“How did you two get here so fast?” Adonis asked suddenly.
“The gargoyle opened the same gateway he used when I came to Nysa to request your assistance, the one that led to your chambers. From there, it was just a matter of following your summons.”
Adonis’ heart clenched. “The way I’m moving, it’ll take us forever to get back to the palace.”
“No, it won’t,” Kirill assured him. “I took the liberty of bringing a mirror with me. The gargoyle has already locked onto it as a gateway, just follow me and we’ll be in Dacia before you can say ‘I don’t look before I leap.’”
Adonis opened his mouth to let loose an appropriate comeback, but a shiver of magic passed over him, cutting him off. In his weakened state, the tingle of energy touched him like a bolt of lightning and he jerked and fell against Kirill’s body. The vampire steadied him and kept moving.
“Was that the mirror?” Adonis asked in surprise.
“Yes,” Irina answered. “You’re in our bedroom now. Back up a bit and feel around for the bed, then lie down. Klement is going to look at your wounds.”
Even with all the cuts on his body screaming bloody murder, lying down felt like a slice of paradise. He lolled his head from side to side, trying to force his sluggish brain to remember what he was supposed to be doing.
“Prince Adonis?” a strange masculine voice said. “My name is Klement. Can you tell me more about what happened to you?”
Someone stepped closer to the bed. The smell of eucalyptus tickled Adonis’ nose and he sneezed.
“Bless you,” the voice said.
“Thank you.” Adonis cleared his throat, trying to fight off another sneeze. “I, uh… I fell onto some brambles.”
“Natural or magic?”
“They were summoned by magic, but I’m not sure if the brambles themselves were magic or not.” Adonis gestured to his face. “I never saw them.”
“They looked like ordinary thorns, though thicker than one usually finds growing naturally,” Kirill volunteered.
“They smelled natural, just wood and the dust of the stone they scraped against when they encircled the tower,” Irina added.
Something gooey touched Adonis’ skin and he jerked away. “What the blazes was that?”
“It’s all right,” Klement assured him. “I’m rubbing a healing balm on your injuries. It won’t hurt at all.”
Adonis wrinkled his nose as the healer proceeded to cover his body with a thick, oily substance. Klement removed Adonis’ tattered clothes as he went, occasionally enlisting Kirill to cut something away.
“After that soaks into your skin, the wounds will be healed,” Klement told him gently. “Your eyes, I’m afraid, are a different story. From what I can sense, and from what you’ve all told me, I’d have to say that the brambles you fell in weren’t natural flora—they were an extension of this witch’s magic. I can heal your eyes so they are whole again, but I can’t restore your sight.”
“Summon Isai,” Kirill commanded.
Adonis winced as whatever the healer had put on his skin tingled. It was as if he could feel each cut closing, a sensation not unlike having ants crawl all over his skin. He squirmed on the bed, trying to get his mind off the sensation.
A sudden swell of magic announced the wizard’s entry. Adonis winced at the amount of power pouring against his skin. He didn’t need his eyes to see the wizard’s astral projection, it pulsed a miasma of greens, purples, blues, yellows and reds, all threaded with an arc of black roiling like a living serpent. It reminded Adonis of Ivy’s aura, that first time he’d met her. Though Ivy’s aura had been pure golds, oranges, and reds, it had beamed just as vigorously against Adonis’ senses. In that moment Adonis would have killed to get his sight back, just so he could get a good look at the man behind that aura. He wondered if Kirill had any idea how much power Isai really had.
Isai came closer to the bed, the push of his power preceding him, and Adonis had to grit his teeth against the pressure. Something swished in the air above his head and then someone sighed.
“The healer is right, his sight was robbed by magic. Unfortunately, the person who cast this spell has great power—and an ongoing power source.”
The man’s voice boomed through the room, not in tone, but in sheer force of power. Adonis fought the urge to grab his head to keep it from exploding. How did Kirill bear to hear this man speak on a daily basis?
“Are you saying that someone is continually, actively, powering the spell?” Kirill asked.
“Yes. Or, more likely, the spell is tied to the witch’s familiar, a powerful creature who doesn’t actively use its own magic, and instead allows another being to use it as a power source, or a focus. The witch could have pulled energy from her familiar, tied it to this spell, and then left the bond to keep the spell going.”
“Adonis, did the witch have a familiar?” Irina asked him.
“I never saw the witch before today, and I was too surprised to notice anything.”
“Well, tell me what you know of the girl then,” Isai said impatiently. “Chances are, the daughter will have similar magic. You’re an incubus, can you describe either of their astral energies?”
“She’s beautiful,” he blurted out. “I’m sure she’s a descendant of a sun elemental, her aura is outrageously powerful. When the sun hits her, she glows and her eyes turn to pure light. She has golden hair that’s so long it trails the ground below her tower.”
“Did she ever say why she kept her hair so long?” Isai interrupted.
“No. But if it’s like every other choice in her life, I would say it’s because her mother wouldn’t let her cut it.”
“And Ivy has a great deal of power, you say?” Isai pressed.
Adonis nodded and winced as the gesture tore open a string of wounds. He sucked in a sharp breath and breathed out cautiously. “Yes. She has a great deal of power, she practically vibrates with it.” His mouth dipped into a frown. “Although…she claimed her power was limited to healing.”
Klement cleared his throat. “There are a great many healers who have strong power.”
Adonis offered an apologetic nod in what he assumed was the healer’s direction. “Yes, of course, but I would have to say, none of them compare to Ivy. Actually, she was pretty insistent that she wasn’t that powerful at all. But she was wrong, or mistaken. I’m an incubus, if there’s one thing I know, it’s power.” He fought not to look at Isai when he said it. For whatever reason, he got a strange feeling around the wizard. It just didn’t seem in keeping with Kirill’s practical nature to let someone that powerful get so close to him.
“Isai, I know that look. What have you thought of?” Kirill demanded.
“It would be nearly impossible,” Isai said, his voice distracted as if he were lost in thought.
“What?” Adonis pressed.
Isai exhaled loudly. “When I was a young man, there was a story that a witch had stolen the child of Adelpha and Nikias. Adelpha was a descendant of Apollo, though not so close as to warrant any particular attention from her immortal ancestor. The witch lived next door to the couple. During Adelpha’s pregnancy, she was struck by a ravenous hunger for rampion, a plant that grew in copious amounts in the witch’s garden. She resisted, but soon her health deteriorated to such a point that Nikias stole some of the herb, fearing his wife would die without it. Instead of ceasing, Adelpha’s hunger grew stronger, though her health did improve. Nikias kept returning to the garden until finally he was caught.”
“I don’t like where this story is going,” Irina spoke up.
“Indeed you shouldn’t. The witch demanded the child or else she would bring the entire family before her coven and they would be judged harshly for their theft. Nikias agreed. There are many people who believed Adelpha’s hunger was caused directly by the witch, but none could prove it. The witch took the child and vanished, never to be seen again.”
Kirill cleared his throat. “I may be able to help here.”
Adonis barked out a laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”
“This happened in Nysa,” Isai scoffed. “I studied there centuries ago. How would you have heard the story?”
Adonis’ eyebrows rose. It was unusual for a servant to speak to their master with that sort of scornful tone—and he imagined it was even more unusual when that master was Kirill.
“I didn’t hear the story,” Kirill snapped. “But no one gains that much power in such a short time without being noticed.”
Especially when there’s a power-hungry vampire seeking ways to overthrow his father. Adonis had a moment of sincere gratitude for Kirill and his far-reaching aspirations. There were few men in any of the five kingdoms who could claim to be as nosey as the Dacian prince. Fewer still who were that nosey and lived to snoop another day. There was a rustle of clothing and Adonis could imagine Kirill straightening his clothes, gathering his wits as he debated how much information to share.
“It is no secret the most powerful witches are those who have attained a familiar,” Kirill finally said calmly. “Well, there was a rumor of a witch, a woman of very common roots with little more than some minor earth magic, who one day began to grow in power. Within a few years, a string of dead witches showed up. Rumor was, the witch was killing off her peers, the ones who had looked down on her before her fortuitous rise to power.”
A soft zing of metal chimed in the air and Adonis guessed Kirill had taken out a blade and was toying with it. He further hypothesized that playing with a weapon when there were no enemies in the room was Kirill’s way of covering when he was being forced to reveal more than he wanted to. He leaned forward to hear the next part.
“Some of the covens suggested stealing the witch’s familiar in an attempt to return her to her former modest level of power.”
Adonis choked, desperately swallowing the burst of disbelieving laughter that had threatened to erupt. He knew better than to call Kirill’s plan out.
Isai didn’t.
The wizard waved an arm in the air, sending another wave of power and incense washing over Adonis. “And you looked into the matter because you actually believed you could steal a witch’s familiar?” he asked incredulously.
“I am trying to unseat a vampire king,” Kirill said stiffly. “You will find there is very little I have not tried.” He cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, I was never able to locate the witch or her familiar.”
“Wait a minute,” Irina said. “Are you telling me, that this witch stole a child—a descendant of Apollo—and somehow turned her into a familiar?”
“It is possible to make a human your familiar,” Isai said reluctantly. “But it would be challenging. Familiars are not usually chosen, they choose their witches. For a familiar to be effective, its goals must be aligned with the witch. To force a powerful creature to align its goals with you would be an almost impossible task. It would have to be completely brainwashed.”
“Ivy is not an ‘it,’” Adonis growled. His temper spiked and he focused on the wizard’s shining aura. If only he had the strength to give the magic user the thrashing his arrogance deserved.
“Oh, how horrible.” Irina’s lilting tones reflected her sadness. “That’s why the witch wanted the baby. It would be nothing to get a helpless child to bond with you.”
Adonis’ heart clenched. “And if you kept her trapped in a tower for her entire life—completely devoid of any other company—and filled her head with enough fear to assure she never left…”
“Indeed,” Isai agreed. “There would be other things too, of course. Spells would have to be done to allow the human to act as a familiar. Part of that role is being able to absorb natural energy, to be a sort of bottomless well of power. That could be why she chose a descendent of Apollo, Ivy would have been born with at least some ability to draw power from the sun. There are spells that would magnify that, and if performed over and over, throughout Ivy’s life…she could be a powerful familiar.”
“A bottomless well of power?” Irina echoed. “Adonis—”
“Don’t say it,” Adonis said sharply. His thoughts raged through his head like a swarm of angry bats. It took a great deal of effort to shove them away, to avoid giving in to the urge to think about the situation in a completely selfish way. Now was not the time to think about his needs, not when Ivy could be hurt.
Aphrodite, I misjudged you. He let the single thought escape, wanting to express a bit of gratitude for the way fate had intervened in his life.
“Is that a will o’ wisp?” Irina said suddenly.
Hope flared in Adonis’ chest and he almost fell off the bed when he lunged toward Irina. The will o’ wisp.
“Did you say will o’ wisp?” he demanded, feeling around to make his way off the bed.
“How the blazes did that thing get in here?” Kirill muttered. “Isai, when was the last time you checked the wards?”
“I checked them this morning, as I always do,” Isai answered testily. “The little pest must have come in with one of you. Don’t look directly at it, Your Majesty, it will lead you astray,” Isai added begrudgingly. His tone suggested he didn’t find the idea of Kirill being led off by a glamour-wielding fey to be a great loss.
“No! It’s here for me, let it be.” Adonis ignored the pinch of his newly healed skin as he reached out a hand, holding his breath as he waited for the telltale tingle of energy that would mean the blinking fey was near him. When he finally felt it, he had to try twice to speak.
“You’re the one who made me fall into Ivy’s tower, aren’t you?”
A feeling of satisfaction flowed over him from the fey.
“I was meant to find Ivy, wasn’t I?” he asked softly.
More satisfaction.
“Can you help me find her?”
Suddenly the tingling fled from his hand and exploded in his head. Lights danced where his vision should have been and Adonis gritted his teeth against the sudden swell of sensation, but he didn’t fight it. The will o’ wisp settled over his mind, filling it with a desert landscape.
“She’s in a desert,” he said, concentrating on the land, searching for some feature that would help him identify where it was. The fey pulsed and suddenly he was looking at Ivy kneeling on the floor, her hands covered in yellow and orange paint. Not a real desert. A painting.
“Kirill, can you bring me some paints and a canvas?”
Someone, he assumed Kirill, snapped his fingers and a growl from Isai let Adonis know who’d been chosen for the errand. He ignored the irate wizard and focused on the landscape in his mind. Finally Isai arrived with his supplies. Irina helped Adonis to the floor and they spread out the paints. Adonis held out his hand. “Blue, please, something light.”
As soon as his hands were covered in paint, he began. Swirl after swirl followed his hands, the scent of the paint filling his senses. He let the scent take him back in time, let it remind him of how he’d felt painting with Ivy, creating art while she hummed excitedly over his masterpiece. Every now and then he’d call for another color. He’d never painted blind before, but he trusted his body to do it. The will o’ wisp still hovered in his mind, using the same magic that it so often used to lead unsuspecting travelers astray to project the image Adonis needed. When he heard Irina gasp, he knew he was done.
“Adonis, it’s amazing,” she breathed.
“Isai, I’m afraid I have very little energy left. If you would be so kind?” Adonis asked, gesturing to the painting. A swell of magic wafted over him. “This is it. I have to go to her.”
“Adonis, I wish I could help you, but I’m afraid a desert is not a locale conducive to undead assistance,” Kirill said ruefully.
Adonis groped around himself until he could stand. Without him having to say a word, Kirill reached out and took his paint-slicked hand.
“Kirill, I will never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done for me already,” he said quietly. He swallowed hard, his throat constricting with emotion as he t
ried to find the words to express his gratitude.
“I know,” Kirill said softly. “I have been where you are. Don’t waste time here with me. Go. Find Ivy.”
Soft, thick material was pressed into his hand. “Take this cloak. There’s no sense in startling the young lady.”
Adonis laughed, half-tempted to tell Kirill how he and Ivy had met. He doubted Ivy would flinch if he showed up naked. But that was a story for another time.
“Adonis, I will go with you if you need me,” Irina spoke up.
“You most certainly will not,” Kirill snarled. “Isai can go if Adonis needs help.”
“Excuse me, Your Majesty?” Isai spluttered. “With all due respect to His Majesty of Nysa, leaping into a painting is hardly a reliable manner of travel. We have no way of knowing if he’ll even get to Ivy, or if he’ll be able to—”
Golden Stair Page 15
