Marcel stood as Emeric dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders hunched. Zachary slumped, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes cast over Emeric’s empty glass. How much had they let him drink? A Magi normally had a strong immunity to alcohol but with Emeric as he was…
Marcel helped Emeric out of his chair and Zachary extinguished the fire with a wave of his hand. He stepped toward his friends.
“I have spare rooms,” he invited. “Stay here—there’s no point walking home now. Take him upstairs. We’re safe here.”
Marcel nodded a quiet thanks and led Emeric from the room, his hand firmly on his apprentice’s shoulder. Zachary directed them up the stairs and toward a spare bedroom. At the door he extended his hand to Emeric, as if to offer comfort, but retracted it silently. He struggled, looking helplessly at Marcel, who returned the troubled expression. Zachary stepped back.
“Put him to bed,” he said wearily.
Marcel gave another appreciative nod and pulled Emeric into the bedroom, closing the door after him. Zachary turned and leant against the wall, his eyes closed. For an extended moment there was only silence, then he heard the soft breaks of the first sobs, muffled in an embrace. The bed creaked under the weight of a human body and the sobbing continued, harmonised by a gentle murmur of comforting words, too quiet to discern. Zachary rubbed his forehead. Poor Emeric. Foolish Emeric. He’d always liked Rufus the best.
Damn you, Merle. Zachary pushed away from the door. For exposing us like this—damn you!
Rufus watched Boyd for several minutes before announcing his consciousness. “Boyd, is it?”
The break of the silence surprised Boyd so badly, the physician jumped a foot in the air, knocked several bottles from his work desk and proceeded to fall back over his own chair.
An elegant introduction.
“You’re awake!” Boyd scrabbled over, thrilled.
“Evidently.” Rufus’s voice was coarse but though he felt weaker than a drenched butterfly, his head was clear. “It’s Boyd, isn’t it?” he repeated, studying the physician. Something of the man seemed familiar, but Rufus couldn’t place what. Boyd came to his side.
“That’s right.” He checked Rufus’s temperature with the back of his hand. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea at all?”
“No. I feel better. Clearer. How long…?”
“Several days. You’ve been very unwell. D’you remember anything?”
Rufus closed his eyes. “Fae…She found us in the snow. Then we were here. After that, very little. It feels like a nightmare.”
“A nightmare is accurate—you came close to death.”
“Was I that sick?”
Boyd shook his head. “Much worse than that—you were discovered. Commander Mac Gearailt was ready to flay you both alive, until Lord Kathel stepped in.”
Rufus frowned, rubbing his eyes, and then jolted. “Joshua?” He grabbed at Boyd’s arm. “Where’s Joshua?”
“He’s absolutely fine, don’t fret,” Boyd reassured. “Quite recovered, I’d say. Fae’s been taking very special care of him. He’ll be down here soon, I expect—he comes by every few hours or so to see how you are.”
Rufus nodded, moving his hands down from his face to massage his stiff neck and shoulders.
“Is that sore?” Boyd leant forward. He touched his hand to the tense muscle and concentrated on it. A warm, familiar feeling filled Rufus and he sat upright.
“You’re using magic!” he gasped. Boyd stared at him blankly.
“Yes.”
“No,” Rufus corrected, “you’re using elemental magic.”
“Yes.”
“You’re human?”
“Well, I think you can probably guess my answer.”
Rufus scrutinised the physician. “What’s a human doing in the Neve?”
“What’s a Magi doing in the Neve?” Boyd retorted primly, removing his hand.
“Apologies,” Rufus said sheepishly. “I only meant to say…Where did you learn to heal like that? Those techniques aren’t even taught in the academy.”
“You Magi.” Boyd rolled his eyes. “You think you’re the only ones who know how to use elemental magic? Like it wasn’t the Sidhe who taught it to you.”
“The Delphi—”
“Are descendants of Niamh, Lord Kathel’s mother.” Boyd returned to his desk. “I learnt to heal directly from the source, thank you very much. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Rufus rested back against the pillow, already feeling exhausted. “Thank you, I’m very grateful,” he said in a tone of defeat.
Boyd peered around at him. “You did well, though,” he announced, “taking care of the Prince, given the circumstances. He might well have died but for your care. He was already over the worst of it when you brought him to me. Strong boy. Weak lungs, though.”
“Yes, ever since he was a child.”
“Not to worry, he can strengthen them, over time.” Boyd turned back to the desk. “And he’ll need to, if Korrick starts training him.”
“Who starts training who?” Rufus sat a little straighter.
“Well Korrick hasn’t agreed yet, of course, but once the politics are dealt with, he won’t be able to resist, I know it,” Boyd continued, oblivious. “Most boys get excitable when given a sword, but Joshua’s a natural.”
“You gave him a sword?” Rufus choked, just as the door opened and Joshua came bouncing in, followed by Fae. At the sight of Rufus, the Prince gave a cry of delight and dove straight toward him, launching himself into his arms. Rufus welcomed him, despite all his aches and pains.
“Rufus, you’re awake!”
“Did you think you’d be so easily rid of me?”
Joshua grinned across to Fae and Boyd. “I told you he was invincible!” he said. “Rufus just can’t die.”
“Not for lack of trying.” Fae crossed the room and laid a gentle hand on Rufus’s knee. Something of her touch seemed hesitant, as if she was unsure of him. “You gave us quite a scare, my friend.”
“You’ve seen me worse.”
“That doesn’t console me.” Fae perched on the edge of the bed, pulling Joshua away from where he was now starting to suffocate Rufus. Joshua settled between them.
“Rufus, Fae says they’re going to teach me to fight! They’ve given me a sword to train with.”
“So I’ve heard.” Rufus’s mouth formed into a line. “A prior discussion with me on the matter would have been appreciated.”
“You were twitching and indisposed,” Fae dismissed. “I took liberties of guardianship.”
Rufus frowned, looking at Fae a little closer. There was a faint mark of a dark blue hue across the plane of her cheek.
“Fae?” he asked, “what happened to your face?”
“I was born like this,” she replied instantly. “Two eyes, a nose, a mouth—I know it’s distressing for you.”
“She broke her cheek bone,” Boyd said and Fae shot him an absolutely filthy look. Boyd turned away hurriedly, ducking back toward the work at his desk.
“You didn’t have that injury when you saved us,” Rufus said. “What happened?”
Fae considered her words carefully.
“I had a disagreement with a dragon,” she eventually decided and Rufus could have believed that. “Though the same might be asked of you.” She poked him obtrusively in the face, making Joshua giggle. “You look precisely the same as when I saw you last—that was over twelve years ago.”
Rufus detected a note of mistrust in Fae’s light actions. “I’m a Magi,” he said. “What’s a decade to me?”
“Perhaps, though that,” she moved her finger up to the scar on his brow, “ages you.”
“I’m thirty-five, I’d hope something ages me. I don’t want to look like an adolescent for the rest of my life.” Rufus rubbed the scar with a growl.
“I didn’t say you looked like an adolescent. More like…an old, young man.”
“My shrinking self-confidence thanks you.”<
br />
“Rufus.” Joshua grew impatient, bouncing up and down. “When are you going to be well enough to come out and see everything?”
“Give him a few days,” Boyd said from his table. “He’s not as spry as you are.”
“How dare you,” Rufus objected, as Fae laughed. Once more Rufus noted a tightness about her that made him uneasy. Something was wrong.
“Boyd, Joshua,” Fae maintained a forcefully bright tone, “could the pair of you go and fetch something for Rufus to eat? He must be famished.”
Joshua leapt from the bed enthusiastically.
“Certainly.” Boyd looked between Fae and Rufus. “Come along now, Joshua,” he ushered and the Prince ran energetically after him. Rufus hadn’t seen the boy so happy in many months.
The door closed leaving Rufus and Fae alone. Without their audience, Fae’s expression grew more serious and she stared at him, long and hard. He was uncomfortable beneath her gaze, his stomach churning. She stood abruptly.
“Fae?” Rufus asked, as she crossed to Boyd’s desk, plucking one of the candles from the candelabrum. “Fae, what are you—ow!” Rufus cried out as she seized his wrist. “Ow! What are you doing?” He tried to pull away but she gripped him firmly, holding his hand over the flame. Rufus grew still, allowing her to observe the harmless flicker of the fire against his skin. Finally satisfied, she released him, and he hugged his arm to his chest. Fae replaced the candle and once more resumed her staring.
“Are you…” Rufus began quietly. “Are you going to kill me?”
Fae raised her eyebrows. “Rufus,” she sat down heavily on the bed, “you are still breathing because I intend for you to keep you doing so.”
“Oh.” Rufus looked down at his arm. “You just had to be sure it was me.”
“Boyd gave me some information which was…contradictory.” Fae sounded tired, her voice heavy.
Rufus felt his gut tighten. The brand on his stomach burned faintly and he ran a nervous hand through his hair.
“In fact,” Fae continued, “there has been a great deal these last few days which has been difficult to swallow.”
Rufus didn’t have to guess. “You found out that I’m a Delphi.”
“Joshua explained it to me.”
“I’d have told you.”
“You were otherwise engaged, I understand,” Fae said. “I sent word to Luca to tell her that I had Joshua—don’t worry,” she added, as Rufus made to object, “I made no mention of you. If the letter is intercepted, people will merely think it’s two friends idly chattering about a beloved nephew. You are quite safe.”
“How did you find us?” Rufus asked. Fae’s mouth curled into a small smile.
“The feeorin,” she said. “You earned their favour with your songs. They kept an eye out for you, steered you clear of glamour traps and the like. They guided me to you when they thought you were in danger. Had they not, you would both be dead.” Fae’s expression sobered. “Rufus, what happened? The last I heard, you were with the Delphi Knights. I thought you were safe. And then I find you like this—covered in scars, broken bones…burned. Rufus, you don’t—”
“I know,” Rufus said a little too forcefully. He refused to meet her gaze and covered the brand, squeezing his abdomen as if trying to protect it. “It’s complicated.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I do,” Fae pressed. “Do you know how worried I was? Do you know the risk I took when I brought you here?”
“And I thank you for that, but what happened…” Rufus swallowed dryly. “It’s not important now.”
“Rufus, you stink of blood and it’s not all your own. You said some alarming things in your delirium. I need to know what’s going on—”
“And I said it wasn’t important, Athea damn you!” Rufus snapped, his temper rearing. Fae jumped back in surprise at the sudden change of tone, her eyes widening. Rufus thought she might reach for a weapon but she kept her hands in her lap. She appeared to have stopped breathing entirely. Rufus panted and clasped his stomach, hunching over himself as the burning pain intensified. He breathed out long and hard—the pain wasn’t real, but he felt it nonetheless.
Fae touched his hand hesitantly. “Alright,” she said calmly. “Breathe. We’ll discuss this later.”
Rufus glanced up into her face. He expected her to be angry but her expression was unreadable, almost guarded. He made to apologise but could only manage a soft groan. He couldn’t tell her what had happened—he couldn’t bear to. It was shameful, it hurt too much.
Slowly Fae settled back on the edge of the bed. They sat together in silence until Boyd and Joshua returned with the food.
“That whoopsie-bashin’, pasty son of a miller’s turd!” Aeron growled into his drink, rubbing the back of his aching head. Rufus Merle had disappeared, taking the half-pint with him, and Aeron was rapidly losing his patience. He’d followed the Harmatians’ trail through the wood for many miles, until it had disappeared as suddenly as if Rufus had simply taken flight. At that point, unable to find any other clue, Aeron had returned to Beshuwa to recuperate.
He downed his drink and closed his eyes, deep in thought. Lemra was a long way back but he had no reason to stagnate in Beshuwa any longer. He needed to make a decision. After all, who knew where the Magi had gone?
Standing, the Lemra’n crossed to the mirror which was leant against the wall. He’d covered it with his cloak, because, as all good merchants of death knew, mirrors could trap souls and be used as doorways for all sorts of things. Aeron removed the cloakand knelt before the polished looking-glass. He took a dagger from his boot and stroked it across his palm, allowing blood to well into the bowl of his hand. He let it gather there, then pressed his bloodied hand to the mirror.
Closing his eyes, he allowed his human body to slump, letting the demon inside of him rise and push forward. When he opened his eyes, his pupils had dilated impossibly, the darkness within swimming to the surface of his skin. He drew a spiral with his blood on the mirror, then a triangle within it. “Birth, Life, Death, I am your master,” he chanted and then, taking his uninjured hand, he delved his fingers through the centre of the spiral, into the mirror. They slipped through the surface like it was made of water.
Immediately, he felt his human flesh begin to reject the new realm, twitching and jerking, but he didn’t retract his hand.
“Piss off,” he ordered the spirits who immediately appeared in the mirror, scratching at the surface. “Cethin,” he called, extending his will. “In the name of our forefather Ankou, I call to you—Cethin. Cethin,” he said between gritted teeth. From with the mirror a hand grabbed hold of his wrist and tugged hard, trying to pull him in. Aeron pulled back and ripped his hand free of the mirror.
Cethin appeared in the obsidian surface and Aeron bowed his head. “Father.”
“Aeron,” the old man greeted, his silvery hair misty in the darkness. The realm of the dead always made him look withered, white-faced and skeletal. “You have failed.”
“Merle’s trail disappeared. I can’t find a single bread-crumb.”
“What of the Harmatians?”
“The integrity of the Faucon stands—Cal’s pint’ed some blood for me, sent home a glamoured body. As far as Harmatia’s concerned, I’ve reaped Merle’s sorry knot.”
“That’s not good enough.” Cethin wasn’t impressed. “Should Merle reappear before we are ready, it would be problematic for us all.”
“Rah, I know.” Aeron sulked. He glanced down and saw that his hand was still bleeding. He narrowed his eyes and stared at it, concentrating. Black tendrils wove out from the blood-flow, like an octopus emerging from water, and needled the severed skin together with silken, smoky strands. “There’s somethin’ else.”
Cethin waited for Aeron to elaborate.
“I almost got Merle, but when I did, I smelt the she-war. Morrigan’s marked him.”
“So she’s finally made her mo
ve,” Cethin murmured. “What does she want with him?”
“He’s Athea’s glove.” Aeron shrugged. “And he’s got anger in him too, sweatin’ torture—skin smells of burnin’. We know she’s been playin’ the long-game with this one and now he’s perfect for pickin’.”
“If Morrigan has him,” Cethin said, “you must go to one above her.”
Aeron almost winced. He’d expected it but that didn’t make him any happier about the order. “You want me to seek out Nicnivin?”
The Queen of the Unseelie Court was a figure of terror and Aeron was well aware that, should he walk into her court uninvited, she might very well take his head as an ornament for her dining table. Credit to the woman—she knew how to keep up appearances.
“Shed your mortal body—go as the blood of Ankou. She will receive you then.”
“Stands to reason.” Aeron picked dully at the fresh, black stitching across his palm. “But if Morrigan has got Merle, then I’m not goin’ to be able to touch him.”
“Merle is of no consequence—it is the boy we need. I went to great pains to have the Faucon name whispered into DuGilles’s ear so that we might get to them first. Merle’s falsified death gives you time but not enough to be idle. You need to find them.” Cethin paused and then looked to the side of him as if someone was calling. “Do not fail again, Aeron,” he warned.
Aeron nodded. Reaching forward, he smeared the blood-spiral, breaking the connection. Cethin disappeared and immediately the room brightened.
Aeron went to the bed and dropped down onto it. “Time to shed this organ-bag then.” He whistled harshly at the door. “Whore!”
“What?” came the abrupt response.
“I’m goin’ to sleep for a few days!” he shouted down to her. “Leave me be, and don’t sex me up neither. And—uh—if I stop breathin’, that’s normal!”
“What?” she called again.
He fell back against the pillow. “Death,” he mumbled softly, “this is just a bitch.”
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 20
