of death.If I can’t save her, I can at least ensure she dies with the dignity she is owed.
.
Chapter 30
Stolen Choices
Flora
F
lames erupt inside the yellow crystal that forms the pommel of Chyr’s sword, and the entire stone glows orange-red, the colour of a midday sun.At the same time, pain scalds across my forehead in the same place as before.
My head is on fire, and the heat spreads, prickling down my neck, along my arms, through my chest.The moonlit sky closes in around Chyr’s face, everything fading grey, then black—into nothing.
A warm exhale of breath drifts across my cheek.I’m cradled in strong arms, and I feel safe, although something dangerous lurks at the edge of my consciousness like a monster in the dark.I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want to know.My eyes stay closed.
“Flora?”
Chyr’s face swims back into focus, those honey-gold eyes intent beneath furrowed brows.Beyond him, Eira and Bramble are waiting, and I need to get them back to solid ground.My pulse stutters as the memories filter back.
“Was I judged?”I touch my forehead, half-expecting my fingers to burn.There should be a ridge, a scar to mark it.There’s no change except that I’m warm instead of cold, and the ember inside me is an inferno.I swallow hard, forcing down a scream.
Chyr adjusts his arm beneath my shoulders, and I realise I’m draped across his thigh as he rests one knee on the peat.Great Goddess, how long has it been?I’ve no strength left to get us back to the edge of the bog if the path I made earlier has drifted away.Not magical strength—it’s physical this time.I struggle to get up, but Chyr only holds me tighter.
“Let’s make sure you’re all right before you rush to stand,” he says.“And yes.The crown is still three vines woven together, studded with little leaves, but it’s changed from a green glow to gold with flames that flicker across your brow.”
I close my eyes as the sky spins, stars blurring.I should be relieved, but my mouth is filled with ash and fury.