by Melanie Card
Desire seared through the soul chain. Her fingers slid into his hair, capturing him with hands and lips. She shuddered and deepened the kiss, her tongue exploring and teasing. He was on fire and wanted more. This was where he was supposed to be, whom he was supposed to be with. There was so much unsaid between them, so many missed moments. He didn’t want to miss another one.
She walked him backward. His back hit the wall, and he grabbed her waist and turned her, capturing her between the wall and his body. Her hands slid down his neck, over his shoulders, and along his chest. A shudder slid through him, but he wasn’t sure if it was his or hers. It didn’t matter. They were together. This was right.
This was—
“Ward.” She drew her lips away and pressed her cheek to his.
Desire burned along the soul chain, but something else as well, something cold. She trembled under his hands, her breath hitching, her fingers clutching too tightly to his shirt.
He nudged at her cheek to renew their kiss, but she didn’t move.
“This isn’t right,” she said, her voice too soft.
“It couldn’t be more right. I’m dead. You’re dead. There aren’t even laws to keep us apart anymore.”
“But Ward—”
“But what?” But he knew the answer. He loved her, and she didn’t love him back. She was just so close, so warm, and that emotion, the one he could swear was attraction, still pulsed through the soul chain.
He jerked away and forced himself to the other side of the room. He needed distance, a way to focus.
“We need to talk first.”
“It’s all right. I understand.” She was still too close. The space was too small. He pressed his forehead to the granite wall. The stone was warm, somehow still heated from the day’s heat.
“No, you don’t understand.” She drew close. Goddess, he knew she was close. He could feel her aura brushing his. Why couldn’t she just stay on the other side of the room? “The spell I cast—it makes you feel things for me.”
“I felt them before you brought me back, remember?”
“Well, yes, but we should still talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” He wanted to kiss her.
She reached for his hand but stopped before making contact. “Are you listening to yourself? You, of all people, would want to talk about this. Your emotions are heightened. It’s confusing you.”
He ran his hands over his face. She was right. Why was it so hard to focus? “Yes. It’s definitely time for a conversation,” a resonant voice from the hall said. Stasik.
Ward dragged his attention to the doorway. The Innecroestri stood framed in the arch, resplendent in bloodred robes.
“Or are you already having a conversation? A pet who’s a master and a master who’s a pet can make for a complicated relationship.”
Not nearly as complicated as the one between an assassin and a necromancer.
“Our conversation can wait,” Celia said, but the thrumming in the soul chain said she didn’t want it to. Except he wasn’t sure anymore if what he felt through the soul chain was real—Celia had just implied it wasn’t.
“Good. Ward and I need to discuss his apprenticeship.” Stasik motioned for Ward to join him in the hall and chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t take him far.”
“Good to know,” Celia said. Her voice was light, but Ward didn’t need the soul chain to tell him it was an act.
Except this was all part of the plan. They needed to wait for the ibagen leaves to steep, and he wasn’t sure he could stay in the same room with Celia right now and not try to kiss her again. Leaving with Stasik was a terrible alternative, but it was the only choice he had.
Celia watched Ward leave with Stasik. Her breath still raced from the kiss. Goddess, how she’d wanted the kiss to continue, wanted more. She should have told Ward the laws were still in effect, that she was alive. The opportunity had presented itself. Except she didn’t really care about those laws, and the real issue was that if Ward knew the truth, it could complicate an already complicated situation.
And if she kept telling herself that, she might believe keeping things simple, and not her fear of Ward’s real feelings about her, was the reason for her silence.
Yes. Really. Besides, what if Remy had lied and she was still dead?
But the more she thought about what Remy had said about her state of real life, the more she felt it was true.
Which left her with the cold, hard truth. She was alive, she was able, but she was terrified to give her heart to Ward.
Because that’s exactly what it would be. She wanted to give herself fully. Not play a game, not just flirt. She wanted to be Ward’s. It was ridiculous. Women like her didn’t fall in love. Period.
Sure, Ward was handsome and starting to look comfortable in his lean-muscled body. In a year the scarecrow she’d met at her father’s house would be completely gone. Even his clumsiness and insecurity were disappearing. He was no longer self-conscious about his choices. He made decisions and stuck to them regardless of the consequence. He was even taking decisive action instead of questioning and talking.
Except she was death, an assassin. She didn’t have romances, and she did not fall in love.
Love was something fools did.
She had never wanted anything so desperately or feared it so much. And she feared Ward wouldn’t get out of this ridiculous situation with his much-deserved second chance at life—even if it was just an unlife.
Goddess! She prayed Ward would learn something from his conversation with Stasik. Praying was the only thing she could do about that. Although she could at least try to gain more information about Stasik’s men—where they bunked, what kind of patrols they had, and whether they’d discovered Nazarius or not.
Yes. That’s what she could do. She was a woman of action, too.
It was a risk leaving the room again without an invitation, and that risk endangered Ward, but if they were going to get out of this situation, the more information she had, the better.
Nazarius’s ribs hurt worse than they had before, and the heat of the night slicked sweat on his brow and made his hands clammy. He wished the locket would work faster—as much as he was grateful that it was working at all—and he wished it wasn’t high summer in Brawenal. There were still far too many men on guard at the temple and on patrol around the island. The only place he didn’t see anyone was at the top of the rise where the Gate was.
Half an hour ago, a lithe shadow had slipped up the side of the hill and climbed the gnarled tree on the far side of the octagon. That shadow had to have been Celia. No one else was going to be sneaking around and climbing trees. Although why in the name of the Goddess Celia was climbing a tree was beyond him. Ward had to have something planned.
At the time, there’d been too many pirates around for Nazarius to climb the rise, and while he’d wanted to find out what Ward and Celia were up to, in the time it would have taken him to make his way around the other side of the temple, they would have been gone.
Two pirates marched along the path from the temple and down the hill toward a clearing at the edge of the lake. They’d docked their longboat there and had set up a camp. They looked like Gordelian pirates, but they behaved more like a principality’s militia. They were too disciplined for pirates, and while not as skilled as Quayestri, they were still dangerous, particularly since there was only one of him and two dozen of them. Two dozen who, from their muscular builds, could have easily portaged that ship upriver into this secluded mountain lake.
Whatever this Innecroestri planned, it wasn’t good.
Right now there was nothing Nazarius could do about any of it. What he really needed was more information about Stasik and what the man could possibly be doing on the island, but the only other necromancer Nazarius could talk to—Jared—was tied up in the village.
Chapter Sixteen
Ward followed Stasik out onto a balcony on the third floor of the temple. They’d walked from the makesh
ift sleeping chamber, through the dimly lit halls, and up two flights of stairs in silence.
Stasik strode to the edge of the balcony and leaned against the carved granite railing inlaid with obsidian flowers. Beyond lay a clear view of the rise, the ibagen tree, and the obelisks marking four of the corners of the octagon surrounding the fissure. The darkness captured inside it tugged at Ward’s soul, seductive, cajoling, and impossible to ignore.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Stasik said.
Not the word Ward would have picked. Terrifying, dangerous, evil. He could still hear the screams of the girl Stasik had sacrificed and remember how her blood had smelled.
A shudder swept over Ward, and he fought to suck in a steadying breath without looking like he was doing so.
Stasik glanced at him, his expression hard. He’d said something, and Ward had yet to answer.
“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before,” Ward forced out.
“And you do know what you’re looking at, don’t you?”
“This is Vekalmeer and that is the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss.”
“You have no idea how long it took me to find it.”
“I had thought it little more than a myth. But here it is.” It would have been better if it had just been myth. It would have been better if there wasn’t a way to open the Gate. It was bad enough the Gate was real. It was worse that Stasik had figured out how to crack it open.
“I spent a lifetime looking.” Stasik snorted and ran a hand through the Rings of Habil in his left ear. “A couple of lifetimes, actually.”
Given how vesperitti unnaturally extended an Innecroestri’s life, and the number of earrings Stasik had, it could have been a half dozen lifetimes.
Ward forced himself to shrug. “Who would have thought it would be here in the middle of nowhere in the Red Mountains?”
“Yes. Although we’ve always known it was somewhere in the Red Mountains.”
“Always believed. If the myth was real. How did you find it?” Maybe if Ward could get Stasik talking about the Gate he’d reveal his plans, and then he and Celia wouldn’t have to drug him.
“I think the question really is, how did you find me?”
“Well, I—” Ward didn’t know what to say. “Macerio mentioned you.”
Stasik pulled a vial from his pocket and rolled it in his hand. It glowed red with blood magic. “You said that before.”
“The Dark Son guided me to you.” Which was probably more truth than anything else. They’d left Dulthyne in that boat—the one the Master had given them…
Damned cursed Seers and their ability to see the future. The Master must have foreseen what would happen. He must have known Ward would end up on the island, realize what it was, and be honor bound to stop Stasik. The threat to kill Celia was probably just added incentive on the off chance Ward finally managed to gain some common sense and self-preservation.
“I didn’t know you’d found Vekalmeer,” Ward said, “but that just proves I’m destined to be your apprentice.”
“I don’t believe in destiny.”
Ward wished he didn’t, either. The Master had foreseen too many things, and as much as Ward wanted to deny it, it was getting harder to every day.
Stasik pressed the vial between his palms. “I believe in power and the power in blood.”
“So do I.”
“I believe in the power in the Abyss. You can feel it, can’t you?”
“I can.”
“To me it’s a seductive whisper, the promise of a lover. My pets felt something stronger, a compulsion that drove them mad. Which do you feel? Are you more Innecroestri than pet? Or more pet than Innecroestri?”
“Innecroestri,” Ward said, but it was a lie. There was nothing quiet about the call from the Gate. Whatever seeped from the Abyss must have affected the vesperitti so much Stasik sent them away…or destroyed them. An Innecroestri needed to concentrate to keep his pets under control. The more pets, the greater the strength of will and power of the Innecroestri. Ward couldn’t even begin to imagine the will required to control pets who’d lost their minds.
“We’ll have to see about that. It’ll be entertaining to watch your little blood magi fight to control you.”
“I’m here for more than just entertainment.”
“You’re here at my pleasure,” Stasik said, his voice hard. “You show promise and would be an asset as an apprentice. If you go rabid, you’ll at least be entertaining.” Stasik pulled the cork from the vial. Magic curled from it, over his palm, then snapped in a thin cord and seized Ward’s soul chain. Pain seared across Ward’s chest. He couldn’t catch his breath. He fought to move, think, do anything, but the agony devoured the strength in his arms and legs. His knees buckled, and he clutched the doorway to stay standing. He grasped at the magic with his thoughts, but couldn’t get a hold of it. Stasik’s will was too strong. Black specks danced across his vision. His hands slipped, and he sagged to his knees.
Stasik leaned in close. The magic wrapped around the soul chain contracted. More pain exploded across Ward’s chest. “Just remember, with a drop of blood and a thought, I can end you and your master.”
The magic squeezed again.
“Do you understand me?”
Goddess above. Stasik might not be as overtly dangerous as Macerio had been, but he was still dangerous. Ward nodded.
“I didn’t hear you.” Another explosion of pain.
Tears welled in Ward’s eyes. His muscles burned. His whole body was on fire. “Yes,” he gasped. “I understand you, Master.”
“Good.” Stasik plugged the vial, and the magic disappeared. “Now, inform your blood magi of the situation and get cleaned up. We’re expecting company in an hour or so, just before dawn.”
Celia pressed her cheek to the cool granite wall and panted. Pain still burned across her chest and her heart still raced even though whatever had been done was over. The agony had been so excruciating her knees had buckled, and she hadn’t been able to move, let alone figure out where Ward was and why he was in danger. It made her acutely aware that Ward was bound to her and right now just as aware that he was still alive—more or less.
But she didn’t know why Stasik had done whatever it was he’d done—and it had to have been Stasik doing something to the soul chain. There wasn’t anyone else here who could that she knew of.
Goddess, they should have just run, and now, for all she knew, Ward was dying somewhere on this stupid island.
Except she knew he wasn’t. Something pulsed within her chest, something she recognized as Ward, that she wanted to hold tight, so tight he’d never be able to endanger himself again.
But that was a foolish fantasy. She’d already used that connection to him to stop him from saving that girl. He should have hated her for that. She’d made him watch the girl die just so she could guarantee his safety. Yet only a handful of minutes ago he was professing his love, evidence of the emotional effects of the spell she’d cast on him.
This was such a mess, and she needed to fix it. Somehow. Although first, they needed to get off this island.
She turned to head back to their room, hoping she’d find Ward there. Something moved at the edge of her vision, and she jerked toward it. The hall was empty. A hint of witch-stone caught the polished obsidian, offering just enough light to see, but not enough to make out small details.
The movement came again. On her other side.
She whirled to face it and drew her dagger.
No one.
Another movement, and another. This was getting to be too much. A weight filled her head, seeping over her face, down her neck, and along her arms. Ward was in trouble again. But that thing in her chest, the one she couldn’t quite place or feel, but knew was Ward, was fine.
She was connected to him.
Well, yes. Of course she was. That’s how a vesperitti soul chain worked. The knowledge came from the memories Remy had shoved in her head.
A false resur
rection.
Remy’s knowledge was so loud it felt like she was having a conversation with him. It had to somehow be her new connection to Ward, his thoughts and memories or something.
No, not his thoughts.
“What?” Her lips were so heavy.
A master can only give thoughts to a vesperitti. Not the other way around.
“Then whose thoughts—?” She dragged in a long breath. It was so hard to concentrate.
I shared my memories.
“You what? Remy?”
Yes.
“You’re dead.”
I still gave you my memories.
“And you promised it was temporary.”
Something went wrong.
“No kidding.” The heaviness billowed. She clutched the wall to keep standing. “Get out of my head.”
I can’t. There are things you need to know that you need to be protected from.
“What do you mean, you can’t get out of my head?”
You need to know—
A whirl of images slammed into her, but she couldn’t figure out what they were. Fear, desperation, and agony raced through her. Remy had been the Brother of Light caught in a terrible spell eight generations ago and finally released by Ward and her the other night, and now Remy was drowning her in memories and pain. It was so much stronger than the first time he’d shared his consciousness with her.
She choked, trying to get air but swallowing a mouthful of memory, as if what had been trapped inside her had manifested into something thick and real. Except she didn’t know what was real. She couldn’t feel the wall and couldn’t see the hall. All she could feel was a suffocating heaviness.
The dark, coarse passage under Dulthyne snapped into focus. No. She was in the temple on Vekalmeer.
“Get out. Stop.”
There were things she wanted to know, about who she was and what she’d done. But Remy—no, the memory of Remy, a ghost of his essence—was fractured and couldn’t get out all the details, only that she was in danger.
A passage from the city of Dulthyne whirled around her. Blood magic was the darkest of magic. Her soul was stained. She shouldn’t have brought Ward back, and yet she’d do it again. If she had enough blood now, she could stop Stasik. She could do anything.
