28

Fi

“this isn’t working. And my patience is growing very thin,” the Spindle Witch hissed.

Fi felt like she might pass out. Her blood was pounding in her head, and every second felt like an eternity as Briar Rose stood with his clawed hand extended over Aurora’s ruby, red sparks of magic crackling at his fingertips. The sparks left an acrid smell in the air. But no matter how much magic Briar forced into the rose, it refused to shine—in fact, it seemed to be growing dimmer, the carved petals looking lifeless now through the cage of the chandelier.

The Spindle Witch howled. She yanked hard at something Fi couldn’t see, but she knew what it was now—the golden thread looped around Briar’s heart. The one she had tied there when he was just a baby. Briar’s sunken face twisted in agony, his black wings flailing as he collapsed to the floor. Fi cringed as one wing smashed against a shelf and knocked a whole row of books into a heap.

Come on, Fi begged, willing Shane to arrive. Briar was being eaten away by the Spindle Witch’s desperation to get what she wanted. Fi couldn’t take this much longer.

“Enough!” the Spindle Witch shouted, tossing the boy aside. “I see his life is no longer of value to you.”

“No, wait!” Fi threw out her hand. “Lose him, and you lose your only chance to get the Siphoning Spells.”

“You’re just trying to save your little prince,” the Witch snapped.

“Just think about it,” Fi begged. “What you’re forcing out of him, it’s not real light magic. It’s poisoned by you—by all of your dark magic twisting him.” She shook her head. “That creature can’t help you. Only Briar Rose can.”

She held her breath as the Spindle Witch looked between them, still holding tightly to the invisible thread. Her hand jerked, and Fi felt it like a blow, squeezing her eyes shut against a scream of pain that never came. Then she realized the Spindle Witch was turning her fingers the other direction, like she was winding something back. As she did, the color returned to Briar’s face. The sharp ridges of his cheekbones softened under his pale skin, and a hint of sparkling blue shone in his eyes.

Briar still had his great black wings and the bone claws and horns, but he looked like himself again, just enough to give Fi hope. Briar’s light magic wasn’t gone—the Spindle Witch had just proved it could be restored, and that meant she had a sliver of a chance to get him back.

This time, when Briar raised his hand, pure-white light sprang to the tips of his claws. That familiar magic made Fi’s chest ache with longing. Briar’s hand hovered over the ruby, the little sparks swirling around it. The rose drank them in like drops of water.

“More!” the Spindle Witch ordered. Briar concentrated all of that overwhelmingly bright light into the end of one claw, just like Aurora had done in the tomb, and pressed it against the ruby.

The gem began pulsing, glowing brighter and brighter. Fi caught her breath. Maybe it was an illusion, but she could have sworn the petals were actually opening, the rose unfurling right there in the chandelier bracket. Briar’s light kept pouring into it, glistening on the folding petals like sparkling dewdrops.

Suddenly, the rose ignited, bursting to life and blazing beneath Briar’s hands. Red light flooded the library, outshining the sunlight. Every window was aglow, light clinging to the whorls and patterns in the beautiful wooden shelves. The carved roses stood out in brilliant scarlet. The rest of the chandeliers caught the light, too, throwing it across the room like a thousand dancing petals. Fi watched in awe. This was the magic Aurora had hidden in her library—her secret butterfly.

Everywhere the red light touched, the room was suddenly full of golden writing in Aurora’s elegant hand—down the pillars, across the floor, even scrawled along the polished shelves: hundreds of pages of the greatest secrets of magic, painted with light magic and visible only in the red glow of the rose. The Siphoning Spells weren’t hidden in the library. They were built right into its foundation—the only way Aurora could be certain to keep them safe.

Fi spun in a circle, amazed by the ingenuity and the beauty of it. She could see sketches of channels beneath the feet of mountains, trees dissected by glowing rings. There were spells about severing magic and stitching it together. The Siphoning Spells were so much more than just the destructive magic the Spindle Witch would use them for. Fi wanted to read every single one.

Her eyes caught on the glass door to the balcony, where the Lord of the Butterflies had appeared. She remembered his grim face in the mirror, the sadness in his eyes as he spoke. Some magic was never meant to be.

The Spindle Witch laughed, a wild, feverish sound that made Fi’s hair stand on end. She ripped off her black veil, and the blond hair that had been coiled around her head spilled down her back, the long braid trailing into her dark, lacy skirts. She was as young as Fi had ever seen her, her ghostly white skin almost pearlescent in the red light.

“Finally,” the Witch whispered, running her fingers reverently down a line of glowing words. “I have waited so long.”

Fi watched her closely. The Spindle Witch had eyes only for the spells splashed across the walls, but that wouldn’t last. Fi had truly become expendable now, and so had Briar. If Shane didn’t get here soon, Fi would have to grab the ruby from the stand and break it.

She inched toward the fallen chandelier. She was still a few feet away when a piece of glass glanced off her boot and skidded across the floor. The Spindle Witch rounded on her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

Fi stared back, frozen. The Spindle Witch could destroy her in a second. But she could destroy everything with these spells. Fi had promised Shane she was on the right side this time, and that was a promise she intended to keep.

Without thinking anymore, Fi surged forward, making a grab for the rose. Briar was on her in a second. His leathery bat wings encircled her like a cage, but Fi threw herself under his arm. She felt the wind of those bone claws over her head as she slid through the broken glass, straight for the chandelier. Pain rippled through her as the glass tore into her hip and shoulder. She hit the gold frame with a crash, and she scrambled to her feet, her fingers closing over the ruby. With one fierce yank, she tore it out of the bracket. The gem still shone like a beacon, but the golden words began melting from the walls.

“No!” the Spindle Witch shrieked. “You won’t take it from me. I will not be denied again!”

Fi wrenched her arm back, ready to smash the ruby against the floor. She didn’t get a chance before her wrist was seized in the Witch’s crushing grip. Fi struggled uselessly. Her heart plunged into her stomach as she looked up, right into the unforgiving eyes of the Spindle Witch. Fi was about to die.

It can’t end like this, she thought desperately.

“Fi!”

Shane’s voice echoed through the library like thunder splitting the clouds. An ax flew through the air, spinning end over end toward the Spindle Witch. The Witch threw Fi aside to pull the bone drop spindle from her sleeve. She deflected the ax with a furious sweep of her arm. The Steelwight weapon crunched deep into a wooden rose.

“Shane!” Fi screamed.

Shane was on the second level of the library, racing for the balcony. Something metal glittered in her hand.

“I won’t allow it!” the Spindle Witch rasped. She kicked the ruby out of Fi’s hands, sending it skidding into the glass. Dozens of golden threads of her spun magic uncoiled from the drop spindle. She twisted them together into a knotted rope and sent it barreling toward Shane, catching the huntsman just as she reached the banister.

The mass of threads hit Shane square in the chest and flung her backward into one of the bookshelves with enough force to bring the entire thing down.

Shane gasped out a shuddering breath. Her gray eyes met Fi’s, and even from halfway across the room Fi could see her grin as Shane raised her shaking hand, hurling the butterfly hairpin with all her might. Then she slumped to the ground. The metal glinted red as it passed through the light of the glowing rose. Heart in her throat, Fi forced herself up and lunged for it, snatching the pin out of the air.

Something happened the second she touched it. She felt suddenly hot, like her blood was pumping too fast, her heart buzzing against her bones. Her left hand was in agony, burning like fire. The curse mark.

Fi hissed against the pain, watching in shock as the butterfly on her palm began to move. The mark shivered, and then the butterfly unfolded from her skin, tearing its wings free one at a time. For one moment, the dark butterfly looked like it was made entirely of ink. It fluttered on her hand and then took off, trailing its long wings as it flashed in front of her face. For the first time ever, Fi thought it was beautiful.

The magic swallowtail alighted on one of the hanging butterfly ornaments, opening and closing its wings. When it opened them again, it seeped into the metal butterfly, and the whole hairpin seemed to come to life, glowing molten red in the ruby gems. None of the butterflies were still anymore, each moving gently as though they were real creatures fastened to the ends of the chains.

Who are we to decide what true life is . . . or isn’t? The Lord of the Butterflies’s words rang in Fi’s ears.

Footsteps clicked against the wood behind her. Fi whirled to face the Spindle Witch, raising the pin. It had been made for one purpose: to sever the Spindle Witch from her magic and end her cursed half life.

The Spindle Witch seemed to know it. She backed away, her hooded eyes locked on the butterflies.

“How clever of you to get your hands on that,” the Witch spat. “But I knew you’d try something. You will never—never—outsmart me.”

Before Fi could even take a step, the Spindle Witch plunged both hands into her sleeves, whipping out golden threads already woven into knots. With a flick of her hands, the threads flared out like a spider’s web, stretching between the ceiling and the bookshelves and cutting Fi off from the Spindle Witch completely. She stared down at Fi through an unbreakable golden barrier.

“You won’t get anywhere near me with that,” she promised, gleeful. “I won’t allow you to touch a single hair of my magic.”

“Not a single one?” Fi asked. Then she whirled away from the Spindle Witch and drove the pin into Briar Rose’s chest, right over his heart.

Briar gasped. The Spindle Witch screamed. The bone spindle whirred in her hands. Golden thread shot across the room, snaring Fi and yanking her away from Briar. It was too late. The hairpin was already sunk deep into his chest, the little chains jingling as the butterflies madly flapped their wings.

A golden thread sliced into Fi’s neck, choking off her breath. She didn’t care. She felt like she had stabbed her own heart as she watched Briar fall to his knees, his great wings thrashing. But this was what he’d wanted, what he had been trying to tell Fi all along, asking where the golden thread led. She finally understood.

That golden thread tied around his heart was the only chink in the Spindle Witch’s armor. When she’d saved infant Briar’s life, she hadn’t done it with a spun thread from her bone spindle—she’d reached up under her veil and pulled one of her own hairs. She could have severed the magic, tied it off from herself like the Lord of the Butterflies had taught her, but then she wouldn’t have been able to possess Briar Rose.

Her greed for the Siphoning Spells had made her impatient. She’d bound herself to Briar so she could control him, but that connection went both ways. The golden hair in Briar’s heart led straight to the Spindle Witch.

Briar hunched forward, his claws raking the air over the pin. The little butterflies fluttered, their bodies glistening with a red luster. Even as she watched, Fi could see the magic starting to drain out of him. The sparks disappeared from Briar’s fingers, and the glow in his eyes diminished until it was barely an ember. Fi stared into Briar’s anguished face and prayed she wasn’t going to watch him die. She wanted to run to him, but the Spindle Witch’s threads held her tight.

The Spindle Witch. Fi wrenched her neck around, trying to see what was happening. If this hadn’t worked—if she’d stabbed Briar for nothing—

The Spindle Witch was gasping hard, doubled over in pain. She had fallen to her knees, her black skirts pooled around her like rippling water.

She was unraveling. Like a tapestry unweaving line by line as Fi pulled a loose thread.

That was the only way she could think to describe it. The Spindle Witch’s pale skin uncoiled from her fingertips, sagging to the floor as nothing more than loops of golden thread. Her unbound braid glistened down her back. Her eyes snapped with disbelief and fury and something else Fi never expected to see there—fear. The spindle jerked in her hands, and Fi gasped as she was dragged toward the Witch, the golden threads tight as shackles.

A storm of black crows circled the tower, shrieking. The Witch’s hands were nothing but bone now. Fi lurched to her feet, struggling to get away as the threads pulled her face-to-face with the Spindle Witch. Cold eyes glowered into hers, those deep red lips twisted in a gruesome sneer.

“I may die,” the Spindle Witch gasped out, “but at least I’ll take your precious Briar Rose with me.”

The threads holding Fi snapped all at once. Dazed, she stared at the place where the Spindle Witch had been. All that was left on the floor of the library was a mass of golden hair, a long black dress, and a small skeleton—a child’s skeleton. The dark spire of the tower flashed through Fi’s mind. She wondered if this was what the Lord of the Butterflies meant when he said a small part of the Spindle Witch was still trapped there. The girl in the storybook had died in the tower long, long ago.

It had been too late to save the Spindle Witch, but maybe not too late for Briar. Fi scrambled up and sprinted for the prince. Something glanced off her boot as she ran—the ruby, she realized. The gem was still faintly glowing, and Fi was struck with a sudden idea. She scooped up the rose and then threw herself to her knees at Briar’s side.

He was laid out on his back, horrifyingly still. The black wings had sagged around him, ragged and torn—no longer held together by the power of the Spindle Witch. But he hadn’t turned back into her Briar, either, and he wasn’t breathing. Fi curled her fingers around the butterfly pin, pulling it out in one sharp jerk and flinging it away.

She pressed her ear against his chest. Nothing. The heartbeat that had given her hope so many times had gone silent.

“No.” Fi’s voice stuck in her throat, and the word came out like a sob. “No, please.” Hands shaking, she clutched the glowing rose and pressed it against Briar’s wound—the wound she’d given him. Don’t die here, Briar, Fi begged, still choking on her tears. Not when it’s finally over. The Spindle Witch was dead, Andar was saved, even the Butterfly Curse was gone.

“Please,” Fi repeated, clenching her hand around the rose. “It’s light magic—yours and Aurora’s. Take it and come back to me.”

Hardly breathing, she leaned forward to study his face. It was smooth, no longer twisted in pain. He looked almost like he could be sleeping.

Fi felt tears heavy on her eyelashes. They spilled onto Briar, rolling down his cheek as she leaned over him, pressing a kiss to his cold lips. She was back in that moment in the tower when she’d first come to wake the sleeping prince. Her heart leapt inside her chest, Briar’s form so still under hers. Fi closed her eyes, hoping she would feel something, anything.

Then she did. There was something warm under her fingers. The rose was shining with a fierce glow, the light pulsing in its carved petals like a heartbeat. Brilliant white light trickled out of the ruby and into Briar, glowing under his skin like silvery veins. Fi remembered the spells of the Lord of the Butterflies: the currents of magic that ran through everything. If that was true, then they had to be in Briar, too, and in her, and in the magic Aurora had left in her rose. Maybe she and Briar weren’t destiny, but Fi would give anything—all of herself—just to look into those sparkling blue eyes one more time.

The entire library seemed to hold its breath. The light grew stronger and stronger, until Briar was so bright Fi could barely look at him. It poured through his body, stretching over the ragged wings like glowing feathers. For one breathtaking moment, Briar’s wings seemed to be made entirely of light magic, all the power of the rose burning at his back. Then it exploded in a shower of sparks, cascading over Fi and Briar like a fine silver rain.

When the light cleared, Fi was leaning over Briar—just Briar. No bones, no wings, no glowing skin. The ruby had gone dark, the magic spent.

Fi pressed a hand to his torn velvet coat. His heart beat steadily, so strong she felt like it was beating for both of them. Fi laughed. She pressed her lips to Briar’s again, and this time, they were soft and warm and tasted like roses. She could feel tears prickling her eyes for an entirely different reason now. The Spindle Witch was gone, and she had saved Briar Rose. It was over. They had won.

Briar’s blue eyes blinked open, and he stared up into Fi’s face, tracing her features. He sat up slowly, and Fi matched him, leaning back on her knees, though she kept her hand over his heart.

“Briar,” she breathed. Her voice was hoarse, and she could barely see him through the tears in her eyes, but she would know that dazzling smile anywhere.

“You saved me,” Briar whispered. Then he frowned, his eyes clouded. “You must be the one destined to wake me from the curse. What’s your name?”

Fi had no idea what expression she was wearing. Her face was probably blank, showing nothing, because that was how she felt—like something in her had shattered. She was looking right into his perfect blue eyes, but he didn’t even recognize her.

It wasn’t her Briar after all.