Releasing the hilt, she scrambled away, out from under it. Thorn lay a few feet away, and she darted for it while the basilisk screamed. Its tail whipped about frantically, hitting the giant in the back and the griffin, too.
She ducked its trajectory and launched herself at the beast, burying Thorn deep behind one of its front legs, deep enough to pierce its heart, she hoped.
A great cry, rumbling agony, and it fell.
The spellblade lay next to it, and she retrieved it.
Ariana Orsa had saved her life.
She backed up toward the wall, both Thorn and the spellblade in her hands. Up her arm was… silver? It coated her sleeve.
Not far, glass shattered, and the silvery liquid coated the ground where a black-furred wolf had been.
So very like Brennan.
A pained howl, and the werewolf tripped over a silver-speckled leg, and the metallic substance was splattered all over its body, hissing as it smoldered. The wolf didn’t rise again.
Ten feet away, Cadan Bexley hefted another glass bottle. “You’re not getting away this time.”
It’s a person. It’s a person. It’s a person!
“Bexley!” Rielle moved before the werewolf, holding both her weapons as she glanced over her shoulder at it from time to time. “It’s a person—stop!”
He adjusted his specs with a finger and glared at her. “Get out of my way!” he snarled.
“It’s not a beast, Bexley! It’s a person who turns into a wolf. A person with emotions, intellect, reason.” Her voice trembled in her throat, but with any luck, it sounded as firm as she needed it to.
Over her shoulder, the werewolf had curled behind her, breathing in deep, tail curled between its legs in submission.
“I don’t care,” Bexley bit out, stomping forward. “Now move!” He threw another vial.
She swung the spellblade. Its foot-wide fire flared as the glass burst, the whole of it hissing to ash eaten away by flames. Holding the spellblade before her, she faced him.
Great Divine, what was she doing? She could barely wield a blade. Who knew what Bexley could do?
And this werewolf, would it kill her the first chance it got?
“This is my chance!” Bexley snarled. “You—”
Something hit him from behind, where Luca stood, his arm out as he grinned. He’d thrown something. His token?
An enormous hand closed around Bexley before he could recover, and lifted him high before constricting him, making him scream… until he stopped. The giant brought Bexley to its mouth—
A barrage of blades littered the giant’s body from toe to head. One in the eye. It staggered back, sweeping its other arm in front of it, and threw Bexley’s crumpled body at Luca, who dodged—only just.
There was no way his throwing knives would win this.
“Luca!” She threw Thorn toward his feet.
Without missing a beat, he grabbed the blade, sprang onto the giant, and buried Thorn in its chest. He pulled it free with a spray of ichor that he leapt away from.
But behind him, Mac Carra already stood, his boot upon a disembodied head next to a dead hydra. As the fourth to kill his beast, Luca had been too late.
A soft yelp, and Rielle turned to face the werewolf, whose gaze met hers.
Slowly, fur became snow-white skin, bare legs, and a human body—painfully thin, emaciated—and a massive mane of night-black hair. A woman. Hissing, she swept off the silver from her skin, and it burned flesh as it went.
The woman shuddered and knelt upon one knee, her head bowed, the burns slowly fading. “Agju a ma vita in u vostru servitore, maestru.”
She raised her hands, shifting a finger to a claw, and slashed it across her opposite palm. As she clenched a fist, blood dripped onto the ground.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Rielle looked back—Ariana. She handed the spellblade back to her, and the flaming blade dematerialized.
“She’s swearing herself to your service,” Ariana said, her eyes wide as she clipped the hilt to her belt. “Werewolf culture is steeped in codes of honor. I’ve heard of this from the dark-elves, but I’ve never seen it. If you accept, you make the blood sacrifice as well.”
Rielle shook her head. “No, I want her to be free.” She hadn’t tried to save this werewolf’s life just to enslave her.
Ariana stood next to her. “That’s not how it works. She considers herself indebted to you. Until that debt is repaid, she can’t live honorably without swearing herself to your service. If you don’t accept her pledge, it is a black mark.”
Pledge? Rielle sighed. The last thing anyone needed was to take on her problems. “What’s a black mark?”
“No pack will accept her.”
Luca approached from her other side and handed Thorn to her. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “A little too late, but thanks anyway.” He rolled his eyes.
Thorn was clean of ichor. Rielle cut her palm near the hilt and, with a deep breath, squeezed out a few drops of blood to mingle with the werewolf’s.
Divine help you.
The werewolf lifted her head, her deepest-brown gaze softening. She placed a hand on her bare chest. “Marfa,” she said.
Rielle did the same. “Rielle.”
Marfa shook her head while Luca gave her a once-over with wide eyes. “Maestru.”
Rielle elbowed him.
“What?” he shot back.
With a sigh, she removed her coat, tattered as it was, and swept it about Marfa’s shoulders, crouching. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said softly, helping Marfa get her hands into the sleeves. “But I’ll be your friend for as long as you want one.”
Marfa’s black eyebrows drew together, but she wrapped the coat about herself, her mouth curving slightly, and nodded as she rose.
The arena had gone quiet behind them.
Along with the bodies of the basilisk, the wyvern, the giant, and the hydra, the griffin now lay dead, too, and Tariq was barely standing, mangled and bloodied. His powders must have worked.
“That’s it, then,” Rielle said. “The second trial’s over.” She looked up to the Grand Divinus, but the repulsion shield was still in place. A moment passed, and lengthened, and still no change. She glanced at Ariana. “What are they waiting for?”
Ariana’s eyebrows knitted together as her gaze meandered to Marfa.
“Trial’s not over until all the beasts are dead,” Mac Carra called out as he wiped his enormous blade on the remains of Bexley’s coat. He stood and pointed the tip of his sword at Marfa, who started and stepped behind her.
“She’s not a beast.” Rielle planted her feet.
Mac Carra shouldered his sword. “Superhuman strength. Superhuman speed. Superhuman senses. Turns into a wolf,” he rattled off. “Not like us. A beast.” As he sized her up, he tapped the blade against his shoulder.
If he wanted to kill her, he’d do it. Even with Thorn, she stood no chance against him. He was bigger, stronger, more skilled with a blade. It was hopeless.
Ariana stepped up next to her shoulder and drew the spellblade. Luca stepped up on her other side, sweeping his coat open to reveal his remaining throwing knives.
She arched a brow at him.
“I’m not about to kill an innocent woman, werewolf or no, and I do owe you one.” A corner of his mouth turned up. “Besides, wouldn’t want you to miss your… plans.”
With a shake of her head, she turned back to Mac Carra. Crass as Luca was, his support was still welcome.
Mac Carra eyed the line of them and shrugged a large shoulder. “All lined up in a bonny row.” He sneered. “Then how do you plan to leave this arena, great merciful ones?”
The repulsion shield still held.
He had a point.
She looked up at the Grand Divinus again, who simply stared back. There would be no backing down. Marfa had been included deliberately, and the Grand Divinus wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t risk the appearance of weakness.
They’d
be here as long as it took.
Jon stood closer to the shield, his fierce eyes locked on her, his hand still gripping Faithkeeper’s pommel. He’d wanted to cut through the shield before, for her sake.
Cut through… She lowered her gaze to Thorn. Arcanir. She could cut through the shield, just as Jon had wanted to. Even the arcanir cuffs would let them all through.
But where would that leave them? Even together, all five of them would still be cuffed in arcanir, with only their weapons to fight with. The Divine Guard would make quick work of them. And there was no taking off the cuffs. None of them were strong enough to—
Superhuman strength.
She turned toward Marfa, whose dark eyes widened. Brennan could break an arcanir cuff. Could Marfa?
Rielle dragged up the sleeve of her white shirt and held out her wrist to Marfa, then grabbed the arcanir cuff. “Can you break this?” She squeezed it, pantomiming a break.
Marfa frowned and took hold of it, then met her eyes and raised her eyebrows inquisitively.
Rielle nodded.
Just a flex of Marfa’s clenched hands, and the cuff snapped, broken off.
She gestured a candlelight spell, and it flared to life briefly before she dispelled it.
“Me, too! Me, too!” Ariana held hers out, and when Marfa looked for confirmation, Rielle nodded. Luca offered his wrist as well, and even Mac Carra approached, his free hand up, although Marfa’s stance was rigid as she broke his.
Not a man to turn your back to.
Marfa wedged herself between them, gaze narrowed on him. Even Ariana and Luca kept watch. Good.
Rielle looked up at the Grand Divinus and faced stony resistance. The repulsion shield remained in place.
It was obvious that all of them could leave the arena at any moment they chose. They could fight the Divine Guard, and as five of the Divinity’s strongest mages, they could win. They could fight their way out of Magehold and leave it in shambles.
But they’d be leaving without the Magister Trials’ promised boon, as enemies of the Divinity, and Jon’s plea for Emaurria might be denied because of her revolt. And it would look intentional to the regional powers.
The question was, did the Grand Divinus wish to stake her reputation—and the Divinity’s—on that? Or would she settle for a reasonable, non-violent, solution?
“Your Excellency,” Rielle called out to her with a deep bow. “We have completed the second trial. All beasts have been defeated.”
The Grand Divinus slitted her eyes.
“We have proven our resourcefulness, our efficiency, and our morality, just as the trial demanded.” An olive branch. Take it, take it, take it.
“Your morality?” the Grand Divinus prompted. “Enlighten all those in attendance.”
Enlighten. The Grand Divinus could make the explanation look planned—part of the trial—if she liked it.
“The Magister Trials have had to change to adapt to life after the Rift,” Rielle called out. “And the qualities of a new magister have changed, too. We must know how to face the Immortals—how to fight those who wish to do us harm, and how to help those who wish to make peace with us.” But how would Bexley have been able to win? She bit her lip. “Master Bexley—Divine rest his soul—could have ‘defeated his beast’ by making peace with this woman”—she nodded to Marfa—“and acknowledging she’s no beast at all, but a person.” She glanced toward his body. “In pursuit of the magister’s mantle, he made the ultimate sacrifice… and in a way, he had the most difficult challenge of us all today.”
The arena went deathly still, and quiet. The Grand Divinus watched her, that cold gaze unbroken. Would it be compromise and settlement, or revolt and ruin?
“And all of you have completed that most difficult challenge, along with your own,” the Grand Divinus said at last, nodding to the Divine Guard.
The repulsion shield vanished.
“I declare the second trial complete, and the winners Master Ariana Orsa, Master Favrielle Amadour Lothaire, and Master Riordan Mac Carra, who will proceed to the third and final trial in three days. Join me now in the great hall as we honor the winners, and the passing of Master Cadan Bexley, whose courage in joining the Magister Trials will be remembered.”
The doors out of the arena opened.
She’d be going to the third, and final, trial.
Chapter 45
Brennan watched the arena doors open and the candidates emerge. Groups gathered around to congratulate them, but he shook his head. Her recklessness knew no bounds.
The Wolf snarled its objections, uneasy within.
I know. I’ll tell her.
He’d arrived in time to see her take the magical sword, kill the basilisk, and defend the female werewolf—all while cuffed in arcanir. She could have died. In the name of winning a useless title, keeping up political appearances, getting help for the Emaurrian coast… help she could get in other ways.
Too far. She’d gone too far.
As soon as Rielle exited, he grabbed her hand as she stepped out, and dragged her to a quiet corner.
“Brennan—what are you—” she began, wide eyed.
He yanked her to meet his gaze and gripped her shoulders. “Are you out of your mind, bride?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “What—”
“The moment she wanted to put you in arcanir, you should have left.” The very second the Grand Divinus had wanted to take away her ability to defend herself, Rielle should have quit.
She wriggled a shoulder out of his grip. “But I had a plan, and I had Thorn, and the hand mirror—”
“And you’d be dead without the help of that other mage,” he snarled. That magical blade. If not for that, she’d be…
“You don’t know that,” she hissed.
“I was about to watch it happen.” His voice dropped. “I was halfway to the repulsion shield before you used that…”
“Spellblade.”
“…spellblade and survived.” It was only the irreversible revelation of his nature that had slowed him at all, made him wait until the last possible minute, or he would have been in the arena and fighting his way to her.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, her sky-blue eyes searching his as she rested a hand on his chest. “And… thank you. For teaching me how to use Thorn.”
He practically growled at her.
He’d only been teaching her the sword for two days, and she’d used it to fight an Immortal beast without the support of her magic. She should have withdrawn.
At least there was only one more trial, and then she could put all of this behind her.
Movement from the side pulled his gaze away.
The werewolf woman he’d scented earlier approached to stand next to her, clad in Rielle’s torn mage coat, looking from Rielle to him and back again.
Rielle smiled and shook her head. “I’m all right, Marfa.”
Marfa. The woman seemed frail, gaunt, but the mage had no doubt starved her while the trials had been prepared. Perhaps even since the Rift. Typical Divinity benevolence. Keeping her here like a weapon in an armory, waiting to use her for this trial, except without even the regular maintenance a weapon would have gotten.
Marfa faced him squarely, like a guard. Earlier, in the arena, she’d seemed to pledge herself to Rielle, and by the looks of it, Rielle had accepted.
Rielle gently rested a hand on Marfa’s arm, smiling and whispering reassurances.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked her.
She smiled blithely. “Not even a bit.” With a sigh, she added, “But it was the right thing to do. The only thing.”
Not unexpected for Rielle to pick up problems.
And this Marfa would come with problems. Ancient ones. And her pledge—was it true? Would she really serve Rielle?
Too risky.
“Tell her to leave,” he said, and she frowned.
“I can’t do that—Ariana said it would be a… a black mark to refuse her service, and
no pack would have her.”
Pack? So the werewolves that had awoken with the Rift had packs, and some kind of laws.
Rielle stubbornly stared him down. There would be no reasoning with her. Marfa would be joining them.
“Ariana said it’s part of werewolf culture,” Rielle whispered, stroking his chest softly.
Werewolf culture. They had culture? All he’d heard was howling in the distant woods, but then, he’d never risked venturing nearer. Who knew what they’d do to him?
Nearby, Jon stood at the entrance to the stands, Olivia’s arms wrapped around his, looking Rielle over with searching, evaluative eyes.
Jon had felt it, too, then—that madness at her recklessness. He’d moved to the repulsion shield, Olivia dragging him back and muttering reasons not to.
Dying. Jon was dying. He hadn’t promised not to see Rielle, but he’d nearly said as much.
Not a threat. Not even remotely.
Rielle grinned at Jon and tapped Thorn’s pommel. “Did you see? I did what you said. The soft spot.”
“I saw.” Approaching, Jon gave her a teasing approving once-over, then that gaze flicked to him for the briefest of moments before settling on Marfa. Hands at his sides, free, ready, Jon sized her up as she did him.
“Nicely done,” Olivia said with an encouraging nod. “I would have liked fewer heart attacks, but then again, it is you.”
Rielle stuck out her tongue and nudged Olivia’s shoulder. They shared a smile before Una came over with her two friends, a young man and a young woman about her age. Mother had insisted she socialize while here—Una still had no betrothal, despite being eighteen years of age.
She was unconventional—dressing in men’s clothes—but she was amazing. Someday another person would see that, and if deserving of Una’s love, would become her partner.
“Congratulations,” Una said with a grin. “I especially liked the fire sword. Where can we get one of those?”
Rielle chuckled and inclined her head in thanks. “I wouldn’t mind one myself.” As Una’s gaze turned to Marfa, so did Rielle’s.
“This is Marfa. She’s with me from now on.” Rielle motioned to him, took his hand, and held it up to Marfa, entwined with her own. “Marfa, this is Brennan. We’re to be wed.”
Court of Shadows Page 39
