by Sarah Remy
Mal said nothing.
“By your own consent,” Avani reminded him. “I’ll not force it on you. And I’ll not tolerate reproach after.”
His lips curled again, but this time without mirth.
“If I consent now,” he said after a short silence, “I may forget acquiescence the moment you remove the cuffs. What of the ferric soldiers, waiting still on my command?”
“They are gone,” Baldebert pronounced with more than a little smugness. “Dismantled piece by piece, melted to slag. They did not move claw or chain to prevent their own destruction, although it was deuced hard to find men and women stout enough of heart to do the job.” He shrugged minutely. “Be that as it may, the Automata no longer wait for your direction. They are abolished.”
“As I suspect I will be,” Mal muttered. If he grieved the lost Automata he did not let it show on his face. “If this experiment goes wrong.”
“It will not go wrong,” Avani said. “I’ve been practicing moving the spell from my head, person to person, back and forth, like flame between two candles.”
He snorted. “On whom? Not Liam. No young man wants his mother in his head.”
“On Parsnip,” Avani replied with dignity. “She has an interest in all things preternatural, and she’s not afraid to visit the Downs. And Morgan because he wants to impress Arthur with his daring.”
“Avani’s safe,” Mal warned Baldebert after a short silence, “but you’re risking your life in this. The instant I’m free, it will be your light I reach for.”
“I’m flattered,” the pirate prince replied, deadpan, “but I trust Avani when she says she can do it. I’m willing to try.”
“The others stay down the beach till we finish. Just in case.”
“Aye,” agreed Avani. “Just in case.”
In the end it was simpler than even she expected. Baldebert broke apart the cuffs with one hand before jerking away out of Mal’s reach. Unhindered by the ivories, the link between Avani and Mal burst back into life. It was a matter of two heartbeats to transfer the wards in her head through that intersection and into Mal. He struggled briefly against the caging of his power, but he did not have time to learn the secret of that strange sorcery before she locked him away from the world, from the living and the dead and even herself. Once in place the silver net dulled their connection again to a whisper. She felt the loss like a blow. She’d grown used to missing him, but that briefest of mingling inflamed longing once again.
“Alone in our heads,” she murmured, facing the pain of loss and then setting it aside again. “No end in sight.”
Mal lay on his back on the floor, eyes closed. The tremors in his body were easing, but his chest rose and fell in bursts as he gulped air.
“So?” Baldebert crept close. “Did it work? Is he contained?”
“Aye,” answered Avani softly. Her own head felt raw as an open wound, newly exposed. Once she felt strong enough she would have to replace the warding spell she’d pushed on Mal with a new conjuring; she did not intend to leave herself unprotected. “He’s only now grieving what was lost, I think. Come outside. Give him time.”
Later, after Baldebert said his farewells, while Everin and Liam and the children explored the beach and Drem chased Bear through the rising tide, Avani unpacked her bag. From Stonehill she’d brought folds of good undyed wool and fine shears and her best needle and thread for making Mal new winter clothes. From Wilhaiim she’d gathered fruit, fresh and dried, and all her medicines plus spices for hot cider and Rouen leaves for tea. She had three interesting books on Black Coast piracy loaned to her by Deval and also Mal’s volume of Selkirk poetry for reading when the snow fell, and several pairs of thick socks purchased at the Fair at the last minute. She carried also a sealed letter from the king and another from Russel. She set those beside Mal as he slept.
Her Goddess she placed in the corner near the fishing weights and added an offering of snipped seaweed and a handful of rose hips gathered from the vine outside. Then, satisfied, she went out into the fresh air to watch her small family frolic. Eventually, Mal joined her there.
“You’re staying,” he said, blinking in the sunlight.
“Aye. They’ll go tomorrow; they each have burdens waiting in the city, or over the mountains. But I’m staying.”
“I don’t want to be your burden.”
Avani smiled. “I’m staying because I’ve been too long away from the sea, and I miss it.” She nudged his bony shoulder with her own. “Also, I’ve missed you. I’d like a winter of rest, holed up in your brother’s cottage, safe from snow and storm but with the water a stone’s throw away. I’d like that very much.”
“I’m not a restful person. You know that.” He sighed. “Lately I’ve developed a penchant for too much red wine and too little self-discipline.”
“I don’t mind.” She took his hand. It was strong in hers, fingers warm. It trembled, but not from vertigo or illness. She’d surprised him. Her smile widened.
“I can teach you to fish from a line and hook,” Avani offered. “And how to make a fine mussel broth.”
“I’d like that.” Mal squeezed her fingers. He cleared his throat. “I’d like that very much indeed.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks as always to Paul, Katherine, and Aidan for ignoring dust bunnies while I’m on deadline. To the Hobblings, for being family. Fandom, for the distraction. And extra special thanks to my editor, Priyanka, for her encouragement and hard work.
About the Author
SARAH REMY writes fiction to keep real life from getting out of hand. She lives in Spokane, Washington, where she shows horses, works at a local elementary school, and rehabs her old house. Follow her on Twitter at @sarahremywrites.
www.sarahremy.com
www.harpervoyagerbooks.com
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By Sarah Remy
THE BONE MAGIC SERIES
Stonehill Downs
Across the Long Sea
The Bone Cave
The Exiled King
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
the exiled king. Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Remy. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-247376-9
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-247377-6
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