Blackest Spells

by Phipps, C. T.

  She offered her delicate hand and leaned forward, a smile gracing her lips. Kiran stared at her hand, his fingers brushing over the symbol burned into his forehead. With a slow nod, he grasped her wrist. “Deal.”

  “Excellent.” Desdemona started to lean back, but when she tried to pull her arm away, he squeezed, eyes narrowing. “But what of these others?” He nodded toward the man directly across from him. “When I am gone, they will torture them. I won’t have that.”

  Desdemona jerked her hand free and stood, brushing herself off as she turned. “I’ll take care of it. Just be ready tonight.”

  The door swung open, and Desdemona braced her hands, fingertips extended to catch it before it could hit her. She let her breath out slowly so it pooled on the wood in front of her face, masked by the footsteps of the person entering.

  The woman crossed into Desdemona’s line of sight, never looking back as she swung the door closed. She ran her hand through her short, blonde hair and quickly made her way to one of the nightstands in the shared room. Desdemona followed her, hands raised as she watched the woman pull a little box from the drawer.

  “Those things will kill you, Isana.”

  Isana jerked around, match halfway to the sigara in her mouth. She shot her hand up, and Desdemona slid back into the wall, pressure like an invisible hand pressing her throat closed. Through the spots in her vision, she watched Isana approach as the woman casually lit a new match and touched it to her sigara.

  Pain blossomed in the middle of Desdemona’s chest, a burning in her lungs. Isana stopped and grinned before taking a long drag and letting the smoke out to billow in Desdemona’s face. The pressure relented, and she sucked in a breath, smoke pooling in her lungs. She bent at the waist, hacking until she was trembling as she fought to pull air in.

  “Bitch,” she murmured and straightened up, wiping a hand over her mouth.

  “Creep.” Isana sidled back to her bed and hiked her robes up to her knees so she could sit. “Why are you in my room?”

  “First off,” Desdemona said as she sat on the bed across from her, “this isn’t your room. You can’t call a room yours and share it with five other people. And second, this whole place belongs to the matron, so you can’t own any of it.”

  Isana rolled her eyes and riffled through the drawer again until she pulled out a shallow, clay dish. She tapped the ashes into it, and shot the other woman a sideways glance. “Technically. What are you doing in this room in which I share space?”

  Desdemona chuckled and smiled, though briefly. “I want to offer you a promotion. You know, when I depose of Alys, I’ll need a trusted guard.”

  Isana choked on her smoke and shook her head, pounding the center of her chest until the fit subsided. “What?” she hissed, leaning across the gap between the two beds. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I absolutely am. We came in together. You’re the only one in this place I know I can trust, and I know you share my opinions on the men.”

  Isana ground her sigara into the clay dish and rapidly shook her head. “You’re mad. It’s one thing to talk about how wrong she is. It’s another thing to talk of overthrowing her. Nothing she’s done has been that bad.”

  Desdemona scooted to the edge of the bed and reached across the space to take her friend’s hands. “She spent the morning talking about trade deals with Loreth. One that involved an exchange of our goods for male services, and eventually, the leaders of that city will ask if some of us Embers can come help them tend the fields since our magic is so much better. Then, it will be us women in service to the male authority of Loreth, and who knows how many cities after that?” At the slight widening of Isana’s eyes, Desdemona squeezed her hands and leaned closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “If someone doesn’t stop her soon, we’ll end up with men coming to learn here, wearing the white robes, and going Vuli in the hall when the pressure is too much for them.”

  Isana pressed her lips together until they were no more than a white line. Her eyes glinted in the lamp light, anger in the depths of her oceanic eyes. “What do you need from me?”

  Desdemona grinned and squeezed her hands once more before releasing them. “Guard me, as I said. There’s a man in the brothels who can dissolve himself into sand. I’ll use him to stop her Flame.” She brushed her fingers over her own neck. “To slide down her throat so she can’t use that powerful voice of hers.”

  Isana arched a brow and shifted back, mouth open to speak, but Desdemona widened her eyes and halfway shrugged, staring at the other woman until she huffed and waved at her to continue.

  “I don’t like working with him, but it’s hard to find magic that can stop hers. Just this once. I want you there to stop him from running or trying to turn on me.”

  Isana bit the corner of her lip, brows together as she considered. After what felt like ages, she finally nodded. Desdemona pushed up from the bed and offered her friend a genuine smile before putting her porcelain mask back in place. “Meet me in the brothels tonight one hour after the final bell. Your powers will come in handy getting the guards out of the way.”

  Isana gave her a tight smile, and Desdemona turned to go, pausing by the door to turn and look back at her. “You should get back to your lessons before it looks suspicious.”

  With that, she slipped out of the room, letting the door click closed behind her.

  Desdemona gripped the edge of the door so tight her fingers ached. The tapestry in front of her puffed dust into her nose every time she took a breath, and it was all she could do not to sneeze. On the other side of the hidden door, a small group of Embers gossiped about the men they’d just spent their free time with. She leaned away from the opening and scrunched her nose, blinking rapidly against the burning in her nostrils.

  The women’s voices faded until they were gone altogether. Desdemona slapped her hand over her nose and mouth and let out a snorting, choked sound that echoed softly through the hidden stairwell. She widened her eyes and stared into the darkness, hand still clamped over her mouth. When no one came to investigate, she let out her breath in a whoosh and fanned herself, eyes rolled back to stare at the stones just above her head.

  After a quick ten count, she shoved past the tapestry and made her way to the red-lit staircase, eyes fixed on the guard. Isana slipped from a side passage, falling into step beside her. They walked in silence, Desdemona’s hands clenched at her sides. The iron-clad Ember standing at the top of the stairs narrowed her eyes, gaze sweeping over their white robes. She lifted a hand when they got close and glared until they stopped.

  “Last bell rang an hour ago. No one should be out of bed but those returning to their quarters from prayer or from here. Turn and go back before you get in trouble.”

  Neither woman acknowledged her words, all three of them eyeing each other until the older woman frowned and reached for her dagger. Desdemona rammed her shoulder into Isana’s trembling arm, jolting the other woman from her trance. With a snarl, she lifted her hands and shoved the air, and her Flame complied. The woman staggered backward, heels hitting the edge of the stairs and, with a yelp, she tumbled backward.

  Isana rushed to the edge and closed her fists, stopping the woman’s fall before she could hit the ground, but she still groaned, eyes closed. With one more sideways look, Isana shifted her hands, using her telekinesis to move the guard to the bottom of the stairs and over to a corner. She stayed there, hands closed tight to keep the woman immobile, as Desdemona strode down the hall.

  This time, she didn’t hesitate at the entrance. The men jumped as the door bounced off the stone, scrambling back to cower in the corners. Kiran, though, rushed to the end of his chain, standing on his toes to get as close to her as he could.

  “You came back. We had thought you would not.” He pressed his fingertips to his collar, eyes pleading. “We’re going now?”

  Desdemona slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch it unless you want more pain than necessary. Now hold still.”

  S
he wrapped her hands around the chain where it connected to the metal ring around his neck, focusing all her new powers into it. Frost spread across the iron, crackling and hissing as it thickened and lightened. Kiran pressed his eyes closed, breath coming fast and trembling, misting in the chilled air. The ice inched across the front of his collar, and he whined, hands shaking with the urge to try and pull the freezing metal from his flesh.

  With a resounding crack, the metal fractured, the chain falling to pieces on the stone floor. Kiran shot away from it and across the room to stand near the door, eyes fixed on the cushion which had been his home for the last months. The other men stared wide-eyed at Desdemona as she panted. After a moment, they crept to the ends of their own chains, whispering words of encouragement to her as she caught her breath.

  One by one, she freed the other three until there was no one left. She leaned against the wall near the door, eyes closed and body trembling in the cold room, gooseflesh prickling along her skin. It was more magic than she was used to wielding in one burst, but she had to recuperate. She needed to take care of Alys tonight. There would be no other time.

  “Des?” Isana called down the hall.

  “Coming.” She pushed away from the wall and shot a look at Kiran where he still stood beside her. “You didn’t run while I was weak.”

  “A man keeps his promises no matter the person he promised them to.” He offered her a tight smile and tilted his head, indicating the door.

  Desdemona slipped past him and quickstepped down the hall, Kiran not far behind. She didn’t stop when she reached Isana, but rather nodded for her to come with them. When she reached the top of the stairs, the guard grunted from below, and Isana rushed to join them.

  The other woman eyed Kiran as they moved back to the tapestry, a scowl on her face.

  “You understand your place in this?” she asked softly, her words harsh.

  “Do you?” he shot back. At her glare, he shrugged one shoulder. “Be sand. Take out her voice. I understand.”

  Desdemona swept the fabric aside to reveal the partially opened door leading into the servant’s stair. She shot a look over her shoulder and hissed at them both, nodding toward the door when they both turned to her. Isana crossed her arms and lifted a brow, watching Kiran until he rolled his eyes and moved past her into the darkness.

  The women followed behind him, and Desdemona pushed to the front. Without a word, she started up the stairs, cursing Kiran’s heavy, slapping footsteps. At least he wasn’t wearing shoes. It would be so much louder then.

  They followed the spiraling stairs up one floor at a time, silent as they could be, Desdemona’s wide eyes staring at every door they passed until it was out of her sight. Her chest tightened until breathing was hard, her stomach roiling like a mad cat was trying to claw its way out. She pressed her lips together and clenched her jaw. She must look calm, in control, stone.

  Desdemona slowed as they neared the top of the stairs. She extended a hand behind her and waited until she heard the other two stop. Kiran panted in the darkness, his breathing uneven.

  “A few stairs got you breathing hard?” Isana whispered in the dark, stifling a chuckle.

  “I come from the desert. There are no stairs.” Kiran leaned against the wall and wiped his hand across his forehead, eyeing the door in front of them. “This is where I change?”

  Desdemona shifted so she could look at him. “Yes. This is the doorway to the fifth floor. The servant’s passage doesn’t go up to Alys’ private floor. Higher level Embers live here, so we’re still not supposed to be here, but we’ll get in less trouble if you aren’t visible.” She waved her hand, tilting her head to the side. “So, why can I still see you?”

  Kiran pushed off the wall and shot her a glare. “Give me a moment to breath.” He carefully stepped around her and touched the wood of the door. He was still for a moment, eyes closed.

  His skin cracked in delicate lines starting at his fingertips and moving up until he looked like mud on a scorching day. Desdemona and Isana watched in awe as flesh dissolved to golden sand and swirled in the air around them until there was a sandstorm in the hall. Isana buried her face in her arms, eyes squeezed closed, but Desdemona only covered her nose, squinting through the maelstrom to watch as only his eyes remained, and then nothing.

  The sand calmed until it was suspended in the air, and then it slowly trickled into Desdemona’s pocket, filling it up until it was full and heavy. Isana lowered her arm, eyes wide as she stared.

  “That was…really something.”

  Desdemona nodded and pressed her hand to the door. “Truly a marvelous talent indeed.” With that, she pushed the door open and strode into the hall.

  The guard on the other side of the hidden passage stumbled forward, spinning when she regained her footing, one hand up and her iron gauntlets already forming a blade. Her gaze quickly took in the two girls, and she shook her head, straightening up and releasing her magic.

  “Girls, you know it’s far past your bedtime. Come, I’ll—”

  Isana flung her hand up, and her magic caught the woman in the chest, bringing her to the ground in one swift motion. She writhed as Isana stood, feet on either side of the woman’s hips and hands pressed to the air above her chest. Desdemona moved to the side and watched, eyes fixed on the woman’s metal breastplate as it sank in until a loud crack sounded in the hall. The guard sputtered, and blood welled from her mouth, pouring down her cheeks to the stone.

  Isana nodded toward the stairs farther down the hall. “Let’s go. Someone was bound to hear something.”

  Desdemona didn’t need to be told twice. She hiked her robes and sprinted, eyes fixed on her goal. There would be another guard at the top, one of Alys’ personal ones, and she would need to overwhelm her fast. They took the stairs two at a time, and when she burst onto the landing, the woman was already ready.

  She made a grab for Desdemona, but the girl ducked and halfway slid around her, hands up. Icicles pieced together in the rapidly cooling air, growing to a wicked point in the span of a heartbeat. The woman turned, and Desdemona propelled her makeshift missiles through the space between them.

  Isana skittered forward as the woman fell, catching her, if barely, and lowering her to the ground where she gasped for air, one hand pressed to her bleeding throat. Desdemona took two deep breaths—there was no time for more—and stepped up to the dying woman. She crouched and laid her hand on the woman’s chest, eyes closed.

  For a moment, Desdemona’s skin cooled, and then the ice magic dissipated. The spot where it had previously been warmed until there was no trace she had ever possessed it. But she didn’t focus on the feeling. Instead, she touched the pulsing throb of the other woman’s Flame, the magic stretching out to her living energy even as its owner perished. She opened her eyes and watched as the guard’s baelfire faded and then, with her last breath, disappeared altogether.

  A coldness of a completely different kind settled over Desdemona, a stillness that only came with the grave. She let out a shuddering breath and flexed her fingers against the corpse’s chest. With a gasp, the body shot up, eyes darting to take in Isana where she stood with her hand over her mouth and the girl crouched over her.

  “You can’t do this. I have a daughter. Victoria. Don’t kill me.” The words gurgled out of her mouth almost too fast to understand.

  A slow smile curled Desdemona’s lips. “It’s already done. You’re dead. Thank you for these remarkable powers, though. I’ll give my regards to your daughter.”

  She jerked her hand away, and the body hit the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Desdemona stood and shot Isana a glare as the girl’s harsh breathing filled the hall. “Be quiet,” she hissed.

  “Yes, you probably should do that.”

  They both turned, Desdemona’s hand hovering near her pocket, to stare at Alys where she stood just outside her bedchambers. She wore nothing but a thin, knee-length nightdress, one brow arched at the girls standing over her de
ad guard.

  “I see.” She straightened, hands loose at her sides.

  Desdemona flicked her gaze to the woman’s baelfire, watching as it twisted and coalesced in a funnel in front of her mouth. Her eyes widened, and she hit the ground, hands flying to her ears. “Isana!”

  Alys shrieked like a hawk, the force of it vibrating the doors in their frames, sending pain shooting through Desdemona’s head even though she was outside the cone of her magic. Isana wasn’t so lucky. She fell to the stone floor, writhing in pain as blood trickled from her ears. Alys took a few quick breaths and refocused her attention to the girls where they lay. She opened her mouth and filled her lungs.

  Sand exploded around them in an instant, filling the corridor in swirling, choking clouds. The matron let her breath out in a whoosh and pressed a hand to her chest, gagging on the scratching particles filling her throat. Her nostrils flared as she tried to draw in breath, eyes watering.

  Desdemona crawled to where her friend lay and grabbed her arm, shaking until the other woman looked at her with red, tear-filled eyes.

  “Do it!” She gestured at Alys.

  Isana stared at her for a moment, fingertips trembling as they wiped blood from the side of her face. Finally, after what felt like ages, she blinked and shifted her gaze to the matron where she gasped and coughed. Her lips formed into a perfect oh and she scrambled to her feet.

  She thrust her shaking hands toward the woman, and the matron slid across the stones, slamming against the wall hard enough to send what breath she had left rushing out. Desdemona stood and watched her struggle to breath, struggle to move her arms, to do anything. For a moment, seeing the giant of a woman she had apprenticed under so long laid low gave her pause.