Charlotte felt Laeves Keep crumbling. Falling apart. Dying.

And she was dying with it.

Flames whisked across the ceiling above her, fingers of fire creeping up the stairs, hissing at the toes of her boots.

She strained to gather any magic she could, faded and gasping in the darkest corners of her mind. To stop the fire would be impossible but she might be able to break whatever spell it was that bound her.

The last of her magic slid like cool dew drops down her fingertips, nestling in her palm. Charlotte curled her fingers over it lightly as if holding a fragile feather.

There wasn't much left, barely more than a breath of energy. It fluttered in her palm, too rapid and frantic, like a bird's heart, reflecting her own fear, horror, and pain.

She had failed.

Alexander was well and truly dead. The spirits of her mother and ancestors had vanished, most likely killed, tethered magic unspooled from their familiars, their spirits released into the ether. The Endless One was loose, freed by her to take as many souls as he wished.

And she was going to die here, alone, if she didn't find some way to protect herself.

Charlotte closed her eyes. She brought her hand to her chest, smooth witchcraft pooling just above her heart. It was tempting to hold onto it, to keep even a small portion in reserves so she wouldn't lose all of her magic.

But she let it go anyway.

Shivers of relief rippled across her sweat-slick skin. Her abused, tortured lungs rattled in her chest, her breathing rough and thick.

Magic surrounded her, trembling and shaking, in a silver globe of light. It was barely able to sustain itself as it provided sanctuary against the onslaught of the fire. But it held.

All she could do now was hope that it was enough.

***

"Charlotte."

A voice, soft with familiarity, came to her, anchoring her through the darkness she drifted in.

Was this what death felt like? She'd had no time to anchor her spirit to a familiar. Was she untethered? Doomed to drift for eternity?

"Charlotte, come back."

Her eyes fluttered. Not dead then. Hazy gray filled her vision, with silhouettes shifting and gliding around her, too indistinct to identify.

Charlotte groaned. She was alive after all. Alive and aching. Her throat was husky dry and her tongue felt thick, heavy.

A hand, warm and gentle, curved under the back of her neck, raised her head a few careful inches. Liquid touched her lips and she gulped, once, twice, three times.

Then it was taken away.

She reached out, grasping, desperate for the sweet water that had flooded her mouth and washed away the bitter taste of ashes. But it didn't get rid of the sourness of defeat.

"Let your body adjust first," the voice said.

The tone was soothing, low. Not quite a whisper but comforting just the same.

Dreading what reality held in store for her, Charlotte blinked repeatedly, widening her eyes to clear her vision.

She expected to see Laeves Keep in flames around her.

Instead, Jonathan's face filled her vision. He released a short, quick breath of relief and smiled faintly.

"There you are," he said. "Almost thought you wouldn't pull through. I should have known better. You inherited your mother's iron will as well as her magic."

"Papa," Charlotte croaked.

Her fingers brushed the lapel of his coat. The fabric was rough, scratchy. Real. She wasn't dreaming or hallucinating.

Charlotte let out a rasping sob. She wrapped her arms around his neck, muffling her tears in his shoulder. She felt like a small child, too weak to do anything more than cry.

Jonathan held her without rebuke or chastisement, mumbling quiet, calming nonsense against her hair.

"He's gone," she hiccupped. "I lost Alexander. I couldn't save him."

Jonathan's hand smoothed up and down her back to quiet her. "I thought as much."

Charlotte pulled back to look at him. "You knew all along that I couldn't do it, didn't you?"

He shook his head. "No, I never said that. If anyone could do it, it would have been you."

"How did you get away? I thought for sure The Endless One had hurt you."

Jonathan hesitated. "I...well, I guess you could say I felt something change. I'm well aware I can't sense magic or hear the warning of spirits the way you can. But it was as if Laeves Keep...swayed. Shifted almost. And even though it was midday at the time, my candle barely cut through the darkness that settled over my room."

Charlotte pressed her eyes shut. "The wards," she said. "That's when they must have been broken. All of them at once. Those that I'd put up as well as those left by other witches. Laeves Keep has never been unprotected before."

"I tried to find you. I hated the thought of you being left alone to fend for yourself, even if I couldn't do much to assist in your endeavors. Then my candle went out and I couldn't see anything. I wound up in the cellar until morning."

Charlotte rubbed at her forehead and sat up. "Morning? How long have I been...?"

Then she glimpsed the charred remains behind Jonathan.

The blackened beams of Laeves Keep jutted up like broken bones against the delicate blush of dawn.

"The library," Charlotte breathed, horrified.

She was the caretaker. It was her responsibility to ensure that thousands of years of craft were preserved for future generations, for other witches around the world.

Did she dare to hope that even one scrap of documentation might have withstood the fire that had burned so unnaturally hot that it turned stones to ash?

Charlotte stumbled to her feet. Jonathan stood alongside her, gripping her hand, cupping her elbow to steady her. She swayed and touched the goose egg sized lump on the back of her head, swollen and tender to the touch.

A horrid reminder that knocking her unconscious was Alexander's decision. He didn't have power at his command to conjure spells the way The Endless One did.

"Easy does it," Jonathan said. "You were barely breathing a minute ago. Scared me half to death," he added softly.

"I'm sorry, Papa," she said. "I just..." She grimaced and squeezed his hand with a death grip. "I need to see the library."

Jonathan was quiet in that way that said he wanted to speak but what he had to say would only bring grief. Charlotte didn't dare look at him for fear of what she already knew but refused to admit, mirrored in his eyes.

"The fire..." Jonathan said at last in a cautious tone. "There's nothing to salvage I'm afraid."

Dazed, Charlotte leaned against his shoulder, hiding her face in his neck. She breathed in deep, smelling the faint traces of soap, tea, and biscuits, filling her lungs with the familiar instead of the nightmare of ashes and smoke around her.

From the start, Charlotte had known it was a heavy gamble to take. A risk that could kill her.

Yet she had dared to hope. Perhaps it was possible to defy the odds if she merely tried hard enough.

She had almost made it. Almost.

Where did she go wrong? What had she missed?

Or had she been doomed to fail before she even began? Faced with an impossible task that had no solution to begin with?

Jonathan shrugged out of his coat and draped it around Charlotte's shoulders. She burrowed her nose deep into the collar, breathing in the comforting scents of pine, soap, and parchment.

That's when she realized how welcome the warmth of Jonathan's lingering body heat was. That's when she felt the chatter of her teeth and the biting shiver of the frigid cold morning.

Charlotte had never been entirely without her magic before. It was stronger at times than others but its lingering heat was a constant consolation.

And she had never realized before how much it tempered.

Witchcraft had naturally preserved her energy, channeled it towards reservoirs deep into her so as not to deplete herself and leave her vulnerable.

Now Charlotte felt every little experience that crossed her path. The sharp snap of impending snowfall nipping at her exposed skin. The rough weight of Jonathan's coat. The coating of smoke and ashes in her mouth.

She had always been able to feel things with her magic—the wind on her face, the feathery pressure of Alexander's lips when he kissed her. But it had been muted by magic, hazy like a dream.

A wicked wind keened through the pines, blasting Charlotte in the face, buffeting against her until she retreated a few steps. Jonathan placed a hand at her back for support.

She felt empty. Raw. Overwhelmed. Too sensitive.

"What's wrong?" Jonathan said quietly.

Should she tell him her magic was gone? How could she explain that she didn't sense the coolness of it curling around her fingers? How could describe the listless floating sensation when there was no heat in her chest, her heart, her mind to ground her?

Jonathan didn't press her for answers and guided Charlotte to the well—the only thing left standing in the clearing. He lowered the bucket into the well and pulled it back up, all without saying a word. He had more patience than anyone Charlotte had ever met. If she wasn't ready to talk, he would wait until she was.

"Did the horses make it out all right?" she said.

Jonathan nodded. "The stables were the last to catch fire. But I'm afraid the horses bolted for the woods. It might take a while to track them down."

He drew the bucket up, fished a handkerchief from his pocket and dipped it into the water. He took her hand and with long, gentle strokes, cleaned away the ashes and soot that blackened her skin.

"I can do that myself, Papa," Charlotte said, careful to avoid a chastising tone. She was grateful for it really. The simplicity of such a caring act after the hellscape she had been through over the past few days was comforting.

"I know," Jonathan replied. "I'm just—I'd like to."

Charlotte nodded and didn't protest any further. He dunked the handkerchief in the bucket again, cradled her face in his hands and smoothed the damp cloth over her cheeks, her forehead.

He needed this as much as she did.

The Endless One had come close—too close—to killing her in that fire. Jonathan had already lost Nivian. That had been hard enough for him to endure. The possibility of losing his daughter as well must have been a terrifying thought as he surreptitiously searched her over for injuries, wounds, cuts, blood.

Charlotte sat still and let him look, taking inventory of every bump and bruise to reassure himself she was fine after all.

A lump rose in her throat at how grateful she was that Jonathan had survived. She had been a fool to take this on by herself, endangering him, endangering Alexander's family, her spiritual connection with Nivian, and more than likely every witch within a hundred miles or more.

But Jonathan didn't reprimand her. He didn't spare even one harsh word for her, though she deserved it.

"Papa," Charlotte whispered.

She sounded small amid the massive, coarse pines, towering dark and grim above them. Passing judgement on her inadequacies.

You failed. You failed. You failed.

Jonathan hummed in acknowledgement.

Charlotte couldn't bring herself to look at him. She dropped her gaze, examining the red welts on her fingers. He might not understand the loss of her magic or what it meant from here on out. But he had kept her safe. Supported her. Believed in her abilities when she didn't have faith in herself.

No matter what disaster or tragedy crossed her path, she could always come home to him.

"I...released him," she admitted. "The Endless One."

Jonathan's hands went still, fingers braced around the back of her neck in a solid grip as if to say, it's all right, I've got you.

Even now, with Laeves Keep, their home, reduced to ashes because of her, Charlotte could detect no anger in his voice, no wariness, not even dread, though there should have been.

Charlotte swallowed and dragged her gaze up to meet his. His snow white hair, dusted gray with ashes. She had no way to protect him anymore.

The Endless One could take his soul just as easily as he could take another's.

"The curse isn't relegated to a reaping moon now," she said. "And Suna isn't the only one that will suffer at his hand. He can come and go as he pleases anywhere in the world at any time."

She held her breath. If Jonathan was disappointed in her, she couldn't bear it, not after all that had happened.

Finally, he said, "I think it would be best if you started at the beginning. Tell me everything."