The Black King (Book 7)

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  He opened his eyes for a brief instant. The light continued to flow through the heartstone and into the swirling fog. He could imagine the light flowing over the entire city and going through the palace walls, finding Rugad, and piercing him, the way it had once pierced him on a hillside. Only now he might not have the defenses to deal with it.

  Now it might kill him.

  Gift closed his eyes again, and as he did, something struck him in the arm. Intense pain burned through him, and he felt the wooden handle slip through his fingers.

  He was losing the heartstone.

  He opened his eyes, and caught the stone with his other hand, not breaking the connection. The light continued to flow.

  Then he looked at what was causing the pain.

  An arrow stuck out of his right bicep, blood oozing around it.

  The wound could have been worse, but he knew this was bad enough. He had to keep concentrating, had to keep directing all of his energy toward Rugad, no matter how long it took.

  No matter how much this wound drained him.

  He had to stay conscious. He had to stay aware.

  And he couldn’t do anything about the arrows that were hitting the deck around him. The best defense was holding this stone, making sure that Rugad died.

  Even if it cost Gift his life.

  SIXTY-NINE

  DIPALMET had his arms wrapped around Arianna’s body as if he could protect it from the light. The light flowed through the column and directly into the brain, destroying Rugad.

  At least, Lyndred hoped it was destroying Rugad. There was no way to tell. Rugad wasn’t speaking any more, and the body wasn’t moving.

  We can’t let it go on too long, Arianna said.

  We can’t stop it too soon, Lyndred thought. We can’t leave any of him in there.

  But how to know when he was really and truly gone? The eyes looked empty, but that could be an act. He could be waiting for Arianna to get back inside, and then do something to her there.

  Let me see the face, Arianna said.

  Lyndred stepped closer. The eyes were half open, their blue—once so intimidating—was bright, flaring from the light within. The skin was even lighter than it had been before. It was as if every part of that body was being invaded by the pure white light being sent from the ship.

  “I don’t know what you’re doing,” DiPalmet said, “but stop. She’s dying.”

  It certainly looked that way.

  We can’t kill the body, Arianna said. Lyndred could feel her panic. If we do, I’m lost.

  I know, Lyndred thought.

  The panic surged worse. Don’t do this to me. Gift won’t let you.

  I’m not, Lyndred thought. I have to wait until the right moment.

  If she would recognize the right moment.

  The guard stepped up behind her. “Do you want me to take her out of here?” he asked DiPalmet.

  “I don’t know,” DiPalmet said. “Not if she stops this.”

  The eyes went from glassy to empty. The head turned to one side as if nothing held the muscles in place any more. The arms drooped, then slid to the floor.

  Nothing controlled the body. It was obvious now. Whatever had been inside was gone.

  He’s dead. Lyndred, he’s dead!

  If he’s not, Lyndred thought, can you kill him when you get inside?

  If he’s not dead, he’s got to be wounded, Arianna said. I can always leave, and we can do this again.

  That sounded sensible to Lyndred. She took a deep breath.

  Daddy! She thought with all the power that she had. Daddy, make the light stop. We think he’s dead!

  SEVENTY

  “STOP!” Bridge shouted. “Stop! They think we’ve killed him.”

  “Think?” Coulter said, not willing to let go of the globe. There was a pile of burned out globes at his feet. His right arm ached from the strain. “Shouldn’t we wait until they know?”

  “How can they know?” Bridge asked. “They can’t until Arianna can go in!”

  Coulter let go of the globe. It bounced off the others, then clanged on deck, and rolled toward the Fey at the end again. The sudden loss of light made him blink hard. He felt dizzy, as if something had been pulled from him.

  The ship was rocking oddly, as if a wind had come up and created waves. More arrows hit the deck, and there was a muffled cry. He looked toward it. One of the Sprites fell backwards.

  The fog thinned.

  “Coulter!” Skya shouted. “Gift’s wounded.”

  How did he miss that? The ache he had felt in his arm, the exhaustion he was feeling, was that what Gift had been experiencing?

  He hurried toward them. Skya had her arms around Gift. She was cradling him. There was fear in her eyes. For the first time, Coulter realized that Skya loved Gift. She just never showed it.

  Gift’s face was ashen, and his sleeve was covered with blood. “Did we do it?”

  “We think so,” Coulter said.

  Arrows continued to clatter around them.

  “We have to get somewhere safer than this,” Bridge said.

  A dripping wet Foot Soldier pulled himself up the side of the ship and over the railing. One of Rugad’s soldiers. He reached for Skya and she kicked at him, her boots connecting with his stomach, his long nails shredding her pants. Coulter grabbed him, and flung him back.

  Suddenly more Foot Soldiers were on the railing. They must have swum from the shore toward the light.

  “Get our soldiers from below!” Coulter shouted. “Get them now.”

  He flicked his fingers at each of the Foot Soldiers, using a magickal push to send them backwards into the river. That wouldn’t hold them for long, but at least it wouldn’t kill them. Or it wouldn’t kill all of them.

  Gift was saying something. The fog was getting so thin, that Coulter thought he could see the shore. The Sprites were still gathered in their circle, but the Foot Soldier he had pulled away from Skya was grabbing one of them, reaching for her head and—

  Coulter sent a bolt of fire at him, and the Foot Soldier screamed. Then Coulter shoved him as well, and he toppled against the rail, alight, but without enough momentum to fall. One of the Sailors lifted the Foot Soldier’s legs and toppled him overboard.

  Arrows were falling in a wide pattern. They no longer had the hole in the fog to shoot at but they knew the general area.

  Gift’s lips were moving, but Coulter couldn’t understand what he was saying.

  “Move the ship!” Skya shouted. “He’s saying move the ship!”

  Of course. Until Arianna got her body back and could give orders. Coulter turned toward the Navigator. “Get your Sailors in position. We’ve got to raise anchor now!”

  The ship was rocking again. How many Foot Soldiers were out there?

  Their own Foot Soldiers were coming up from below and rushing the railings, getting in the way of the Sailors. The entire deck was chaos.

  It would be up to him. It was always up to him.

  Coulter closed his eyes and swept the sides of the ship, severing any part of any Fey touching the outside of the ship below the deck level.

  Screams surrounded them, followed by splashes.

  He opened his eyes. Skya’s gaze met his, troubled.

  “Go!” Coulter said to the Navigator. “Go!”

  SEVENTY-ONE

  I’M GOING THROUGH THE LINK, Arianna said.

  Lyndred wasn’t sure how they would do that. She hadn’t been certain on this point from the beginning.

  Arianna’s body was lying before them, the mouth slack, the head tilted back. DiPalmet was making a soft sound in his throat, almost like a keening.

  The light had stopped only a moment before. The guard was kneeling beside the body, hands above it as if he didn’t know what to do.

  Touch me, Arianna said.

  At first, Lyndred didn’t understand what she was saying. Then Arianna sent her a picture. Lyndred nodded, and reached down, touching the body’s hands.

 
They felt lifeless.

  Hurry! Arianna said.

  I’m touching her, Lyndred thought.

  There should be a Link here. You said you had a Link!

  I said I thought I had a Link, Lyndred thought defensively.

  “What are you doing?” DiPalmet said to her.

  “I’m trying to save her.”

  “How can you do that? You’re a Visionary.”

  Find me the Link! Arianna said.

  Lyndred closed her eyes, saw those few moments when Arianna—the person she had thought was Arianna—had looked at her with amusement or compassion. And a small door formed at the edge of Lyndred’s mind.

  Arianna—the real Arianna—ran for that door and pulled it open before Lyndred could stop her.

  Then hands grabbed Lyndred’s shoulder and yanked her back. “You can’t touch her.” It was the guard’s voice. “You killed her.”

  Lyndred opened her eyes. Nothing had moved in the body in front of her. Nothing had changed.

  “You saw me,” Lyndred said. “I didn’t send that light. It’s not within my powers. You know that. You both know that.”

  “Then what were you trying to do?” DiPalmet said.

  “I’m trying to Link with her,” Lyndred said.

  The body still hadn’t moved, and Arianna wasn’t talking to her inside her own mind. Had Arianna vanished then? Lyndred couldn’t tell.

  Was it the wrong Link that Arianna went through?

  Lyndred couldn’t tell that either.

  “What would Linking with her do?” DiPalmet asked.

  “It would save her. You have to let me go!”

  “How did you know this would happen?” The guard asked.

  “You know how,” Lyndred snapped. “I told you. I told you I knew what Gift was going to do to her.”

  They both recoiled as if she had struck them.

  “Now let me help her before she dies!”

  DiPalmet studied her. “What were you saying about Rugad?”

  “I don’t have time to explain,” Lyndred said. “Either help me or get out of my way.”

  DiPalmet moved. “I’m sorry.”

  “Save it,” Lyndred said. “You’ll be more than sorry if something happens to her because of your stupidity.”

  Then she took Arianna’s hand back in her own. The hand was actually clammy. And it still felt lifeless. Lyndred wondered if there would be a heartbeat. She didn’t want to try to find one.

  She closed her eyes again.

  Arianna? She thought. Are you still here?

  Arianna was gone and the door was still open. Lyndred was alone in her own mind. She walked up to the Link door and looked through it.

  And saw nothing except light.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  ARIANNA STEPPED INTO her own mind and closed the door behind her.

  It was dark inside her brain and it smelled faintly of burned flesh. Black ropes, crisped and burned to nearly nothing, hung around her, and on all sides, she saw blasted areas where walls had once been.

  Rugad. He had been threaded all through her.

  She touched one of the destroyed walls. Behind some of the blackness was pink flesh. Hers.

  It was as if she were in a house in which all the contents had burned, even the tapestries on the walls, but the walls remained. Damaged, but they were there.

  Still, she moved slowly. She knew that this part of his construct was gone, but she wasn’t sure if the rest was left. She followed the burned out trail deeper into herself, down to the core.

  Years ago, she had taken a small baby into that core, and built a room for him so that he could grow. She was afraid to go there, afraid to see what he had done.

  The deeper she went inside herself, the more she could feel him. There was residue of pain here. The stench of burning flesh grew worse, and the ropy blackness had a viscous quality that felt like blood.

  Had they, in saving her, destroyed her body? Was she, except for this essential part of herself, dead? Would she have to live forever inside that Golem’s body, unable to be the woman she had once been? She wouldn’t be able to tell until she reached that center, and reintegrated with herself.

  If she could.

  She closed her eyes and sent herself to the very center of herself. Then she opened her eyes, and saw the room where she once lived.

  It had been torn apart. All her secret things, her dreams and wishes and memories, had been thrown in a corner. She couldn’t tell what Rugad had done to the rest of the room because the inner wall had exploded outward.

  She stepped over the rubble and looked inside. The inner room was the one she had made for the baby. It was the one that had become Rugad’s. It was now a large crater, as if a giant fireball had been tossed inside it.

  There was nothing left of Rugad. Nothing at all.

  There was barely anything left of her.

  She would have to rebuild everything, reorder everything, repair all parts of herself. And she wasn’t sure where she could start.

  Arianna?

  The voice was faint, so faint she could barely hear it, yet it sounded like someone shouting. Rugad? Please, no, it couldn’t be Rugad.

  Arianna, are you still alive? Please answer me, Arianna.

  It was Lyndred.

  I’m fine, Arianna sent.

  No, you’re not. I think your body is dying.

  In this kind of shape, with all of these problems, that was possible. She was going to have to reintegrate herself without repairing anything.

  Or she was going to have to let this body die.

  Arianna? Arianna, please hurry.

  She stared at the destruction, the ropy bloody mess, then she walked over to the corner where Rugad had tossed everything that belonged to her. She picked up a painting of Coulter—not as he really looked, but as he saw himself, a tall Fey with blond hair and blue eyes. She ran her finger across the surface, tracing the brushstrokes. He was beautiful either way.

  Then she set the painting aside and found the portrait of her father. His beloved, lost face, smiling at her as he often had when he approved of her.

  Arianna?

  She missed him so much. She missed his advice and counsel. And if she left this body, she might not have this portrait. She might lose some of her memories.

  She would lose even more of herself.

  Please hurry.

  Then she looked at the ruined walls. But it would be so painful. She wasn’t sure she was ready for this kind of pain. But it was the only choice. Best to get it over with.

  She slipped her hand into the wall behind the memories, and then she slid back into herself.

  Her brain hurt. Her body ached. Her lungs were on fire. She hadn’t had a breath in a long time. She took in a mouthful of air, and then opened her eyes.

  Lyndred was looking down on her. The girl was a fright, dried blood matting her hair, mud all over her face. DiPalmet was behind her, looking terrified, and the guard was behind him, seeming overwhelmed.

  “Arianna?” Lyndred asked. “Are you all right?”

  No, she wanted to say. She had never been in this kind of pain in her life. It hurt to think, and the logical connections, the way she used to get from one part of her brain to another, weren’t working right.

  Still, she had to find the way to control everything. If only she were able to fight the pain.

  “Arianna?”

  “Bring in the army.” Her voice was a whisper. The words were in Islander, but they were drawn out. Her tongue was having difficulty moving; her lips were not working properly. “Call off the attack on Gift.”

  “But, Arianna—” DiPalmet started.

  “Now!” She tried to yell, but she spoke no louder than she had originally.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He stood.

  “Get me a Healer,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And when my brother comes here, let him and Coulter in to see me.” Each word was an effort.

  “But, Arian
na, he tried to kill you.”

  She made herself look at Lyndred, praying Lyndred would understand what she was trying to do. “Was it Gift who held that light?”

  “Of course not,” Lyndred said. “You—”

  “See?” Arianna said to DiPalmet. “Let him up here. This family can’t fight each other. We don’t dare fight.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and then he turned around and left.

  “See that he does what I asked,” she said to Lyndred.

  “Yes, I will.” Lyndred squeezed her hand. “I’m so glad...“

  But Arianna missed the rest of it. She closed her eyes and let the pain take her away.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  THE TASHKA WAS GONE, taking the fog with it. The fighting had stopped long before the order to cease had come via a Wisp, who told Xihu, Nandar, and the other Leaders. The little war was over, as strangely as it had begun.

  Xihu stood at the water’s edge. She knew that something momentous had happened here, something she hadn’t understood. The Wisp had no answers except to say that Arianna had called off the fight and wanted to see her brother. Xihu had asked if Arianna planned to kill Gift herself, and the Wisp had given her a strange look.

  She’s too weak, the Wisp had said. She might have died.

  So the light was an attack against her, but what kind of attack? And how had it changed her mind?

  Xihu was sure she would find out when she went back to the palace. All that mattered was that war had been averted. The Blood against Blood had stopped.

  The sun was out, thin and cold. She had never been so happy to see the sun in her entire life. The fog had been thick and unnatural. It had hidden the fighting from view, in some ways making the hideous even uglier by keeping it out of sight.

  But the remains of it were in front of her, the arrows on the surface, the bodies floating on the water, the charred bits of flesh on the crest of a wave.