The Heir Chronicles: Books I-III

by Cinda Williams Chima

  No. Seph was her friend—more than a friend. Maybe they couldn’t be together, but she still didn’t want to look into his eyes and find embarrassment or pity.

  Besides, he seemed to be in charge of saving everybody else.

  “Thanks. I mean it, but I’d better handle this on my own.”

  Seph cleared his throat. “It might not be a good idea for you to leave the sanctuary by yourself.”

  Madison’s mind was already racing, cataloging all the things she had to do. Now it stumbled. “What? Why not?”

  “It’s just a bad time. Everyone’s trying to gain an advantage—D’Orsay, the Roses. Someone might have remembered what happened at Second Sister, and be looking for you.”

  So his concern for her had to do with wizards. Always wizards. Madison thrust her face into his. “Listen. I. Have. To. Go. I have no choice, understand?”

  He raised his hands, capitulating. “When will you be back?”

  “Not this semester, anyway. If I had to take a guess, I’d say I’ll be lucky to be back in the fall.”

  Seph frowned down at her. “You’re not serious. You’ve been working so hard to get to art school. And now you want to drop out of high school?”

  She turned away, rounding her shoulders against his questions. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. I’ll know more after I get down there.”

  “I wish you’d let me help.”

  She shivered, feeling sparks arcing over the chasm between them. Feeling totally alone. Maybe Seph couldn’t leave. But she could. It would give her time to work this out. He wasn’t the only one having a hard time.

  “Maddie? Are you okay?” The dark brows came together in a frown. “You’re shaking.”

  “Look, it’s late,” she said, backing away, putting her hands behind her back and nodding toward the door. “You’d better go. I need to pack.”

  He hesitated, as if he would say something else. Then he shook his head, turned, and was gone. She didn’t even hear the front door open and close.

  As soon as Seph was out of sight, Madison raced up three flights of stairs to the third floor, taking them two at a time. She shouldered open the door to her room and thumbed the light switch. The bulb in the overhead fixture fizzed, then exploded in a shower of glass.

  Crossing to the window in the dark, she ripped open the curtains, her fingers leaving smoldering holes in the cloth. She flung open the wardrobe and snatched off the sheets draping the painting that stood inside.

  Throwing back her head and closing her eyes, she extended her hands and sent power through her fingers like a breath long held and finally released. It streaked through the air and buried itself in the canvas, smelling like burnt coffee grounds. The paint blistered and ran into muddy swirls.

  She backed away until the bed hit the backs of her knees. She slumped back onto the mattress, resting her feet on the bedframe, her elbows on her knees.

  The painting reorganized itself, bleak, but recognizable and horribly animated. It was Second Sister all over again, Seph thrusting her behind him as Leicester and the alumni sent flame spiraling across the conference room. Only this time it struck Seph dead on, flinging him against the wall like a broken marionette.

  It changed again—Seph laid out in St. Catherine’s, pale and still, candles at his hands and feet, mourners filing past, pointing and whispering when Madison entered the church.

  Buried in paint was the evidence of a dozen such attacks, an unrelenting series of scenes of Seph dying in every way imaginable.

  Seph stirred the alien magic beneath her skin, woke it up like some monster of the deep. When she let it trickle out, Seph grew pale and tired, he developed raging headaches and his appetite dwindled. When she held it back, Seph visibly improved. But it built and built inside her until she had to release it or explode. There’d been several near misses until she’d discovered she could dissipate it into art—horrible art, but better than any other alternative. She’d tried to paint over it, to obliterate the sequence of awful images, but they continued to surface, like oil on polluted water.

  It was a secret she had to keep from Seph—from every-one. There was no way Hastings or Linda or Nick Snowbeard would allow her to stay if they knew. They’d have no idea how to fix it, and Seph was too important to risk. She should have left long ago.

  But she didn’t. She couldn’t give up her dreams of college and Seph McCauley both. She kept hoping the magic from Second Sister would eventually peter out.

  Well, now she had no choice. Grimly, she began sorting through her belongings. There wasn’t much to pack. She’d brought little from her life in Coal Grove. And she hadn’t had the money to buy much since her arrival in Trinity.

  After some thought, she pushed the hex painting back into the wardrobe and covered it over with a drop cloth. Two drop cloths. She closed the wardrobe and locked it. She wasn’t going to take that thing to Coal Grove. She wouldn’t need it once she got back home. Seph wouldn’t be there to wake the monster.

  While she worked, she sorted through her thoughts, as well.

  She had no desire to crawl back to Coal Grove Consolidated High School for the last five months of the year. She was done with that. She’d met the curriculum requirements, and she’d taken all their arts courses. She’d hoped to get a year of college in before she had to pay for it herself. Now she’d probably lose the whole semester.

  She knew how it would be once she went home. Her old life would wrap around her like a well-used quilt.

  The whispering would begin again, stirred up by her presence. Bit by bit, they’d tear the flesh from the bones of her dreams.

  She stared out the window at the hills and hollows of the lake.

  Truth be told, she missed the hills and hollows of home, the texture of the timeworn land of her childhood. She missed the people, too, some of them. But not the limits they set for her and the assumptions they made, based on who her mama and daddy were. Not the notes that got left on her locker at school. Not the way people stuck crucifixes in her face like she was some kind of vampire—as if they knew exactly who she was and how she’d turn out.

  Maybe she was just running from one kind of trouble to another, from the strange and magical trouble in Trinity to a more familiar kind. At home, they expected too little of her. And here, they expected too much.

  Falling in love with Seph McCauley was the kind of bad move Carlene had made all her life. Her mother careened from crisis to crisis, thriving on calamity. She acted like love was something you caught, like cholera. Or a spell that took you unaware. So she couldn’t possibly be blamed for screwing everything up.

  Madison meant to be different. She meant to take hold of her life and get what she wanted and leave Coalton County behind for good.

  “It’ll happen,” she promised herself. But not just yet.

  The canopy bed with the pink satin coverlet and the leaping unicorns on the bedposts was reassuringly familiar. Aunt Millisandra had furnished the room and named it Leesha’s Room when Leesha was only three. Until recently, Leesha had stayed there at least once or twice a year. It had always been a kind of confectionary cavelike retreat.

  Only now she didn’t feel safe.

  She propped herself against the ruffled pillow shams and drew the coverlet up to her waist. Releasing a gusty sigh, she punched numbers into her cell phone.

  Barber answered on the third ring. “Yes?”

  “Well. I’m here.”

  Barber laughed. “Really? I always know right where you are, remember?”

  Leesha fingered the gold circlet Barber had fused around her neck. Jason had said attack magic wouldn’t work in the sanctuary. But maybe Barber could track her just the same.

  “Look, this isn’t working. It’s like I said. Everybody hates me.”

  Barber tsked. “Haley doesn’t hate you. You’ve never even met, right?”

  “Well.” Leesha hesitated. “I met him tonight. At a party.”

  “There you go. That’s a sta
rt. I’m sure you made a good impression.” Barber sounded hugely amused.

  “The thing is, I just don’t . . . I can’t do this anymore. You’ll have to think of something else.”

  Barber’s voice was like velvet over stone. “That’s where you’re wrong. This is your problem. You made the deal with D’Orsay. You promised we’d deliver Haley and the Dragonheart. Those papers you gave me mean nothing if we can’t consecrate the Covenant. You need to lure Haley out of the sanctuary and to a place where I can get at him. How you do it is up to you.”

  “I have money. I can pay you. Just take it off, okay?” Leesha struggled to control her voice. Begging didn’t come easy.

  “You think I have to come to you for money?” The velvet was gone. “I’m sick of you bluebloods treating me like a nobody. I know where you are and I know where your Aunt Milli lives. I better see some results or I’ll squeeze the breath right out of the both of you.” He hung up.

  The phone fell from her nerveless fingers and plopped on the satin comforter. Wrapping her arms around her pillow, Leesha buried her face in the ticking and wept.

  Chapter Eight

  Transitions

  The next morning Seph rolled out of bed late, his stomach knotted up, his head pounding. Then the events of the night before came back to him. It seemed like whenever he and Madison spent time together, it ended in a fight, resulting in him feeling beat up.

  He’d never met a girl like Maddie Moss. She was like one of those untouchable plants that closed up their leaves when you brushed against them. It had been a totally frustrating six months. Other girls had made it clear they liked him, but Seph never reciprocated. Madison was like an intoxicating flower that pricked you till you bled, but it was somehow worth it to get close. She was at war with herself, she was at war with him, and yet there were moments . . .

  And now she was going away.

  He pulled on his jeans and a shirt and descended the winding staircase, catching glimpses of the frozen lake through the windows as he navigated his way to the bottom.

  The sky was bluing up as the sun rose higher in the sky, kindling the icicles that hung from the gutters of Stone Cottage. It would be a beautiful winter day.

  His parents were in the kitchen.

  “Hey.” Seph poured himself some orange juice and dropped an English muffin into the toaster. “Who’s watching the boundary?”

  “I am,” Hastings replied. “As long as I’m here.”

  How does he do that? Seph wondered. He’s not even breaking a sweat.

  “You and I need to go over some ideas I have for monitoring magical traffic within the sanctuary,” Hastings went on.

  “We’re talking to the sanctuary board later this afternoon,” Linda added. “We’re going to discuss contingency plans in the event of an attack. We’d like you to come.” She focused in on him and frowned. “Are you all right, sweetheart? You look pale and you’ve got those dark circles under your eyes again.”

  “We were out pretty late,” Seph said.

  “Later, I’m meeting with Mercedes and Snowbeard at the church to go over the items Jason brought from the ghyll,” Hastings said. “Your insights would be valuable.”

  Seph couldn’t help feeling flattered. His father always treated him as if he were capable of great things. Which made him want to accomplish great things. Even if the pressure was hard to take sometimes.

  This was quality time with his father.

  Fishing his muffin out of the toaster, he slathered it with butter. He carried his plate to the table and Linda plunked one of her big milkshakes in front of him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Milkshakes for breakfast? Again?”

  “Drink up. You’re skin and bones. You’ve been sick more often in the past six months than you’ve been in your whole life before that.”

  When Seph hesitated, Hastings added, “Listen to your mother. You’re going to need all your strength today, I promise you.”

  Seph hated when they ganged up on him. He lifted his glass in a mock toast and took a long swallow. Peanut butter and chocolate. Kind of like a peanut butter cup in a glass.

  Linda went upstairs to shower, leaving Seph alone with his father.

  “How are things going in Britain?” Seph asked.

  Hastings shrugged. “The Roses have laid siege to Raven’s Ghyll, hoping to flush D’Orsay out of his hole. There’s some question about the whereabouts of the Covenant. If D’Orsay were holding it, surely he would have acted by now to bring the guilds into line. But if he doesn’t have it, who does?”

  He paused, then, receiving no answer from Seph, changed the subject. “You’re still going out with Madison Moss.”

  It wasn’t really a question. “Yeah. Well, sort of. It’s kind of off and on.” He didn’t really want to talk about girl trouble with his father.

  “Snowbeard tells me she’s ambivalent about our mission here.”

  Seph’s defenses slammed into place. “That’s right. She’s not gifted. It’s not her fight.”

  “She’s not gifted in the traditional sense, true. But she has a talent that could be of great use to us, if . . .”

  “She’s not into it, okay? She’s got classes and she’s working a lot of hours because she has to pay for school next year.”

  “So you’re saying she could be receptive to the right offer.”

  Seph thrust back his chair, leaving long scratches in the polished wood floor. “What I’m saying is, she’s got her own problems. She’s talented, but the talent she wants to work on is painting.”

  “Painting won’t help us.” Hastings leaned back in his chair. “We don’t know a lot about elicitors, since they’re not part of the guild system. Legend has it they are descendants of Aidan Ladhra’s Dragonguard.” Hastings snorted. “That’s unlikely. But you know what happened at Second Sister.”

  Seph carried his plate and glass to the sink and dropped them in with a clatter. “I’m not listening to this.”

  “I want you to work with her, Seph.”

  He swung around to face his father. “Work with her or work on her?”

  The wizard waved a hand. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Even if she is not vulnerable to wizardry, you can exert an . . . influence. I want you to find out everything you can about her capabilities.”

  “And then what?”

  “Convince her to help us.”

  “Right. Just another sacrifice for the bloody cause.” Seph splashed coffee into a mug, remembering Maia, who’d died in Toronto because of him.

  “Do you have any idea how tenuous our position is? The presence of Trinity is an affront to the Roses. When they finish with Claude they’ll come after us. Or, worse, they’ll join forces with D’Orsay.”

  “No.”

  Hastings slammed his coffee mug down on the table and stood. “Given the powers arrayed against us, we cannot allow some ill-founded, unfathomable, extravagant set of principles to prevent us from seizing every advantage we can.”

  Seph stood, also, and suddenly they were standing toe to toe and face to face, energy crackling in the air between them. Seph was surprised to find that he was equal in height to his father. When had that happened?

  “Sorry,” Seph said, “but there are some things I just won’t do.”

  Hastings stared at him as if he’d morphed into something unrecognizable. Then his lips twitched into a half smile. “Very well,” he said. He sat back down at the table, and gestured at the other chair. “Please.”

  Seph didn’t sit, but leaned forward, resting the heels of his hands on the table. “Madison’s going away, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Family emergency. She’s going home.”

  “For how long?”

  Seph shrugged. “She doesn’t know. Maybe even through the summer.”

  “That’s bad for us and dangerous for her.”

  “I tried to talk her out of it. But she’s going, unless we lock her in the crypt at St. Catherine�
�s and slide food under the door. So how far are you willing to go?”

  Not that far, apparently, because Hastings changed the subject. “The Roses have been in touch with you, have they not?” Hastings looked him in the eyes.

  Seph hesitated, then nodded. “And D’Orsay.” He felt guilty, even though he hadn’t responded.

  “If they can’t lure you one way, they may try another,” Hastings said. “They may use her to get to you.” Hastings studied Seph, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “Well, I suppose there’s no help for it now. Keep her departure quiet if you can. Don’t tell anyone where she’s gone.”

  “How long are you going to be here?” Seph asked.

  “Not much longer, unfortunately.” The wizard’s hands moved restlessly over the table, the stone in his ring glittering in the morning sunlight. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take on even more responsibility in the near future.”

  When Hastings didn’t go on, Seph prompted him. “Why? What’s up?”

  “Your mother and I are organizing an assault on Raven’s Ghyll.”

  Seph blinked at him. “What? I thought you ...”

  “I don’t think the Covenant is there. But given the fact that war is more and more of a certainty, the hoard may play a pivotal role. In fact, it already has.”

  Seph had heard of the legendary cache of weapons in Raven’s Ghyll. “Has anyone actually seen it? I mean, I thought maybe the hoard was just one of those rumors that turn out to be nothing.”

  “Possible, but unlikely. The D’Orsays have taken advantage of their role as Masters of the Game to collect magical weapons for centuries. As far as we know, they’re somewhere in the ghyll.” He laughed. “The Roses are convinced, anyway. The hoard is what’s keeping them from entering the ghyll. It might do the same for Trinity. At the very least, if we make it unavailable, the Roses may do our work for us and eliminate D’Orsay. And the last thing we want is for the hoard to fall into the hands of the Roses.”

  Seph felt a cold trickle of apprehension. “How are you going to do that? Break into the ghyll, I mean? How are you going to get past the Roses?” He had to ask, though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.