Page 28

Twenty

M arigold started the counter-curse as the dawn bled over the mountains.

“Perfect time to undo a curse,” Marigold said as they set everything up. She spun her staff so rapidly that both Wick and Briar had to step out of the way multiple times, and she stunk so strongly of fear-sweat that Wick thought even Briar could smell it.

Marigold jumped from foot to foot, still spinning her staff. “Briar! Would you step into the circle?”

Briar looked up from the circle Marigold had made her carve into the grass. She looked over at Wick and then slotted her knife back into its holster and stepped into the circle.

“In the circle,” Briar reported. “What next, magic lady?”

“One second.” Marigold twirled her staff thoughtfully, examining the circle. “What am I missing…. Oh!”

She bent down to the golden bowl sitting at the top of the circle and conjured a spark to drop into the bowl. The bowl burst into flame, glowing in the dawn light.

Wick watched the bowl of flames warily. Briar caught him looking and frowned.

“You won’t get burned this time,” she assured him.

Wick appreciated it. Even though he had not been worried about being burned, only what Marigold had been planning to do to Briar. It was her ritual, after all. They still did not know whether this was a ruse or not. The moment Briar seemed like she was in pain, Wick would leap into action.

But nothing seemed amiss. Marigold seemed genuinely like she was setting up a spell to remove her friend’s curse. Despite her nervous sweating and constant staff-spinning.

“What is that fire, anyhow?” Briar asked. “It looks… different.”

“It’s purified for the ritual,” said Marigold distractedly. “It will burn through anything. Do not touch it.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Briar said with another glance toward Wick.

“Okay,” Marigold said to herself. She held the staff in front of her and closed her eyes. “Okay, okay, okay. We can do this. Briar, stay still.”

Wick met Briar’s eyes questioningly and took a small step toward the circle.

Briar hesitated. Then she shook her head.

Wick stood back.

Marigold took a long, deep breath and opened her eyes.

Wick held back a gasp. Her eyes were icy white, snow swirling inside them. He had seen that before. He had seen that last night, in the cracked amulet around Briar’s neck.

Briar’s eyebrows raised. But before either of them could say anything, Marigold spoke.

“ Uti?ngu mi? uti?twefach wim mi? pe ,” she whispered, her voice like a faraway mountain breeze.

The fire swelled inside the bowl. A white light bloomed from it, curling around Briar’s arms and legs and twisting around her body.

Briar gave Wick a panicked look. But when Wick stepped forward, she shook her head again.

Wick stilled reluctantly. He watched the white light pulse as it crept toward her chest, climbing inexorably toward her heart.

“ Vya?ng fto fwa?ng mi?k,” Marigold cried. “ Mi?k, mi?k, mi?k !”

The flames climbed so high they almost touched the branches hanging overhead. The light hit Briar’s heart and exploded, showering the circle in a sea of white sparks.

Wick stumbled forward. But when the light faded, the fire was settling, and Briar was standing in the circle, unharmed. Her hands were clasped over her chest, her eyes tracking.

“Briar,” Wick said urgently.

Briar met his eyes with a disbelieving smile. “I-I can’t feel the heat anymore. I think?—”

“It worked,” Marigold yelled. She clapped joyously, twirling her staff. Then she sagged to the side, looking like she was about to pass out on the grass.

Briar leapt out of the circle to steady her. “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t go to sleep yet. Still one more curse to break.”

“Yes,” Marigold said weakly. She straightened, checking first on the bowl of fire, which was burning merrily beside her.

It took her a moment to spin to Wick. “And now you.”

Wick’s relief turned once more into suspicion. She stank of fear, but it was not all toward him.

Marigold wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt and then swore. “Damn, I forgot the chains!”

“Chains,” Briar repeated. She was still rubbing her chest through her shirt. “Why do you need chains?”

Marigold waved her hand dismissively, not looking at her. “Oh, you know! Just in case the counter-curse doesn’t work, and he goes feral.”

She turned toward the cottage.

Briar stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “Is that an option?”

Marigold paused for a moment too long before laughing. “Hopefully not!”

She stepped around Briar, her smile rigid and desperate. But before she could take another step toward the cottage, she made a mistake:

She glanced up at the trees.

Wick tilted his head up and gave an imperceptible sniff. A breeze blew in his direction, bringing the unmistakable scent of lipseed in the air.

Wick surged forward and grabbed Marigold’s wrist.

Marigold spluttered. She tugged at Wick’s grip, staring at Briar in panic.

“What is he doing ?” she hissed.

Briar said nothing. She did not even look at Wick as she strolled up to Marigold, her gait deceivingly casual despite the hard edge in her eyes.

“Briar!” Marigold whimpered. She drew her staff back like she was going to hit him with it. “Tell him I’m only trying to help!”

“You’re not helping him,” Briar said flatly. “You’re restraining him so you can sell me, you backstabbing, lying, void-rotted little shit.”

“That’s— That’s not—” Marigold stared at Briar with a terrified smile, stiff with shock. Then her head snapped up toward the trees. “RENAULT! NOW!”

A familiar voice swore from the treetops. Renault launched himself from the branches, coming to a rolling stop on the ground. He was battered and bandaged, but otherwise whole.

Marigold whirled on Wick, her staff raised. Not to strike him, Wick realized all too late, but to cast a spell on him.

“ Nyaankhi? ,” she cried.

Ice burst from the ground and surrounded him, digging into his skin. Wick released Marigold, attempting to claw the ice off, but it climbed thick over his arms and up his chest until he was frozen in place.

“Wick!” Briar yelled.

Wick grunted. The ice was sharp and painfully cold, pressing into his chin. But no further. Marigold strained beside him, her staff still outstretched.

Behind her stood Renault the bounty hunter, a crossbow raised at Briar’s heart.

“Briar,” Wick warned.

Briar gritted her teeth. Even through the overwhelming stench of ice and Marigold’s nervous sweat, he could smell Briar’s fury—hot and blazing, so overpowering it almost masked her devastating worry.

Briar unsheathed her knife and turned reluctantly to face Renault. “All alone, huh? Looks like someone killed your team.”

Renault scowled. His hair looked limper than usual. There was a bandage showing above his collar, and his pale skin was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Briar’s knife must have gotten him deep.

“If you don’t mind,” Renault said thinly. “I’m a little tired of our usual back-and-forth. Marigold, your coin as promised.”

Crossbow still aloft, he pulled a cloth bag from his belt. It was bulging, and it took Wick a painful moment to realize where he knew it from: this was the bag of gold he had stolen from the ritual.

Briar pointed her blade at it. “That’s mine.”

“Finders fucking keepers,” Renault spat.

He dropped the bag. Both women’s eyes fell with it, their eyes alight with want.

Renault pulled the trigger. Wick roared, ice cracking around him as he fought against the witch’s hold.

Briar leapt out of the way. The arrow ripped her shirt, leaving a line of blood on her waist before tunneling into a tree behind them.

Marigold grunted. Her hands flexed around her staff, ice thickening to cover the cracks Wick had placed in it.

Wick glared at her. He could get out if given enough time. But they needed to break her concentration long enough for him to do so.

“Shit,” Renault hissed. He reloaded the crossbow, but it was too late. Briar was already running at him, her knife poised to strike.

Wick watched helplessly as they clashed, Renault using the crossbow as a blunt weapon as he attempted to load it. Briar dodged him yet again and drove the knife toward his throat, only to be shoved away by a sharp elbow.

Wick had never seen humans fight with such grace.

All his fighting had been savage, half-remembered, and brief.

Watching them almost looked like a dance.

A horrible, deadly dance he could not tear his eyes away from as Briar grunted and ducked, trying desperately to sink her blade into Renault’s sweaty skin.

Wick attempted to move his arms. The ice strained and cracked around his bulging muscles, only to be replaced by another layer as Marigold braced herself against her staff.

“Help me,” Renault barked as he shoved away yet another of Briar’s knife attacks. “Damn it, witch! Help me or lose your coin!”

Marigold gasped, shaking with effort. “I-I have to hold the spell! Or he’ll get free!”

“He’s covered in ice, what will he do? If you don’t start helping me right now —” Renault stopped, bellowing in pain. Briar had finally landed a blow, her knife striking him across the cheek.

Renault stumbled back, wiping his bleeding face.

“Void take you, you rancid whore!” He kicked Briar in the chest, sending her sprawling backward. Then he lurched sideways to grab the bag of gold and threw it mightily, sending it sailing toward the burning bowl from Briar’s ritual, its flames glowing unnaturally.

Marigold screamed. “NO!”

The bag struck the bowl and burst, showering gold into the fire. It immediately began to melt, liquid gold filling the bowl as the flames burned.

Marigold whirled, heaving her staff away from Wick and redirecting her ice efforts toward the bowl. She even staggered toward it, wobbling with exertion.

Wick called on all his strength. He flexed, and the ice cracked around his right arm, then his left. But it still wasn’t enough. Marigold was grabbing the few coins that had fallen out of the bowl, but Renault was growing steadier on his feet.