by Melanie Card
Someone groaned, and sensation flooded her. It wasn’t completely silent. A heart pounded, strong and sure, against her ear. Ward’s heart. The warmth of his body seeped against her cheek, and his arms tightened around her, cradling her close. This was the man who’d ask for nothing and whom she’d give everything for—except it was going to be him giving up everything for all the people in the Union.
She shoved that thought aside, reached up, found his jaw in the darkness, and slid her fingers into his hair.
“Thank the Goddess.” His voice rumbled in his chest and vibrated through her, and he dipped down and took her lips with his.
The kiss was deep and certain. His arms tightened, drawing her closer, and for a moment she let herself forget where they were. But only for a moment. As if sensing her thoughts—and he probably had—he loosened his grip and brushed his lips against her forehead.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he said.
“You almost did. You might yet.” She peered into the darkness, trying to see Ward or Maura, but the darkness was complete. “We still have to figure out what we’re doing. Is Maura here with us?”
“She’s beside you, unconscious.”
“Is she all right? We need her.” Guilt that she’d hurt the woman flooded her. So, too, did panic. Maura had said she and Ward might be able to defeat Stasik, but the old woman hadn’t been fully clear about how.
“What do you mean, we need her?”
“She knows how to deal with Stasik and the sangsal.”
Ward tensed. “She didn’t say anything to me.” Then he blew out a long breath. “Of course, I’m a monster. She probably wouldn’t tell me.”
She squeezed Ward’s hand. “I’m sure she’d have told you, too. She only realized the truth while in my head, when she took on my blood magic lure. Although I’m still not sure what that exactly means.”
“You used pure blood magic to bring me back. That kind of power is seductive. It creates a compulsion to cast again and again, and eventually drives the user crazy.” Ward blew out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “You should be crazy.”
“So I got lucky.”
“You got more than lucky. I should have thought of that. Should have at least warned you.”
“You were a little preoccupied with being dead.”
“That’s no excuse.”
She straightened and cupped Ward’s face in her hands, forcing him to look at her even though she couldn’t see him. “It’s been dealt with and I’m fine. Now, is Maura all right?”
“She’s not convulsing like you were, and I can’t see anything wrong with her other than she’s not conscious.”
“Can you wake her?” Celia asked.
“I’m not sure.” He shifted away from her and murmured Maura’s name. No answer. “You’re sure she knows how to defeat Stasik?”
“Yes. I’m not going to be able to convince you to run away, even if all you need to do is buy time for your grandfather to get to the island, so we need to know whatever it is she knows.”
“Nazarius will ensure Grandfather gets to the island.”
“I can’t believe I’m counting on a Quayestri.” Celia reached for him, brushed his elbow and slid her hand down to his. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed. “Things really have changed.”
Maura moaned.
“Tell me if you’re hurt, Maura,” Ward said.
“I’m fine. It’s just been a while since I’ve done that.” Fabric rustled, and Celia could only assume Maura was sitting up or changing position. “I’m so sorry the Dark Son has given you this path. Both of you.”
Celia shifted. What else was new? “You said you know how to deal with Stasik.”
“Yes. The monster—Ward. You need to use what’s left of your vivimancer ability.”
“My what? Are you sure you’re all right?” Ward’s voice cracked. It reminded Celia so much of the first time they’d met. “I’m not a vivimancer. No one is. One hasn’t been seen in—”
“Generations,” Maura said. “So one for the Union is actually due.”
“I’m a necromancer. I was a bad one at that.” Ward barked a harsh laugh.
Celia squeezed his fingers. “With all the magic you’ve done lately, I don’t think you can think that anymore.”
“Sorry.” Ward sighed. “Habit.”
“And absolutely wrong. You’ve already done a true resurrection, you just didn’t know it,” Maura said, her tone softening.
“Remy knew it when he saw me,” Celia said. “He called me a revivesca. I didn’t have the chance to ask you about it before you…you know.”
“Died?”
“Yes. And then—”
“And then we were too busy trying to stay alive, more or less. Except…great Goddess, if that’s true, then you’re alive.”
“That was the thing I was going to tell you after we’d…you know,” Celia said.
“You’ve been alive all this time and now—” His hand trembled in hers. His voice trembled. “Now I’m the one who’s dead.”
“The Dark Son is cruel,” Maura said. “But if you were alive, it would be harder for you to do what needs to be done.”
“And what’s that?” Ward asked.
Make a sacrifice. A chill swept over Celia.
“Because you’re a vesperitti, the sangsal has a way into your soul. You don’t need a spell to draw it into you like you would if you were a live necromancer or even a vivimancer. That means it’s easier for you to take the sangsal from the pirates, but it will be almost impossible to force it out of you. What I pray, and given how you healed, truly healed Declan, is that you have enough vivimancer ability and strength of will untouched by the vesperitti spell to put the sangsal back into the Abyss.”
“But you said a necromancer could do that, too,” Ward said.
“With a lot of concentration, and if the necromancer was powerful enough.” Maura sighed. “Unlike a necromancer, you can use the life magic around you to give you strength.”
“Life magic?” Celia asked, empty and aching for Remy’s knowledge.
“Life magic isn’t very strong,” Ward said.
“That’s not true. You only think that because you were taught the necromancer’s way. Necromancers can’t see the full strength of life magic—if they can see it at all. Most can only see what they can use, which is soul magic. Life magic is basically a thing’s essence. Everything has an essence, every tree, flower, rock, even sunlight and moonlight. But only things with blood have soul magic. Vivimancers use life magic. They work with the Goddess on this side of the veil, healing and helping.”
“So why couldn’t I see this life magic before? Why didn’t I see it until I died?” Ward ran his thumb over the back of Celia’s hand, gently, over and over again as if he was thinking.
“Your soul needed the jolt. You thought you were a necromancer, so you were blocked. It happens to some Brothers of Light, too.”
“Allette didn’t lie? I really was blocked.” His thumb stopped midstroke. Then he squeezed her hand again. “So we need to get the sangsal from the infected pirates. How do we do that?”
“Make them bleed and take it from their blood.”
“Drink their blood,” he said, his voice soft.
“Only until you have enough sangsal within you to pull it from them, but making them bleed will make it easier.”
“Well, that wasn’t something Stasik had warned Thanos about.”
“If Stasik even knows about it,” Maura said. “And the risk is great. Stasik might not think you’d attempt this.”
“There is that. Going after one of those men, let alone three of them, isn’t going to be easy.” The last time Celia had faced Thanos, she and Nazarius had barely hurt him.
“And you, my dear,” Maura said, “will need to help keep Ward focused. The more sangsal he absorbs, the harder it will be for him to resist its evil.”
“Swell.” Fight sangsal-infected pirates and concentrate on helping Ward kee
p it together. “We’re going to need to be fast about this.”
“I agree,” Ward said.
“Take the sangsal and put it back into the fissure, but don’t cross the octagon. It’ll be even harder to stay focused if you cross the threshold.” Maura sighed. “And I’m sorry, but it will be easier if you’re at full strength.”
“You mean eat.” Ward sounded resigned. His thumb started rubbing the back of her hand again, this time faster. Now it was a nervous, unconscious habit. “I’m not going to survive this, am I?”
Celia’s throat tightened. That was the horrible truth of the situation.
“You need to force every bit of sangsal back into the Abyss,” Maura said. “Even the part that’s seeped into the spell keeping your soul in your body.”
His thumb stilled, and he squeezed her hand. “I understand.”
“The first thing you need to figure out, however, is how to unlock that door,” Maura said.
Celia barked a bittersweet laugh. “That’s the easy part. Can I borrow a hairpin?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ward slipped Maura’s hairpin into Celia’s palm. It felt so natural to be holding her hand, and all the pain and screaming through the soul chain was gone. The absence of the more powerful emotions from before—her blood magic lure—made him all too aware of how much he hurt. If he was going to steal the sangsal from Thanos and his infected pirates, he was going to have to accept the truth: he needed his full strength, and he was going to have to sacrifice himself to end this. He wasn’t even going to think about what it meant that he’d resurrected Celia. That was a lost opportunity—if it had been an opportunity at all—and it didn’t matter. His duty was clear.
“You ready?” Celia squeezed his hand.
No. He didn’t want to die again, but, good or bad, this was where fate had led him. “Yes.”
She didn’t move.
“Are you going to pick the lock?” he asked.
“It’s pitch-black. Can you show me where it is?”
“Right.” He stood. The cell tilted. He grabbed the wall and sucked in a steadying breath. The wall was too smooth under his hand, the sound of Maura’s and Celia’s breathing too sharp. Sensation flooded him, and the most powerful was the blood spattered on Celia’s clothes and pulsing under Maura’s skin.
“Ward?” Celia asked.
“I’m all right.” It was a lie, and he could feel Celia’s disbelief, but there was nothing he could do about it. He took Celia’s hand and led her to the lock. He drew back, clutched the bar beside him, and watched Celia’s aura. Its white illumination, proving she had strong soul magic, lit her pale skin. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to seeing her like that. She slid the hairpin into the lock and pursed her lips in concentration.
The first time he’d seen her pick a lock, they’d been breaking into the house of another assassin. At the time, he’d been so shocked at who and what she was. Things had certainly changed.
The locked clicked, and Celia opened the door. It swung on its new hinges without making a sound.
Ward turned to Maura. “All right, Maura, let’s go.”
Maura didn’t move. “I’ll only get in the way.”
“We’re not going to leave you here.” Ward stepped toward her, but Celia reached for him and the impulse to stop slid through the soul chain.
“She’s safer here than anywhere else on the island.”
“Not if Stasik’s or Lauro’s pirates discover we’ve escaped.”
“Coming with us is more dangerous than that,” Celia said.
“I’ll be fine.” Maura shifted, getting more comfortable on the floor. “Besides, if you don’t succeed, there’s nowhere I can go that will be safe.”
“Thanks for reminding me.” If he failed, evil would be unleashed on the Union.
Celia found his arm and tugged him out the door. He followed, dizzy and starving, and fighting to focus his attention. He was her eyes right now, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Light flickered at the hall’s end, high up, at the top of the stairs. A guard’s aura, as well as torchlight.
Ward leaned close to Celia. “One up ahead. Top of the stairs.”
“Just one?” Celia inched forward, her steps sounding more certain—there had to be enough light now for her to see better.
He drew in a breath and concentrated. The sparkle of magic from the flame of the torch mixed with the guard’s pale aura. “I’m not sure.”
“I wouldn’t put more than two men on a locked cell, so the odds are still in our favor.” She slipped up the stairs, silent and fast, her aura leaving a trail behind her. At the top, one pirate leaned against the wall, and the torch glimmered from a bracket opposite him.
He straightened and drew his dagger when he saw Celia, but she leapt up the final three stairs before he could swing. In one smooth movement, she grabbed the man’s wrist and rammed her fingers into his throat. He gurgled and bent forward. She slammed her elbow across his face and yanked his dagger from his hand. The man’s face hit the wall. She twisted and sliced the blade across his throat.
Saliva flooded Ward’s mouth. Blood gushed from the man’s throat. He grabbed his neck, but Celia had severed an artery, and every beat of his heart pumped his life through his fingers and down his chest.
He sagged to the floor, and Celia scanned the hall for more danger. Ward knew he should look as well, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the blood. The magic called to him. Just a taste. Except the thought of consuming it also made him nauseated.
Celia grabbed his arm and yanked him down beside the pirate. “You have to eat.”
“I know.” He needed to take it to defeat Stasik and Lauro. But Goddess, as much as he knew he had to do it, he didn’t want to.
“We don’t have a lot of time.”
“I know. I just—” He pressed his forehead to the cool stone wall beside him. He had to do this. His soul was already lost to the Goddess’s eternal embrace. He already was an abomination in Her eyes.
Celia slid her hand over his back. Heat from her palm and the soul chain eased through him. “This has to be done.”
“Yes.” Just do it. But his muscles wouldn’t obey his desires and move him closer.
“You have to drink the blood. It’s the only way to get enough soul magic to sustain yourself.”
“I know.” This was it. Everything he’d fought to avoid and that fate inevitably, inexorably dragged him to.
“I can make you do it, if you’d like,” Celia said, her voice soft and sad. Heartache oozed through the soul chain. She understood consuming this man’s blood and soul magic meant the complete loss of everything Ward believed in.
“No. I started this. I need to finish it.” Even if he’d known where his actions would have taken him, that staying to steal Macerio’s grimoires would force him to become an Innecroestri or that vowing to stop Allette would draw him deeper into the blood magic lure, he wouldn’t have done anything different.
Now he needed his full strength to complete his unwanted destiny, and there was only one way to do that.
He sagged to his knees. A part of him screamed what he was doing was wrong. He forced his lips down to the man’s severed throat. The metallic tang of blood swept over his tongue and churned his stomach, but the surge of soul magic swept all other sensation away. It flooded him, rushing to every part of his body and soul. It was heat and life. It snapped through him, small at first, then a jolt that crackled over his face and down his throat. Another across his chest and down his arms. The jolt came again, stronger and faster. A flash of lightning in the distance. Then again, closer. Then an explosion that roared through him.
His body trembled, and the magic surged through him. He was faintly aware that he gulped blood, but it was as if it happened to someone else, a different Ward. He’d never felt so strong before, as if the magic made him bigger, more than he’d ever been. Like this he could do anything, take anything, conquer anyone.
<
br /> Ward.
He dragged his attention from all the power. Celia was calling him. Her essence seeped through the soul chain, muted by the rushing magic.
Ward.
He was forgetting something.
Someone is coming.
Right. He was Ward de’Ath, eighth-generation necromancer—no, first-generation vivimancer and now vesperitti, and he had a job to do: gather all the sangsal and shove it back into the fissure.
Celia stood, the dagger hidden along the length of her forearm, and her muscles tensed. At the end of the hall a void among the pale glimmer of magic emanating from the walls strode toward them. One of the sangsal-infected pirates.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Celia scanned the hall, looking for options.
“It’s a sangsal pirate,” Ward hissed.
A regular pirate would be easy to take care of, but they still needed to face all the sangsal-infected pirates. Except were they ready? They were on the edge of the antechamber, fully exposed. Not how she wanted their first confrontation to go. It would be better if they could catch the man unaware. Not to mention Ward still seemed dazed from consuming the dead pirate’s blood.
She shuddered, not wanting to think about Ward fully accepting his vesperitti nature. It had broken her heart to see him give in. Without a doubt, it had shattered something within him that couldn’t be fixed, and he’d done it because it was what needed to be done.
“Back into the stairwell,” she hissed. It wasn’t the best option, but it at least offered them an element of surprise.
Ward glanced down the hall at the pirate and licked blood from his lips. For a heartbeat he looked feral, like the monster Maura had first said he was. All signs of exhaustion and starvation were gone. He looked as healthy as he had when he’d first come back from the dead, more so. Somehow he looked stronger and more confident. Then his gaze dipped to the body beside him, and his shoulders heaved as if he was going to vomit. Yeah, if she thought too much about what he’d done, she’d vomit, too.
