“Miss?” One of the guards pounded on the barrier. “You have to open the pane!”
“Go!” Larkin cried, and then the Black Tree wrested control of her mouth.
The Black Tree rushed toward Nesha as she struggled to open the pane. The Black Tree drew back Larkin’s arm for a killing stroke just as Nesha fell through. Larkin wanted to sob with relief. Four guards streaked into the room. Larkin recognized all of them—men and women who’d guarded her when she’d been queen.
Kill him! she screamed, her words silent.
The Black Tree scrambled back, leaped over the bed, and pulsed at the guards, who flew back. Larkin lunged for control, trying to distract him long enough for the guards to reach him. To kill him. He merely batted her aside. He cut a triangle through the floor, which dropped out beneath him.
They broke through the branches beneath and landed on a bough before Mama’s chambers. Two guards stood before it.
The city’s warning horn sounded, the sound resonating inside the Black Tree.
“What’s going on?” Mama called from within the chambers.
Hide! Larkin tried to cry out, but she didn’t have control of her body. Didn’t even have a shape. She was merely a presence within a form.
Satisfaction rolled through the Black Tree. He wanted to take something from Larkin, just as she’d taken something from him. That’s why he was here, attacking her family instead of Aaryn or Gendrin. Her suffering was more important than winning the war.
The Black Tree charged the guards.
You think mankind is a monster? she cried. Look at what you’ve become!
A sudden vision swept over her. A man killing an intruder in the night. As if the Black Tree was trying to tell her that he was only protecting what was his.
That’s not the same!
The Black Tree pulsed, sending the guards careening. A distant splash confirmed that they’d hit the water. With their heavy armor on, they were sure to drown.
Larkin had to gain control!
The Black Tree’s sword shifted to an ax. He chopped at the wooden supports that held the barriers in place, cutting through the right side and then the top. One more hit, and the whole thing would cave in.
Bright, hot pain exploded through her back. The shadows that held them together thinned. The Black Tree reached behind him and jerked a sacred arrow from between her shoulder blades. Another arrow clattered against the windowpane, sending it rippling. Another cut through his shadow cloak.
Two archers had taken up position in the branches behind him. Another two archers were running to join them. He flared his shield, blocking another arrow. Four soldiers ran at him. He pulsed them back, two falling into the water.
Two more hits, and he would die. Blood and cold shadows gushing from the wound, he ran to the other side of the chamber, the side facing open water. They couldn’t sneak behind him here, and he had plenty more pulses.
He is going to kill Mama and Brenna. Fighting against him wasn’t working. Larkin had to find another way to gain control.
Three chops at the supports, and the entire pane came down. He pushed inside and followed the baby’s cries to the bathroom. Mama had bolted the door. Five swings of his ax, and he wrenched the ruined thing from its hinges. Mama, a sacred dagger in her hand, stood between the Black Tree and a screaming Brenna.
Mama’s eyes widened, her breath coming fast. “Larkin?”
Even with the shadows cloaking Larkin, Mama had recognized her. She would die thinking a twisted version of her own daughter had killed her.
He tipped his head back, savoring Mama’s fear. Reveling in Larkin’s pain. He was like Vicil, she realized. He’d seen so much killing he’d grown to enjoy it.
“Larkin,” Mama said. “We’ve always protected each other, you and I. Protect me now.”
A rush of memories. Mama making Larkin a new shirt even though her own was in tatters. Mama giving her children the larger portion. Mama telling them to hide down by the river when Papa beat her. And something strange happened. The thorns binding her loosened. As if her love for Mama had weakened their resolve.
Booted feet sounded as sentinels entered Mama’s chambers. Two more hits, and the Black Tree was finished. He rushed at Mama.
Larkin surged forward, managing to regain control of her mouth. “Stab him, Mama! Quick!”
Mama gripped the dagger with both hands and lifted it above her head. Larkin lost her hold. The Black Tree took control, his grip snapped around Mama’s wrists. A knife formed in his hand.
Larkin would never forget the look of terror and forgiveness in Mama’s eyes. This was Larkin’s body. Not his. You let him in; you can force him out. It was as natural as breathing, to reach for her magic. The White Tree’s magic. Magic that the Black Tree could no more touch than he could control.
From deep within, she pulsed. The thorns tore free, leaving her soul wounded. But she stepped fully into herself. For a moment, the shadows pulled back just enough to reveal her true self to Mama.
“I’m sorry, Mama.” She formed her blade—a blade free of shadows. Before she could thrust it into her own chest, pain exploded from her back. The Black Tree dove back in, took back control. He turned enough to see Alorica behind her, face set with determination. The woman’s sword was black with blood.
“If there’s any part of you left,” Alorica said through clenched teeth, “know that we won’t let you stay this way.” She drove her sword into Larkin’s middle.
The shadows that held Larkin together broke apart, and she was sucked into the dark.
Hate
The shadows spit Larkin out. Pain robbed her of a voice, reduced her to a blind, dumb beast. Naked, she rolled on her side to reduce the pressure on her gash, waiting for the bleeding to stop. The wounds to close. The scars to fade.
Visions swirled in her head. Visions of murder and abuse. But she had been able to hold on to herself through them. To realize they were moments of long ago.
The last of the pain faded, and her senses returned. Small bits of hail drummed painfully on her bare skin. She pushed herself up on shaking arms. She was somewhere in the boughs of the Black Tree. The world had shed its black cloak for a gray one. Thunder rumbled.
And then she remembered who she was—what she was—and what she had done. She had crossed the water—something that was supposed to be impossible for wraiths. She’d shoved a graft into the White Tree’s corpse. A graft that would link the trees, allowing the shadows to enter the Alamant.
The Alamantians couldn’t fight the shadows like they had the wraiths and mulgars—nothing could. She’d managed to spare her family, but their reprieve would be brief. By tomorrow, every man, woman, and child in the Alamant would be dead.
She’d always wondered why the Black Tree had hunted her so hard. Why she was worth more to him than a mulgar army.
Now she knew.
The horror of it—of the fact that she was the instrument of the demise of her people . . . “I should never have come here.”
I want to go home. To die with my family and my people. She gripped Eiryss’s amulet, wishing it was the one Denan had given her. That she had some piece of him with her. “I want Denan.”
Tears traced her temples and soaked into her hair. She gave in to them, biting a hank of her hair to keep from making a sound—she had a lot of practice at silent crying. Harben wouldn’t tolerate any sniveling from his girls.
But then she remembered what Eiryss had said. That there was a way to defeat the Black Tree. It had to be done today. Because if not . . . there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.
Wishing she had something to cover her nakedness, Larkin pulled her long hair over her shoulders and hurried down the bough, the hail sharp beneath her bare feet. Aside from the swollen, sore spots of her thorn insertions, she was healed. The wind cut across the blood that smeared her, making her shiver.
She reached the main platform. A larger piece of hail struck her shoulder, sending an ache down her arm. Another
piece glanced off her cheek. Blood welled. She needed to find Eiryss and get out of this storm.
Arms over her head to shield her, she ran for the little building and ducked inside. It was empty. A flash of lightning revealed shelves and bedding. The hail was larger now.
“Eiryss?” she called.
A strangled, choking rasp. Another flash of lightning revealed a crumpled shape on the steps to the font. Had one of the other wraiths come back?
Larkin grabbed a blanket off the bed, held it over her head, and rushed back into the storm. Lightning skated across the sky, revealing Eiryss’s long silver hair, which shone like moonlight in the dimness.
Larkin knelt beside her, blanket over them both. Eiryss’s face was in stark contrast to the shadows, her skin exceedingly pale. She gasped for breath.
“Eiryss? What happened?”
She was obviously hurt, but Larkin couldn’t make out any injuries. “Did you fall?”
Eiryss reached blindly for Larkin. But instead of grasping, she shoved with all her strength. “Run.”
Larkin went cold all over. She heard it then, the whisper of a boot against the moss. Dropping the blanket, she shot to her feet, wet hair swinging as she whirled around. Her sword and shield formed in her hands. Hail drummed her head, shoulders, and back, leaving bruises, welts, and cuts.
Dark, hooded shapes blocked any escape to the carriage or stairs. There were at least six of them. She was painfully aware of her nakedness. Idiotic to worry about such things in a time like this, but then, the mind did idiotic things when panicked.
“Who are you?” They couldn’t be Denan and the others. Her wraith-self had sensed their group nearly two days away. But then, who else could it be? “Ancestors, don’t you know the danger you’re in?”
The shadows could come for them at any time. But . . . nothing happened. She reached for the darkness inside her, reached for that connection. She had a sudden vision of the shadows filling the White Tree. Of the Alamantians crying out in terror as their beloved tree turned black.
But the White Tree must have anticipated this, for she’d left row after row of barriers that the shadows were busy fighting through. That left only the wraiths free to fight. The Black Tree had called them back. Even now, they rushed through the Mulgar Forest with inhuman speed. They would arrive within minutes.
The intruders circled closer. She was hopelessly outnumbered. They couldn’t kill her, but she couldn’t protect them from the wraiths if she was dying.
Her instinct screamed at her to run, but she couldn’t abandon Eiryss. We can make it up the stairs behind the font. With room for only one fighter at a time, Larkin could hold them off.
She reached for her grandmother. Two figures stepped up behind her. Too late. They were surrounded. It was too dark to make out their faces in the shadows of their hoods. Light, if she had barrier magic, she could seal them safely inside a dome. Hoping against hope, she tried to light her new sigils, but the only answer was a throbbing ache.
“Please,” she begged. “The wraiths are coming. You need me.”
Instead of answering, the hooded figures charged. Knowing she needed to lead them away from Eiryss—to give her time to heal so she, too, could fight—Larkin rushed the two standing between her and the carriage. They flared enchantress shields. She pulsed, her magic overpowering them and throwing them back.
She leapt over one of the fallen intruders’ bodies and sprinted for the carriage a hundred yards away, the amulet thumping rhythmically against her chest. If she could ride down, she could reach the roots far ahead of them. Hide somewhere in the fen and ambush the wraiths before they reached the Black Tree.
Hail pelted her. One slammed into her eye, blinding it. An arrow stuck into the bark in front of her. Another zipped past her head. If one hit her, she was done for. They would capture her and kill her. Ignoring it all, she focused only on the carriage.
Ten steps away, someone stepped in front of her. She skidded to a halt, already turning to the next closest escape—the archway and the stairs beyond. But she quickly calculated the angles; her pursuers would reach it first.
She backed away from the person in front of her, angling until she reached the edge of the platform, nothing but the empty space beneath her. She considered jumping, but death by sword was less painful than that fall. A fall that would take far longer to recover from, leaving the wraiths plenty of time to take these people by surprise.
“The wraiths will be coming. I can protect—” She choked. Gasped. Blood spilled from her mouth. There was no pain, but she felt the broken bones; the arrow lodged in her left ribs, shifting slightly when she choked.
She tried to suck in a breath, but her lung was already full of blood. She coughed, black blood spewing from her mouth. She could feel death coming for her, looming dark and hungry.
A second arrow in her middle. Her body lost its strength. She fell backward, nothing but open air beneath her.
Light, this is going to hurt.
Hands grasped her arms, pulling her back to the safety of a warm embrace. His face was in shadows, but Larkin knew the smell of her husband—metal and paper and resin and leather. She knew how her body fit next to his.
“I promised I would always come for you.” She could hear the tears in his voice. “And now I have.”
“Denan,” she gasped. “Please. I can’t protect you if—”
Bright, hot pain in her chest. He’d stabbed her below her sternum, the knife going up into her heart. His hand was trembling; she could feel its vibrations through the blade inside her. He pulled it back and eased her to the ground.
“Larkin.” He cradled her close. “I’m sorry. Sorry I failed you. Light, please forgive me.”
She wanted to tell him that she understood. That she wasn’t angry. That he didn’t need to grieve because she couldn’t die.
“I’ll be all right,” she managed.
And then her body went limp.
Denan broke. He sobbed and rocked her back and forth. Each movement shifted the arrows inside her, the pain robbing her of sight. Sound. Was this what Eiryss had felt when she’d been trapped in amber?
Larkin felt someone else’s presence. “I’m sorry. We had her surrounded. But she got away.”
She knew that voice. Tam.
Denan’s answer was a keening wail that stabbed Larkin’s heart all over again.
“Be at peace now, Larkin,” said another low, masculine voice that was hauntingly familiar, but her overwhelmed brain couldn’t place it. Someone else wrapped her in a cloak. Denan’s cloak.
Flesh grew inside her, driving out the arrowheads and knife. Like hot pokers burning through her. She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Could only burn and burn and burn.
After what seemed ages, the pain eased. She could see again. Hear again. That was how she noticed Eiryss creeping up behind the men, her hands working, her sigils gleaming like starlight.
Eiryss threw the weave. Light flashed, blinding Larkin. Something passed over her—something that felt a lot like passing through the barrier at the Alamant’s city gates. Denan and the others were suddenly ripped away.
Larkin’s back hit the bark, which triggered a cough. Blood spewed from her lips. She gasped in a breath and coughed again. Gasped and coughed. But she couldn’t get enough air through her ruined lungs. She groaned when the hole in her lungs sealed.
A light flashed, so bright it blinded her. Shielding her eyes, she found herself and Eiryss locked within a small dome not far from the carriage, hail slamming against it. Her friends were scrambling up from where they’d been thrown.
The small dome rippled violently. A sacred arrow clattered to the ground. Melting bits of hail ran in rivulets across its surface.
“They won’t get through.” Eiryss pulled ribbons of light from her sigils and wove a pattern.
“Retreat!” Denan cried.
They scrambled to their feet, running for the stairs.
Larkin wanted to call out to them,
but the pain was between her and the words. Denan. Don’t run. I can’t protect you if you run. The hole in Larkin’s heart closed. Her broken bones righted themselves. She sobbed at the pain of it.
Eiryss made a throwing motion, and the ball of light grew so large it overtook the group and then sped past them. The enchantment formed a second dome around the entirety of the main platform, a dome that quickly faded to transparency. Now, Denan and the others were trapped within a larger dome that encapsulated Larkin and Eiryss’s smaller dome.
Clearly not realizing what the light meant, one of them ran headlong into it and fell hard on their backside. Light rippled from the impact, which revealed Tam shaking his head and scrambling to his feet.
Of course it would be Tam. He was the quickest of them.
His back to her, another man stabbed at the larger dome, his sword skittering across its surface. “It’s blocked!” a big man cried.
The group in the Mulgar Forest—they’d been a ruse. Something to keep the wraiths occupied while Denan and the others had sneaked into Valynthia. How had they managed to hide themselves?
Denan turned, his gaze darting about. “Spread out! Find another way down!”
Eiryss’s face was screwed up with concentration as she gestured with her hands. Larkin wasn’t sure at first, but then . . . yes. The dome trapping her friends was shrinking.
They ran around the platform, their swords dragging along the edge of the larger dome, which sent it rippling, the weave revealing itself. Wincing as if the contact hurt, Eiryss knelt beside Larkin and tugged up the cloak that had fallen off her shoulders.
The blood pouring from Larkin slowed to a trickle. The hail under her back was hard and freezing. She glanced at the dome. “Will it hold against the wraiths?”
Eiryss hesitated. “For a while.”
Light! “Help me up.”
Careful to keep the cloak around her shoulders, she staggered to her feet, her head spinning.
Denan must have realized the hopelessness of finding a weakness. They’d gathered nearest the stairway, about twenty yards away. All but Denan wore the pied cloaks of the pipers; Larkin was wearing his. Two were playing their pipes, the melody like water crashing against a cliff. The enchantresses pulsed. The larger dome bulged and snapped back, before shuddering back to normal.
Wraith King Page 36
