“You risked much, and for what? To save the life of one human?”
Cadence eyed the trio from around Jorandil’s bare, wingless back. What was going on here?
“You showed me her fate,” Jorandil said. “Why taunt me with threats of harm to Cadence if not to see me return and save her?”
“But at what cost?” the middle woman, shorter than the others, hissed out.
“Surely you knew what would happen,” he said.
“We did not foresee your father’s threat,” the tallest said.
“The Fates do not know all?” Jorandil lifted his chin. “How is that even possible?”
“The Fates,” Cadence heard Stella whisper. The woman’s eyes were wide, almost as dark as the beings floating in front of them. Cadence stood beside her and took her hand.
“Do not question our power,” they said together. “You have defied the will of your father, and in so doing have spared one insect by sacrificing the swarm.”
“Spare me your tedious rambling,” Jorandil said. “I did what you knew I would do the moment you showed me her future.”
“By giving your power to he who should least be allowed to wield it.”
“He used it to aid me. In any stead, he has already given it back.”
An indignant hiss filled the room, thick as a den of snakes. “You are deceived. He uses magic even now.”
Jorandil lifted the pendant. “He has none to use. My wings are here.”
“That vial contains nothing but a reflection,” said the one who appeared older than the others. Her tone held a note of sorrow. “It is a parlor trick.”
“No.” Jorandil yanked the chain, breaking it from his neck. He uncorked the tiny bottle. A silvery wisp of cloud escaped, similar to the mists in which the Fates were floating. Then the bottle was empty.
“By the gods,” Jorandil said, his eyes wide. “We had a deal. He swore the wings were in here, that they would be restored once I saved Cadence and crossed back to the other realm. I made sure the terms were plain.”
“You cannot outsmart a cunning wizard,” the tallest of the Fates said. “They manipulate words to achieve their ends. One of many reasons your father took measures to ensure Costeros never had the opportunity.”
“What has he done with them?” Jorandil asked. “What have I done?”
Cadence’s heart pounded. He had given up his wings in order to save her? And now they were gone, taken by a wizard she prayed she would never meet.
Those hopes were dashed before the Fates could even answer Jorandil’s question.
In an instant, a resounding boom filled the space, and the Fates just blew apart. Their mists cleared, and in their place stood a man with gleaming eyes, wiry tendrils of salt-and-pepper hair, and dark, almost black, wings. Shimmering wings that, aside from their color, looked all too familiar.
Stella and Cadence shrank back, pressing to the far wall of a room that could barely contain the presence of the wizard.
“Costeros, you lying thief,” Jorandil said. “You have betrayed our deal.”
“I betrayed you, perhaps, as your father has betrayed me.” The man stroked his long beard, whose strands reacted to his touch with undulating motions, as though they were alive. “But not our deal.”
“We agreed my wings would be placed in the pendant and restored to me.”
“You are mistaken.” The man stepped forward. “The agreement was for wings to be placed inside the pendant, and for wings to be replaced upon your return. Whether they would be the same wings I took from you was never established.”
He waved a hand, and a pair of tiny wings appeared on Jorandil’s back. Gone were the grand, shimmering wonders that stretched the entire length of Costeros’s body and beyond. These were half the size of Jorandil’s broad back, brightly patterned, and as fragile as a butterfly’s wings.
Jorandil shot a quick look over his shoulder. His hands closed into fists. “Stop this trickery. Now.”
“You do not want them?” Costeros shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Another gesture evaporated the wings.
“Return what is mine.”
“I have pressing business, I’m afraid.”
“What? You succeeded in using me to escape your prison. Why did you come here?”
A groan sounded across the room, and everyone glanced at the man Cadence had almost forgotten was still slumped near the doorway. “It appears your concentration is wavering,” Costeros said. “Or is it your power?”
He stalked over to Tom, who was sitting up and shaking his head. He looked up, saw the winged being looming over him, and went pale. “Wh-who are you?”
“I am the angel of darkness. I have seen your evil doing and have come to exact vengeance.”
Tom scrambled backward on his hands and rear. “No! Please. Leave me alone. I haven’t done anything. Why am I even here?”
“An interesting question, but not to me. Get out.”
The man got up and ran. A crash sounded from the front room, but even this time, it was clearly the result of his haste to escape. The front door slammed open and did not close again.
“What is it you want?” Jorandil asked, his eyes glaring with a fiery, metallic gleam.
Costeros turned to where the women stood, hugging one another. His gaze found Cadence, and the mere contact sent a shiver through her. “So, this is the female who inspired such desperate devotion. Such heroic sacrifice.”
“Stay away from her,” Jorandil said, putting himself between them.
“I merely wish to offer my gratitude.” In a blink of an eye, Costeros vanished and popped in front of Cadence, who jerked back with a small shriek.
“I must thank you, my dear. I would not be free if not for your charms, which must have been considerable to bewitch a god of the sabbat.”
A queasy power radiated from him, and Stella moaned, leaning heavily on Cadence while she pressed a hand to her brow.
He cocked his head and regarded the other woman. “Odd for a human to pulse with such magic.” He leaned closer. “Odd and rare.”
Jorandil gave a harsh tug on Costeros’s wings, spinning him around. “I said get away from them.”
“Careful,” Costeros said. “You wouldn’t want to damage these, would you? Not before you have a chance to get them back.”
“Somehow I doubt you will be handing them over.”
A wave of Costeros’s hand twisted Jorandil’s head aside with the sound of a visible slap. “I will not require your wings forever, god of Beltane. I can still return them to you after I have used them to draw the power I need.”
“You never answered my question. Why did you come here? To rub your deceit in my face?”
“I came to warn you, son of Herne. You would be wise not to return to the other realm. Your father hunts you even now. As a traitor.”
Cadence saw Jorandil’s shoulders stiffen. “You lie.”
“On the contrary. He knows of your visit to me, that you helped me escape.”
“Not on purpose.”
“And he knows you aided me in acquiring this.” From inside his robes, Costeros withdrew a box and held it up.
Cadence eyed the box. It was small, resting in the wizard’s palm. Fashioned from some sort of ivory-colored crystal, it was solid and yet almost transparent in spots where intricate details had been carved into the surface. Light emanated from within, as if eager to burst out. What lay inside was anyone’s guess. Some kind of treasure, perhaps, like a priceless gem. The object was obviously not of her world, but the box appeared too small to contain anything truly bad.
So why had Jorandil gone stone rigid?
“My father spoke of a box,” he said. “One that even the Fates would not see opened.”
“They especially.”
Jorandil stepped toward it, but Costeros waved his hand and the box vanished.
“Why does he think I helped you steal it?” Jorandil asked. “Did you tell him so?”
“No. Y
ou did.”
Jorandil grabbed the front of Costeros’s robes. “Tell me truthfully, old man. What have you done?”
With a simple wave and a fluff of Jorandil’s wings, the wizard sent Jorandil backward, crashing into a bookshelf. Books and knick knacks clattered down around him.
“What have I done?” His voice boomed out, louder than the room could contain. “What have you done, god of Beltane, holy keeper of the veil? You came to see me unbidden. You defied your father’s will involving this female of yours. And you delivered him my message, one that contained a spell that has him rather up in arms.”
Jorandil pushed himself away from the bookcase. An additional book dropped down from the force of the motion. “I delivered no message. I never had the chance.”
“You did. You fulfilled payment of our agreement before I sent you here.” The wizard shrugged. “Though I am not surprised your memory on the subject is clouded. You were rather out of sorts after I extracted your wings.”
“After you cut them from my body, you mean.”
Cadence’s stomach turned over. He had allowed someone to mutilate him for the chance to rescue her. Nothing could possibly be worth that. I’m not worth it, she wanted to shout. I’m just a silly college girl who can’t forget about you. Who can’t imagine going through life without the magic of being in your arms. Especially now that she’d experienced it again, however briefly. Her draw to him, the sense that they resonated together in a way she would never forget, had been no fluke. And he’d been willing to risk himself to spare her from harm. He hadn’t forgotten her, either.
“I warned you the price of saving your lover would involve both pain and sacrifice,” Costeros said. “You told me you would pay any cost.”
This was her fault. He must truly care about her to have gone to such lengths—such horrible, unimaginable lengths—to spare her a bullet from a madman’s gun. But if she’d never come here, chasing after a fantasy, he wouldn’t have had to do anything. He could have stayed in his realm, safe, secure, and with the crazy wizard still behind bars.
Jorandil’s eyes had gone darker and narrow. Dangerous. “What was in the message that has my father hunting me rather than you?”
“He hunts us both. You know they always want to shoot the messenger along with the message.”
“Which was what? Tell me now. You swore an oath that the message would not cause him harm.”
“Physical harm,” the wizard corrected. “And so it did not. All it contained was a simple truth spell. Once read, Herne had no choice but to answer a question of my choosing.”
“You got him to tell you the location of that box,” Jorandil said. “Now you will give it to me.”
The laugh in reply filled the air, echoing as though the room had become a concert hall. “I think not. Be warned, Jorandil. Your father sees you as a traitor, and I can readily attest to the way he handles those he feels have betrayed him. Now that you have crossed the veil to be with your woman, you should remain. Steer clear of the other realm and hide yourself from Herne’s wrath as best as you can. You appear passable as a human, for the most part. And I sense your Cadence would be most willing for you to stay.”
“Costeros,” Jorandil began, but with a wave of his arms, smoke rose out of nowhere, obliterating the wizard from view. When the air cleared, he was gone.
“Costeros!” Jorandil shouted. He pounded his fist on Stella’s desk. “What have I done?”
“Don’t listen to him,” Stella said. She straightened up, appearing more herself now that Costeros was gone. “He still considers you a threat. That’s why he wants you to stay out of whatever he’s going to do.”
Jorandil barked out an unpleasant laugh. “How am I a threat? He has my wings, which contain much of my power. He also has his own twisted magic, which is formidable enough for my father to have locked him away. Until I came along and let him maneuver me like a toy soldier.”
“You have to go back,” Stella persisted. “Whatever is in that box, he is planning to make rather terrible use of it.”
“I can’t go back.” Jorandil shook his head. “The energies I unleashed when I—when we,” he added, glancing at Cadence, “sealed the veil on Beltane are still in force. Crossings in the usual manner are impossible.” He eyed the woman. “Unless you can send me back. Costeros said you have magic.”
She sighed. “I don’t know what I have, but I don’t know the first thing about trying to send someone to another world.”
He folded his powerful arms. “Then I am stranded here until Costeros has done whatever his plans.”
Cadence wanted to go to him, stroke his arm and comfort him. But what good would it do? He probably didn’t want her touching him anyway. No doubt he wished he hadn’t come to save her.
The three of them fell silent, Jorandil staring off into space while the women watched him. Even now, the wizard might be doing something terrible.
My fault, she kept thinking. All my fault.
The room burst into smoke once again, this time a black, wispy smoke. It settled into the Fates, who bobbed in a rapid, agitated fashion.
“Quickly, Son of Herne!” they called out.
Jorandil’s head jerked up. “I thought he had damaged you.”
“We are not so easily harmed, but all is far from well,” a frail-looking one said.
“What has happened, Nona?” Jorandil asked.
The frail one straightened. “We have returned to help.”
“I thought you refused to help me?”
“You must act now to stop Costeros from using the box,” the widest of the three said. Her hair snaked in a wild, vicious dance around her head.
“Why do you fear the box so?” he asked. “What is inside?”
“No time,” the tallest one said. “Come with us now.”
He straightened. “Not until you tell me. Morta, Decuna, someone. Why do you fear that box? What will he do with it?”
The Fates traded glances with their wide, black eyes.
“Now,” Jorandil snapped. “Or fight him yourself.”
“The box contains the light,” the matronly one he had called Nona said.
“Our light,” the squat one said.”
“Decuna,” Morta said in a warning tone.
“Speak plain,” Jorandil said. “What does it do?”
“He can use the box to control fate,” Decuna spat out.
“To control us,” Nona added.
Morta huffed out a sigh of defeat.
“Control you,” Jorandil said. “As in all of it? Control of time, the winds of change, the threads of life?
“He has the Eye of Fate,” they said together.
“It is our greatest power,” Morta said. “The eye we use to effect change.”
“That is how you alter destinies?” Jorandil asked. “With this eye?”
“It is a power no mortal or god alike should wield,” Morta said. “Least of all Costeros, who would see many brought to ruin.”
“My father was going to use it,” he whispered.
“Your father only threatened,” Nona said.
“I saw the look in his eyes. He would have to get his way.”
“To safeguard his offspring, perhaps,” Morta said. “Not to control the fate of the realms.”
“Costeros will use no such restraint,” Decuna said. “Once he gains control of this power, he’ll use our Eye to force fate into whatever twisted form his whims dictate.”
“You must stop him,” Nona said. “Before it is too late.”
“How? I cannot even cross realms.”
“That is within our power,” they said. “Come now. Fight. He still fears you, for he knows the truth.”
“What truth?”
The smile from the oldest, Decuna, showed jagged and incomplete teeth. “That you retained more of your power than he would have hoped when he took your wings.”
“As long as he uses your wings to draw magic,” Nona added, “you will be immune to him
.”
“I am not immune,” he said. “Costeros tossed me about like a child’s doll.”
“Immune to the Eye of Fate,” Morta said. “So long as your wings are still part of him.”
“A fact that Costeros is as of yet unaware of,” Decuna added.
Jorandil paused. “How do I stop him?”
“You have a weapon,” Decuna replied. “You are a god of the sabbat.”
“What weapon?”
“The artifact,” they each whispered in echoes that surrounded the room.
“The torch of Beltane?” He appeared confused. “What good will that do?”
Three sets of alien-looking eyes shifted to each other.
“Costeros needs time to learn how to control the Eye,” Nona said. “Giving you an opportunity to use the torch to remove his power.”
“How will the torch do that?”
“Not the torch,” Decuna said. “The light it bears.”
He blinked. “The fire is only lit on the eve of Beltane.”
“But that is not the only time the flame can burn.”
“You want me to burn the Eye.”
“No!” The three stretched out, elongating into a large cloud that filled their half of the room. “The Eye must be undamaged.”
“Use the torch to remove the source of his magic,” Nona said.
Jorandil’s eyes widened. “My wings.”
“You must burn them with the holy fire,” she went on, the three resuming their normal shapes and swirling around him on an invisible current. “He will lose power long enough for us to get him back to the Tower of Ruin.”
“Will they survive?”
There was a pause.
“Your wings will be destroyed,” they all said.
Cadence’s heart sputtered. “No, you can’t do that. There has to be another way.”
“It is the only way,” Morta said.
“There must be some magic that can extract the wings and return them to me,” Jorandil said. “I cannot continue in my duties without them.”
“Magic can extract wings from an angel, even one with a god’s power,” Decuna said. “But taking them intact from a wizard of his strength, especially while augmented with your own power, is a whole other matter.”
Jorandil: God of Beltane (Sons of Herne, #4) Page 8
