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Lifting his head, Owein searched the shadows of the island. Caught movement, but the glimmer of an ember whispered it was only Pankhurst, out for another smoke. “He served his purpose and moved on.”

Merritt hummed softly. Stared up into the stars, though Silas wouldn’t come from that direction. One thing the man could not do was fly, thank the Lord.

“I’m glad, you know,” Merritt continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that, straight. I’m glad you locked me in, that day I came here. I’m glad you were the most obnoxious guttersnipe I’d ever met.”

Owein laughed. A soft, short laugh, but it felt good all the same. Released some of the tension simmering in his chest.

“I have all of this because of you,” Merritt murmured, sober. “Do you realize that? We’re afraid because we have so much to lose. And we have so much to losebecause of you.”

The lighthouse blurred in the corner of Owein’s vision. He blinked a few times to clear it. Throat tight, he managed to say, “Thank you.”

Merritt put his arm around Owein’s shoulders. Squeezed him. Owein put his head on Merritt’s shoulder for just a moment. Just a moment, to be that child again. It had always been easier to deal with the hurt, the stress, and the fear as a child.

“I love you, Owein. Like you were mine,” Merritt said.

“I love you, too,” he rasped.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, staring wordlessly into the night. It felt like an ending.

Merritt squeezed Owein’s shoulder, then stood and picked his way back into the house.

By the time the sun rose and cast the summer yellow and pink, Owein’s backside ached from sitting on the gable. He climbed his way down, jumping the last story, and walked the perimeter of the island, this time counterclockwise. He returned only long enough to grab some bread and bacon for breakfast before starting again. Mrs. Mirren rode in one of the Queen’s League boats, pushing off the island as Jonelle arrived. She waved to Owein, who merely nodded his head in return. He scanned the trees, lingering on every patch of shade. Still, Jonelle waited for him to come around.

“You look like a corpse,” she said.

Owein scoffed. “You look like you spent the night on the ocean.”

She smirked, smoothing back her mussed hair. Tipped her head toward Mirren. “Did you talk to her yet?”

Owein shook his head.

“It’s good news, however small. Mr. Blightree shifted in his sleep last night.”

Owein straightened. “He woke?”

“No, but he’s stirring, which is more than we’ve had since his injury.” She rubbed her eyes. “Be careful out there, Owein.”

Owein reflected on the few minutes he’d spent half out of body, thanks to Blightree’s magic. He’d been able to move his physical self, but it’d been hard. Like his body was a marionette trapped in honey, and he had to pull the strings from the next room. Perhaps Blightree was getting used to it ... or perhaps a soul was naturally drawn back to its body if still partially connected, and it was slowly sinking back in. So many theories.

Pulling from his thoughts, Owein offered, “You, too.”

Jonelle headed for the Babineaux house, and Owein walked the perimeter. He’d circled halfway back when Fallon came jogging up the half-worn path, her white skirt flapping about her legs, her long hair unbound.

“You’restillout here?” she asked once she neared.

Owein shrugged, scanning the sea again. “Someone needs to be.”

“Someone is.” She touched his elbow. “Many someones. Owein, youneedto sleep. You look terrible.”

“I’m not trying to impress you,” he snapped, then ground his teeth. Rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” Grasping his wrists, she pulled his hands from his face. “I’ll fly it again, okay? Just rest.”

He sighed. “Two sets of eyes are better.”

“Not when one set is about to fall out of its skull.” She released him.

She was right. If only his magic could propel him farther, keep him alert, give him her hawk’s eyes. Everyone acted like his magic was so grand, and yet it felt like too little. Still, he nodded and trudged his way back to Whimbrel House, knowing Fallon’s eyes were on him untilhe shut the front door of the house behind him. His anvil legs clunked as he took the stairs up to his room. Snicked the door shut. The open window let in a cool breeze. He stared at his bed, but it felt wrong to lie on it. It felt like giving up.