The droplets became a trickle, red liquid so dark it looked almost black. It spread slowly, splitting and merging until the star and the keys along it were fully formed.
‘Pass me the mana vial, Othello,’ Fletcher said, holding out his hand. ‘Unless you want to do it?’
‘By all means,’ Othello said, handing it over. ‘Your paralysis is almost gone, thanks to that health potion. I don’t think Cress or I could do it, the state we’re in.’
Fletcher nodded and gulped down the sickly liquid. A moment later, he was revelling in the feeling of his body pulsing with mana once again.
‘Listen to me,’ Fletcher said, dipping his fingers into the blood. It was still warm, and he stifled an involuntary shudder. ‘Sylva, I need you to throw as many of these bags of petals through as you can – we don’t know how long the effects of the plant will last.’
Sylva closed her eyes and nodded.
‘Good. Now, Cress, I want you to gather the rest of the supplies, including my pistols, Rufus and Jeffrey’s packs and anything else of use; we’re going to need it all. Put it through the portal, then take Lady Cavendish through with you, she seems to trust you the most. Solomon will carry Lysander into the ether, while Othello takes Tosk, Ignatius and Athena.’
The noblewoman stirred, looking up.
‘Lady Cavendish?’ Fletcher asked, hopeful for another reaction.
She stared back blankly, and he sighed and continued.
‘I’ll have a few seconds from when my finger leaves the blood to jump into the portal before it closes, so I’ll be last. Go, now!’
With those words, Fletcher pumped mana into the pentacle, the liquid glowing with a fierce violet light. He gritted his teeth and strained as the first pinprick of a portal appeared, growing to the size of a grapefruit.
‘I can’t carry them all, but I think Athena’s almost recovered,’ Othello shouted.
‘Not now, Othello,’ Fletcher growled, blasting another pulse of mana into the pentacle. The portal grew and spun until it hung in the air like a miniature sun, filling the room with a dull roar.
‘Athena,’ Lady Cavendish repeated, so softly that Fletcher thought he had imagined it.
Sylva began to hurl the bags of petals into the portal, as the others struggled under the weight of their respective charges. The packs soon followed, Rufus’s spilling open as it spun through.
Solomon was the first to the portal, staggering under Lysander’s weight. He charged headlong into the light, disappearing in an instant.
Sylva staggered up next, more petal bags cradled in her arms.
‘I hope this works,’ she muttered, then jumped into the glowing sphere. She vanished just as another blast tore through the chamber. This time, a barrage of pebbles showered them, the pile of rubble beginning to crumble.
‘Othello, go!’ Fletcher yelled.
The dwarf sprinted into the portal, Tosk and Ignatius clutched to his chest. Athena flew in after him, her flight erratic under the paralysis. For the briefest moment, Lady Cavendish raised her hand, as if to touch the Gryphowl.
‘Cress, take Lady Cavendish, now!’ Fletcher shouted, as another explosion rocked the room. The first goblin appeared, jamming its head through a gap in the blockade. It screeched as it tried to push through, clawing at the rock.
Cress grabbed Lady Cavendish’s hand, but the noblewoman was suddenly responsive once again. She struggled with the dwarf, pulling away.
‘Athena,’ she yelled hoarsely. ‘Where’s Athena? My baby!’
In that moment, Fletcher knew. Her face was just like Lady Forsyth’s, when he had seen her at his trial. He had seen her younger self in his dream, standing over his crib.
‘Mother,’ Fletcher breathed, his heart pounding. ‘Alice Raleigh.’
At the sound of her name, the fight went out of her. She turned her eyes to Fletcher.
‘Follow Athena,’ Fletcher said, smiling through his tears. ‘Cress will take you to her.’
Then he was alone, Cress dragging his mother into the portal.
One more detonation blew the rubble apart, the shockwave rushing over him like a hailstorm. He took one last look at the world.
And threw himself into the ether.