by M. J. Scott
“No,” Liam replied, pulling his hand back as Rhian leaned even closer. Then he cocked his head. “Have you?” He nodded at her arm.
“That’s my business, knight. But if you’re nice and listen to what I have to teach you and turn out not to be useless, I might show you.”
I held back a laugh and left them to it. Walking back to the map on the table, I stared down at the City laid flat before me. But the lines delineating streets and boroughs were merely lines, as my mind wandered. Mostly I wanted sleep and a bed. But only mostly. The Templars had allowed me a bath and a hot meal and a change of clothing before they summoned their council. And it didn’t matter what they’d given me now. I wasn’t likely to sleep anytime soon.
Not when I could feel her across the room like a still pool of water in the middle of the energies swirling around me. The clear high notes of her power, unchanged from my memories, sang around me, making it near impossible to pay attention to what I was ostensibly here for.
I had thought my heart had stopped for a moment when she first walked into the room. I’d wondered if I might see her. Allowed myself to hope for that much. Wondered how she had changed in the past thirty years since I had been gone. Told myself I was a fool to wonder. We had not parted well, Bryony and I, and she had never been quick to forgive.
But still, I had felt her step into the room, the sense of her like lightning from a clear sky, and then I had seen her. Better than my memories. Beautiful, as all Fae were. But she had something more. Always had. Her dark hair was braided and coiled around her head, setting off the milk-pale skin and indigo eyes. She wore a long dress of dark blue, simple in cut, hardly the fashion of the Fae, and her Family ring—that gave me pause—sparkled on the index finger of her left hand.
Only her Family ring, though. No other colors graced her hands. I smothered the spike of curiosity and hope. She had hardly acknowledged my existence so far, which didn’t bode well for my eventual reception when we did speak.
Still, stupid or not, I found myself lifting my gaze from the map again and seeking for her dark head amongst the crowd. I spotted her eventually. Heading for the door.
Which, if I was brave enough to take it, meant I might just get the chance to speak to her alone.
BRYONY
I was halfway back down the corridor that led to the tunnels between the Brother House and St. Giles when rapid, light footsteps behind me made me pause. Then I felt the wash of power reach me and was tempted to break into a run myself. But no. That wasn’t sensible. There was no need to run from Ash like a heartbroken child.
I wasn’t heartbroken. Nor was I a child. He was merely an old acquaintance, nothing more.
I slowed completely and turned to watch him approaching, his stride eating up the distance too rapidly for my comfort. Clad in leather the colors of wood and shadows, gray eyes intent, he looked out of place against the pale walls and marble tile. Too fierce. Too unsettling. Perhaps I should’ve listened to my first instinct.
Ash halted a few feet away, opened his mouth, then closed it again. Took another half step, then stopped. Smiled a lopsided smile. “Hello,” he said eventually.
“Lord Asharic,” I said coolly.
His smile faded. He straightened, bowed to the correct degree of greeting between our Families. “Lady Bryony. I am gladdened to see you well.”
Was he? “I’m sure your Family must be made joyful at your restoration.”
“I’m fairly certain they have no idea where I am,” he said. “Nor do I think they will be overly joyful when I appear on their doorstep.”
“Do you intend to return to the court, then?” I asked carefully.
“I have a task to perform here in the City,” he replied just as carefully. “After that, well, who knows what might happen?”
Who indeed? “I am sorry for the loss of your in’lai’shen,” I said. The Veiled Queen had been from Ash’s mother’s Family. Many generations ago, but honored grandmother was close enough a term.
“As am I for the loss of your queen,” he replied, keeping to the forms.
Then that smile came again. “Though given the old lady banished me, I can’t say I’m truly that upset.”
“Don’t let anyone in the court hear you say that.”
“Are you going to tell your father on me?”
“I don’t often talk to my father.”
“Oh?” His smiled widened a little. “Not one for court life?”
“I’m head healer at St. Giles,” I said, determined not to let him gouge a reaction from me. “That doesn’t leave much time for court.”
“I see.” He stared at me a moment. His eyes were a wicked dancing gray, a thread of humor always riding them at the most inappropriate moments.
“What?”
“It’s an unexpected choice for a sa’Eleniel. For you.”
“I’m not just a sa’Eleniel. Nor am I anybody you know.” I snapped the words, then clenched my teeth. That was hardly a lack of reaction. Damn the man. But I wasn’t going to explain my life and my choices to him. Particularly not when I’d made the choice to come to St. Giles in the early days after Ash was exiled. I didn’t want to talk about that time. Particularly not with him.
I made myself turn away. “I have to get back.” It was a half-truth. I was returning to my quarters at the hospital but not to work.
“Is it safe at this time of night?”
“If the Beasts and Blood have made it into the grounds of the Brother House, then it’s too late for any of us.” I tried not to think of the night, not so long ago, when they had done just that. The Beasts had staged an attack, and managed to burn down half a wing of the hospital, leaving dead and injured in their wake. Including Regina Foss, who had been best friend to Guy’s lover, Holly, and Fen, the seer Saskia DuCaine was involved with. It was Regina’s death that had put the shadows in Liam’s eyes too. The Beasts had struck a deeper blow than they’d realized that night. But they hadn’t tried anything so bold since the treaty was broken.
“Still, you should have someone to escort you.”
“There’s a tunnel that runs between the hospital and the Brother House. It’s perfectly safe.”
“A tunnel?” His eyes brightened with curiosity. “I never knew that. Sounds like something I should see.”
Veil’s eyes. I didn’t want Ash in the tunnels. The tunnel that led from St. Giles to the Templar stronghold also met the branches that led deeper under the hospital. Where the hidden ward lay. Where Simon DuCaine and Atherton Carstairs—the first of the Blood to join our cause—were working to find a cure for blood-locking. The hidden ward was bound by many tons of iron and many more layers of enchantment. There was no chance that Ash wouldn’t sense it.
Nor much chance that he would be satisfied with any explanation of what lay behind so much protection that I might give him. He’d always been like a dog with a bone when he got curious about things.
“I think that’s up to the Templars to show you what they want to show you,” I said primly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I started off again. I only heard my own footsteps at first, and I thought I’d managed to dissuade him from following, but then I caught the sound of his steps behind me. Abruptly I changed my course and headed for the nearest door to the outside. I wouldn’t lead Ash into the tunnels just because I was too flustered by him to think straight.
I was tempted to blast the door shut with magic behind me, but there was little point. First, because the Templar wards would set up a fuss if I tried to magically influence what they protected and second, because, unless my instincts were failing me, Ash was strong enough to undo any door I bound.
His powers and mine—though tending in different directions—had always had a strange sort of sympathy. We had worked well together and had little trouble unraveling the magical pranks each laid for the other. It was a sort of challenge between us.
I’d only had a chance to take three quick breaths of the cool night air when Ash opened the door and
stepped out to join me. I didn’t look at him. Instead I stared up at the sky, watching the moon half-hiding behind the drifting clouds. We would have rain tonight. Which would make the job of the Templars, patrolling the darkness, even less pleasant.
“You know,” he said softly, almost as though he was speaking to himself, “you’re ruining my plan.”
I didn’t take the bait. He wanted me to ask what plan.
“What plan might that be, Ash?” he said after another moment, his voice high pitched and squeaky in the way it always was when he wanted to annoy me with a bad imitation of my own.
“I’m not in the mood for you, Asharic,” I said sharply. “I have things to do.”
“After thirty years, that’s all I get?”
“Did you expect more?” Now I did look at him, hoping my face would stay calmer than the angry memories rising inside me. Hoping he would take the hint and leave.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Like I said, I had a plan.”
“If I let you tell me what it was, will you go away?”
He stilled. And I could tell my words had stung him. Well, good. Better to hurt him a little now and make sure he knew where he stood. Save us both a lot of hurt later from breaking open old wounds that should be left alone.
“If that’s what you want,” he said.
“It is,” I replied firmly. “So tell me.”
“You’ve changed,” he said.
“You’ve been gone thirty years. Everything’s changed.”
“Is that so?”
“You’ve changed too,” I countered.
“But not for the better, judging by your welcome.”
“I don’t have time for catching up with ancient history. I have work to do. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot happening here.”
“Ah, and Lady Bryony has to hold it all together, as usual.”
“Not all of us can cut and run at the least sign of trouble,” I snapped.
Ash flinched, and the expression bit at me against my will.
“It’s late,” I said more gently. I didn’t want to hurt him. I just didn’t want him here. Didn’t want to have to think anything about him. Wanted to return him back to the tightly walled up caves of memory where I’d consigned him all this time. “I have to go.”
“I was going to tell you my plan,” he said.
His voice was soft, almost sad, and I felt myself waver. I’d always been a fool for that tone. “What plan?” I asked against my will.
“The plan where the first thing I’d do if I ever saw you again would be to kiss you,” he said.
I nearly choked. Then managed to find my voice. “Well, I hope you’re a wiser military strategist than you are a romantic one.”
“You don’t like my plan?”
“It’s not a plan. It’s a fantasy.”
“I liked it.”
Part of me liked it too. The foolish part of me that held the remnants of the woman I’d been thirty years ago. But we were about to go to war and I had no time for fantasy. “Good night, Asharic. Please don’t follow me.”
“Good night,” he said. I walked a few steps and no footsteps came after me. Instead all that I heard was the soft “I missed you” that floated toward me like a gossamer dagger.
Chapter Four
BRYONY
In the end my night bore no resemblance to good at all. I lay awake and stared at the ceiling, only to fall into a sleep haunted by the sense of something wrong that made my heart pound even in dreams.
Sometime near three, I came awake in a flash when someone knocked on my door, my response honed by years of hospital duty. I slipped out of bed, into a robe, and reached the door to my rooms before I’d barely finished tightening the belt around my waist.
The face that greeted me outside my room was pale and drawn. Sam, one of the youngest of the sunmages—barely out of the academy six months—jerked his head down in a hurried nod of greeting. “Lady Bryony. You have to come.”
His sandy eyebrows—match to his always rumpled sandy hair—nearly met in the middle of his forehead, the frown emphasizing the worry in his blue eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, hoping it was just something straightforward like a birth come too early or a person taken by sickness in the night.
“Burns, my lady. Lots of them. Please come.”
My stomach twisted. Burns. Veil’s eyes. What had happened? But demanding that Sam tell me the whole story would only delay me getting to the patients who needed me. “Of course. You go. I’ll come when I’ve dressed.”
Sam nodded and sped off with no further pleasantries, which said something about his state of mind. He, like a lot of the younger healers, was always almost painfully polite when addressing me. That was the problem with cultivating a reputation as one not to be crossed. Eventually no one wanted to even approach crossing you. There were the odd exceptions, of course, senior healers and everyone that Simon DuCaine seemed to drag into his orbit. And my fellow Fae didn’t exactly tug their forelocks, though they did maintain the proper courtesies.
I went back to my bedchamber to change, snatching a dress at random from my armoire and pulling it and undergarments on with no care for how they looked.
Burns. I hated burns. They caused so much pain to those who suffered them. That was the hardest part. The human healers didn’t, as far as I could tell, feel the physical sensations of their patients, but we Fae did. Not full strength but we caught echoes of the sensations flooding the nerves of those we treated. And when the pain was very bad, even an echo could be hard to take.
Perhaps I should have grilled Sam after all. Then I could prepare myself. Plan ahead. Different kinds of burns required different treatment, but no doubt my staff would have that part under control. I trained them well and St. Giles ran like the finest clockwork money could buy most of the time. Tonight wouldn’t be one of the exceptions if I could help it.
• • •
The babble of voices and the spiking flows of human and Fae healing powers at work reached me well before I got to the top of the massive staircase that descended to the ground floor of the hospital from the third floor where my rooms were.
Too many voices. It sounded as if every healer who worked at St. Giles had been pressed into duty. I hurried my step, pushing away the worry winding its way around my spine with cold tentacled fingers. Exactly how many people had been hurt? And what in seven hells had happened?
The tentacles turned to claws as I reached the second-floor landing, where I could actually peer over the railing to see into the foyer. I hadn’t seen this many people crowded into the entrance of the hospital since the night that Treaty Hall had exploded a month or more ago.
I spotted Lily’s red head in the middle of the swirl, helping to direct patients and families. Which meant that Simon couldn’t be far away. I hurried down the remaining flights.
Simon met me at the foot of the stairs.
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Bunch of idiots decided to go Beast baiting. They were in one of the taverns right on the edge of Gillygate, celebrating the fact that they’d managed to corner a few and inflict some damage, when the Beasts decided to bait back. Apparently an oil lamp got knocked into a couple of bottles of whiskey and the whole place went up.” He started walking back toward the throng of people.
I followed. “How many are hurt?”
“We have about thirty with burns, a few more with minor injuries. And five dead,” he said grimly. “The worst of the burns are in here.”
We’d reached the biggest of the ground-floor wards, which was reserved for times like this. It held twenty beds, and ten of them were occupied with men surrounded by healers. The stink of burned flesh hit my nose and I sucked in a breath, determined not to let it bother me.
Mercifully nine of the patients were unconscious, whether from their injuries or the work of my healers, I couldn’t tell. One, however, was screaming as one of the Fae healers tried to lay a dressing o
n the red raw ruin of his arm.
“Why is he conscious?” I asked, approaching the bed.
“I tried to send him to sleep,” Bard said with a frown. “It didn’t work. And I can’t get a sedative into him while he’s screaming like that.”
I looked at the man. Black hair, brown eyes that were half-closed as he screamed. He looked as though he might be just twenty or so. There was another angry burn on his left cheek, spilling down onto his neck and upper chest. Not as deep as the burn on his arm but nasty enough.
“Let me try.”
I stepped up to the man and reached for the nearest body part I could get hold of—his foot in this case—and sent an urgent surge of power through him, willing him to sleep. It rolled over him and then bounced back at me. Damn. Bard was right. Which meant the patient was either warded or not entirely human.
“Fetch some nightleaf.” It was the concoction we used to knock out Beasts on the rare occasions we had to, one of our strongest sedatives. Bard nodded and the orderly who was helping him hold the man down bolted off. I sent a more subtle thread of power toward the man, trying to sense a ward or indeed if he had more than human blood in his veins. I felt no echo of power, so that was a relief. A human under a ward strong enough to resist my magic would be a concern on more than one level. It would have to be set by another Fae, and I was the strongest Fae in the City that I knew of other than Asharic. Who was unlikely to have been warding random humans since his arrival.
That much settled, I turned my attention deeper, trying to decipher the different flows of energy in his body. Finally I caught it, a faint thread like the silver gleam of moonlight on dark water. A familiar sensation that I associated with Beast Kind. Someone in this man’s ancestry had definitely had some Beast Kind blood. It wasn’t strong, likely a few generations back, but it was enough, as with many of the mixed-blood humans in the City, to give him an odd reaction to our normal treatments.
The orderly returned with the potion. I took it from him, made a quick calculation of the man’s weight, and diluted it a little with water. He wasn’t a full Beast after all. Then I summoned my most commanding tone, the one I used to put the fear of seven hells into my staff, and leaned close to him. “Stop. Screaming.”
