Page 79 of Night of Death and Flowers

Ari coughs, then rolls onto her side before whispering, “The river is close. You can make a potion, right, Cali?”

“Looks like I have no choice.” I turn to face Death. “You’re not coming with us. Our deal is over.”

THIRTY

Calista

We leave for the river alone. Ari hangs her arms over me and Drake, walking in between us. I carry Thorn in my other arm, then look back at Azkiel for the last time, nausea rolling in waves as the residual adrenaline runs through my body.

Gods, I am so fucking embarrassed. I never want to see him again. I’m getting Ari away from this damn forest, even if it means dragging her to the caverns while I hunt down the rest of the sacrifices myself.

Sacrifices. The word stings my mind. How quickly I have forgotten what I stand for. It wasn’t Briar’s or Cordelia’s fault. They were products of the elders and, by extension, Death.

I focus ahead as we stumble toward the babbling river. The first rays of dawn peek through the interwoven branches, casting enchanting shadows over the rippling water. A soft mist clings to the air, and the subtle fragrance of rain and decaying foliage permeates the area.

I carefully lower Thorn on the embankment, and he quickly perches himself upright. I tilt my head, examining his injuries. He has a minor cut to his wing, but not other noticeable damage. Gently, I press around his body, watching for signs of pain, but he doesn’t jolt.

At least the shadows didn’t constrict him too hard, and there are no broken bones. His weakness is likely from fending off the shadow ravens born from Briar’s magic. “I’ll fix your wing,” I promise, then stand.

“I’ll keep watch,” Drake states coldly, barely saying a word since what happened.

“Drake…”

He walks toward the old, worn-out bridge, then lands his hand on the tatters of rope.

“Fine,” I mumble under my breath.

Ari runs her hands over her arms, fending off the brisk gusts of wind. Her arms are littered with small cuts, matching my own. I head towards the river in search of the vine-stricken, root- covered ground the plants we need usually grow, but my attention is drawn to a cluster of Death’s Bells by the water.

The hunched, long stems expand from pointed, purple leaves. Each stem holds a layer of dusky purple flowers that appear like tiny bells, releasing a subtle, musky, floral scent.

If I combine these flowers—infamous for its curative properties—and find some Sanare Medicis root, I can crush them together to form a healing paste. However, the root grows in the depths of riverbanks, and that means dipping my hands into the waters.

I draw nearer to the edge and gaze into the river, a dark mirror that reflects the hauntingly beautiful trees and bare branches intertwining overhead that create a contorted ribcage encasing the area.

The calm surface ripples as spectral hands of the vengeful spirits that lurk beneath break the waters, then retreat. Within the depths of darkness, a tapestry of faces floats just under the surface, looking at me with their fish-eaten eyes, and mouths agape into a silent scream.

I imagine them, those who have died in shipwrecks or drowned during a Harvest, dragged under the Black Sea, lungs bursting, their souls forever lost to Death’s domain.

I jump when I glance to my side, noticing Ari leaning over the edge, her body quaking with sobs as she desperately tries to rinse the blood from her hands and arms.

“Get away from there.” I race to her side, my knees landing on the damp soil of the riverbank. “This river runs from the Black Sea. The waters are brimming with the dead,” I say and pull her back, but she wrestles my hold, then stares at her hands.

Drake whips his head to look at us from the bridge, but I quickly nod before he leaves his post to see what the stir is about. The bridge offers the best visibility into the forest and to the other side of the river, giving him a good vantage point should anyone try to sneak up on us.

Ari sighs, then whispers, “Edwardo’s power is darker than I expected, even though we’re in the same coven,” she admits, then squeezes her eyes shut. “He used nature manipulation magic offensively, likely since he first inherited it.”

Decay magic sizzles into my fingertips, reacting to her heartache as she slowly loses herself to the dark magic. “I know the feeling.” I hide my hands, then rock backwards, sitting on the back of my legs.

“Father will come,” she says, her voice laced with a tired hope. Slowly, she rises to her feet, then tears the red silk robes from her body, revealing her pink dress underneath. The robes land in the river in a ripple of crimson, as she discards the blood-stained clothes to the night. “If not them, then the gods.”

I shake my head. “You dream of them still?”

“Yes,” she whispers, but doesn’t elaborate.

“What do they tell you?”

“Nothing of importance,” she states, although I don’t believe her. There’s no chance of her opening up, not when she’s barely processing all of what’s happened. My heart gallops as I watch her eyes darken.

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