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He groaned with pain. “On…his…cut.”

“Wrap his wound, would you?” Briar asked her friend. “In case we still need him.”

Sorcha looked disgusted but did as she was asked. Briar had to fight through the vines to reach Ethan. His dragon curled behind him, flickering like a candle gutting out. She already missed her swan. Not now, Briar.

She dumped the contents of the vial into Ethan’s raw wound, wincing when the blood bristled with hoarfrost in response, delicate and sharp in the moonlight.

His eyes popped open. “Son of a bitch.”

Briar laughed in relief. He smiled at her softly until his eyes fell on the iron around her neck.

His gaze hardened, turned deadly. “I’ll kill him. No talking me out of it now, sweetheart.”

“Later,” Briar said. She pushed a rose off her ankle. “I need to get the amulet to the tower.”

At least, she hoped that was what she needed to do. The fact that the Iron Witches were all pointing in its direction was the only thing she had to go on. She supposed it was better than nothing.

With any luck.

She stood, the weight of the iron around her neck heavy and suffocating. She felt like she could not get a deep breath, but she knew it was about her magic, not the physical collar. She could still taste charred fennel and salt. And roses. She was certain everyone could taste the roses. She was hollow. If she thought about it too long, she would start clawing at the collar and never stop.

“Be careful,” Sorcha said. “I’ll stay here and make sure this prat doesn’t make a run for it. Charles told them to use me. We all survive this, so I can punch him very hard in the throat.”

Ethan nodded at her. “I’ll help.”

It took some time to pick their way through the thickets, down the cobblestone path to the beach. Ethan lifted Briar up in his arms, and she squeaked. “Your wound!”

He only grunted and kicked through the roses, refusing to let Briar lose any more of her blood. She wasn’t even sure it would work now that her magic was as trapped as the island of Lyonesse.

The white tower stood on a tiny islet, only big enough to house it and a few feet of rocky ground all around it. The moonlight showed dark water, a pier that did not quite reach across, and the teeth of kelpies.

No rowboat. No other boat at all. No bridge.

Only roses following them, curling through the sand hungrily.

The iron collar grew cold around her throat.