She knew these people.
She had been expecting Steele to be standing there, his greedy fingers already tight around the goblet. Instead, she saw Molly, bleeding and covered in dirt, crouching over Jake’s motionless form. The ground beneath Jake’s body was stained with red. Just a few feet away, Andrew lay unconscious, his face slack, his fingers stretched out toward the empty pedestal where the goblet ought to have been.
And there was another man.
Evie froze. For a moment her heart did not beat, her mind could not function. She waited for the fear to flood her limbs, for terror to seize her, but it did not come. Her body was different now. She was different. Of their own accord, her wings lifted, tensed. Preparing to swoop. Her lips pulled back in a deadly, curving smile from her newly-sharpened teeth.
In place of fear, power. In place of terror, blood-lust.
Somehow the King knew. He turned, and though he spoke to them all, his eyes looked right into the shadows, to where Evie stood unseen.
“Only I will speak,” he said. “I will find out all that has happened here. Only then, will we act.” He raised an eyebrow at Evie, and she jerked herself up, out of a crouch she had unknowingly bent into, forcing her wings to settle behind her. She bowed her head, ever so slightly, to the King.
He turned to Troy, who stood with a gun held dumbly in the air before him. “Drop that ridiculous weapon,” the King said softly, and the sound of the gun banging against stone echoed loudly through the chamber.
“It was her!” Troy cried, pointing toward Molly. “She and her slave came to steal the goblet from you!”
The King smiled menacingly, the whiteness of his teeth flashing in the firelight. “The goblet. Where is it?”
“Molly has it!” Troy stabbed his finger in Molly’s direction, his eyes wild. “She’s the one you want.”
Slowly, the King turned, bringing the full force of his gaze on Molly.
“Where is it?” he repeated.
“I gave it to that woman.” Molly looked straight into the King's eyes as she spoke and, though her face was stained with tears, her voice was steady. “I tried to destroy it, but I couldn’t do it. The woman told me she could, so I gave it to her.” Molly gestured to a small crevice in the back of the wall. “She took it and ran.”
Malachai made a low moaning sound, deep in his throat. He spun and flung himself toward the opening, nearly evading the grasp of his guards, who seized him by the arms and wrestled him back. The King ignored the disturbance.
“Are there any more of you?” he asked icily. “If you lie to me, child, it will fall heavy upon you.”
Molly shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “Only us.”
The King turned to where Malachai was struggling to pull free from the hands that held him back.
Release him,” the King commanded. He looked at Malachai, and his eyes were full of sorrow. “Go to her,” he said softly. Malachai fled.
The King turned his attention back to Troy. “I must have some words with you, Troy,” the King said, folding his hands in front of him.
“I’ve done nothing wrong. I was only trying to stop them!”
“And yet you fired at me before,” the King pointed out calmly, and all the color drained from Troy's face. “Did you think I could not see you?” The King’s face hardened, and his smile turned predatory. “I see many things, Troy. And I know a great deal about you.” His voice dropped, and Evie shivered. He seemed even more dangerous when he spoke so softly.
“You have spilled Siren blood. You have forced your way into our most protected chambers and tried to take what was never meant to be yours. Your own actions testify against you. And also. . .”
He nodded to her and, slowly, Evie stepped forward. She felt her wings tensing behind her, her legs bending slightly at the knee.
She threw off the hood that had shadowed her face. Then she pulled her lips back from her teeth and smiled.
She heard Molly’s gasp of shock at seeing her, but she didn’t turn her head. Her eyes were fastened on Troy.
He tried to back further away, but there was nowhere for him to go. Cold stone walls rose up on every side behind him. “Wait . . .” Troy moaned. “I can explain . . . just wait. . .”
The King ignored him. The King drew himself up to his full height, and his wings spread out so that they seemed to fill the whole cave. “Troy Bard,” he said, letting the name roll slowly off his tongue. “Witnesses have given testimony against you as do your own, guilt-filled eyes. You must die.”
Swiftly, they pounced.
One of the King’s guards darted forward, kicking Troy’s legs out from under him so that he fell heavily to his knees. Evie half-stepped, half-leaped through the air, her re-born body somehow knowing how to land gracefully beside Troy's cowering form. The guard wrapped one arm around his chest, pinning his arms to his side. Evie grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his neck and forcing him to look up, into her eyes.
The King pulled a knife from his belt and held it out to her. In one smooth, swift movement, Evie brought the blade arching against the white of Troy’s neck. His eyes bulged as knife kissed flesh. Red sprayed out, and Evie felt the strength fall from his limbs, watched the emptiness flood his eyes.
She threw back her head and trilled, a high-pitched cry of victory.
“Evie!” the King's voice thundered. “Restrain yourself! There are yet free-humans in this room!”
Evie's mouth snapped closed, and her eyes darted anxiously over to where Molly still crouched. But she had done no harm. Molly's eyes were filled with fear and caution . . . her mind was still her own.
Evie let Troy’s body fall, limp to the ground. Slowly, afraid that Molly would pull away from her in horror, Evie moved closer, gently lowering herself down to Molly’s side. Molly stared at her, her eyes wide with shock.
“Evie?” she whispered softly. “Is that really you?”
Evie nodded, but there was no way to explain things now. The King had turned to Molly. And his eyes were burning.
“You, too, must pay,” his voice was filled with malice. Evie put a hand on Molly’s shoulder, trying to comfort her. “You too would have done us the worst kind of harm,” the King said. “You have broken our most sacred laws.”
Evie brought her hands up to sign, desperate to convince the King to come to Molly’s aid. But he shook his head at her, lifting a hand to wave her protests away.
“I didn't know.” Molly's voice was low and halting. She kept glancing down at Jake, and Evie thought that she barely even knew what she was saying. “I didn't know what the cup was, or what it would do. But once we were here . . .” She shook her head at the memory. “I told Andrew to stop, but he wouldn't listen so I . . . I fought him.”
“Please,” Molly went on, her voice cracking. “Help me. Jake's still breathing . . . something could still be done. Please. . . he didn't do you any harm. He came here to protect me, not to break any of your rules. Help me to save him!”
“Why should we help you?” he demanded from Molly. “You came here and attacked our servants. You tried to steal something to which you have no right!”
“I stopped them from taking it!” Molly cried. “I took the cup from Andrew to keep him from using it! I gave it to that girl! Listen to my voice . . . you know my strength! She never could have forced it from me!”
“It is the strength of your voice that condemns you!” The King pointed at her as his voice climbed. “With a voice strong enough to defeat so many of our own, you could have thrown off your Holder's authority at any moment!”
“But I didn't know!” Molly shouted back. “Not until I came here, not until I defeated your guards! Look, we don't have time for this—he's losing too much blood.” She gazed down at Jake's limp form in agony. “Please,” she said, her voice soft for the first time. “I'll pay any price . . . do anything you ask.”
Suddenly the King swooped down, crouching so that his eyes were level with
hers.
“Swear it,” he demanded, his eyes burning. “Swear that you will do me any service I desire.”
Evie felt unease wash over her. Her fingers on Molly’s shoulder tightened in silent warning. Without knowing why, she longed to cry out to Molly, to warn her to beware. But she could not speak a word. Molly glanced down once at Jake, and the words rolled smoothly off her lips.
“I swear,” she said, looking the King in the eyes. “Anything. Anything at all. Just make him live.”
“Done!” The King stood up swiftly, and Evie saw triumph in his eyes. Suddenly she knew that he had wanted to force just those words from Molly. Her vow would be a costly one.
“Quickly, now!” the King commanded, turning to the other Watchers. “We will take him to the Moon Pool.”
Bea
Death had taken Bea by surprise one last time. It had been more patient than she imagined.
The pain had not stopped, but the worst of it had left her. She hardly even noticed the spasms when they shook her now. It seemed to her that she had floated for hours, staring up at a sky of perfect, unbroken blue. But perhaps it had been only minutes, after all.
“I knew you would come.”
She smiled as Malachai circled her once in the air before lowering himself gently into the water beside her. He moved gingerly, trying not to rock her, or even touch her. She grimaced, knowing what he saw.
She felt it all, felt how one side of her face had collapsed into a gray, mottled ruin. Felt her body, already so paper thin, snap when brittle bones could not stand the way she thrashed when the pain was at its worst. Malachai wrapped his arms around her, gently, afraid to touch her. She nestled into his chest, moaning unabashedly as her skin touched his.
She looked up at the tears streaming down his face and reached a shaking hand to wipe them away. “Don't be sad,” she rasped. “I was strong enough. I kept you safe.” A smile played on her lips. “I would have . . .” She paused as pain surged and stole her breath for a moment. “I would have stayed with you, my love, if I could have. I would have stayed with you forever.”
Malachai bent down and, with infinite care, pressed his lips gently to hers.
Bea pressed a hand to his cheek and held his face close to hers.
“Live,” she said fiercely. “This isn't what we wanted . . . either of us. But I can . . . I can make my peace with it. If I know that you will keep trying to be happy. Trying to heal. Promise me?”
Malachai nodded and leaned in to kiss her again. Suddenly Bea stiffened in his arms, and she cried out, her voice raw and choked with agony. Malachai watched helplessly, holding her as her body convulsed. When it had passed, she looked up at him and smiled weakly.
“Will you sing me to sleep?” she asked.
Malachai shook his head frantically, but she knew he could not refuse her. “It's okay,” she promised. “I've had enough. I don't want this anymore.” She motioned weakly to her broken frame.
Malachai shuddered, and pulled her closer to him, bowing his head and squeezing his eyes shut. She knew that, for him, this was the real goodbye. The force of his voice would wipe away the woman he had loved. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead one last time.
“My love will never leave you,” Bea whispered.
Malachai looked down at her, his eyes full of tenderness. He cradled her cheek in his palm. He lowered his mouth close to her ear, and whispered with eyes shut: “I never wanted you to suffer for me. I would have suffered it myself if I could have. I would have suffered it a million times, to keep this pain from you. You are the whole world to me, and always will be. I love you so much, Beatrice.”
He lifted his eyes and looked at her, but only happiness looked back at him.
Her eyes were empty, and she smiled up at Malachai with joy. All her pain had melted away; all memory of her suffering was gone. She smiled up at him, delighting in his closeness, nestling closer to his chest. Fresh tears coursed down Malachai's cheeks, and he threw back his head and sang.
He sang to her, and for her. He sang for himself, and for everything that they were losing. He rocked her in the water, cradled against his chest, and sang until long after her eyes had closed and her skin had lost its warmth. His song changed when he knew her soul had left him, but still, he sang until the sun sank into the water, and his song finally turned to sobs.
Then Bea's angel gathered her into his arms and flew away.
Molly
The ocean swept past below them, ancient and gorgeous and sapphire blue. The sun was setting. Orange and gold light refracted off the water like millions of sparkling jewels, and behind the cliffs stretched majestically up and to the sky.
Molly didn't care.
She didn't see it. The beauty, the splendor . . . it was lost on her; it meant nothing. All she saw was Jake.
A small cluster of the Watchers swarmed around him, flying awkwardly as they struggled to hold him aloft. Molly was hardly aware that she, too, was being carried through the air. Blood still leaked from Jake's wound. She could see the slow drip of red that fell and was then whisked away by the wind.
When they landed, Molly sprang forward, helping to support Jake's head as they lowered him to the ground.
She glanced over at the pool—the smooth water made milk-white by the mother-of-pearl stones that lay beneath it, its teardrop shape.
“What is it?” she asked as the King landed beside her.
“A gift from our mother,” the King explained. “It allows us to heal ourselves from most injuries. Our wings are more delicate than they may seem to you . . . without it, most of us would be crippled and flightless by our thirteenth year.”
“Will it save him?”
The King knelt down beside Jake’s body and peered at him closely. Evie came and held Molly’s hand, mutely offering what comfort she could.
“I cannot say. The pool can do much . . . but it cannot bring back one whose soul has fled. We must not wait.”
The King nodded to two of the Watchers who stood nearby, and they quickly picked Jake up and placed him into the water. He sank quickly to the bottom.
“He won't be able to breathe!” Molly cried.
The King shook his head. “He does not need to breathe, as long as he is in the water.”
The color of the water began to change, the whiteness of it mixing with the red that still bled from Jake's chest. A crust began to form over the surface, first like a light frost—then it thickened and grew, creaking slightly as it swelled up and over the water like a thick, white scab.
“What is that? What's happening?” Molly knelt by the side of the pool and reached out slowly. The King did not answer her, and the rest of the Watchers looked at her intently, silent. Her hands were shaking when she touched it . . . it looked like ice. But when Molly's fingers pressed against the shell, it was not cold. It was not ice, but salt. She pressed her face against the shell, trying to catch a glimpse of Jake beneath the surface, but the milky white color blotted everything out.
Molly did not know how long she knelt there. More Watchers came; she felt them arrayed behind her, observing silently. Evie stayed close by her side, and the King stood just a few feet away, gazing over at the ocean.
“He's an addict,” Molly said suddenly, turning first to Evie and then to the King. “Can the water heal him of his addiction?”
The King looked down at her and shook his head, and his lips pressed into a hard line.
“The pool can knit together flesh, muscle, and tendon. Its power may suffice for that, and that alone. Be content.”
Biting her lip, Molly nodded and turned back to the pool.
Thud.
Molly looked around her. Where was the sound coming from?
Thud.
“It's Jake!” she was screaming, beating her fists against the thick salt shell. She could just see his face. His eyes were open, and full of fear.
“He needs to get out. Oh God. Oh God! Someone get him out!”
Evie lea
ned forward and pressed one of her fingers against the shell. Her nail extended and grew into a sharp, curved claw. The ice shattered.
Molly reached down into the water, pulling on Jake's hand and dragging him up onto the ground beside her. He was whole and shaking, and Molly clutched him against her chest. It was then that the sobs came, deep and harsh and unashamed.
“I can't believe you're breathing,” she gasped into his ear. “Are you really alright?”
“I think so,” Jake whispered, his fingers stroking her hair. “It's alright. Look.” He pulled away so that she could see his chest. Where the bullet had pierced him, there was now only a small circle of skin, shiny and smooth. Like a scar long healed.
“And look at my hand . . .” Jake held up his right hand, and Molly cried out in wordless wonder. It was perfect. The skin was smooth and un-scarred, as though flame had never touched it. Jake wiggled his fingers, wonder plain on his face. Molly brought his hand to her lips and kissed it gently.
“I don't know what I would have done . . .” she whispered, as the tears started again.
“I know,” Jake answered, and he leaned in and kissed her. They kissed as though they were not surrounded by a crowd of strange, motionless creatures, as though they were alone in their little room, with nothing to fear.
“It pains me,” the King interrupted, “but I must hold you to your oath.”
Molly dropped her head to her chest and took a long, deep breath. Steeling herself, she pulled away from Jake and stood.
“I'm ready,” she said.
Jake leaped to his feet. “Wait a minute. What oath?”
He pushed forward till he was standing between Molly and the King, shielding her from him.
“Whatever Molly promised you, she did it for me. For my sake. I'll take it on myself . . . I'll pay the debt.”
Magic Cries Page 19
