“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she said, getting up. “Good night.” She curtsied to Magnus. As she passed, I followed her to the door.
“I didn’t know you loved Shakespeare.” I’d meant it as a compliment, but her expression darkened. She really did look like her brother when she was incensed.
“Of course not. I’m no good for anything except parties and dresses.” Then she left the room without another word. Magnus waited for me over by the fire, wearing a quizzical expression.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“Nothing.” I’d a feeling Eliza was still angry that Maria and I had gone off without her. I hadn’t meant to snub her so blatantly.
“So? What does the old fellow say?” Magnus asked.
“We’ll meet at Agrippa’s.”
“I can’t believe you found him again.” Magnus had none of Blackwood’s anger. Rather, he appeared delighted. “You’re the boldest girl I’ve ever known, Howel.”
“I daresay you’ve known a few.” The words left my mouth before I could think.
“Perhaps.” He played with the wooden charm at his belt. “Suppose I’m a bit surprised you’d rush back to Mickelmas after being thrown into the Tower.”
“Ferox et stultus,” I said, grinning. “Perhaps those are the Howel words as well.”
“No, yours would be I have a brilliant plan, followed by Blackwood moaning in horror.” He let go of the charm. “Blacky doesn’t like to take risks. When you’re at the very top, there’s only one place to go.”
I hadn’t considered that.
“What’s troubling you?” Magnus folded his arms. “You get this little crease in your forehead when you’re deep in spiritual turmoil.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” But I squirmed under Magnus’s honest gaze. Blackwood’s words about my guilt had rung true. “Well, that bastard R’hlem is going to keep destroying everything in his path. The longer I don’t go to him, the better the chance we’ll all be killed. That’s why I had to find Mickelmas.” That was why I’d dragged Magnus and Dee and Blackwood into all this.
“This isn’t your fault.” Magnus reached out but didn’t touch me. Once, when he’d taught me how to fight with warded blades in Agrippa’s library, he’d had no problem correcting my arm, the position of my body. Now it was as if a shield separated us.
That was proper, of course. Otherwise, it could prove too dangerous.
“But it is my fault,” I said.
His features tightened. “You’re not the only one who feels guilt, Howel. You can’t hog it all.”
He was trying to be funny, but I heard the shame in his voice.
“Magnus, what happened?”
He hesitated, staring into the fire. “I don’t want to burden you.”
“I think you should.”
He was so silent that I thought he’d decided not to tell me. Then, “I was on another ship before the Queen Charlotte. I lied when I told you I’d never faced Nemneris. About a month ago, we nearly won an assault against her—got a harpoon in her flank. But she dove deep under the water, came back up, and tried to smash us. She didn’t pull us down—she was too injured—but the ship couldn’t sail.”
“Abandoning ship isn’t a crime,” I said.
Magnus closed his eyes. “It’s what happened after we’d landed ashore. They were waiting for us, you see, on the beach.” The way he said “they” sent a chill through my blood. “The lice. We fought them, but there were more, always more, coming down the sand.” He grabbed that token again, holding it the way one might hold prayer beads. “Fifty of us went onto the beach. Nine left it. Later on, when we’d finally got away, I realized I was covered in blood. From head to toe.” He passed a hand over his eyes. “It makes you wonder how you managed to survive. Surely you did something cowardly to get away.” His voice broke, just once, but once was enough.
I put my hand on his arm. “There’s no shame in survival.”
He was stiff, unyielding beneath my touch. Utterly unlike the boy I’d known only a few months before.
“Every night I see the lice coming across the sand.” He looked at me again. “I’m not the only one with nightmares.” It was as though he was defending himself. “The others in the barracks scream in the night, and…”
He released the charm slowly.
“What is that?” I said. Magnus smiled faintly.
“Jim Collins. He was the carpenter’s mate, all of twelve years old. Bright boy. I taught him how to cheat at cards.” His smile disappeared. “And then, when we knew we’d have to abandon ship…” He took the charm off his belt and gave it to me. I cradled it in my hands. “Jim told me his mother made this to keep him safe, and he wanted her to have it back. I took it. Didn’t know what else to do. Later, when the fighting was done, we found Jim’s body lying on the sand.” Magnus shuddered. “He’d been bit through.”
He rubbed his forehead. “I know he came from Cornwall. But how many Jim Collinses are there in bloody Cornwall? So I keep this with me to give to his mother when I find her.” Magnus kept his face stony, but he couldn’t hide the painful dance of emotions in his gray eyes. “Do you know, I thought the war would be over in a month once I joined?” He laughed bitterly. It occurred to me then that he played a part for all of us, that the smiling Magnus was like a layer of theatrical paint.
I gripped his shoulder. “I beg you, don’t hold this inside. I’m here if you need me.”
For a minute, we stayed looking at each other. Magnus’s gaze seemed to clear. “Oh,” he said, a sound of surprise.
We were so near to each other that I flushed and released him.
“Forgive me,” he said as I gave him back his charm. “Living with the Earl of Sorrow-Filled is burden enough.”
“Sorrow-Fell.” I couldn’t help laughing.
Magnus went to speak with Dee, who’d been dozing on the sofa. I watched him carefully. He was easy and charming once more; that mask of his was firmly back in place.
—
THE NEXT EVENING, I SAT BY my bedroom window, surveying the empty streets and thinking on our training plan. The streetlamps cast dancing shadows, but you wouldn’t find an actual person out there until dawn. Most refused to venture out at night now, preferring to lock their doors and windows, huddle in bed, and wait for daylight. We all anticipated the night when the monsters would come tearing out of the sky, a dense cloud of claws and talons and teeth.
I was about to prepare for bed when a dark figure coming out of the house caught my eye. It moved down the walk and toward the street.
The figure turned, gazing back at the house. My stomach dropped when I recognized Rook, his hair hidden beneath a cap. Shoulders hunched and hands jammed into his coat pockets, he slipped out the gate and hurried away.
Where the bloody hell was he going at this hour?
Cursing, I grabbed Porridge, threw on my cloak, and opened my window. A moment later, I used the wind to carry myself to the ground. Wherever Rook was going tonight, he wouldn’t go alone.
Rook moved out of the city proper and into the no-man’s-land of the shantytowns. Houses fashioned from plywood, tin, and wire leaned against one another, as if too exhausted to stand on their own. Fires burned here and there, with families gathered about, lined faces accentuated by the glow. Lean, flea-ravaged dogs chased each other through the streets.
I could have caught up with Rook and asked where he was off to, but I sensed that whatever he’d tell me would be a lie. People did not sneak out of the house in the dead of night on perfectly innocent business. When I’d lived at Agrippa’s, every moment I could spare had been spent rushing to meet secretly with Mickelmas. Whatever Rook was up to, I wanted to know the truth.
Rook walked slowly, glancing left and right until he came to a halt. Tilting back his head, he began scenting the air. Then he took off at a run, plunging into a narrow alleyway. He went from stillness to action so fast it caught me off guard.
That was when I heard the
screams.
Cursing under my breath, I followed where he’d gone through the labyrinth of makeshift houses. I gagged at the odor of waste and mud, lifting my skirts as high as I dared to keep them clean.
Finally, I came to an intersection wide enough to allow multiple people through at the same time. Before me, two men were locked in a scuffle, one of them with a loaf of bread cradled to his chest. The other fellow beat and tore at him mercilessly. The man with the bread cried out, but no one came to help. No one dared. Finally, the attacker walloped the poor fellow with such force that the man dropped his food.
I prepared to move in, when—
Darkness poured forth in a wave. A cloak of night swept over the screaming thief. Slowly, the wheezing man on the ground got to his feet, snatched his bread, and ran off.
Darkness flowed in a ceaseless tide, suffocating the thief’s screams. My eyes tracked to the source as Rook moved into sight, his pace deliberate. He threw his hands into the air, releasing the thief from the shadow. Mesmerized, I could only watch as Rook grabbed the stammering man by his shirtfront.
“If I see you attack anyone else, there’ll be no mercy. Do you understand?” There was ferocity to his tone that I’d never heard before.
The man whined, the acrid scent of urine flooding the air as he pissed himself. Rook threw him down and tipped his cap over his eyes. “Go. Now.”
The man did not need to be told again, and he hurried away, tripping twice. Rook cracked his knuckles as the darkness retreated, folding up to neatly fit inside his moonlit shadow. I gasped, and he turned.
“Miss?” he said, “What are you doing here?” His eyes, still a pure black, widened when I removed my hood.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I said.
Rook groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, as though I’d caught him stealing a pie instead of threatening a man with the force of black magic.
“We should go. It’s not safe for you on the streets at night.” Rook came over and slipped an arm around me.
“Not safe for me?” I all but pinched him.
“Wait until we get home before you scold me,” he replied. I could barely see his face beneath the brim of his cap. He’d pulled his collar up as well, doing an admirable job of blending in with the shadows. Together, we made our way out of the encampment and back to safer streets.
Returning to Blackwood’s at this time of night made entering through the front impossible, so we scaled the stone garden wall. Rook climbed it, catlike and lithe, and I floated up and over on the wind. The garden at midnight was lush and quiet, the fruit trees by the wall silver in the moonlight. I sat on a stone bench by the fountain, listening to the gurgling of the water as church bells tolled the hour, and Rook sat down beside me. The scent of lavender and rose should have made this the most romantic setting possible. And it would have been if I hadn’t wanted to throttle the boy I loved.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said gently. He was being so patient it made me want to scream.
“Like I can’t believe you’re running about in the worst parts of town at night, pummeling criminals? It’s a very specific look.” When he sighed, I could have exploded. “I don’t like being lied to!”
“Bit funny, isn’t it?” There was no anger in his eyes, only a kind of weary humor. “When you’ve done your fair share of lying.”
That stung. “I did it to keep us under the ward.”
“Which doesn’t exist now, so why should I worry?” He shifted in his seat to face me. My heart did a traitorous little flip at his nearness. “Why should I watch you court danger as I stay behind in safety?” Quiet shame tinged his voice.
“It’s the sorcerers’ job to protect the city.” I tried to sound soft and reasonable.
“They defend against the monsters outside, yes, but there are monsters in here as well.” His eyes blazed. “You know it’s true. That man with the bread was trying to feed his family. If I didn’t protect him, who would?”
I hated when he made this much sense.
“I don’t want you to risk yourself,” I murmured.
He put a cool hand to my face. “I don’t want you to do that, either, but I know it’s who you are.” He tilted my chin. “Please don’t get in the way of what I am.”
That was the difference. What he was becoming was monstrous. But should I tell him, You can’t protect people because you’re morphing into a hideous shadow demon? Somehow that seemed the wrong thing to say.
“Can’t you wait until Maria and Fenswick make a better treatment?” I asked. He dropped his hand.
“They make me sluggish and stupid.” His expression hardened. In the moonlight, I watched as his shadows danced along the garden path like living ink. Whispers slid past me, the whispers of dark things, monstrous things. Whenever Rook became frustrated, the blackness got worse. I held up my hands.
“All right,” I said, my voice easy. Slowly, the shadows and whispers died. Rook cleared his throat, bashful.
“I worry that you’re ashamed of me,” he said at last. Ashamed? I nearly laughed with the absurdity of it. “I do this partly so I can feel worthy in your eyes.”
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
He took my hand in his own, his skin growing feverish.
“I know that I must humiliate you,” he muttered. “Living in that fine house, on someone’s charity. You must see what a poor wretch I am, Net—Henrietta.”
“You think I care about fortune?” I swung between furious and happy. “You silly, ridiculous…thing!” I couldn’t think of the right words, or nearly any words. “Don’t you know me?”
“Did you call me silly?” He laughed, surprised.
“I love you, for God’s sake.” I nearly shouted it at him. There. The words were out. I clapped a hand to my mouth. What had possessed me?
“What?”
“I—I only meant—” Then I was silenced.
Rook swept me up and held me close against his chest. I could feel his heart beating, a quick tattoo that matched my own.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“I love y—”
He kissed me, stopping my mouth.
I leaned into him, sliding my arm around his neck. This was madness. We were alone in the middle of the night, like some wonderful scene from a play. But this was no fantasy; no one was pretending. Rook was here, with me, his mouth on mine. At first, his kisses were gentle, feather-light. But then his arm circled my waist, and he deepened the kiss, driving me mad.
His hands trailed up and down my back. Our mouths opened, and I gasped when his tongue flickered against mine.
We pulled apart and I slid my fingers through his hair.
“I don’t believe it’s finally happened,” he whispered, his breath shaky. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long.” His kisses dusted down my cheek until he found my mouth once more. I put my hand on Rook’s chest, feeling the thundering of his heartbeat.
When I’d kissed Magnus, it had been wild, frenzied. This was like a homecoming, each kiss, each embrace, a reminder of where I belonged.
I looked into his black eyes, which shimmered with wildness and desire. Fear gripped me, and something else even more shocking: want.
“I don’t repulse you?” he breathed. No, the shadows and the scars meant nothing to me, not as long as he was here.
His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing a line of scars along his left arm. I took his hand and put my lips to his callused palm. Then, slowly, I kissed down his wrist until I found the scars, kissing them gently one after the other. His intake of breath was so sharp that I stopped.
“Is it painful?”
“The opposite,” he growled. Rook’s whole body shuddered. He grabbed my wrists and gazed down at me. “We can’t do this,” he murmured.
If we kept going, where might it lead? “I know,” I said.
And then every hair on my head stood on end; I heard someone else breathing. We weren’t alone here. Somethi
ng crawled on its belly out of the shadows, hissing as it inched across the grass.
The creature had no stag, no terrifying friends. In fact, it was the most pathetic thing I had ever seen. In the moonlight, its tattered black robes scraped over the ground. Smoke curled in feeble whispers over its body, and a black hood cloaked its face from view.
I hadn’t seen a shadow Familiar since Korozoth had fallen. The Familiar looked up at Rook and hissed one word: “Master.”
The thing bent its head and began to lick the ground. God, it was tasting Rook’s footprints in the dirt, lapping them up in adoration. He kicked at the thing, sending it crawling off with a whimper.
“Get away from me, you demon,” Rook spit.
Despite the horror in front of us, his violence startled me. The creature only gurgled as it reached for him again. The thing’s nails were shredded and filled with grit. This was the most miserable monster I had ever seen.
“Don’t fight it,” I said, but Rook didn’t listen. With a quick sweep of his arm, even more shadows rushed in from every corner and crevice of the garden, covering the Familiar. I listened for the monster’s horrified screams.
Instead, a crowing emerged, repulsive in its delight. When Rook uncovered the Familiar, we found it rolling about on its back, ecstatic as a cat in a beam of sunlight. It crawled on its belly to Rook, grasping at his ankles and licking at his feet.
“Leave me alone!” he bellowed. His face was crimson. God, someone would hear us.
The Familiar got to its knees, and its smoke hood rolled away, revealing a face I instantly recognized. Pale, stringy hair, eyes cruelly sewn shut with a black thread—it was Gwendolyn, Master Agrippa’s daughter. She’d fallen to R’hlem’s influence long ago. Her teeth chattered as she stared mournfully at Rook. Blood tracked down her cheeks like an obscene parody of tears.
“Master,” she whimpered. She leaned forward, putting herself nose to nose with Rook as he crouched down. The fury and hatred fled his face. Gwendolyn held up her hands in a pleading gesture. “The bloody king wants her. Come. Come with me, master. Come.” She tugged at his sleeve the way a child might beg a parent for a sweet. Rook’s disgust dissolved into…tenderness. It was as if some energy existed between the two of them. Shadows bristled and slithered toward the pair.
A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 15
