The Goblets Immortal

by Beth Overmyer

  Beth Overmyer

  The Goblets Immortal

  FLAME TREE PRESS

  London & New York

  Know what is to be; everything, you see:Drink from the Goblet of Seeing.

  Lighter than air, float without care:Drink from the Goblet of Drifting.

  Strength and survival, no beast is your rival:Drink from the Goblet of Enduring.

  Strategic and cunning, to war shall be running:Drink from the Goblet of Warring.

  Take what you can, banish at hand:Drink from the Goblet of Summoning.

  Luck is your friend, all others must bend:Drink from the Goblet of Questing.

  Immortality to he who drinks from one and the rest—And a curse for the soul who was born as a Blest.

  Chapter One

  Aidan cut his hand and watched his blood pool in the inkwell. When the flow came to a standstill, he cursed and squeezed until the crimson flowed again. “You’ve the pen?” he asked Tristram, the only person who would buy land from a wanted man.

  Tristram passed the iron quill. “You won’t regret this, Aidan.”

  “I never have regrets.” He pressed his lips into a hard, thin line and paused before dipping the nib into the blood.

  Tristram laughed, a nervous sound. Aidan could imagine him raking his lily-white hands through his corn-blond hair. It took all of Aidan’s strength not to tear at his own dark locks. Below his breath, he swore.

  For the last ten years, he’d lived in peace. That was before the money he possessed had run out, and he was forced to return once again to Breckstone. If Lord Dewhurst got wind that he was still alive….

  After a moment, the scratching ceased, and the deed was done. “There.” Aidan set down the pen and stanched the flow from his hand. “It’s over.” When his friend said nothing, Aidan looked up. “Am I keeping you from some pressing engagement?”

  Tristram stowed his timepiece in his waistcoat. “Not at all. We just need to be mindful of the time, that’s all. Jina’s due home in half an hour.”

  Aidan’s brows drew together. He looked around the parlor. The Prewitts had painted again, and the pianoforte occupied a different position in the room. Other than that, the place had not changed since he and Tristram had snuck in there as boys for sugar cubes.

  The aroma of baking bread wafted in from the kitchen at that moment. Aidan’s stomach rumbled and then clenched. He swallowed a mouthful of bile and nearly crushed the signed paper in his fist.

  Tristram cleared his throat. “That should be dry now.”

  Aidan nodded and extended the deed over to his friend. But before the other’s fingers could close on it, Aidan withdrew and said, “Money first.”

  Tristram snorted. “You trust me so little?”

  Clank went the pen into the well. Aidan looked up. “In my position, you can afford to trust no one.”

  “And yet here you are, in my parlor, no exits but the window and the door.” Tristram laughed. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you making escape plans. Just in case, of course.”

  Aidan managed to crack a slight smile as his friend opened his billfold. “Of course.” The deed and money exchanged hands, and they shook on the deal.

  “You won’t regret this.” It needed repeating, but it did no good.

  It was signed in his blood. No amount of regret could wash that magic away. Aidan sucked on his hand, which still oozed, and reached for the inkwell. “You keep a lot of iron in here,” he noted, Dismissing his lifeblood from the well and getting to his feet.

  Tristram laughed. “I’ll never get over how you do that.” He waved his hand with a flourish. “Just simply willing objects away. Wish I was so able.”

  “No, you don’t.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you, Tristram. This means a lot to me.”

  Tristram made to cut him off. “Going so soon? How about taking tea with me?”

  And risk having a servant spying him there? “No, thank you. I’ll just be going out the back way and—” He moved to the front window, having felt a human Pull. Sure enough, there was a woman coming up the walk. A middle-aged, wire-thin woman with a yellowing lace shawl draped around her shoulders. Aidan moved into the shadows. “What the devil is this?”

  Tristram was beside him, pulling back the curtains. “I don’t— Oh, that Roma woman. She’s been pestering my wife and me these last ten days at least.”

  “For what?” Aidan Dismissed the money and donned his hole-riddled riding cloak. His heart pumped hot blood hard through his veins, which prickled as they always did when he scented danger. But what could be wrong? Aidan pushed the feelings aside and repeated himself. “What does she want?”

  “To tell us our fortunes, of course.” Tristram hesitated, still peering out the window. “Blast. She’s going to the back. You’ll have to wait here ’til I’ve gotten rid of her, I’m afraid.”

  Aidan grimaced. “I shall leave through the kitchen.”

  Tristram was already moving to the hall. “No good. I ordered all of the servants to stay in there ’til they’re told otherwise.”

  “Then I’ll just have to leave through the back and risk the Roma.” Aidan picked up his riding bag and Dismissed it. He’d left his horse, Triumph, out in the back wood, tied off to a tree. Please don’t wander off.

  Tristram was on his heels as he moved to the back door. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if she’s a spy?” He grabbed Aidan by the arm and stayed him. “It’s not worth the risk. For any of us.”

  That made Aidan hesitate. If he was caught on the property, it wasn’t his life and freedom alone at stake. He turned and looked into his friend’s eyes.

  “Please.”

  A vein throbbed in Aidan’s forehead. So many ghosts in this town, in this house even. A starving child at an iron gate. Two soft hands bearing food. There was laughter, good times, even. Fool. You are a sentimental fool. Aidan’s spine stiffened but he moved back into the parlor. “Very well.”

  “You’re a good man, Aidan.” Tristram turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “Have a seat. And take some refreshment. You haven’t touched your brandy.”

  Aidan took a seat, but once he heard his friend’s footsteps falling away, he sprang to his feet as one burned. “Too much iron. If I were trapped here….” For whatever reason, he could not Summon or Dismiss iron. Perhaps because he could not feel it, like he felt the wooden side table tugging at his core, or the woolen rug, the glass lamp, the glass and silver chandelier. All these things were alive to him, just waiting for a nudge or a tug.

  By turn, Aidan’s gaze took in the iron fire poker, the iron letter openers, the iron fire grate. Where had his friend come across so much of the metal…and why? To comfort himself, he sent a pillow sailing across the room with a thought, and then allowed it to wink out of existence. He exhaled sharply and Summoned the cushion back into being.

  Footsteps pounded down the hall, two sets, two human Pulls. Aidan’s nerves tingled, and he fidgeted in a moment of inaction before searching for a weapon. If it weren’t so heavy, perhaps he could use the poker as a sword. He’d wielded iron before with his bare hands. It never felt right. There was no bringing himself to adjust to it in time now.

  The doorknob turned, and in walked the woman with the shawl. She studied the pianoforte for a moment, and when she turned, her expression was as empty as Aidan’s stomach. When she spoke, her voice was as deep as a man’s. “Nine days I’ve come, and at last you arrive, Lord Ingledark.”

  Aidan’s fists clenched but he otherwise kept his reactions in check. “Who’s asking?”

  Her lips drew up into a thin
smile. “I’m not asking. I know who you are and what you’re doing here.” At once her eyes flickered in suggestion at the writing desk where now lay the deed, signed in his own red blood.

  Aidan cursed himself for leaving his copper dagger out of Calling distance. It was too far away now to safely bring it sailing into his waiting hand. He should have Dismissed it into Nothingness before he left his horse so that he could Summon it from seemingly nowhere now.

  The fortune-teller laughed and raised her hands in truce. “Do not be alarmed. I know because I am the seer.”

  “Relax, I’m sure now that she’s harmless,” Tristram said.

  Aidan did not relax. “So, you’re a seer,” he said, closing the curtains. There were servants out there; he felt their Pulls on him. Too heavy to Call, but still Pulls, anchors, slowing him down.

  “Hmm. You’re worried, Aidan Ingledark.”

  “Am I, now?” Gathering his wits, he made for the door, which Tristram barred. “I’m sorry, Tris. I must leave at once.”

  Tristram opened his mouth as if to object, but closed it. “I understand. Farewell, friend.” Ashen now, he pushed past Aidan, took a seat, and finished the full glass of brandy.

  With a frown, Aidan again made to leave, but the seer stopped him with her words.

  “I know where you sent them and how you might get them back.”

  Aidan stood in the doorway, his fingers tingling. Run. Run. Run. He answered, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you, now?” The cursed woman smiled with her teeth this time, exposing a large gap between her left incisor and the tooth next to it. “You don’t smoke, do you, milord?”

  Aidan’s legs had turned to lead. “You would be the one to know, wouldn’t you?”

  Another laugh. “So you believe me when I say I know what happened to Lord and Lady Clement Ingledark and their wee boy. Samuel, wasn’t it?”

  As if compelled, Aidan found himself nodding. His limbs had gone numb, and he cursed his need to know. Yet every beat of his heart thumped, my fault, my fault, my fault.

  “There is but one who can help you,” the seer was saying. “And if you are to seek her, you’d better start out immediately.” Here the woman gave Tristram a pointed glance before looking back at Aidan. “Walk with me, milord?”

  Tristram intervened. “Lord Ingledark cannot draw attention to himself. You would draw that attention, woman. I’m so sorry, Aidan, I thought she might amuse you. It would seem she’s now going to be trouble.” He put his hand up to grab the seer by the elbow, but Aidan motioned for him to stop.

  “What must I do and whom must I seek?”

  The Roma woman licked her lips and her hands fluttered around. “I saw – so much pain. Lord Ingledark, should you succeed you must seek out Meraude and unite the Immortal.”

  His fists unclenched, and the blood came rushing painfully back. “I’m sorry…unite the what?”

  She nodded. “You heard me. The first one lies in your path. The others shall prove most difficult to come by.” The woman shuddered. “But for more information, it’ll cost you.”

  “Cost me what?”

  She was silent, as if considering. “Your blood.”

  “How much?”

  The shawl around her fluttered to the ground, pooling at her feet. “All of it.”

  And that is when Aidan realized the human Pulls on his being had tripled since he’d arrived. “Tris, the house is surrounded. I am so sorry.”

  Tristram was shaking. “God help us.”

  “Why do you have so much blasted iron? I need lead. Have you any lead or copper?”

  The man shook his head. He did nothing. He sat there as one in shock, staring at the amber bottle of whiskey. “I’m the one who is sorry.”

  Aidan tore from the room, Calling objects to his side as he ran, only to Release them as he realized their uselessness. “I’ve been a fool.” He made it to the back door, Calling a paring knife from the kitchen, the only object of use he could feel. It jammed into the wall before it even got to his hand.

  “Aidan Ingledark,” boomed a deep voice from the front of the house. Footsteps crashed overhead. How had he not felt the hidden soldiers’ Pulls? “More iron,” he snarled. Had Tristram padded rooms with panels of the metal in anticipation of this visit?

  “Wound him if you have to, but I’d rather take him whole,” said a voice belonging to Lord Dewhurst.

  Aidan ducked into the kitchen, sending the scullery maid scuttling up the servants’ staircase. He raced out the kitchen door.

  Three arrows whizzed past his face and embedded into the wooden frame. He felt the archers’ Pulls. Five of them in the brush, two in the haymow in the barn. Those had been warning shots; Lord Dewhurst’s bowmen were renowned for their accuracy.

  The arrow tips, of course, were iron. But the bows were mere wood. Those he could deal with.

  Aidan closed his eyes, feeling for the bows and, one by one, Dismissed them from their respective archers. It was on the fourth bow that another arrow flew. Aidan felt its approach, and hastily Dismissed the shaft. Unbalanced, the arrow tip missed its mark yet still came within dangerous proximity to Aidan’s person.

  He grimaced as he ran across the yard. Get to Triumph and you’ll be free. Get to Triumph, Aidan told himself.

  But the archers were not through with him, and the men in the house and around the house were closing in. The bowmen in the loft threw wood at Aidan, but he Pushed each log, block, and board back at them, not pausing to see if his aim was true.

  The men in the brush charged with their iron pokers. Aidan sensed the Pull of the new bows being drawn behind his back.

  He didn’t stand a chance running backward, forward, left or right. There was only one option open, the trick up his sleeve. Aidan stopped and closed his eyes. He hadn’t done this since he was a boy, hadn’t needed or, rather, wanted to. Not even Tristram knew of this part of his blasted abilities.

  Aidan let the tension leak out of his body as if Dismissing it. His knees became weak. He relaxed, Releasing every object and every person’s Pull on him.

  He was now surrounded, and he could still feel at least two persons whom he’d yet to Release himself from.

  “What is he doing? Seize him.”

  They were too late. Aidan let go of his Existence, and Dismissed himself into Nothingness.

  * * *

  The oddest thing about Nothingness, Aidan always found, is that you still know. You can’t feel, which makes re-gripping Existence difficult, never mind breathing properly. And no matter how long you think you’ve vanished for, it will always have been an hour.

  As Aidan struggled to reappear, he could only hope that the yard would be clear of soldiers. If they had remained where they stood…well, he would have given up his great secret for nothing.

  Aidan imagined tightening his muscles, feeling the Pull of Existence and everything in it. He allowed anxiety to roil through his being, guilt to take over his thoughts until he experienced the sensation of being yanked between two great forces. Existence and Nothingness were warring over him. He grabbed on to thoughts of his family. “My fault,” he repeated over and over again in his mind. “I shall make this right. I shall. I shall.”

  The image of a young boy filled his thoughts. In his mind, the raven-haired lad was screaming for help. Aidan could not help in Nothingness. He could not help the woman and the man he called his parents, either. So he beat himself with the thoughts over and over, allowing himself to feel the pull of his responsibility until, at last, he was thrown back to the yard with a none-too-gentle thud.

  The world was so bright at first, Aidan could not see, nor could he move. He lay there, catching his breath.

  All was silent, save for the upset clucking of chickens and the indignant crow of a rooster. Aidan tried his eyes again. The world came int
o focus, and he was relieved to see that he was alone.

  Strength returned to him at that moment, so he stumbled to his feet and ran into the wood, praying that Triumph hadn’t been discovered.

  He ran one mile, then another. There were no signs of disturbance up ahead. But where was his blasted horse?

  Aidan looked around him, caught his breath, and whistled. Triumph nickered nearby. “Well, come on, then.” He turned, and there was his black stallion, grazing on what grass he could find. “Any day now would be wonderful.”

  Triumph snorted and tossed his head but made no move toward his master.

  “Stubborn beast,” Aidan muttered, coming to Triumph and seizing the reins. He mounted and kicked the horse’s flanks. Triumph started forward at a gentle walk. “We’ve been betrayed. Tris betrayed us.”

  The horse seemed to understand the urgency in his master’s voice, and broke into a canter, putting Tristram’s estate behind them.

  A setback, indeed, Aidan thought as he leaned forward. His only ally had turned on him. “At least he gave me the money first. Yah! Fly, you devil, fly!”

  Chapter Two

  How much the betrayal would cost him, Aidan couldn’t say. It would all depend on how much Tristram knew and how much of it he had told. On the one hand, Tristram was a fool. He probably thought his old friend had simply vanished and relocated anywhere he pleased. However, Lord Dewhurst’s advisors were not so foolish; they would tell their lord to continue scouring the area for signs, to listen to whispers and rumors of strangers in the vicinity.

  Aidan rode on for hours, staying off the main ways as much as possible. But the woods were overgrown in many places, and not much of his old secret path remained. Twice he had to pass well-to-do persons on the road, stopping to make the polite tip of the hat that manners would require. If he did not, suspicions might be raised. Still, he kept his head down like a common man would, and prayed they did not question him. They did not.

  It was when the sun was near the end of its descent that Aidan re-entered the woods by a stream. His steed let out a great huff before dipping a grateful muzzle into the water.