by Melanie Card
Except he didn’t want to go back to his desk for fear Ingrith was still there. He didn’t know what to say to her—not that it seemed she wanted words. He couldn’t fathom what she found attractive in him—
No, actually, she’d perked up the moment she realized he was an Inquisitor. And she hadn’t been put off by his necromancer ability. Most people were repulsed by either magical gift.
The soft shush of shoes on stone came from across the courtyard. A woman around Ward’s age appeared in the mouth of the archway. From her plain dress and dark hair pulled back tight in a knot, she looked like a servant. The basket she carried, filled with white cloth, added to the evidence. She glanced back up the passage she’d come from, her expression guilty, before taking the last few steps to the reflection pool, setting the basket down, and sitting on the pool’s edge.
She sighed, brushed loose strands of hair from her face, and leaned over the pool. The hair she’d brushed back fell forward again. Like how Celia’s always did. If Ward squinted, he might be able to pretend it was Celia. The woman’s skin was pale—not as pale as Celia’s, but in the flickering light from the reflection pool it didn’t matter. Her hair also wasn’t as dark, not Celia’s black with a sheen of blue.
He squeezed the gate’s bars. What was he thinking? He needed to get back to work. Probably like this maid did. But unlike her, Ward didn’t have the luxury of a free moment.
The maid ran her hand through the water, sending shards of light bouncing around the underground courtyard and into the library. Red speared his vision, blinding him. It bit inside his head, sharp and quick.
He blinked, trying to clear his sight and relieve the pain. The courtyard wavered into focus, still painted red.
The maid ran her hands through the water again. A lock of hair curled beside her cheek. Again, just like Celia.
It always came back to Celia.
Goddess, why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?
“Pretty, isn’t she?” a soft, feminine voice asked.
Everything within Ward froze. It had just been a whisper, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Allette.”
Thirteen
Ward’s heart pounded, and his breath stuck in his throat. Allette shifted on the other side of the gate, inching closer. The maid didn’t react, and while Allette was quiet the woman should have noticed the vesperitti. She had to be captured in Allette’s thrall.
A beam of light struck her cheek, turning her skin luminescent and accentuating her wide brown eyes. When he’d first seen her, he’d thought she was pretty. There wasn’t a hint of nobility in her features, in her square jaw and wide-set eyes, but she was tiny and delicate. Nothing like Celia’s lithe grace. Allette had begged him for help, and he’d been a fool.
“If there was a little less light, I might be able to imagine this maid was your pet.” There was a hint of darkness in her voice, but then, she no longer had to hide what she really was. “Your first vesperitti, Celia, that is, not the other one Macerio forced you to make. Although is she really a pet? The spell on her looks so strange.”
He slid his hand to the sheath at his hip and the silver-plated knife hiding behind his dagger. Vesperitti were stronger and faster than any soldier, and while sunlight painfully blinded them it didn’t kill them as the myths suggested. The only way to kill a vesperitti was with a strike to the heart with a silver blade.
Allette traced a line down a bar of the gate with her index finger, stopping a hairbreadth before his hand. “I miss you.”
Her words churned his gut. “You don’t miss me. You miss toying with me.”
“I needed freedom from Macerio. Surely, you can understand that.”
“Freedom doesn’t give you permission to murder people.”
“Is it murder when survival is involved?” She drew her finger closer to his hand, and he jerked back. Her expression darkened and a hint of the rage that must have compelled her to rip that farming family apart darkened her eyes. “How many has your pet murdered in the name of your survival? If I recall, she’s quite efficient at it.”
Bile burned the back of his throat. “You didn’t need to murder that family. Those children.”
“Changing the subject, I see.”
“You could have enthralled them and just consumed a part of their soul magic. There was no need to even drink their blood.”
A wicked smile pulled at her lips. Now the rage was tinged with evil pleasure. “Like how I gave you magic? I didn’t think you’d forget.”
Heat flooded Ward’s face at the memory of their kiss back at Macerio’s mansion.
“Do you miss the power? I know you’re starting to sense it.” Her lips slid into a pout. “Or is that still your imagination making you see and feel magic, weak little necromancer?”
“Weak or not, I will stop you.”
She threw her head back and laughed. The maid at the reflection pool jumped and whirled to face them, the enthrallment suddenly broken. “You can’t even stop me now.”
Faster than Ward thought possible, Allette was across the courtyard. She grabbed the maid’s arm. The woman screamed, and the vesperitti dug the fingers of her free hand into the maid’s cheeks, forcing her to meet Allette’s gaze. The maid’s tense posture sagged as the vesperitti’s enthrallment swept again into her mind. Allette turned her, drawing the woman back against her chest, and wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist in a lover’s embrace. “This one’s for you, Ward.”
Ward grabbed the latch, ratting it against the lock. He had to stop her. This was his chance. Goddess, he couldn’t let her kill another innocent.
The vesperitti’s wicked smile returned. She urged the maid’s head back onto her shoulder, exposing her neck. “Where shall I make the first cut?” She dug her nail into the maid’s neck, drawing blood.
The maid sighed and smiled, completely enraptured in Allette’s thrall.
Ward yanked at the gate.
“I agree, that’s too fast.” Allette flicked her nail against the maid’s cheek. Blood welled in the cut and oozed down her jaw.
“Let her go. You don’t want her. You want me.”
Allette ran her tongue over the maid’s cheek. “Why would I want you? You barely have enough magic to sustain you. But her”—she licked the maid’s cheek again, drawing a moan from the woman—“her soul magic is powerful. So much more than what you have to offer.”
“Allette—”
“What? You’ll promise you won’t kill me if I let her go? You’ll never catch me. You’re not strong enough.” She threw her head back and gave a manic laugh as if she wasn’t fully in control of herself anymore. Chills raced over Ward. “You know there’s only one way to stop me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only one way for you to become powerful enough.” She ran her finger through the weeping cut on the maid’s cheek and held it into a glimmering stream of light, drawing him uncontrollably to the blood there. Power. The strength he needed to end Allette permanently. “You know you want it. It calls to you just like it calls to me. We are two sides of the same coin. Pet and master. Vesperitti and Innecroestri. We need the same thing.”
Ward yanked his attention from her finger. “We are not alike.”
“You can only fool yourself for so long. You’re already succumbing to the blood magic lure. Just embrace it. Become a full blood magi, more powerful than even an Innecroestri, than even Macerio had been.” She flicked another gash into the maid’s cheek.
The maid gasped and her hand flew to her cheek. Her gaze snapped into focus and shot to Allette. “What are you doing?”
Allette sneered. “Killing you.”
The maid’s eyes widened, and she jerked against Allette’s grasp. The vesperitti shoved the woman down, drawing a yelp. The maid scrambled to her feet, but Allette seized her arm and tossed her across the courtyard, tumbling toward Ward, but not close enough that he could reach for her.
He wrenched on the gate.
The maid
’s gaze jumped to him, her eyes filled with desperation. “Help me,” she begged.
Allette leapt on her, smashing her skull against the stone floor. The vesperitti dug her fingers into the maid’s cheek and forced her mouth open.
Everything grew agonizingly slow. Ward’s heart. The maid’s movements. Allette.
Ferocity radiated from the vesperitti, her lips curled back in a satisfied, evil smile.
Goddess, no.
Allette brushed her cheek against the maid’s, smearing blood, dark and ugly on her skin. The maid screamed, writhing against Allette’s grasp and clawing at her hands.
“Stop.” Ward tugged on the latch.
Allette drew breath. Red smoke curled from the maid’s lips and she gasped, choking on her soul.
“You’re responsible, Ward.” Allette sighed, her lids fluttering shut with pleasure.
“No.” He pounded on the bars. “No, I’m not.” But he knew he was.
Allette smashed her lips to the maid’s. Smoke poured around them. The maid wailed. She twisted, clawing and beating at Allette.
No, no, no. He had to stop her, had to get into that courtyard. He yanked on the gate. The metal squealed and rattled. Please. Open. There had to be a way to open it.
Florino. He had a ring of keys on his belt. He had to have the key to the gate. But that meant leaving Allette alone with the maid. Goddess, he had no choice. Whether he stayed or left the maid was dead.
He tore himself away from Allette and raced down the passage.
The maid screamed again, a soul-deep wail, her agony and fear fueling Ward’s desperation and rage. Ingrith rushed around the corner, her eyes wide. They grew even wider at the sight of him. “I was waiting for you. I thought maybe you’d still want to eat together, but I heard scream—”
“Where’s Florino?”
The maid screamed again.
“Oh, Goddess!” Ingrith’s gaze locked behind him.
He seized her arm and shook her. “Where’s Florino?
“At his desk.”
He yanked her with him. He couldn’t risk leaving Ingrith there, not with Allette being strong enough to rip the gate open. They scrambled around two corners, down a long passage, and around even more corners, Ingrith leading the way.
Another scream shook him, followed by rich, manic laughter that bounced off the books. Goddess, the maid was still alive and Allette was enjoying it.
Ingrith’s grip on Ward’s hand tightened. She sobbed and wrenched him around another corner.
Ahead, Florino shuffled out of his study alcove. “What’s happening?”
“Can you open the gate?”
“What gate?”
“The gate at the end of the passage by the section with necromancy books.” Ward pointed behind him. There wasn’t time for this. It was likely too late for the woman, but he could still stop Allette. He had to stop her.
The scholar fumbled with the keys on his belt, selecting a narrow one. He tugged at his belt, but the leather wouldn’t unknot.
Ward seized the key, yanked out his dagger, and cut the man’s belt. He spun on his heel and bolted back to the gate, grateful for his quick memory and long legs. The maid lay crumpled on the other side, blood pooling around her.
Allette was gone.
He shoved the key into the lock, released the bolt, tore open the gate, and scrambled to the maid’s side.
No breath. No pulse.
He rolled her over. Blood gushed from the gaping wound in her neck. Allette had sliced an artery. The pool flooded around his knees, seeping into his pants. His chest tightened, and his eyes burned. She was dead. Because of him. Because he’d freed a monster.
He slammed his fist into the floor beside him. Pain shot through his knuckles and blood splashed around his hand and up his wrist. Red flickered across his vision. Just a hint, a promise of power. But it was his imagination. It had to be his imagination. He was mystically blind and couldn’t really see magic.
And yet, even knowing his mind was playing tricks on him, he couldn’t help but want to grab at that magic and use it to find Allette.
He was surrounded by blood. His knees were coated in it, his hand sticky with it. He wouldn’t need anything of hers to try the new essence-seeking spell. He could track the soul of the woman Allette had just devoured. The power to do it was all around him.
Except, even if he was willing to cross that line and use this woman’s death as a blood sacrifice, Allette had sucked all the magic from her. The red light swirling around him wasn’t real. If he could really sense magic, he’d feel the void, the emptiness in the blood.
Someone behind him gasped. “Oh, Goddess.” The voice was soft, high-pitched. Ingrith. Against all reason she and Florino had followed him. She stumbled back, her hands covering her mouth.
“You shouldn’t see this.” It was a ridiculous thing to say. She’d seen it, and she’d never be able to unsee it. It would haunt her memories. It would haunt his.
Fourteen
Celia sagged onto the stiff couch in the Quayestri suite, watching Nazarius from the corner of her eye as he marched to his room and tossed his belt—with sword and dagger—onto the bed. The night had been uneventful, and she was exhausted. Despite time spent in various pubs trying to overhear secret conversations, they weren’t any closer to finding the leaders of the cult.
To make a terrible and boring night even more frustrating, she still didn’t know what she thought of Nazarius. She certainly couldn’t trust him, no matter how many times he insisted he was there to help Ward. The man had to have an agenda, and one not likely in Ward’s best interest, but she doubted she’d be able to figure anything out as exhausted as she was.
“Well, Jotham will be thrilled at the progress of our investigation,” Nazarius said, his voice thick with sarcasm.
She ran her hands over her face, trying to rub away her weariness. A few feet away was her bed…or Ward’s bed, although she doubted he’d put up a fight. He’d do the chivalrous thing and take the uncomfortable couch, if he didn’t fall asleep at the desk he’d been given in the library.
Nazarius dropped into the chair beside her. “I should probably give the Seer a report. I doubt he’ll wait until morning.” But the Tracker didn’t look like he wanted to stand any time soon.
“I should probably check on Ward.” It had been a long day for all of them, and Ward had exerted himself as much as she and Nazarius had, maybe more so, since she had no idea how exhausting casting magic really was. And Ward was probably being typical Ward, refusing to rest until the problem had been solved.
She shoved up to her feet and stepped to the door. It banged open. Ward stood in the entrance, covered in blood, his expression grim, his eyes distant.
Celia’s chest contracted. “Are you hurt?”
He stared at her as if he couldn’t understand her words. Then he blinked, his expression softened a fraction, and he glanced down at himself. “It’s not mine.”
“What happened?” Nazarius asked beside her.
She hadn’t even noticed him stand or move, she’d been too focused on Ward.
The hardness, rage barely held in check, returned. Ward’s hands curled into fists. “Allette.” He shoved past Nazarius and headed to the Tracker’s bedroom.
Nazarius followed. “Did the essence-seeking spell work? You shouldn’t have taken her alone.”
Was that actually concern in his voice?
“The spell didn’t work, and I didn’t try to take her alone. I tried—” The rage in his expression grew pained, filled with frustration and self-loathing. “I couldn’t save the maid… Allette…”
“Ward—” She didn’t know what to say. Nothing could ease this hurt, no matter how much she wanted it to.
He pulled away, turning back to the bedroom. “We need to deal with the rith now.”
Footsteps rushed from the hall behind her. She jerked around, drawing her dagger with the movement.
Jotham dashed toward the suite, his goddes
s-eye medallion bouncing against his chest. “What in the name of Goddess is going on? There’s a bloody corpse in the library? Talbot’s daughter is a witness?” His gaze landed on Ward.
Celia could just imagine what he was thinking. Ward looked ferocious, covered in blood and seething with rage. An angry Inquisitor was bad enough—worse if the apprentice Inquisitor didn’t have full control of his abilities—but Ward had also proven he was a necromancer. He was covered in power. Human power. The type of power that had brought a terrible curse upon the city of Dulthyne all those years ago and could drive the best of men insane.
Ward shoved his hands into the water in the washbowl on Nazarius’s dressing table and scrubbed at the blood. Jotham turned to Nazarius and opened his mouth.
Nazarius raised an eyebrow, and the Seer snapped his mouth shut. “We did say we were on a manhunt.”
“So this has nothing to do with the cult?” Jotham asked.
“Only in that your cult is getting in the way of our investigation,” Ward said.
The muscles in Jotham’s jaw tightened. Goddess, it would be bad if Ward was thrown in the dungeon again for angering a Seer. He growled but it dissolved into an exasperated sigh. “Tell me you at least know how to deal with this rith. If we don’t make progress on something soon, Talbot will have my head.”
“He can’t take a Seer’s head,” Nazarius said.
“I’m sure he’ll apologize to the Council when my corpse is delivered to Brawenal City.”
“The good news is, I know how to banish the rith.” Ward dried his hands on the towel. Blood was still smeared across his forehead, and his pants were still soaked, but he no longer looked like he’d killed someone with his bare hands.
“What’s the bad news?” Jotham asked.
“I need a piece of the foreman’s body.” Ward sounded exhausted. Digging up graves was illegal. Taking a piece of the corpse was also illegal—and Celia knew Ward was familiar with all of that.
“The foreman’s body was burned.” Jotham sat on the stool in front of the desk.
“Well something is helping him stay here. There must be a treasured item somewhere.” Ward rubbed the back of his neck. “It was of great importance to him. A piece of jewelry, a weapon…”
