A Sorrow Fierce and Falling (Kingdom on Fire, Book Three)

by Jessica Cluess

  I shivered. Magnus held up his hands, still bound at the wrist.

  “If I could, I’d put an arm around you to keep you warm.” Clearing his throat, he added, “As a fellow soldier, naturally.”

  “Naturally. They probably bound you because they feared your brute strength.” I rubbed my free hands together. “Little do they know I’m the one not to be trusted.”

  “Howel, I do love it when you speak diabolically.” Magnus made a noise of surprise as I slid my arm beneath his cloak and hooked it around his waist. I nestled against his body. It was a soldierly thing to do, naturally, and I felt a bit warmer. “You know, you could make a fire if you wanted.”

  “Waiting for the right moment.” I eyed the growing circle of witches as Fiona sat down beside us. “Maria will win. I know it.”

  “She’s always been a survivor.” Fiona shivered as someone placed a few sprigs of black berries and two drinking cups on the deerskin.

  “Are they going to have a tea party to the death?” Magnus asked.

  Fiona pointed to the cups. “Inside each of those is pure nightshade essence. They must each take the berries and herbs provided and mix a potion that renders the poison harmless. Then they drink.”

  “Suppose they both die.” I had seen death by nightshade essence. Remembering Eliza’s agonizing final moments made this duel even more terrifying.

  “Then someone else shall step forward and command.” Fiona’s brow furrowed as Maria entered the tent, a pair of male witches at her back. “Maria’s never been great at potions. Always had a better head for fighting.”

  That was a revelation. “I thought she was marvelous at potion making.”

  Fiona cast me a tender look. “Indeed, to an outsider a third-rate potion maker seems a genius. Maria’s got a healer’s heart, but not the head. She’s too rash.” The girl’s eyes softened as she watched Maria examining the items on display. “When we were girls, trying to get her to sit still and learn was a lesson in itself.”

  “I thought she wasn’t part of your coven.”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” she began, but the beat of drums started and she gave up talking. My stomach dropped. It was time for the match.

  Elspeth entered the tent, flanked by her two witches. Elspeth sat opposite Maria on the deerskin. The drums stopped.

  A young witch with yellow hair stood, her hands raised. “Now may the mother judge who is worthy. Now may the healer turn death into life.”

  The match began. At first, Maria and Elspeth glared at one another across the bowls and herbs.

  “You ought never to have come back.” Elspeth’s voice cracked. “I sent you away for your own good, child.”

  “You sent me away because you couldn’t bear to think how my mother died.” Maria picked up a bowl and tossed some berries inside. Taking up a pestle, she began to grind. “Enough talk, Grandmother.”

  Elspeth smirked. “So soon to die. Poor little bastard.”

  “Rather a tough old bird, isn’t she?” Magnus scowled, and I tightened my grip on him. Patience was a virtue, one I’d never truly possessed. But my fire waited for the right moment. I’d know it when it arrived.

  Maria and Elspeth ground and stirred powders, and measured their progress with furrowed brows. It was in some ways the most boring match I’d ever observed, but the cups were life and death itself. One miscalculation would result in agony.

  Sweat stood out on Maria’s brow as she worked. I prayed Willoughby didn’t overtake her now. How did she feel, working with the same poison that had murdered Eliza? Would it distract her, or spur her on to a better performance?

  After several more minutes of measuring and stirring, they each raised their cups. “To the coven.” Elspeth gave a rotten smile.

  “The coven,” Maria replied, and drank. Magnus turned his eyes away and winced. I was certain he, too, was thinking of Eliza.

  A minute passed, then two. Elspeth looked puzzled, Maria quite comfortable. Fiona clutched my hand, not bothering to hide her relief. “She’s made it through!”

  Elspeth looked at the cups, stunned.

  “I’d a good teacher,” Maria said by way of explanation. Indeed, whatever else you could say about Willoughby, she knew magic. “So, Grandmother. What’s next?”

  “Next?” Elspeth put a gnarled, spotted hand to her mouth. I could see that it was trembling. “Well, my girl. This is your next challenge.”

  Elspeth squeezed her hand into a fist. Maria’s smile fled; she began to cough violently, her face purpling as Elspeth stood. The old woman pumped her fist rhythmically, as though squeezing a rubber ball.

  Or a heart.

  “No!” Fiona screamed, though she didn’t move. Every witch in the room bowed their head. Maria fell to her hands and knees, gasping for air. I had to do something, and fast.

  “Blood magic,” Maria gasped. She turned horrified eyes to her grandmother. “How could you?”

  What had Maria told me of blood magic? A witch could access it, but it was an evil proposition.

  Elspeth had ruled her coven by blood magic and fear. Now I understood why no one rose up to help. Now I understood why Fiona, though she cried to watch this, remained seated.

  “After Sarah died, I knew there could be no peace with other magic folk.” Elspeth’s voice shook. Pain appeared on the woman’s face, cracks forming in stone. “Better not to be slaves, no matter the cost.”

  Maria was going to die unless I did something. But I knew, deep inside, that any attempt to enter the fight would undo something powerful. Maria caught my eyes, and I couldn’t help her. What could I do? All I had was…

  Fire.

  Praying that she understood, I willed a few sparks to fly from my hands. Before the cold air snatched them away, Maria summoned those sparks to her. With a thought, she whipped them up into a massive ball of fire, throwing it at Elspeth.

  The woman’s tunic ignited; flame rippled over her sleeve. As she beat the fire out, Maria stood. The witch’s hold on her had broken, and she wasted no time.

  She stretched her hand toward the tent’s opening. The wind ushered in a gust of snow, which Maria transformed into a dagger of ice. With perfect aim, Maria flung the dagger, slicing her opponent’s shoulder. Fresh blood spattered over the ground.

  Maria went to stand over her grandmother. I gave a few more sparks, which she collected into a burning ball. Elspeth shielded her face as Maria lowered the flame to burn her.

  “Have I taken the right of coven?” the girl asked. Silence. Until, finally, Elspeth groaned.

  “It is yours,” the witch hissed.

  We all caught the words, so thin they were nearly lost. Something seemed to happen then, as though an invisible violin string had been plucked. The vibration went through my body.

  Maria held her hand to her grandmother, but the old woman would not take it. Hurt glimmered in the girl’s eyes. “I would forgive you,” she said.

  Elspeth never lost her sneer. “Anger is all I’ve left, girl.” The old woman got off the ground without any help. “Take these fools, then. Lead them to their deaths in the name of those murderers. I want no part in it.”

  “You are a witch of this coven,” Maria said.

  “I break from the coven. I shall never take shelter in another; I shall live and die off the land alone.” The words had the quality of rehearsal about them. Around us, the witches chanted in low voices. It was ceremonial; one of them was leaving the group.

  “You won’t survive on your own,” Maria said. She held out her hand, but Elspeth struck it away.

  “Then that will be the mother’s wish. I accept it.” Elspeth took up her cloak and stalked out of the tent. This time, her two women attendants did not follow her; they fixed their attention on their new queen.

  Maria remained in the center of the circle. Slowly,
she discarded her sadness and looked upon every member of her new coven. For it was hers, now, every bit of it.

  “You know me,” she said at last. Her voice sounded hoarse with nerves. “When I was a small child, Sarah Templeton left you to raise me with a lowland coven. Years after her death, I returned to claim my place with you. Elspeth Templeton said I’d no right to this coven, being a half-blood beggar.” I expected this to turn into an accusatory rage, but that had never been Maria’s way. Rather, her tone gentled. “Despite that, you never turned your backs on me fully. When I tracked you because I was too cold, you gave me kindling for fire, or dried meat, or an ax.” Fiona offered a shy smile at the word ax. I now understood why Maria had been so attached to the thing. “I have not come back to hide. The Skinless Man wants to burn this country to the ground. His success means the end of all of us, witch, sorcerer, and magician alike.” She pointed to Magnus and me. “My friends are sorcerers, yes. But they want what I want: to save our home. Will you take me as your leader and follow me into battle? To help the queen, yes…and the sorcerers?”

  The crowd went stone silent. Who here had forgotten the agonized screams of loved ones burning on a pyre? Who had forgotten the smoke-ravaged skies, or the smell of cooking flesh?

  “I’ll say one last thing.” Maria’s voice wavered with emotion. “I’ve a powerful reason to hate the sorcerers. But I found a way past it.” She looked at me. “With the help of a friend.”

  If Magnus had taught me anything, it was the importance of good dramatic timing. Sensing the opportunity, I erupted into flames, fully, from head to toe. Witches cried out in awe. Magnus, through the veil of fire, looked on me with pride.

  When I extinguished I curtsied, very properly.

  “Lines are being redrawn,” I said. “If we survive, the new world won’t be the same as the old.”

  “I won’t ask anyone to march to death if they don’t want it,” Maria said. “But will you come with me?”

  Silence reigned. Then, slowly, a low moaning began through the crowd. The hair on my neck prickled; it was the sound of mourning. And I could somehow picture the pyres as they had been, the ash of all those ruined lives. And then, the cries of grief began to change, and the images and colors changed with them. The cries became chants of war. Oaths of fealty.

  The chants swelled. The witches stomped their boots and raised their hands above Maria. Blessing her.

  She was their queen now. Their leader.

  Finally, she had come home.

  * * *

  —

  NOW THAT WE WERE GUESTS RATHER than prisoners, they brought both Magnus and me a change of clothes. I removed my knickers, stockings, and gown, dressing in the soft trousers and the tunic of the witches. They bade me take off my corset as well, which at first felt like freedom but quickly became painful. I’d rarely felt so sore.

  “Probably fastened into a corset before you were three.” Fiona managed to fashion me something like a corset, only softer and more pliable. I could bend quite easily at the waist, and it felt miraculous.

  “Any chance I could have my petticoat back?” I wanted those porter runes, though it looked a bit hilarious with the tunic and the trousers. Deciding I’d wait until I’d a dress again, I took the petticoat from Fiona and put it in my pack.

  None of the witches wore their hair up, so I brought mine out of its chignon, instead loosely tying it in a tail behind my head. When I emerged into Magnus’s tent—he’d not taken off his uniform—he looked me up and down with an approving glance.

  “Scandalous. A woman with legs!” he said, handing me a bowl of stew.

  “Yes, I finally have a pair of my very own.” We laughed as we ate. Liquid dribbled down my chin, and I wiped it on my sleeve without thinking. Truly, I was becoming a child of the wilderness.

  We emerged from the tent later to find Maria already giving orders for what was to be taken. Tents were being pulled up, animals harnessed to carts and wagons. Women were cooking over fires, ladling concoctions into skeins. The men didn’t seem to have much to do with potion making.

  “That was how sorcerers were said to begin,” Magnus told me when I pointed out the men’s lack of participation. “Back in Constantine’s day, one male witch, Senovarus, grew tired of being powerless. So he found a way to channel magic through an object—a stave. This was something that worked almost exclusively for men, setting them free.”

  Rebels, indeed. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “My grand-mère was a perpetual outsider in sorcerer society. She adored digging up the unsavory bits of Order history.” He winked. “Of course, who can ever know the whole truth?”

  Nettie.

  That was Rook’s voice in my ear. I could feel him at the back of my mind, tugging me away from Magnus. I scanned the surrounding area for him.

  “What is it?” Magnus asked. Making my excuses, I stole away from the group and wandered into the woods. I did not have to go far before the darkness encroached all around us. Rook appeared before me, halting me in my tracks.

  His shadowy garb, and the oddly inhuman appearance of his face, stood out more starkly here in the natural world. He resembled a wicked faerie from a child’s story. Yet I didn’t care; being in the woods with him was like coming home.

  “I never thought we’d be like this again,” I admitted. He regarded me with gentle confusion. “Together, I mean. Free.”

  “Even when I was farthest from you, I could feel you as close as my own skin.” Rook looked at the darkening sky. “It’s funny, really, because that’s what the Ancients are: always near to this world, yet eternally far.” He spoke as if in a trance. I took his hand, much as I had the day we’d sat on the rock in the heather near Brimthorn. The day our lives changed forever.

  “I missed you.” I didn’t mean for my words to catch in my throat. He kissed me on the forehead.

  “You tethered me to this new life, same way you tethered me to the old. It was because of you I didn’t succumb to darkness all those years at Brimthorn.” He was silent awhile. “Will you save me from the darkness now?”

  “Of course.” I took his face in my hands. “I’d do anything.”

  He petted my cheek and said, “Then kill me.”

  The world dropped out from under me. Not this again. “Be serious.”

  “I have never been more serious.” His black eyes shimmered with hurt. “You swore you’d save me.”

  “Yes. I will save you. Not kill you.”

  “But this isn’t about me any longer, Nettie.” Rook sighed, ran a hand through his flaxen hair. “Try to understand. After Korozoth died, I inherited his abilities.”

  “Yes, and you became…” I stopped, because whatever I said would sound wrong. “Something more,” I finished.

  “Exactly. The danger is great, but so is the power.” He drew nearer. “You could have that power, Nettie.”

  Oh, this was absurd. “So you want to turn me into…what you’ve become,” I said at last, clumsily. Rook gritted his teeth. God, he was so obviously trying to be patient.

  “I’m too far gone, Nettie. R’hlem is my master now; every day that I fight him, he hurts me. In here.” Rook jabbed a finger at his forehead. “I could be turned into a beast again and force you to live as my slave. If that happens, we’re all doomed. Don’t you understand?” He spoke with gentle reason. “If you become the receptacle of my powers, there will be a period where you’re still yourself. I was still Rook, the old Rook, at first, wasn’t I? You’ve a strength I’ve never possessed; you could battle the influence while still wielding the power. With it, you could finish the war. Can’t you see? This is best for both of us.”

  “For you to be dead?” I cried, finding my voice once more. No. Never.

  “You’re being foolish.” Rook followed at my heels as I turned and ran deeper into the forest. “I never thoug
ht I’d say that of you, Nettie.” The sounds of Yorkshire were returning to his voice, along with his old way of speaking. It made him sound too much like Rook, my Rook. It made everything worse.

  “Get away!” I could feel the hum of that power between us. He could force me to my knees, if he wanted. Make me his servant. But I felt the invisible grip relax.

  “You know there’ll be nothing strong enough to kill me save your fire,” he said. Then, “Please. I don’t want to live like this.”

  “No!” The word ripped out of my soul. I fled again, fast in the opposite direction, back to camp. Tears froze on my cheeks, and my lungs ached as I ran harder than I ever had before. When a branch tripped me, I sprawled face first into the snow. Lying there, the sting of the ice on my face, I screamed for sheer frustration. Why? Why, after everything, did he ask for this? I could save him! I could find a way. There was always a way to what you wanted. In faerie stories from my childhood, there was always a woman with a wand, always a magic apple, always a kiss that released the sleeper from death. Be good and true, and you shall see everything right.

  But this was not a faerie story. My breath frosted in the air as I sat up. I bit my fist until it bled to stop my sobbing, but the footfall behind me indicated I hadn’t hidden myself as well as I’d have liked.

  “Henrietta.” Maria crouched beside me, brushed snow from my tunic. “What on the mother’s blessed earth happened?”

  “Rook.” It all tumbled out of me. “He says he wants me to kill him.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  Then I told her all, and her expression morphed from horror to sorrow to pity. I didn’t want anything that vile. I wanted to win. I wanted to have what I wanted. Because I deserved it! The same way Rook deserved to live free from this curse that he’d done nothing to earn. There was a way…there had to be…there…

  I heaved like I’d be sick. Maria embraced and rocked me like a bloody child. And I wanted to be a child again, so that it all could be a nightmare. I wanted to wake in my bed and find that this was not true. I’d be happy to wake back at Brimthorn, even.