“Your Majesty,” Magalia said to Denan. “If I may be excused to see to Iniya and round up ice to pack the king’s body.” Netrish would be laid out on the dais for days so the populace could pay their respects.
It was strange, seeing someone besides his soldiers ask for his permission. But as king, he commanded all of them now.
King.
Light and ancestors, that made Larkin the queen. A queen with absolutely no power of her own. She and Denan had made plans for that to change when he took over the monarchy. Until it did, she was little more than a decoration for Denan’s arm and a mother to his children.
Denan motioned for Magalia to be excused.
“Send someone for Harben,” Larkin said. Her father would know what to do for Iniya.
Magalia nodded and hustled after the guard.
Denan started toward Sela, who waited for them at the base of the stairs that led into one of the upper boughs.
“What you did,” Denan said to Sela, “it was like the magic of old. Like what Larkin did.” When she’d created the weir that had saved his life. “Though the weave was different.”
“It’s called armor,” Sela said. “Only magic blades can pierce it—and only when it’s weakened.”
With magic like that, the wraiths wouldn’t stand a chance. “Why didn’t you tell us about it before?” Larkin asked. “We could have used it at the outset and avoided all this.” King Netrish would still be alive.
Sela watched her as if debating what to say. Finally, she sighed. “Come with me.” She started up the stairs.
Larkin made to follow her, but Denan stepped in front of her. “Go back to our hometree with the guards.”
Her brow furrowed. “What? Why? I’m better prepared for an assassin than you.” To prove her point, she flared her shield.
He stared at the bloody bandage wrapping her arm. “The assassin targeted you. Until we find him, you’re not safe.”
“It was just a stray bolt.”
He took hold of Larkin’s hand. “Little bird, don’t make me order you.”
She pulled her hand from his. “Try it.”
Larkin glared. He glared back. Neither budged.
Tam crossed the platform and approached warily. “The assassin is gone, Denan.” He held out a rope and pulley. “This was all we found.”
We failed, Larkin thought.
Denan turned the rope over in his hands. “He’s in the city.”
Mouth in a grim line, Tam nodded.
The White Tree was the safest place in the city now. Larkin shot him a look that dared him to try to stop her now and stepped past him with a huff. Grumbling, Denan started after her, Tam following.
Larkin hurried to catch up to Sela, sliding past the guards to walk beside her sister, who never acknowledged her presence. Not that Larkin blamed her.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Larkin said.
Sela nodded but didn’t say anything.
Larkin sighed. “You can release the armor now.”
Sela still didn’t say anything, but a glance back at Denan and Tam confirmed it was gone. They climbed until Larkin’s breath came short and her arm throbbed to the beating of her heart. Morning had given way to midday, the heat building like a miasma. Sweat ran down Larkin’s back into her dress, which clung to her; it was well and truly ruined.
Halfway up the White Tree’s branches, Sela motioned for the guards to wait behind and stepped onto a branch.
Tam mopped his brow. “Where is she going?”
Denan shrugged and stepped after her. Larkin exchanged an exasperated look with Tam before following. From here, they had a clear view of the city. Below, the sun reflected off the lake, making Larkin squint. The hometrees that ringed the White Tree didn’t so much as shift on a nonexistent breeze. A distant figure whooped and jumped from a lower bough, slicing into the cool water.
Obviously, word of the king’s death hadn’t yet spread.
They traveled along the branch until it bowed under their weight. Denan and Tam paused, uncertainly.
“Sela,” Larkin asked. “What are you trying to show us?”
After a few more steps, Sela finally paused. “Look down.”
Larkin followed her gaze. There was nothing beneath them but more branches and a twenty-plus-story drop.
“Ancestors save us.” Denan gazed at the branch itself.
What was he seeing that Larkin wasn’t? She bent down. The golden sheen at the edge of the bark was gone. The colors had stopped moving.
The entire branch was dead.
Tam gasped. Denan’s nostrils flared, his hands opened and closed. He was a man of action. But what action could he take against this?
Larkin looked between them. “Don’t branches die sometimes?” She knew the answer before she asked, but she needed to hear a different answer. Needed it desperately.
Denan shook his head.
Sela knelt, resting the flat of her hand against the deadwood. “The old enchantments take more magic than the White Tree has to give.”
Denan’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying this happened as a result of you armoring everyone?”
“The more magic I use,” Sela said, “the faster the White Tree will die.”
All this beauty—all this life—would be corrupted. Twisted to death and decay. This is why Sela hadn’t used the armor from the outset, but only as a matter of last resort. Larkin covered her mouth in horror.
Sela folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head. “The White Tree gave up so much trying to counter the curse. And now she’s old and weak. She can’t regenerate as she once could.”
Tam eased a little closer. “How much time do we have?”
Sela seemed to look inward. “A year. Maybe less.”
A year until the White Tree would be dead. “What about our magic?” It felt selfish to ask, but Larkin couldn’t lose her magic. She just couldn’t.
Sela lovingly stroked the bark. “Most of our sigils are saplings with their own consciousness. They will live on, as will the magic they’ve woven. But some—like the Arbor and monarch sigils—are grafts. They will diminish, become mere saplings again.”
Which meant Larkin and Denan would no longer be stronger than the others. Larkin rested a hand on one of the branches that spread across her shoulder. After this generation, there would be no more thorns. No more embeddings. The magic that made the Alamant what it was would be gone. Where did that leave them?
Denan stared out over the city. “Will the barrier around the wall hold?”
Sela shook her head.
That barrier was the only thing preventing the mulgars from overrunning the city.
Tam interlocked his fingers behind his neck. “So in a year’s time . . .”
The barrier would die when the tree did.
“Oh, light.” Larkin felt like she might pass out.
“Can we fix it?” Denan asked desperately.
“The White Tree will show Larkin how,” Sela said.
Larkin didn’t want this responsibility. Didn’t want the fate of the Alamant on her shoulders. “And if I can’t?”
Sela didn’t answer.
“We have to strike first,” Tam said. “End the curse once and for all.”
“How?” Larkin asked.