Ward Against Destruction

by Melanie Card

  “We will.”

  Jared narrowed his eyes. “But—?”

  “There’s something I need to do first.” The only way to get Celia safely out of the village without endangering everyone else was to deal with the Innecroestri on the Ancients’ Island.

  “There isn’t anything you need to do. I’m sorry, but your time is over.”

  “Nothing is ever that easy.”

  “Sure it is,” Jared said.

  “You haven’t seen my life for the last three weeks.”

  “Ward, please. Just come with me.” Jared held out his hand. Magic pulsed around it, quick and fearful.

  Goddess, Ward needed that magic, needed to survive, needed Celia, needed so much. Magic would solve everything, and Jared had lots to spare. A shudder raced through him.

  No. Jared was his cousin, and as much as he saw Ward as a monster, that’s not who he was. Ward couldn’t let Grandfather find them until Celia was safely away.

  Which meant Jared couldn’t go back to the party of necromancers.

  Ward leapt at him.

  Jared’s pulse flashed then raced even faster. He jerked out of the way. Ward grabbed Jared’s shirt, but his cousin tore free and scrambled for the passage’s opening.

  Ward raced after him. He had to stop Jared before they reached sunlight. Ward grabbed for Jared again, but he twisted, last minute. With a scream, he burst from the passage into the meadow. Ward ground his teeth against the burning sunlight and barreled out after him.

  Jared stumbled and glanced over his shoulder. His mouth dropped open. “But the sunlight? It’s supposed to burn a vesperitti.”

  “Don’t believe every myth you hear.”

  “You can’t. It’s not possible!”

  Ward lunged at him, grabbed his shirtsleeve, and wrenched him around. “I learned a week ago that just about anything is possible.”

  “No.” Jared yanked out his dagger and nicked his hand. Magic swarmed around the cut.

  It called to something primal and hungry within Ward.

  “Stay back,” Jared yelled, and the magic exploded from his palm. It slammed into Ward, pulling at his soul, trying to rip it from his body and send it temporarily across the veil. He jerked up his hands, and magic from the flowers and grass and rocks roared through and around him, deflecting Jared’s reverse wake.

  Jared staggered back. “That’s not—it’s not—”

  “Possible? Impossible is surprisingly possible when you have the right motivation.”

  “You’re not my cousin.” He drew more power from his blood, but it didn’t manifest as strongly as the first time. “You’re not Ward.”

  “Jared, listen. I just need time.”

  “Time for what? What’s your master’s plan? What would he want with an undead necromancer? You weren’t this powerful when you were alive.”

  “There’s no plan.” Not in the evil sense of destroying the balance between life and death that Jared meant.

  “You’ll say anything your master wants you to.” He held up his dagger, the blade trembling in his grip.

  “You honestly think your dagger is going to stop me? I’m already dead.”

  “I don’t need to stop you. I just need to tell Grandfather where you are.” He bolted toward the trees.

  Ward raced after him, his longer legs closing the distance. He lunged, and Jared slashed out with his dagger. The blade sliced across Ward’s forearm. Pain raced up his arm then vanished.

  Jared stumbled, and Ward leapt, tackling him. “You can’t leave.”

  With a twist, Jared plunged his dagger into Ward’s shoulder. The pain flashed again then disappeared.

  Jared’s eyes widened again. “You’re barely bleeding.”

  “Only a silver dagger in the heart can stop a vesperitti. That myth is true.”

  “Dark Son’s—”

  “Curses?” Ward finished for him. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Jared bucked, throwing Ward off, and scrambled back. Ward dove for him, but Jared slammed his other foot against Ward’s collar. The bone snapped. Pain exploded across his neck and chest, then vanished. His head swam, and his stomach growled. His soul magic, keeping him unnaturally alive, was weakening every time it healed him, and his hunger was growing.

  Jared leapt to his feet. Ward lunged. His fingers brushed cotton. So close. He lunged again, throwing his whole body at Jared and tackling him. They tumbled and hit hard dirt. Jared wrapped at thick arm around Ward’s neck and twisted. It was like they were ten again. Except this time Ward couldn’t afford to lose to his stronger, bigger cousin.

  Magic pulsed around them, fueled by Jared’s desperation. Hunger burned through Ward, igniting his senses into too-sharp detail again. The sun was too bright. His eyes hurt. And Jared’s palm still bled. A taunting gush of magic.

  Jared bucked and twisted. They rolled farther into the meadow. Magic dusted around them. With a roar, Jared lurched and wrenched away. Ward launched at him again, and agony exploded across his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

  His knees buckled. Sunlight stabbed his eyes. His whole body was on fire. He needed to get back to Celia. He didn’t know why, but the compulsion overwhelmed everything, including his hunger. Except he couldn’t move. He twisted away from Jared but couldn’t move back toward the passage. His body wouldn’t respond. It was like he was dying. Again.

  Chapter Eight

  Someone screamed, and the pirate Nazarius had been shadowing wrenched toward the sound. Another scream shattered the mountain woodland quiet, and the pirate bolted toward the meadow and down to the village.

  Nazarius chased after him, trying to stay undetected but unwilling to lose him.

  The man burst through the trees into a meadow. Beyond, a stocky man stared at something—no, someone—writhing in the grass. Ward, and he was in terrible trouble.

  The pirate turned—probably to go report in—and his gaze locked on Nazarius. He drew his sword and rushed forward with a sloppy swing. Nazarius sidestepped the attack, grabbed the man’s weapon hand, and slid his long dagger from its sheath and into the man’s heart. The man gasped and collapsed.

  The stocky man with Ward raced away.

  Nazarius rushed to Ward’s side.

  “Get Jared,” he gasped and pointed at the fleeing man. “Stop him.”

  “No, you need help.”

  “Jared will tell the necromancers.”

  Whose immediate reaction in Dulthyne had been to try to kill Ward without asking any questions.

  “I’ll hang on,” Ward said through clenched teeth. “Get him.”

  Nazarius caught up to Jared as he reached the tree line, grabbed the back of his shirt, and yanked him off his feet.

  “Get away from me.” He tore free and Nazarius punched him in the face. Jared’s eyes rolled back and he went limp.

  Nazarius dragged him back to Ward, who was digging his fingers into the dirt and pulling himself, agonizing inch by inch toward the passage. It had to be the sunlight. He grabbed the back of Ward’s shirt and hauled both men into the shadows. Ward pressed his face against the cold stone floor, panting each breath sharp.

  “Tell me you’re all right?” Nazarius asked.

  “I’m dead. How could I be all right?”

  “Celia risked her soul to bring you back. I don’t want to have to tell her you wandered into the sunlight to commit suicide.”

  Ward drew in a ragged breath. “That would be too easy.”

  “And Jared here?”

  “He’s my older, more powerful cousin.” Ward struggled into a sitting position and leaned against the passage wall.

  “Family dinners just got more complicated for you.” Nazarius sat beside him. “So what now? We know sunlight is bad for you. That’s going to make it difficult dealing with this Innecroestri.”

  “I’m not sure it was the sunlight.” Ward rubbed his chest. “I think it was the soul chain. I think it’s still too new and is short.”

  �
�I know next to nothing about necromancy and magic.” Although Nazarius had a sinking suspicion he knew what Ward was talking about.

  “I think I got too far away from Celia. She’s my—” He blew out a long breath. “She’s my master now. The blood she used back in Dulthyne has bound me to her. Apparently five feet out of this passage is as far as I can get from her.”

  Going past that had nearly incapacitated him. That was a serious liability.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Celia raced around the corner. She skidded to a halt and stared at Ward. “Are you all right? I had—” She pressed a hand to her heart. “The pain was—”

  Swell. That was a danger to anything they might want to do about the Innecroestri. If Celia got too far away, Ward was down. But they couldn’t leave him behind, because the island was too far and that would affect Celia. Doing what the Seer, Severin, demanded just got more complicated.

  “How bad was your pain?” Ward asked.

  “I could function. But I’ve had stabbings that have hurt less.”

  “Ward was incapacitated,” Nazarius said.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Ward said under his breath.

  “You were trying to drag yourself back to the passage with your fingernails. That’s bad.” Nazarius couldn’t think of anything worse. It had hurt just looking at Ward.

  “All right. This is a problem.” Celia’s gaze slid to Jared. “And I’m guessing so is this?”

  “My cousin. He saw me. I couldn’t let him tell Grandfather where I am.”

  “No, but maybe we could use him to tell your grandfather where the Innecroestri is.” Her eyes narrowed.

  That was a look Nazarius had seen before. “What are you planning?”

  “Ward’s grandfather is powerful, and having him take care of the Innecroestri would probably be the easiest way to deal with him. I think we need more information first, though. We need to figure out where this Innecroestri is on the island and what his forces are like. I don’t particularly like your grandfather, since he tried to kill you without asking questions, but I don’t want to send him blindly into a trap.”

  Nazarius straightened. “I think that’s the best plan we’ve come up with in a long time.” He held out a hand to Ward to help him up.

  Ward stared at it—he’d done that once before, uncertain if he could trust Nazarius—but this time it seemed more like he was trying to figure out if he could stand. It was surprising that Ward could, really. He’d been dead. He was dead.

  “Come on. Let’s get your cousin someplace secure and finalize our next move.”

  Ward took Nazarius’s hand and stood. “Thank you.”

  Guilt twisted Nazarius’s gut. He didn’t deserve Ward’s thanks. If he hadn’t accepted the locket Ward had given him, Ward wouldn’t be dead.

  Celia glanced at Ward and Nazarius ahead of her as they followed the young man, Declan, along a narrow path through the forest. They weren’t watching her. Good. She rubbed her chest again, unable to ignore it any longer. It had been hours, and it still hurt.

  They’d left Ward’s cousin Jared tied up and gagged with Maura and, as the sun was setting, headed out with Declan. He’d said he kept a rowboat in a secluded cove just outside the village, and while he’d thought numerous times of fleeing, hadn’t had the courage to do so. He’d assured them the pirates hadn’t found his secret escape plan, and Celia hoped he was right. They could really use some good luck. They were due, weren’t they?

  Celia pushed that thought aside and rubbed her chest again. She was doing what she could for the village. Worry would only make her inattentive, and an inattentive assassin made mistakes. Except she wasn’t an assassin anymore at all. She couldn’t even pretend she could return to that life—even if she wanted to. Ward had changed that, and she wanted that change. The problem was that her old life kept being useful in this new, disastrous life.

  How could one man find so much trouble?

  Except it wasn’t really Ward finding trouble. Trouble found him.

  The path twisted around a rocky outcropping and dipped to the lake’s edge. Water lapped against the stony shore. Not the strong, steady pulse of the Bay of Tranaquai, but still a familiar and comforting sound. It was the sound of home. A place she’d never see again. She hadn’t traveled much before meeting Ward, and now, in just over a fortnight, she was in the heart of the Red Mountains, lost in the Brawenal wilderness.

  “Here it is.” Declan slipped through a crack between the cliff wall and a boulder half in the water, half out.

  Nazarius and Ward followed.

  Celia rubbed her chest again. When would it stop aching? It didn’t hurt like it had that afternoon. That had been a stabbing agony, and she’d known instantly that Ward was too far away. Every fiber of her being had pulled at him, commanded him to return, and a ferocious rage had swept over her. How dare he leave her. Except he hadn’t been trying to leave, and she knew he wouldn’t—at least not without the best intentions.

  She didn’t want to experience that separation again.

  Inside lay a sheltered cove. The cliff wall rose and thrust into a heavy overhang. At the sides, the rock curled in, narrowing the mouth just wide enough for a small boat to enter. Pines crowded close, clinging to whatever stony purchase they could. Water lapped against the stones, and moonlight flickered in the water. Maybe luck was with them and the pirates hadn’t found this place.

  The boat sat on the rocky shore, mostly out of the water, on the other side of a small stream that gurgled from a crack in the cliff face and trickled to the shore. Declan pulled the tarp from the boat. Nazarius slid it into the water, and Declan stepped into the water, joining him, but Ward grabbed his arm, drawing his attention from the boat.

  “What are you doing?” Ward asked.

  “Joining you,” Declan said.

  Nazarius snorted. “Oh, no, you aren’t.”

  Celia fully agreed with that. “You need to return to the village.”

  Declan stiffened. “I’m going to help.”

  “You have helped. We can find our way back to the village when we return,” Ward said.

  “But I can show you the island. I know every crevasse of the ruins.”

  Celia resisted the urge to rub her chest again. “No.” If the Innecroestri was like the one they’d already dealt with, Macerio, she didn’t want Declan anywhere near him. It was bad enough Ward was coming—no matter how often he’d proven himself or that he was now dead and had vesperitti healing.

  “You need me.” Declan raised his chin, his defiance clear.

  Nazarius blew a heavy sigh. Even in the dim light, she could tell the muscles in his jaw were twitching. “If your Seer has foreseen that we will free the village, then you need to trust him.”

  “Just because he saw you doesn’t mean I’m not involved.”

  A darkness slid across Ward’s expression. “Just. Go,” he growled. Sudden menace radiated from him. That darkness she’d seen flicker across his expression now fully manifested as rage and hunger. This was a Ward she’d never seen before, not even during the horror at Macerio’s mansion or in the bowels of Dulthyne. As if Ward had finally snapped.

  Declan squeaked and raced from the cove.

  “Dark Son’s curses,” Nazarius said under his breath.

  “What was that?” Celia demanded.

  Ward turned his gaze on her. In the dim light his eyes were so dark the irises were black. This wasn’t Ward. This was the monster. Tension radiated off him. That thing in her chest, the one that had seared when he’d gotten too far away, pulsed.

  He swallowed. Hard. “He couldn’t stay.”

  “So you terrified him?” she asked, but there was something more to his words, something more than just keeping Declan from helping with their mission. Declan couldn’t stay because of Ward and his new hunger.

  He blew out a ragged breath, and the tension slipped away. No, not all of it. A tremor still thrummed around him. “We’re burning moonlight.”

>   “Yes,” Nazarius said, but he didn’t sound certain.

  Ward climbed into the boat. Maybe Maura had been right and what Celia had called back from across the veil wasn’t entirely the Ward she loved.

  Chapter Nine

  Ward gripped the edge of the boat as Nazarius rowed them across the lake. The lapping of water against the oars and hull, too loud in his ears but probably not louder than a breath, did little to ease the torrent of emotions roaring through him.

  He hadn’t wanted to scare Declan. Well, maybe he had, not to mention that a part of him had wanted to consume the magic in the youth’s soul. That promise of survival pulsing through the young man’s veins had glittered, dancing along the surface of his aura. He had magical potential. It hadn’t been like Jared’s. Jared had veins of red sliding through his aura. Declan had the same gold the Seer had. Was that what the Seer’s and necromancer’s abilities looked like? Was that what the necromancer elders had seen in Ward…or rather, hadn’t seen? A lack of ability.

  Regardless, that magic promised strength, enough to satiate the hunger tearing at Ward’s insides. It had taken all of his concentration to tell Declan to go, and it felt as if his command had shot straight into the youth’s head. A vesperitti had the ability to enthrall his or her victims, and Ward would never be able to forget the power of that thrall seeping into his mind, confusing him, convincing him, when he’d faced Macerio’s vesperitti.

  Ward hadn’t thought he’d gain the ability so quickly—most vesperitti didn’t gain it for years—but perhaps his enhanced senses and being able to enthrall was connected to the amount of blood Celia had used when she’d chained his soul. There’d been so much power in the bathing chamber. A skilled Innecroestri might have been able to create multiple vesperitti at the same time with all that blood.

  All of that, though, was just another aspect of his new unlife that he had to be careful of. Don’t warp anyone’s mind, don’t let his senses be overwhelmed, and don’t rip open anyone’s throat…no matter how hungry he was.

  He dragged in a ragged breath. Goddess, he’d wanted to eat Declan.

  He wasn’t going to last an eternity like this, let alone days.