Shadow Heir ds-4

by Richelle Mead

  “Yeah, but it’d be on Dorian’s behalf. I can’t really say I saw that coming.”

  “My priority’s always been the mission. There’s nothing personal about Dorian—that’s what I tried to tell you when he was in the dryads’ trance. If I can save him and help us achieve our goal at the same time ... well, then. So much the better.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “That ... that really means a lot.”

  Kiyo arched an eyebrow. “You care about him a lot, eh?”

  “I always have,” I said, not meeting his eyes. “Even when we were mad at each other over something, we’ve always been there for each other.”

  Until those words left my mouth, I hadn’t realized how powerful they were. When Kiyo and I had disagreed on things, it had almost always resulted in a breakup—hence the on-and-off-again nature of our relationship, and its eventual degradation into way off. I’d noted in Alabama how idyllic things were with Evan ... how peaceful and easy. And they were—because we never disagreed. He never contradicted me or told me what to do. Some might argue that’s a good thing, but I wasn’t sure it was a realistic thing. Of course it’s easy to like someone who always agrees with you. The trick is still standing united with someone who will tell you things you don’t want to hear. That’s how Dorian and I had always been. With very few exceptions, we’d always worked as a strong team, even when totally pissed off at each other.

  If Kiyo knew the thoughts churning within me, he didn’t let on. He switched back to strategy. “The trick’s got to be in the timing. We need to sync up rescuing him and the other monarchs—but still allow enough time to see if we can figure out the key to the enchantment.”

  “Not too much time, though,” I warned. “That bitch wants to execute him for her dinner entertainment.”

  “No watches or clocks to go by either.” Kiyo glanced at the small window. “And you don’t have much of a sense of the sun here either. That window’s really not good for—wait. The falcon. We’ll send Alea’s falcon.”

  “Spots?” I asked.

  “That’s his name?” Kiyo asked incredulously.

  “You have cats named after the Four Horsemen. What’s wrong with Spots?”

  Kiyo shook his head, having no time for such debates. “I have to see the Hemlock gang anyway. I’ll make arrangements for Alea to send, uh, Spots here when we go in to rescue Dorian. So, when the falcon arrives ... wait, oh, ten minutes and then go for it.”

  It was as good as we were going to get with our limited options. Kiyo and I hashed out as many other details as we could in our time together, including very specific directions on how to get to the palace’s lower levels from here. We talked until we finally heard my door unlock. Quickly, he transformed into the rat-fox again and crawled onto the plate, just in time for me to put the lid down and hand the covered tray to the servant doing cleanup. Kiyo had seemed pretty confident that he’d have no trouble getting out of the kitchens, so I had to trust him from there.

  The servant swapped the tray for a new one, which I realized was for my midday meal already. Time went a lot faster when you had company and weren’t staring at the walls. Once I was alone again, though, I recalled Varia’s comment that every minute I delayed meant more time for Dorian in the hands of the torturers. A good part of the day had gone by, and as more of it passed, I grew restless wondering if she’d be calling me for her deadly ultimatum.

  Time passed, though, with no word from her. Maybe she had changed her mind. After three hours, I was actually starting to get worried for a whole other set of reasons. The light coming in my window still told me we had plenty of day left, but if Kiyo was going to make good on his word to rescue Dorian, he needed to act soon before the “dinner show.”

  A flutter of wings in the window made me jump. Spots wiggled his way in and hopped down right next to me on the cot. Adrenaline surged through me. After a day of waiting on any action to happen, things were finally about to get moving.

  “Showtime, huh?” I asked Spots.

  His answer was to extend his leg, which again had a tiny scroll affixed to it. I removed the scroll and found when I unrolled it that it had a lot more writing than the last message. As such, it was nearly impossible to read since microscopic writing had been required to contain it all. After much squinting, I deduced the two main points of the message. One was that all was in place, and I could commence with the plan. The other was that the objects’ protective enchantment could be weakened by an incantation spoken by someone wielding a considerable amount of power. The incantation, which wasn’t long, was also listed.

  “Seems awfully easy,” I muttered. “Too easy.” Conscious of the time, I retrieved my half-ass wand and summoned Volusian. I quickly got him up to speed on the latest developments and showed him the incantation.

  “It does seem easy,” he agreed.

  “Could my friends have been misled? Maybe their so-called Yew dissidents lied.”

  “This is the language of a Yew spell,” said Volusian. “So that much is accurate, mistress. What I wonder is if part of it is missing.”

  “Well, that’s a problem for later,” I said. That seemed to be my operating procedure here. I put the scroll in my pocket and tried not to let his words bring me too down. “For now, we’ve got to get moving. The clock’s ticking and—”

  Again, I heard the sound of the door unlocking. “Go,” I told Volusian as I hid the wand under my shirt. “It’s probably for the tray. You go too, Spots. Tell your mistress things are about to get going.”

  But when the door opened, it wasn’t the servant who entered. It was my usual escort of guards. “Her Majesty has summoned you,” said one of them. “Let’s go.”

  What? I was being ordered to Varia now, seconds before I staged my great escape? I stood where I was.

  “What for? I thought I didn’t have to make any decisions until dinnertime,” I said, crossing my arms. Much of the day had passed, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t quite that late in the evening.

  “Her Majesty wishes you to see the Oak King,” explained the guard.

  Irony strikes again. I’d wanted nothing more than to go bust Dorian out myself, and Kiyo had volunteered to free me up for the monarchs. Here were the guards, offering to take me straight to Dorian—but I needed to dodge it. I was needed up here.

  “Sorry,” I said haughtily. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to play her game and let her try to psych me out with her ability to inflict pain. That’s not how I work.” Even as I spoke, it occurred to me I would just have to start my breakout now. What was the difference if the guards were in or out of my cell? I’d have to contend with them one way or another. I was on the verge of summoning my magic when the guard’s next words drew me up short.

  “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not even sure the Oak King’s still alive.”

  Chapter 22

  My heart stopped.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded.

  The guard remained blasé. “Some of the torturers were a little too zealous in their art, it seems. When Her Majesty discovered this, she graciously decided to allow you the opportunity to visit before the Oak King passes. I don’t know his current status. It’s not really my job.”

  “There’s nothing gracious about that!” I exclaimed. “And that wasn’t part of the plan. Varia told me he was going to be executed later.”

  “Our lady doesn’t answer to you, nor is she required to keep her word to her inferiors. She may do whatever she likes.”

  My heart was working again, only to start beating in double-time. In deviating from her plan, Varia was ruining mine. Dorian ... dead? I’d known he was in danger, but in the back of my mind, that danger had always been “later.” And, with the way I normally operated, “later” always meant I had a chance to intervene. An internal voice kept saying Stick to the plan, stick to the plan. If Dorian was dead, there was nothing I could do. If he was still alive, then Kiyo and the others could rescue
him.

  And yet ...

  “I’ll go,” I said.

  It went against every kind of logic. It played into Varia’s hands. And yet, there was no way I could abandon Dorian if he was near his last breath.

  They took me to the torturers’ chamber, which was every bit as terrible as one might imagine. Wicked-looking weapons—most of which seemed to favor spikes—lined the walls. But when they took me to Dorian, I didn’t see a single mark on him—aside from the ones inflicted earlier—making me think gentry forms of torture were far more insidious than I knew. He lay on his back, on a long stone table, like a corpse in a morgue. I hurried to his side, and even without any ostensible signs of injury, it was obvious he wasn’t in good shape.

  Dorian had always been pale, but it was the natural marble complexion that came with red hair and caution with the sun. This ... this was something different altogether. It was the unhealthy white of near death. His skin was clammy, and his breathing was shallow. Still, that last one filled me with hope. He was breathing. I rested a couple fingers on the side of his neck and felt a faint pulse. That was about the extent of my medical knowledge, but again, the fact that there was a pulse had to be a good sign.

  I glared around at the others in the room, unsure of whom I should direct my righteous fury to since Varia apparently couldn’t be troubled to come see me. Probably it was the dogs’ bath time. My contingent of guards had received reinforcements, but they were mostly there as precautions to keep me in line. The real culprits, I assumed, were two gentry standing in long brown robes with gold embroidery, watching me in silence. One was a man, one was a woman.

  “What did you do to him?” I asked.

  The male torturer spread his hands out in an absurdly serene way. “What our queen asked of us. She wished to make a point.”

  “What, that she’s a raging psychopathic bitch? She made that point a long time ago when she started exploiting other kingdoms.”

  A few of the guards frowned at my language, but no one came forward to stop me. “She wished merely to show her power,” said the female torturer. “And encourage you to choose a wise course of action.”

  “I am not helping her with her insane plans,” I said. “And she damned well knows it. Where is she anyway?”

  “At afternoon tea,” said one of the guards. “We are to relay your message to her.”

  “You can tell her to go fuck herself,” I replied. I turned back to Dorian and gently brushed hair away from his face. “Stay with me,” I murmured. “It was bad enough with the dryads. You can’t keep doing this to me.”

  “If that is your ‘answer,’” said another of the guards coldly, “then we are to return you to your cell.”

  “Fine,” I said, still not looking at any of them. “What about Dorian?”

  “He stays with us,” said the female torturer.

  My head jerked up. “What? He needs a healer! You’ve already pushed him to the edge. He’ll die if you keep at it.”

  “I believe that is the point,” said the male torturer. He arched an eyebrow. “What exactly did you expect? That you could refuse and Her Majesty would free him? If you want him healed, comply with her requests. Those are your only choices.”

  No, I actually had a couple of other choices. One was to fake them out and claim I would give in to Varia. After all, that was hardly the kind of decision I had to immediately act on. I didn’t have the Iron Crown with me. It was hidden far away in my own lands. If I claimed I would give it to her, I had plenty of time to figure out the rest of this before I actually had to produce said crown.

  Just then, Dorian started coughing. No, not coughing. Gasping. Like he couldn’t get enough air. His eyes fluttered open, a frantic and desperate look in them as he fought to breathe.

  “Dorian!” I cried, grabbing hold of him. “Dorian, breathe! Relax. You can do it.”

  Yet, it was clear he couldn’t hear me or see me. He was somewhere else, somewhere locked in pain that had done so much damage, it was now about to finish him off. I looked up at all the gathered people in the room, unable to believe they were all just standing around.

  “Ah,” remarked one of the torturers. “I wondered when his lungs would give out.”

  “Do something!” I yelled. “Help him.”

  Dorian suddenly stilled, a look of horror on his face. I shared his feelings because I realized he was no longer breathing. A new sort of panic shot through me, as well as frustration and a terrible aching sadness. I possessed a power that could bring many to their knees, a power that was widely envied. What good was it, I wondered angrily, when it left me completely helpless to defend those I cared about?

  “We do nothing until you make your choice,” replied the male torturer.

  Choice? Yeah. I was going to make my choice—and it wasn’t going to be giving in to Varia. It wouldn’t even be faking her out. It was going to be the choice I’d wanted to make from the very beginning.

  I was going to blow this room apart and get Dorian out of here.

  Magic surged within me, the power of water and air that surrounded all living things. The room grew thick with humidity as the air swelled and tensed, just as it had in my morning meeting with Varia. Now, I went further. The scent of ozone spread around us, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up from the electrical charges in the air. Some of those gathered sensed me pulling on my magic. Everyone else simply felt the obvious signs of a storm about to break loose. People tensed, weapons were drawn. Good luck with that, I thought.

  A huge burst of air, reaching a breaking point, suddenly exploded and took out one of the room’s walls. Stone and debris flew everywhere, and I barely had the presence of mind to lean over and shield Dorian with my body. My own injury didn’t matter. Others in the room didn’t have such protection.

  The funny thing was, though, I wasn’t the one who’d blown the wall apart.

  From a now-visible room next door, Kiyo and Rurik surged in, the rest of our soldiers right behind them, along with some Hemlock fighters. And behind them were Jasmine and Pagiel, tipping me off about what had happened to the wall. Immediately, the Yew soldiers jumped forward to engage this new threat, forgetting all about me.

  “Alistir!” I yelled, somehow making my voice heard above the fray.

  Dorian’s soldier jerked his head toward me. I beckoned him over. He gave a curt nod, after first dispatching a Yew warrior. Dodging a few others, Alistir soon made his way to me. I gestured frantically to Dorian.

  “Help him. He hasn’t been breathing for almost a minute.”

  Alistir blanched. Quickly he put his hands on Dorian. I couldn’t sense his healing magic, but from the look on Alistir’s face, he had a struggle ahead of him. I didn’t doubt Alistir was gifted, but I also wished just then that we had brought a sure healer like Shaya after all.

  “Eugenie!” Kiyo’s voice drew me from the healing drama. He punched a Yew soldier and then gave me an incredulous look. “What the hell are you doing here? Get out! You know what you have to do!”

  Feeling conflicted, I cast an anxious look at Dorian. How could I leave him? I couldn’t tell what Alistir was doing or if Dorian was even breathing again.

  “Go!” screamed Kiyo.

  “There’s nothing you can do, Your Majesty,” said Alistir through clenched teeth. “Go. Leave him to me.”

  I knew he was right, and again, that frustration filled me, the sense of being superpowerful and yet completely devoid of power. I could do nothing here, but there was a lot I could do upstairs.

  The entrance I’d come in through was completely congested with fighting, so I hurried over to the impromptu door Pagiel had made in the wall. Someone fell in step beside me, and I braced myself for a fight until I realized it was Jasmine.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said before I could utter a word. “They’ve got that under control. What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be leading a revolution?”

  “I got sidetracked,” I
muttered.

  Making our way back to the third floor was easier than I thought. A lot of guards ran right past us, only knowing there was a fight in the basement they had to get to. It never occurred to them that they were going right by their star prisoner. Those who did challenge us were easily knocked aside with our combined magic, falling over like dominos as we cleared them out of our way.

  Back in the royal holding hall, I saw the number of guards had lessened, probably because they’d been dispatched downstairs. Most of the magic users were still there, giving Jasmine and I quite the fight. One of the first soldiers I took out was someone I recognized as the chief jailer.

  “Get his keys and start freeing the others,” I told Jasmine. “I’ll handle this group.”

  She didn’t hesitate, and I made sure to make such a spectacle that I drew all the attention. The magic users who’d been left on duty ran a wide gamut of powers. Some I was able to toss around with wind before they even struck. One sent a wave of fire at me, inadvertently singeing one of his colleagues. As the fire raced toward me, I called on the moisture around me. The air around us went bone dry, but a wall of water materialized to stop the fire. I followed it up with a gust of wind to ensure he didn’t repeat the act.

  The hall’s space limited me in some ways. Normally, I would’ve kept hurricane-worthy winds churning nonstop, in an effort to stop my adversaries from even standing. I couldn’t do that easily without affecting Jasmine, however. Likewise, I was hesitant to use lightning in such a confined space. I was pretty good at controlling it—and it was an excellent weapon—but it had the potential to get out of control. Again, I had to consider Jasmine and the prisoners’ safety.

  So, I stuck to wind and water, which were effective but took a little more time in these quarters since those powers had to be wielded carefully. I’d gotten down to just one magic user when something hard, big, and solid slammed into me from the side. One of the doors of the cells had been ripped off its hinges and thrown at me. I stumbled to the ground. Judging from the satisfied look of the gentry advancing on me, that had been her doing. She must have some affinity to trees or wood in general. I would’ve sensed air magic and had warning.