Send Me Their Souls (Bring Me Their Hearts #3) - Sara Wolf Page 0,117

not.”

Malachite’s face goes even whiter, the cargo bay’s shadows clawing at his cheekbones. The silence between us is filled by the creaks and groans of the ship, the pressure of the ocean bearing down like iron. Lucien looks somberly at the matronic. Yorl studies his claws with a frown, and Fione gazes at a far crate with hard eyes. Malachite looks sick at his own thoughts. I clench my fist.

“What if we lure her?” I ask. Fione’s the first to snap her gaze to me.

“With your dream?”

“She’s been following your dreams,” Lucien murmurs.

“Yeah.” I nod. “If we get to Pala Orias first, and then I dream, she’ll track it, and skip over Pala Amna to come right for us.”

“She might. Or she might raze Pala Amna on the way down,” Yorl murmurs behind his paw.

“She’d want to keep the bulk of her forces for us, though, right?” Malachite asks, hope creeping back into his voice.

“She could split the horde,” Lucien offers. “Most of it for Pala Amna, the rest for us. We’re just five people. Logically, a handful of valkerax would be enough.”

“But she’s not operating by logic anymore,” I blurt. “She’s being consumed by the Tree.” I see Fione flinch, but I barrel forward. “The Tree’s dominating more and more of her thoughts as time goes on. And all it wants to do is destroy. Except, that moment at the Black Archives where all the valkerax went still—I think I might’ve done that.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide, Malachite’s just narrowing.

“You?” Yorl blinks. “How?”

“I was—” I swallow. “I told it I was sorry. Sorry it had been alone for so long. And it seemed so…shocked. Shocked someone like me would apologize. That anyone would apologize. I think that’s what made it—and all the valkerax—freeze up. It was confused. Or sad. I dunno. But it worked, right?”

“You think you can do it again?” Lucien squeezes my hand.

“Maybe.” I grin grimly at him. “If I can make it sad, I think I can make it mad. And if I make it mad enough, Varia will ignore everyone else and come right for us.”

“If we can go to the ancestor council and get their help, we can mount a defense before Varia gets there,” Malachite says. “Lay a trap for her in Pala Orias.”

“Lure her, and trap her there so that we split the First Root,” Fione says and looks to Lucien. “Can you do that?”

Lucien shrugs. “I won’t know until I’m there, feeling its magic. There’s a good chance the Old Vetrisian witches split it with a combine weave.”

“Translation?” Malachite drawls.

“More than one witch,” Yorl clarifies, “pouring magic into the same spell.”

“It’s what you’re supposed to do for teleports, too.” I look pointedly at Lucien, and he flushes and scowls.

“Regardless.” He assumes a princely tone. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

“You’re not going to kill yourself doing it,” I snap.

His chuckle is gentle. “Not planning to, heart.”

The nickname melts me like hot honey over cream, but I won’t let it distract me. I hold his gaze stubbornly.

“We can send for help,” Fione says, looking to me. “Nightsinger would help, wouldn’t she?”

“We can’t trust any of the Windonhigh witches,” Lucien says. “You saw them—they don’t want things to change. They want their Glass Tree and their Heartless to defend against outsiders. If they find out we’re going to weaken the Glass Tree, they won’t be keen on helping us.”

I feel a sting in my unheart. “But Nightsinger might. She’d want to help me—”

“We can’t take the risk.” Lucien looks to me. “You understand, right?”

I breathe in shakily and nod. Lucien strokes his thumb over mine, as if trying to comfort me. He’s right. We have to do it before any interested party can find out and try to stop us. Nightsinger’s and Lucien’s combined magic would have better odds at splitting the First Root, and Lucien wouldn’t have to lose himself over it, or worse—die. But he won’t die. He won’t need to split the First Root on his own. They think that’s how it will go, how it must go. But it won’t.

They have to live. All of them. They have to live, and the world has to change.

The Tree has to be put back together.

the wolf will eat the world, the hunger hisses.

Yorl’s stomach gurgles just at that moment, a welcome reprieve of levity as Malachite snickers and Yorl’s ochre face tints darker with his blush.

“All right, enough serious talk.” I grin. “Can’t plan strategy without something to eat, now, can