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“Are you serious?” Anger rippled through her. Dread rolled in on its heels as Truly looked into the inky surface of the water. “You drowned him?”
She shook her head. “He’s in an air pocket… at the very bottom. You must go down and get him.”
“What the —”
“No time to explain.”
“Do it anyway.”
“Truly —”
“Give me the condensed version.”
“Weeping Hollow feeds on magic. It eats magic-wielders alive.”
Her brows collided. “Alive? What do you meanalive?”
Azalea didn’t answer the question. She veered off course instead. “As Door Master, you may be the only one who can save him. The forest spirit has accepted you. If you’re lucky, it will allow you to enter the well and bring him out.”
Terrific. Lovely. Perfectly horrible. Just what she didn’t want to hear. “But not you?”
“No,” she whispered, anxiety in her tone. “You must be the one to go.”
“But, how?” Pressure increased behind her eyes, making her head ache. “It’s full of water.”
“Only for a few hundred feet,” Azalea said. “Get in. The bucket is large enough. You’ll fit, so will Westvane. Go down, grab him, and come back up.”
“You’re crazy.”
“If you want him to live, you must do as I say.” Azalea’s gaze tunneled into hers. “Trust me, child.”
Truly swallowed past the knot in her throat. The last thing she wanted to do was climb into the bucket, but she couldn’t leave Westvane. If she refused to go, he died. If she stayed, prioritizing her own safety, she’d never forgive herself for not trying.
Cursing under her breath, Truly grabbed the edge of the bucket. “If you’re lying to me, Azalea, I’ll —”
“I would never do you harm, Truly.” Expression earnest, Azalea flexed her hands on the crank handle. “A dry space exists below the waterline. You’ll find him there.”
“What about Montrose?” she asked, climbing into the bucket.
“We’ll deal with him after you retrieve the hybrid.” Releasing the locking mechanism, Azalea cranked the lever one full rotation. Steel teeth rasped against the metal disc. The bucket dropped toward the surface of the water. “Hold your breath.”
“Super advice — thanks,” she said, sarcasm biting as she glared at Azalea.
Azalea continued to turn the crank.
Cold water washed over her feet.
A hummingbird left its perch on the spire rising above the well. A soft puddle of light spilled around her as it settled on her shoulder. Truly looked from her tiny companion to the waterline.
Now or never.
Speak, or forever hold her peace.
Taking a deep breath, clinging to wooden sides, Truly settled onto the balls of her feet in the middle of the rectangular bucket. Crouched low. Heart hammering. Unease rising as water washed over her waist. Deep breath in, long breath out. Catch and release. One inhale followed by the next exhale. Water touched the bottom of her chin.
A second hummingbird joined her.
Soft wings brushed against her cheek.
