“That’s right,” Rufus encouraged.
Fae’s voice joined him. “Have courage, Joshua. We’re right here.”
Joshua took another step, forcing his eyes open. “Rufus, I’m scared.”
“I know, but don’t stop.” Rufus voice was strained, but even. “What were you singing earlier? On the way up?”
“The—the song of the r-rambler.” Joshua took another step.
“I recall it. It was one of Howell’s, wasn’t it?”
Joshua sobbed, as the posts slipped further forward, the supports bending. If they snapped, the posts would have nothing keeping them upright and would unearth themselves. The entire bridge would collapse.
“Sing it again.” Rufus inched as close as he could without stepping onto the bridge. “Come on.”
Joshua didn’t dare release the rope banisters to wipe the tears from his face. He took another unsteady step, the wood below him almost giving way to his weight. “One step is more than another two back,” he sang, his voice wobbling.
“Two steps is further yet, courage little sap,” Rufus joined in and Joshua continued to slowly edge forward, the wood creaking obscenely. “Three steps, you’re almost there,” Rufus almost spoke the lyrics, “your heart is singing strong. How does the next one go?”
“F-four st-steps is a milestone—ah!” Joshua’s foot went through another of the planks as it snapped beneath him. The whole bridge shuddered as Joshua lurched back, trying to stop himself falling through.
“Keep going!” Fae cried out.
“Four steps is a milestone, keep your gait so long,” Joshua whimpered, stepping over the missing plank. “Five steps and rest, you’ve conquered this hill…”
“Six steps and seven, you’ve not far to go!” Rufus encouraged.
“Eight steps is close now, the pear upon the tree,” Fae joined in, recalling the verse. Her voice was sweet and Joshua moved toward it.
“Nine steps you’ve come to, final challenge see.” Joshua’s throat was so tight the words came out in squeaks. Rufus’s outstretched hand was only a few strides away from him. Another few steps and he would be in reach.
There was a monstrous crack, and Joshua jerked and twisted in time to see the posts behind him both splintering at the same time. The bridge dropped even further, the rope snapping taut. Joshua turned back and saw Korrick watching him intently.
“Jump,” Korrick instructed calmly, as Joshua heard the wood give one last whine. The boy squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and planting his foot on one last precarious plank, he lunched himself up into the air just as the bridge snapped and fell out beneath him.
Rufus and Fae seized him by each arm, and drew him rapidly up onto the safety of the other side.
Joshua collapsed onto the ground, taking tufts of grass between his fingers and tethering himself down. He lay like that, heaving, before, with a shaking arm, he reached back, took the arrow out of his quiver, and, without looking up, tossed it vaguely in Korrick’s direction.
“Take your fucking arrow.” Joshua pushed himself up, glaring angrily at Korrick, “I hope it gives you the answer you’re looking for,” he said fiercely, his arms barely supporting his weight.
Korrick gave him a half, almost amused smile. “Yes, it has.” Korrick shared a silent exchange with Fae, who was staring at him pointedly. He turned away. “Be sure to arrive promptly at the training grounds tomorrow. I do not delay my classes,” he instructed and, without another look, strode away.
Joshua dropped his head back onto the ground, sobbing in delayed terror, his emotions overwhelming him. Rufus dragged him up and into his arms, rocking him from side to side.
“Well done, well done my little warrior Prince.” Rufus cradled Joshua’s head as the boy buried his face into his shoulder. “Well done…And for the love of Athea, promise me you will never do that again.”
Through his watery eyes, Joshua could see Fae and Boyd had also sat down, looking as exhausted by the ordeal as he felt.
Joshua managed to laugh, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I promise,” he agreed. “I absolutely promise.”
Zachary woke with an intense feeling of unease. He lay very still in his bed, eyes closed, listening to the silent room and trying to discern the cause of his distress. It was peaceful, the creeping sunlight making his eyelids light up red. Outside, he could hear birdsong, and there were children playing somewhere in the garden. By all accounts, he should have felt relaxed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
From downstairs, he heard the front door close, and he tensed, his eyes flying open. There were no voices, so someone must have left rather than entered. The servants used another exit, so either Daniel had stepped out to go to the Great Library, or someone had come calling. No doubt it was something perfectly innocent, but Zachary rolled from the bed nonetheless, his nerves jittery.
He pulled on his trousers, shoes and a chemise, and crept soundlessly to the door, stepping out onto the landing. Peering over the balcony he spotted Heather at the doorway. Her back was to him, apron clenched in her hands. She sighed, and turned, jumping as she spotted him.
“Good morning.” She curtsied. Zachary scanned the rest of the entrance hall, but it was empty. “I did not expect you up for another few hours.”
“What’s going on?” Zachary ignored her niceties, concentrating on her hands, which were still bundled into her apron. She noticed his gaze, and released the crumbled fabric, smoothing it back over her lap. “Who was at the door?”
“It was a messenger, he bought you a letter. I put it on the dining room table for you.”
“A letter? From whom?”
“By the hand, I would say it’s come from Lord Thornton.”
Zachary felt himself relax a little. “Thornton?” It had been some time since he’d had word from his friend in La’Kalciar, but Zachary’s conversation with Marcel had prompted him to think more often of Isaac. “I’ll take that letter now then.” Zachary started down the stairs.
“Lord Rothschild also came by but I told him you were unavailable.” Heather followed Zachary as he moved into the dining room, taking up his letter.
“Rothschild again? I am starting to regret allowing him into the Night Patrol. He’s too ambitious. He’s vying for Hathely’s position at my side.”
“That is ambitious,” Heather agreed.
“Sycophantic, position-grabbing tendencies aside, he’s a good solider.” Zachary inspected the handwriting and the seal on the letter and, confirming it was Isaac’s, he slipped his finger under the wax, and pulled it open. He read eagerly. “Thornton’s well. He’s travelling down to Sigel’eg. He means to come to Harmatia to see the assessments. He must be in the mind to take an apprentice.”
“It would do you well to see him.”
“He also says he’s been waiting on a letter from his master, Lord Farthing. Last I heard, the old man wasn’t very well. I may pay him a visit and see how his recovery is going.”
“I am sure he’d appreciate that,” Heather said distractedly, her eyes once more on the front door.
Zachary examined her. “What is it?” he asked. “You can’t stop staring at the door. It’s the brat, isn’t it?”
Heather frowned, tearing her eyes from the door and back to him. “Master Daniel went to the Southern Quarters this morning. He ought to have been back by now.”
Zachary rolled his eyes. “Mothering Prospan, woman—you could fret for Harmatia. It’s the Southern Quarters, not the slums. He’ll be fine.”
Heather’s mouth tightened, and she curtsied again. “As you say,” she said stiffly. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“Oh don’t give me that, Heather,” Zachary groaned. “Why do you even occupy yourself with him? You couldn’t stand Isolde.”
“For what she did, I had cause to,” Heather said. “However, I am able to separate the sins of a mother from her son. Besides which, Daniel is no mere brother to you, he is—”
“Heather
, you know you can always be open with me,” Zachary stood abruptly, his chair scraping on the stone, “but please, don’t talk about that.”
Heather dropped her gaze down to a corner of the room. “Try to remember what it was like, Arlen—to be alone in this capital. To be friendless. How daunting that was. How secluded you were.”
“I was eight. He’s nineteen. Old enough to make his own friends,” Zachary dismissed. “But if you’re really worried, I’ll go and find him.”
Heather sighed in relief. She opened her mouth to say something but the front door burst open, interrupting them. Marcel strode in, looking dishevelled, as if he’d barely had time to dress.
Zachary jumped at the abrupt entry. His second in command wasted no time announcing the purpose of his arrival.
“Trouble.”
Zachary hurried over. “Where?”
“The Southern Quarters. Emeric has gone ahead. A group of alchemists have gathered a mob—they mean to burn the Merle house to the ground.”
The colour drained from Zachary’s face. In an instant, he was back there again, standing in the doorway of the Merles' home, with all its comforts and warmth. To think of it burnt away and gone forever was too final—like a promise that nothing could ever be well again.
“Daniel!” Heather gasped, and Zachary bolted to the door, Marcel close behind. They sprinted out into the city, Zachary dragging in the stars’ power to keep his fatigue at bay as they dodged through crowds in the heaving streets.
“Out of the way!” Zachary shouted ahead. “Move! MOVE!” He gesticulated wildly, waving his arms as people parted.
They broke into the Southern Quarter, and Zachary skidded around onto the Merles’ street just in time to see Emeric forcefully throwing an alchemist back, extinguishing his torch with wave of his hand.
“If you think I’m going to let you anywhere near this house, you’re out of your mind!” Emeric’s voice was hoarse, but he forced it out nonetheless. He didn’t look well at all, barely recovered from his sickness, face haggard and eyes deeply lined.
“This is going to end badly,” Zachary murmured, as Marcel dove past him, forcing his way through the crowd to his apprentice’s side. Zachary made to follow, and then to his horror caught sight of Daniel stood within the inner circle of the mob, trapped in a ring of shouting people. The boy looked petrified. “Oh Hexias give me strength—damn it Daniel!”
Zachary pushed his way through the shifting bodies, using his advantageous height to keep watch over the fight. Between the mob and the rabble, the air was full of tension. All it would take was one building, and the entire Southern Quarter stood the risk of going up in flames. If this wasn’t resolved soon, the residents of the Southern Quarter would clamour together to protect their homes, and there would be a riot.
Zachary liked to think that was the only thing fuelling Emeric’s rage but he knew better. There was a territorial and personal aspect to this anger.
Emeric threw himself at the leading alchemist as the man once more tried to advance with his torch. “Get back!”
“Are you some faerie-sympathiser, guarding this house? These are tainted stones!” The Kathrak with the torch gestured. “We will cleanse this city of its treacherous mark and we will burn you with it if you don’t step aside!”
“You can try!” Emeric spat. “You have one last chance to stand down.”
The alchemist shoved Emeric back, almost sending him to the floor. Emeric stumbled a few steps, but remained upright.
He’s still unsteady, Zachary thought, his teeth gritted so hard his head throbbed. Don’t start a fight, Emeric.
But it was useless. Even if Zachary had shouted the command, there was a set expression on Emeric’s face. Zachary’s unease came back to him in waves. Marcel’s apprentice, for all his doey eyes, curled hair and dimples, was a terrible force to be reckoned with. The only thing that stood between Emeric and all out destruction was his sense of morality. In that moment, everything was clouded by anger.
Unless the alchemists took heed of what their instincts ought to have been screaming at them, the entire affair was going to end in blood.
“I said, get out of the way!” The alchemist advanced on Emeric, who rolled his shoulders.
“Don’t challenge me,” Emeric growled and the alchemist laughed, and then did something profoundly stupid.
Summoning a crude ball of air up, he blasted it at Emeric. Zachary watched, expecting the Magi to shield himself. Emeric did nothing of the sort. Instead he launched himself into the air, making the earth jut up beneath him to give him height. He spun up above the attack, and Zachary saw the crackle of magic—the only hint of what was about to happen.
Emeric landed on all fours, not a man, but a large, feline beast—bigger than any lion, and with teeth made to rip and gorge. The alchemists stopped mid-laugh and froze, their faces going slack. Zachary knew that expression—that cold horror men felt when faced with something so impossibly wild, and raw, and strong that their minds simply went blank. And then Emeric raised his head and roared.
“N-NIGHT PATROL!” The screams broke out through the crowd and Zachary’s heart sank. Emeric charged the alchemists, who broke from their stupor with shrieks, and made to scrabble away. All bravado was gone. What their instincts had failed to tell them was now plain to see. Emeric could kill them all—and he had every intention of doing so.
As Emeric went to tear down one of the alchemists, something crashed into him mid-pounce. Marcel, now in the form of a large, lupine creature with a pelt of grey-black fur, grabbed Emeric’s throat between his jaws and pinned him down, trying to calm him.
Emeric roared again, so lost now to his bestial nature, he didn’t recognise Marcel as they tumbled and scrabbled. The crowd scattered as Emeric finally managed to tear free, swiping at Marcel with perilous claws. Marcel dodged and once more seized Emeric by the throat—the only effective way of holding him down.
Emeric thrashed against Marcel’s teeth, blood dribbling over his fur as they struggled and clawed at each other. Marcel’s shoulders rippled. The blood was exciting the animal instinct within him. Zachary knew his second in command would never hurt Emeric on purpose, just as Emeric would never hurt Marcel, but they were no longer in the right state of mind. If the pair didn’t calm down, without an authority figure to bring them back to their faculties, they might very well tear each other apart.
Marcel tumbled back with a growl of pain as Emeric swept at him again, his long claws digging through the heavy pelt. Marcel retreated, Emeric snapping at him threateningly before looking sharply around to where Daniel was still pressed up against the wall. Zachary cursed—why hadn’t the boy run when the crowd split?
Daniel shrank back against the stone and Emeric roared, daring the boy to move. Marcel circled around, looking between the two. Zachary watched, his breath still, waiting to see whether his brother would be foolish enough to try and flee. A running target would be too tempting to ignore.
Emeric roared again and Daniel’s terror got the better of him. He bolted to the side.
“No, idiot!” Zachary cried.
Marcel and Emeric moved simultaneously, Emeric lunging forward just as Marcel interceded, throwing himself at his apprentice. Emeric’s claws caught Daniel’s arm, just as Marcel collided with him, sending the pair tumbling to the side. Daniel lurched back and toppled to the ground with a cry of pain.
The heavy scent of blood was thick in the air. Emeric tried to rise but Marcel clamped his jaw around the back of Emeric’s neck, driving him down. Emeric tossed his head with a yowl and, rolling, managed to wriggle free of the careful grip.
“Hathely!” Zachary cried in warning, but there was nothing to be done.
With a powerful kick, Marcel was sent flying into the wall. He hit it hard and crumpled to the ground, shedding his Night Patrol form with a shudder. There was nothing Marcel could do to get Emeric back under control.
It was time for Zachary to step in.
Emeri
c turned on Daniel. Anything human was now lost to his carnal rage. Zachary thrust himself forward, dragging in as much power as he could. The transformation was never easy—it had been known to make grown men scream—but over time the body grew to anticipate it. For Zachary, who’d transformed every night for almost two years, changing his skin was as easy as pulling on his clothes.
The first sensation was the crackle of magic, so much it felt like the skin was inflating. And then the clothes around him began to fuse with his skin, reacting to the magic in the same way he did, and becoming a part of him. Then his bones shifted, his heart doubled in size and his eyes grew, much too large for his skull until it felt like his sockets might crack.
His wings burst out from his back triumphantly, as if they’d been trapped beneath his shoulders all this time. The world came alive with a magnitude of sounds and smells, the sunlight too bright for his sensitive vision. He felt light, agile, sleek as a snake, but with the power of a dragon.
He beat his vast, black wings and was up in the air before, as quickly as a diving falcon, he drove himself between his brother and Emeric. Daniel gave a short scream of surprise as Zachary landed above him, curling a protective tail around the boy, his left wing hanging over Daniel’s head. Zachary bent his head forward and emitted a bone-shattering roar.
The sound ricocheted through Emeric, and he stopped dead, as if he’d struck a wall.
“FOLD!” Zachary’s voice boomed, louder than life. “ENOUGH!”
The feline bowed low in submission, prostrating itself, and with Emeric’s fear came his sensibilities. With a gasp, he tore away his Night Patrol form and sat, a human once more, the colour draining from his face.
“E-Etheus,” Daniel stuttered, as Zachary straightened, also releasing his Night Patrol form. “Etheus blind me.”
“There’s no need for that.” Zachary marched to Emeric’s side, Marcel forcing himself up to his feet. Both men were wounded from the fight, but the majority of their injuries were already half-healed, cuts to the chest and neck bleeding sluggishly. Marcel was limping.
Blood of the Delphi (The Harmatia Cycle Book 2) Page 27
