25

Fi

fi didn’t have to guess when the battle began. She’d been up for hours, leaning into the railing of a balcony on the eastern side of the castle and searching for any sign of movement beyond the wall of thorns. Suddenly, the ground under the castle was shaking, a low vibration that hummed in the stone walls and made her teeth ache. Fi nearly tumbled over the railing as two great waves of stone erupted from the thorns, carving a path through the dark forest all the way to the castle lawn.

The Stone Witch, she thought. Perrin had been telling the truth: all of Everlynd was marching with them. They were too far away to see, but it wasn’t long before she caught the distant sounds of battle, raised voices and the clash of weapons ringing through the clear morning air. Fi forced herself not to think about what Shane and the rest of her friends were facing. She had her own part to play.

When it was time, Fi turned and raced down the white stairs into the castle, making for the library. She wasn’t the only one moving. A handful of guardsmen had surged up, lurching and staggering down the stairs to reinforce the doors. Right at the center, King Sage’s body stood at command, inhabited by the silver-eyed Wraith as he directed his puppets. Shane and the others must be getting close.

The library was just as she’d left it, silent and gleaming. Fi rushed to the closest window, and the red light of the morning rippled through the glass as she threw it open wide. It was only a second before the crow with the milky eyes settled on the sill, ruffling its wings and fixing her with its penetrating stare. Fi stared right back.

“I’ve solved the code, just as I promised,” she announced. “Bring Briar Rose and Aurora’s ruby, and I can give you everything you want.”

The crow twisted its head as though listening to a distant voice. Then it shook its wings and took off, and as it did, the rest of the birds rose from a nearby roof, sweeping across the window like one sleek black shadow. Fi gripped the stone sill. Her limbs felt shaky and too heavy, and she was breathing hard even though she hadn’t run for long.

As the seconds ticked by, Fi felt panic welling up in her gut. Her whole side of the plan hinged on pinpoint timing. Now she feared she’d waited too long, that the Spindle Witch wouldn’t arrive in time. One miscalculation could kill them all.

Suddenly, there was a great rush of air outside the open window, and Fi stumbled back as Briar landed in the library, hunching under his bat wings. Fi stared into his dim red eyes and swallowed. She wanted to say something to him, just one more time before she might lose her chance forever—then the double doors banged open, and the Spindle Witch swept into the room, her eyes gleaming through the sheer lace of her veil. Nothing masked her pleased expression, and Fi couldn’t help but shudder thinking of everything she had learned about the undead Witch. The chandeliers above them shivered in a cold breath of wind.

“So,” the Spindle Witch began, “you’ve finally solved my riddle.”

“I have.” Fi was surprised how calm her voice sounded in her own ears.

The Spindle Witch pressed her ruby lips together, pinning Fi with a hard stare. “And I suppose you think that by calling me right now, you’ll distract me from that pathetic rabble of an army outside? If you think you’ve improved their chances, you’re sadly mistaken.” The veil trembled around her face as she chuckled. “They were doomed the moment they set foot in my forest, and nothing you do here will make any difference.”

“Sounds like you’ve got me all figured out,” Fi said coldly.

She had lured the Spindle Witch here with Camellia’s code because she knew it was the one thing the woman couldn’t resist. Even if she thought it was a trap, even if she thought Fi was plotting. Her obsession with the Siphoning Spells was her greatest weakness.

The Spindle Witch’s eyes narrowed. Her fingers twitched as though stroking invisible threads. “Well?” she demanded. “Where are they?”

“They’re right here,” Fi said, stepping back and waving her hands. “Hidden in the library.”

The Spindle Witch clicked her tongue, disappointed. “Don’t lie to me, girl,” she warned icily. Golden threads slithered between her fingers, shimmering in the new morning light. “You think I haven’t looked here? I have searched every shelf, every book, every withered page abandoned here to rot. I came to Andar—became one of the four Great Witches so many years ago—all so I could gain access to this library. The library of the Rose Witches. It was the first place I looked for Aurora’s secrets. But there is nothing here!” Her anger uncoiled like a snake, her voice hissing out the last words.

Fi backed away, not eager to wind up with those threads around her neck again. “It’s concealed by magic,” she said in a rush. “Camellia’s code—it’s like a set of instructions. In the forest of spines means—”

“Yes, the library,” the Spindle Witch filled in with a dismissive wave. “Faster, dear.”

Fi swallowed around the lump in her throat. Faster wasn’t really part of the plan. On the other hand, her explanations always took forever—at least according to Shane. She could almost hear the huntsman’s voice in her ear: Boring, boring—can’t I get, like, an abbreviated version of this? You’re trying to put me to sleep so you can keep all the treasure for yourself, aren’t you?

The thought of her impatient partner bolstered Fi’s confidence. She met the Spindle Witch’s stare directly, refusing to flinch at the malice in those dark eyes. “The next line—Where the thorns gather . . .” She lifted a finger, pointing up. “See the carving on the ceiling? There’s only one place with thorns but no roses.”

The pattern had been easy enough to spot that first day; the meaning had taken a little longer. Over the last six days, Fi had spent hours lying on the floor staring at it.

“It’s hidden in the ceiling?” the Spindle Witch asked incredulously.

Fi shook her head. “No, that’s just the next clue. It’s pointing to that chandelier, the one in the middle of the room.” Right in the center of the barren vines—a great branching chandelier with gleaming gold arms and scrolls and pure-white candles surrounded by glass prisms. It hung suspended from a heavy chain that wrapped around a brace high on the wall. “We have to bring it down.”

“Be glad I am amused by this little production,” the Spindle Witch said. She flicked her fingers in a wave, and Briar got to his feet. His wings snapped as he shook them out, sending a breeze through the library and making the pages of the books whisper. The Spindle Witch looked down at Fi as Briar took off. “For someone who can only be guessing at what’s hidden up there, you seem awfully confident you’ve solved this code.”

“I’m sure,” Fi said, trying not to let her voice waver. In the end, no matter how educated a guess, it was a theory until it was proven.

It was the rainbows from the chandelier that finally helped Fi put the puzzle of the library together. That was the piece that didn’t fit. She had already guessed that the Spindle Witch had searched the library, and in a century, she would have found even the most well-hidden alcoves, false walls, and passages. That meant they weren’t just looking for a secret cache where the Siphoning Spells were hidden. By piecing together the riddle, they were actually going to reveal the spells themselves—reveal the hidden butterfly.

A shriek of metal made Fi jump. Briar’s long claws whipped out, severing the chandelier’s chain and sending the ornate contraption of metal and glass crashing down. Fi threw herself backward as it clanged against the floor, smashing some of the dangling ornaments of glass that clinked and shattered like a thousand pieces of fine china breaking. Little bits of clear glass skittered across the floor, reminding Fi of her last dream of Briar and the sea of glass under their feet as they danced. Her eyes sought out Briar as the boy dropped to the floor with dizzying speed, his wings folding as he landed.

The Spindle Witch extended a hand. “You have your chandelier. What are you waiting for?”

Fi stepped forward, a little shaky. Broken glass tinkled under her boots. If the Spindle Witch had shattered the chandelier to intimidate her, it had worked.

The metal column at the center was as tall as her waist, large enough that Fi didn’t even have to bend over to examine it. The chandelier was built of three concentric circles, each crafted from whorls of metal and delicate chains that rang with glittering glass. Fi reached through the curving gold bars. There was a setting at the top of the column, completely invisible from below, that looked almost like a stand, three little strips of iron forming a raised bracket. From this close, she could see the iron pieces had been engraved and hammered into the shape of leaves. The cup between them was the perfect size for the ruby rose.

In the tomb, the absence of roses had been a clue that Aurora was not in that coffin. In the library, the empty thorns indicated exactly where a certain ruby should be placed. Nothing was ever an accident, and Fi couldn’t help but admire the intricacy of the puzzle Aurora had left behind.

The harsh splintering of glass under the Spindle Witch’s boots brought Fi back to herself.

“I was right,” Fi said, ducking out of the shimmering golden arms. “The rose goes right here.” She held out her hand for the ruby.

The Spindle Witch studied Fi’s palm. “I think I’ll handle this part myself.”

Fi bit her lip but backed obediently away. The Spindle Witch’s skirts dragged across the floor, her eyes fixed on the chandelier as she reached a hand into her sleeve and pulled out the ruby. The petals seemed to shimmer with an inner light, and Fi realized with a little jump of her heart that Briar’s head had jerked up, his eyes more alive than she’d seen them in weeks as his gaze followed Aurora’s rose.

The Spindle Witch didn’t seem to notice, all her focus turned to the prize she had been pursuing for centuries. Fi recognized the glint in her eyes now—not greed, but hunger. She was an undead creature, brought back by her own magic, who would devour the world to appease her rampant hunger.

“The shine of Andar’s most precious rose . . .” the Spindle Witch murmured, holding the ruby carefully in both hands.

“Reveals the hidden butterfly,” Fi finished the riddle. “And then you’ll have what you’ve been looking for—the Siphoning Spells created by the Lord of the Butterflies and stolen from you by Aurora all those years ago.”

The Spindle Witch paused, shooting Fi a sharp look. Fi’s palms were slick with sweat, and she wondered if she’d pushed it too far, but then the Spindle Witch’s expression melted into a smile.

“Clever,” she crooned. “I don’t know where you learned that, but I can guess—another fragment of my old mentor skulking around inside his little glass prisons? He’s far too late to stop me.”

Fi threw a glance toward the window to the balcony. She’d leaned the little diamond of glass against the broken frame. It seemed empty, but she wondered if the Lord of the Butterflies was lurking there, watching.

The Spindle Witch dropped the ruby into the setting. It slid perfectly into place, the inner glow of the gem growing brighter as it caught the smoldering red light of sunrise. The Spindle Witch watched expectantly, while Fi held her breath.

Nothing happened.

The Spindle Witch stood frozen, waiting, for longer than Fi had thought she would, but when she moved, it was all at once—too fast for Fi to react. Golden threads whipped through the air, seizing her and dragging her forward. This wasn’t the Spindle Witch’s usual attack—pinpoint threads that slithered around her neck and arms. This was an act of pure rage. The threads were all around Fi, snagging around her waist, wrenching one arm tight against her side and forcing her down. Her knees hit the floor with a crack.

“I am tired of your games!” The Witch spun a long thread around one finger, the end gleaming and sharp like a knife.

“It’s not a game,” Fi said, looking up from her place at the woman’s feet. “There’s just one more piece. The rose isn’t shining yet.”

“Oh?” The Spindle Witch looked at the ruby. The feverish hunger was back in her eyes, the desperation to get her hands on the magic of the Lord of the Butterflies. Her features seemed older beneath the rippling black veil, her eyes narrowed to slits and her lips twisted in a sneer. Her threads loosened, and Fi crumpled to the floor.

“The key is Briar Rose,” she said, pushing herself up and rubbing at the deep red lines the threads had cut into her skin. “We need him.”

“The boy prince?” the Spindle Witch repeated. She raised a hand to tug the bone creature closer.

“It’s in the code,” Fi said, trying not to look at Briar as he was dragged mercilessly through the broken glass. “The shine of Andar’s precious rose. Aurora had light magic, and Briar does, too. The ruby crown might have been precious to all of Andar, but this riddle was written by Camellia, and no rose was more precious to her than her brother. Briar has to make it shine with light magic. It can’t be completed without him.”

This was it, the last piece. If the Spindle Witch allowed Briar to use his light magic, they truly were about to reveal the hidden butterfly. And then the clock would be ticking. Fi’s plan meant walking a knife’s edge between giving the Spindle Witch everything she wanted and stopping her once and for all. She’d tried the same thing once before and failed.

This time she was not counting on Armand Bellicia, though, or the remnants of a dark curse. She had the whole story—all the information, all the history. And knowledge was always more powerful than magic.

Most importantly, she had Shane at her back, even if her partner was currently cutting it way too close.

Fi had stalled as long as she could. There was about to be magic in the library—real magic.