Chapter 26 · The Root Archive

"Don't touch the floor."

Rowan's palm hit the stone anyway.

The floor moved beneath him—not shaking. Breathing. It rose and fell, slow and warm, like something alive turning over in its sleep.

His knees buckled.

"Easy." Lyra caught him under the arm. Her bad shoulder jerked, and she sucked in a breath as his weight dragged against it. The royal seal at her throat had cracked into black branches. Magic leaked through the gaps with every breath.

"I'm being easy," Rowan said.

"You're bleeding through three layers."

"That's still easier than I feel."

Pip stood by the broken archway, small antlers spitting weak blue sparks. Ash clung to its fur. One foreleg shook whenever it put weight on it, but the storm-beast kept its body between them and the passage, head low and teeth bared.

Rowan forced himself upright and looked at the walls.

Seven colors pulsed beneath the black stone—green, amber, cobalt, white, violet, red, and pale silver. They ran through separate channels without crossing. His design. The farm's design.