Chapter 42

The first thingI notice is the sweet, familiar fragrance clinging to my nostrils. Soft grass tickles my skin.

Then comes the pain. Everything hurts, from the top of my head to the middle of my torso, where all sensation cuts off. I glance down and see my legs: limp and motionless, caked with blood.

Aurora and I are within the walls that have closed behind us with Evan's body. Translucent figures crowd around us, curious. Apparently, I've lived to fail another day. Conveniently, at least if I die now, I'm already in a graveyard.

"I can't stay here with you," I say to the phantom Tyler and the other figures, though it's clear I'm going nowhere fast with my legs paralyzed.

The figures converse in their strange non-language and my head fills with their humming as they form a circle that encloses me. Then, each figure drops into the earth and a towering stalk of salttain rises in its place.

I'm overwhelmed by the beauty of the gesture as the stalks bend and drop a measure of blossoms until I'm covered in them, as if dusted by snowflakes.

"Thank you," I say.

The plants lean in, this time dripping sticky nectar over the layer of white petals. The stalks sprout dozens of hair-like tendrils that snake toward me and wrap my body in a fibrous cocoon, leaving only my head and feet exposed. They do the same for Aurora.

* * *

I jerkawake and find myself sprawled on the moist grass, the Garden's soft hues suffused with dewy light. My toes tingle and I wiggle them. I'm healed.

Carefully, I get to my feet. The phantom figures are gone. Other than the small birds and butterflies that flit from bloom to bloom, the Garden is silent and still.

And there's Aurora—restored to health. We embrace, then gather berries and nuts and fold them into a large bundle tied with vines. My eyes are dry as we gather flowers and lay them over Evan's body. We'll need to return to properly bury him, but for now, this show of respect will have to do.

The walls part for us, and we walk out together. Only after we're standing on the rocky spine overlooking the Garden, a bundle of salttain lashed across each of our backs, do the tears come. Aurora's face is wet, too.

I still don't have the heart to tell her about Tyler. I'm not sure she even knows the truth about Evan. Hopefully, one day, I'll get the chance.

"I really need you to go back to your house and check on my father," I say.

Aurora frowns. "I have to go with you to Liam first, then find my mother."

"It's better to separate. At least one of us will have a chance."

Aurora's nostrils flare, but then her face softens. "I didn't trust you when you got here. Neither did Liam. But you're one of us, Sister." She pulls me toward her, and we hug—hard. Then she presses a quantity of tight orange buds into my hand.

"I nabbed some of these little wonders in the Garden. They're fireblooms," she says. Squeezing one of the tiny buds between her thumb and forefinger until it ignites, she flicks the little flame to the ground, then stamps it out. I watch her and wonder if she has the same gift for plants as Liam does—or if that's his own unique ability.

"They burn for hours," Aurora says. "But won't burn you. I figured you'd need them when you find Liam, to see what you're doing—and to heal him."

I pull her into another hug. "Thank you." Along with my supply of seed pods filled with water, berries, and the salttain, I'm as well-equipped as any shaman.

Aurora nods, scoops Wade's long knife from the pile of his ashes, and strides off down the ridge, leaving me alone.

I walk on a bit, until I sense the thinnest tendrils of Liam's root system. The pulse it emits is weak and sporadic. I'm afraid to consider what this means. What if Liam was wrong about not being able to die? What if it was all a lie perpetrated by Randy to make him take risks he never would have otherwise?

Anger and urgency quicken my steps. I don't question the ominous peace that allows my safe return. All I can focus on is Liam, suffering and buried alive.

After a long, dismal hike, just as the setting sun teeters on the lip of the ocean, I reach the rockfall where we left him, the ground pitted and crumbling.

Carefully, I shimmy inside the narrow passage, terrified by the silence. Creeping closer, I follow the vibrations until I hear his soft guttural breaths. I crush a firebloom bud between my thumb and forefinger. It flares to life in a blaze of orange, illuminating the hollowed-out area in warm amber light.

I cry out when the light finds Liam. His chest slick with sweat, he's sprawled on his back atop a pile of stones and dirt., one leg crushed beneath a massive boulder.

"Liam?" When there's no response, I crawl closer and ignite another firebloom. From what I can tell, miraculously, there's no further sign of injury except a strange discoloration around one eye. But there's something odd about the way his hands rest at his sides, stiff and splayed open, palms facing down.

I lean in for a closer look and gasp. Thin tendrils sprout from under his fingernails, cling to the cave floor, and climb the rock walls in an intricate network of vines. As horrifying as that is, it's the condition of his hands that truly terrifies me. Rigid and skeletal, Liam's fingers have transformed into spindly twigs, identical to the imagery from the cover of one of Aunt Millie's leatherbound journals. Identical to her.

Sweat beading my brow, I hold back the urge to scream and try to dispassionately assess the situation. Other than his bruised eye, Liam's face is unmarred and beautiful as ever. I push back the sweat-damp hair from his brow and jerk back. The sleek black waves have taken on the rough texture of roots.

But there's no time for revulsion. Or hesitation. Fueled by a rush of adrenaline, I spring into action and start digging. Even though I'm not sure if the salttain will help the disfigurement of his hands, I've got to free his shattered leg from under the rock before I can begin the healing.

By the dim light of the fireblooms, I dig and yank at the rock that entraps him for hours, careful not to break his brittle, branch-like fingers. Finally, my hands bloodied from digging and caked with filth, I free his leg from the rock and my heart sinks at the sight. The tissue has been mangled, the bones like bits of broken china. And he still hasn't stirred.

I don't dare try to pull him out of this cave, not with his hands affixed to the soil. Instead, I pound the salttain between some rocks, cover his destroyed leg with a thick layer of paste, and place little mounds of poultice around his body. Lighting the mounds with a firebloom, I'm careful to keep the flames away from his twiglike hands lest they catch fire as well. I can't risk depleting myself by doing a full healing. That will have to wait.

Relief floods me when the sweet fumes fill the space. An eternity later, I startle at the gleam of silver that peers at me through one half-slitted eye. Liam's breathing is steady, but his voice is little more than a gravelly rasp.

"Either you came back," he says, "or I'm hallucinating."

"You know how stubborn I am," I say, smiling. Unpacking the supplies from their wrappings, I tip a water-filled pod to his cracked lips. "Sip slowly."

He doesn't reach for the pod. The roots that grew from his fingers have shriveled and died, but his hands, though they no longer look like gnarled twigs, are stiff and motionless by his sides.

I tip the leaf to Liam's mouth and he sips the water greedily. "Thank you." He cranes his neck to look at his salttain-caked leg with one bloodshot eye. "You found some."

"A gift from the Garden."

"You have to help me go to Lila. They have her, Rosalie."

"I know. But Liam, your leg's been smashed. Your hands are—Liam, your hands are turning into tree branches! Like Aunt Millie!"

Liam lies back and huffs out a mirthless laugh. "Elemental transmogrification. A souvenir from the Originals. All of us descendants have the ability. You can probably do it, too."

I frown. "Why would I want to? Were you doing the same thing Aunt Millie did—turning yourself into a tree? Is it reversible, or is this the same horrible thing that Evan…?" I stop myself before I complete the sentence with had.

He squints one silver eye, a half-smile quirking through his obvious pain. "It can be undone. But only by the sea."

"What do you mean? This salttain turned you back from a tree to a person."

"It's only temporary. Like with Evan, it will return. The sea will reverse it for me because of my curse. It's permanent for those of the Hand that trigger it. And lethal to Outsiders who are afflicted. Randy couldn't curse all of us, but he could kill Evan slowly and make me watch."

"Oh, god," I say, stunned. "That bastard. But what if I didn't get here in time?"

"But you did." Pausing to pull in a ragged breath, Liam gazes down at his stiffened hands. "These will be useless for a while." He opens his closed eye. "And this will need more time to recover."

I gasp. His left eye is a silver-white orb, as opaque as a marble statue's. "Oh Liam. Can you…"

"See out of it? It's stone," he says, smiling. "That's why I kept this other one for last—so I could see you when you came back. If you came back. And you did."

I shake my head. "You are a complete mess. You almost turned yourself into a chunk of wood."

"I wouldn't be the first. But it's nothing a long swim can't fix. You look like hell yourself, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Why, thank you. Your honesty is refreshing. Thing is, I'm not sure if I can drag you out onto the beach and into the water unless I can mend your leg. How does it feel?"

"Hurts like a bitch," he says, flinching, consumed by what must be a wave of ferocious pain.

I peel back the shell of hardened salttain from his leg. The skin is a lumpy, yellowish purple, the torn tissue having knitted itself back together. But the bones within look misshapen and mismatched.

"You'll need another dose of salttain."

"For me, the ocean is a better option. But, Rosalie," he says, both eyes flashing open. "You never said if you found Evan."

"I didn't," I lie. "I'm sorry." There's no way he can absorb any more terrible news.

I turn away before he can see my tears. I almost lost him. I may still lose him. I lean in close, his briny scent of sea and sweat mingling with the sweet smoke of the salttain, and brush back a curl of silky black hair, relieved it no longer feels like dried roots.

He smiles, one eye smoldering silver, the other iridescent as an opal. "I'd give anything to touch you right now."

That's when the rock above us creaks and a spray of dirt rains down on us.

"We have to get out of this cave," I say. "Now. If you can't crawl on your own, I'll have to drag you out."

"My hands are useless," he says. "My leg hurts like hell, but maybe it's a little better."

His leg has healed somewhat, but not enough to bear weight. With effort, by hooking him under the arms, I drag him out of the cave. Finally, we're outside on the sand, the beach glittering in the morning sun.

"Bring me to the water," he says, "Then leave. You can't follow me where I'm going. But there's something else you need to know, something I've withheld—for your safety."

"I'll make the decision to leave myself, thank you."

"Please quit arguing. And get me to the water."

It takes all my strength to drag his dead weight across the sand, to the water's edge. I crouch beside him, committing his features to memory. Even through the destruction to his body, the real Liam shines through. This is the boy I love—not the Siren. Just him.

Liam smiles up at me. "Rosalie. I-I want you to know that the first minute I saw you on that dock—I was struck. It was like playing with fire. And you were the flame. And then…" he stops, squeezing his good eye closed. "I tried to be as much of an ass as I could—a natural talent, it seems—but my Siren's allure was working too well. It was so hard to push you away. I wish—I wish things could be different."

I squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head. I can't just let go. "It wasn't your ‘Siren's allure,' or whatever you want to call it. It was you. And I'm not going to roll you into the sea and walk away. I can get you to the Garden. Break this curse and then we can be together."

He shakes his head. "We had our time. You need to do what you were brought here to do…save this island. Save our people."

"You have to fight! You can't just give up."

"I'm not giving up on you, Rosalie Gatell." Liam leans over on an elbow and wraps a stiff-handed arm around me, drawing my lips to his.

"Hands free," he murmurs, and we kiss, long and slow, until the heat rises in me again. I ignore the humming sound that suddenly fills my ears, getting louder and louder by the moment. I don't care if the entire island disintegrates around us if I can die with Liam's lips on mine.

But he pulls away and murmurs in my ear. "There's one other thing I wanted to tell you…the nuclear option."

"Nuclear option?" I say, struggling to catch my breath.

We're interrupted by the blare of a voice amplified by a loudspeaker.

"Forbidden love. So very poignant." A voice booms from the helicopter that has just set down on the beach—the source of the humming sound. In moments, Liam and I are surrounded by a dozen uniformed men with guns. Godwin Sampling swaggers toward us.

"Good morning. Captain Sampling of the United States Coast Guard for the archipelago. In the current absence of Council governance, The High Magistrate, Randall Lambert, has deputized me to police the island. We follow the People's Law here. Which means currently, I am law. You, Liam Charles O'Donnell, have violated the terms of your curse, with this individual, Rosalie Abigail Gatell." His portly frame swivels toward me. "Step away from the suspect, Miss Gatell."

I ignore him and try to heave Liam into the water, but we're too far and he's too heavy.

"On your feet, Mr. O'Donnell," Sampling's amplified voice booms, "to hear the pronouncement of your crime."

I wedge myself between Liam and Sampling. "Even a moron like you can see he can't stand up."

"Use those wondrous powers of yours and get him up on his feet," Sampling barks.

"You're a real hero, Sampling," Liam says. "Your shining moment has arrived at last."

"Council doctrine states that you must stand for your sentencing!"

"Council doctrine, my left ass cheek. When did you and your lot ever care about that? Randy turned half of the Regional Elders into a pile of ashes. He's making up the rules as he goes. But if you want me to stand," he says, "you'll have to give me a few minutes."

"Liam," I plead. "Don't."

"Do as I say!" Sampling shouts.

"Help me up, Rosalie," Liam whispers, and, bracing him against me, I manage to help him unsteadily to his feet. "I don't regret the time we had," he says into my ear.

"I don't either," I say, swallowing down a sob.

"You have been caught in the act of a severe transgression, Liam O'Donnell. The punishment for breaking the constraints of your curse is death for all violators who are of the Hand. It would be Magistrate Lambert's dearest wish to sentence you to death as well, Mr. O'Donnell, but the curse is unbreakable."

"What are you talking about, Sampling? You're full of crap. You can't do this. Rosalie isn't a full member of the Hand yet. The Council ruled she has a month probation period," Liam counters, his weight bolstered against me. "Which means she's not bound by our laws."

"As you pointed out, the Council is dead. High Magistrate Lambert alone determines your fates," Sampling says, then points a thick finger at me. "However, you, Rosalie Abigail Gatell, are a special case. High Magistrate Lambert requests a hearing to determine your sentence. You who cannot die," he says, turning to Liam, "will face the ultimate punishment for your kind. Your human skin will be damaged beyond repair. You will spend the rest of eternity consigned to the sea."

I hold tight to keep Liam from falling but feel as though I may keel over myself.

"I'm impressed," says Liam, somehow maintaining his composure, "that after all this time, you guys finally figured out how to get rid of me. You've had enough practice."

"That's enough of your insubordination, Mr. O'Donnell. You, Miss Gatell," Sampling says, pointing at me. "Will step away from the accused." To emphasize his command, the uniformed men train their guns on me.

"Just do it!" Liam says. "You heard him. As much as they'd like to, they can't kill me."

I fight the men and claw at Liam's ragged clothes as they try to drag me away, but it's no use. Liam topples onto the sand without me to keep him upright. Terrified, I reach for the force that incinerated Wade and find nothing but soft vibrations. The earth will not cooperate. It's as if all the nascent power of the island has been drained away.

One of the uniformed men produces a long, telescoping stake and stabs it into the ground. He yanks Liam back on his feet and binds him in a standing position with a length of rope. Liam doesn't struggle as the men spear the sand with their rifles and, instead of shooting him, pull long batons from their holsters.

Sampling sucks in his round belly and straightens. "Liam Charles O'Donnell, by order of the High Magistrate, your human skin will face obliteration by all means required and heretofore becomes the permanent property of the High Magistrate. You will be banished from land in your human form forever and always."

I clamp my hands to my mouth. I'm responsible for this. Liam knew all along the risks we faced. And now he's going to bear the brunt of it. As they bind him to the pole, his demeanor shifts from shock to desolation. "A minute?" he pleads, nearly in tears. "A final kiss—in case you need more evidence? You can allow us that, can't you?"

Sampling grunts and looks at his watch. "One minute," he says. The men keep their weapons pointed at us.

I rush to him and run shaking fingers through his filthy hair. "There's got to be something we can do. That I can do."

Liam smiles wearily, his one good eye slitted. He's got to be in so much pain. "Randy has been looking for a way to do me in since I was nine. Now, with most of the local Council reduced to ashes, he can do what he wants. But we've got one more card to play," he whispers. "Lean in close and kiss me."

His desperation, I realize, is a ruse. Beneath it is something much harder. Resolve.

I close my eyes and, letting the tears spill, press my lips to his. The pain of their sweetness flows like poison through my veins. How will I continue to breathe, knowing what I've lost?

Liam's kisses brush against my parted lips. "I wanted to tell you this earlier," he murmurs, "but it would have gotten me in a whole mess of trouble. But it doesn't matter now. There are sacred words of power I've known since I was little. We're forbidden to speak them. Lila said that I should only share them in an emergency—they're extremely dangerous to the untrained. They're the same words, spoken in a different order, that turned your Aunt Millie to wood. That I invoked to start the process myself."

"Whatever it takes," I choke out. "I don't care what happens to me if I can save you."

"You can't," Liam says. "But you can save the island."

"But—" I'm acutely aware of the passing seconds. Sampling clears his throat.

Liam flashes a grin. "Kiss me again. And make it a good one."

I lean forward and open my lips to his. Threading my hands through his hair, I push it back from his brow. We kiss gently, as if there's all the time in the world. I only pull back when he presses his lips to my ear.

"These words," he murmurs, "may or may not work with Randy stripping away all the island's energies." He pulls in a long breath and meets my gaze, his silver eye as dull as pewter. "You've got to say them in the right order—or things can go horribly wrong. Nizedha—control. Yunakti—connect." He pauses. "If I say them all at once it won't be pretty."

"I know those words. They were in one of Aunt Millie's stories. And murmured by the phantoms in the Garden. What do they mean?"

"...Invati—infuse. Vimukti—release. Dyati—bind. Hanti—destroy," he finishes.

"Ten seconds!" Sampling shouts.

"It doesn't matter," Liam says. "When the right time comes, you'll know what to do. And this isn't it. You only get one chance. Use it well."

"That's enough young love for today," Sampling snaps. "We can make his destruction quick or draw it out. Your choice."

Sampling's men wrench me away. Liam pins me with a weary single-eyed gaze. "Goodbye," he says. One corner of his mouth quirks up, a faint echo of his once-cheeky smile.

I stagger backward, air trapped in my lungs like I've forgotten how to breathe. Liam watches me, the lopsided grin frozen on his face. Memories of the night I first met him come at me like a winter gust, bringing images of the ocean breeze blowing through his black hair, his piercing storm-gray eyes. It hurts too much to remember. It hurts even more to let go.

"Stand down, Miss Gatell," Sampling says, almost gently. "You can watch, but you might prefer to look away."

When he gives the signal, a hood is lowered over Liam's head. I half-expect the men to point their rifles and riddle him with bullets, but instead, someone wrenches one arm behind my back and clamps a hand over my mouth. I can't even scream as I force myself to watch the others pummel him relentlessly with their batons. Liam doesn't utter a sound as the blows land on his head, back, legs, and arms. No matter how I struggle, I can't get free.

Liam said to wait to use the sacred words. If I'm to honor his, Evan's, and Tyler's sacrifices at the hands of this brutality, and one use is all I get to unleash whatever power the words contain—no matter how much it devastates me, I need to comply.

Finally, after a sadistic volley of blows, Liam's head droops. The men approach his slumped form and untie him. Liam crumples onto his side, curled in a fetal position on the sand.

Sampling curses as he storms behind his men to surround Liam. They rip off the hood. Bloody, his face almost unrecognizable, Liam is of course, still alive.

Liam spits out blood, laughs, then breaks into gurgling coughs. I'm not sure he can see out of his swollen, slitted eye. "Of course, you know…how this works, Sampling. No matter how hard you try, you still can't kill me."

My legs are liquid, the sick bubbling into my throat. Again, I struggle to get free, but my captor's hold on me is ironclad as I'm led to a dinghy anchored nearby.

"Take him to the water!" Sampling shouts, gesturing to his men.

Liam's out-of-focus gaze searches for mine as they lift his limp form and haul him to the water's edge.

"Remember," I swear I can hear him say. Or maybe it's just the wind off the waves.

Sampling's men yank Liam's arms over his head and bind his wrists with rope, then drag him out into the surf and push him under. I watch, the breath frozen in my chest, Aunt Millie's mysterious string of words echoing in my head. If this isn't the right time, then when is?

When the men shuffle back to shore and Liam doesn't surface, I stifle a sob as one of them ties the other end of the rope to the dinghy. I know what comes next as they gag me, bind my hands behind my back, and shove me into the craft.

There's no blindfold. They want me to see everything.

We tow a submerged Liam behind us a short distance and I recognize the rocky mound where Liam stores his seal skin.

Heat building in me, I'm broken by the skin's beauty, how it refracts the light of afternoon sun as Sampling unfurls it like a rug for sale at a street market.

If only I could incinerate my captors with a burst of flame from my palms. Even if I could, I still have no way to control it, or to keep from setting myself on fire as well.

Sampling hurls the precious skin into the sea. The ocean crackles and boils in a red froth as his men pull Liam's human skin from the water.

What's left of Liam's humanity appears to be little more than a bloody bit of fabric. Sample folds it with surprising care, hands it over to his men, then turns toward me and sneers. "Now blindfold her."

The last thing I see before the hood is pulled over my eyes is the crimson foam that floats on the surface of the water where I last laid eyes on the human form of Liam O'Donnell.