Lakesedge by Lyndall Clipstone

Author:Lyndall Clipstone [Clipstone, Lyndall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Henry Holt and Co. (BYR)
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The night of the second ritual arrives in a heat wave. The midsummer sunset turns the sky to blood. The air is so heavy I can hardly breathe; sweat beads my face and trickles down the back of my neck. We stand beside the lake, at the edge of the forest. Shadows stripe between the pale trees. Arien and Clover are on either side of me. Our skin is marked with spells. The sigil is carved into the shore. We are almost ready.

The past weeks have been a blur of lessons. Days spent in the library, the table cluttered with papers and pens and ink, as I’ve practiced drawing the symbols for the spell to focus my magic. Days spent outside, the three of us circled around the jars of inky water, the sigil on the lawn now permanent: a sooty, charred mark. We’ve worked the spell so much that each night I’ve dreamed of it. My hands, their hands. The draw of power, the weave of shadows. The Corrupted water cleared and mended.

And all the while, outside, beneath the growing moon, the lake has waited for us to cast our magic. I’ve not heard or seen the Lord Under since he offered his help, but part of me is still afraid that using my magic will call him back to me. But there’s no other choice. It will work. It has to work.

Rowan comes down the path and through the garden archway. He has his cloak tucked over his arm. Florence walks behind him, carrying a lantern and a basket packed with bandages and folded cloths. When she puts the basket down beside our feet, I try not to look at it. Try to ignore the reminder that if the ritual fails, Rowan will have to cut himself and bleed into the ground, to let that angry darkness overtake him.

Florence gives us all a steady, flinty look. “You’ll be safe.” There’s no lilt of a question in her voice.

“Of course we will,” Clover says. She smiles, but the brightness doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, we’ll try our best.”

Rowan puts his hand on Arien’s arm. There’s a brief tenderness in his eyes as he looks at my brother. Then he steps back, his face as set and unreadable as a mask. “Are you all ready?”

Arien draws up his shoulders. “We’re ready.”

“Good.” Clover and Arien start to walk toward the water, but when I move to follow them, Rowan touches my arm. “Wait. Violeta, I…”

I turn back. He trails off. We stare at each other, neither of us speaking. He’s tied all of his hair back and his face looks so different without any of the loose, dark waves tangled around it. He keeps touching his fingers to his throat. Around the scars is a pale, indistinct shadow, traces of the poison beneath his skin.

“Aren’t you going to wish me luck in my first ritual?”

“You don’t need luck. I’ve watched you.” Rowan fastens his cloak around his shoulders, then takes his gloves from the pocket and pulls them on brusquely.

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