by Keri Arthur
“How long am I likely to be held in this place, Treace?”
Her smile grew. “I was wondering when we’d get to that question. It’s usually the first one I’m asked.”
“And do you have an answer in this particular instance?”
“Not really. Not until Mace appears to examine your wounds, and he’s currently up with the Rossi woman.” She dumped the washcloth back into the water and grabbed a towel. “But your leg has healed rather nicely and I’m thinking it’ll be sooner rather than later.”
She began drying me off. It was a rough caress that had shivers of delight running through me. Which again was decidedly odd, because I wasn’t normally that sensitive to touch, especially when it involved someone I wasn’t physically attracted to. Maybe it was just a hangover from near death—a renewed appreciation of life and everything it involved.
There was a soft knock on the door at the far end of the room, then it opened slightly and another woman poked her head through the gap. “Lord Kiro wants to interview our Nightwatch officer, if she’s feeling up to it.”
Treace glanced at me. “Are you?”
“That depends on who Lord Kiro is.”
Her smile remained in place, but her eyes told a different story. Lord Kiro was someone she was uncertain—maybe even afraid—of. “The Rossi clan sent him here to confirm Saska’s identity. Apparently she’s been missing for nigh on twelve years now.”
Meaning he was from the Rossi clan? “Why does he want to talk to me? I don’t know her—I just rescued her.”
Treace shrugged. “I’ll send him away if you wish.”
I hesitated and then shook my head. “It will only delay the inevitable. But I’d like something to eat once he’s gone, if that can be arranged.”
“It surely can.” She pulled the bedsheet back over my body, and then nodded an acceptance at the other woman before heading out the door to my right.
I pushed up into a sitting position and tugged the sheet up over my breasts. While nudity didn’t faze me, I’d heard those of earth and air were a whole lot less comfortable in their skin than the Nightwatch tended to be. Of course, we lived in cramped quarters and shared bathing facilities, while those who lived in either the Upper or Lower Reaches not only had the benefit of their own huge dwellings, but also privacy and the ability to be alone when not on duty.
While I waited for Lord Kiro to appear, I glanced down at my left arm. It, like my left cheek, my right hip, leg, and the entirety of my foot, was stained, but the leathery skin looked lavender in the half-light of the hospital. It was an unwanted legacy of the past and the war, when the Irkallan had not only overrun all the villages and farms that had once dotted Tenterra, but had also raped those who’d survived the slaughter, be they men, women, or children. Those of us who carried this unwanted reminder of that time were no longer outcast or looked upon with revulsion—for the most part—but because we were also rarely gifted with any ability in magic, few considered us to be ideal partners. Even those who were totally ungifted—the blacksmiths, bakers, builders, even the Nightwatch with whom I lived—would not consider undertaking the committal ceremony with someone such as me. It was a fact I’d long ago accepted, even if in the deeper recesses of night and dreams I sometimes ached for more.
The stain actually looked quite pretty in this light, but it was somewhat spoiled by the scar that now ran from my knuckles to my elbow. Although it would fade with time, it was currently an ugly, ragged pink line that spoke of death’s closeness. But I guessed I was lucky that two scars and a reconstructed digit was all I’d come away with. It could have been a whole lot worse.
The door down the far end of the room opened and a tall, silver-haired gentleman stepped through. Despite the fact he looked to be well past his fifties—maybe even his sixties—his power rode before him like a wave and sent electricity racing across my skin, making it jump and itch. But it wasn’t the power of the air and the storms; it wasn’t even the power of the earth. It was deeper—and more personal—than that.
I resisted the urge to scratch and watched him warily. He was dressed in black from head to toe, and it was a color that suited him, for it emphasized both the strength of his body and the fierceness of his power—a power that both appealed and repelled, all at the same time.
“Neve March, we owe you a great debt.” He snagged a chair, dragged it up to my bed, and sat down.
I resisted the ridiculous urge to edge away from him and forced a smile. “I was only doing my job.”
“I don’t think there are many who would act as you did.” He paused, his gaze sweeping me, lingering briefly on the stains that were on show. “I don’t think there are many who could.”
I frowned at the odd emphasis he placed on “could.” “All Nightwatch are trained the same. I did nothing more than what was expected of me.”
“Perhaps.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. I had a vague feeling he was somehow here to judge me, but why that would be the case I had no idea.
“Tell me about finding Saska and how the two of you managed to survive the Adlin.”
My frown deepened. “Surely she’s already done that?”
“Her version is decidedly sketchy on details.”
“She was semi-unconscious for much of it,” I replied. “But it thankfully didn’t stop her from raising the wind. We’d be dead if not for that.”
“Indeed.”
While there was nothing in his tone or his expression that suggested disbelief, it nevertheless wrapped around me like a glove—a glove that felt like silk and steel combined, and one that had goose bumps skittering across my skin. It wasn’t all fear—far from it. But I didn’t dare acknowledge what the rest of it was, because to do so would give it power. And it was a power, the wind whispered, he would not hesitate to use.
“Please,” he continued, “I’d really like to hear your version of events.”
I studied him for a second, a deep sense of unease growing. Something was going on, something I didn’t understand and couldn’t immediately fight. But I obeyed, only omitting my part in the wind’s actions.
By the time I’d finished, he was leaning forward, his arms resting on the edge of the bed close to my hip, as if drawn there by anticipation of the story’s end. Yet I was no storyteller and he already knew how this particular tale ended.
“That is all quite extraordinary,” he said. “Saska’s powers have certainly grown in the twelve years of her absence.”
His tone suggested that should not have been the case. “Has she remembered where she’s been in that time?”
A glimmer of amusement appeared in his pale eyes; he knew a redirect when he heard one. “No. Nor can she remember who the father of her child might be or how she came to be in possession of an Adlin beacon. It’s a puzzle, and one her husband will undoubtedly desire an answer to.”
If Saska was committed, then she must have gone through the ceremony as soon as she’d come of age, as she appeared to be no older than me.
“I gather a full scan has been run on her?”
He smiled, knowing full well what I was actually asking. “Of course.”
His tone suggested it was the first thing they’d done, and surely meant the babe wasn’t Adlin.
“Who fathered her son is of no real consequence, of course,” he continued. “Not if he is born into magic.”
Because, in the end, the capacity for magic—be it earth, air, or personal—mattered more than bloodlines or relationships. It was the reason why so many of the children born into ruling families had Sifft blood but possessed no magic. In the past, they’d erroneously believed that shifting was a form of magic, when it was nothing more than complex DNA coding.
“Is her husband coming here to escort her back to Winterborne?”
“That task has been conferred to me.” He shifted back in the chair, but one hand brushed my hip as he did so. Despite the sheet that lay between my skin and his, awareness surged and pleasure rush
ed through me again.
Why on earth was I in such a hyper state? Why was this weird, unwanted rush of desire even happening, first with the older woman and now with this man—a man who was obviously here for reasons other than what he’d stated?
He was still watching me far too closely and I had a vague feeling he was very aware of my sensitive state. Which, erect nipples aside, should not have been the case. He wasn’t Sifft, and shouldn’t have been able to scent desire.
“Whose idea was it to dig an earth shelter?” he asked, after a moment.
“Mine.” I paused, feeling rather like a wildebeest caught in a powerful spotlight, knowing trouble was coming but unable to see or move past the glare of the lights. “Why?”
“Because while air witches can control wind and weather for as long as their strength holds out, the earth is not theirs to command.”
I frowned. “But she didn’t command the earth. She merely asked the wind to cut into it.”
“Even that should not have been possible. Earth and air are two completely different elements and a witch who controls one cannot impact the other.”
I shrugged, trying to ignore the confusion within as much as the questions that rose at his statement. “Maybe the wind sensed her desperation.”
“Maybe.” He studied me for a moment then pushed to his feet and held out a hand. “I would like to officially thank you on behalf of the Rossi clan.”
I hesitated, not wanting to touch him but knowing he’d consider it offensive if I didn’t. But the minute my fingers were encased in his, energy surged, a wave of heat that prickled across my skin like desire and yet had a far darker purpose. Lord Kiro might possess a very powerful and seductive type of personal magic, but he was also a reader—someone who had the ability to touch the flesh of another and draw out his or her innermost secrets.
I had no secrets—nothing other than a tiny fraction of magical ability I wasn’t supposed to possess. And as far as I knew, readers weren’t capable of uncovering such information—that was the job of auditors.
“Believe me,” I said, keeping my voice even. “No thanks are required.”
“Many would disagree.” He frowned down at our hands, as if confused, then said, “Saska would like to see you when you feel up to it. Tonight, if possible, but certainly before we leave tomorrow.”
Because of course a common Nightwatch officer would not be transported in the same vehicle as those from a ruling house—even if said Nightwatch officer had saved one of their asses. I pulled my hand from his and said, “Sure. I’m just waiting on dinner now, but maybe afterward?”
“I’ll let her know.” He gave me a half bow, then turned and strode from the room.
But the tension that rode me didn’t leave, even after he’d well and truly departed. Something was happening, something over which I had no control and no understanding. Something that involved that man, Saska, and perhaps even the ability I wasn’t supposed to have.
Restless and uneasy, I flicked off the sheet and swung my feet off the bed. The scar on my leg was as puckered and ugly as the one on my arm, though at least it was no larger than a babe’s fist. I eased down onto my left leg then carefully switched my weight to my right. A niggle of pain ran across my nerve endings, but the leg seemed to hold up. I took a step, then when nothing happened, walked over to the window and looked out.
Just in time to see a huge ball of flame arc over Blacklake’s curtain wall and smash down into the courtyard.
3
Almost immediately a high-pitched wail cut through the silence and made the hair on my arms stand on end.
It was the attack alarm.
I spun and ran back to the locker at the base of my bed. Saska’s bracelets and all my weapons were inside, but my clothes weren’t; instead, there was the brown uniform of a Blacklake officer. I guessed mine had been too damaged to repair. I hastily dressed, then clipped on my utilities belt, weapons, and knife.
“Whoa there, young lady,” Treace said as she stepped back into the room. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“We’re under attack—”
“Yes, and our people can handle it. You can come with me to the raid shelter—”
“Sorry, but I can’t.” I grabbed one of the meat patties from the tray she was carrying. “I’ll eat the rest of that later.”
I raised the patty in salute then ran out into the hallway, eating it as I paused to get my bearings. I had no idea how this place was laid out, but to find the curtain wall all I had to do was listen for the sound of fighting—and that was coming from the right.
I spun and ran down the hall, weaving my way through the men, women, and children going in the opposite direction. The doors opened as I approached and I paused again, my gaze sweeping the courtyard ahead. The hospital appeared to be situated against the inner bailey wall, and just in front of a massive but empty moat. Between it and the main curtain wall lay the outer yard, much of which was currently on fire. To my left, there were steps leading up to the barracks, under which lay machinery sheds. To the right, what looked like workhouses, kitchens, and a mess hall. Directly in front of me was the great tower, a massive metal construction that was undoubtedly the command center. If I wanted to join the fight, I’d better head there and ask for a station. To do anything else was not only disrespectful to the Blacklake battalion, but also dangerous.
I spun left and ran for the drawbridge. There were several men stationed near it, ready to draw it up should the outer wall be breached—but it wouldn’t be, surely. While an Adlin’s claws might be able to pierce stone as easily as flesh, the metal used on these walls—like the metal used at Winterborne—was slick and thick, and impervious to anything the Adlin or even the Irkallan might throw at it.
A soft whistling had me looking up. A ball of fire the size of a head was coming straight at me. I threw up my hand, as if to ward off the heat of it, and called on the wind to divert it. She answered surprisingly fast, gusting briefly but fiercely, changing the course of the flaming ball just enough to smash it into the ground several feet away. Fire chased my heels as I raced across the yard and then into the great tower. Surprisingly, there were no guards there. I gripped the metal railing and began to climb, my footsteps echoing in the vast, shadowed space.
From up above, a voice said, “Who goes there?”
“Neve March, Nightwatch officer, seeking permission to join the fight.”
There was a pause, then, “Permission granted to come up.”
Which was not permission to join the fight, but better than being sent packing to the raid shelter. I raced up the remaining two flights and came to a large landing area. Several heavily armed men were on watch here; only one of them acknowledged me.
“This way.”
He pressed his hand against a nearby print reader and the heavily armored door to his right slid open. I stepped through and paused. The room was a long oblong shape that had two levels and contained not only a full complement of communicators, but computers, scanners—which were full screens rather than the basic light units used in sprinters and haulers—as well as other military personnel doing who knows what.
My gaze was immediately drawn to the grated windows that ran the length of the room. Beyond the curtain wall below us, spotlighted not only by the powerful search beams that dotted the wall but also the bonfires they were using to ignite their projectiles, were the Adlin. There were at least five sleuths out there, and that was very unusual. Winterborne certainly hadn’t seen those sorts of numbers for years.
I tore my gaze away and looked around until I spotted Blacklake’s prime. He was standing behind a series of scanners on the top level and talking into an earwig. I walked over and waited.
He glanced at me, held up a finger, and continued issuing orders. I watched what was going on in the room, fascinated. It was a rare glimpse into the other side of a battle.
After several minutes, he hit the earwig to end communications then looked at me. “What
the hell are you doing here, March?”
“I’m trained to fight, Commander. Put me to use.”
“We have this under control.” His gaze swept me briefly. “And Mace would have my nuts if I let you out on the wall without his clearance.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I haven’t got it?”
A smile tugged one corner of his lips but before he could reply, a communicator stationed at a bank of computers—which detailed the position of the six soldiers in her contact group—the next level down said, “Just got the go from station one, Commander.”
“Is two ready?”
Another communicator said, “Yes.”
“On my mark, then.” He paused and studied the row of sensor screens in front of him. Each one not only represented a different section of Blacklake, but also an overlaying chart of the earth’s crisscrossing energy lines. The Adlin were green blobs that moved from one intersection point to another, their numbers indicated by the size of those blobs. The commander waited until all the green blobs had drawn close to the wall and then said, “One and two, go.”
The order was swiftly repeated, and silence fell. The commander leaned forward, his expression intent as he stared out the windows. I stepped closer, wondering what was about to happen.
Most of the Adlin were clustered inside the dry moat bed that ringed the curtain wall; some of them flung crude projectiles at the walls to protect those who hauled long siege ladders into place. The Blacklake soldiers fired at those nearing the top of the ladders, but not, I thought with a frown, with any great zeal.
A soft rumbling invaded the silence and the heavy stones under my feet started to vibrate. The force of it sang through me, and though its voice was muted, I knew what it meant.
The earth had just been called into the fight.
The rumbling grew louder, stronger, and, out in the night, beyond the empty moat, the earth began to twist and shake and split. Fire spilled from its pits, only to be swallowed whole. The rudimentary trebuchets soon met the same fate.
