Page 105 of Forged By Malice

I struggle to my feet and look around, trying to see past what’s real and what’s not. The flowers … They got their pollen on us. I need to get it off.

Lava boils and pops. I told Ezryn he could trust me. I need to trust me.

I sprint straight into the fire.

51

Rosalina

Cold water rushes over me as I collapse into the lake. I plunge my head under again and again, scrubbing at my eyes, and gulping down the water to clear my throat.

With a gasp, I surge upward and look around. My brain is foggy, but my vision is clear. That fucking flower…

A growl rips from me as I stare at the purple flowers under the willow tree. Shooting my wrist out, thorns erupt, crashing under the roots of the plants, then smothering them. I won’t chance getting blasted with that pollen again.

An anguished cry sounds, and I spot Ezryn pacing in circles, clawing at his breastplate. “It was an accident! An accident!”

I need to get him in the water and get that pollen out of his face.

Heaving my soaking dress up into my arms, I sprint over to him. “Ez, listen to me. It’s Rosie. Come on, I’ll help you.” I touch his arm.

He staggers away. “Get away from me! I can’t control it!”

“You’re not hurting me,” I say calmly. “I’m not in danger. See? I’m okay. Come with me.”

“Stop, Kai, stop, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He slams a hand against his helm. “Get out of my fucking head!”

Shit, I didn’t want to do it this way, but I might have to. I twitch my wrists, feeling for the briars at my command. “Ez, forgive me for this—”

The tearing of earth sounds, and I jump. At the edge of the willow tree, my thorns shoot up, growing and writhing. Someone is using them.

My chest heaves, and a strange smile appears on my face.

Caspian.

I should feel afraid, but instead I’m relieved.He’ll help me save Ezryn. I know he will.

The briars fall away to reveal a figure.

Not Caspian.

A masked woman. Someone I’ve seen only once before in the Below.

The Nightingale.

52

Rosalina

What relief I felt a moment ago turns to ash. I take a wobbly sidestep, placing myself between Ezryn and the intruder.

The Nightingale is dressed in similar armor to the last time I saw her: form-fitting, with jewel tones that change shade like a pool of oil. Her mask shrouds the bottom half of her face, revealing only her piercing blue eyes. Even with only that visible, I can tell she’s smiling.

With feline grace, she glides away from the willow tree and chucks something through the air.

A seed. A seed just like the one Caspian gave us to grow a portal to the Below.

Light and darkness shimmer together as thorns burst up, forming an iridescent door. And through it charges hundreds of soldiers and goblins.