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“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We are scattered,” he said again, and I screamed in wordless frustration.

“Stopsayingthat and tell me what you mean!” I demanded.

“We are in pieces,” Jessamine said. She sat on the end of the bed, her knees tucked under her. The only distortion was a jagged bit of light over one eye, like a scar.“The tooth without the heart knows only hunger.”

Jessamine reached out. Her small white hand brushed against mine. It had no weight, no substance. But I felt it, soft and silky as a petal. “Become with us,” she said.“Help us be whole.”

I snatched my hand away. “No.”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. She twisted, crawling toward me, grasping at me. She had no weight, but still she pressed me back against the pillows, her hungry fingers digging against my throat, hooking the edges of my mouth. She was reachinginsideme, and the dark tendrils of the Other wrapped around me, finding purchase, finding the darkness that twined and tangled at my own heart—

“No!” I screamed, and shoved hard at her. My hands passed through nothing. The room was empty, except for the fading echo of my shout. I knotted my fingers together so tightly they hurt with a sharp, fierce pain, but I didn’t let up.

If Harrow claimed me, the Other stayed contained. Its hungerremained behind these gates, within these woods. If I escaped, so did the beasts of Harrow.

I didn’t want to die. But what if the price of my survival was unleashing the Other’s destruction on the world?

There was only one solution. I had to destroy the dark soul. It was the only way that I could live without endangering countless others.

I would kill the Other.

And Bryony would never speak to me again.

25

MORNING CAME RELUCTANTLYto Harrow, the sallow sky refusing to part for the sunrise, and by the time the morning bell chimed, I was a solid knot of nerves.

I loved Bryony. I yearned for her. I lay at night with the memory of her holding me, a balm against my nightmares. But before she had cared for me, she had loved the darkness at Harrow’s heart. What would happen if she had to choose between us?

I walked the path to the groundkeeper’s house, my heart in my throat and my thoughts in a million pieces. I scaled the steps and then stood there, losing my nerve with each passing second. But before I could turn to go, the door opened, and Bryony broke into a smile.

“I wasn’t expecting you today,” she said. Then she saw my expression, and her smile faltered. “Rabbit, what’s wrong?” she asked.

She searched my face. I didn’t know what she wanted to see, and so I didn’t know how to fake it. Wordlessly, she reached out and took my hand, drawing me inside the house. The door shut behind me with a soft click. She stepped in close to me, still searching, and my skin flushed with the sheer presence of her—thebrush of her skirt against my legs, the woodsmoke and pine scent that clung to her, the soft moss green of her eyes.

“You’re okay,” she said, uncertain. “Did something happen?”

I couldn’t hold her gaze. I dropped my eyes and took a half step to the side, pulling away. “I’m okay,” I lied. “Nothing happened. Not really. Everything is just crashing down on me all at once,” I said.

“I understand. It’s a lot,” she said.

“The year is almost halfway gone,” I said. “And I still don’t know what to do.”

“The year isonlyhalfway gone,” she corrected me. “We know so much already. And whether or not your grandma is evil, it’s pretty clear she doesn’t want you dead before the Investiture, so that’s something.”

“It’s something,” I allowed. I swiped my hair back from my forehead, only to have it immediately fall forward into my eyes again. Maybe I didn’t have to tell Bryony what I’d decided yet. Not for a little while, at least. “I was thinking—we looked through your grandmother’s things, but we didn’t really know what we were looking for. I think it’s worth checking again. Maybe there’s something in there about Mary or her daughter.”

“Daughter?” Bryony echoed.

My brow creased. “I guess the journal didn’t say one way or another. Not the parts we have, at least. But it must have been a daughter.”

“How can you be sure?” Bryony asked.

“They’re Harrow’s girls,” I said, and Bryony’s expression grew still.