“Such an obedient servant.” R’hlem stroked Rook’s hair.
All the kindness and strength in Rook’s face had been snuffed out, his body made vacant to allow a monster to crawl inside. R’hlem eased the tension in my jaw so I could speak.
“How could you?” I shrieked. The pain tightened in my wrists as R’hlem turned Rook to face me. The shadow cloak whispered about his body, fluttering open around his chest. A slice of white skin and the inflamed scars that decorated it were on display.
“You can have him, my love. I would not mind.”
R’hlem ceased binding me, then sent his “servant” to help me to my feet. Rook put an arm about my waist to steady me, but there was no familiarity in his touch. To him, I was a stranger.
“I want us all to be a family,” R’hlem soothed.
I ignited in Rook’s arms. He flew backward, baring his fangs. R’hlem sent me to my knees once more in a flash of pain.
“So be it. I’ll have to take you like a common prisoner of war.” His voice was mournful as Rook advanced to gather me up. This was how it would end. I’d been a fool to think I could defeat him.
“William!” The voice echoed in the space. R’hlem whipped about, shocked at hearing his old name.
Mickelmas entered the room, kicking aside bits of glass. He stopped twenty feet from us, hands behind his back.
I tried to scream—Get out, run away!—but my jaw ached. I struggled so hard to open my damned mouth that I nearly passed out.
“You?” R’hlem sounded dumbstruck. The muscles in my body loosened.
“She’s your own flesh and blood.” Sweat glistened on Mickelmas’s face. He was doing his best to mask his terror.
“You lecture me?” R’hlem’s awed whisper began to develop into a powerful roar. “You sent me to hell.” He burst into flame, bright blue fire churning into the air, reflected upon the thousands of pieces of obsidian—it looked as if we were all in hell now. Mickelmas flinched.
With a furious cry, R’hlem shot a fireball at the magician, who dodged it. With a wave of his hand and some shouted words, Mickelmas made all the shards of black glass surge into the air. They formed sharp-winged, dagger-beaked little birds that circled and pecked at R’hlem. While the Skinless Man fought, Mickelmas vanished and reappeared by my side.
But then, with a scream of pain, his whole body went rigid. R’hlem had taken control of him as well. Instantly, the birds crashed to the floor, and R’hlem stormed over and ripped the multicolored coat from Mickelmas’s shoulders. As we watched in horror, R’hlem set the garment ablaze and tossed it to the floor. It burned quickly, reduced to a pile of ashes.
“Let’s see you hop about now.” R’hlem seized Mickelmas by the throat.
To my horror, Mickelmas began to cry. “Punish me, but leave the girl alone. She’s innocent.”
“Of course she is. In time, when she’s by my side and sees all of England spread out at her feet, she will appreciate all I’ve done,” R’hlem rasped. He slammed the older magician to the floor and leaned over him, blood dripping from his face and onto Mickelmas’s cheek. “You know what they did to me.”
“I can see,” Mickelmas gasped.
“Not my beauties, no. The sorcerers. You saw what they did to my brother. To Helen. You kept my girl away from me.” His voice shook with terrible feeling. “The last human piece of me; the final scrap of her mother. You turned that into one of them!” He roared that last word in Mickelmas’s face. “After everything they’ve done to our race, you bow like the servant you are.” There was nothing of the calm bloody king left in R’hlem. Over a decade of misery and blame flooded out of him. “I hate you.”
I’d said the same words in the same way to the same magician. Mickelmas was sobbing now, tears streaming into his gray beard.
My body screamed as I sat up, the pain finally ebbing. R’hlem was so fixated on Mickelmas he’d taken his attention off me. I knew now, beyond any doubt, I could not win against him. I wasn’t strong enough.
There was no way.
“I flayed Charles Blackwood from the top of his scalp to the bottom of his feet.” R’hlem bared his teeth in Mickelmas’s face. “What can I do to you?”
R’hlem made a fist, and Mickelmas howled as the flesh of his left hand began to twitch. With excruciating slowness, the skin tore apart with a dreadful rip. Blood ran down his arm. Mickelmas wailed and pounded his other fist into the floor, but he could do nothing. R’hlem was skinning him alive before my eyes.
“No, please!” I wept, crawling forward. “Please, Father!”
R’hlem paused. Slowly, he brought his arm down. Mickelmas keened, clutching his torn hand to his chest.
Wonderingly, R’hlem said, “Say that again.”
Shaking, I unsheathed Porridge and tossed it to the side. My dagger already lay by his feet. Then, broken, I collapsed and sobbed, “Father, please. I can’t bear it any longer.”
My cries reverberated in the space around us as I buried my face in my hands. My grief—for Dee, Whitechurch, London, Rook—all flooded out in one painful rush. I wept until I couldn’t breathe, until my stomach ached.
I could not fight him. Against such power, victory was impossible.
There was the crunch of a boot on glass, and the sense that someone stood before me. R’hlem knelt, and with a gentle shushing sound took my hands from my face. That metallic tang of magic all about him eased as he helped me stand.
“There, now.” He plucked a surprisingly unbloodied handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped my eyes.
“Please just let him go,” I whimpered, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. He pressed me to his chest. The damp, cold feel of bloody silk met my cheek, but I didn’t flinch. He passed a gloved hand over my hair.
Despite everything, I let myself be folded against him. R’hlem rested his chin on top of my head, and then whispered, “Helena. Darling, I have her.”
I trembled at those words. And even with all this horror, for that moment, I let myself feel safe. I returned his embrace. With my eyes closed, I could picture us as we should have been: in a house in Devon, me at his knee growing up, him holding me when I cried. Fathers were supposed to keep your nightmares at bay. I let him wrap me in his protection, listened to him whisper my mother’s name, and cried. He hushed me, soothed me, stroked my hair.
“There, now. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling away and touching my cheek. His one eye shimmered with unshed tears. Here was the spark of goodness I had prayed for. Love revealed the man behind the monster’s facade. I trembled to see it. “Can you forgive me?”
“If you’ll forgive me.”
I made the one small dagger—the tiniest, most insignificant one I’d taken from Ralph Strangewayes’s house—shoot out of its wrist sheath and into my hand.
My father could not be defeated by strength of arms. His goodness, his love, was my only weapon against him.
I plunged the blade deep into his heart.
R’hlem went to the floor, and I went with him. I gripped the back of his neck, feeling every pulse and twitch of his muscle. He looked at me, shocked, as if trying to understand. Blood spurted onto the front of my gown as I fumbled with the blade’s handle. Ripping it out, I prepared to drive it once more into his body…but the betrayal burning in his eye paralyzed me.
I stabbed my father in his heart. The blade slipped from my hand, my fingers too numb to grip properly. No matter how much I saw the beast in front of me, I also saw the man.
R’hlem roared, the sound shaking the cathedral to its very foundation.
Shadow overwhelmed me, plunging me into pitch black between one heartbeat and the next. Rook threw me to the floor and straddled me, his knees pressing into my sides. One clawed hand to my throat, his lips pulled back to reveal wicked fangs. Lunging forward, he sank those sharp teeth into my shoulder.
Pain shredded muscle and bone. Darkness poured into me like the ocean crammed inside a thimble.
My vision f
ailed, my screams becoming unnaturally thin. A void seemed to rupture in the air above me. If I looked into it, I would forget my name, my past, my friends, everything….
No. I fought against the void and lit myself on fire. Rook was engulfed as well, and he sprang away from me.
My whole body was warm and wet with blood; my shoulder gushed. The pain. A thousand hot needles jabbed into my flesh; a continuous river of acid flowed through my veins.
Rook threw his arms over his face and howled at my fire. I could now make out threads of black twisting in the blue flame. Why? Why should that be? With one last effort, I burned as brightly as I could.
Screeching, Rook flew to R’hlem and brought me back into the daylight. I lay there, every breath I drew like fire in my lungs.
Mickelmas, his hand still bleeding profusely, circled R’hlem. My father struggled to rise, slipping in his own blood. I’d done that to him.
Gore dripping from his fingers, he reached into the air. “Come! Korozoth!”
Rook swallowed his master in a flurry of shadowy wings and robes and dissolved them both like smoke on the wind. Mickelmas and I were alone.
The magician struggled for breath. “I brought this upon us all.” It sounded like a revelation. “And my coat. My beautiful coat.” He gazed mournfully upon the pile of ashes.
When I tried to sit up, the pain sank its claws deeper into me. My vision fractured—somewhere, as if from a distance, I heard my screams. Mickelmas was at my side, whispering words in my ear. As if by a miracle, the pain abated. It still had a tooth in me, but only one.
“It’ll keep you from bleeding to death,” he whispered as he hoisted me to my feet. I was a ghost, surely, floating over the floor and out into the courtyard. Soon we slumped against each other outside the palace doors, surveying the damage of the city streets. Smoke still shrouded the landscape.
“What happens now?” I croaked. My legs gave out, and Mickelmas gently sat with me. I pressed my face into his velvet sleeve.
“We’ll see if the Ancients follow their master. Perhaps they’ll remain and hold the city for when—if—he returns.”
If I’d silenced R’hlem’s mind forever…I didn’t know how to feel about it. I had not paused to exploit his weakness. The man in my father had given birth to the monster in me.
Mickelmas hissed in pain, clutching his hand. “The time has come for me to atone.”
“What do you mean?” The pulsing agony was abating moment by moment; his spell had done its job. Gingerly, I wiped at some of the drying blood on his face.
“I hid for years when I should have gone hunting for the answer to our problem. Now would be the time to get started.” He squeezed my good shoulder. “I’m giving you the Army of the Burning Rose. My little magicians need someone to look to for strength.” He touched my head in the manner of a blessing. “God forbid, if R’hlem survives…” Neither of us wanted to dwell on that possibility. Mickelmas sniffed. “I know you can’t forgive what I’ve done,” he muttered.
Forgive me. I would not make the same mistake as I had with Agrippa. Though I couldn’t put my arms around the magician, I patted his hand.
“Once we finish this war, I’ll have years ahead to badger you about it,” I whispered.
“You always were a smart-mouthed creature.” Mickelmas frowned. “God, that injury. Stay here—no, don’t stand up!”
But the world had gone hazy once more. The queen. I should find her, wherever she was, and make certain she was safe. But my vision split as I dragged myself to my feet, over Mickelmas’s protests.
I didn’t remember falling.
—
“WAKE UP.” A WET CLOTH SOOTHED my brow, and hands lifted my head. “Drink.”
I spluttered at the hot liquid rushing down my throat, which tasted like butter and basil and wet leaves. My eyes opened. Light stabbed me through the brain, but the blurred image of the person above me came into focus.
Maria. Her hair was plaited down her back, and the circles under her eyes indicated she’d spent a sleepless night. Sitting up, the world scattered a moment, but with a few more sips of her drink I could see clearly. My shoulder, now covered in gauze, throbbed like an impatient reminder.
We were in one of the palace’s rooms, though the fine furniture had been removed and the elegant rugs rolled up. Several pallets and cots had been laid out about the place. Paintings had been taken down, leaving obvious squares on the wall where they had been. Through the window, I caught a glimpse of two men on patrol, staves in hand.
The Order hadn’t been completely demolished, then.
“How long have I been asleep?” My voice sounded like it belonged to an old, weary woman.
“Two days, miss.” Lilly sat beside me, rinsing out a cloth in some cool water. Her strawberry-blond hair had come thoroughly undone, and her face was smudged, but her hands were steady as ever as she put the cloth to the back of my neck.
To Maria, I said, “Dee?”
“He’s survived, but I’m making him sleep.” She lowered her eyes. “He’ll need to adjust.”
Lilly made a noise as she wrung out the cloth.
“And the others?” My heart beat faster. “The queen?”
Maria counted on her fingers. “Her Majesty’s safe.” She nodded to the sorcerers by the window. “The monsters are moving out, but slowly. The Order’s had to set up shields all around the palace until they decide what to do.”
“What about the citizens? How many of them are here?” I asked. At that, Maria and Lilly shared a brief glance.
“Don’t worry about that now,” Maria said, putting her cup to my lips. “This’ll manage your pain for a bit, though we’ll have to think of something more permanent.”
“Permanent?” I didn’t understand. If this wound wouldn’t kill me…
“Rook bit you.” Maria didn’t make that a question. “He’s an Ancient now, of a sort.” Her gaze met mine, kind but honest. Always honest. “You’re Unclean.”
My thoughts went quiet. Gently, I touched the gauze, pain murmuring beneath my skin. I knew what that meant. Sneers and looks of revulsion as you passed, the world treating you as though you were invisible, or the devil himself. Absorbed by the pain until you were a mere vessel for the monster that marked you. Rook—the thing that had been Rook—was my master now.
“Does the queen know?” I finally managed.
“Aye. She knows, and so does—”
The door slammed open, and Magnus exploded into the room. God, it really was him. He was a sight, covered in dirt, his auburn hair gray with ash. His coat was gone, his shirt torn, but he looked elated as he fell beside me. A long, ugly gash snaked over his forehead, and his face was puffed and yellowed with older bruises, but he was alive. Though soot rained down upon me, I didn’t mind. I clasped his arm, noted how the dirt on his face was lined from tears.
“You bloody genius. How the devil did you manage it?” His gaze lit on my shoulder. “Does it still hurt? How badly?”
“Which question do you want answered first?” I smiled up at him.
“So, aye, this one knows.” Maria slapped at Magnus, forcing him off. “Lord Blackwood as well.”
“He’s alive? Thank God.”
“More than that,” Lilly said, but was cut short. The doors opened again, and two sorcerers outfitted in red soldier’s livery entered.
“She’s awake,” one of them said, eyeing me. I could not read his expression. “The Imperator wishes to see her.”
“She needs rest,” Maria argued, but they did not listen. Imperator? So Her Majesty had appointed one. Likely a Master, or perhaps a squadron captain.
The Imperator entered and stood before me.
It was Blackwood.
He was unharmed and surprisingly clean. Somehow in all this madness, he’d found a pristine white shirt and an unsoiled jacket. His black hair shone in the sharp square of sunlight coming through the window. The contrast between Magnus and him was incredible. In the middle of a ravag
ed city, Blackwood looked better, healthier, than ever before.
And he was the Imperator of all English magic? A boy of seventeen who hadn’t even had time to test for the rank of sorcerer Master?
“How?” My throat was dry, and Lilly gave me some more water.
“May we have privacy, please?” Already, he sounded in control. The others obeyed him at once, even a grumbling Magnus. After all, he could not disobey his Imperator. Moments later, we were alone, watching each other, as though calculating how to move. His gaze homed in on my bandaged shoulder.
“I’m Unclean,” I said.
“Yes.” It was a breath, so soft I nearly missed it. His lips formed a thin, tense line. “What happened?”
“I put a knife into R’hlem’s heart.” It sounded so simple that I began to giggle uncontrollably. Giggling turned to hiccuping, which in turn bordered on tears. I swallowed more water as Blackwood processed what I’d said.
“How?”
I didn’t have the strength for the whole story. “I found an opportunity. He summoned Rook, and Rook bit me.” Even mention of his name made the pain in my shoulder flare. “Then I fainted. What happened to you once—”
“Once you abandoned me?” He didn’t sound angry, though. More like he was trying to puzzle me out. “I fell in with a squadron near St. Paul’s. We had a devil of a time. Our losses have been…extensive.”
Here, he looked over the empty cots, the blank spaces on the walls where art had previously hung.
“Every man in those Fae tunnels was lost,” he said. “Half the sorcerers who remained in London are also gone.”
Most of the men I saw daily, gone within hours. My stomach felt leaden.
“How many of us are left?”
Blackwood flinched. “Able-bodied men? No more than five hundred.”
That was a blow beyond any I could have imagined. “Only five hundred left in London?” I whispered.
“You misunderstand.” He looked to the ceiling, as if reading his lines off it. “The Ancients and Familiars took full advantage of the Faerie roads, striking every city and town with a strong sorcerer presence. There are five hundred commended sorcerers left in the whole of England.”
A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 29
