Larkin swallowed hard against the sickness rising in her gut. The mulgars took a single step forward. And then another. She and Garrot were forced back to back. Ramass held out his hand for them to halt. All that stood between her and three-hundred-year-old evil was her sword and shield.

Talox’s words echoed through her. “You don’t defeat a wraith—not alone.”

Three hundred years to her scattered few lessons. It was not enough. It would have to be.

“Is it me you want?” she mocked. “You sack of bones bound by shadow?” Fighting wasn’t the only thing Tam had taught her. He’d also taught her how to defeat her fear.

Ramass finished forming, his gaze shifting to Garrot, who went suddenly still. “I gave you everything, Master Druid. Power. Knowledge. Magic. And still you broke our bargain.” He closed his fist.

Garrot choked and clawed at his chest, at the poison spreading toward his mind. “No! No!” He collapsed, writhing.

Larkin hated Garrot. Loathed him. And yet her sister loved him. Larkin hated her sister, but she loved her too.

Gah!

Larkin charged, if for no other reason than to silence her tangled thoughts. The wraith swung at her. She blocked with her shield, the impact sung all the way down her bones. She gritted her teeth and held steady.

“Don’t let his blade touch you,” Tam had said.

Both hands braced behind her shield, she danced back. Ramass swung his sword, the shadow-wreathed blade aiming for her exposed legs. She shoved her shield down and deflected the blow. But not before a second blade appeared in the wraith’s other hand and thrust toward her face.

She jerked back, the blade slicing through her thick hair, a hank slithering down her shoulder.

Ramass could have taken off her head. He’d pulled back. He wasn’t trying to kill her. He was trying to wound or capture her. A little less afraid, she swung from the left. He deflected. Her sword skittered off his darkened blade and glanced off his arm, shadows pouring forth. She kicked his chest. He fell back, one hand over his injured arm.

She rolled to the side and killed three mulgars at once with her magic sword. Her blade stopped just short of Talox, who looked at her with hollow emptiness.

She pulsed. The wave knocked him down, along with mulgars a dozen deep, and stunned a dozen more. She sprinted past Talox’s prone body, rushing up the hill where a pocket of Idelmarchians slaughtered the sluggish mulgars left and right.

She concentrated on her sigils. Her magic had grown much stronger, but that had been her third pulse of the battle. The buzzing in her sigils had lessened. If she pulsed again, she would lose her ability to form her sword and shield.

“Larkin!” Her head came up at the sound of Denan’s voice. He’d caught sight of her at some point and fought his way toward her.

Half a step behind him, Tam stopped and sighted down his bow. “Down!”

She dropped flat. He loosed. But then the shadows surrounded her, like the wraith had stopped suddenly but his robes had not.

Ramass flipped her onto her back and straddled her, pinning her arms at her sides. Ancient hate and malice and barbed thorns coiled around her, hauling her back into nothingness.

It was different this time. For the hatred and malice was not all Ramass’s. Some of it was hers—malice born of pain and betrayal and loss.

Larkin’s malice mixed with the wraith’s. Dark, twisted joy writhed within her.

No. She would not be taken by the shadows without or the malice within.

She pulsed her magic. All of it. A shield of light thrummed out of her. The shadows screamed and writhed. She fell upward and out, landing in a jumble of bones and senses seared raw. She choked in a breath and reached for her magic but only found a thread that dissipated in her fingers.

She darted to her feet but froze at the sight of Ramass’s sword wavering before her face. He lunged. She crossed her arms before her defensively. Instead of taking off her head, the sword sliced her forearm. She froze in shock, waiting for the pain and the poisonous shadows to infect her.

They didn’t come.

She risked taking her eyes off the wraith to glance at the wound. Clean, red blood sheeted from her bent elbow, but there were no black lines.

“Blood of my heart, marrow my bones,” the wraith whispered. “You are the one we’ve been searching for all these years.”

“She’s too strong now to force her through the shadow.” Hagath appeared behind Larkin, her shadowed sword trailing along the ground, killing everything it touched. “She must accept it willingly.”

They flanked her. Larkin wasn’t sure which wraith to keep her eyes on. “I will never come with you!”

“All mortals have a price, my king.” Hagath’s gaze shifted to something behind Larkin.

Hagath moved toward her. Larkin tensed—she couldn’t outrun her, and her magic was too weak to fight—but Hagath slipped past her. So, too, did Ramass and every last mulgar.

Only Maisy remained behind, her arms wrapped around her as she rocked back and forth. “Can you hear him? The beast is coming for you.”

Gasping, Larkin whirled as they charged up the hill toward Denan and Tam.

Denan.

No.

Not him.

Never him.

She opened her sigils wide, but her magic was a ribbon of useless light—not enough to forge her sword. She searched the dead and found an ax and shield, which she hauled from the hands of an Alamantian. She charged uphill toward where the wraiths fought against Tam and Denan.

Shadows pulsed, knocking them both down.

The wraiths had pulsed. Ancestors, none of them had even known that was possible.

The wraiths paused over Denan and Tam, their swords poised.

“No,” she screamed. “No!”

Behind the men, Alorica took Tam’s discarded bow and drew back. The sacred arrow flew through Hagath’s center and out her back, shadows trailing like a dark comet. Even as Hagath dissipated, she thrust.

Ramass thrust.

Half a dozen steps back, Larkin could see the blood bloom across Denan’s side—blood that was already turning black. A mulgar grabbed Alorica. Another held a sword to Tam’s throat.

Larkin dropped to Denan’s side, half sobbing, her stolen weapons slipping from her hands as Ramass looked on. She managed just enough magic for a needle-thin dagger that she sliced through the straps of Denan’s armor. She ripped his shirt, revealing a cut along his left ribs the length of her hand. A cut edged in black, lines branching out like thorns beneath his skin.

“No,” she gasped. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Denan stared at the wound, and then his eyes slipped closed. “No one lives forever.”

“No.” She glanced into his eyes—the eyes of her heartsong. “It can’t end like this.”

Denan’s hand slid up her cheek. “Larkin …”

“I will give them all back.” Ramass’s whisper slithered up her spine.

Jaw gritted so hard one of her teeth chipped, she lifted her face to the Wraith King.

Ramass stood before her like a boy offering his sweetheart a rotten apple. “Come.” His voice echoed oddly, as if a hundred voices whispered instead of one. “And I will give back all I have taken.”

Around them, the black lines drained from the mulgar faces. And not just the ones around them. All of them. Mulgars staggered. Gasped. Collapsed. Wept and screamed. Laughed maniacally. The ones holding Tam and Alorica dropped to their knees.

“Give them back,” she said. “Like you gave Maisy back?” All madness and grief.

Maisy wiped a black tear from her cheek. “Look at his wound, Larkin.”

Poison faded from Denan’s skin. The mulgars might be beyond saving. But Denan … Denan wasn’t.

Tam pushed to his feet, but he made no move to end Ramass. “Larkin …” His voice sounded like a broken little boy’s.

Larkin’s and Denan’s gazes locked. Untold emotions channeled between them—foremost among them, love.

“Their words are poison,” he said firmly. He reached up and laid her hand overtop of his, then pulled back, leaving his sword hilt in her grip.

Heart pounding in the cage of her ribs, she closed her eyes and forced down the terror and the dread. The wraith had the power to save Denan—how could she refuse him now? But if she took his foul bargain, if she went with him, all their hopes would die in Denan’s stead. And Denan would never forgive her. Ancestors, was she strong enough to let him die?

No.

She was the heir of the Curse Queen. She remembered what the woman had taught her. Fighting the wraiths didn’t mean accepting their shadows. It meant driving them back with light.

She would defeat the wraiths. She would save Denan. And if not … Ancestors, if not, she would rather have him die proud of her than live ashamed of her.

She opened her eyes, tightened her grip on Denan’s sword, and thrust. Ramass reeled back, his hands flaring. As his shadows writhed, he looked at her.

“Never,” she ground out. And then the Wraith King was gone, his ashes holding his shape for a moment before blowing away.

Dread filled Larkin to overflowing, making her so heavy that her legs cut out from beneath her. Ancestors, had she just condemned Denan to the worst kind of death?

Denan glanced at the dead and dying around him. Without the wraiths to drive them, the remaining mulgars tried to flee and were slaughtered by Idelmarchians fighting alongside pipers and copperbills. Talox was nowhere to be seen.

The battle was over. They’d won. Idelmarchians and Alamantians had fought side by side. And yet Larkin had lost everything.

Maisy stood over Larkin, more black tears streaking down her cheeks.

“Can I save him?” Larkin begged. “Is there a way?”

Maisy backed up a step and then another. “Magic black. Magic white. Magic binding up the night.” She turned and ran.

“What does that mean?” Larkin screamed after her. “Tell me what it means!”

Denan’s gaze slipped to something behind her. Tam and Alorica standing over them, their expressions grave.

“Did Hagath cut you?” Denan asked his friend.

Tam shook his head.

Denan nodded in relief. “Bind it. I still have a few hours—enough to arrange terms of cessation with Garrot.”

He had maybe an hour until the pain overcame him. “Magalia!” Larkin tried to push to her feet, her head whipping frantically. “Magalia.”

Denan gripped her arms, holding her in place. “There isn’t anything for her to cut off. There’s nothing she can do.”

“Magalia,” Larkin wailed.

Wincing, Denan wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. “Shh, Larkin. Quiet, my little bird.”

She couldn’t have come this far, accomplished this much, and lose Denan. None of it was worth it if he wasn’t here to share it with her. She gripped his armor. “No! It will not end like this. There has to be a way.”

“If these are my last hours, I would spend them with you in peace, Larkin. Please.”

A sudden image of Eiryss weaving magic to form an orb that pushed back the shadows flared in Larkin’s mind. She’d watched Eiryss weave the magic a hundred times—she had the scars on her arm to prove it.

“Magic binding up the night,” Maisy had said.

Light to bind the shadow.

Working on instinct, Larkin gathered all her magic. Enough for a small sword and nothing more. Pulling out of Denan’s arms, she wiped her nose and glanced at the crowd gathering around them.

“Alorica!” Larkin commanded. “Flare your magic.”

She started. “What?”

Larkin pushed to her feet, catching sight of five more copperbills around her. “Flare your magic. Now!”

After a moment’s confused hesitation, they obeyed. Doing as Larkin had seen Eiryss do, she grasped the edge of their shields. The magic felt warm, soft and hard at once. She tightened her grip and pulled. The magic came free like molten glass in her hands.

Alorica gasped.

With a thought, Larkin changed the shape into a long strand, like a dangling ribbon that gleamed a faint blue.

“She can’t do that,” Tam gasped. “It’s men’s magic and a lost art, besides.”

“Not for the Valynthians,” Denan said. “Their women wielded the magic and their men fought.”

Valynthians—Larkin’s people. She took the magic from another copperbill. And another. Six in all.

“What are you doing?” Denan asked.

She closed her eyes, her memories of Eiryss playing out behind her closed eyes. Eiryss wove the strands in a familiar pattern. Dray played the music behind her.

Larkin hummed Dray’s tune, got it wrong, and started again. Catching on, Tam took out his flute and played. Larkin wove the magic as she’d seen Eiryss do, the slight variation in color making it easy to tell which strand went where. Between Tam’s music and her fingers, she made an orb.

“The forest take me,” Alorica murmured. “How did she do that?”

Someone shushed her.

Larkin moved the orb toward Denan’s side. The words of one of Eiryss’s poems came to mind. She sang it, her voice rough, the notes all wrong.

 

Light through dark and shadow pass,

Then tighten and trap the poison fast.

 

“Larkin,” Denan gasped. “What are you—”

She pushed the magic into his side, his blood sticky and slick beneath her fingers. The shadows inside him were sharp-edged thorns clawing forward. Her orb slipped past them. She shifted the weave, tightening it to become impenetrable. It flared once and then steadied.

“Wh-What have you done?” Denan asked.

She concentrated on the shadows as they niggled against the barrier she’d created. Those shadows bristled, sending a phantom ache through her limbs, but the thorns spread no further. One breath out, then in again. She pulled the orb, drawing it out.

Denan writhed away from her. His head thrown back, he screamed, the sound raw and primal. She froze. He panted, gasping. “No. You’re killing me.”

Tears smarted her eyes. “I have to draw it out.”

Denan gripped her wrists. “It’s part of me.” He shook his head as if even he didn’t understand. “If you pull it out, you’ll kill me.”

Slowly, she released her hold on the magic, gasping in relief when it remained in place.

“It’s contained,” Larkin said. For now, a nasty voice in her head echoed.

Denan peered at the wound, his hands freezing cold against her wrists.

“You— That’s not possible.” Tam knelt beside him. He traced the edge of the wound. “They aren’t moving.”

The three of them exchanged glances.

“Can you do it again?” Tam asked.

Larkin swallowed. “I-I think so.”

“Then do it for me.”

Larkin knew that voice. Hated that voice. She whipped around, a too-thin sword clenched in her fists.

Garrot wavered on his feet, lines of black visible on his collarbones. He had perhaps an hour left before the shadows reached his eyes and he was lost.

“How many men are dead because of you?” she hissed.

He deserved this. This and so much worse.

He spread his hands, the lines stark against his palms. “Nesha will never forgive you if you let me die.”

How dare he use her sister against her—again! She took a step toward him.

Tam gripped her arm. “Kill him now, and the fighting may start all over again.” She tried to wrench free.

“Think.” Denan grimaced as he pushed to his feet. “Do this, and the Black Druids are at your mercy.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “He destroyed my family. He murdered Bane!”

Gripping the back of her neck, Denan rested his forehead against hers. “I know. I know he did.”

“There are so many others I can save,” she whispered. “People who will be dead because I took the time to save him.”

“Larkin,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “You can’t ask this of me.”

“You’re a princess, Larkin. You do what’s best for your people. Always.”

She pulled away from the warmth of Denan’s embrace and stared at Garrot. “The war is over.”

“Yes,” Garrot said.

“From now on, we work together.” Her voice trembled.

“To defeat the wraiths,” Garrot agreed.

“Your people will make the pilgrimage to the Alamant to have their curse removed,” Denan said.

Garrot’s eyes widened. “That’s possible?” Before any of them could answer, he staggered, his hands going to his neck. His eyes and veins bulged as the shadows writhed up his neck. “Yes. Anything you want. Please.”

Behind him, one of the Black Druids dropped, his whole body jerking. He sat up, his eyes fully black. Tam shoved a sword into his neck.

The first step was the hardest. Larkin gathered magic from the copperbills, weaving the magic into an orb while Denan and Tam played.

 

Light through dark and shadow pass,

Then tighten and trap the poison fast.

 

She pushed the magic into Garrot’s skin.