Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  But all ardents had one thing in common—solid black covering even the whites of their eyes. Yet Unger’s were the same pale blue they’d always been. Such a thing wasn’t possible . . . unless . . . “You’re like Maisy.”

  Larkin still didn’t know what Maisy was. She’d been a mulgar once—that had been clear from the tined scars on her body. The girl had always been in the periphery of Larkin’s life. Helping Larkin one moment and condemning her the next. Seemingly driven by both the wraiths and her own twisted desires.

  What if Maisy wasn’t the only one of her kind?

  “What are you?” Larkin asked.

  Unger coughed, more black blood splattering from his lips. “We’re like you, Larkin—children of the Curse Queen.” Larkin’s ancestor, Eiryss. The woman who was rumored to have inadvertently created the curse, though Larkin had seen visions of her trying her best to prevent it. “We’ve come to save you.”

  “Save me?” This is the wraiths trying to get to me. This . . . thing stabbed my friend because of me. “What does saving me have to do with Alorica?”

  A peaceful look stole over Unger. “We know the truth, Larkin. Soon, you will too.” And then his blue eyes swirled with black.

  “You’re ours.” It was not his voice that said it, but a voice born of shadow and hatred. It was the voice of the Wraith King, Ramass.

  West stepped past Larkin. She turned away, but that didn’t prevent her from hearing the meaty thwack.

  If Unger had been able to hide among them all this time, how many others had? Was it possible another ardent—for lack of a better word—had killed the king? At a sudden cold wetness against her bare feet, she looked down. Black blood seeped around her feet, between her toes. She staggered back, horrified. Would ardent blood affect her like poisoned wraith blood? She waited for the sucking darkness, the rage and despair. But nothing happened.

  “Larkin!” Tam shouted.

  It was not the first time he had called her name, she realized.

  “Guard the door!” Larkin shoved West.

  “Not till I search the rooms.” West checked the panes.

  “Larkin,” Tam cried. “You have to help me!”

  Alorica was awake now and writhing in pain, fighting to push off Tam’s hands, which was causing her to bleed even more. Larkin felt as helpless and cold as when her father had thrown her into the river, knowing full well she couldn’t swim. As helpless as when she’d been splayed on the crucible before the dark forest. As helpless as when she’d been locked in the dungeon deep beneath the druids’ stronghold.

  Where was Mama? She should be here by now. Why hadn’t Denan brought her? Larkin didn’t know. All she knew was that she was all Tam and Alorica had. Whatever was going on with her family, Denan and the guards would have to take care of it.

  She crossed the room in half a dozen strides, knelt on the other side of her friend, and took her pale, clammy hand. Alorica’s desperate, pleading eyes locked on Larkin’s.

  “Hurts,” Alorica managed.

  It was hard to believe Larkin had ever hated Alorica. They’d been through so much since then. Those first terrifying days after they’d been ripped away from their homes by strange men with stranger magic. The heartache of losing Venna. And then later, Talox.

  So Larkin knew Alorica well enough to know it was the panic more than the pain that was affecting her.

  “Stop acting like a child,” Larkin commanded.

  Alorica bared her teeth at Larkin, but her pride kicked in, and she stopped fighting. Larkin didn’t have the skills to save Alorica. But maybe she could save her from this pain.

  “If I stanch her bleeding, can you enchant her?” Larkin asked Tam.

  “No,” Alorica snapped. “I won’t spend my last moments out of my senses.”

  “You can’t think like that.” Tam’s voice broke.

  Alorica’s hard gaze locked on his. “People don’t survive gut wounds, Tam.”

  “Magalia has saved a few,” Tam said.

  The wound was well below Alorica’s belly button. Low enough it might have missed her guts and the gruesome death that would certainly follow.

  “Tam, get your pipes. I’ll take your place.” She batted at his hands.

  He pulled back, and she replaced him, pressing the balled-up sheet against the wound. Even as quickly as they had moved, a surge of blood welled up between Larkin’s fingers. Alorica’s back arched in pain, her hands shoving at Larkin’s.

  Larkin held fast. “Just hold on, Alorica. Tam’s going to enchant you.”

  “I don’t want it,” Alorica panted.

  Tam threw clothes from the armoire, bloody smears marring the fine fabrics. He stared at the lump of clothing, his hands buried in his curly hair. “Where is it?” He rushed out of sight into the bathing room.

  Larkin looked around for West, but he must have finished his search and gone to guard the door.

  “Alorica,” Larkin said as calmly as she could muster. “The wound is low enough that I think it might have missed your intestines.”

  “What?” She lifted her head to look at the wound. “No. Not my baby.”

  Baby? What ba— Larkin’s gaze went to her hands. Hands that pressed down on Alorica’s womb. Her gaze slid to the place between Alorica’s legs. More blood.

  Larkin’s eyes involuntarily closed against the horror. “Does Tam know?” she whispered.

  Alorica shook her head. “I’ve been sewing a baby gown. I wanted to surprise him with it.”

  Larkin imagined shoving the knowledge into a chest and slamming the lid like Denan had taught her. When she opened her eyes, her expression was calm. “Don’t think about it now.”

  A sob caught in Alorica’s throat. “What should I think about?” she snapped. “Dying?”

  “Tell me about the first time you kissed Tam.”

  Tam burst into the room, his pipes at his lips. He played, and the music wove through Larkin, making her think of soft summer nights and warm fires in winter. Of full bellies and cheeks tired from laughter.

  Alorica relaxed into the bed and stared at the ceiling. “I hated him so much after he forced me to marry him. I was horribly cruel to him.” She chuckled breathlessly. “So he let me go.”

  If Denan had let Larkin go, he would have never seen her again.

  “He knew I had an interest in healing, so he took me to Magalia. I lived with her and worked with her. And I hated it.” Her eyes squeezed closed. “I didn’t realize how pampered I was with my family. How sheltered. I helped saw off arms and legs of men infected with the curse. I watched them die. I watched them live. And I began to understand the terrible cost of protecting us from the wraiths.

  “Tam visited me every day. He brought me lunch and made me laugh. And eventually, I started to look forward to his visits.

  “Then one day, I watched a boy die. It was his first mission outside the Alamant. His first time being a man instead of a boy. And all I wanted was Tam. He cried with me and rubbed my back. And somehow he made me laugh.”

  Alorica smiled at the memory, but that smile was short-lived. “So many people died before they ever had a chance to know love. The kind of love Tam was offering me. So I took a chance. I kissed him. I’m so glad I did.”

  Tears streamed down Tam’s face, and his music wavered before growing steady again. He sat on the bed beside his wife, and she rested her forehead against his thigh.

  Watching the intimate moment, Larkin felt like an intruder for the second time in as many days.

  Arguing sounded from outside.

  “Let us in, you big lug!” Magalia shouted.

  “I have orders—” West began.

  “The forest take you, West,” Larkin said. “Let them in!”

  Magalia burst into the room wearing little more than a nightgown. Five orderlies hustled in behind her, one of them drawing a two-wheeled cart. Magalia assessed the room in a single glance and directed one of the orderlies to take over playing for Tam.

  She stepped
in beside Larkin, who leaned in and whispered, “She’s with child. Tam doesn’t know.”

  Magalia’s mouth pressed in a tight line. She pulled linen cloths from her bag. “Has the bleeding slowed?”

  Larkin stared at her hands, trying to remember when the blood had stopped seeping between her fingers. “I think so.”

  Magalia wrapped the linens around Alorica’s middle, tying a knot tight over the crumpled bedsheet. Larkin slid her hands out from under the bandages. Magalia stepped back and motioned for the orderlies, who eased Alorica from the bed and onto the cart while she groaned in pain.

  Larkin touched Magalia’s arm. “Will she live?” she asked softly.

  Magalia frowned. “I don’t know.”

  The orderlies wheeled Alorica out, an anxious Tam by her side. Denan still hadn’t come with Mama.

  Something was wrong.

  Ancient Magic

  Larkin stepped through the doorpane of Tam and Alorica’s rooms into the morning light. West and Maylah eyed her. The corridors were flooded with guards. A sharp chemical smell mixed with burnt hair assaulted her.

  West eyed her bandaged arm with a tight expression. It was bleeding. The stitches felt tight and hot; she hadn’t noticed before.

  “Stay inside,” he said.

  Ignoring him, she leaned over the leftmost railing to look down one level to Mama’s chambers. Two guards stood at the doorway—one with a hand on his sword, his gaze darting. The other, an enchantress, leaned over the railing and vomited into the water below.

  Light. These were the best soldiers the Alamant had. They’d lived through hard combat. Yet something in Mama’s rooms had rattled them deeply.

  “My family,” she called down to them.

  The nervous guard looked up at her. Only then did she realize he was covered in black blood.

  Another ardent like Unger.

  “They’re all right,” the nervous guard said.

  Then why was he so upset? She tensed to run down the colonnade to the stairs, but Alorica and the healers blocked the way. There was an unused chamber beneath this one. Larkin could jump on it and slide down the panel. She swung one leg over the railing.

  West caught her injured arm, drawing a hiss from her lips. He didn’t let go. “You heard what that thing said.”

  Ardents are killing people to keep me “safe.” How could I forget it? She fixed him with a glare, her sigils flared in warning. “I will pulse if I have to.”

  He shared a tense look with Maylah before releasing Larkin. She swung, letting go at the last second. She landed on top of the pane, her feet smarting. The panel shimmered beneath her feet. Lying flat, she slid down and landed on her feet. West swore, and the two of them rushed to try to slide around the healers.

  Not bothering to wait for her guards, Larkin started across the corridor. “What is it? What happened?” she called to Mama’s guards.

  The vomiting one wiped her mouth. The other held out his hand. “They’re fine.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded.

  He turned toward the chamber. “Your Majesty, we need you.”

  Denan stepped through the hazy barrier. His chest heaved with exertion. “Larkin.” She heard the heaviness in his voice—the kind of heaviness that told her something had gone horribly wrong.

  She came to a stop before him. He held his sword in his hand. The blade was black.

  Ardent blood.

  There had been another one. A servant? A guard?

  And her family. Her family . . . She couldn’t bear to let her mind wander that dark path.

  “Denan . . .” Words sticking in her throat, she pointed at his blade.

  “One of the assassins was in your mother’s room. He tried to kill Sela.”

  A small, wounded-animal cry wrenched from Larkin’s throat.

  He held out his hand. “They’re all right. Sela stopped it.”

  Larkin shook her head against the impossibility of her five-year-old sister stopping any attack, let alone an ardent one. But Sela wasn’t just her sister anymore. She was an Arbor.

  “They’re all right?” she asked in an impossibly small voice.

  Denan nodded. “The baby didn’t even wake up. Your mother’s more upset than anyone.”

  “Who was it?” she asked.

  “One of the new guards stationed in the boughs. I didn’t even know his name.”

  Larkin didn’t want to know his name. Perhaps it was selfish, but she didn’t need another face to haunt her nightmares. She had to see for herself. She tried to move around him. He blocked her. “You need to prepare yourself; the body is in pieces.”

  Light. Oh, light! “Mama! Sela!” She pushed past him and rushed through the barrier. Mama met her on the other side, her expression haggard. Larkin launched herself into Mama’s arms, reassuring herself with the warmth and solidness that she was all right.

  Eyes watering at the haze of smoke and chemicals, she searched the room to find her sister sitting primly on the edge of the bed. Her hands rested in her lap, her head tipping to the side as she stared at the walls with empty, strange eyes.

  Following her gaze, Larkin turned, only to step on something jagged and sharp. Stumbling, she sidestepped into something squishy and cold, something that made her shudder.

  And then she saw what Denan had meant. Singed bits of flesh and bone were splattered across the floor and the lower portion of the barrier. A trail of black blood led to what remained of the smoking body. The upper half was burned so badly that the armor and clothes were nearly gone. Bones peaked through the ridges, and burnt flesh filled out the hollows.

  Fresh stab marks pierced the char—Denan’s doing. So the blast hadn’t killed the ardent. And judging by the blood trail, he had dragged himself toward her cowering family. The legs were gone—splattered on the wall behind Larkin. And under her.

  Crying out in horror, she jumped out of the mess. Light, there were pieces stuck to her bare feet. She kicked them off and pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth to keep from vomiting.

  Sela had done this. Seen this. Light, what would that do to a little girl?

  Larkin swallowed hard and crossed the room to kneel before Sela. She reached for her, but Sela flinched away from her blood-covered hands. Dried blood had settled into the grooves and lines of Larkin’s skin—like a river delta seen from high above.

  Alorica’s blood.

  But there was other blood too. Black ardent blood had soaked into her bare feet and splattered against her green tunic. Larkin fisted her hem in her hands.

  “Sela?”

  Her sister continued staring out the window as if she hadn’t heard. But Larkin had to believe her sister was in there somewhere, devastated by what she’d done to save herself.

  “Sela, you saved Mama and Brenna and yourself. You did what you had to.” Light, how did she do it? Old magic. Had to be. And if they could just harness it, they could defeat the wraiths. Blast them to pieces.

  Sela focused on Larkin. A strange glow emanated from her eyes, washing away the emerald, like streams of light through stained glass. “No, you couldn’t.”

  Had . . . Had Sela read Larkin’s thoughts? How was such a thing possible? Larkin fought not to recoil from her sister. “What do you mean?”

  “It won’t kill them,” Sela said.

  She’s just in shock, Larkin thought. That’s why she’s acting strange. And her eyes were just a trick of the light.

  Larkin longed to run her hands up and down Sela’s arms, to check for blood or other obvious signs of injury. She shot a panicked look back at Mama, who paced and wrung her hands.

  “She’s not hurt,” Mama said.

  Larkin nodded in relief. Denan stepped back into the room—when had he left? He wore his full armor. West and the nervous guard came in behind him. The two men took hold of the ardent’s arms and dragged his body from the room, his head dangling, teeth a startling white against the black. And then he was gone, the hazy pane hiding him f
rom sight.

  Larkin turned away quickly, only to find Sela staring at all the blood.

  “Sela.” Larkin shifted to block her sister’s view. “Look at me.” Sela’s gaze fixed on the black stain on the floor. “We need to get her out of here.”

  Mama bent down and picked her up, keeping her head tucked into her chest so she couldn’t see.

  Larkin suddenly realized the baby was missing. “Where’s Brenna?”

  “In the bathroom.” Mama headed that way with Sela.

  Larkin followed, but Denan called after her, “I have to go.”

  He was leaving them in this state? Her family had been attacked! She shot him an incredulous look.

  He stepped closer. “I’m going to test our guards for ardent blood.”

  How was he going to manage that?

  Denan gestured toward her family. “They need you.”

  “Denan, these aren’t ardents. Unger’s eyes weren’t all black. They’re human. Like Maisy.”

  His expression was troubled. “They are ardents; their blood is black. They’re just a higher form than we’ve seen before.”

  “He said he was a child of the Curse Queen. Like me.” Light, was she a monster too? But the wraiths had cut her with their cursed blades; only, it hadn’t turned her. Tears welled in her eyes. “He tried to kill Alorica to hurt me. He spoke in Ramass’s voice. Ramass was here.”

  Denan’s nostrils flared. He grabbed her and pulled her tight to him. “The wraiths won’t have you.”

  Denan had his own strength, plus his magic and an army. If anyone could keep her safe, it was him. “Whatever they want me for . . .” They would use her for evil, as they used everyone else.

  “I won’t let them take you,” Denan said.

  She gave him a watery smile. “I know you won’t.”

  From beyond the pane, one of Denan’s guards hollered, “We’re ready, sire.”

  He studied her, searching for the truth of her statement. Whatever he saw made him relax a bit. He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  She nodded for him to go.