Page 69 of To Steal the Sun

But when Gwen straightened and turned toward Charlotte, it was the apple gripped in her hand. She ignored Celandine and the plinths and the rumbling outside and walked straight toward Charlotte, the apple gripped in her palm and her eyes on the scepter.

Understanding washed through Charlotte, followed by relief. If Gwen had the apple, she would know how the scepter worked. She would know how to wield it and how to undo the damage Celandine had already done.

Charlotte pulled herself to her knees, holding the scepter toward Gwen. When her friend reached her, she dropped to her knees at her side. But when she wrapped her hand around the scepter, she didn’t pull it away from Charlotte.

“Two will be better than one,” she shouted over the rumbling. “It will only respond to strength. We have to force it to obey us.”

Charlotte could feel Gwen beside her through her normal senses, but she could also sense her through the expanded awareness the scepter gave her. Charlotte tried to follow Gwen’s lead, forcing her will on the scepter, instructing it to roll back the clouds and rebuild the mountains.

It groaned, the sound more felt than heard beneath the volume of the thunderous rumble. But it didn’t obey. More of the mountain tips crumbled, the broken boulders rolling further down, heading toward the city in the valley below.

“No!” Gwen shouted. “I will not let her destroy our mountains! I will not let her steal even one more bit of light from me.”

Gwen’s will merged with Charlotte’s, their unified voices commanding the same thing. Together they shouted into the deafening noise and chaos around them, building a mental picture of a clear sky and whole mountains and forcing the shape of that command onto the scepter.

“You. Will. Obey. Us,” Gwen choked out, speaking through gritted teeth.

The rumbling quieted.

Charlotte drew a gasping breath, her fingers squeezing forcefully around the scepter. The rumbling quieted further and then still further. New light stole into the room as the sky cleared, revealing the moon and the last of the light from the sunset.

In the distance, blocked by the walls, Charlotte sensed the boulders rolling back uphill. The mountain peaks re-formed as if they had never been touched, even the life on their slopes returned to its original state.

She slumped down, every muscle trembling with the aftereffects of her exertion. They had done it.

Gwen swept her into a hug, crying into her shoulder and croaking out her thanks. A shout sounded behind them, followed by running feet, a crash, and then a high-pitched scream that made her blood stop.

The girls pulled apart and looked across the room. Henry was taking the final two strides toward a broken window. He looked back at them with a pale face.

“I tried to catch her,” he said, “but…”

“She moved too fast.” Easton’s voice shook. “We were both watching you, and…”

Gwen stood, swaying on shaky legs. Easton hurried to her side, putting an arm around her for support, and she leaned against his shoulder.

“Perhaps, she…” She swallowed and tried again. “When I fell from an upper-story window, the wind—”

Henry poked his head through the broken window, careful to avoid the remaining shards of glass. When he pulled back into the room, his face was drawn and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Gwen. There wasn’t any wind to catch her.”

Gwen swallowed. “I could have…I should have…”

“No.” Charlotte stood more slowly, speaking the word with force. “You were busy saving entire kingdoms—busy undoing the work that woman set in motion. Everything about her life was a tragedy, but none of it was your doing.” She moved around to meet her friend’s eyes. “This isn’t your burden to carry, Gwen. You’ll have enough burdens undoing the damage she caused in your kingdom.”

“Listen to Charlotte,” Easton said. “She’s right. At the end, Celandine made her own choice. It wasn’t your fault she wasn’t in her right mind.”

Charlotte looked sadly toward the plinth that had supported the jewel. “I’m not sure she had been for a long time.”

She looked down, realizing she still held the scepter. She wanted to drop it. She wanted to never touch it again. But she couldn’t risk anyone else getting their hands on it. She gripped it in both hands, raising it high and pulling up one knee. But just before she brought it down, she paused, the scepter hanging in midair.

Her eyes slowly rose, meeting Gwen’s.

“Perhaps,” she said, “there’s one thing…”

Gwen’s blank look transformed to understanding, and a smile spread over her mouth. “Just one,” she said.

She stepped forward and gripped the scepter along with Charlotte for one final time. Connected through the scepter, Charlotte knew they had indeed had the same thought. Together they bore down on the scepter, forcing their will on it.

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