“You’ve risked so much already,” I said, stunned.
“For you, and for Rook, and for my friends, I’d risk everything. But for the Order?” She spit on the ground. Blackwood rose angrily. Waving him down, I approached Maria with care.
“Please.” Maria watched me, her brown eyes wary. “Forget the Order. What of England?”
“England’s done nothing for me.” She balled her fists. Beneath us, the earth shifted in response to her passion.
I sank to my knees, to Maria’s bewilderment.
“What are you doing?”
Taking her hand once more, I bowed my head. When I was a child, Rook and I had played at something like this, acting a scene from the Arthurian tales. A knight knelt at the king’s feet, pledging his loyalty and service. My desperation resonated through my body and into hers. I could sense it.
“I am at your service, now and always. I’ll fight for you, die for you if need be. From this day forward, I swear no one will harm you.”
Maria watched me, wearing a stunned expression. I’d no right to ask this, but I would, because she was stronger than I. From the moment we had met, she was the stronger, the better, the kinder, the wiser person, and England needed her. And while I was not much, I was a servant of England, now and always. “How do you think the Order will feel when a witch is their champion?” That gave her pause. I pressed one final time. “Show the sorcerers the full horror of what they did.”
Maria turned and walked away up the beach, hair whipping about as she gazed out to where the sea and sky met on the horizon. Behind me, the boys remained still and watchful.
Maria came back to us. “Someone must stop that bastard R’hlem.” She gave a tight smile. “Might as well help.”
I wanted to sob as relief and exhaustion swept over me. Maria helped me up while Blackwood tromped over to us.
“Very well. If you’re truly the one prophesied, your timing is perfect.” He looked north. “We’ve got to get to London.”
“What about Dee?” Magnus was doing his best to comfort the boy as he moaned in pain. God, he’d be awake soon, and then his agony would truly begin. “We can’t leave him.”
“We can’t help him.” Blackwood winced but continued. “We need to get to town—”
“And what? Warn people?” Magnus shouted, his eyes red and wild. “The place has probably been under siege for hours by now!”
“We will go and fight,” Blackwood said, every word precise and clean. “That is our duty.”
“To leave a fellow sorcerer to die?” Magnus snapped.
Blackwood glared. “Don’t force me to say these things. His body is broken.” Here, he quieted, in case Dee should hear. “He can’t handle a stave anymore. What can be the good—”
“The good of saving a friend?” Magnus boomed, moving toward Blackwood until they were practically nose to nose. Dee shifted, groaning in pain. Blackwood relented somewhat.
“Howel, stay with Magnus and see that Dee is comfortable until…” Blackwood didn’t finish. “Maria and I will go—”
“No. I can heal him.” Maria returned to Dee’s side, helping Magnus adjust his body. “We can manage.”
“If you are the chosen one, this cannot wait!” Blackwood barked, all but throwing his stave to the ground in frustration. But Maria was right: without her, Dee would die. The capital might collapse, yes, but Dee would be gone. And if Maria was our chosen one, rushing her unprepared into the most brutal kind of danger might be foolish.
“This is our plan.” I interrupted them all. “Maria, you and Magnus stay until Dee is stable, then come to us. Blackwood, we’re going.” I prepared myself for flight, but Blackwood snagged my arm.
“You don’t have the authority!” he cried.
“Neither do you.” Summoning the wind, I lifted unsteadily onto a cushion of air. Magnus ran over.
“Stay,” he said. Unlike Blackwood, he didn’t make it an order. “If R’hlem captures you, God knows what he’ll do.”
I imagined that I knew. A chill walked down my spine, but I was resolved.
Maria understood, because she said, “Let her go. We’ll meet again in London.” Then she returned her attention to Dee. Magnus and Blackwood started arguing; to save us all time, I took off.
I flew half a mile before I had to rest, and drifted to the ground. Kneeling, I waited for Blackwood to land beside me.
“We find our chosen one, yet somehow you’re the one who faces R’hlem.” He sighed. “Why is that?”
“I’ll tell you if we survive.” Before he could ask more questions, I harnessed the wind once more. He caught up and did not speak again until we’d reached the outskirts of London.
We landed by the river, while across from us clouds of dust and smoke stained the sky. Bells tolled at random, like the screams of madmen. Even from this distance, I could see the flicker of orange light as buildings burned.
London was on fire. The Ancients had come to town.
Ash covered the streets like a sinister snow as we walked through what had once been Whitechapel. Blackwood and I followed the shouts for help and the distant, bestial cries. Figures darted out of the clouds of rubble, racing for the river. The men and women and children who ran didn’t even glance at us as we calmly made our way deeper into the city. Before too long, we’d gone up Fish Street to the Monument, a column memorializing the Great Fire of London. High above us, the fat black shape of On-Tez the Vulture Lady landed atop the pillar, spread her wings, and cawed.
Fitting.
God only knew how long the Ancients had been here. Blackwood had kept close to me since we landed, his arm before me like a shield. I would have told him off, but as we turned onto Monument Street, we stumbled upon a collection of bodies. There must have been thirty of them all told, rich and poor together. Familiars knelt over the dead and gorged themselves, tearing flesh in leathery strips.
From the scaled appearance of their skin and the clawed hands that sliced open the corpses to get at the more tender organs, I could tell these Familiars were Zem’s. One looked up, its serpentine eyes frenzied with bloodlust. It wiped a sleeved arm across its gory mouth, a chillingly human action.
When the creature charged, I summoned as much water as possible from the ground beneath and created a long, sharp blade of ice. Together, Blackwood and I shot it right through the lizard’s heart. The thing took two jerking steps and fell over, the ice dissolving quickly as the thing’s fiery blood ate at it.
Blackwood ripped stones from the street and formed a cage around the other two lizards. Inside, we could hear them pounding and bellowing; they began to breathe fire, turning the stones to powder.
R’hlem was here. I knew it in my bones. I had to find him, wherever he might be, but every time I moved so much as a foot away from Blackwood, he shadowed me. There was no way in hell he’d let me go alone.
My moment to run came when a stampede of people erupted out of the haze of dust and blood. Forty or fifty people pounded up the street toward us—they’d seen our magic and were clamoring for help. A woman with a ripped gown and a bloodied forehead stumbled sobbing into Blackwood. As the crowd swallowed him, I stole away into the darkening streets. Blackwood shouted my name but couldn’t immediately follow without hurting someone.
It was cruel to leave him like that, but it would be crueler still to take him with me. My hands gripped Porridge on one hip, the hilt of the dagger on the other. I wished to hell and back I had that bone whistle.
Coughing, I quickly made my way through the streets, stopping dead when I heard a man’s scream. Dimly, I spotted a louse Familiar attacking someone on the ground as the man cried out for help.
“Get off!” I threw warded force, knocking the creature onto its back. Its bright green underbelly flashed and its legs writhed as it tried to right itself. Grabbing the dagger from my belt, I plunged the blade into the monster’s chest. Black blood coated my hand, warm and thick as tar. The beast curled its legs into itself and died. Wiping
my hand on my skirt, I went to help the gentleman on the ground. “You’re all right now, sir.”
“Late, as always,” Mickelmas said, taking my offered hand and getting to his feet. He smoothed his impossibly messy hair. “Impeccable timing to save my life, though. Your army seems to have got away from me.” He looked about, as if they might be hiding in an alley.
“What, all nine of them?” My astonishment gave way to anger. Even with England falling down about our ears, the sight of him made me want to scream.
“Ten, now. At least, there are ten if Shanley made it. I lost track of him when Molochoron attacked.” He shuddered, tugging at his coat. “Poor bastard.”
“The army probably ran, if I know anything about magicians.” I shoved past him.
“Well, I don’t think your darling father is running, chickpea. Certain you’d like him as a role model?” Mickelmas stalked beside me, kicking away bits of debris and a dented pail.
“Go to hell.” I walked faster.
“Very winning argument,” he called as I pulled ahead. “Speaking of dear Papa, I imagine you’d like to find him?”
I slowed. “Do you know where he is?”
“Buckingham Palace, I shouldn’t wonder. Fortunately, Her Majesty has an awful lot of rooms to destroy. He’ll be so preoccupied she might even escape.”
I knew that the queen had a plan in place in case of attack, so secret only her closest advisors knew where she’d be. But R’hlem wouldn’t stop hunting her, and his patience was great—he’d find her eventually. “Then I need to go to the palace.” Straightening my shoulders, I pressed on.
“You could walk. Or?” Mickelmas dodged in front of me, holding out his arms. Much as I hated him, I’d be an idiot to ignore the offer. Grudgingly, I let him wrap me in his coat. One heartbeat later we stood before the palace.
The iron gates had been pulled down, the bars twisted and discarded like pieces of straw. Bodies of red-liveried guards had been left to rot in the open. Some of their faces resembled raw meat; R’hlem had skinned them where they stood. Black flies dotted the corpses. Shuddering, I barreled toward the entrance.
“Come on, then,” I called, but Mickelmas stayed put. “The queen needs us.”
“I’m afraid I have to get back to it.” Mickelmas didn’t even attempt to look ashamed. “I, er, don’t think he’d be terribly pleased to see me.”
I’d no energy to argue.
“Goodbye, then,” I said. What more could I expect?
He vanished, and I hurried to the entrance. The doors had been smashed open, allowing me easy access.
God, I could feel him here. The tension in my stomach would not ease, like a tightening thread tied to my gut, pulling me along now-deserted corridors and out into the courtyard.
Of course R’hlem would go to the obsidian cathedral. I should have known.
His power settled on my skin like a fine dust, something both foreign and intensely familiar about it. Both sensations were equally horrifying.
Boom. Boom. Boom. I followed the sound, the growing sense of his magic a bad taste in my mouth, and entered the cathedral.
R’hlem stood atop the dais, studying his reflection in the walls. He’d worn clothes again, an impressive suit of rich green and brown. Fire burst from his hands and flooded the room. Shards of black volcanic glass rained onto the floor. The glass crunched beneath his boots as he ambled to the elemental pit. Muttering a few words, he created a fireball so powerful that it smashed the sacred thing, destroying it thoroughly. It felt like the deepest kind of profanity. R’hlem kicked shards of the ruined glass.
His laughter grew, and my stomach turned to hear it.
“Pardon me!” I shouted.
R’hlem turned, one hand raised and ready for attack. When he recognized me, he lowered his arm.
“Henrietta?” His eye widened in shock. “The devil are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Mab?” It was such an ordinary way to respond, as if he were scolding me.
Here in the world outside the astral plane, he was not quite as I’d thought he would be. He was tall, yes, but not a giant. The bloodiness of his face was not a bright crimson but a duller red, like raw meat left out upon a table. When he spoke, the tendons of his neck stretched, the sight more grotesque than I’d have thought. A fly circled overhead, buzzing as it landed upon the side of his face. He waved it off without thinking, like it was a daily occurrence.
“Surrender now,” I said, my voice echoing. Foolish words, of course, but I needed to keep him off guard.
“I beg pardon?” He chuckled, as though I’d said something precocious.
“Surrender, or you’ll be forced.”
“And who, might I ask, will force me?” A smile tugged at his fleshless lips. Taking Porridge in hand, I steadied myself.
“I will,” I said, and attacked.
I bowled him over with the wind. Good, but I knew he wouldn’t let himself be caught off guard like that again. I spun Porridge overhead, attempting to transform the current of wind into a cyclone, but my arm erupted in pain as if the blood inside my body were rebelling. Screaming, I dropped my stave. An instant later the agony had vanished, leaving me to cradle my arm as R’hlem approached.
“This is not what I wanted from our first true meeting, my love.” He sounded bitter.
When I covered him in flame, the fire washed over his body harmlessly. Damn it to hell, his abilities were like mine; of course fire would not hurt him. With a nod of his head, the muscles in my back and arms tightened, locking me into place once more. I toppled over, then felt my body mercifully relax as he released me. R’hlem merely waited for me to grab Porridge and get to my feet. He was indulging me.
He held up his hand. “I don’t want to fight you. Why do you think I waited all these months to attack London in full force? I had to be certain you were out of harm’s way. Please, don’t make me hurt you now, after all this.”
Attack in a way he won’t expect. I snared one of Mickelmas’s spells in my mind, willing the shards of obsidian glass to form a hand and pin him down. But I’d misjudged how differently this would work with glass instead of earth. The shards splintered into tinier pieces, yes, but did nothing else.
“That wasn’t pure sorcery, was it?” R’hlem came closer still. “Mickelmas trained you in our ways.” His eye narrowed. “I should thank him for giving you some proper instruction.”
Attacking would only make me appear more foolish. R’hlem came closer and sighed in frustration as I retreated.
“My darling, all I want is to talk,” he said. In response, I burst into flame. It would do nothing, but it sent the message that I didn’t want him to touch me. Rather than grow irritated, he crouched on the balls of his feet and looked me over, as though he was appraising me.
“You’ve better control than I did at your age.” He sounded like a doting father whose child has taken its first step. “If your mother could only see this.” Hearing him speak of my mother made me blind with fury.
“She’d kill herself if she could see what you’ve become.”
He paced around me. For the first time, something I’d done wounded him.
“It’s a cruel blow of fate that you don’t resemble her in the slightest.” His gaze gentled. “But I do glimpse her defiance in you.” He took off his coat, dropping it to the floor. Blood stained the loose sleeves of his shirt like some garish design. “I want to see more of what you can do.” He held out his hands, beckoning. “Attack.”
He was playing with me.
With a sweep of my arm, I sent the jagged shards of glass flying. He melted them with his fire and shook his head, disappointed.
“Your magician abilities aren’t terribly strong. You’re hampered by that thing.” He glared at Porridge. I hugged the stave to my chest. “You’ve nothing to fear. I know your life depends on it.” He sneered. “But I will burn them all for chaining you so.”
Conjuring up an old spell of Mickelmas’s, I twisted Porridge at my heart and cre
ated three perfect illusions of myself to surround my father. Hoping to distract him enough to land a blow, I attacked…and skidded to a halt as dozens of bloodied, flayed men surrounded me, every one wearing that smug grin. Tripping on my damned skirt, I turned smack into the real him. He looked down on me—he was quite tall—but allowed me to dodge away up the stairs. I made it to the second level and stopped, my chest heaving.
“Nicely done,” he said. “But there is no trick you can perform that I cannot match. Once you’re with me, I’ll teach you better techniques.”
I would not go anywhere with him. With a shout, I slashed Porridge through the air, throwing pulse after pulse of warded force. He batted the blows away easily but was distracted enough for me to rush down and slash at him with my dagger. He growled, putting out his hand. My body froze once more, and I tipped over. My head struck the floor, the world around me rippling. While I lay there, dazed, R’hlem squeezed his hand into a fist.
Every muscle in my arm jumped in agony. I howled, the sound trapped in my clenched jaw. He kicked my dagger away.
“That’s a weapon from Strangewayes’s, isn’t it? Unfortunately, you’ll find they have little effect on me. I was reborn in the Ancients’ world, my angel, not born. I am a mere imitation of my beautiful monsters.” He sneered again. “Just as you are a pale approximation of a sorcerer.” He jerked his hand; I was sure my muscles would shred. Anything. Do anything he wants, only if he’ll make it stop! I whined deep in my throat. He relaxed my body, but only slightly. “I wanted you to join me willingly.” He sounded so remorseful. “But if I must hurt you to save you, I will.”
The invisible force gripping me could not be budged. R’hlem raised his hands and shouted in some, unknown guttural language. But I recognized one word: Korozoth.
A shadow swelled by R’hlem’s feet. Slowly, a body rose up from that shapeless pool, darkness flowing like drapery from his shoulders.
I recognized the flash of pale yellow hair, the gentle profile that had hardened and grown bestial. Fangs jutted over the soft lower lip. Fingers were tipped with elongated talons. Rook knelt before R’hlem’s feet and bowed his head.
A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 28
