Chapter 98 Binding the City
They doubled back toward the castle, Oliver leading Daisy through a maze of alleyways until the foot traffic thinned to nothing and only the sound of distant bells followed them. He kept glancing over his shoulder, the way he always did when he felt watched. Daisy knew the look; it meant they were being shadowed, but not by anything so mundane as a city guard.
Oliver stopped at a blank stretch of old brick near the canal, ran his hand along the mortar, and found the loose stone he’d told her about months ago, back when his secrets were lighter and his eyes less haunted. He jimmied it free, revealing a cavity barely big enough for a mouse. He gave Daisy a sideways grin, then reached in, pulled a hidden lever, and the whole wall section swung inward with a rasp.
“Charming,” Daisy said, stepping into the cool dark of the tunnel beyond.
Oliver closed it behind them, sealing out the city. In the passage, their breathing echoed, amplified by the low ceiling and the slick, clammy walls. Daisy conjured a sliver of bloodlight, just enough to see by, the reddish glow painting their faces in shades of confession.
“You ever bring other girls down here?” Daisy whispered, the question tumbling out before she could cage it.
Oliver huffed a laugh. “Not unless you count the time I hid from Mira’s bookkeeper. He was a mean bastard, but he didn’t have your sense of direction.”
They walked, single file at first, but the space soon narrowed to the point where Daisy’s shoulder pressed against Oliver’s chest, her head tucked under his chin. Each uneven step brought them closer, until the words died off and only the thump of their hearts filled the silence.
Daisy let her hand rest on Oliver’s side, the thin linen of his shirt damp with nervous sweat. She could smell the faint tang of him; soap, leather, and the secret note of wildness that made her shiver even when she hated him most.
At the sharpest bend, the tunnel forced them nose to nose, her breath fogging his cheek. She could see the flecks of silver in his eyes, the line of an old scar on his lip, the way he watched her like she might vanish if he blinked.
“You planning to kiss me, or just stare until we die of embarrassment?” Daisy said, trying for flippant but missing by a mile.
He smiled, slow and uneven. “Maybe both. But I’ll need a better light.”
Before he could act, a distant explosion rumbled overhead, dust sifting down from the tunnel ceiling. Daisy tensed, adrenaline sharp, but Oliver just pulled her close, shielding her as if his arms were the only thing keeping the world from collapsing.
The tremor faded, but the spell was broken. Daisy pulled ahead, the bloodlight bobbing as she moved. “Come on,” she said. “If they’ve started without us, we’ll be late to our own funeral.”
They reached the hidden exit in a utility closet beneath the castle’s kitchens. Daisy extinguished the bloodlight, letting her vision adjust to the sudden, sallow glow of gas lanterns. The kitchens were empty, but the air vibrated with the urgency of a city in crisis. Every few seconds, the walls trembled with the aftershocks of distant detonations.
Delia Moss waited in the corridor, hands on her hips and her apron smeared with something that looked a lot like blood and a little like jam.
“Finally,” she said, voice pitched high and sharp. “The wards are down on the west side. Council says it’s sabotage, but half the healers think it’s worse.”
Daisy felt a chill in her gut. “How many?”
“Too many to count,” Delia said. “They’re spreading. Like a…” She groped for the word, then settled on, “like a crack in glass.”
Oliver tensed. “Veilseekers?”
Delia nodded, face pale. “The old folk in the market district said they saw the spiral lights. And in the churchyard, there’s…” She swallowed. “There are daisies. All over. Black ones.”
Daisy pressed her lips together, thinking of Greta’s warning, the way the chain always found someone to carry it. “We need to get to the breach,” she said. “Now.”
Oliver and Delia fell into step beside her, the three of them moving through the castle like an arrow shot from a bow. The closer they got to the western quarter, the worse the damage: stonework was cracked, the air reeked of burnt ozone, and the city’s usual wall of sound had fractured into isolated pockets of shrieking and prayers.
The district beyond the breach was older than the rest of Brightwater. The buildings here stood in tight, dizzying spirals, their doorways offset at odd angles and their windows shuttered against the world. Daisy recognized the pattern immediately, the Celestial Empire design, meant to confuse spirits and repel the dark.
The pattern wasn’t working.
At the heart of the spiral, Daisy found the first daisy: a bloom of perfect black, petals dusted with what looked like iron filings, set in a bed of white chalk on the flagstones. Around it, the air shimmered with a pressure she could feel in her teeth.
She knelt beside the flower, careful not to break the circle. The closer she got, the more the hairs on her arms stood up, the magic so thick it made her blood itch.
Oliver hovered nearby, scanning the rooftops for threats. Delia watched the street, hands balled into anxious fists.
Daisy closed her eyes and reached into the spell. The connection was instant: the spiral sucked at her thoughts, tugging at the chain in her mind, wanting her to open, to link, to amplify. She fought it, twisting the pattern the way Greta had shown her, pouring her will into a counter-current.
The daisy shuddered, then crumbled into ash. The pressure eased, but only for a heartbeat.
“Two more,” Daisy said. “One by the river, one in the old granary.”
Delia took off without another word, trusting Daisy’s sense of direction. Oliver lingered, kneeling at her side.
“You okay?” he asked, voice rough.
Daisy wanted to say yes. Instead, she took his hand, the gesture abrupt, almost violent. “Don’t let go,” she said, and for once, there was no sarcasm, no defense. Just need.
He nodded, and together they moved to the next site, this time less cautious, more desperate. Each flower felt stronger, the pattern tightening around the city’s heart. By the third site, Daisy’s vision was streaked with black spots, and her hands shook so badly she nearly botched the spell.
Oliver steadied her, his grip an anchor.
“You’re burning out,” he warned.
Daisy laughed, breathless. “I’ll stop when I’m dead.”
He kissed her then, quick and fierce, the taste of salt and blood on his lips. It was the first time, and it was nothing like she’d imagined; there was no magic, only the bare, wild certainty that they were alive together, if only for a moment.
They broke apart to the sound of running boots. Xeris strode into the courtyard, hair windblown, eyes bright with the old fire.
“You found the nodes,” he said, glancing at the chalk residue on Daisy’s fingers. “Good. But they’re not the only ones.”
He tossed her a scroll, its edge burnt. “I found this in the glassworks. The Veilseekers are forming a chain around the city, but it’s not a defense. It’s a snare.”
Oliver bristled, placing himself between Daisy and the dragon-man. “And what are you doing to help?”
Xeris smiled, all teeth. “I’m making sure the heart of the snare doesn’t get torn apart.”
The two men squared off, tension thick as the magic in the air.
Daisy stood, feeling the weight of the city pressing in, the chain's pattern humming along her nerves. She looked at Oliver, at Xeris, at Delia sprinting toward them with a warning on her lips, and knew that the next step was hers alone.
“They want me to break,” Daisy said, loud enough for both men to hear. “Well, maybe it’s time something did.”
The chain was closing. The city was humming, ready to split. Daisy closed her fist, grounding herself in the warmth of Oliver’s hand, the echo of Xeris’s promise, and the memory of every person she’d ever failed to save.
Somewhere, daisies bloomed: black, white, and red. She was the link, and tomorrow, one way or another, she’d show the world what that meant.
The city howled as the pattern locked into place, and above it all, Daisy’s voice rang out, half a curse, half a prayer, binding the fate of Brightwater to her own.