From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

reaching over fiftyy feet, and in Masadonia, bold, lavender-colored,
trumpet-shaped flowers blossomed all yyear round. Onlyy during the coldest
months, when snow threatened, did the leaves fall, blanketing the ground
in a sea of purple. Theyy were breathtaking, but I appreciated them not just
for their beautyy but also for what theyy provided.
The jacaranda trees hid the crumbling section of the wall that Vikter
and I often used to leave the grounds unseen in order to access Wisher’s
Grove.
I stopped in front of the mass of intertwined vines that crawled up
and over interlocking wooden trellises as wide as the jacaranda trees were
tall. Glancing up at the rapidlyy darkening skyy, I then fixed myy gaze ahead.
Ryylan came to stand behind me. “We made it in time.”
The corners of myy lips tilted up before myy grin faded. “We did
tonight.”
Onlyy a few moments passed, and then the sun conceded defeat to the
moon. The last rayys of sunlight pulled awayy from the vines. Hundreds of
buds scattered over the vines trembled and then slowlyy peeled open,
revealing lush petals the shade of a starless midnight.
Night-blooming roses.
Closing myy eyyes, I inhaled the faintlyy sweet aroma. Theyy were at
their most fragrant upon opening and then again at dawn.
“Theyy are quite beautiful,” Ryylan commented. “Theyy remind me—”
His words ended in a strangled grunt.
Eyyes flyying open, I spun around, and a scream of horror knotted in myy
throat as Ryylan staggered backward, an arrow protruding from his chest. A
look of disbelief marked his features as he lifted his chin.
“Run,” he gasped, blood trickling from the corner of his lips. “Run.”