Page 78 of Still the Sun

Knitting my ring and pinky finger with his, I say, “I’ll start. I’ll pick them in Emgarden, and you can harvest them farther out.”

Hope dances in the whites of his eyes and across his full lips. It’s only a brief goodbye, but I want to kiss him. I want to hold him for as long as I can, to make up for our time apart, and to steel myself against our unknown future. But this discovery trumps everything else.

Something is missing.

I push the sensation down. “I’ll be back,” I promise, and hurry down the stairs, through the shadowed first floor and out into the stark sunlight. I passed the first cluster of emilies about two hundred meters back, not far from the road. I really should rest, or at least get some food into me, but I coax enough energy from my limbs to move at a light jog. Eagerness and anxiety provide my fuel.

I find a bed of ten flowers, their glow only evident when my shadow falls across them. I kneel and, using a turnscrew to loosen the soil, dig down several decimeters before cutting through the tough root and lifting the flower whole from its bed. I set it aside and cut a second, a third, a fourth. When all ten are free, I loop their stems together and hang them off my belt, then hurry toward Emgarden, to the other cluster I passed earlier.

I’ve nearly reached them when the ground shakes so hard it sweeps my feet from under me. I fall hard onto my right knee, skinning it. A curse tangles on my tongue as I wait for the quake to abate, but it doesn’t. It grows stronger, bucking the earth beneath me, throwing dust into my face. Spitting, I squeeze my eyes shut, my pulse racing throughmy veins as my body shakes back and forth in uneven intervals. It’sneverbeen this bad before.

When the quake slows to a rumble, I pick myself up and look ahead. People are milling about in the streets of Emgarden. Alarmed shouts pock the air. Then, glancing over my shoulder, I nearly lose my balance a second time.

Steam rises from the tower windows, and the giant protrusion at the topturns.

Chapter 26

It’s working. The machine isworking.

Yet blood drains from my face, neck, arms, dragging me toward the now-still earth, leaving me feeling empty and small and scared. Why? Why does my heart beat so hard, and so shallowly?

Abandoning the emilies, I race back for the tower. The space between my lungs burns and my thighs ache, but I hurry until I reach its doors, knotted emilies hanging from my hip. Leaning against the right door, I push—

It doesn’t give. I lean into it again. Dig in my heels and push with both hands, but the door stands resolute. I switch to the left door and heave with all my might, but the doors are locked. Barred. Impenetrable, as they were before Moseus first came to my door. Before Heartwood did.

I stumble away from the tower.Wrong, wrong, wrong.Something is wrong. Why is it locked? Why is the tower moving? Moseus knew how to use that crystal. He recognized it, didn’t he? But then what are the emilies for?

Pounding a fist on the door, I yell, “Moseus! Open up! Heartwood!”

No answer.

Holding my breath, I press my ear to the door, listening. The protrusion stops turning, and the ensuing silence pierces.

I back away and cup my hands around my mouth. “Heartwood!” I call, then scream.“Heartwood!”

No answer. No movement. Nothing.

I retreat a little more, checking the windows. The second- and third-floor windows have no covering, but I see nothing. The fortress is impenetrable. I tried so many times before its keepers opened its doors. If I could get another rope, tie it to a wrench like before,maybeI could get it through a window and pull myself up, but I won’t be able to get in—

Fingers trembling with panic, I return to the doors and bang on them again. “Moseus! Let me—”

Be quiet. Don’t let them hear you.

I choke on my own voice, chest heaving for air. That ... I know that thought. I’ve had it before. Here? In a doorway—

And yet the more I try to pin it down, the more ethereal it becomes, until I lose it completely. I’m forgetting something. Something important. I crouch down, pressing my hands to either side of my head.Think, Pell. What is it?

That dream comes up again. The dream that’s haunted me since I reunited with Heartwood.His cold hands on me.I was waiting for Heartwood. I needed to tell him something important. What was it?

She’s dead, either way.

Lowering my hands, I stand, vertebra by vertebra. That sinking sensation in my gut sours and tightens.

Someone was hurt. Someone was—is?—in danger.

Swallowing, I retreat from the tower, desperately searching its windows one more time. Heartwood wouldn’t leave me. He is stubborn and frustrating but entirely loyal. Perhaps to a fault. This isn’t his doing.Oh gods, please don’t let Moseus hurt him. I only just got him back.

Heartwood said Moseus has no power over him. But how true was that? Moseus was supposed to be a peacekeeper. There isn’t a shred of peace alive in me. But I can’t help Heartwood. I can’t get into the tower. Not yet.

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