Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T he makeshift bed on the floor was gone when I woke the next morning, blankets folded and neatly placed on the chest they'd come from. When I shrugged my way out of the covers, I saw Grimm had his travel bag open, contents spread out on the rug.

"I'm compiling a list of things we should beg off of Sybilla," he said. "We'll need paper and ink, and a sword for you if she's got it. And food. We should also write out whatever spells we anticipate needing before we leave."

"Leave?" I echoed.

"There seems little point in staying now. Sybilla won't rewrite the counterspell unless…" I tensed, waiting for Grimm to suggest I write the counterspell as a song again, but he only shook his head slightly and said, "The trials are soon, anyway."

I flopped back onto the bed in despair and lay there while Grimm repacked his bag. His words from the night before worried at me.

Was it really possible the flaw in my scriving was as simple as he said? If that were the case, it made my refusal to cooperate seem silly. I should just do as Sybilla suggested and put her words to music. I could return to Miendor victorious, not only with the love spell lifted but as a transformed man. One whose magic wasn't fractured.

"I can't write the counterspell," I said, speaking to Grimm but addressing the ceiling above me. "I just can't."

Won't , a little voice inside my head whispered.

"I didn't ask you to," Grimm said. "We should go down for breakfast. I still have a few finishing touches to put on Sybilla's barrier spell before we go, and I'd like to get an early start."

I left off my sulking to follow Grimm to the morning parlor, since the alternative of waiting until he got far enough away that I was compelled to leave was not appealing.

That was another thing bothering me. Grimm knew to keep fairly close, but he didn't know how badly the curse had started to chafe even if he was just out of sight. He certainly didn't know about the other ways in which it had progressed. How would I survive back at the Fount, where we were always expected to be in different places? Worse, eventually he would notice the shift in my feelings toward him, and then we would have to have a terribly awkward conversation.

Or you could try to write the counterspell right now and be done with all of this , the little voice suggested.

My mood was very sour by the time we entered the morning parlor. Sybilla waited for us there, dressed in stunning blue velvet, teacup balanced on her lap. I froze halfway through the door, remembering that the last time she'd seen me, I had announced myself a killer and then fled the tower. That seemed the sort of thing that most people would want an explanation for.

Sybilla smiled at me. "You look chipper, Leo. Did you sleep well?"

I relaxed slightly and stepped fully into the room. "Well enough." I carefully avoided looking at Grimm. The sleep had been much needed, and I wasn't sorry I'd asked, but it made me shudder a little, to think of how thoroughly under Grimm's power I'd fallen.

The cozy parlor felt very at odds with both my mood and the state of things, with its soothing, soft green walls and the smell of tea and blackberry jam wafting appealingly through the air. I settled into one of the plush chairs, grabbed a piece of buttered toast, and then said to Sybilla, "So Grimm here thinks the reason my Grandmagic spells backfire is because I've got a guilty conscience that insists on my eternal suffering. What do you think?"

I took a bite of the toast and raised my eyebrows at her inquiringly as I chewed.

"I don't believe those were my exact words," Grimm said, after a long pause.

I waved my toast at him. "I'm paraphrasing your sentiment."

Sybilla sipped her tea calmly, then set the cup back in its saucer. "It's a good hypothesis."

"Can you fix it?"

She looked at me levelly. "My dear, you already know the answer. Only you can fix this, if indeed it's something that needs fixing at all. Weren't you just recently telling me how well suited you were to small magics? If that's what makes you happy…"

"None of this makes me happy." I flung my toast back on the plate. "How can I stop doing something that I don't even know I'm doing in the first place? It's not like I'm sabotaging myself on purpose. The feelings are just there ."

They took up so much space inside of me that it was sometimes hard to find room for anything else. If I could have, I would have drawn them from my body, the same way Grimm had drawn silver rot from that field, and poured them into a stone or a piece of glass. Something I could pick up and hold when I had the strength, worrying away at the edges until they were worn down to something smooth and manageable.

But I couldn't. They were mine. Too tangled up in what I had become to ever be extricated. Feelings were a curse in that way.

I sat bolt upright in my chair. "I have an idea."

"For what?" Grimm asked, sounding deeply apprehensive.

There was no trick to removing the broken parts of myself. They could only be lived with, not dismantled. But the love spell was different. It was magic, other, just as the silver rot living in the soil had been.

"What if we don't need to destroy the curse? What if we just need to move it?"

Sybilla flat-out refused to let us try siphoning the curse from my body and into any of her possessions.

"You know how magic eats through too-small containers," she said reprovingly. "I don't have anything that could hold Grandmagic long enough for it to be useful to us. Whatever I gave you would be ruined, and for what?"

This was hard to argue with. If spells were easy to bottle up inside any old thing, everyone would have a cupboard at home full of them. To store a spell, you needed an object of equal magical weight: scales or claws, feathers and teeth, anything that came from a particularly powerful monster. Those were the sorts of things strong enough to hold a Grandmagic spell, but they were so hard to get your hands on that hardly anyone bothered. Once you released the bound spell, the object would go up in smoke just like a piece of spell paper. One-time use. Not a good investment. Unless, like me, you only needed to use it once.

"I think your idea is interesting, Leo," Sybilla said, "but I'm not a collector. I don't have a spare dragon scale lying around for us to use."

"No matter," I said, waving a dismissive hand. "We don't need something that can actually hold the curse for long right now. This is just the test." I had an idea where we could get an item like that when the time came, but it wasn't a very good idea, and Grimm was going to hate it, so I wasn't about to bring it up until the last possible minute. For now, I just needed to prove the curse could be moved at all, even if we didn't have anything strong enough to ensure it stayed put.

Which was how I found myself emptying the pockets of my sorcerer's coat and laying it at Grimm's feet. It was by no means a powerful object, but it was made with spider silk, which I thought was significantly magical enough for my purposes.

We'd come back down to the ground floor so that Grimm could cast. The furniture was still all pushed back from our unsuccessful attempt the day before, and he eyed my coat doubtfully.

"The counterspell tried to destroy you right along with the curse," he said, sounding very dubious about the whole thing. "How is this any different?"

"Because we're not trying to destroy it at all, just transplant it, like we moved the silver rot from soil to sunflower. All those little curse roots, wrapped around my mind and vital organs, they just need something new to cling to. Then we can destroy it. Once it's safely stored inside a chimera claw or whatever, instead of me, we can cast the counterspell without my insides being rearranged. It's very clever, if I do say so myself."

I picked up my bow with a flourish, pleased. This was much less risky than experimenting with Grandmagic. I didn't care that Sybilla looked skeptical, or that Grimm was reluctant. This was a solution I could control.

It didn't take me long to adapt the spellsong that we'd sung in the field for our purposes. I ran through the new words once or twice, then looked expectantly at Grimm, eager to get on with things.

He looked at me and said sternly, "Please tell me if this causes symptoms that are similar to the counterspell in any way. Preferably before you start bleeding from your ears this time." Then he began to sing.

Beaugard had been idly observing our preparations from a spot by Sybilla's feet, but as soon as the spellsong was cast, he rose onto his haunches, ears pricked, watching us with the same focus that the little monsters who'd listened to our message casting had. He whined, low in his throat, then he threw his head back and howled. Grimm's eyes widened in surprise, but his voice didn't falter. Beau's accompaniment, oddly in tune, lent a sharp and eerie quality to the spellsong that our other attempts had lacked. The hum of magic increased.

I watched the coat where it lay on the ground, but it was hard to tell if anything was happening. The curse wasn't visible, after all, unlike the silver rot. By the time Grimm finally stopped singing, my sorcerer's coat appeared just as it always had. Beau offered one last howl and then fell quiet as well.

Did I feel any different? I lowered my violin, scanning myself for signs of a change. Nothing had hurt while the spell was being cast, and nothing felt any different now. But it had already been clearly established that I was not the most reliable source when it came to parsing such things.

"Try telling me to do something," I suggested, but before I could even finish speaking, my coat fell to pieces in front of us.

It went fast, all the thread practically leaping out of its seams, followed by the unraveling of fabric, until every bit of black cloth (and every spell that had been woven into it) was completely ruined and lying in a heap on the floor. And then, just to top things off, the sad pile of scraps began to smoke. A little lick of flame appeared and quickly grew.

As soon as the fire caught, my body was suffused with a familiar warmth. I hadn't felt the curse leave, but I knew enough now to recognize the signs of its return, racing through my veins like liquid sunlight. I coughed, more from the fire in my chest than the one Sybilla and Grimm were currently stamping out on the floor.

Once it was out, the three of us looked at one another.

"It worked," I said. "I'm sure of it. And I didn't feel a thing until it came back. No pain like there was with the counterspell. Not even a pinprick."

"That's all well and good," Sybilla said, pursing her lips thoughtfully, "but what will you use for a vessel? You've just seen that it won't be held by anything so trivial as spider silk. Even if we sacrificed another coat to the cause, you wouldn't have time to cast the counterspell before it went up in smoke and the curse hopped back to you."

This brought us to my second idea. The bad one. This topic would have to be broached delicately. In fact, it would be best if I wasn't the one to bring it up at all.

I looked at Sybilla hopefully. "Are you certain you don't have anything hidden away? The Unquiet Wood is full of monsters, and you've lived here for years. Surely you have some sort of collection after all this time?"

"I don't go poking around in the trees," Sybilla said firmly. "I have a good sense of self-preservation, unlike some people, which is how I've managed to live here as long as I have. I stay within my tower or travel with Beau for protection."

"But you must at least have some idea where Grimm and I could find one."

"Not the foggiest. You can't expect the type of thing you're looking for to be found lying willy-nilly on the forest floor. It takes time and dedication to uncover the secrets and treasures hidden in these trees, as well as a good bit of skill. The two of you aren't—" Sybilla stopped and looked at me sharply. "Oh, you clever thing," she said, under her breath so that I was the only one to hear.

"We're not what?" I asked, all innocence.

"Foragers," Sybilla said. "The two of you are not foragers."

"No," I said, appearing to give this some thought. Then, very slowly, feigning reluctance, I said, "We do know some foragers though."

Grimm's posture grew absolutely rigid. "They are outlaws, not foragers."

"Come now, they can be both," I said, then winced at how this only made his expression grow darker. "They have a griffin feather, Grimm. Jayne said as much. That's exactly the sort of item that would be powerful enough to hold the curse. We need to try."

"They nearly killed us," he spat. "Are you really suggesting that they would hand over what you want because you, what? Ask nicely for it?"

"Not at all! We can pay them for it. Remember, they weren't trying to kill me at all. They needed me to write spells for them. We know what they want and can use it to make a deal. It's not so different from the trade you've made with Sybilla," I said, pleased with what I thought a quite apt comparison.

"It's entirely different." Grimm stood up. His frustration was a palpable thing, gathering in the air like a storm cloud and threatening to blot out the parlor's cheerful ambience. "These people broke their oaths to the Coterie. They stole from the Fount. If we make a deal with them, we're no better. Who knows what damage they might cause with the spells you could give them."

"Oh, spare me your moral grandstanding," I snapped, the edges of my own patience beginning to fray. "They're hiding in the woods foraging for scraps, not planning another heist. The outlaws didn't try to kidnap us because they're villainous masterminds. They did it because they were desperate. We have that in common, and we can use it to our advantage."

This was entirely the wrong thing to say, and I knew it as soon as the words left my mouth. It was too outrageous. Too self-serving. Too much of everything that had always made Grimm dislike me. I had expected the danger involved in my plan to be the biggest point of contention, but I had overlooked this more obvious barrier, the thing that always put us at odds: Grimm abhorred a rule breaker. He had principles. He saw the world in black and white, conveniently disdaining anything that fell into an area of gray.

Grimm tilted his chin up and stared down his nose at me, eyes cold. "You might be desperate enough to stoop to their level, but I am not. I will not be complicit in such a plan."

Before I could say anything else, he stormed out of the tower in a flurry of dark coat and offended dignity. The door slammed shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, a hollow ache spread through my rib cage, pulsing in time with the beating of my heart.

I sighed and threw myself onto one of the sofas, staring gloomily at the shut door. "That went about as well as trying to give a cat a bath. How long do you think I should give him to brood before trying to talk him round?"

Sybilla sat down opposite me, folded her hands primly in her lap, and said, "I think you're being a little unfair, Leo."

"Me?" I said, outraged. "The curse is getting stronger by the hour. He hasn't been gone from this room a full minute yet and I already feel like a prize fish fighting against someone's line. And when he is in front of me, I'm not sure if I want to kiss him, or kill him, or just go someplace very quiet with him and ask if I could be allowed to pet his stupid, lovely hair. It's awful, Sybilla! Awful! And now I've come up with a brilliant solution to all our problems and he won't even pretend to consider it. He's the one being unfair."

If Sybilla was impressed in the slightest by my outburst, she didn't show it. "You should tell him the curse is getting stronger. How can you expect him to make the right decision when he doesn't have all the information?"

This was a very reasonable thing to point out. It was also not even a little bit what I wanted to hear. I shot Sybilla my most aggrieved look so she would know how betrayed I felt. Then, as she had probably known would happen, I got up and went after Grimm.

I expected to find him taking out his frustration by casting the rest of Sybilla's barrier, but instead the insistent tug of the curse led me around the eastern side of the tower, where I spotted him standing in a patch of sun, hands empty of spells. His expression was still thunderous and only grew more so as I approached.

I leaned my back against the sun-warmed stone of the tower beside Grimm and let him glower at me while I thought of what to say. It was rare that I needed such a pause, but I found that every persuasive argument I'd silently rehearsed on my way here had evaporated from my mind. The only thing left was Sybilla's voice in my mind saying, You should tell him .

Never mind, I decided. I didn't need rehearsal to argue with Grimm. I was naturally gifted in that arena.

"You wouldn't have to get your hands dirty, you know," I said, breaking the silence. "I would be the one writing the spells for them. It would be my crime; you just have to be… nearby."

Grimm rounded on me, eyes flashing. "How will that work, exactly, when you can barely remember a basic heating charm? There's no way your little plan works without me whispering the words you need in your ear, just like there's no way any of your plans so far could have functioned without me. But this is where I draw the line. I won't work with oath breakers."

The thought of Grimm whispering anything in my ear was mildly distracting, but the accusation that I needed him was too vexing for me to be diverted.

"I function just fine on my own," I snapped. "Or at least I did, until you cursed me. I don't think it's so terribly unreasonable that you learn to compromise for the sake of its removal. Why must you be so unyielding about this?"

"All I have done for weeks is yield!" Grimm did not shout, but there was something wild in his voice. As though his restraint was worn down to its last threads. We were within striking distance, I noted with a thrill, and Grimm's hands were already clenched into fists.

"I have gone along with every one of your ridiculous ideas, Loveage. I let you convince me to cross into the Wilderlands, even though I knew, I knew it would be dangerous. I thought hiring Jayne was a bad idea, but I went along with that too, and didn't even rub your face in it when she turned on us. Every day spent in this tower, indulging Sybilla's whims, has inched us closer to missing the trials, but I agreed to stay because you insisted she was our only chance at lifting the curse. But none of your plans have worked, Loveage! And this one is beyond my forbearance. I will not align myself with criminals. If that makes me unyielding, so be it."

"Poor Grimm," I sneered, pushing off the tower to stand in front of him, so that I could watch each of my words land. "How difficult it must have been for you, not being able to just follow the Fount's rules and instead having to follow me, with all my flaws. It makes sense why you want to join the Coterie—you'd much rather be told what to do, what to say, how to be good, rather than acknowledge that real life is full of imperfect decisions and mistakes with no lessons at the end of them. It's disappointing. I'd nearly forgotten how dull you can be."

Something flashed across Grimm's face. Some flicker of emotion other than anger. But it was gone too quickly to be named.

"I would rather be considered dull than reckless," he said.

"Well, I'd rather be considered reckless than spend the rest of my life cursed!"

"You're being overdramatic."

"I'm not!"

"You are. Why can't you just summon a speck of patience and come up with a different solution, rather than throw us into another impossible situation?"

"Because of this, you idiot!" I shouted, and then I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

I've often thought that kissing is a little like composing a spell. There are certain components that simply must be considered, and behind all of that, an unmistakable intent. But this was a different kind of magic altogether. The unthought-of, unlooked-for kind that swept over you in a rush, uncontrollable.

Grimm let out a muffled noise of surprise as our faces crowded together, and I had just enough presence of mind to catch the back of his head so it didn't hit the stone of the tower. My other hand twisted in his coat, holding on. I tilted my head and let our lips press unerringly together and thought, There will be no recovering from this .

My fingers slid down to rest on the back of Grimm's neck and he went completely still, except for the rabbit-fast pounding of his pulse under my thumb. It was too much for a first, I knew that, but we had never been anything but too much for each other. It was fitting then, that there was no poetry to the rough press of our mouths, just an outpouring of answers.

I drew back, resting my forehead against Grimm's, eyes screwed shut as I spoke.

"Do you know, I think this love spell is a little bit like being wounded, only spread out over days. Each morning I wake up and it's a little worse. It's happening so slowly that sometimes I forget and it doesn't even feel like a curse at all."

Dropping my hands, I moved back, putting a proper amount of space between us. Only then did I dare open my eyes.

Grimm looked stricken. As though I had stabbed him in the stomach instead of kissing him. His eyes were very dark.

"How long has it been like this?" he asked.

"Not long. I didn't lie to you before, you know. I really didn't notice to begin with. But it's getting worse. All of it. Every time you're out of sight now it feels like my nerves are on fire. I'm afraid it will be even worse by the time we're back at the Fount. That's why I wanted to go to the outlaws. I'm afraid that if we wait…" I was afraid that if we waited, I wouldn't want to fix this at all. That the last line of the curse would take effect and I would lose myself. "It will be too late," I finished.

Grimm was quiet, taking all of this in as he stared at the empty patch of grass between our feet. I wondered if I should apologize for the kiss, or if that would only make things worse.

"All right," Grimm said.

"All right, what?"

"We will get what we need for the spellsong."

"From the outlaws?" I asked, just to be certain.

Grimm nodded, looking deeply unhappy about it. Or perhaps just unhappy about everything that had happened in the past five minutes or so. "The curse cannot be allowed to worsen."

Something within me twinged, a discordant note. Between the thought of dealing with Jayne and risking my affection, Grimm would choose Jayne. It was hilarious, in the most unflattering sense, which was why my chest must have ached. From all the withheld laughter.

"Oh, Grimm," I said, curling my lips in a smile. "Who knew your mind would be so easily changed by a kiss? This is a method I obviously should have employed before."

"Your explanation changed my mind," Grimm said. "Not your—" He faltered.

"Mouth?" I suggested.

"Actions!" His face was pale as ever, but the tips of his ears were crimson. "If you'd just told me in the first place, there would have been no need to waste time with such dramatics."

"Ah, but you know me." I raised my hands, clasping them to my chest. "I'm a dramatic creature. I always find a way. And now that the air is clearer, hearts lightened, illusions shattered, et cetera, we can focus on what must be done without distraction. I feel better, don't you feel better?"

Grimm looked at me. The same searching look he'd turned on me before granting my wish for sleep. He sought to find hidden meaning to my words splashed across my face, but whatever he found there did not seem to provide any answers.

"I feel tired," he said shortly. Then he turned his back on me and began to walk in the direction of the tower door. "Let's get this over with," I heard him mutter before he disappeared from sight.