Chapter Eleven
It took me a long time to fall asleep, and when I did, it was the kind of rest one got on a battlefield, which is to say: it wasn’t any rest at all. I fidgeted under my covers and twisted my nightgown around me. All the while, the air in my chambers became thicker with anticipation.
Something was coming.
Suddenly, a searing heat surrounded me, making it hard to breathe. I sat up with a start. My heart thudded in my chest. Despite the warmth, I had the sense of cool fingers poking against my skin.
No question about it; someone was casting a spell. And since the magick felt icy, this person was definitely a Necromancer. My chamber walls burst into perfect sheets of red flame, and then, I understood. Only one Necromancer visited me at night and did so in fire.
Tristan, my one-time friend.
The man who’d sentenced me to a curse.
The person who changed my life forever and never asked my permission to do so.
I twisted my hands in my thin coverlet. With every passing day, it became harder to see Tristan as a friend. After all, the man had saddled me with a curse without my consent. Sure, he’d said it was for my own good—being cursed meant learning to be a Grand Mistress Necromancer, and ultimately, it was my only protection from Viktor.
But having the choice taken away from me still stung.
Tristan stepped through the wall of flames. He looked as he did the last time I saw him. He was tall and swarthy with loose black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. It struck me that he was like a dark-haired version of Philippe, only without the aristocratic air. The last time I’d seen Tristan, he’d been wearing a long coat and breeches. Now, he was in Necromancer robes.
“Elea!” Tristan stepped toward me with his arms outstretched. “It’s so good to see you.”
I leveled him with an icy stare. “One moment.” I slid out of bed and pulled on a thin cotton robe. “What do you want?”
He tilted his head. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”
“That depends.” My words were clipped and angry. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized the depth of rage I’d held toward Tristan. “Are you here as my friend…Or have you come to introduce a new terror in the name of doing what’s best for my welfare?”
He sighed. “You know I love you.”
“So, you’re here for some new terror.”
Tristan shook his head. “You’ve changed.”
“You should know. You were the one who changed me. Wasn’t that your aim all along? Now, I’m no farm girl. I’m unable to even take a ride to town without a mage battle breaking out, and worst of all, I love the fight.”
“This isn’t about magick.” Tristan’s eyes widened with sympathy. “It’s all about your feelings for Rowan, isn’t it?”
“You haven’t earned the right to discuss my private life.”
“Don’t forget, if I hadn’t inspired you to become a Grand Mistress Necromancer, then you’d never have met Rowan.”
I eyed him carefully. In their afterlife, most Necromancer ghosts would float around in the Ocean of Calm. A select few got to keep their mortal bodies and live in the palace of the Sire of Souls. They were the elite who’d earned an eternity of quiet contemplation and study. “Who are you? Why aren’t you floating around the Ocean of Calm…Or reading scrolls in the Eternal Libraries? Either way, you should be dead and know nothing of the realm of the living. How can you be aware of a single thing that’s happened to me?”
Tristan finally lowered his arms. “We can go in circles about this for hours, but I really am here to help you.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a totem ring. “This is loaded with enough spells to take you to see what’s happening right now with Shujaa.”
I stared hungrily at the totem ring. Petra’s rings were all decorated with carved skulls. This one had a large blue stone. Someone else had made it. “Whose magick is that?”
“I cannot say.”
“Will you at least tell me why you’re doing this?” I locked gazes with him. “And try to be honest with me, for once.”
Tristan met my steady gaze. “I want you to take your rightful place as Tsarina of the Necromancers. To do that, you need to finish things here.”
My throat tightened with worry. “Meaning I need to wait until Rowan dies and then move on.”
“You need to prepare yourself for the fact that your Rowan won’t live much longer, no matter what you do. It’s the will of Oni and Yuri, the Sire of Souls and the Lady of Creation. They are the ultimate power in our world. If they wish Rowan to die, then that is what will happen.”
My eyes stung with held-in tears. No matter what, I wouldn’t let Tristan see how his words affected me. “If Rowan is doomed, then why even give me that ring? Why show me what Rowan’s enemies are up to?”
Tristan raised his arm, and the ring sat on his outstretched palm. “Because I want you to live. You need to survive and return to your people.”
I swiped the ring from his hand. After all, hadn’t I wanted information? Who cared what motivations were really behind Tristan’s actions? I turned the dainty object over in my fingers. “How do I activate this?”
“Place it on your finger and think the word ‘transport.’ Only, be careful—the magick has limitations.”
That was no shock. All magick came with boundaries. “What are they?”
“The ring will transport you to Shujaa and then right back here to your chambers. While you spy on him, he won’t be able see or hear you.”
I tilted my head. “I’ll be like a ghost?”
“Exactly. This totem ring combines ghostly invisibility with transport.”
My brows lifted. “That sounds rather tricky.” I’d never even heard of a spell this complex before, let alone something that was activated with mental commands.
“The limits are as follows. Don’t speak to anyone or the magick will shatter. They’ll be able to see and hear you then.” The way Tristan explained this, it was like I was a Cloister Novice once more. Had he always been this much of a know-it-all?
“I won’t forget.” The totem ring was tiny—more something you’d give to a child than a grown woman. I slipped it onto my pinky and looked over to Tristan. “I won’t forget a lot of things.”
“Suit yourself.” Tristan shrugged. “In the end, you won’t have any choice in the matter. You’ll need to bury the hatchet and move forward with life as Tsarina.”
Anger corkscrewed up my spine. How could Tristan dismiss what he’d done so easily? I wanted to kick his face in, cast a bone melter spell, or both. Instead, I thought the word “transport.” Blue light flared out from totem ring on my pinky. The chill of Necromancer magick cooled my skin. Both Tristan and my chambers vanished.
The next moment, I found myself standing outdoors. I shook my head in awe. Whoever cast the spell on this new totem ring was truly a master. Not only did it transport me without pain, but it did so instantly. As angry as I was with Tristan, I would need to find out the secrets of this particular casting. Painless transport was something I could use.
I scanned my new surroundings. The totem ring had sent me to the burned-out remains of what was once a Caster village. Moonlight cast everything in a bluish glow. The charred remains of circular huts dotted the landscape. Ropes of shock tightened around my chest.
There were Changed Ones everywhere.
Men with human torsos and jaguar legs stalked through the burned-out huts. Ladies with serpents for arms dug through the ground. Warriors with alligator skin prowled along the edges of the crowd.
They were all looking for something. After they tore through a ruined hut or storage pit, they would come out again with an armful of clothing or furniture. Everything got dumped onto a small bonfire in what used to be the village center.
I’d heard of villages being attacked by Changed Ones. Some of the Casters had gone missing—Petra said that they were called Shadow Family. It was all part of the prophecy of the golden army. Perhaps this w
as one of the villages that had been attacked.
If so, then why had the Changed Ones returned?
Shujaa stepped out of a nearby hut. On reflex, I scanned the scene to find a safe place to hide. That was when I caught a glimpse of my body. Or rather, I saw what wasn’t there. Looking down, I found myself to be as transparent as a ghost. There was no need for me to hide. All the same, I noticed how everyone kept a safe distance from Shujaa. His powers to disorient must work at all times.
So I didn’t need to conceal myself, but I’d keep a safe distance all the same.
Shujaa marched toward the bonfire. The flickering light reflected off his armor. Wren was next to step out of the shadows. She stopped a few arm’s lengths away from Shujaa. With her spiky hair and short build, Wren could easily be mistaken for his child. I remembered the wasps inside her, though. Wren was a grown woman and a killer.
“Would you like me to hold one of your gauntlets?” she asked.
Shujaa chuckled. “You’re forever trying to steal yourself a bit of a totem.”
Wren laughed along with him. “Would it be so bad if I had just one gauntlet? Really?”
“Most of the power comes from the helm, not the gauntlets.” Shujaa’s gravelly voice lowered. “But if you touch any bit of the armor that Viktor gave me, I’ll cut off your hands. Do we understand each other?”
“Of course.” Wren laughed again, but the sound was forced.
Shujaa kicked at the ground. “My Changed Ones took down this place a month ago. I was told that everyone who escaped already went crying to the King. Now, our scouts tell me that there are still good candidates around. Why do they think someone is still here?”
Wren opened her mouth. A wasp flew out and landed on her finger. “The information came from one of my wasps. You stung someone here yesterday, didn’t you?” She petted the wasp with her pinky. “It was a villager who returned to her hidey hole.”
“And she’s a good candidate?”
“The right age and very little magick. She’ll be perfect.”
Shujaa stared down at the mud and his eyes widened. Leaning over, he picked up burned-out scrap of tapestry. “They did needlework in this village?” A note of awe lightened his deep voice.
“I suppose they did.” Wren’s gaze slowly travelled between Shujaa and the scrap of fabric. She giggled. “I heard an outrageous story about you and sewing, you know.”
Shujaa touched the stitching reverently. “What story?” His voice had a far-off sound.
“The tale goes like this. It says you were once a scrawny lad, and you admired tapestries, of all things.” Wren pointed at the fabric Shujaa clutched. “But then at the age of thirteen, the gods blessed you with great height and a warrior’s taste for battle.”
Shujaa shrugged. “That story happens to be true.” He stepped over to the fire and tossed the scrap into the flames. “It was many years ago, though.” He stared into the flames for a moment before focusing on Wren once more. “Speak of it to me or anyone else ever again, and I’ll stuff you with nails until you burst. Understood?”
Wren paled. “Yes, my future King.”
Bile crept up my throat. Shujaa stood in the remains of a village that his Changed Ones had destroyed, but his largest concern was that no one would ever find out that he liked tapestries as a child. And this was the man who wanted to be King. The thought sent a shiver across my shoulders.
A woman’s scream broke the night air. Across the clearing, a group of Changed Ones tore up the bamboo beams that made up the flooring from one of the huts. A second later, they dragged a young woman out of the ground. She looked to be about my age with brown hair and blue eyes. Her leathers hung loosely on her frame. Two of the jaguar Changed Ones dragged her over to Shujaa and Wren. She kicked and howled the entire way.
“Let me go! You’re nothing but Viktor’s pets. Abominations!”
My stomach twisted with worry. What were they going to do to this girl?
The Changed Ones held her up to Shujaa. The girl stopped struggling. She eyed his purple armor and gasped. “It’s you…The prophecy.”
Shujaa grinned, and his face again seemed to gleam with moonlight. “I am your rightful King.”
“But what are you doing with these monsters?” the girl asked. “You’re the one who’s going to save us.”
“You’re right,” said Shujaa in his deep voice. “I will save you and fulfill the prophecy. But before I can do that, I have other tasks I must complete first. The Changed Ones are a means to an end. Someone needs to burn down the villages and find good candidates from my army. It can’t be me, now can it? My people can never suspect that I am allied so closely with the Changed Ones and Viktor. Plus, I certainly can’t be seen doing this.”
His helm glowed with purple light. Anxiety tightened across my chest. Whatever magick Viktor had loaded into that armor, it did more than simply protect Shujaa from fireballs and other forms of attack.
Purple light gleamed off the helm, highlighting the dark runes carved over its surface. The words were in Necromancer code and read “Viktor Eternal.” I hugged my elbows. You didn’t name something after the Eternal Lands unless it was a totem of massive power.
The girl had stopped struggling. Instead, she merely stared at the helm, her face slack with awe.
Tendrils of violet smoke wound down Shujaa’s arm. He grasped the girl by the throat, and she collapsed onto her knees beside him. His gauntlet flared with purple light as he held her upright. All the while, the girl simply stared at Shujaa with glassy-eyed calm. She was too close to Shujaa now; the disorientation must have taken over her mind.
A spirit then appeared by Shujaa’s free hand. This time, it was a man who was kneeling on Shujaa’s right side. Since the ghost was transparent, his spectral body was hard to see in the moonlight. My eyes soon adjusted to the play of shadow in the see-through body. After that, every part of my soul turned numb with shock.
Rowan’s ghost was kneeling beside Shujaa.
Now, it was possible for a Necromancer to detach a spirit from a living person’s body, but it wasn’t easy magick. I began to see why Viktor needed an entire suit of armor to hold all the spells he’d intended. According to Shujaa, the helm stored the most powerful magick of all. I didn’t even want to imagine what spells were loaded in that thing.
Shujaa wrapped his right hand around Rowan’s spectral throat. Rowan’s spirit struggled against the grasp, but his motions were sluggish and random. Even as a ghost, Shujaa could disorient someone. As Shujaa gripped Rowan’s neck, the gauntlet glowed with purple light.
It took everything in me not to scream.
Now Shujaa had both the girl and spirit-Rowan kneeling on either side of him. It was an image I’d never forget.
Suddenly, crimson lines of power and light appeared on Rowan’s ghostly skin. Like tiny streams, Rowan’s red Caster energy poured up to his neck and into Shujaa’s grip. The gauntlet glowed more brightly than ever before as it became charged with Rowan’s magick and strength.
Bile crept into my throat. This was the same kind of thing that had happened when Rowan and I had sent Viktor into exile. Rowan gave me some of his magick, and I changed that into hybrid power to send Viktor away. Now, Viktor had left behind this armor and Shujaa to wield it. Tears welled in my eyes. The same tactic Rowan and I used to defeat Viktor was now being turned on us.
Rowan was growing ill and losing his life force, just as the prophecy predicted.
This is precisely how it was happening.
Why hadn’t Rowan told me anything about it? Did he realize what Shujaa was even doing to him?
The purple light moved across Shujaa’s chest. It then slammed into the girl and transformed her. Small golden beetles appeared on her wrists and neck. The creatures multiplied. Soon the girl was entirely encased in a shifting mass of tiny golden insects.
The beetles solidified into a smooth casing that covered the girl entirely. She appeared taller and more fit. Her skin took on a meta
llic sheen. Her body became encased in golden armor with only her head visible. And every one of her features—eyes, nose, and mouth—were now gone. Her face was as smooth as a skipping stone.
Shujaa had used Rowan’s magick to transform someone into a golden warrior.
And he’d used a totem from Viktor to do it.
My Necromancer mind wanted me to analyze what all of this meant. Shujaa had said he’d been hiding his true identity as the leader of the Changed Ones, so who did the Casters think he really was? But my Zuchtlos nature only wanted one thing: Shujaa’s hand off Rowan’s throat.
It wasn’t even a contest, really. I drew Necromancer power into my body, focused it into casting arm, and raced straight for Shujaa. There wasn’t enough time to speak a formal incantation, but I did get enough power in my arm to enhance my punch. I cocked my fist and rammed it straight into Shujaa’s jaw. The man went flying backward. He lost his grip on Rowan’s ghostly throat as well as the newly transformed golden warrior.
All the Changed Ones turned to me, their faces slack with shock. I was now visible, and that was fine with me. I still had some power left over in my body, so I could use the pause to speak my incantation.
“Sharp as a razor
Forced from bone”
Blue smoke materialized around my palm and then solidified into a large ball made of bone. I finished my incantation.
Give me a weapon
Strong as stone”
The ball burst apart into a thousand bits of bone. The razor-sharp parts went flying into everyone. The Changed Ones roared as the bone bomb tore into their skin. The golden warrior stood tall and unmoving. None of my bones caused so much as a scratch. I saved that thought for later; these golden warriors wouldn’t be easy to fight.
I focused on Shujaa. Wren circled nearby as he curled on the ground, howling in pain and rage. Rowan’s ghost was nowhere to be seen. I took that as a good sign. Spirits of the living always went back to their host’s body as soon as they were able.
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