Page 18 of Night of Death and Flowers

My sister can use her own energy and health to heal him, but she knows I will never allow it.

Considering Drake’s actions, giving up a portion of my health to aid in his healing is a small sacrifice. His roar still echoes in my mind from when he charged at the creature to shield me.

Our hands intertwine, her grip firmer than expected. Creation magic is beautifully dark. Despite being opposing entities, the covens devoted to the Goddess of Creation and the God of Death share similar attributes, although neither group will openly admit it.

Through her magic, my inner vitality is used to charge her healing force. While my physical energy dwindles, being drawn out by Arabella, I can’t help but wonder how we healed prior to the god’s arrival, when they bestowed their powers upon us. During that time, we considered ourselves folk witches and used the residual energy from nature and the blood of our fallen companions to access magic, though its power wasn’t nearly as strong.

Every breath is a labor as my sister channels me. Drake’s anguished screams are muffled by the pillow he holds to his face. I wince as a loud crack resonates from his body, signaling the bones being mended.

While struggling to stay awake, I eventually hear Arabella softly utter the words, “It’s finished.”

Her fingers slip out of mine, and I slowly peel back my heavy eyelids. “Did it work?” I ask, each word croakier than the last.

“Yes, but you both need rest.”

I nod, allowing her to guide me into the adjacent room. Our footsteps cause the rotting boards to creak.

Finally, I find a bed and climb onto the mattress, not caring how old it is. Arabella tosses me a blanket I’d brought here several weeks ago when I was creating a new poison, and I curl up into a ball.

I embrace the exhaustion and discomfort as atonement for letting Drake get hurt. “Thank you,” I say, lifting my gaze to meet hers.

She shakes her head, staring at the shreds of fabric dangling from the dress she made for me. “Pretty things are wasted on you.”

Both our lips curve into half-smiles, but it does nothing to the shine of betrayal and hurt in her expression. “Get some sleep,” she says. “It’s probably best if you don’t come home today.”

“You know,” I state.

She nods.

“How?” I ask, my heart aching.

“Father,” she admits. “Well, he didn’t exactly tell me. He was shouting about it downstairs, and I overheard. He left with the elders into the forest about an hour ago. They know you’re missing, Cali.” She pauses, a frown wrinkling her delicate features. Her lips part, and a brief gasp of air swirls between them. “Did you really destroy Azkiel’s statue?” she asks, her voice soft, but broken.

“I had no choice,” I say. “Drake would have been chosen otherwise, but I used my magic last night to kill a Phovus.”

Her expression softens. We both know our parents will never forgive me if they find out we destroyed the ritual, but if they discover I possess decay magic, they’ll be forced to hand me over to die. It’s bad enough they think I have no magic, but it’s better than having a daughter who holds an ancient power only possessed by Azkiel.

“If anyone finds out you were behind it or killing the Phovi…”

“I know.”

“I’ll cover for you with Mother and bring you some fresh clothes tonight.”

“Don’t bother,” I say and chew the inside of my lip. “She’ll know you snuck out again, and you’ll be in more trouble. Besides, they know I’m behind it.” I pause briefly. “Save the lecture for later,” I tease, trying to ease the tension, but Arabella’s stoic look doesn’t change. “You do understand why we had to do this?”

Her usually soft gaze hardens, and she averts her eyes to the ground. “I believe you think you had to, but they’ll kill Drake for this. He may not have even been picked at The Choosing.”

“Ari,” I say softly, “Don’t you ever question it?”

“What?”

“The Harvest.”

Silence hangs between us, but I quickly shatter it, even if it’s something she doesn’t want to hear. “Our names are in there, too, yet Mother said we wouldn’t be selected. If the gods are supposed to choose the sacrifices, then surely the elders would have no say in it?” I question, although I’m wrong. They say the gods choose, but it’s only ever one god. It’s Azkiel’s statue that the names show up on. When I think about it, only his name is ever used in relation to the tournament.

She inhales sharply, then rubs her eyes, forcing back a yawn. “Maybe they just favor us because Father is an elder. It’s not a terrible thing to be protected like this.”

“And Drake?”

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