Page 146 of What Blooms from Death

Her brother beckoned her toward him.

“Wish me luck,” she said, somewhat faintly.

Luck won’t keep you safe among those ghostly fiends, was my immediate, anxious thought. But I held my tongue in a way I wouldn’t have weeks ago. For her, I could feign optimism, knowing she needed that more than she needed anything else just then.

“You don’t need luck,” I told her. “You’ll be fine.”

She gave me a small smile, but the confident mask she usually hid her emotions behind didn’t fully settle back into place before she made her way over to her brother. They spoke for several minutes, sizing up targets and reciting plans, and then she turned and started down the hill.

It was an automatic reaction, the way my body turned to follow her; I only just managed to stop myself. But the few steps I took after her didn’t go unnoticed by Thalia and Eamon, who had just moved closer to me.

“She can do it on her own,” Thalia told me, her gaze fixed on Nova as she spoke. “You don’t need to worry.” Her wordssomehow sounded like both a reassurance and a threat…a reminder not to intervene.

But it seemed foolish, not to worry—andon her ownwas not entirely correct, either. They had created another tool for her to wield alongside Grimnor. A jewel hung from her neck, one that was at least partially comprised of elements stolen from Luminor.

I was, of course, skeptical of its power.

And afraid it might lure her into a false sense of security, or otherwise unbalance her and end up doing more harm than good.

Thalia and Eamon kept perfectly still, as did Zayn. Bastian paced restlessly after making his way back to us. I was somewhere in between, managing to remain calm until I felt the magic around Nova fluctuate, at which point I would have to force myself to breathe slowly, to keep still, to just keep watching the scene unfolding below.

Nova stopped right outside the main gate to the barracks. Without a second of hesitation, she pulled her sword from its sheath, pointing its tip at the barrier of ivory and twisted metal. The blade was as black as the charred trees flanking the area, and the sword brought to mind fire, as well—maybe because of the red veins of gemstone inlaid in its dark hilt, flashing like embers in the muted lighting.

Even from a distance, the sight was arresting.

Nova handled the sword as though she’d trained with it her entire life. Like it was an extension of her. Shadows soon began to bleed from its blade, and then from her arms, intertwining with precision and elegance, creating a solid wave that flowed over all the ghostly figures she was drawing toward her.

Those shadows within her and her blade were made of the same energy, I’d been told—the same energy that also made up the very world we stood in. Which meant it could be channeledinto a pulse that gave the shades life. And the pendant of Light magic Nova carried would help balance the shadows, preventing the force of them from overwhelming the ones being brought back to consciousness.

Simple enough, in concept.

Nova made it look simple in execution, too—like a perfectly choreographed dance. Her shining blade and dark magic alike swept through the air with a fluid grace, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next.

She was…incredible.

There was no other word for it.

And, one by one, the spectral soldiers began to awaken, shedding their grey, muted appearances like snakes slipping free of their dead skins.

They shook the stiffness from their limbs, stumbling for a few moments before stepping into their renewed strength—into an awareness that was obvious even from a distance. Their swords glinted in the hazy daylight as they lifted them with reborn dexterity, twisting them this way and that. A swell of voices rose and fell—from confused whispers, to an excited clamor, then back to an awed hush.

One of them pointed his blade toward the sky, as if in salute. Others followed his lead. All of their gazes remained fixed on Nova; soon, she was surrounded entirely by them, nearly lost in a forest of lifted, shining swords.

Her brother and the rest of his circle moved closer, dividing up, preparing to help organize their waking army.

I stayed in place beside Zayn, a sudden heaviness in my limbs making it hard to think about moving. “It’s…working.”

“Seems like it.” I could hear the frown in Zayn’s voice; I didn’t take my eyes off Nova.

I had two very different, conflicting feelings about her success.

Relief, because it meant she was still safe where she stood among that shifting army.

Dread, to think of what it meant for everything that came next.

“And so they’ll move to the next part of their plans,” Zayn said, quietly enough that only I could hear him. “Which means we might need to reconsider our options. Back to our original idea, maybe.”

The thought cracked through me like lightning splitting a tree, leaving a dead, aching hollowness inside.

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