Ward Against Destruction

by Melanie Card

  It wasn’t an outright threat, but his tone was perfectly clear. Don’t displease him. He was a Seer. He could destroy Nazarius’s life and the lives of everyone he knew with a single decree. As Master of Brawenal’s Assassins’ Guild, the decree wasn’t even necessary.

  Right. Play nice. “Have you foreseen something, my lord?”

  “I see lots of things.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.” Nazarius shifted. This game could go on for what little night remained, and he’d lose his chance to return to the island. That, and he was so damned tired. “My lord, my time is short.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I need to return to the island before dawn.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Then we’re in agreement.” But Nazarius suspected there was more to this conversation than what was being said.

  “After you return to the island, at dawn, you need to enter the temple at the back by the second-story balcony—there’s a tree you can climb. Go straight down the hall, turn left, enter the second room on the left, and get me a hair from the pillows.”

  “You want me to steal a hair?”

  “I believe the word you told young de’Ath when getting the locket you now have in your pocket was acquire.”

  “I am not your thief.”

  Severin’s expression darkened, revealing how dangerous he really was. All sense of the mild, unforgettable Seer had vanished. In his place was a killer more deadly than Celia. “You are whatever I say you are.”

  Instinct seized Nazarius, and his hands dropped to his weapons.

  Severin’s gaze dipped with the movement then flicked back to Nazarius’s face. “You took an oath. You’re the Seers’ man. You’re my man. You belong to me, and you will do what you’re told.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Gold flashed across Severin’s dark eyes, a sign of a true vision. “Not your most favorable option.”

  Nazarius’s heart pounded. He squeezed the hilts of his weapons, but he couldn’t make himself draw. A Quayestri didn’t draw a weapon on a Seer.

  Goddess be damned. He’d sworn an oath. The Council would know if one of their own was murdered. Especially if a Quayestri had done it.

  Shit. “What do you need this hair for?”

  “You don’t need to know that. Left and second left. Remember the directions.”

  “Just like I don’t need to know what you’re planning with those blood magic grimoires you had me steal from Ward the other night?”

  Severin’s lips curled into an evil smile. “You have family in Bantianta. A female cousin, I believe. Are you close?”

  Everything froze—the wind, the crickets, even Nazarius’s heart. “You know we are.”

  “You and your partner visit her every time you get leave. Elspeth with her pretty blond curls. Married four years and already expecting her third child. Are you hoping for a boy or another girl? I bet her husband is hoping for an heir.” Severin chuckled. “Or maybe not. If it’s another girl, they’ll have to keep trying.”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  “Get me that hair. All I need is a strand.”

  Goddess, Nazarius didn’t want to continue being Severin’s puppet, but there was no way out.

  “Repeat to me where you’re going?”

  “Second balcony at the back of the temple. Down the hall, first left turn, then the second room on the left.” The words hurt.

  “Good.” Severin held out a small pouch. “For the hair.”

  Nazarius stared at it, unable to make himself reach for it.

  “Take it,” Severin said, his voice dark.

  Nazarius jerked his hand out and grabbed it.

  “Now get in your boat. You’re running out of night.” Severin chuckled and slipped back into the shadows.

  Nazarius ground his teeth. His hands hurt from gripping his hilts. There was no way out. Death, maybe, but then, both Ward and Celia had been dead. The condition didn’t seem so permanent. Not permanent enough to get out of the Seer’s grasp.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ward returned to the sleeping chamber. His chest still hurt from Stasik wrenching on the soul chain. Company was coming in less than two hours. That wasn’t enough time for the ibagen to steep, which meant he and Celia would have to face whoever this new visitor was and pray Stasik didn’t become suspicious. It had been ridiculous to think they could hide in their room until the ibagen was ready. That would have been too easy.

  Celia stepped into the archway and froze. The emotions from the soul chain he’d been trying to ignore flooded him. Fear, determination, love?

  “What do you know about sangsal?” she asked.

  “Did you say sangsal? Where did you hear that?” It had been ages since he’d read that word…where had it been? In his grandfather’s library? Realization hit him, and he went cold. All he could feel was the pulse of anxiety in his chest from Celia. “The smoke from the fissure.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “It was the blood of the Abyss?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now it’s infused itself into that man.”

  “Thanos.” Celia’s dread pulsed stronger.

  “You’ve seen him.”

  “It isn’t just him. He’s the captain. He let two trusted others go first.” She glanced into the hall then strode to Ward’s side and drew him deeper into the room. “He plans to have his whole crew infused with this sangsal.”

  “This is not good.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

  “No, I mean, one is bad enough. The sangsal is the very essence of evil. Evil in its purest form. The stories say when the Light Son and Dark Son had their final, great battle, the Dark Son called on primordial darkness, the core of his essence.”

  “Right. The Goddess’s texts say the essence was so foul it curdled souls, transforming them into hideous beasts and becoming the Dark Son’s army. When all was said and done, the Light Son sacrificed part of his goodness to imprison that part of the Dark Son’s evil in the Great Abyss,” Celia said.

  It was said that battle divided the heavens from the earth, tore mountains and seas in the land, and ripped the very fabric of the sky, revealing pinpricks of the Goddess’s veil at night with the stars. “Do you know how long ago these other men were infused?”

  “No, but Thanos said he’d grow more powerful given time—and in a shorter time than it was supposed to take a vesperitti to grow to full strength.”

  “A direct infusion of sangsal would corrupt the soul quickly.” Faster than the fifty years it was supposed to take for Ward to develop his full vesperitti abilities. “The soul is never separated from the body, there isn’t that fight to return across the veil. The sangsal just seeps in, devours the soul, and takes over.”

  “How long does that take?”

  “It depends on the evil already in the man’s soul.”

  “They’re Gordelian pirates. These men steal and kill for a living. I suspect there’s a lot of evil there already.”

  “Occupation doesn’t necessarily determine a man’s heart.” At least he wanted to believe that. If it was true, then Celia wasn’t evil, even though she’d been an assassin. It also meant the evil Ward had committed in the last two weeks didn’t forever taint his soul. He could heal from all that blood magic—if a dead man’s soul could actually heal.

  “So what do we do? Thanos said every time Stasik pulls sangsal from the fissure it weakens the Gate. Do you think he can weaken it enough for him to fully open the Abyss?”

  “He’d need a powerful spell to do that and a lot of blood.” Ward couldn’t imagine what a spell like that would look like. No one alive, not even the most powerful Innecroestri, had a strength of will to control the amount of magic needed to open the Gate. There had to be a spell, a chant to focus intention, components to focus magic. That was the only way to do it.

  “The Light Son himself sealed the Gate. I don’t think a man could open it. He’s li
kely building an army of sangsal pirates to replace his pets—” Celia dropped her gaze to her feet. “About his pets—”

  “The fissure affects them.” If he thought about it, he could feel the fissure calling him.

  “Which means we can’t stay.” Her gaze leapt back to his, her eyes icy, but heat pulsed through the soul chain. “I won’t let you risk yourself for this.”

  “I’m not sure we have much choice.” He reached to cup her cheek but stopped before he could, uncertain how she’d take the gesture. He crossed his arms instead. “If not for something like saving the lives of all those people in the village, then what? We’re both on time stolen from the Goddess. We might as well do something good with it.”

  “I’d like to not end my borrowed time too soon.”

  “We have a plan—use the ibagen to find out how close Stasik is to completing his plan and hopefully learn how connected he is to the Gate. Then we let my grandfather take over.”

  The muscles in Celia’s jaw twitched. “I’ll follow it, but if it looks like things are going worse than our usual, we leave.”

  “Agreed.”

  Footsteps strode from down the hall, drawing close, then a man cleared his throat behind him. “Are you ready?”

  Thanos stepped from the shadows in the hall. The black veins in his face and neck pulsed. He gave Ward a cold stare then glanced at Celia, and his expression heated. Disgust swept through the soul chain, but Ward still shifted closer to Celia, his emotions twisting in a mix of jealousy and protectiveness that flashed through him. He couldn’t believe he was feeling that. Celia wasn’t interested in this man, and yet the compulsion to prove he belonged to her and to protect her was overwhelming. Goddess, she’d been right about the spell affecting him. He’d never felt like this before.

  “Stasik is waiting for you.” Thanos turned on his heel without waiting for a response and strode down the hall.

  Celia shot Ward a hard look. She’d play the game for now, like they’d agreed, but fear chilled the soul chain. She wanted to leave. And Ward couldn’t blame her.

  He offered her a smile. It was weak, but the best he could come up with. She rolled her eyes at him, and they headed down the hall, their pace quick to catch up to Thanos.

  The pirate led them past the parlor to the main entrance to the temple where Stasik stood just outside. Before him were two pirates with pulsing black veins on their faces and necks. A hint of black smoke curled around them, and frost reflected the torchlight at their feet. Even their breaths misted before them, as if they stood in the dead of winter and not the height of summer. Their auras were muted, darkened. The sangsal was devouring their souls, turning them into something inhuman and terrible. One of them barely had any soul remaining, a desperate, weak flash of white. The black smoke in his aura billowed. Ice crackled around his feet, killing the already trampled grass, and the white in the man’s aura vanished.

  Ward blinked. To his mystic sight, the man was gone. No magic, no soul. Nothing.

  No, not nothing. What remained was a blackness that pulled at Ward’s essence, calling to him and teasing him. He would never be powerful enough. He would never be strong enough. Not unless Ward embraced the darkness of the sangsal and let it consume and strengthen him. A hint of the too-sharp world pressed against Ward’s senses, the fight to resist the lure of the sangsal weakening his concentration. He ground his teeth, determined to ignore it all and focus on his goal.

  Stasik chuckled. Ward jerked his attention to the Innecroestri.

  “See that? Now things will get interesting. Just in time for our guest.”

  “Who’s our guest?” Ward asked.

  “You’ll see.” Stasik nodded at the path, and Thanos strode forward. The other men fell into step behind him. Stasik followed, motioning for Ward and Celia to join him.

  The path twisted through the trees and jutting rocks, going down to the island’s shore. At the bottom, the trees parted, revealing a long, shallow slope to the bank. Tents were set up in a semicircle, and a bonfire blazed in the center. On the bank sat a Gordelian longboat. Flames danced in torches on poles, sending shadows wildly writhing around them and over the side of the boat.

  The first pirate who noticed them stood. “Hail to the captain,” he barked in harsh Gordelian.

  Those nearby also stood and straightened, repeating the call until everyone had rushed into a line and stood on guard. An eerie silence filled the camp. The bonfire crackled and snapped, but the crickets were silent. The pirates’ auras trembled with fear and something else…anticipation?

  The sangsal-infected men strode down the line. They looked feral, hungry, but since they weren’t vesperitti, they couldn’t be looking for a meal. Except Ward had no idea what full effect the sangsal had. Did these soon-to-be-soulless pirates need to sustain themselves like vesperitti? Stasik wasn’t their master like Celia was Ward’s. They weren’t soul chained to Stasik. Ward wasn’t even sure how to stop or control these men.

  One of the men stopped at a smaller, wiry man close to the end of the line. “I pick Oles,” the sangsal pirate said.

  Oles’s aura pulsed with excitement. He smiled, a fierce smile, revealing ruined teeth—probably from an unfortunate blow to the face.

  “Oles is next, my lord Stasik,” Thanos said, his tone turning sarcastic at the words “my lord.”

  Stasik’s eyes narrowed at his tone, but satisfaction still lit his face. If Thanos wanted the rest of his men to be infected with the sangsal, he needed the Innecroestri.

  “Oles it is,” Stasik said. “Now, be alert, our company comes.”

  Thanos cleared his throat, and his men fell into two lines, creating a path down to the shore. Light flickered out on the lake—no, bobbed. It grew brighter, drawing closer. Wood creaked and droplets of water splashed against water, followed by a heavy shushing. The light drew closer, revealing the bow of a longboat similar to the boat on shore.

  At the center stood a man in gold robes. His aura billowed red around him, like blood in the water, bright with necromantic strength.

  The vessel drew close, and the men put up their oars. They leapt from the boat, dragged it onto the shore, and formed up on the bank. Like Thanos’s men, they bristled with weapons, swords, daggers, axes, a few short bows, and crossbows. Ward had never seen so many armed men in his life.

  The man in the gold robe stepped from the boat. “Stasik Bakala.”

  Stasik stared at the man. “Lauro Allard.”

  Lauro’s gaze slid over Thanos and his infected men. “So this is Vekalmeer. Where’s the Gate?”

  “Straight to the point, as always,” Stasik said.

  Lauro smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You may have found the Gate, but that doesn’t mean you’re strong enough to rule the council.” His gaze landed on Ward. “I thought you said no pets.”

  “This isn’t a pet. He’s an apprentice.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “He’s also an Innecroestri.” Stasik slid his gaze to Celia.

  “And she’s…” Lauro frowned. “What is she? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s complicated,” Celia said.

  Lauro barked a harsh laugh. “I can see why you’d want to keep them around.”

  Stasik shrugged. “And if he goes mad, at least it will be entertaining.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Celia plastered on an impassive, cold expression. She shouldn’t have hesitated. She should have killed Stasik when she had the chance, not questioned the Master’s intentions. Now there were two Innecroestri on the island.

  Ward slid his gaze to her then followed the parade of evil back up the slope to the temple. She fell into step beside him. No point getting angry over actions not taken—as much as she really was angry about them. They had made a decision to learn what Stasik planned. They. Ward and she. She couldn’t blame this complication on Ward’s ridiculous moral code—all right, maybe she could. It was his damned code that had made her hesitate, and it
was his code she’d fallen in love with.

  The path twisted and the trees parted, revealing the temple, but Stasik took the path leading away from the entrance, around the side to the steps and the fissure.

  Maybe, if she was fast enough, she could kill Stasik and Lauro right now.

  One of the infected pirates a few steps behind her said something. She glanced back. Thanos grunted and slapped the man on the back, drawing chuckles from the rest of the men.

  She might have been an excellent assassin, but even if she was fast enough to kill Stasik and Lauro, Ward and she wouldn’t be able to get away from all those pirates—regardless that only three had been infected with the sangsal—and she wasn’t ready to turn this into a suicide mission. She’d just brought Ward back. She was not going to lose him again.

  They climbed the stairs to the fissure. The girl’s body had been removed from the center of the octagon, but blood still stained the white marble around the altars. Beyond lay the cliff and the lake and a hint of light on the horizon. Dawn was coming.

  “This is amazing,” Lauro said, his voice breathy. He stood at the edge of the obsidian octagon but didn’t cross it. The rest of them stood a few feet back.

  “It is.” Stasik’s smile turned smug. “I’ve already drawn sangsal from the fissure.”

  Lauro stiffened, an ever so slight tightening of his back and neck. “I saw that.”

  “And you think you’re more powerful than me?”

  Lauro shrugged, but his tension remained. “I have the Eye of Ivia.”

  Ward drew in a sharp breath.

  Lauro turned to Ward, his smile as smug as Stasik’s now. “You’ve heard of the Eye.”

  “Any Innecroestri worth anything has heard of the Eye of Ivia,” Ward said. His voice was even, but all the blood had drained from his face. This was not good.

  “Which do you think makes the wielder more worthy of ruling the Council of Blood—being able to draw sangsal from the fissure or possessing the Eye of Ivia?” Stasik’s expression hardened.

  Lauro tilted his head, one eyebrow raised.

  This was a test, and whomever Ward picked, he’d piss off the other man. A part of her knew the Eye of Ivia was extremely powerful, but she wasn’t supposed to know that. She pushed that nagging information back, afraid Remy’s fractured essence would overwhelm her and she’d lose control when she couldn’t afford to.