Mags & Nats 3-Book Box Set
Page 108
“What in the two hells,” Tol said.
Gerth followed the line of his gaze and waved a dismissive hand. “Some trouble with the Forsaken. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” Tol’s voice was rising, but he was too angry to keep it down. Tol was grabbing for the necklace around his own throat, intending to pour some of the precious liquid Source from his vial into Gerth’s, but his prosthetic arm was clumsy and the glass vial’s stopper was very small. One would think that after eighteen years without his left arm, he’d be used to having a prosthesis.
One would be wrong.
“Tol, stop it,” Gerth said. “You need to save your Source.”
His calm only made Tol angrier.
“You don’t get to sacrifice yourself,” Tol said, still wrestling with the stopper of his vial. “Not for anyone, and especially not for me.”
The Source gave them access to their abilities, among other things. They were defenseless without it.
Gerth put a hand over Tol’s, prying it away from his necklace. “I won’t be a sacrifice, okay? We’re going to find her.”
Tol turned away, unable to look his friend in the eye.
“Tol. We’re going to find the Fount. The blood marriage will be done, and we’ll all be saved.”
“And then we’ll return to Vitaquias and live happily ever after?” Tol asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Precisely.”
Tol cracked a grin, his first in days. Just as quickly, though, reality came back. He lowered his head. “We only have ten more months, maybe less if she’s older than me.”
“An older woman,” Gerth said, giving Tol a slow nod. “The Celestial must have known you’d need someone more mature.”
Tol snorted.
They both turned at the sound of footsteps crunching up the gravel path.
“Prince Tolumus.” The title came out as a sneer, making it sound like an insult. Everything that came out of his cousin’s mouth sounded like an insult.
“Erikir,” Tol said. He forced himself to stand up straight so he towered over his older cousin.
Unlike Gerth’s too-big suit, Erikir was wearing trousers and a crisp button-down shirt that were tailored to his narrow frame. His hair was in a tight braid that not even the stubborn English wind could coax out of place. His skin was lighter than Tol’s, giving him a sallow appearance. Or maybe it was just the perpetual grimace Erikir wore that made him look pinched and unwell. Not that any of their people were the pinnacle of health….
“The king is sending more Chosen with you on the next search,” Erikir informed Tol. “They’re not happy with the progress that’s been made, or should I say, the lack of progress.”
“Of course, they’re not happy,” Gerth snapped. “No one needs reminding that our entire race is on the brink of destruction.”
“We lost another three in Moscow,” Erikir said, ignoring Gerth.
Tol sucked in a breath. “Three?”
Erikir nodded. “The Forsaken are getting bolder, and without more Source, we have less ability to defend ourselves.” His cousin gave another pointed look at Tol’s full necklace.
Tol’s face burned. He knew what his cousin was implying. If Erikir, rather than Tol, had been the king’s son, then maybe their people wouldn’t be on the brink of despair. Tol knew there was nothing more he could do, but it didn’t keep the shame of his failures from making him want to disappear into the darkest hole he could find.
“The king’s leading a party tomorrow to kill those Forsaken,” Erikir continued. “We can’t have another Jariath.”
Tol suppressed a shudder. Jariath had gone missing a few months ago after tracking some Forsaken in South America. His body had been found weeks later in Rio de Janeiro. The Forsaken just left his corpse for the mortals to find, and his people had found out what happened on the evening news, of all places.
Jariath’s body had been mutilated. Those barbarians had cut off every one of his fingers, and done worse, before finally killing him.
Tol’s people were left wondering what Jariath had told their enemy before he died. There was no proof, of course, but Tol felt certain the Forsaken now knew the secret his people had been guarding for eighteen years. The Forsaken were master interrogators, and Tol didn’t think there was any way they had let Jariath die before telling them about the Fount, the power of her blood, and Tol’s role in all of it.
Now, it wasn’t just about finding the Fount and convincing her to blood marry him. It was also about finding her before the Forsaken.
Tol’s pulse faltered at the possibility of finally discovering where the Fount was, only to find her already in the barbarians’ grasp.
Did they know her blood opened the portal? Would they be able to use it without Tol? He didn’t know, and he hoped to the gods he wouldn’t have to find out.
“Who else is going to Moscow?” Gerth asked Erikir, pulling Tol away from his dark thoughts.
Erikir rolled his eyes like he could hardly be bothered to answer, but when Tol glared at him, Erikir said, “The king and queen, the royal guard,” he gave Gerth a sour look, “and you, I suppose.”
“The whole guard?” Tol asked.
“Your parents aren’t taking any chances this time,” Erikir replied. “We can’t lose anyone else, and our Source is running out.”
He didn’t need to say what came next. When the Source ran out, any of their people who were beyond the span of mortal years would die, and the rest of them would be completely vulnerable to the Forsaken.
“What about the Fount?” Tol asked. “We can’t take all of us off the search.”
“She won’t do us any good if the Forsaken kill us all before we find her,” Erikir sneered. “As prince of the Chosen, I’d expect you to know that.”
“As the prince’s underling, I’d expect you to watch your mouth,” Gerth shot back.
Erikir glared at Tol. “I really hope she’s got a hairy mole right here,” he tapped his chin, smirking at Tol’s involuntary shudder. “Or maybe, she’ll have three arms, and then together, you’ll make up a whole person.”
Gerth already had the cork of his glass vial off.
“Put it away, Gerth,” Tol commanded. “He’s not worth a drop.”
Besides, it wasn’t like Gerth could even use the Source against one of their own. It was more instinct bred from habit after a lifetime of turning to Source as their only weapon.
Gerth scowled, but at the look Tol gave him, he stoppered the vial. It had always been like this with them. The nature of Tol’s position didn’t give him the luxury of losing his temper, or using Source for anything that wasn’t killing Forsaken or finding the Fount. So Gerth had insisted on doing his fighting for him. Even when they were kids in mortal school, Gerth was the first one to throw a punch whenever someone made fun of Tol’s missing arm.
Erikir wasn’t finished, though. “I wonder.” He cocked his head, like he was considering. “Do you think the blood marriage hurts as much as they say? I’ve heard it feels like your insides are being ripped apart.”
Tol had to physically restrain Gerth from attacking Erikir.
“Clear out of here,” Tol told Erikir, still holding out a hand to Gerth, warning him to stay put.
When Erikir didn’t move, Tol took another step toward him. “As your prince, I command you to clear out.”
“You know,” Erikir said, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying not to find her.”
Before Tol could reply, Erikir turned, and with an audible huff, stomped back toward the manor. When he was gone, Tol slumped against the wall.
“I really hate that prat,” Gerth muttered.
“He’s not wrong,” Tol said, pressing a palm into his eyes. “Part of me doesn’t want to find her.”
“Suicidal, much?” Gerth asked.
“No.” Tol pounded his fist against the stone wall. “I just don’t want to be tied to a girl with a hairy mole for the rest of eternity.”
Gerth raised an eyebrow at him.
Tol raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m whining, aren’t I?”
“Like a little girl,” Gerth confirmed.
After a pause, Gerth continued, “Look, no one wants to have the weight of their race’s survival on their shoulders. But if I have to put my life in someone else’s hands, I suppose I’m okay with it being you.”
“You gush,” Tol said with a roll of his eyes.
“In all seriousness, you’re a damn fine prince, and you’ll be a better king.”
Tol felt those words like twin sacks of flour being lowered onto his shoulders. “…if I can find the Fount.”
“When the time is right, you will feel the Fount’s presence and know where to find her.” Gerth used an ominous, flat voice to repeat the Celestial’s words from eighteen years ago.
Neither one of them had been old enough to have heard her words firsthand or remember the destruction of their world. But the Celestial’s pronouncement, and her actions that followed, had consumed both of their lives since they were old enough to understand them.
“Look,” Gerth said, “why don’t you stay at the manor for a couple of days?”
“Yeah, right.” Tol rolled his eyes. “I’m going to let you all fight the Forsaken while I just kick back and relax.”
“I’m serious,” Gerth persisted. “You can’t come with us and put yourself in that kind of danger, and there haven’t been any new leads on the Fount.”
It was true he couldn’t go to Moscow. If the Forsaken killed him—and they would certainly try—it would mean the death of the rest of his people, too. But that didn’t mean he had to sit idle while his family and people went off to battle their centuries-long foes.
“And you want me to what, laze around the manor? Get breakfast in bed? Play chess on the balcony?”
“You suck at chess,” Gerth pointed out.
“No, you’re just freakishly good,” Tol replied.
“I am good, aren’t I?” Gerth widened his eyes, like he was just now discovering he was the best strategist among a people who were known for their ability to strategize.
Tol scowled.
Gerth’s expression turned serious. “How long has it been since you’ve been home for longer than it takes to repack your bag?”
Tol thought about that. He couldn’t remember.
“Exactly,” Gerth said, reading his expression. “If you keep running yourself ragged, you’ll be in no position to woo the Fount when we do find her.”
Tol grimaced. For his own sanity, he tried not think about what would happen after he found her.
“Even your Haze is weak,” Gerth persisted. “You’re looking as dull as Erikir.”
“Ouch.” Tol gave his friend a wounded look.
Gerth was referring to the slight gold shimmer that surrounded all of their people. It was a visual reminder of how much of the gods’ blessing was inside them. The stronger the Haze, the more powerful the immortal. Of all of them, even the king and queen, Tol’s Haze was brightest. Fortunately, Haze wasn’t visible to mortals.
“Maybe you’re right,” Tol conceded.
“Good lad.” Gerth thumped him on the back. “Take the next few days for yourself. Read a book or something. When we get back from Moscow, you can go back on the road.”
“Read a book?” Tol raised an eyebrow.
“Do whatever you want. Just stay away from Nira.” Gerth gave him a pointed stare. “She’s falling a bit too hard for you. Besides, she’s lost enough already. No need to add a broken heart to the list.”
Gerth’s tone was teasing, but there was truth behind his words. Nira had lost everyone in her family during the Crossing except for her aunts, and they were faring badly in the mortal world.
“Nira knows the deal,” Tol replied, trying to quiet the voice of guilt in his head. “She knows it can’t ever be more.”
“She may know it, but that doesn’t mean she’s okay with it,” Gerth replied. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way she looks at you.”
Tol winced. He had started noticing; he just hadn’t known what to do about it. The few hours he stole with Nira were an escape and an excuse…. An escape from the inevitable shackles that would be his future. An excuse not to be alone in his bed with only his thoughts of said future.
“Okay, I’ll stay away from Nira, Mum.”
“Good lad.” Gerth pinched Tol’s cheek, and Tol swatted at him.
Gerth gave him a light punch in his prosthetic arm. There was thunk as Gerth’s living flesh hit the carbon-fiber.
“Ow.” Gerth clutched his fist.
“Idiot.” Tol grinned.
CHAPTER 3
ADDY
Addy bolted awake. There was a light sheen of sweat on her brow, and the hairs on the back of her neck were prickling.
“You okay?” Livy’s sleepy whisper came from across the room.
“Fine,” Addy whispered back. “Go back to bed.”
“You have that dream again?”
That dream.
“No.”
And she hadn’t…at least, not tonight. Something else had woken her.
Livy fell back asleep almost immediately, but Addy’s pulse was still racing. She sat up in bed and listened. When she heard nothing except for Livy’s steady breathing, she tip-toed to the door and cracked it open. She heard the sound of the TV floating up from downstairs, but that wasn’t unusual. Her parents often fell asleep on the couch before shutting it off.
She rubbed her forehead. Maybe she’d been having some other dream she couldn’t remember, and that was the reason she’d woken up.
A window shattered downstairs. Her mom screamed.
Addy was already moving toward the stairs as Livy scrambled out of bed.
Stacy and Rosie’s door cracked open, and their heads poked out. “What’s going on?” Stacy asked, her eyes as round as saucers.
“Get Lucy and lock yourselves in your bedroom,” Addy told them as she headed for the stairs on silent feet.
“Wait,” Livy said, yanking on her bathrobe. “Should we—”
“You stay up here with the others,” Addy whispered. She gave her twin’s hand a squeeze.
Livy’s face was white as a sheet, but she shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”
Addy crept down the rest of the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked. She kept to the shadows along the wall as she inched toward the living room, motioning for Livy to stay behind her.
“Where’s the money?” an unfamiliar male voice demanded.
At the sound of her father’s voice and her mother’s crying, Addy abandoned all pretenses at stealth. She ran for them.
“Kitchen,” her dad was saying. “Cookie jar in the shape of a c-cat.”
“Don’t move,” the thief replied. “Unless you want to see your wife’s blood all over the floor.”
Addy burst into the living room with Livy on her heels. Her father was trying to inch toward the mantle where he kept his unloaded rifle. Her mother was sitting on the couch, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. The thief was in the kitchen. Livy went straight for their mother. The two of them wrapped their arms around each other, like they were each trying to protect the other.
Addy stood in the center of the room, not knowing what she should do.
“P-please,” their mom begged. “Just take the money and leave.”
There was the sound of shattering pottery. They all jumped.
The thief threw open the swinging door between the two rooms and stalked back to them. He was a few inches shorter than Addy. He wore overalls and boots, but that described most of the men in their town. He looked like he was in his t
wenties or thirties, but the beard made it hard to tell.
Addy took in the thief’s appearance in an instant. It was the knife in his right hand—not the drawstring bag that held her family’s savings clutched in his left—that drew her attention. The blade was long and sharp. It was the kind of blade someone carried around when they meant business.
“Where’s the rest?” the thief demanded, holding up the cloth bag.
“That’s all there is,” her dad replied.
“Liar!”
The thief took hold of the collar of her mom’s bathrobe and hauled her to her feet. Livy screamed and reached for her. At the same moment, the box of bullets her father had been trying to free from behind Great Aunt Mary’s urn fell to the ground. The bullets spilled out, dropping like hail on the wood floor.
“Big mistake, buddy,” the thief growled.
Livy screamed again as she reached a hand out to their father. Before she could rise to her feet, Livy slumped onto the couch. Her whole body convulsed in a seizure. It was a bad one…Addy could tell. But she kept her focus on the thief, who had stopped in the middle of the room. He was looking from Addy’s father to Livy. Addy couldn’t tell what he was planning to do when he raised the knife in his hand.
The ground beneath Addy’s feet trembled. She lurched, losing her footing, and then stared around at the others.
“Was that an earthquake?” Addy gasped.
Everyone looked at her. Her mom gave her a slight, nervous shake of her head.
“Are all of you crazy?” the thief demanded.
Had Addy really been the only one to feel that? How could that even be possible?
She hadn’t imagined the floor shaking, had she?
When she looked up, Addy saw a faint golden light. It seemed to come from nowhere, and it was getting brighter.
Again, she looked around at the others, waiting for the same confusion and shock she felt to come over their features. It didn’t happen. Her mom was still looking at Livy, while her dad and the thief were staring at each other. No one else had noticed the golden light.
In fact, everyone else was frozen in the same spot they had been in right after the room started to shake. It was like someone had stopped time but had forgotten to include Addy. Aside from Livy, whose body was still wracked by tremors, no one else was moving.