None of us says anything, Lucien not stepping in with a reprimand, nor Fione with an addendum. Just silence. Just Y’shennria’s hazel eyes flickering over each of us in turn, and none of us blinking.

Finally, she exhales what sounds like a laugh. “I see you’re all very serious about this.”

“And I see you aren’t as much,” Lucien says. She turns her eyes on him slowly. Tension winds the air like a bard turning his lute, tight and absolute. I can’t stand to see the two of them at odds, so I step in.

“Everyone’s trying, okay?” I hold up my hands. “Y’shennria, just two days. Give us two days in Windonhigh, and we’ll be gone.”

“‘Us?’” she leads. “So you’ll leave with them?”

“I—”

“What about Crav, Peligli? Nightsinger? And…” She trails off, looking at her own hands. “You’d be safe with us.”

“I know.” I nod. “I know that. And I’m grateful for it. But I—” I gulp. “I have to finish what I started. Varia has the Bone Tree partly because of—”

“Zera,” Lucien exhales the word, like a reminder I’m not at fault.

“Because of me,” I finish. “She has it sooner, now, because of me. I enabled her power. And I’m going to disable her power. I’m not going to run from guilt anymore. I’m going to fight, like Reginall said—every moment of every day.”

Y’shennria’s silent for a long moment, her brows tightening over her sharp eyes. I know she’s tabbing me up, calculating hows and whys. Finally, she gives a quick nod.

“Very well. Two days.”

“Let us go, then,” Lucien says. “Immediately, so as to inconvenience you as little as possible.”

“It’s no inconvenience to me, Your Highness,” Y’shennria says, motioning for us to follow her over the rubble and back to the rose sprouting there. “It is the High Witches who will have issue with it. They are not the most trusting sort.”

“Understandably,” Fione murmurs.

Y’shennria gathers us around the rose and looks to Lucien. “You may have to contribute to the teleportation spell, Your Highness. They are expecting only two to return.”

Lucien nods. “Right.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Malachite warns.

Lucien shoots him a tired smile. “Yes, sir.”

Y’shennria has us clasp hands, the black rose centered in the middle of us. Lucien bows his head, his fingers holding mine going black. His left hand—it might not work, but the magic still eats at it whenever he casts. Maybe…just maybe, someone in Windonhigh can give him the witch wisdom he needs to temper his magic. To stop using it to destroy himself. That’s all I can hope for, because he hasn’t listened to me thus far.

I swallow imaginary glass.

if the boy you love destroys himself to stop his sister because you gave her the Bone Tree—