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So fierce and proud, chin jutting out so bravely, that August couldn’t help but lift his branch beside him. Jack had grinned at the sight. They were stronger together; they were always stronger together.
“Do you want to know how I see you?” Jack’s voice was roughened from the run. August nodded. “I see you the same. I don’t think it will ever change.… It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing my colors or dressed like this. You’re always just you.”
It was as much a part of him as anything now. He couldn’t run from it any more than anyone could run out of their own skin. It would just keep coming back, over and over, curling up out of him, growing like hunger. He would crave the burn until he was dead. August curled up against the wall and put his head in his arms.
“I am doing this for you. Not the Wicker King. Not what we have become. But for you. If anything goes wrong, I want you to remember that.”
“Is anything ‘just’ anything? After all these months? Even dressed in my colors? Even with your favor at my feet? Even as the sky falls and the only thing I can hear besides your voice is the screams of the dying and the thundering of horses? You remembered to keep it when you couldn’t even remember to eat. It’s a lighter, yeah. But it’s also everything…” Jack grinned. “We’ve had our conduit all along.”
“Would you burn for me?”
“No one was supposed to get hurt,” Roger said, pleading with August to understand. “Not even you.”
