Two guards appeared momentarily: one man whose necromantic power wrapped him like a coat, and one woman Lydie couldn’t easily identify. Both looked a little rumpled, as if they had been sleeping—or not sleeping, if the man’s crookedly-buttoned coat and the woman’s wild hair were anything to judge by.
“Arylide, welcome to Amaranth Farms,” the necromancer said before Lydie could speak. Given what he was, she was unsurprised he knew her name, but the familiar greeting from a stranger felt abrasive all the same. “Terre Verte mentioned you. Are you thinking of joining our family?”
If Lydie had been considering it, the strangely feral gleam in the other woman’s gaze would have convinced her otherwise. “I’m looking for Umber,” she said, since it seemed clear she wouldn’t be able to sneak about and look for the half-Abyssi man on her own.
The response seemed to amuse the woman, who replied brightly, “I would love to show you where he is. Stay on the bridge,” she added to the necromancer. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Without a further word, she started at a brisk pace toward one of the smaller buildings.
“Why are you so anxious to help me?” Lydia asked as she followed the Abyssumancer’s bouncing steps.
“You’re allied with Hansa and the rest, which means we’re all under strict orders to be polite,” she replied. “Also, Cupric deserves to be interrupted. Greedy bastard.”
She pounded on the door of one of the smaller farmhand houses and flourished her hand toward it. “Good luck. I need to get back to my . . . duties now,” she said with a suggestive lift of an eyebrow, “so you’ll excuse me.”
Lydia wasn’t sorry to see her go, whether back to her guarding or her liaison with the other necromancer. She did, however, hesitate to knock on the front door as she considered what might be going on inside. Cupric seemed to be more or less an ally, and the Abyssumancer’s words implied he was enjoying himself. Amaranth did not want to walk in to find him and Umber happily and consensually having sex.
She also didn’t want Hansa to die of power exhaustion while Umber was happily and consensually having sex—and, almost more important, she had no way of knowing if anything going on in that house was happy or consensual. Cupric was an Abyssumancer, one whose name Lydie had known through whispered warnings even before recent events.
Without taking the time for more than a cursory protective circle, she closed her eyes and let herself fall into the power level where the dead resided, hoping she could ask a shade to take a peek for her.
Moments later, she realized a personal circle wasn’t necessary; part of securing Amaranth must have included expelling any shades who could pester the local necromancers, or be used as spies by outsiders like Lydie.
Returning her awareness to the plane of the living, she raised a hand and struck the door with her knuckles once, twice, three times. The sharp rap, rap, rap! sounded much more confident than she felt.
Much to her relief, a man’s voice answered almost instantly, “Come in.”
Lydie pushed open the door.
A man with close-cut dirty-blond hair, blue eyes, and a broad-shouldered physique was standing at the wood stove, stirring a pot emitting the spicy smell of mulled wine. He glanced at Lydie as she entered, looked her over with a quick up-down that seemed to dismiss her out of hand, then spooned up a taste of the wine and contemplated it a moment before adding more honey.
“I’m Arylide,” she said, hoping that would suffice for an introduction with this Abyssumancer as it had with the other guards. Hansa had said Cupric sent him for the manuscript, so she held it up. “I think this is supposed to go to you.”
Cupric managed not to snatch the heavy bound pages from her hands, but relief shone in his eyes. “Good,” he breathed. “Was there any trouble?”
Lydie hesitated. She didn’t know this man, and wasn’t sure of his motives.
“Hansa’s all right, isn’t he?” Cupric asked, concern escalating when she didn’t immediately answer. “I promised Umber he would be. He seemed to have a good grasp on his disguising spell, and I pushed enough power into him to last a couple days. Did something happen?”
Lydie found herself suppressing a sigh of—what? Disappointment, almost. Had she worked herself up to fight a wicked Abyssumancer? She of all people should have known that being a mancer didn’t necessarially make a man a villain.
I’m as prejudiced as the rest of Kavet.
On the other hand, the only way for a mancer in Kavet to live was by deceit. Cupric looked six or eight years older than Umber, which meant he was almost twice Lydie’s age. He wouldn’t have made it this long unless he was an excellent liar.
Chapter 20
Umber
The next time Umber opened his eyes, the darkness pressing against the window indicated it was late at night. He stared at it a long time, not sure he had the motivation to roll over and try to get up—especially if Cupric was just going to show up and throw him back on the bed again.
Slowly, as his senses started working again, he became aware of voices in the next room. Hopefully that meant Cupric was distracted, either by another would-be conquest or the actual work he was supposed to do here for Verte.
Deeply sore and so tired the air felt like molasses, Umber stood and dressed with exacting care. It was impossible to rush when he was this drained; it was hard enough to do each task. He wanted a bath, or to at least dunk in the river, but he would settle for getting away from Amaranth Farms first. Though he still hadn’t spoken to Verte. But he had to check on Hansa.
Hansa made me promise to keep you distracted . . .
Once he assured himself the Quin was all right, he might have to smack him silly. What had he been thinking, coming here in the first place, then running off to do whatever “errand” Cupric had given him?
Umber contemplated the window, and whether he could sneak out without going past Cupric again. It took almost all his energy just to lift the thing a few inches; the wood was warped, and in his current state, he didn’t have the strength necessary to force it.
Fine. He would go through the kitchen. Cupric had to know he was too burned out for anything more at this point.
Umber hesitated in front of the door a long time before easing it open, straining his ears to hear the conversation in the next room. Cupric and . . . Was that Lydie?
Umber leaned an ear on the door, and was able to pick up Cupric’s next words. “It sounds like you need a real sorcerer to help you work this out—one who works with the Abyss, that is,” he corrected swiftly, as if he hadn’t intended to slight Lydie, though Umber was certain the casual insult had been deliberate.
“We have an Abyssi,” Lydie pointed out.
“Abyssi are good at reading power, but not manipulating it. Could you bring Hansa here? If—”
Umber pushed the door open. Cupric was good at sounding sincere and charming; Umber couldn’t blame Lydie for falling for the act and answering Cupric’s questions. But he would swear himself over to the Numini sooner than he would let Cupric touch Hansa.
Or Lydie, he thought, as his gaze swept the room. Cupric had one hand on the counter and was leaning toward Lydie, the picture of helpful concern. Rationally, he knew Lydie was too savvy to be in any real danger from the Abyssumancer, but seeing Cupric there, hanging over the girl, who was no older than Umber had been when Cupric first targeted him—
He missed Cupric’s next words because he was busy wishing he had an Abyssi’s ability to reduce a living body to a crimson stain on the wall with the speed of thought. He settled for storming across the room, grabbing Cupric’s shoulder, and flinging him away from the teenage necromancer. Adrenaline and fury replaced the exhaustion he had felt an instant before; the pure anger felt even better than the sex had.
Cupric let out a curse as he slammed into the corner of the table and fell to his knees. Lydie, recoiling from the unexpected violence, let out a wordless protest.
“What in the three worlds do you think you are d
oing?” Cupric snarled, pushing himself up.
Umber moved toward him, all too aware that if Cupric fought back they were all fucked. Before Umber had taken a single step, Cupric had a knife in his hand.
“Umber?” Lydie queried, two syllables that said so much: What’s going on? Are you okay? What do you need me to do?
“Get out of here,” he told her. “This isn’t your fight.”
She tossed her head, took one step closer to the door, and reached into her cloak pocket—searching for a tool, he suspected. Not planning to run.
Cupric looked from Umber to Lydie, his eyes narrowed.
Anyone else might have missed the brief moment when Cupric clearly considered killing the necromancer, then decided it would cause him too much trouble. Worried about Verte? Probably; he certainly wasn’t worried about Umber.
The instant ended, and Cupric shook off his tension with a shaky laugh. “You scared the breath out of me, storming in here like that,” Cupric said with a smile that looked absolutely real—and absolutely wasn’t. “What’s wrong?”
Umber choked on his answer. Lydie was still looking at him for guidance.
It wasn’t worth arguing. Umber couldn’t kill Cupric, couldn’t even make him hurt, which was what he really wanted.
“We’re going now,” he said. Lydie nodded, but didn’t move until Umber led the way.
Cupric let them go. In his mind’s eye, Umber could see the Abyssumancer’s smile slipping from humor to wry amusement to dry irritation once no one was looking.
“Were you looking for me?” he asked Lydie.
She nodded. “Are you all right?”
“Just tired.” Now that the adrenaline of the moment was fading, all his aches and fatigue had returned. He had turned toward the stables where Dioxazine had left his horse before he realized there was one thing he could do.
“I just need to make one stop,” he told Lydie, before crossing in swift strides toward where he believed Verte was staying. She trailed behind; after seeing her with Cupric, Umber appreciated having her at his back.
He knew he looked terrible, and this wasn’t a good hour to ask favors, but he needed to anyway. He was relieved to find the once-prince in his sitting room alone instead of in bed with the Numenmancer.
“Are you all right?” Verte inquired, as Umber knocked politely on the open archway’s frame.
Umber nodded, not about to discuss his own condition with Verte or in front of Lydie. He said, “I can’t stay long. I need to get back to Hansa. But I have a favor I need to ask you.”
“About the bond, I imagine?” Terre Verte asked.
“Not right now.” No, he had other threats to address first. “It’s about one of your followers.”
Verte’s brows tensed, the beginning of a frown. “Is there a problem? I’ve given them all strict instructions to be helpful if they can, and not to bother any of you. Even your recently-adopted necromancer,” he added, with a smile to Lydie that almost looked paternal.
Probably as fake as Cupric’s, Umber thought.
“I need you to keep Cupric away from Hansa.”
Verte looked surprised by the words. How could this man who wanted to take back Kavet, who could walk between the infernal and mortal planes, and who had been offered a position as a prince of the Abyss, be so ignorant of the nature of the Abyss?
“Has he given you two trouble?”
Trouble. That was one way to explain it.
Umber couldn’t go into the detail he needed, so he focused on what he thought Verte would understand and believe. “Hansa was raised in a very restrictive culture. He isn’t comfortable with casual sex, but because of the nature of his bond to me, an Abyssumancer’s attentions would be very difficult for him to refuse. Cupric doesn’t understand. He can be . . . pushy.”
At that, Terre Verte looked amused, no doubt convinced that Umber was a jealous lover trying to keep either Hansa from Cupric, or Cupric from Hansa. No matter what he thought, he said, “I’ll speak to him about it. I want you to feel comfortable.”
“Please.”
“If you do want Cupric to leave Hansa alone,” Verte said, with the tone of someone working up to a bribe or blackmail, “then I am going to need to ask something of you. I believe Hansa was helping Cupric retrieve a document for me—”
“Cupric has it now,” Lydie interrupted, somewhat too sharply. She, too, had clearly distrusted the prince’s tone. “So that matter’s done with. You’ll keep your side of the deal?”
Verte didn’t try to conceal his irritation at Lydie’s brisk, protective assertion, the way Cupric had, which in some ways made Umber feel more at ease.
“I will,” Verte said. “As long as you’re here, will you tell me if your group plans to come to the meeting?”
“I would be curious to know what it is going to be about, before I decide to show myself there,” Umber hedged.
Verte smiled. “It will be about many things, but the primary goal is simply to have it happen,” he said. “From what you have told me about these times, and what I have observed, getting multiple mancers, spawn, and small-and large-magic users in one place and cooperating would be a miracle in its own right. The rest of the agenda is secondary.”
Umber believed that—as much as he believed in chaste Abyssumancers.
“I’ll consider it,” he said, with a smile just as fake as any of Cupric’s. “Thank you for agreeing to speak to Cupric for me.” Saying those grateful words caused a familiar, dangerous tug at his power, like a fishhook snagging in the edge of his skin and pulling in Verte’s direction. There had been no exchange of blood, but Verte was enough of a sorcerer, he could utilize the link to call Umber in the future if he wanted. It would be naïve to hope Verte wouldn’t know that.
Verte’s lips parted and the gray of his eyes briefly brightened to blue; Umber braced himself as the sorcerer across the room noticed and examined the faint bond now between them.
Deliberately, Verte said, “Your bond-partner put himself at great risk to help me acquire something I needed. You and I are even.”
The pressure around Umber’s chest lessened as Verte waved away any possible debt—and therefore tentative bond—between them. Umber wasn’t sure whether to feel glad or frightened at Verte’s swift management of the situation, and the way he added thoughtfully, “Though that was informative. Before I break your bond with Hansa, I think we should negotiate carefully, and decide what you can do for me in exchange. For now, I’m sure Hansa is expecting you. I will see you soon.”
Were those words intended to be threatening, or comforting? Or were they just the way a prince spoke, with a casual assumption that his will would prevail, and everyone else would accept his actions and judgment? Either way, they were clearly a dismissal, which Umber and Lydie heeded.
“You came to Amaranth to give Cupric something?” Umber said once they were outside, trying to understand what had happened while he was distracted.
“Mostly, I came to find you,” Lydie answered. “Hansa is losing power at an alarming rate. The Abyssi is with him right now, siphoning power into him to keep him stable, but he says somehow Hansa is losing power to an Abyssumancer, an Abyssi, and to you. It made us worry you might be in trouble.”
Trouble was one way to describe Cupric. Could the bond have enabled him to pull power not only from Umber, but from Hansa, too? It seemed the most likely explanation, and if correct, the problem was already half solved now that Umber was away from Cupric. He and Hansa could generate more power once he reached home.
“Do you mind riding double?” he asked belatedly, as they reached the stables. “You’re light enough, Olive shouldn’t mind carrying us both back to my home.”
Lydie’s responded wasn’t immediate, as if she needed to consider if she wanted him so close to her for so long, but after a few moments she nodded. “You look like you’ll need me to keep you awake.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
The ride back was uneventful. He
said good night to Lydie once they were inside, then found Hansa and Alizarin curled together on the couch downstairs, Hansa’s cheek against the Abyssi’s turquoise-blue fur. Hansa had his pants on but was bare-chested, and even though Umber knew nothing sexual had happened between them—or ever would happen between them, most likely—he couldn’t help a brief fantasy, which wasn’t diminished by the images Umber found in Hansa’s mind when he touched his shoulder.
Alizarin looked up sharply, blue eyes burning in warning, then recognized him and relaxed.
“He dreams of the low court,” Alizarin said, “and of Abyssi there.”
“Real or imagined?” Umber asked. They had passed through the low court on their way to rescue Verte, and even though Hansa had only seen the beasts of the deepest level of the Abyss for a moment before he put on a blindfold, that glimpse was enough to be dangerous to a mortal mind.
“Real, maybe,” Alizarin said. “I have not met Modigliani, but he was often around the old king, and I remember him when I taste Hansa’s dream.” It took Umber a moment to remember that, like himself, Abyssi had memories inherited from their progenitors. Alizarin had been born of crystals seeded by the last king of the Abyss.
“Do you remember Verte that way?” Inherited memories often lay dormant unless something provoked their recall. Alizarin had shared all the information he knew with them when they had first found the late prince, but he might have remembered more since.
“A little,” Alizarin answered. “The old king, Grumbacher, had him many days before the other Abyssi revolted. Grumbacher killed many Abyssi to try to work the spell to make Verte alive again.”
“Do you know why Verte refused when the king offered to make him Abyssi?”
Alizarin shook his head; Hansa shifted sleepily as long black strands of hair moved across his shoulders. “I remember the taste of Verte’s flesh, and of his power. If Verte explained why he said no, the king did not pay attention, or did not understand.”
Umber’s memories from his mother were fragmentary, but when they came to him, they were full of detail and color and thought and consideration. Abyssi memories tended to be more like a watercolor painting, focusing on sense and either pleasure or pain instead of words and specificity.
Of the Mortal Realm Page 16
