Page 64 of Night of Death and Flowers

Drake grunts as he scoops Ari up in his arms.

“How did she do that?” I whisper. “It’s like she… over-healed him.”

He shakes his head, his lips twisting as he looks at Edwardo’s mangled corpse.

Bones protrude from the hole in his stomach, their jagged edges covered in a thick, sticky layer of blood. A swarm of flies circles him, their buzzing growing louder, and the putrid smell of death stifles the air, making the harsh reality of death impossible to ignore.

“I think that’s exactly what she did,” he agrees, his voice barely a whisper. “It happened so fast. She healed me because you were already dead, but she didn’t seem upset over it. Then, when she brought you back to life, I realized why.” His eyes meet mine. “Ari knew she could revive you.”

I knew something was off when I woke up, as if she was in complete denial of what surrounded us.

My sister will never forgive herself.

“Right,” I breathe, knowing I will need to reveal the truth of my sister’s secret—how she possesses Essentria’s ethereal magic; how she is the mirror version of me. Sisters. One light, one dark. Two sides of the same coin.

Although that may have changed after today. I didn’t even know healing magic could be used offensively until now.

“We will talk,” he promises, then grunts as he treads over the uneven, branch-covered ground, carefully navigating the thickets of vines. He groans, holding my sleeping sister, his bulging muscles straining the fabric of his shirt, poking out from under his red robes.

After ten minutes of trekking through the forest in silence, each step is lighter than ever before. My calves would normally burn, the aches lasting for days. But now it is easier—as if being touched by Ari’s creation magic has changed something in me.

The remaining raindrops descend from the tall branches, creating a gentle pitter-patter around us as the storm from earlier moves further away from the island. As we reach an abandoned house nestled within the heart of the forest, I let out a sigh of relief. The stone statues by the door are saturated with the remnants of rain, giving them a shimmering, wax-like appearance.

Swinging loosely on its hinges, the front door creaks with each movement. As I journey ahead, the unmistakable sign that my ancestors who inhabited this place worshiped Death peeks out from the surrounding outline: the twisted stone faces of Phovi with empty eyes that follow my every step.

I’m grateful they are just statues. I can’t fight anymore, not for at least a few hours.

I peer into the darkness of what was once a window, now just an empty frame where shards of shattered glass remain, their grimy, jagged edges pointed out in warning.

Cracks in the structure are filled by roots, their tips curling out over the gray-brick like fingers, strangling it into submission.

Drake climbs the two steps to the door, then lowers Arabella onto the doorstep. His hands rest on the black railing by the entryway as he leans over, his exposed skin glistening with sweat. “We need water,” he says after a minute, and I nod in agreement, my eyes already searching the area for long leaves that might have caught the earlier raindrops.

“I’ll find some. You get her inside and rest.”

“I’m not leaving you out here alone,” he retorts.

“I’ll stay close. Just get her inside.”

I pace toward a towering plant with oversized, luscious green leaves, and kneel. Small pools of water have formed in the sunken areas. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. I lick my dry lips, then drain a leaf, the water doing little to remove the taste of death in my throat.

Plucking the leaf from the plant, I scrape together more raindrops, scooping them into it before slowly rising. I pause for a moment and stare at the forest as the intensity of our first few hours of The Harvest sinks in.

Three are dead. Two by my hand, one by my sister’s. Gods know how many else are gone. Seeing Ari being forced to do something dark, pulls on my heartstrings. I shake the feeling away, focusing instead on the one thing I cannot be distracted from: survival.

A twig sounds from within the trees, and I crane my neck, surveying the darkness. Decay magic readies in my fingers, its energy thrumming through my body with unparalleled intensity ever since I woke up.

I ready myself for another attack. Someone must have followed us. I won’t lead them to the house, not with Ari unconscious.

Another twig snaps, then footsteps pound behind me.

TWENTY-FIVE

Calista

Leaves crunch under the heavy thumps of my boots as I race over the uneven ground and through the maze of shadowy trees, sensing whoever is chasing me approaching swiftly.

An arm wraps around my waist from behind, tugging me against a hard body. The person’s icy fingers are around my mouth. Decay magic sizzles, then seeps into the person’s arm, and I smile under their hand before I notice they do not turn to ash.

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