Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  “We were engaged.” His thumb stroked the smooth surface. “And then I became this.”

  “But the curse came the day she was to marry the Alamantian king. I saw it.” The White Tree had shown her that vision enough times that Larkin had it memorized. She’d seen the fear on Eiryss’s face. The loss, the treachery. “You betrayed her.”

  “Not everything is as it seems.” He glanced at the midmorning sun. “That’s a story for another day.”

  His sword flared in his hands—a sword swathed in shadows that curled around it like drifts of smoke. He lifted it above his head and sliced down diagonally. And the sword suddenly stopped as if gripped by an unseen hand.

  Ramass tried to push through, his teeth gritted and the veins at his temples standing out. He gasped and released it. “I can’t hurt the tree. But I think you can.”

  “Me? How?”

  “Your sigils aren’t corrupted.”

  She flared her sword and did an experimental swing. Her sword bit into the bark at the side of the coffin. She blinked at the damage she’d done, the black sap welling. The hatred around her sharpened. She swore she could taste the Black Tree’s bitter anger.

  She waited for the tree to retaliate, but nothing happened. “What about the shadows?”

  “Eiryss’s countercurse created boundaries the shadows cannot cross—like the water and sunlight.” Ramass let out a long breath.

  Where light is, shadow cannot go, Sela had said.

  But how do I defeat those shadows? Larkin screamed on the inside.

  There was no answer.

  “Hit it again.” His voice trembled with emotion.

  She swung again, harder this time. The blade chopped off a corner of the coffin, a chunk of amber spinning. Larkin reversed her swing, breaking off an equal piece on the other side.

  “Press the tip of your blade into it, here.” Ramass pointed to the largest blank space, which sat between Eiryss’s neck and the edge of the coffin. He’d clearly put a lot of thought into placement where it had the least chance of causing damage.

  Still.

  “Can she heal like you?” Larkin asked.

  “The tree won’t let her die. He’s too eager to torture her.”

  Larkin positioned the tip of the blade, making sure it was level, and pushed. Her blade, which was sharp enough to cut a falling leaf, didn’t so much as make a scratch. She pushed harder. Then harder still. Then she pushed as hard as she could.

  There was a sharp crack, like the ice breaking over a river. A fissure appeared. And then another. Another. They spiderwebbed. A single bead of viscous liquid rolled out. Larkin’s sword sank in, embedding just to the right of Eiryss’s face.

  Larkin let her sword fade; sap gushed. Eiryss’s hair shifted, flaring as if she were underwater. Ramass cried out. Larkin held out her arm to hold him back. She flared her shield and slammed the bottom point into the seam. The coffin shattered.

  Ramass dropped to his knees, scooped Eiryss out, and pulled her into his lap. Sobbing with joy, he tugged her hair out of her face.

  “Eiryss, love, can you hear me?”

  Larkin held her breath, waiting for the woman to make the slightest movement. Ramass’s eyes darted all around her face. “Eiryss, please. I can’t lose you again. I just can’t.”

  She still didn’t move. Larkin held a hand to her mouth. She couldn’t have come this far and lost so much and then have it be for nothing. She couldn’t watch a man who had borne so much bear even more.

  Ramass pulled Eiryss against his chest. “I remember when we were little and we spun, our hands locked together, until we fell in the grass. And when we were older, I held you in my arms as we spun to the music. And then later still . . . you fit against me, Eiryss, like you were meant to be in my arms. And then you spun out of my life and into the arms of another. But I held space for you. And you came back. Come back now, love.” He bent down and kissed her lips.

  She opened her brown eyes, and their gazes locked. “I remember,” she whispered.

  Ramass broke down sobbing and rocked her in his arms like an infant. Larkin wasn’t meant to see this tender moment. She backed away, turning to go back the way they’d come.

  “Wait,” Eiryss cried.

  Larkin hesitated before glancing over her shoulder. Her gaze locked with Eiryss’s. A connection snapped into place between them—a belonging and warmth that felt like coming home. It was such a powerful feeling that tears welled in Larkin’s eyes.

  “Larkin,” Eiryss breathed.

  “How do you know?” Larkin asked.

  A shadow passed over Eiryss’s face. “I saw many things the Black Tree didn’t mean to share.” She shook away her frown and smiled up at Ramass. “She looks like our daughter.”

  Our. Larkin stared at Ramass, who met her gaze steadily. A man with familiar red curls and freckles. A man who reminded her of her father. Of herself.

  “But,” she protested weakly, “King Dray is my ancestor.” King Dray who Eiryss had been marrying the day the curse fell.

  Eiryss shook her head. “Ramass is your grandfather.”

  Larkin’s first instinct was revulsion, but a beat later, she relaxed. Ramass was not a monster. He never had been. Ramass made a sniffling sound. Larkin looked up at him, at the love shining in his eyes.

  “My grandfather,” she said, wonder in her voice.

  He nodded. It was impossible. And yet, so many things that she’d believed impossible . . . weren’t.

  Eiryss struggled to stand. Ramass helped her up. She leaned against him, one arm over his shoulder. The other she held out to Larkin. A little unsure, Larkin stepped toward the woman.

  Eiryss pulled Larkin into her damp embrace. Though this was the first time Larkin had ever met her, she knew this woman. Knew her down to her marrow. Ramass hugged her too, every bit as tightly.

  They were part of her family.

  “Blood of my heart, marrow my bone,” Eiryss said.

  A line from the song she had written. One that the Alamantians had sung for generations. Sung to the tune of one of the pipers’ songs. Larkin’s mind automatically skipped to the next few lines. Consumed by evil, agents of night, Seek the nestling, barred from flight.

  “Your song was about me,” Larkin said. “I’m the nestling. You knew the wraiths would convince me to come.”

  Eiryss trailed a hand down Larkin’s cheek. “Fear not the shadows, for you are mine.”

  The truth about the shadows was there all along.

  “But I am afraid,” Larkin whispered. “Afraid my coming here has destroyed everything I ever loved.”

  “In my arms, the answer lie: a light that endures so evil may die.” Eiryss slipped the chain off her neck, revealing a silver ahlea amulet that sparked with inner light.

  Larkin held it reverently in her hand. “The amulet is how I defeat the Black Tree?”

  Eiryss eased it over Larkin’s head. “The amulet. And you, Larkin. You and your sister.”

  Thorns

  Standing to one side of the docks, Larkin swung her magical ax with all her pent-up anger. The thwack echoed through the empty city, sending raucous birds flying. A sliver struck her in the cheek, sending a bead of blood running down her face.

  She jerked it free and pressed on the sting. Sharp as her ax was, it hadn’t bit deep. The tree had probably done more damage to her.

  It would not win. Not again.

  Thinking of Ramass, she gritted her teeth and swung again. And again for Eiryss. And again for Hagath and Ture. One for every broken city and rotted skeleton she’d come across in the Forbidden Forest. And then she swung for herself. For Ramass and the rest of her family—the torment she’d put them through.

  Chips tumbled into the water, sending the colorful fish darting for cover. Silver sap wept, spraying her with each impact. Surprisingly, it smelled sweet and earthy instead of like blood and rot. She worked until well after midday, when she could barely lift her arms and sweat soaked her tunic. Sap clung to her
skin, the stickiness at the crease in her elbow driving her mad with each swing.

  Gasping for breath, she let her magic fade; the constant sigil use had left her arms numb and buzzing. She surveyed the arm’s-length crease she’d carved from the side of the tree. Half a day’s work, and she’d barely managed to hurt him. It was like trying to take down a mountain with a hammer.

  She tipped back her head back and looked up, up, up. She’d need a dozen armies of enchantresses and weeks of time to chop the Black Tree down. Not for the first time, she wished she could simply burn him to the ground, but sacred trees were more mineral than wood. They couldn’t get the fire hot enough to burn.

  She turned at the sound of steps approaching. Hagath. Larkin’s however-many-greats aunt and Ramass’s twin sister. She’d lived in another world completely—one filled with glittering prestige and unimaginable power. Now, she wore a homemade smock and ate fish raw from the lake. Even the power had turned against her.

  The words of Iniya’s curse came rushing back to her. All your happy memories will turn to bitterness. Your own magic will turn against you. And everyone you love will come to hate you.

  Light, every bit of it had come true. Had the old woman somehow used magic? Or just gotten lucky? Larkin’s sword cut out, and she slumped to the bark.

  Hagath came over and held out a cup of water. “What does it feel like? To hurt him?”

  Larkin shook out her arms before taking the cup and drained the cup, wishing for another. “Better.” She studied the small dent she’d made. “And worse.”

  Hagath nodded as if she understood.

  “Any sign of Vicil?”

  Hagath frowned. “He’s hunting.”

  Probably hunting me. “Ancestors,” Larkin muttered.

  Hagath tipped back her head and laughed.

  Larkin shot her a questioning look.

  “It’s just that Eiryss actually made ‘Ancestors, help me’ the official Idelmarchian prayer, hoping it would help her people look to her for help someday.”

  How many clues had the woman buried in their culture that Larkin didn’t even know about? The thought made her feel even more exhausted. She made the mistake of rubbing her eyes. The sap sent them stinging and watering.

  Muttering curses at the tree, she descended the steps that crossed the length of the root, slipped into the delightfully cool water, and washed. But no matter how hard she scrubbed, the stickiness remained.

  Hagath led her over to a fire at the end of the dock where Ture cooked fish in dark leaves.

  The smell made Larkin’s mouth water. “I’m hungry.” For the first time in two days. “I was starting to think we didn’t need to eat.”

  “The tree won’t let us starve to death.” The darkness in Ture’s voice made Larkin think they’d tried it. “Then he couldn’t torture us anymore.”

  “Will you tell me the story of what really happened?” Larkin asked.

  The two of them sighed, shoulders falling.

  Hagath’s hands were clenched, her eyes shut tight. “Do you know what it’s like to watch everyone around you, everyone you love, die? To watch your entire kingdom destroyed— forgotten, as if it never existed at all? No one to mourn the dead—no one but you?”

  Was that the future that awaited Larkin?

  Ture pulled Hagath in close. “Nothing good comes from talking about it.”

  Beneath Larkin, the dead scrabbled at her. All people trapped for centuries in the darkness of the Black Tree. She curled her fist around the scar in her hand from her embedding ceremony. Would mankind have been better off had they never taken that first thorn? There would be no wraiths. No curses.

  No magic.

  Was the price of magic too high?

  From above came a creak and grinding sound. The carriage descended, Ramass and Eiryss inside.

  “I suppose that means they’re done with their alone time,” Ture said with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.

  Hagath elbowed him and tried not to smile. “Stop that.” She scraped the coals back together. “After all that, I’m sure they’re starving.”

  Ture burst out laughing.

  “That’s not what I meant!” Hagath said with a roll of her eyes.

  Eiryss and Ramass came out of the carriage, holding hands. Eiryss had changed into the same long tunic the rest of them wore. The two couldn’t stop looking at each other. Eiryss had a wide smile on her face, revealing crooked teeth. Had Larkin and Denan been as bad? That one misty morning at a hot spring . . . She blushed.

  “Gah,” Ture said under his breath. “It’s like they’re newlyweds again.”

  Hagath bumped him with her shoulder. “Hush. They deserve this happiness.”

  Ture made a face. “But must we watch?”

  She grinned at him, and there were so many stories, so much history, in that one look. Once again, Larkin was out of place. Light, she missed her husband. How much more would her longing be if she’d had to watch him marry another, as Ramass had? Would she ever hear his laugh again? Ever hold him tight?

  Eiryss reached them and hugged Ture. Larkin couldn’t help comparing Eiryss to her other grandmothers. Iniya had been an old woman embittered by the loss of her family and her title. Fawna had been lost and hopeless. Yet after all Eiryss had gone through, she still smiled. Still loved. What had been the difference?

  “Light, woman, you’ve already hugged me into paste.” Ture’s smile belied his words.

  Ramass stayed a few paces back, a dazzled expression on his face.

  From a distance, Larkin watched the two pairs—siblings who had married siblings. One pair with copper curls, the other with straight, silver-and-gold hair. Had any of them borne children since becoming wraiths? If they had, there was no evidence. Larkin suspected that if the Black Tree could heal a scar, he could prevent or remove a baby. Larkin shuddered at the thought of another injustice heaped upon them.

  Had any of them ever deserved any measure of it? After all, they’d been involved in starting the curse, though Larkin wasn’t convinced they meant to. She was beginning to feel even more out of place when Eiryss’s eyes landed on her.

  “I’ve waited long enough for answers,” Larkin said.

  Eiryss frowned and then nodded. “The Black Tree’s mulgars have been bringing my descendants here for generations. They force a thorn on them. And they become . . . like Maisy.”

  Maisy was also a descendant of Eiryss and Ramass? That meant she was family. A wave of torment washed over Larkin.

  Eiryss’s eyes were sad. “She managed to retain so much of her humanity after the thorn turned her. She was able to fight him off. Hide from him, more than any of the others.” Her gaze met Larkin’s. “Help to bring you here.”

  I’m your friend, Larkin. I’ve always been your friend. And Larkin had executed her for it. She staggered to the edge of the roots, dropped to her knees, and screamed until her voice was raw. Punched the tree until her knuckles were broken.

  After an immeasurable length of time passed, she picked herself up and sat back around the fire, where Eiryss was quietly waiting. The rest of the Valynthians were nowhere to be seen.

  “She understood, Larkin. She didn’t hate you for it.”

  That didn’t make it right. “Will I become like Maisy too?” Light, Larkin’s hands hurt. She welcomed the pain. She deserved that and so much more.

  “The curse can’t touch you.” Eiryss sighed. “The amulet gave me visions sometimes. Visions of you, Larkin. And your sister Sela. Both of you breaking the curse.” She reached into Larkin’s tunic and pulled out the ahlea amulet dangling from a thick gold chain. “And you used this to do it.”

  The ahlea was of the White Tree—that much was obvious by the gold sheen and colors that danced beneath. This amulet was alive, just as the tree had been. “What am I to do with it?”

  Eiryss pushed to her feet. “We have to give you barrier magic.”

  An hour later, the wind had picked up, storm clouds blotting the horizon.
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  “She already has a thorn.” Hagath paced before the glittering black font. “I was going to cut it out.”

  Eiryss made a calming gesture. “Larkin has to have barrier and warrior magic to break the curse.”

  Ramass sat on the steps, his arms folded. “You still haven’t explained how she’s going to do that.”

  Eiryss rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache. “I told you, the visions are in images, feelings, music. It’s hard to piece it all together.”

  Ture threw his hands in the air. “Then how do you know you’re right about the thorns?”

  Eiryss shot him a flat look. “I spent decades in that coffin. I was able to suss a bit of it out.”

  “If you’re right,” Ture emphasized.

  “I was shielded from the curse within that dome,” Eiryss said. “Same as my unborn child. And her children after her.”

  That meant she was pregnant with Ramass’s daughter on her wedding day to King Dray. Had he known about the child? Had Ramass? And exactly what kind of woman was her grandmother?

  “If she was safe from the curse,” Hagath asked, “why was he able to make her a wraith?”

  “She willingly took in the shadows,” Eiryss said. “And she can reject them—if she has enough magic.” She put extra emphasis on the last bit.

  Ture speared Larkin with a look. “And when he nearly forced you to kill your husband?”

  Memories swarmed Larkin. Her sword slamming into Denan’s side. His broken voice. I had to know for certain. Light, if not for Sela, Larkin would have killed him.

  “That was unkind,” Hagath murmured to her husband.

  “She needs to understand what she’s getting herself into,” Ture said defensively.

  “And if you’re wrong?” Ramass asked Eiryss. “And the sigils only bind Larkin tighter to the Black Tree?”

  Eiryss turned to Hagath, who watched them with a haunted expression. “What’s the first thing the Black Tree made you do?”

  “Take sigils,” Hagath said in a small voice.

  “Yet he only forced one on Larkin,” Eiryss said. “Which means he knows the damage she can do with them.”