The smell of earth and rust wrapped around her and sank so deeply into her skin she could taste it on the back of her tongue. She tried to focus on the sway of Rowan’s body as he climbed down. She listened to the beat of his heart. Steady and strong. The enchanting hue of his magelight lit the other side of her eyelids reassuringly. She tried to imagine his magelight as a candle burning in front of her, although she could feel no heat and could gather no power from it. Magelight could not fuel her. Lily touched her willstones with the tips of her fingers, feeling their soft, solid shapes. She told herself that no one was going to take them away from her this time, or ever again. “What’s wrong with Lily?” Tristan asked anxiously. He could feel her fear. They all could. “Witches don’t like to be underground,” Rowan answered. “They’re cut off from the light of the sun and moon. It drains them.” “Witches can get energy from the moon?” Breakfast asked, surprised. “Of course,”
