Page 145 of What Blooms from Death

Perhaps I owed it to my kingdom to try and follow through with this task without questioning it. To put its needs first. To protect it from the complications of tying myself to Aleksander—and, by extension, to his dangerous kingdom and its Keepers.

No matter how badly I wanted something else to be true, there were two sides in this war.

And I could not fight for both.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Aleksander

The first dawnof our third week at the Rivenholt Palace arrived, heralded by a blood-red sunrise sneaking through my window and the sounds of eager preparations being made outside my door.

Twelve days remained until the Equinox.

Time was running out. The air was thick with a growing sense of fear and unease. To counter it, the would-be saviors of this world had an ambitious goal for today: Reviving an army that could give them a fighting chance once they opened the gate to Nerithys.

And Nova would be leading the way.

She’d informed me of the plan late last night; it had been well past midnight when she crept into my room, unable to sleep. I’m not sure she everdidend upsleeping. But I’d dozed off with her in my arms at some point, only to be nudged awake to find her watching me with a haunted expression and a quiet plea on her lips—

Promise you’ll come with me.

And despite all my lingering questions about us, our separate worlds, and the duty I owed to my own kingdom, I’d promised.

I couldn’t let her go alone.

So, shortly after waking, I was securing saddlebags and adjusting tack while ignoring the questioning, concerned stares of the soldiers who would also be accompanying Nova during the day’s mission.

“You’d thinkwewere the ones who had personally cursed their world, based on the way they stare,” Zayn said under his breath, before swinging onto his horse’s back. “Also? Given the recent murders of our own allies, we should be staring right back, shouldn’t we?”

I didn’t comment on this as I hoisted myself onto my own horse. I didn’t want to think of those murders; I’d only just managed to stop seeing Rowen’s severed tongue every time I closed my eyes.

After an hour of riding, we found ourselves atop a hill covered in grey dust and pebbles, overlooking a large clearing wedged between columns of dark forest.

The trees of that forest were strange, their trunks charred black, as if a fire had roared through but somehow left them otherwise perfectly intact—intact, tall, and strong, swaying and creaking in the slight breeze. Ash-colored dust swirled across the hillside, and the air had an undercurrent of smokiness in it, too.

In the center of the clearing were several rows of barracks flanked by walls of black stone. There were waves of white moving between these walls, and filing in and out of the buildings. Like a swirling ocean of fog from a distance, but as we rode closer, I was able to pick out individual bodies, occasional faces—shades.

More than I’d ever seen gathered in one place.

They moved with slightly more precision than the ones we’d encountered in the past. Regimented, almost. Most of themcarried a small sword, as well, clinging to it as if it were the last weight anchoring them to life. And perhaps itwas; the blades of those swords occasionally flashed a pale, greenish blue—part of the blessing Calista was said to have laid over these soldiers in life, maybe.

Their surroundings occasionally seemed to pulse with a similar-colored glow, as well, though it could have been a trick of the poor lighting; whatever magic Calista had laid over this area, it didn’t extend to the sky. The frozen “sun” was a pale coin, lost in a sea of grey, its feeble glow struggling to pierce the heavy canopy of clouds.

I watched the soldiers for a long moment, transfixed by their quiet, relentless repetition. They marched endlessly back and forth through the bleak barracks, their feet making no sound against the earth, their motions synchronized like clockwork.

It was somewhat unnerving, to think of them potentially spending an eternity going through these same motions, all preparing for…what? Their minds were likely too faded to even realize what they were doing, or why they were doing it. It wasn’tloyaltythat kept them marching this way; it was magic. Magic that might have felt like a blessing in the beginning, but now looked more like a curse.

We dismounted, tying our horses to the most intact stretch of fencing we could find, a safe distance away from the area Nova would be targeting.

We moved silently toward that area—myself, Zayn, Nova, Thalia, and Bastian. Phantom, who had just shifted from a horse-like creature into a dog-like one, was immediately distracted by something in the distant forest; he gave chase despite Nova’s protesting. A dozen soldiers from the palace accompanied us as well, led by Eamon, the young man who had been responsible for much of Nova’s training these past weeks.

Nova and I remained side-by-side as the others walked the perimeter of Graykeep’s grounds, discussing their strategy.

The two of us didn’t speak right away. Nova’s gaze was set, her hand tight on the grip of Grimnor, which hung in an ornate sheath at her hip.

I could sense the sword’s power, a deceptively soft humming that felt poised to erupt at any moment. I could senseherpower as well, though the feel of it was closely intertwined with Grimnor’s. Being amplified by that sword, clearly. As the seconds ticked by, and her focus increased, it became harder and harder to tell their two separate energies apart.

There would be no talking her out of what she was about to attempt, I knew—though I had a sudden urge to try.

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