by Karen Chance
“Use him . . . how?” I asked numbly, watching Caedmon’s officer slosh furiously past the cell.
“How do you think? I’m not bringing back a god. I’m bringing back a weapon, a weapon against the world that hated me from birth. Let them die—let them all die! And I will laugh in the flames!”
“You’re crazy,” I said as the officer appeared in the door again, walking backward, his face incredulous. “You’re completely insane.”
“If I am, it’s because they made me that way. But soon, it won’t matter. In a few minutes, the duel starts and everything changes. And unfortunately for you, I want to be there to see it,” she said. And then three things happened at once: her ghosts dove for me, my power flooded around me, and the officer tore through the door—
And fell into a barely phased woman, who was too angry to straddle nontime properly, and was knocked out by his passing.
And into my arms.
“So do I,” I breathed, and shifted.
Chapter Fifty-four
“Are you mad? Let me go. Let me go!” Jo thrashed in my arms, but her ghosts weren’t around to help her this time. They’d been excluded, along with the mad-eyed officer and a crap ton of freezing water. Leaving just the two of us to rematerialize in the middle of the great hall.
And almost fall through the floor.
I stared around in shock while struggling to hold on to the writhing girl. Because this place . . . What had happened to this place?
The great hall had been cleaved down the middle, like from the stroke of a giant ax. Far above our heads, a dome of ice had formed over the gap, which would otherwise have been open to the skies. Moonlight or starlight or some kind of light was flooding in, eerily blue and enough to allow me to see rain lashing at the top of the dome. But the ice held, holding it back, making it look like we were standing inside the world’s biggest snow globe.
The rain scattered the rays, strobing the room like a disco ball, and glistening off the snow that had covered everything. Including the sides of a huge scar in the floor, the other half of the ax stroke, which we’d almost fallen into. It was six feet wide in places, tearing a swath across the stones, ruining the mosaics, and clawing through the delicate mural of a smiling goddess on the wall.
I stared at the ruined portrait, and a cold shiver ran through me.
And then one of a different kind, when Jo stamped on my insole, elbowed me in the stomach, and broke away. Only to whirl back around and punch me in the face. It was hard enough that I tasted blood, and the next blow was worse, throwing me back on my ass, and scattering burning snow everywhere.
No one had bothered to mention that the bookworm was built like a jock.
I rolled when she tried to stamp my head into the stones, and felt that strange snow start to sear the side of my face.
“You bloody idiot!” she growled, and came for me.
Only to stumble when I jumped back to my feet and shifted behind her, getting her in a choke hold.
“Don’t you understand?” She fought and thrashed. “They’ll kill us both!”
“Thought you wanted to die,” I breathed as reality wavered and shook, as the air tightened around us, as magic swirled and hissed and arced across the room like lightning, prickling on my skin and sparking off the walls.
“Not before I finish this!” Jo snarled. “Now let me go!”
“Too late,” I whispered, because it was—for both of us.
And suddenly, the big, empty room wasn’t empty anymore.
Instead, we were facing a crowd of Pythias and their acolytes, arrayed like the audience at a play in the round. Splashed with falling rain-shadows, backlit by glittering ice, they were everywhere: Grecian robes and antique gowns and outfits I didn’t know and couldn’t place. Like the leopard skin draped across the shoulders of an African Pythia, her black braids swinging. Or the wild red curls of a girl in homespun and furs, like something out of Beowulf. Or the cold-eyed stare of a woman dressed like a pagan priestess, her elaborate dark chignon and elegant pleated gown looking like she’d just stepped off an ancient frieze.
Exactly how far back did they go for help? I wondered, staring around, while the women looked back, silently. They didn’t move, didn’t talk, didn’t even seem to breathe, or maybe I just couldn’t hear them over the sound of my own labored gasps. I was suddenly seriously impressed with my new acolytes, who had somehow managed to keep this many Pythias confused and off my ass.
As if she’d heard, a furious woman with a head of pale purple curls pushed through the crowd, dragging my two helpers by the arms, before throwing them into the open space between us.
“What have you done?” It thundered like the fey’s voices had earlier, like we were in a concert hall or a great cathedral. But she didn’t need the acoustical help. I was already plenty intimidated, thank you, Gertie.
I licked my lips and tried to figure out where to start, only to have Jo beat me to it. “A great deal,” she said quickly. “I’m so grateful to see all of you! My name is Jo Zirimis and I’m a Pythia, too—”
“Liar!” Hildegarde snarled, from off the floor, silver curls in her face, blue eyes flashing.
“—with a rogue acolyte!” Jo said, raising her voice to talk over her. “One who has been eluding me for months—”
“It’s not true—you know it’s not true!” Abigail said tearfully. She looked rough. Her smooth brown bun was down in a tangled mess, her nicely made-up face was pale and tear-streaked, and her carefully pressed homespun was muddy and wrinkled and sprinkled with leaves and hay.
I sent her a sympathetic look, but there wasn’t much more I could do. Except to release Jo, because the Pythias weren’t going to let her leave, any more than they were me. Not until we finished this.
Which would have been fine if I’d had any idea how to do that.
My hopes had been pinned on Hildegarde, but it didn’t look like the ties that bind had been used for anything but securing her wrists behind her. And I didn’t think she’d made much headway before that, because Gertie was giving me a look that might best be described as incandescent rage. But, for once, she was asking for an explanation, which was something.
“I’m the Pythia. She’s my rogue.” I gestured at Jo, who gave a scornful laugh.
“You know better than that,” she told them. “You’ve seen what she’s done—and so has Caedmon. Ask him if you doubt me. I warned him about her days ago!”
“She did.” I hadn’t seen the supermodel of the fey world until that moment, because I’d been concentrating on Gertie. But he was there, among the crowd, and he didn’t look any happier with me than she did. Dark green eyes surveyed me without pleasure, the beautiful face cold, the expression unreadable. “She and a man of our time stole a valuable relic from me. I also caught them attempting to steal the king’s sword, earlier this evening.”
“To keep it away from Jo!” I said, a little frantically, because his words had caused a murmur to go around the room. “Myrddin explained that—or he would have, if you’d given him a chance—”
“He had his chance.” The gaze was glacial. “His king was two rooms away. If he had a warning to give, he could have done it.”
“There wasn’t time, and Arthur—” I broke off, because explaining that the king had planned to defraud the fey—including Caedmon—wasn’t likely to help my case. Arthur was never going to admit that. “There wasn’t time,” I repeated. “And there’s less now. The duel is about to start, and when it does—”
“You see? She has no excuse,” Jo said, talking over me. “I apologize for allowing her to cause such upheaval, but if you will help me—”
“You’re not a Pythia!” I snapped.
“It’s true, Gertie,” Hildegarde said. “For once in your life, stop being so stubborn and listen.”
“I’ve listened enough.”
“You haven’t listened at all—you never did!” She appealed to Lydia, whose black robes stood out in stark contrast to the more colorful garb around her. “You know how she is—”
The little white-haired woman nodded. “Aye, I do. And I know how ye were, too, always so softhearted. That’s why I trained her. This job takes a thick skin—”
“And a clear head,” Gertie added, her eyes still fixed on me.
“Damn it all! I haven’t been influenced!” Hildegarde thundered.
“And if ye had, what would ye say?” Lydia asked her, not unkindly.
“And what about me?” Abigail demanded. “Have I been influenced, too? You can’t believe—”
“I believe what I’ve seen!” Gertie said, throwing out a hand in my direction. “Five times she’s escaped me! Five times I’ve had to hunt her down—”
“And who else besides a Pythia could do that?” Hildegarde demanded.
“A rogue heir,” Jo said quickly. “I misspoke before. She was an acolyte, until I recently promoted her, something I can assure you—”
“You lie!” I said, feeling my hands clench and blood flood my face. God, how I wanted to—
“Don’t do it, Cass,” Billy said, suddenly zooming in.
I stared upward in surprise, and no little anger. “You took your time!”
“We got held up. First with the posse and then—”
“And then what?”
“—with some rogue spirits headed this way.”
“Somebody had given them a power boost,” the colonel said, zooming in behind him, his mustache twitching. “And we’d expended most of our extra. Otherwise, three on two is hardly sporting—”
“But delicious,” Daisy said, burping.
“You see?” Jo asked. “To my horror, I discovered that she’s a necromancer, using illegal skills in unprecedented ways—”
“You’re the necromancer!” I said, furious.
“Then whose ghosts are those?” she asked sweetly.
“We’ll show you,” the colonel snarled, diving for Jo before I could stop him. Forcing me to snatch him out of the air, to keep this from descending into chaos.
And then pausing, when I noticed everyone staring at me.
“That . . . probably wasn’t your best move,” Billy murmured as Johanna practically crowed.
“See?” Her eyes flashed. “Did you see? I told you—”
“Aye, we saw,” Lydia said as the murmuring got louder.
“Cassie—” Abigail said, looking appalled.
And yeah, I screwed up. “I—I am a necromancer,” I told them, because obviously. “But I’m Pythia, too—”
“They would never make such a creature Pythia,” the leopard-draped woman said. She wasn’t speaking English, but the spell translated her voice just fine. And it looked like everyone else was using something similar, because there was a lot of nodding suddenly.
“Please!” I said, trying to think of something that would convince them, something that wasn’t “the fey are about to bring back a god,” because that wasn’t likely to help. But what else did I have? “The fey are about to bring back a god,” I said, with a sinking feeling. “If you don’t help me—”
“I already heard that story,” Gertie said, walking toward me. “Do better.”
“How?” I spread out my hands. “How do I prove I’m Pythia? How does any—”
“She’s not a Pythia,” Jo spat. “She’s a filthy necromancer who infiltrated the court, and I formally request that you help me—”
“One more word,” Hildegarde told her, “and I swear—”
“Be silent! Both of you!”
Gertie must have done something to enhance her voice, because it echoed everywhere, enough to bring down a filtering of powder from the rafters. I looked at her through the veil of snow, and knew this was my last chance. Come up with something now, something she’d believe, or she’d take me back. Or, considering her expression, kill me where I stood.
“Well?” she demanded.
I flashed on an image of Pritkin, somewhere fighting alone. But he couldn’t do this alone. None of us could. It had been the same ever since I started this job, clinging on by my fingernails, always feeling off balance, like I was barely treading water, and then only because of the people holding me up: Jonas and Pritkin, Tami and Rhea, Marco and Caleb, Billy and Casanova, and even the consul at times—
And one I’d known long before all of them.
My eyes widened.
Gertie frowned. “What?”
“There is something that unites us,” I said. “All of us for the last six hundred years, at least. One shared experience that she doesn’t know about, but I do!”
“Don’t listen to her!” Jo said, grabbing my arm. “She’s a liar! She was always—”
I jerked away, scanning the crowd. And spied a dark, curly head and an elegant gown, but the same pair of cheap tinsel earrings. “Eudoxia!”
The head came up.
“Mircea visited court, when you were still living with Berenice—do you remember?”
She nodded.
“He helped you feed the dogs,” I said, concentrating on that fleeting memory. “He wanted to see the Lady—”
“But she was sick,” Eudoxia said, and then flushed when everyone suddenly turned to look at her. “She was sick a lot.”
“Yet he got in eventually. He always does. And then he came to see you, after you moved to Paris.” I searched my mind, trying to remember. “He brought you a—a necklace.” I tapped my throat, seeing again the lustrous chain. “Big pearls set in gold—”
“Yes.” She looked surprised. “I don’t wear it much. It’s . . . not really my style.”
“—and he asked for something, didn’t he?”
She nodded. “Yes, he wanted—”
“Don’t say it!”
She paused, her mouth still open, while I looked for—“Isabeau!”
“Yes,” she said, before I could ask. “He came to see me, too. And stayed . . . for a while.”
“Because he wanted something, the same thing he always wants. The same thing he’s asked of every Pythia for six hundred years.” I whirled on Gertie. “The same thing he asked of you. I can tell you what that was. Can she?”
I gestured at Jo, who backed up slightly to keep from getting hit, while everyone looked at her.
“Well?” Gertie demanded. “What of it?”
“I—this is ridiculous,” Jo said, still smiling. “I . . . receive so many petitioners. We all do. You can’t expect me to recall one man out of thousands—”
“Not a man,” I said, advancing on her. “And Lord Mircea is memorable.”
“Can’t argue with that,” someone said.
“Every Pythia for six hundred years has received the same vampire with the same request, soon after their accession if not before. And not for a fleeting visit. He comes to charm, to entice, to bribe if necessary, anything to get what he wants. What does he want?”
“How would I know?” Jo snarled. “He didn’t come to see me yet—”
“No, he didn’t, did he? He might butter up another acolyte, but you—you were just a political appointment, there to round out the court and buy the Circle a favor. He wouldn’t waste time with you—”
“You lie! She lies!” Johanna looked around at the sea of faces, but didn’t seem to find it helpful this time. “I—I just took the throne. That’s why I’m having so much trouble with—”
“Just took the throne, yet ye already have an heir?” Lydia asked, black eyes steady.
“It’s true, I swear. We do things differently in my time—”
“But Lord Mircea doesn’t,” I said, driving home the point. “He does the same thing he’s always done, the same thing he’s done for centuries, and visits each Pythia in tu
rn to beg for one thing. The return of his wife. I know that because he came to me, too. Because I am Pythia, you are a rogue, and this is over. You are beaten, Johanna!”
“Nobody beats me!” she snarled, and lunged.
The next thing I knew, I was skidding on my back, but not across burning ice. The ice cave of a room had disappeared, flashing out in a wink. To be replaced by a vast, echoing field of—
Nothing.
I skidded to a stop, which took longer than normal, because there was no friction and nothing to grab on to. Just blackness, stretching to infinity. Deep and dark and with no discernible horizon. Just a few, faint, almost invisible to the eye—
Sparks of light.
I tried to scramble to my feet, staring at what looked like distant fireflies, but weren’t. And almost fell over, because I didn’t have feet. I didn’t have anything. I looked down to see a ghostly outline of my body shining in the darkness, but brighter, because I wasn’t a ghost.
But I was close.
“Johanna!” I screamed, but she was nowhere to be seen. Nothing was, except the vague illumination I was throwing on the ground, the light of my spirit etching the darkness. Because she hadn’t just knocked me out of time—she’d knocked me out of my body, sending me into the Badlands as a disembodied spirit. I didn’t know how.
Even worse, I didn’t know why.
And then I figured it out.
I heard a roar, deep in the distance, but loud enough to make me jump. And something pale as milk appeared on the horizon, shining like a beacon. Something huge—a giant figure, even at a distance—and rapidly getting bigger. Something man-shaped that was striding and then running this way, only it wasn’t a man. It wasn’t anything like a man, and it never had been.
Even before I killed it.
And then it was on top of me.
I looked up, up, up, to what a second ago had been an empty void, but which was now filled with—
A foot.
Specifically, the sandal-clad foot of a golden god, shining like his symbol in the night. Light like from a pale sun spilled out impossibly around us, impossible because he couldn’t be here, he couldn’t be anywhere, because he was dead. Dead, which meant ghost, which meant he could be here even though I’d killed him, killed him and flushed him down the metaphysical equivalent of a toilet—
