by Eva Chase
“I still don’t—” Ravenguard cut herself off, obviously feeling the urgency Rory had mentioned and seeing the Bloodstone scion meant what she said. She let out a breath in a huff. “We’ll have to be much more restrained in our use of magic outside in the middle of the day.”
Ah, that explained everything. Even captured and with her and her familiar’s lives at risk, Rory had managed to spin the situation toward the less-fatal outcome she’d wanted, even if she hadn’t pulled off quite the coupe she’d hoped for.
“So will the joymancers,” she said. “We still have the element of surprise on our side. I have every faith that the blacksuits can use this opportunity to their advantage and bring my mother back uninjured.”
In that moment, with her posture straight and her voice forceful and clear, she was every inch a baron already. And that was exactly how to play a woman like Ravenguard. The blacksuit looked as if she’d swallowed another complaint. She squared her shoulders. “Of course we will. Even sooner than expected. I’d better make sure we have everything in place. Thank you for that unexpected information—which I would like to hear more about later.”
As she got up, Rory’s gaze lifted to follow her. “There’s one more thing,” she said in the same commanding tone. “I want to be there.”
Ravenguard halted. “At the attack? Rory, we’ve talked about this. I can’t put you in that kind of danger—”
“I know,” Rory said. “That’s not what I mean. I just want to be close enough to see what happens. It’s my mother you’re rescuing. I want to be able to go to her the first second she’s out of the fray.”
Ravenguard’s mouth flattened. I could tell she wanted to argue, but Rory’s framing hadn’t made it easy. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t, though.
I couldn’t contribute much to the plan Rory had somehow orchestrated, but I could at least help this request of hers along. It was obviously a hell of a lot more important to her than anything I’d been able to offer so far.
“I’ll stay with her,” I said before the blacksuit could find the right argument. “I’ll make sure she stays well back from the fighting—and be an extra line of defense if it comes our way.”
I gave Ravenguard a meaningful look as if to say she should know I’d have her—and my father’s—best interests at heart. Ravenguard wavered for a moment and then nodded.
“All right,” she said. “We’ll see what we can do. Have your breakfast and be prepared to move out at our call.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rory
The dry wind blew across the ten-story rooftop and tugged at my hair, which I’d pulled back into a ponytail a few minutes ago to keep it out of my face. The sun shone bright, bringing out the chemical scent of the asphalt surface I was standing on—and glancing off the many pedestrians on the street below. I hoped their presence meant the mages on the verge of battle would exercise greater caution, not that there’d be even more Nary casualties.
I couldn’t make out any of the blacksuits stationed around this strip of the city, but that was the whole point. Even my lookout spot here was hidden by an illusion and a persuasive repulsing spell. Surprise had given us the upper hand. Lillian’s people had been able to catch enough of the joymancers’ preparations around the city to figure out what general route they were planning on using to transport my mother. Now we were just waiting for them to arrive for the ambush.
Lillian had been carrying that conductive weapon when I’d last seen her. Dear Lord, let her decide not to use it in the midst of all the bystanders below.
Malcolm shifted against the concrete wall he was leaning against. “They are taking their time.”
I shot him a look with my arms crossed over my chest. “No one asked you to play babysitter. You could be relaxing back at the hotel if you wanted.”
He shot me the cocky grin I was starting to appreciate in ways I’d never have expected to a couple months ago. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you. I don’t think your blacksuit keeper would have agreed to you being even this close on your own.” He shook his head in amusement. “You do like being a wild card, don’t you?”
“Sorry if I don’t have much taste for bloodshed,” I muttered, but he was right about Lillian. I wasn’t really sure I’d have been able to insist on tagging along even to this extent without company, and she wouldn’t have wanted to spare any of the blacksuits for that purpose.
“Just one more thing to work on,” Malcolm said with a wink, but his expression softened a moment later. “You seem to be holding up all right.”
That was a subtle question about my well-being, which I couldn’t blame him for after the state I’d come to him in last night. And the way I’d thrown myself at him this morning.
My face warmed a little remembering, but that heat wasn’t all embarrassment. If I’d had any doubts about the Nightwood scion’s capacity for generosity, they were gone now. Although that’d only made me more curious about what it’d be like to finally fulfill the desires we’d both been keeping reined in for so long now.
Between my fears about the impending attack and the pain of the inner wound that was healing only slowly, it wasn’t so hard to avoid temptation at this particular moment. I appreciated his concern, though. I sucked in a breath, feeling out the achingly empty space between my lungs.
“I’m not sure how much it’s gotten better and how much I’ve just gotten used to coping,” I said. “But the loss isn’t overwhelming anymore, at least.”
He nodded. “You’ve had to cope with worse. Fortunately or unfortunately, it gets easier with practice.”
A comment he could obviously make from personal experience, considering how nonchalant he’d been about his father’s retaliation after my hearing.
“I’m hoping to avoid much more practice at losing familiars.” And friends. The knowledge that Deborah was completely gone hit me all over again. I inhaled slowly to push back the wave of grief.
I had nothing and no one from my old life left except for the single glass charm hanging around my neck, which I’d almost lost too. And I couldn’t even claim the fearmancers had stolen it all away. The joymancers hadn’t been able to see me as anything other than an enemy, and because of that, they’d destroyed the one real connection I had to any joymancers other than my parents.
I’d already decided that I was going to make the best of my life with the fearmancers and push for the changes I wanted to see from within the pentacle of scions and then barons, but my experience here had basically ensured that was the only viable option. I didn’t trust the Conclave any more than I did Malcolm’s father.
My senses caught a faint shifting of magic. Something was happening. I leaned against the wall overlooking the street, searching the road and the sidewalks. Malcolm turned to follow my gaze.
I knew the vehicle from the eerie shimmer that clung to it, an impression that would have been unperceivable to the Naries nearby. It was a heavy gray truck that looked like the sort of thing a bank might use to transport stacks of cash. I guessed that said something about how valuable the joymancers considered my mother to be.
The truck was flanked ahead and behind by sedans that might also have held joymancers. I couldn’t tell how many might be in the windowless back of the truck. The Conclave would have assigned as many mages as they could to protecting their precious cargo. But they couldn’t disguise it completely, not when they needed to drive alongside Nary traffic. Their stealthy transport could be ruined in an instant if a regular driver took a turn into a truck they’d turned invisible.
I braced myself, watching for the first move of the attack. Lillian wouldn’t want the blacksuits to reveal their magic too openly… but she also wouldn’t risk losing my mother again. There were dozens of Naries around in their cars and walking by. If my gambit meant more of them got hurt, there’d be no one else I could displace that guilt onto.
“It’s already started,” Malcolm remarked at the same moment that I realized it too. The pede
strians I’d been watching had either sped up or meandered off down side-streets, slowly clearing the sidewalks near the truck. The cars behind the second sedan turned off in other directions too. No new cars were approaching in the opposing lane.
The blacksuits were surreptitiously clearing the path as much as they could—so they could get away with more magic than they could have risked otherwise, but I appreciated the side benefit.
That thought had just passed through my head when the truck lurched with the bang of a misfiring engine. The cars ahead of the first sedan sped away as if in the grips of a sudden panic—which they probably were.
Magic flashed back and forth across the street like blazing streaks of sunlight. My fingers had curled tight around the lip of the wall, the rough concrete digging into my skin. I flinched at a strangled cry that carried from one of the sedans.
Something crashed in an alley nearby, followed by a pained cough. The truck rocked on its wheels, but it didn’t budge from where it’d been stopped. With a hiss sharp enough that I could hear it even from so high above, the tires sagged flat.
Several figures spilled out of the back of the truck, slamming its doors behind them. Their arms were already waving and their mouths moving with castings.
Flickers of movement caught my eyes along the street around them where the concealed blacksuits were returning fire. With one brutal blast, half of the joymancers flew backward off their feet, their heads smashing into the side of the building behind them.
I’d known we couldn’t avoid bloodshed completely, but the sight still made my stomach turn. My gaze jerked from one end of the street to the other as I tried to track the battle.
The remaining joymancers, including a bunch that had scrambled out of the sedans, were forming a ring around the truck. And maybe a magical shield, from the way the next few spells hurled their way burst into a glimmering shower before reaching them.
How long until they struck back—or until the fearmancers smashed through their wall and their bodies? Lillian and the others had to be at least a little cautious to avoid hurting my mother in the truck.
More spells slammed back and forth across the street. The impact reverberated through the air up to where Malcolm and I stood. I shuddered with it—and my gaze latched onto a cluster of figures approaching on the side-street across from us.
My first instinct was defensive, seeing them as potential attackers. But it only took a second to realize they were anything but. It was a group of young teens, presumably drawn by the unexpected sounds, creeping closer to take a peek at the action.
A peek that could get them killed.
“Shit,” I murmured. Malcolm’s head snapped around to see what I was responding to. I shot him a quick glance and decided I didn’t care whether he approved of what I was about to do or not.
I’d wanted to be here so I could take some responsibility for the events I’d set in motion. Now was my chance to do just that.
Without any more hesitation, I turned my attention back toward the lurking teenagers and summoned a strong waft of magic from my chest. “You don’t want to be here,” I said with the punch of a persuasive casting. “There’s something back the way you came from that you really need to check out.”
Even though they couldn’t hear me, the power of the spell hit them firmly. A few of them started backpedaling, and then they all turned and hurried away down the alley.
I got to relax for about five seconds before Malcolm muttered a curse. He’d turned to peer along the side of the building we were perched on. I hurried over to join him.
Four figures were stalking along the alley there with a ripple of magic around them that told me these weren’t innocent passersby. They weren’t blacksuits either, which meant they were reinforcements from the joymancers. Sneaking over to try to get the jump on our forces.
I didn’t think Lillian would have left her people’s flanks unprotected. The blacksuits could probably take this group on—by smashing their skulls in like they’d done to the other joymancers. My stomach clenched at the thought.
“I’m dealing with those,” I said.
Malcolm paused as if he was considering arguing, but then his lips curled into a defiant smile. “Just say the word, and I’ll be right there with you.”
“We just… get them out of the way until the fighting’s over.” I could even use the same basic trick I had in the Conclave headquarters. The joymancers were just coming up on an open dumpster. I nodded to it and raised my hands. “Contain them.”
With another heave of my magic, I cast out my spell with the simplest words that came to me. “Up and in!” Malcolm barked out a casting word of his own at the same time.
As I flicked my wrists, the bodies of the four joymancers whipped off the ground and plunged into the heap of garbage bags.
“Shut and stay,” I said with all the force I could summon. The dumpster’s lid thumped closed. It rattled with the impact of spells from within, and Malcolm snapped out another casting word. After that, the lid didn’t budge.
“I don’t know how long that’ll hold,” he said, turning to me. “But I think it should be long enough to get us through the fight.”
A sudden pang ran through me. The Nightwood scion had been here for me at my hearing and every time I’d needed him since, but I still hadn’t totally believed he’d ever buy into all of my values rather than dismissing some of them as weakness. He’d just saved four joymancers from their probable deaths, because I’d said that was what I wanted to do.
“Thank you,” I said. The words didn’t feel like enough.
“Maybe I’m losing my taste for bloodshed too,” he said with a smirk, and brushed a stray strand of hair back from my cheek. The graze of his fingertips set my heart thumping even faster. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t run things your way, Glinda—not even me. You’re fucking perfect the way you are.”
There was nothing but affection now in the nickname he’d used to say so disdainfully. I swallowed hard.
A shattering sound split the air. I spun back toward the front of the building.
Glass littered the pavement beneath the broken windows on the sedans and the cab of the truck. The bodies of the ring of joymancers lay sprawled amid the glinting shards. Several blacksuits were stalking across the road to the truck.
My legs itched to run down the stairs to be there when they opened it, but I knew the battle wasn’t likely to be over yet. That suspicion was borne out moments later when the truck’s doors clanged open.
Joymancers leapt out, flinging spells in every direction. A few of the blacksuits stumbled and fell, their bodies sagging, burnt or bleeding. But this had obviously been the joymancers’ last-ditch effort. Lillian and the other blacksuits shouted castings, and the remaining attackers crumpled. She shoved one body aside with her foot and climbed into the truck.
I couldn’t wait for more confirmation than that. I dashed for the stairwell, Malcolm loping along behind me, and hustled down the steps as fast as my feet would carry me. My breath was raw in my throat by the time I reached the ground floor, but I ran right out into the street.
Lillian and one of the other blacksuits were just carrying a limp form out of the truck, cradled between them. Even though I had no memory of ever meeting the woman they held, my pulse stuttered. I sprinted over to them. My lungs constricted at the sight of her pale, gaunt face before I could force out any sound.
“Mom?” I said automatically.
Her eyes didn’t open. Her whole body was gaunt, almost skeletal—had the joymancers been starving her?
Horror flooded me, but Lillian’s voice jarred me out of my shock. “We’ve got to get her out of here before the Conclave sends more of their people. Come on—to the cars. She’ll be all right after our doctors have had a chance to see to her properly.”
My mouth opened and closed. Malcolm set a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get her home,” he said.
I let him nudge me toward the vehicles the b
lacksuits had parked farther down the street, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the woman.
We’d rescued her—my birth mother, the Bloodstone baron. But she barely looked as if she’d survived.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rory
The blacksuits’ medical wing looked a lot like I’d expect a hospital to—white walls, narrow cots, bright light fixtures overhead—and it had the same sharply clean smell. The only difference was the eerie quiet. My shoes squeaked faintly every time I shifted my weight on the polished floor. So I held still, gazing down at my mother where she lay on the cot they’d given her.
“Has she come to at all yet?” I asked Lillian, who’d joined me for my visit.
My mother’s self-proclaimed best friend shook her head, but she didn’t look concerned. “Our doctors have your mother in a state of deep magical sedation to give her mind and body time to recover,” she said. “It shouldn’t need to last more than another day or two, and then she’ll be better prepared to continue that recovery consciously. It’s a common technique, nothing to worry about.”
The woman on the bed did appear to be a lot healthier than she’d seemed when I’d first seen Lillian carrying her from the joymancers’ truck. Her skin had warmed from sallow beige to pale peachy pink. The angles of her face and limbs didn’t look quite so skeletally sharp, so I guessed the fearmancer doctors were giving her some kind of nutrition. Someone had washed and brushed her hair, too, so the mingled silver and dark brown strands lay sleekly on her pillow.
She’d changed from the woman in the photograph and videos—aged and worn down—but I recognized her, both with my eyes and on that bone-deep level with which my spirit had responded to hers when the blacksuits had used me to stretch their magic across the country.
