Chapter 121 Between Chasms
Daisy and Xeris had barely taken three steps from the corpse when the stench of scorched fabric and blood bit into the air. The smell clung to their throats, sharp and metallic. Through the haze, Oliver Greenfield appeared, coughing out smoke and curses. His hair was half burned, his face smeared with blood, and his shirt stuck to him, more from the knife wound bleeding at his side than anything else.
He stopped when he saw Daisy and Xeris, their faces close together. Daisy’s hands were stained black up to her elbows.
“Interrupting?” Oliver rasped, managing a smile that was equal parts bravado and threat.
Daisy grunted. “If you are, don’t stop.”
Oliver glanced from her arms to her eyes, trying to judge what was happening. “We’ve got bigger problems. The leaf-lovers are moving their people all over the city. They’re targeting us.” He looked at Xeris, then at the dead Eldergrove soldier by the gate. “It’s surgical.”
Xeris cocked an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Ask Delia. She’s the only reason I’m still alive.” He limped forward, crouched, and held out a hand to Daisy.
She took his hand. His grip was tight and warm. He pulled her up and held on for a moment longer.
“What did you see?” he asked, too quietly for Xeris to hear.
Daisy looked down at their joined hands, then at the veins. “Enough to know we’re not the only ones making a move tonight.”
Oliver grimaced, then released her. “Council wants you. Mira said it was urgent.”
Daisy squared her shoulders and motioned for Xeris to follow. “Let’s go then. We don’t have much time.”
They stuck to the back streets, Oliver guiding them with familiar ease. Every few blocks, Eldergrove soldiers stood in pairs at key corners, interacting quietly with locals or comforting frightened children. Daisy noticed remnants of past conflict—a fading mural under a crumbling arch, the persistent smell of char, and half-heard stories about shattered alliances and riots. The city’s outward calm felt unnatural, the soldiers’ presence too orderly, as if the city had already fallen and its citizens simply had not acknowledged it.
Daisy found herself staring at the green-leaf symbol on every uniform, then at the painted daisies on the walls. She remembered the vision, the circles, and the Blackwood estate’s mark on the map. She wondered how long the enemy had been preparing right under their noses.
At the river bridge, two Eldergrove guards blocked their way.
Oliver moved first. He ducked low under the nearest guard’s swing and rolled, sweeping the man’s legs. The guard crashed down, dazed.
Daisy’s fingers tingled with power. She drew in a sharp breath, feeling the bite of blood magic surge beneath her skin—hot, thick, and hungry, as if her veins were scraping against glass. An iron taste flooded her mouth, sharp and sudden, almost making her choke. She summoned the magic and flung herself forward with a sudden burst. The rush slammed through her, nearly blinding her for a heartbeat as she slammed into the second guard and sent him staggering back. In the immediate aftermath, numbness swept through her limbs, her vision swimming at the edges as a wave of dizziness pressed against her senses, and the residual ache beneath her skin served as a stark reminder of the toll her magic demanded.
Xeris stepped past them both. He seized the second guard by the throat, his grip iron. The soldier’s eyes bulged as Xeris squeezed and let him drop, gasping for air.
They stayed silent until they reached the council chamber steps. Oliver stopped and pressed his hand to his wound. Daisy placed her palm over it, using a small spark of blood magic. As the skin closed up, leaving a fresh scar above his ribs, a shiver of exhaustion rippled through her. For a moment, the world wavered at the edges, and a flicker of warmth—something painfully fleeting—rose in her chest when she realized how close her fingers were to his heart. She forced her expression flat, hiding the tremor in her hands as she withdrew. "You get better at that every time," he said.
She shrugged. “Practice.”
They climbed the stairs, their boots echoing, and pushed open the council’s heavy doors.
Inside, the room hummed with a brittle energy. The air crackled under the glow of dim glass lanterns, which flickered and cast braids of restless shadow across the faces at the table. Chairs scraped and shifted, wood creaking as council members leaned forward or gripped their armrests until knuckles paled. Papers rustled with nervous hands, and someone’s teacup rattled softly against its saucer. Every sound felt sharp enough to draw blood.
Samuel Thompson was already shouting, his cane braced against the polished table like a sword. "We cannot cede control to the fey! Now! Reports are coming in: half the mage quarter is under Eldergrove patrol! How do you explain that?"
Mira Stone, perched at the edge of her chair, answered with the measured hush of silk over frost. Her voice carried, cool and fluent. "Their magic stabilized a hundred casualties only last night. Without their healers, we would have been counting bodies instead of casualties. I imagine you would be holding this debate in a graveyard rather than a council chamber."
At the far end, Lady Eleanora Ravensworth sipped her tea with slow, distant movements. She didn’t look up when Daisy walked in, but a small twitch of her lip showed she noticed everything.
Delia Moss stood by the wall, her hands stained with blood and her eyes red from exhaustion. When she saw Daisy, her relief was so raw it nearly broke through her composure. She pressed her fist briefly to her own heart, then reached out and caught Daisy’s wrist—just above the old scar, in the same spot she always did when they met after a crisis. It was a touch as instinctive as breathing, one Daisy had come to expect, grounding them both in the chaos.
“Daisy,” Delia called, and crossed the room in three steps, ignoring the council’s side-eyes. She caught Daisy’s hands, searching her face for signs of collapse. “You look—”
“Awful?” Daisy supplied. “It’s a trend.”
Delia shook her head. “Alive. Barely.”
Samuel pounded his cane. “Enough! If Smithson has something to say, let’s hear it.”
Daisy felt everyone staring at her. The attention felt heavier than any spell.
She stood behind her chair, unsure her legs would hold out. "Eldergrove isn't here to help us. Willow has been working with Ironclaw all along. She's using the city for some ritual." Daisy rolled up her sleeves to show the black webbing. "This isn't from the fight. It's a side effect of what they're building." She hesitated, letting her breath steady, her resolve hardening as she faced the council. "Blood magic always takes something equal in return. Every time I use it, it marks me, and if the ritual finishes, it'll bind the city's heart to whoever pays the price. That's why I'm here—I can't let Willow or Ironclaw take the city and turn its power against us. If we don't stop them, she'll control everything from the wards to the weather, and the city will be powerless to resist her rule."
Mira Stone’s face tightened. “You saw proof?”
“I saw it in the blood of a dying soldier. And in the pattern of these,” Daisy said as she dropped a handful of ceramic daisies onto the table. Each one landed with a faint chime, cold as river stones, and a subtle vibration seemed to hum beneath their glazed petals. “They’re not sabotage. They’re markers. Wherever these daisies are placed, they anchor the ritual, drawing the city's magic into the pattern. As long as they remain, Willow can connect each point and channel the flow of power straight to herself and Ironclaw. Breaking the chain means the ritual can't be completed.”
Samuel’s mouth thinned to a line. “If you’re right, the city’s already compromised.”
Oliver, who’d taken up a position behind Daisy, snorted. “If? You think she’d lie at this point?”
Lady Eleanora set her cup down with a delicate clink. “It doesn’t matter who’s at fault,” she said, voice pure ice. “What matters is how we respond. The city is weak. Our allies are fewer by the hour. If we purge Eldergrove now, we may lose the only buffer between us and Ironclaw’s next assault.”
Daisy's pulse hammered in her ears. Every solution they debated felt like another step closer to disaster, and she wondered if any choice would leave the city standing. She clenched her fists beneath the table, hoping no one could see the fear creeping over her resolve.
Delia stepped forward. “They’re taking blood from the wounded. The healers—they said it was to ‘catalog the injury,’ but none of us have ever seen that method before.”
Mira considered, then nodded reluctantly. “It’s an old forest practice. Not for medicine. For binding.”
The room fell silent.
Xeris spoke up. “You’re all missing the obvious. If Willow finishes her ritual, it won’t matter what armies are outside. The city’s magic will belong to her, and you’ll be begging to survive.”
The words barely faded before the chamber floor trembled beneath their feet, a faint pulse rolling through the flagstones like a heartbeat. Lantern flames jittered against the glass, fighting unseen currents as the air grew taut and heavy with pressure. Somewhere deeper in the council hall, a low vibration hummed at the edges of hearing, relentless, counting down the moments they had left.
Samuel’s gaze flicked between Mira and Daisy. “How long do we have?”
Daisy closed her eyes, searching for the hum of the chain. It was sickly now, erratic, the pulses colliding instead of amplifying. “Hours,” she said. “Maybe less.”
Oliver looked at her, something raw in his eyes. “So what’s the plan?”
Daisy straightened up, using the pain to stay focused. “We cut out the daisies. Break the pattern. We find Willow and stop her. Whatever it takes.”
Samuel nodded, and the room buzzed with new energy.
But Daisy felt the veins crawling up her arm, a prickling, twisting sensation beneath her skin that grew stronger with every second she waited.
If the city functioned as a living organism, Daisy embodied its most fragile but vital organ—the heart weakened by strain, yet still responsible for sustaining life. Her actions would determine whether she could restore its rhythm and renew its vitality, or inadvertently deliver the final blow that would bring about its collapse.
For the first time since she took up the chain, Daisy wondered if she would survive what came next.