by Melanie Card
Call him.
No. She swam to the next pillar, her gaze locked on the men on the walkway.
Smoke swept around them, then away.
Lauro lifted the medallion’s chain over his head and held it up. The jewel in its center spun, devouring more sunlight. A hint of invisible lightning crackled through the air. Magic. Lauro was summoning magic. It felt like the times Ward had called his power, except weaker, a ghost of the strength Ward could command.
Lauro spread his arms, sending the medallion twisting back and forth, around and around. The sunlight flickered, and dark clouds swarmed across the sky, blotting out the light. The smoke whirled, caught in a new magical wind. Thunder rumbled, and the water swirled around her and the stilts. Waves tugged at her, sweeping over her neck and chin, pulling her off her feet, and she fought to keep the rucksack dry.
A wave swept over her head. It yanked her around and slammed her into a stilt, closer to the longboat. Lauro shouted words in a harsh language she didn’t understand. She clung to the stilt, her body burning. The magic crackled through the air, snapping across her skin. She needed to summon Ward. She needed to take that magic.
She bit the inside of her cheek and shoved those thoughts away. Patience. Wait this out. Declan wouldn’t survive if she got caught.
A crack of thunder exploded around them. Thanos jumped, and Stasik shot him a dark look. Lauro threw his head back and laughed, the sound drunk with power. She could even see it swirling around him now, bloody and black, snapping and sparking, somehow manifested and real to even her mundane sight.
He shouted his chant again. A blinding flash of lightning sliced the sky, punctuating his final word. The magic swept out of the gem. It slammed into the first body, a man with gray hair. The man twitched and moaned. The magic leapt into the next corpse, a woman. She, too, moaned, and the magic swept into the next person and the next.
More moans. A scream. Thanos tensed, and black tendrils curled from his hands around his body. Ice crackled over the walkway boards under his boots.
The bodies climbed to their feet, oozing blood and dripping water. The people stared, unblinking, at Lauro, their expressions blank.
“Still not impressed,” Stasik said.
Lauro pointed at the first man he’d enspelled. The man lurched at the pirate beside him. The pirate yelped and jumped back, but the man kept after him. The pirate slashed at him with his sword, but the dead man didn’t even flinch. The blade sliced across his gut. Blood oozed from the wound. The pirate stumbled, and the dead man grabbed the pirate’s neck. The man wrenched the pirate off his feet, squeezing and shaking. The pirate clawed at the dead man’s hands, but the man held tight. The pirate’s eyes bulged, and he fought to breathe but couldn’t.
Howling, the dead man squeezed his hands tighter and crushed the pirate’s neck. The pirate gurgled and went limp. Red light flashed around the Eye. It swept to the dead man’s hands then poured into the pirate’s mouth, nose, and eyes.
With a moan, the pirate’s head jerked up. The dead man released the pirate, who straightened and turned to Lauro.
Stasik chuckled. “Nice. I like that. A self-perpetuating army so long as you have power in the Eye.”
“Can your sangsal soldiers do better than that?”
“I’m sure they can.”
Thanos snapped out a black whip. It curled around the zombie pirate’s neck. The pirate didn’t even flinch.
“That doesn’t work,” Lauro said.
Ice swept over the dead pirate’s skin.
“Still doesn’t work.” Lauro chuckled.
Thanos growled and frowned in concentration. He flicked his sangsal whip. It released and snapped again around the dead pirate’s neck, shattering the frozen skin. The pirate’s head tumbled into the water, and the dead pirate collapsed.
“Well, that works,” Stasik said, but he didn’t sound pleased.
Lauro barked five harsh words. The zombies collapsed, a few splashing into the water, and light flared around the Eye again. “And now I have more magic within the Eye to crack open the Gate.”
“It’s going to take more than the souls you’ve got in the Eye to do that.” Stasik turned and marched toward one of the longboats, his men following him.
“We’ll see,” Lauro said, heading to the other boat with his men.
Celia forced herself away from the stilt while they were distracted and slipped through the shadows. She had to get away, not just to get back to Ward but to resist taking that blood and using the magic within it. Goddess above, she was letting Ward help Declan, then they were getting away from Vekalmeer. She didn’t care what Ward’s honor demanded. Neither of them was in a position to handle an army that couldn’t be killed because they were already dead or deal with sangsal-infected pirates who could freeze skin.
Her chest hurt, and her head pounded. Remy screamed at her to resist and fight, as if he didn’t realize he was part of her shattering will. One sharp strike and she would break, and not even Ward would be able to put her back together. They were leaving—that was their only choice. And this time if Ward disagreed with her, she could damn well command him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ward pressed his cheek to the cold stone wall. He’d staggered outside into the hidden cove in part because the call to go to Celia was overwhelming, but her voice, clear in his head, kept saying to stay where he was. The agony was excruciating, and all he could do was hide his weakness from the others and pray unconsciousness would take him. Except unconsciousness never came and it had been at least ten minutes—perhaps an eternity—since the pain had started.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and Nazarius eased out of the crack.
Goddess above, why couldn’t they just leave him alone.
Nazarius crouched beside him. “You can’t go to her.”
“I know.” Please. He just needed to pass out. “But I can’t let the others see this.”
“Why?”
“It’s bad enough Maura keeps reminding them of what I am.” Fire from the soul chain mixed with the burning ice from the sangsal beating through him. His breath caught in his throat, and he clenched his jaw, fighting not to show the pain.
“Just breathe, Ward.”
He couldn’t. If he drew breath, he’d scream.
“Breathe.”
The fire faded, billowed, then faded some more. He drew in a ragged breath. “If I’m to help them, they need to trust me.”
“I think we’re past the whole trusting thing.”
Ward opened his mouth, about to ask if trust didn’t matter, would Nazarius let Ward infuse him with soul magic to heal the gash in his side, or his cracked ribs, or the cut on his leg? But Celia’s earlier command surged through him, and he snapped his mouth shut. Blood, and the magic within it, wept from Nazarius, caressing Ward’s senses, turning some of the agony in his chest to hunger.
He tried to shift away, but his body moved closer instead of farther from Nazarius. “You’re bleeding.”
The Tracker tensed.
Ward rolled his eyes, fighting the desire to take the magic promised in Nazarius’s soul. “Tell me again trust doesn’t matter.”
“Are you going to be able to help Declan?”
“I don’t know. Declan is bleeding worse than you are.”
“I checked him like you asked. He’s just got a few cuts. None are bleeding like my leg.”
“But he’s losing so much blood.” The magic weeping from the youth had been thigh high before Ward had staggered out of the cave. It had to be an internal injury. Which meant Ward would have to cut him open to find the source and tie it off if he could. Oh, Goddess. Surgeries were bloody. All that blood. Covering his hands—
He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. If Declan was bleeding internally, then he really did need help, and only Ward had the training to save him.
I’m coming. I’m safe, Celia said in his head.
The pain in his chest eased even more.
“Thank the Goddess.” He pressed his palms to his chest and struggled to his feet.
“What?”
“Celia is on her way.” He could feel her drawing closer. A yearning to see her, to be closer, swept over him, but beneath all of that was a relief that she was safe, and not just because she was his everything. What he’d felt before she’d brought him back from the dead was rich and pure and genuine. What the spell made him feel was manic desperation.
She eased through the foliage onto the rocky shore, and his heart skipped a beat—part spell, part genuine. Her gaze landed on him, and her eyes lit with a smile that pulled at the corners of her delicate mouth, but then they narrowed, her expression hardening.
“You don’t look good,” she said.
“I don’t think the soul chain can stretch that far. Let’s not do that again.”
She rubbed her chest. “Agreed. Let’s not.” She held up the rucksack. “Who’s first?”
“It has to be Declan. I think he’s bleeding internally. You could probably stitch up Nazarius.”
“I don’t need stitches,” Nazarius said.
“Yes, you do, and your ribs need to be bound before you completely break them and puncture a lung.” Ward shoved away from the wall. His legs trembled, but he didn’t fall.
And you look even worse than before I left you.
He shot a glance at Celia.
You need to eat.
“We are not going to have this conversation.”
“What conversation?” Nazarius asked. “No one’s said anything.”
“And don’t command me,” Ward said.
Nazarius glanced from Ward to Celia.
Celia glanced away. “I won’t.”
They were going to have a fight over this. She’d already proven she’d do anything to keep him alive, and he’d shown her he’d give up his life for his honor. If he didn’t care so much for her, he’d recognize how ridiculous their partnership actually was. Her skill against his—what? An ability to get them into trouble?
Inside the cave, Declan looked terrible. His gaze was unfocused. He sat propped against the wall and held his left arm tight to his body. The billowing magic in his soul, spilling with his blood, now almost completely surrounded him.
“What’s wrong with him?” Jared asked.
“He’s bleeding.” Ward knelt beside Declan and drew the lantern closer.
Declan mumbled something, but Ward couldn’t make out the words. He raised the lantern and flashed it across Declan’s eyes. He was barely conscious and delirious. Whatever his injury, Ward needed to do something fast. Except he couldn’t just cut Declan open and hope the problem would reveal itself. That was too dangerous, given the amount of blood he was somehow losing.
Jared shifted closer. “There’s barely a cut on him. We looked.”
“If the monster can smell the blood—” Maura said.
“I can’t smell it. I can see it. He’s hemorrhaging magic. Can’t you see it, Jared?”
“There’s something, but it isn’t much. It’s more like he’s afraid.”
“How can you not see that? You’re knee-deep in it.”
Jared jerked back. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes. You are.” The magic undulated, lapping against Ward’s legs and chest. Goddess, it was so tempting. He could just siphon off a little. Except taking Declan’s magic would weaken him, and given how fast he was losing it, he was going to need all the strength in his soul to survive.
Ward drew in a quick breath, making his chest burn, and struggled to focus past the temptation. There’d been numerous cases in his illegal book of surgery about bleeding on the inside. Almost all of them resulted in death.
“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Jared asked, his voice low.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re supposed be this great physician,” Jared said. “Why aren’t you physicianing or whatever it’s called?”
“I believe,” Nazarius said, “unless Ward can figure out what the cause of Declan’s injury is, he’ll be forced to open him from neck to crotch.”
Ward glanced at Nazarius. He couldn’t believe the Tracker remembered that. It had been Ward’s response to Nazarius when he’d demanded why Ward wasn’t just jumping in and helping his Inquisitor partner, Pietro.
“A much as I’m sure time is of the essence, I’m pretty sure none of us wants Ward just diving in,” Nazarius said.
“Except, of course, for the monster himself,” Maura said.
“What?” Jared’s eyes flashed wide with shocked realization. “You’re talking about cutting him open! That’s…that’s—”
Celia placed her hand on the hilt of her dagger. “That’s what Ward does best. Now shut up and let him work.”
“But to cut him open?” Jared glanced from Ward to Celia and back again. “Is that what happened? Is that why you were expelled from the physicians’ academy for performing illegal surgeries?”
The goddess-eye at the back of Ward’s neck, where he’d been branded a criminal for digging up corpses and doing necropsies, itched. “Yes.”
There wasn’t any more to say. He’d been caught desecrating the Goddess’s sacred laws and been punished. Now he was so much more dangerous than just a man who’d dug up bodies and tried to learn about sacred mysteries in order to save lives.
Ward ground his teeth. Find the source of the bleeding and stop it. He eased Declan’s shirt back and pressed his hands against the youth’s stomach. Hard and distended, but Ward already knew that was a sign of bleeding internally.
The medical text had some cases about soldiers. That was probably the best place to start. Goddess, he wished he had his book with him, but they’d been forced to flee Dulthyne without it. His book was probably still in the city’s Quayestri suite, along with Celia’s and Nazarius’s bags.
“Help me get him out of his shirt.”
Nazarius sat Declan forward. More magic billowed around Ward, teasing, caressing. Celia dragged off his shirt, revealing a dark red bruise high on his left side. The boy groaned but didn’t wake.
“What does that mean?” Jared asked, pointing at the bruise.
“Given how big it is, I’d say this is the source of the bleeding.”
A page from his surgery book flashed into Ward’s mind’s eye. A soldier had been struck with a war hammer. The blow hadn’t broken skin, but his shattered ribs had pierced his heart. Except the bruise was in a different location than the heart.
Not that, then.
Next study? Another blow from a war hammer. This one ruptured the spleen, the second heart. Removal of the spleen and ligaturing the arteries had saved that man’s life. That was the better bet, and it was easier to survive that injury. Please, Goddess, let it be the second heart and not the first.
“Tell me you have wine in that sack.”
Celia flashed a dark smile. “You can’t do a surgery without alcohol.”
“You’re going to drink!” Jared’s voice cracked.
“No.” Celia drew her dagger and pulled out the wine jug.
“All right.” Ward ran his hands through his hair. Magic slid around him. “The dagger needs to be washed then doused in wine. We need to move Declan to a flat surface.”
“You’re really going to do this?” Jared asked.
“Do I need to tie you up again?” Celia pointed her dagger at him.
Jared gulped.
“You don’t have to participate,” Ward said. Jared might be a necromancer, but he wasn’t adventurous. It was kind of funny—Ward had never thought of himself as adventurous or brave, either. He’d always thought Jared was the more skilled, experienced one, but things had changed. Ward had changed. “Stay here with Maura.”
Jared’s expression hardened. “You can’t do this. The Goddess’s law—”
“If the Goddess wants to strike me down for trying to save someone’s life, She’s more than welcome to. This isn’t my first surgery, and She hasn’t shown up yet.”
/> “You’re already dead.”
“And I’m still up and around. If She was the cause of my death, then I’d be good and truly dead. She’s the Goddess, after all.”
“Yes, but—”
Ward turned his back on Jared. As much as he wanted someone in his family to know what surgery meant to him, now wasn’t the time and Jared wasn’t the man to convince.
Nazarius moved Declan to the flat surface near the stream, and Celia doused the dagger in wine. Declan’s magic trailed across the cavern. If only there was a way to force that magic back into Declan, but Ward had no idea if that would heal him or not.
He strode over to the stream and scrubbed his hands. Black veins snaked over them and up his arms, chilling his skin. He turned to Nazarius. “I need you to hold Declan, but can you also keep an eye on Jared?”
“It’s rare for a Tracker, but believe it or not, I am capable of doing two things at once,” Nazarius said with a wry smile.
Celia handed Ward the dagger. “Always knew you were smarter than the average Quayestri.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Nazarius knelt behind Declan’s head.
“This is going to be messy. I won’t know until I open him up, but given all the—” The magic undulated around him. “Given all the blood he’s losing on the inside, my first cut is going to be shocking.”
“I’ve seen men bleed before,” Nazarius said.
“Probably not like this.” Ward cut a square of linen from the bandages, soaked it with wine, and washed the area around the bruise on Declan’s side. “Now hold him tight.”
Surgery without anesthetic was dangerous. Of course, surgery with anesthetic was dangerous, too. With luck, Declan would remain unconscious, and they wouldn’t have to deal with a thrashing patient.
Ward pressed the dagger against Declan’s flesh. The magic slid over Ward’s hands and around his arms. He fought a shiver. He couldn’t take Declan’s soul. He wouldn’t. He’d use it to help, give it back somehow.
He pressed the dagger harder. Cutting flesh always required more pressure than he thought. There were layers of skin and muscle and a sac that held everything inside. The dagger bit through skin.
Blood welled around the blade, and magic crackled against his fingers. It beat at him, tempting him to just take it.
