by Melanie Card
Ward had to agree. Weakening the curse’s hold on people wasn’t exactly a plan. But then, he’d faced worse with less.
Celia stood and shot a glare at Nazarius. “I’ll come up with something. Besides, no one said you have to come along.”
“I don’t back down from a fight. I’m just not stupid enough to commit suicide. Death so far hasn’t treated you badly, but I’m not excited to give it a try.”
That strange something flashed across Celia’s expression again. “Ward, I think you should stay here.”
“You’re going to need all the help you can get, even if I just act as a distraction.” Ward stood. “We’re in this together.”
Nazarius rolled his eyes. “Even I know asking Ward to stay behind is pointless. He’ll just follow after us if we leave.”
“Right.” Celia sighed, a hint of playfulness in her eyes. “Had to try, you know.”
“Yeah,” Nazarius chuckled.
“You know I’m still standing here,” Ward said. Yes, there was a strong possibility that he’d be a liability in the fight, but he wasn’t going to let either of them go off alone. Surely there was something he could do.
Celia’s expression sobered, and she turned to Remy. “We’ll destroy the shard. You do what you do with the curse, and Ward will make sure the veil is open when the time comes.”
Remy frowned. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Ward shifted. Something passed between Remy and Celia, or had passed—Ward wasn’t sure—but it felt significant. But now wasn’t the time to ask. Later. If they survived this. Certainly Ward was going to have a conversation with Celia about…everything. “Where is this bath chamber so we can get going?”
Remy’s expression softened. “Celia knows the way.”
“I do?” Her eyebrows shot up, her gaze grew unfocused, and she huffed. “Can’t wait for that to pass. But yes, I do.”
“Let’s do this, then.” Nazarius squared his shoulders and motioned to the door. As Celia strode out, he glanced at Remy. “After you, Brother.”
“It’s safer if I stay here. I can’t risk being killed before the shard is destroyed.”
“So you can pull the curse across the veil with you from anywhere?” Nazarius asked.
“My prison spell linked us, so unfortunately the answer is yes,” Remy said.
“Let’s go.” Ward couldn’t begin to imagine the strain it was costing Remy to keep the curse at bay. If it was anything like he was experiencing with the blood magic lure, the temptation and cold were agonizing.
Nazarius nodded and headed after Celia. Ward turned to follow, but Remy grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
“I know what you’ve done.”
Ice raced across Ward’s chest. He’d had to do it, it was the only way he could find Celia. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re walking a dangerous path. One misstep, you’ll lose your soul, and the curse will have full control of you.”
He didn’t need the reminder. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think you do, and I don’t have any magic to spare to help you.”
“I can handle my end of this.” Ward needed to hold out a little longer, until the curse was destroyed, and Allette was dead, and—
Goddess, would it ever be over?
“I can handle this.” He jerked his wrist free and strode away from Remy toward Celia and Nazarius at the end of the hall.
“So are we going to trust this man?” Nazarius asked.
“He is who he says he is.” Celia’s pale gaze met Ward’s. She believed what she said, but he had no idea how she knew. “Besides, do we have any other choice?”
“I beg to differ on this one. We know nothing about this man, that dagger, or anything else that’s going on.” Nazarius shifted and rested his hands on the paired hilts of his weapons.
“Then don’t come along. If I have to, I’ll do this alone.” She flipped the dagger as if trying to get a feel for its weight.
“You’re not doing this alone,” Ward said. “No one is doing this alone.”
Celia reached for Ward’s hand but stopped before making contact. Her gaze darted to Nazarius, and her hand dropped. Goddess above, he wanted her to finish that contact. But now wasn’t the time. And the sooner they started, the sooner it would get done.
“Let’s go,” he said, his frustration and fear and exhaustion making his voice sound gruff and strange to him.
She pulled a witch-stone marble from her pocket and headed down the passage. She led them through the twisting passages, the light from the marble dancing across smooth walls carved with swirling patterns. The mountain pressed around Ward, heavy and cold, as if it, too, was in league with the curse’s chill oozing through his veins.
They rounded a corner. Light glimmered in the passage up ahead, and Celia stopped. Ward strained to see past her and Nazarius.
“Two men and the gallery are up ahead,” she whispered.
Nazarius nodded. With luck, if they dealt with the possessed men fast, the rest of the curse’s consciousness wouldn’t be alerted that something was wrong… Or not.
Damn.
There was no good way to get through this. The only thing they could do was, once started, jump into whatever plan they came up with and pray it worked.
Celia leapt in, slamming the hilt of her dagger into the closest man’s temple, knocking him out. Nazarius grabbed the other and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. The man clawed at Nazarius’s hands. He gasped and writhed, his movement growing slower and heavier. But Nazarius kept hold, the muscles in his arms straining against his shirt, and the man went limp.
Ward scrambled forward and checked the pulse and breath of both men. Still alive, for now. Beyond, the passage opened into a three-foot-wide balcony with a thick stone railing. Celia crept to the edge, keeping low to the ground, and peered through the bars. Ward inched up beside her.
Natural silvery light flooded the chamber from enormous floor-to-ceiling windows in the far wall. The clouds that had threatened rain earlier that day had broken apart and the rays of late evening moonlight illuminated the room and the dozens of people within.
“Well, those are terrible odds,” Nazarius said, his voice low. “I wish Jotham had mentioned just how many people had actually gone missing.”
Celia slid an icy glance at him. “We only have to get to the shard.”
“Do you see it?” Ward asked. The people—men, women, and children—were scattered throughout. They were filthy and gaunt as if they’d been in this derelict bathing chamber since the curse had awoken weeks ago. Most looked like they were guarding entrances, small ones along the side walls and the large one at the front. Its double doors stood open, the passage beyond lit with shimmering witch-stone. The floor was tiered on five different levels, with three or four deep recesses in the floor and troughs from each recess leading to the next. Water at the bottom of a few of the bathing pools caught the moonlight.
“You’d think the curse would be serious about protecting it,” Nazarius said his tone dripping sarcasm. “It could have found at least a few more people.”
“And where is Allette? If the curse possesses her, she’s got to be around here.” A mix of relief and disappointment warred within Ward.
“Let’s be glad she isn’t here,” Celia said.
“So where is the shard?” Ward shifted, straining to see the far side of the massive chamber. There was no way they could do a search without alerting the curse.
“It is here,” Celia said.
Nazarius sighed. “Because Remy said so. And how does he know? He didn’t happen to give you a clue where to look.”
“He sort of did.” She tapped her temple and closed her eyes for a heartbeat, then hissed a curse. “No—”
Something flickered at the edge of Ward’s vision.
“The shard is protected,” Celia said.
Nazarius snorted. “Yes, with dozens of people.”
As if saying the word brought it to life, light exploded across Ward’s vision, and ice flashed through his veins. There, at the back of the chamber in a small pool, glowed powerful, tempting blood.
The muscles in his legs and arms bunched, ready to push him to his feet so he could rush over. He fought against the sensation, struggling to stay still, lying on the dusty balcony floor. “See the pool by the windows, only big enough for two or three people? With six possessed people standing near it.” Although, only one of them was actually looking at the pool. The others stood nearby with blank expressions.
Nazarius swore. “You mean the pool filled with blood. How many people died to fill that up?”
“It depends on how deep it is, and I’m not sure I want to do the math.” Ward’s heart pounded. “If I was the curse, that’s where I’d keep the shard. Submerged in all that magic.”
“But you immersed the pendant in blood to get rid of the rith,” Celia said. “How does putting the shard in blood protect it?”
“It’s all about will. The shard contains the curse’s essence, its will. Immersing it in blood connects that will to the power in the blood. Just like how adding a drop of my blood to the cup of blood let me access the power in that blood.”
Ward wasn’t going to mention all that blood in the pool, tempting and teasing him, was a way to make him succumb to the blood magic lure and become the blood magi the curse wanted.
Thirty - Four
“All right, let’s do this.” Celia scanned the balcony for a way down to the small pool filled with all that blood. There wasn’t an easy way off the balcony. They were going to have to backtrack, go down one level, and find another way into the bath chamber.
Ward shivered beside her. Something wasn’t right with him, but there wasn’t time to ask. That, and she didn’t want to say anything in front of Nazarius. There was a lot she didn’t want to say in front of the Tracker, like how things were now possible between Ward and her.
She squeezed the hilt of the Fortia Vas. End the curse first.
“I don’t see a way down,” Nazarius said.
Ward inched back from the railing. “Neither do I.”
“I think I saw a staircase a few feet back in the passage.” She didn’t know where it led…although she had a nagging feeling she did know, like she’d known how to get to the bath chamber in the first place. But she didn’t want to risk Remy’s memories starting to whirl through her again.
With Ward and Nazarius following, they crept back down the passages to the narrow staircase. It twisted down so tightly there was no way of knowing what lay around the corner. Hints of witch-stone glimmered in the granite and along the edges of each step. Once they got to the chamber proper, they’d need to cross up to the fifth tier. It would be impossible with stealth alone. Which meant someone was going to need to act as a distraction.
She turned to Ward and held out the Fortia Vas. “This is how it’s going to work: Nazarius, you cover Ward and get to the shard. I’ll draw as much attention as possible.”
Ward took the dagger, his fingers brushing hers. Her heart stuttered then burst into a rapid tattoo. He opened his mouth, and she jerked away. She didn’t want to argue about this—and without a doubt Ward was going to argue with her. No one was safe, not her, Ward, or Nazarius. Acting as the distraction was just as dangerous as anything else.
“Celia—” Ward said, his voice soft.
“Don’t dawdle,” she said, more sharply than she intended. “There are close to fifty people down there. I’m a good fighter, but I’m not that good.” She squared her shoulders and drew her dagger.
Nazarius drew his weapons, his expression grim. He was a warrior. He understood the situation. “We won’t.”
Ward pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. A tremor shook him, and he fisted his hands. Goddess above, he was so brave. She’d never met anyone like him before, and she’d be damned if she was going to lose him.
She inched into the mouth of the archway. Focus on the job. Keep ice around your heart. Be an assassin one last time. The odds of surviving this were terrible to begin with. She could only pray Ward and Nazarius got to the shard as fast as possible.
She had to get the possessed people to gather at the far end on the bottom tier by the main entrance, maybe even into the passage beyond, to give Ward the best chance possible. That was her goal.
She could do it. She had to do it. For Ward.
She raced into the bath chamber. Two men and a woman stood guard on this smaller archway. Celia grabbed the wrist of the larger man before any of them could react, wrenched him around, and sliced her dagger across his neck. She was on the next man before the first had dropped. He raised his sword and she darted in, plunging her blade between his ribs and up into his heart.
The woman screamed and leapt at Celia. She sidestepped the attack and rammed her elbow into the woman’s head. Dazed, the woman staggered back, and Celia slammed the pommel of her dagger against the woman’s temple. She crumpled, unconscious.
Yells roared through the chamber. Celia had no idea if they’d started, or had been going on since her arrival, but it didn’t matter so long as they were looking at her. She drew her sword and bolted to the center of the room.
“Come on,” she yelled, raising her weapons. The show made the assassin within her cringe. People weren’t supposed to notice her. Shadows and silence were her partners in violence.
People with smoky eyes rushed at her from their positions by the arches, weapons and fists ready. The curse was finally revealing itself to her. It no longer had a reason to hide from her. The half dozen people by the pool filled with blood didn’t move, but she had their attention. Nazarius could make short work of them so long as she did her job.
She blocked a swing from a large man in a soldier’s uniform wielding a broadsword. The heavy weapon forced her smaller sword back. The muscles in her arms burned. She jerked to the side. He stumbled forward, and she wrenched her sword up across his thigh.
With a scream, he dropped to his knees, but there wasn’t time to finish him off. Another man, smaller in stature, lunged in with a dagger. Behind her, a woman clawed at Celia’s arm.
Celia slipped away from the woman and dodged the dagger strike. She fought to force the melee to the large entrance, as far away from the pool as possible, but there were just so many of them swarming around her, screaming, clawing, and slashing with weapons, with black smoke bleeding from their eyes.
Movement at the corner of her eye, at head height, caught her attention. She ducked. A blade slashed air above her. Beyond, at the arch where she’d first entered, Nazarius and Ward dashed into the room, keeping to the wall. This was it.
With a yell, she threw herself at two men standing between her and the large main entrance. Her pulse slowed, sure and steady like her confidence in her skill. Perhaps this was why the Goddess had brought Ward and her together. This was where she was needed. And she’d never been needed before. The sensation was strange, settling and unsettling at the same time.
Light caught steel. She dodged the strike, dipped her blade past the man’s sloppy guard, and nicked his forearm. He lurched back, opening his side and back for attack, and she plunged her dagger into his gut.
She jumped down to the bottom level. The large main arch and massive doors towered above her. Witch-stone bands illuminated the wide passage beyond. More men and women surged toward her. She didn’t know how many she’d taken out, and she had no idea how many remained.
A hand seized her wrist. She wrenched at the grip, intending to lunge with her sword, but was jerked to the side. Her hand spasmed, and her sword clattered to the ground.
“Maybe you should fight someone your own size,” Allette said, black smoke seeping from her eyes and curling around her face. “Make it a fair fight.” She wrenched Celia’s wrist up and back. Then she tossed Ce
lia to the ground and pinned her with her body. “Show me what you’ve got, pet.”
Celia plunged her dagger into Allette’s stomach.
Allette threw her head back and laughed. “That won’t work.”
Shit. Not silver.
Allette jerked back, seized Celia’s other wrist, and threw her. Celia tumbled across the floor on the second tier, slamming into the stair toward the third. She rolled into a crouch, fighting to breathe through the pain burning across her chest.
The vesperitti lunged at her, fast, so fast. Celia grabbed for the silver knife at her hip, but Allette was on her, capturing Celia’s hand.
“I don’t think so,” Allette said.
“Don’t believe in a fair fight after all?”
Allette sneered. “It never really was.” She twisted Celia’s wrist and bone snapped.
Lightning exploded in Celia’s wrist, her hand, and up her forearm. Her fingers went numb. Tears flooded her eyes.
The vesperitti grabbed the front of Celia’s shirt and threw her toward the side arches. She hit the floor. Pain whipped across her chest. Her head bounced on the granite, and she rolled once, twice, the room spinning around her. Someone yelled her name and the floor disappeared. She careened down the steep slope of one of the large, multiperson bathing pools, hit a ledge, and slammed into a shallow pool of water. Water soaked into her clothes, making them heavier and harder to move in.
She staggered to her feet, the room twisting and darkening, churning her stomach. She fought to keep her balance. Ward needed time, and time she would give him.
Allette leapt onto the edge of the pool, her feet level with Celia’s eyes. The basin would have been deep enough to drown in and large enough for thirty people to sit comfortably along that painfully hard ledge ringing the side. Possessed people gathered behind Allette. Smoke poured around their heads and bodies.
“You’re so weak. Darling Ward won’t even feel it when you die,” Allette said.
Celia tensed. She couldn’t win this fight. Not without a silver blade, and most likely not without help. But she did need to draw it out and make it count.
“Stop!” Ward’s voice boomed through the chamber. He stood on the edge of the top tier, both arms covered in blood past his elbows, but he didn’t hold the shard.
