by Bec McMaster
Lucien's gaze shifted to his wife, and it was easy to see the emotions that flickered there.
"If anything happens, I'll protect Drake," he told his brother, to assuage his concerns. "You keep an eye on the ladies."
Ianthe overheard and arched a black brow. "Yes, do be a dear, darling, and make sure I'm safe."
Lucien held his hands up in surrender. "I didn't say it."
Ianthe snorted, and very deliberately rolled her eyes in Bishop's direction. "Is he always like this?" she asked Verity, tucking an arm through Verity's elbow in a conspiratorial manner. "Paranoid, controlling, and grim?"
Verity considered him, then smiled. "Only until you get to know him. He's not half as grim underneath and I prefer to think of him as practical, rather than controlling. He wouldn't be so stupid as to tell me he'd protect me. The last time that happened he ended up in an icy bath."
"What is wrong with wanting to protect you?" he countered, ignoring her reference to the bath.
That smile softened in mysterious ways, and Verity patted his hand. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to protect me. It shows you care. But keeping me out of harm's way while you try to save the day...."
"Would be a waste of breath," Ianthe added. "You're not the only dangerous one here."
Bishop shook his head. Outnumbered. "In hindsight it was a stupid thing to say. I meant only to set Lucien's mind at ease. Not to doubt anyone's abilities. Are we all satisfied?"
"Nice save," Lucien murmured, coughing into his hand.
Ianthe finally burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, Bishop. I'm only toying with you."
Verity snickered.
Drake sighed. "Behave, children. Now let's get moving." He took Eleanor and Cleo by the arms and set out toward the grove, as if there could be nothing threatening out there.
Another flash of movement had Bishop turning, his attention locked on the trees. A clump of snow dumped off a heavily laden fir, as if something had brushed it. Bishop placed a hand in the small of Verity's back and directed her onto the boot-trampled path on his father's heels. "Perhaps I should take the lead?"
"Relax," Drake murmured back over his shoulder. "They'd be fool to make a tilt at us now. There are four sorcerers here wearing seven rings, and there's nobody alive who can get past my wards."
Nervousness inched down his spine like icy fingertips marching over his skin. He could get past his father's wards, but he'd never told Drake that. Maybe he should have? "That's precisely why I expect it. Because nobody with any common sense would dare, and our guard will be lowered. Perfect time. Perfect place."
Drake looked at him, shaking his head, and he knew his father didn't quite understand the way he thought. He'd never had to.
Cleo's head shot up, a gasp coming from her lips. "Drake!"
A flash of movement—
"Get down!" Bishop barked, leaping forward and slamming his shoulder into Drake's back. He locked his arms around his father's waist as they both went down, Bishop rolling them in the snow until his father was beneath him. The blaze of an etheric blade flew through the air above him, exploding against the tree behind them. A punch of fear slammed through him. "Verity?"
She had a hand on Cleo's head, forcing the young woman into a crouch behind a tree. "I'm fine."
Another glance raked the clearing. Lucien had Ianthe and Eleanor. And Drake's wards shimmered to life around them like a soap bubble. Almost transparent, with the oil-slick gleam of a rainbow painted over its surface. Tree branches rustled as the assailant darted back through them. All he saw was the flutter of a red cloak, and then it was gone, vanishing into the shadows.
"Stay down," he told his father, his etheric blade forming in his hand with an electric buzz of energy. "Don't any of you leave Drake's wards."
Then he was running, the ward shivering over his skin like a cool glove before vanishing the second he was through it.
Bursting through the interlocked branches of a pair of firs, he sent snow flying. A flash of red taunted him, and he staggered in a deceptive hole beneath the snow before twisting and ducking after the assailant.
Slamming through clearing after clearing, he finally paused, his breath coming in great heaving exhales that fogged in the air in front of him.
Nothing.
Footsteps crunching through snow. Bishop tilted his head, narrowing his focus down to his hearing, forcing out everything else around him except for those footsteps. Left. He turned his head, tracking the assailant, and then, crouching low, he slipped through the trees after the fellow. He'd been expecting Sicarii, but the sheer blundering missteps the idiot was making argued against it.
The assassin threw a glance back over his shoulder—just a glimpse of a pale, face, eyes widening as the fellow saw him.
Bishop leapt over a log, blood thumping through his veins as he poured on speed. He wanted answers. But the violent urge of the maladroise began to whisper to him, sweet, sweet lures of how good it would feel, and how hungry Horroway's pitiful spark had left it.
The assassin ducked and wove with Bishop barely ten feet behind him. Another glance over his shoulder, and then an etheric blade was flipping end over end toward Bishop.
Bishop threw himself beneath it, coming up in a roll, only to face another shimmering blade of pure power. He slammed both wrists together and a ward shimmered to life just in time. Power lashed through his ward as the knife collided with it, setting off a showering shimmer of sparks. The energy grounded itself in the earth beneath his feet, leaving him kneeling in a perfect circle of pure snowmelt.
Son of a bitch. Bishop didn't think. Just flipped his wrist forward and threw as his ward flickered out.
The etheric blade flew straight and true, even as instant regret soured his mouth. It buried itself in the middle of that red cloak, and the would-be assassin staggered a step, then plummeted face-first into the snow.
And didn't move.
A small, pale spark floated above the body, beckoning just for a moment. Yes. God, yes— No! Bishop curled his fists into his body, fighting against the pull of the maladroise. His jaw ached as he ground his teeth together, and he shook and shivered, blinded to the world around him for the few seconds it took to fight his way through it. Before his eyes, the soul-spark slowly vanished.
It took longer than he'd expected to find his feet. Damn it. If he'd waited he might have some answers by now. A part of him wondered whether he'd reacted merely on instinct, or whether that thrice-cursed hunger had taken over for a second.
Bishop rolled the body over.
It was nobody he knew.
And that was when he heard the scream.
* * *
Verity had spent a lot of time on the streets, working as a dipper and a spotter, or even running rackets.
She recognized a con when she saw one. The second Bishop slammed into the forest after the would-be assassin, Verity suddenly realized what a target they all made, sitting there. For an outsider looking in, all they'd see would be two male sorcerers, one whose doubt had cost him the mantle of Prime, and another still wounded by some mysterious assault on his aura; a woman who might be able to match them but couldn't protect all of them; a young woman with no training; the still-crippled Eleanor; and herself, an unknown, but certainly not a threat to watching eyes.
Bishop was the most dangerous one out of all of them.
And now he was gone.
"Damn it!" Drake cursed, rolling to his feet and reaching for his cane. He glanced toward Eleanor, hesitation marking his face, before he turned toward the silent forest. "We have to go after him."
Which would play directly into someone's plans.
"Wait!" Verity darted forward and grabbed his arm. "There's a con we run in the Dials—when we're trying to steal from someone rich, we send in a decoy. He's cocky, draws attention, makes the con focus on him, because he looks exactly like what a thief looks like and the noble doesn't want him anywhere near him. That's when I show up dressed in silk and bump into the swain. Wi
thin two seconds I've got his purse and I'm away, stammering apologies and pretending to be all virtuous and embarrassed. He never thinks I'm the thief because he's too busy watching the decoy."
"So what you're saying is that this was a distraction?" Drake's eyes narrowed.
"That's how I'd play it. Bishop's not in danger," Verity breathed, looking around the suddenly still forest. "They've drawn him away. If we separate, we play directly into their hands."
Drake met her eyes and she saw the moment he realized the truth. The only person who could match a Sicarii assassin was another one. "Don't move out of the ward," he said, and sudden tension suffused the group as they all looked into the darkened trees.
"Lucien, could you see to Eleanor and Cleo?" Ianthe asked, settling herself in the middle of the group.
"Got them," he replied, tugging the pair of women into the space around him. A second ward crackled down over them, which made Drake sigh with relief and turn his gaze outwards.
Ianthe's blue eyes lit on Verity. "Drake and I will protect you—"
"It's not necessary," Drake cut in, nodding at her. "Verity's our secret weapon."
Ianthe looked at him sharply, then nodded. She put her back to Drake's and the pair of them stared out into the forest.
A tall figure dressed in a red velvet cape stepped out of the trees, wearing a blank silver mask that hid his or her features. Another joined them. Then another. And another, until finally there were seven sorcerers in all locking them in.
"You would be wise not to do this," Drake called, and Verity startled at the powerful sound of his voice. She'd grown quite used to the soft-spoken man with his sad eyes and gentle nature.
The circle began to draw in power and the hairs on Verity's arms lifted as they all joined hands.
"Not even you can challenge a full circle of seven," one of the masked figures sneered. "We've grown weary of your puppet strings. This time we're going to take back what we're owed."
Drake's eyes narrowed. "Tremayne."
The stranger lifted his hand to the mask and cast it aside, an ugly smirk splitting his face. They were of an age, but from the intensity in both their eyes, Verity guessed these two men held bad blood between them.
"Father!" Cleo begged, stepping out from under Lucien's wards. "Don't do this."
Tremayne barely glanced her way. "You're not my daughter anymore. The second you cast your allegiance in with him was the second we stopped being blood."
Cleo swallowed and tilted her chin up. "This won't end well for you."
"You think I believe that you've Seen it?" Emotion turned his expression ugly. "I took your blindfold away, you little bitch. And with it your gifts."
"Not all of them," Drake replied, stepping between father and daughter, faint power blurring the air around his hands. Where Tremayne flaunted his sorcerous strength, Drake didn't bother. Verity would have bet money on the outcome of this battle based purely on that fact alone. She'd seen enough posturing in the Dials, and the mere fact that Tremayne doubted the outcome enough to bring six others with him....
Tremayne shook his head. "You couldn't remain content with merely destroying our friendship, could you, Drake? You had to steal everything—Morgana, my relics, the mantle of Prime... and now my daughter."
"The problem with you, Tremayne, is you think you own everything and that the world owes you a favor. Perhaps it was you who drove your daughter away from your side?"
An immense wave of power flung directly toward them. Verity was a microsecond away from getting the hell out of there when Drake merely brushed it aside.
One of the masked sorcerers trembled, as if hit by the backlash. Their cloaks blew backwards with the impact, then fell still.
"Stand straight, you weakling," Tremayne snapped at the swaying sorcerer, and the circle around him buoyed him with new strength. "This has been a long time coming, old friend."
A dozen vicious red battle globes sprang to life in the air around Tremayne's head. Whoa. Verity stepped back, retreating to Ianthe's side. She didn't know how to make them—none of the Hex did—but she knew what mage globes could do. She'd heard more than enough stories, and red were the strongest.
"Stay out of it," Ianthe warned, capturing her upper arm.
"Quite happily," Verity replied. This was well outside her boundaries.
Power flowed through Ianthe and directly into Drake, as though they were linked. It made Verity dizzy to realize how much raw energy the duke was manipulating.
Drake took a step forward and battered Tremayne with a wave of sorcery. Tremayne countered it, and sparks flew as the two waves of energy met. One of Tremayne's linked sorcerers—the one who'd wavered before—collapsed backward into the snow. The others stepped closer, joining hands again to make up for the break.
"Fight me," Tremayne snarled, and sent two of his mage globes flying toward Drake.
They shattered against Drake's invisible wards, the explosion making Verity cry out and clap her hands over her eyes. Two more explosions sounded, and a pair of whizzing hisses, like fireworks. Scrambling behind Ianthe, she peered over the other woman's shoulder.
Drake had his own mage globes in play now. He focused them on Tremayne, ignoring the linked sorcerers fuelling the earl.
It was a moment of utter fairness, but she swiftly realized the futility. Take out Tremayne's sorcerers and he wouldn't have the strength to face Drake.
Bishop would see the sense in that, but then sometimes he swayed too far into the darkness. Drake was his complete opposite.
"Can I get through Drake's wards?" she shouted in Ianthe's ear.
The other woman swayed. Not from fatigue, but from the sheer force of power she was allowing to conduit through her. "Physically, yes! Don't translocate through though. Sorcery can't penetrate them." She blinked over her shoulder, drawing just enough of her attention away from the fight. "What are you going to do?"
"I thought I might distract his little ring of sorcerers."
Ianthe ground her teeth together. "It's a nice idea, but there's a lot of sorcery being flung about. Bishop won't thank me if I hand you back to him in pieces. Drake can handle this."
Then she turned her attention back to the exploding gamut of battle globes.
Something hissed and fizzed at the ground beside Verity. She looked down and saw the edges of Drake's oil-slick ward crackling at the bottom, much the same way Horroway's had when Lady Eberhardt was infiltrating them. What on earth...?
Instinct propelled her to look around. A shadow moved out there in the dark, a person in a black hood waving their hands as they muttered under their breath. She thought she saw someone else out there too, just waiting until the wards lifted.
These were tactics she knew. Send in somebody flamboyant to steal Drake's attention and then attack when his back was turned.
"Ianthe!" She pointed to the wards. They'd lifted almost a foot off the ground by now.
Ianthe's face paled.
"I'll stop it," Verity said, and then ran toward the base of the wards. She slid onto her knees and side, sliding through the snow under the ward. The second she was through, a weave of something dark and deadly flung toward her, but she was ready and vanished.
Verity reappeared behind a tree, and ducked immediately as a battle globe of violent red drove toward her face. It hit the tree, which exploded into flame as she dove away, her skirts tangling in her legs.
More of them. How many...? Verity panted as she punched through time and space, flickering in and out just enough to count. At least a dozen black-robed figures slipped through the woods, waiting for the wards to fail.
There was no time to be nice about this anymore.
Verity snagged a tree root in one of her hops and then reappeared directly behind the sorcerer infiltrating the wards. She slammed the tree root across the back of his head, but it met some sort of resistance and she got the hell out of there the second she realized, just as a net of woven sorcery threads was flung toward her.
"Bishop!" She threw the thought out into the world, hoping that he'd pick up on it somehow. She wasn't remotely telepathic but he'd trained himself to be so, and if there was still that link between them.... "We need you!"
The ward was halfway up. Sweat darkened Drake's face now, and he cast an uneasy glance at it.
No time to lose.
Well. She had a few tricks up her sleeves.
The black robes started hammering Drake's ward with battle globes, as if they knew they'd been discovered. Lucien turned to face the threat, his own wards expanding out to slip beneath the skin of Drake's. Blood trickled from his nose and he stared blankly, face straining with effort as he tried to hold.
And Verity focused on the nearest black robe, watching as he drew back his hand to throw the red globe forming in his fingertips. Needed to time this exactly right....
She stepped outside of time and reappeared, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him back with her. When they landed, the battle globe flew from his fingertips,
Verity swayed, the weight of taking him with her weighing heavily on her strained resources. Another sorcerer turned to look at her, and drew back his arm....
She punched behind him and reappeared with him directly in front of another of the black robes. They both unleashed dangerous magic, knocking each other off their feet, but she was gone again, collapsing with her back to a distant tree.
"Stop!" one of them screamed, and the barrage on the wards disappeared.
She didn't have it in her to make another leap, but they didn't know that.
A tickling sensation brushed against her mind. This time she recognized it and opened herself up to it the way Bishop had taught her.
"Verity!" Bishop bellowed.
"Right here," she grumbled back, pressing her fingertips to her temples. "You don't have to yell."
"What the hell is going on?"
"Ambush." She felt something alien shift through her skin. "What are you doing?"
