Steel's Edge
( The Edge - 4 )
Ilona Andrews
The Edge lies between worlds, on the border between the Broken, where people shop at Wal-Mart and magic is a fairy tale — and the Weird, where blueblood aristocrats rule, changelings roam, and the strength of your magic can change your destiny...
Charlotte de Ney is as noble as they come, a blueblood straight out of the Weird. But even though she possesses rare magical healing abilities, her life has brought her nothing but pain. After her marriage crumbles, she flees to the Edge to build a new home for herself. Until Richard Mar is brought to her for treatment, and Charlotte's life is turned upside down once again.
Richard is a swordsman without peer, future head of his large and rambunctious Edger clan — and he's on a clandestine quest to wipe out slavers trafficking humans in the Weird. So when his presence leads his very dangerous enemies to Charlotte, she vows to help Richard destroy them. The slavers' operation, however, goes deeper than Richard knows, and even working together, Charlotte and Richard may not survive...
Steel's Edge
(The fourth book in the Edge series)
A novel by Ilona Andrews
To the readers, who stuck with us
Acknowledgments
Steel’s Edge marks the end of a series for us. While the stories of the Edge aren’t quite over, this particular arc is concluded. We worked very hard to make this book a standout, and we would like to thank all of the wonderful people who helped to make this series a success.
As always, we would like to thank Anne Sowards, our editor, and Nancy Yost, our agent, for sticking with us. We’re neither the easiest writers nor the easiest clients, and we appreciate your patience and willingness to work with us despite the craziness life throws our way.
We’re grateful to all of the awesome staff at Ace: the production editor Michelle Kasper and assistant production editor Jamie Snider, editorial assistant Kat Sherbo, the artist Victoria Vebell and cover designer Annette Fiore DeFex, interior designer Kristin del Rosario, and publicist Rosanne Romanello.
Special thanks to Sarah E. Younger of the Nancy Yost Literary Agency for fielding many phone calls and resolving minor emergencies.
Because of the nature of this book, we had to seek advice from medical experts, and we’re deeply grateful to S.F., Sarah Carden, and especially Michelle Kraut. Any errors of a medical nature are our fault and not theirs.
Finally we’d like to thank our many friends and you, the readers, for believing in the world of the Edge.
PROLOGUE
“MY lady?”
Charlotte looked up from her cup of tea at Laisa. The young girl held an envelope of thick, heavy paper.
“This came for you.”
A sudden pain pierced Charlotte’s chest, as if something vital had broken inside her. She felt cold and jittery. It was bad news. If it were good news, she would’ve gotten a scryer call. She felt the urge to squeeze and crumple her blond hair in her fingers. She hadn’t done that since she was a child.
“Thank you,” she made herself say.
The maid lingered, concern stamped on her face. “Can I get you anything, my lady?”
Charlotte shook her head.
Laisa studied her for a long moment, reluctantly crossed the balcony to the door, and went inside.
The envelope lay in front of Charlotte. She forced herself to raise her cup of tea to her lips. The rim of the cup shuddered. Her fingers were shaking.
She focused on that rim, calling on years of practicing control over her emotions. Calm and collected, that was the mantra of the healer. An effective healer is neither callous, nor tenderhearted, her memory whispered in her mind. She doesn’t permit herself to succumb to passion or despair, and she never allows her craft to be compromised by her emotions.
She had lived by this creed for twenty years. It never failed her.
Calm above all things.
Calm.
Charlotte took a deep breath, counting each rise and fall of her chest. One, two, three, four . . . ten. The cup in her hands was motionless. Charlotte drank from it, set it down, and tore the envelope open. Her fingertips had gone numb. The ornate seal of the Adrianglian Academy of Physicians marked the top of the paper. We regret to inform you . . .
Charlotte forced herself to read it, every last word, then stared past the white stone rail of the balcony at the garden below. Down there, a sand-colored brick path ran to the distant trees. Short silvery grass trailed the path on both sides, flanked by a row of low emerald hedges, beyond which flowers bloomed: roses in a dozen shades, their heavy blossoms perfect; constellation shrubs with bunches of star-shaped flowers in crimson, pink, and white; yellow knight spears, their delicate flowerets shaped like tiny bells . . .
She would not be blooming. She would not bear fruit. The last door had slammed in her face. Charlotte hugged herself. She was barren.
The word pressed on her, like a crushing physical weight, a heavy anchor around her neck. She would never feel a life grow inside her. She would never pass on her gift or see the shadow of her features in her baby’s face. The treatments and magic of the best healers in Adrianglia had failed. The irony was so thick, she laughed, a bitter brittle sound.
In the country of Adrianglia, two things mattered most: one’s name and one’s magic. Her family was neither old nor wealthy, and her name was ordinary. Her magic was anything but. At four years old she had healed an injured kitten, and her life took a sharp turn in an unexpected direction.
Medical talents were rare and highly prized by the realm, so rare that when she was seven, Adrianglia came for her. Her parents explained the situation: she would leave them to study at the Ganer College of Medicinal Arts. Adrianglia would house her, teach her, nurture her magic, and in return upon completion of her education, Charlotte would give the realm ten years of civil service. At the end of that decade, she would be granted a noble title, making her one of the coveted elite, and a small estate. Her parents, in turn, would receive a lump sum of money to soothe their grief at losing a child. Even at that age, she realized she had been sold. Three months later, she left for the College and never returned.
At ten she was a child wonder; at fourteen, a rising star; and at seventeen, when her service officially began, Charlotte was the best the College had to offer. They called her the Healer and guarded her like a treasure. In anticipation of assuming her title, she had received instruction from the best tutors. Lady Augustine, whose bloodline stretched back through centuries all the way to the Old Continent, had personally overseen her education, ensuring that Charlotte entered Adrianglian society as if she had always belonged within it. Her poise was flawless, her taste refined, her behavior exemplary. By the time she emerged from the College, now Charlotte de Ney, Baroness of Ney and the owner of a small estate, she had healed thousands.
But she could never heal herself.
Neither could anyone else. After eighteen months of treatments, experts, and magic, she held the final verdict in her hand. She was barren.
Barren. Like a desert. Like a wasteland.
Why her? Why couldn’t she have a baby? She’d healed countless children, pulling them from the brink of death and returning them to their parents, but the little nursery she had set up next to their bedroom would remain empty. Hadn’t she earned this little bit of happiness? What had she done that was so horrible that she couldn’t have a baby?
A sob broke from her. Charlotte caught herself and rose. No hysterics. Elvei would have to be told. He would be crushed. Children meant so much to her husband.
She took the stairs down to the path leading to the northern patio. The old house sprawled in the garden like a lazy white beast, a seemingly random three-story-hig
h collection of rooms, patios, balconies, and stone stairways. The northern patio was on the opposite side of the manor, and she required a few minutes to compose herself. Her husband would need her support. Poor Elvei.
She had just been settling into her new life when Elvei Leremine came to her with a proposal. She was twenty-eight at the time, barely a year out of the College, and lonely. The life of a Healer didn’t leave much time for romantic pursuits. The idea of being married and sharing her life with another human being suddenly seemed so appealing. Baron Leremine was considerate, gracious, and attractive. He wanted a family, and so did she. When a year had passed with no children, she underwent an examination, taking the first step on the grueling eighteen-month journey.
She wanted a baby. She would surround her child with love and warmth, and her son or daughter would never have to worry about being ripped out of her arms because even if her talent passed to her baby, she would go to the College with them. Charlotte stopped for a moment and squeezed her eyes shut. There would be no baby.
A week ago, the months of treatments, tests, and waiting had caught up with her. She felt alone, desperate, and terrified of the future, just as she had when she was seven years old and walking through the massive stone gates of the Ganer College for the first time. And so she sought out the same person who had comforted her then, the woman who became her mother after her natural parents surrendered her. She had gone back to Ganer College to speak with Lady Augustine.
They had walked through the gardens together, just like she was doing now, drifting along the curved stone paths, the College’s forbidding stone walls behind them. Lady Augustine hadn’t changed much. Dark-haired, graceful, her face classically beautiful, she didn’t walk, she glided. Her demeanor was still regal, her features were elegant, and her magic, which could soothe the most violent psychotic in a breath, still as potent as ever.
“Do you think this is a punishment?” Charlotte had asked.
The Lady arched her eyebrows. “Punishment? For what?”
Charlotte clenched her jaw.
“You can tell me anything,” Lady Augustine murmured. “I won’t betray your confidence, sweetheart. You know this.”
“I carry something dark in me. Something vicious. Sometimes I feel an edge of it, looking through my eyes from inside me.”
“You feel the urge?” the older woman said.
Charlotte nodded. The urge was a constant specter hanging over every healer. They could knit together devastating wounds and purge diseases, but they could also harm. Using the destructive side of their magic was forbidden. “Do no harm” was the opening statement of the healer’s oath. It was the first words of the first lesson she had received, and over the years she had heard it said countless times. Harming was seductive. Those who tried it became addicted and lost themselves to it.
“Is it growing stronger?” Lady Augustine asked.
Charlotte nodded.
“Pardon you for being human.”
What? Charlotte glanced at the older woman.
A mournful smile curved Lady Augustine’s lips. “My dear, do you think you’re the first to have these thoughts? Our talents provide us with the means both to heal and to harm. It’s in our nature to do both, yet we’re asked to shut half of ourselves off and heal for years and years. This creates an imbalance. Do you think I haven’t imagined what I could do if I unleashed my power? I could walk into a roomful of diplomats and plunge the country into war. I could incite riots. I could drive people to murder.”
Charlotte stared at her. Of all people, her adoptive mother was the last person she would imagine having those thoughts.
“What you feel is normal. It’s not a cause for punishment. You’re under a lot of stress, and your body and mind are on the defensive. You put yourself under so much pressure, and that makes you vulnerable. You want to lash out, but Charlotte, you must keep your magic under control.”
“What if I stumble?” Charlotte asked.
“There is no such thing as stumbling. You are a healer or you’re an abomination.”
Charlotte winced.
“I have faith in you. You know what the consequences are.”
She knew. Every healer knew about the consequences. Those who harmed turned into plaguebringers, slaves to their own magic, existing only to deliver death and disease. Centuries ago on the Old Continent, an attempt was made to use the plaguebringers as a weapon during a war. Two of the healers had walked out onto the battlefield and let themselves go. Neither army survived, and the plague they unleashed raged for months and smothered entire kingdoms.
Lady Augustine sighed. “The realm takes us from our families so young because they seek to indoctrinate us. Even with this careful upbringing, they ask for only ten years of service because what we do wears us out. We give so much of ourselves. We’re the last hope of so many people, and we’re exposed to horrible things: wounds of violence, dying children, families torn by grief. It’s a heavy burden to bear, and it has an effect on you, on me, on all of us. To feel the destructive urges is natural, Charlotte. But acting on them will make you a murderer. Perhaps not right away. Perhaps you can even control it for a time, but in the end, the magic will consume you, and you will walk through the land spreading death. There are no exceptions to this rule. Do not become an abomination, Charlotte.”
“I won’t.” She would contain the darkness. She had to—she simply had no choice.
They walked in silence for a few moments.
“Let us imagine the worst,” Lady Augustine said. “You’re infertile.”
Charlotte’s heart had skipped a beat. “Yes.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to be childless. There are hundreds of children waiting to be loved. You can’t give birth, Charlotte. That’s only a small part of being a parent. You can still be a mother and know all the joys and tortures of raising a child. We get too hung up on bloodlines and family names and our own stupid notions of aristocracy. If someone dropped a basket with a baby on your doorstep, would you really hesitate to pick it up because the baby wasn’t of your blood? It’s a baby, a tiny life just waiting to be nurtured. Think on it.”
“I don’t have to. I would take the baby,” Charlotte said. She would take it and love it. Whether she carried it to term didn’t matter.
“Of course you would. You are my daughter in everything but blood, and I know you. I think you’ll make an excellent mother.”
Tears warmed the back of her eyes. Charlotte kept them in check. “Thank you.”
“What does your husband think of all of this?”
“Children are very important to him. His inheritance depends on producing an heir.”
The older woman rolled her eyes. “Conditional succession? Oh, the joys of having a noble bloodline and a little bit of money. Is this some new development? I don’t recall this being a condition of your marital contract.”
Charlotte sighed. “It wasn’t.”
“Did he mention at any point before your wedding that he required an heir?”
Charlotte shook her head.
Lady Augustine’s face iced over. “I do not appreciate being lied to. When did you find out?”
“When we realized there was a problem with conception.”
“This was a conversation the two of you should’ve had before either of you signed your name to the contract. Not only that, but it should’ve been formally disclosed.” She looked into the distance, the way she did when she was trying to recall things. “How could I have been so wrong? He seemed like such a solid match, a temperate man. Unlikely to cause any problems.”
A temperate man? “What does that mean?”
“Charlotte, you need someone steady, someone dependable, who will treat you with consideration. You’ve done over a decade’s worth of healing, and your magic is starved and tired of doing the same thing over and over. It doesn’t take much to upset this apple cart. That’s why I remained here.” Lady Augustine indicated the garden with an elegant sweep of he
r hand. “Serenity, beauty, and a low likelihood of psychological or physical trauma. That’s why after a bloody war, some veterans become monks.”
So what, she was somehow too fragile to live her life outside of College walls? Charlotte gritted her teeth. “Perhaps Elvei didn’t know about the conditions for succession.”
“Oh no, he knew. We grow up knowing, Charlotte. He deliberately hid it because I would’ve never given my consent to your wedding.”
Charlotte raised her head. “If he made that a requirement of the marriage contract, I wouldn’t have married him. I didn’t want to enter into a contract to produce a baby. I wanted a marriage, and I think he did, too.”
“He wanted children with a healing talent,” the older woman said.
Charlotte stopped.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Lady Augustine said. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was coarse of me. I’m so furious, and it’s clouding my judgment. It’s my fault. This was exactly the sort of thing I was trying to avoid, and I’ve failed you. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I’m not a child,” Charlotte said. “I’m almost thirty, and I’m responsible for my marriage.”
“You’re educated, but Ganer College hasn’t prepared you for the realities of the world outside these walls. It doesn’t matter how old you are, you don’t have the experience of interacting with people outside a controlled environment. You’ve never been betrayed, hurt, or tricked. You’ve never suffered humiliation. I look into people’s souls every day, and what I see there fills me with joy, but also with dread. I wanted so much to spare you.”
She was talking as if the end of her marriage was a foregone conclusion. “My marriage isn’t over, and Elvei isn’t some sort of callous villain. So he didn’t tell me about his succession. It’s a rather regrettable oversight, but we will deal with it. I understand that love doesn’t happen overnight, but I think he cares for me, and I care for him, deeply. We’ve lived together for almost three years. We wake up in the same bed. He told me he loved me when I began the fertility treatments.”
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