Ward Against Disaster (Entangled Teen) (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer)

by Melanie Card

  Celia’s heart stuttered, fear consuming what little assassin’s control she had over her emotions. He wasn’t supposed to draw attention to himself. He was supposed to destroy the shard so Remy could get rid of the curse.

  “Do you feel it?” Allette asked, her voice breathy, her face aglow, as if seeing Ward covered in blood was beautiful and mesmerizing.

  Ward squared his shoulders. “Let her go.”

  Goddess, he was risking his life for Celia. Stupid, stupid, necromancer.

  “Or what?” Allette sneered. “You have nothing to bargain with.”

  Magic crackled against Celia’s skin, but she couldn’t tell if it came from Ward or somewhere else. It was harsh, painful, not the billowing heat she associated with Ward’s magic.

  “I said let her go.” The magic snapped with more strength.

  Allette ran a hand over her neck to her cleavage. “You still have nothing, and you’ve almost completely succumbed to the blood magic lure. Take that final step. You know I worked so hard to make you my blood magi. I gave you opportunity after opportunity. I would have thought the girl and her baby would have been the best sacrifice, but you resisted.”

  “And I’ll continue to resist.”

  Allette threw her head back and laughed. “No you won’t.” Her eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy. “I can feel it. You’re almost mine.”

  This was Celia’s chance. She leapt at her, drawing the silver knife with her good hand. Allette dodged the strike and shoved Celia back into the pool. Instinct jerked her hand out to catch her balance, and pain exploded up her arm. She wrenched her broken wrist to her chest and hit the bottom of the pool with hip, chest, and shoulder. Agony roared over her.

  More magic snapped over Celia, biting through the pain.

  “Do it,” Allette said. “Join us, Ward. Join him.”

  Ward growled and the magic vanished, leaving the room suddenly cold. “You don’t have to be the curse’s slave like you were with Macerio.”

  “Why, because you can destroy it?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?” A hint of the innocent Allette Celia had first meet when they’d arrived at Macerio’s mansion crept into her voice.

  Ward inched closer to the edge of the tier. “I just have to destroy its anchor.”

  “The anchor?”

  “Yes, a shard of Diestro’s seal.”

  Allette reached down the front of her bodice and pulled out a chunk of rock the size of her thumb. Her expression twisted. The monster had returned. “You mean this shard?”

  Celia’s heart stuttered. The shard had never been in the blood. It had been with Allette, down the front of her bodice, all this time. The blood had been a trick to capture Ward’s soul.

  Thirty - Five

  Ward forgot how to breathe. Allette had the shard. He’d searched the bottom of the blood-filled pool as best he could, but before he’d found it, he’d stopped to save Celia.

  He’d been wrong all along. It hadn’t been there, and now the magic from the thick, sticky liquid clung to his arms, snapping and burning across his skin.

  “Hand it here and you’ll be free,” he said.

  “Still trying to convince me I’ve traded one master for another?”

  “You have.”

  “And it drives this pathetic little vesperitti crazy.” The curse laughed through Allette’s lips. “I can feel her squirming against my will, feel her anger, and there’s nothing she can do.”

  “Allette, fight it.” He hadn’t thought that would work, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Celia was surrounded and, from the way she held her arm against her chest, was injured. There were dozens of cursed people filling the third tier of the bath chamber, and more flooded through the main entrance at the bottom, too many for Celia and Nazarius to deal with even if Allette wasn’t here as well.

  Allette laughed harder. “Allette can’t hear you. She’s mine, body and soul. Just like you will be.”

  Red bled over Ward’s vision and he fought it, blinking it back. There was a way to deal with this once and for all.

  “Yes,” Allette hissed.

  It would just cost him his soul.

  Allette stalked to the stairs of the next tier. Possessed people raced to fill the spot where she’d left. Four big men climbed into the pool and captured Celia. They hauled her out of the pool. Behind Ward came the shush of boots shifting on stone: Nazarius adjusting his position. Maybe the Tracker could knock the shard from Allette’s hand. But she was faster and stronger than a man, even Nazarius.

  “What are you going to do, Ward?” Allette strode toward the pool of blood.

  If he could distract her long enough, Nazarius might be able to get in a killing blow. He slid his gaze to the Tracker, who gave a slight nod as if he knew what Ward planned. Please let him know.

  With a yell, Ward threw himself at Allette. Her eyes widened, and she stumbled back. Even she hadn’t expected a physical attack form Ward. He slashed the Fortia Vas at her. It wasn’t silver but the goal wasn’t to hurt her.

  She danced out of the way, his blade slicing air. “That isn’t sil—the Fortia Vas was destroyed. I would have sensed it.”

  “Give me the shard, Allette, and you’ll be free,” Ward said. There had to be a way to reach her through the curse’s possession.

  Allette snarled. “Join us and you’ll understand real freedom.”

  He lunged again. She batted his hand to the side. Magic bit him at her touch, stinging his fingers. He struggled to keep hold of the dagger.

  She hit his hand again, her movements so fast he didn’t have time to register what she was doing until she’d done it. She knocked the Fortia Vas to the floor, seized the front of his shirt, and jerked him close.

  She thrust Ward around, wrapped an arm across his throat, and pulled his back against her chest with impossible strength. He clawed at her arm, struggling to breathe. She spun as Nazarius lunged, his borrowed silver knife plunging toward Ward’s chest.

  Nazarius gasped and stumbled, wrenching his attack to the side. When the blade sliced across Ward’s arm, red magic burst across his vision. The power in his blood connected with the magic in the room. It absorbed the strength of the blood on the floor from those killed and from the pool beside him. The power flooded his senses, bursting into a wild ball of energy within him.

  “Take it,” Allette said, her breath caressing his cheek, the shard, clasped in her hand, pressed against his neck. “Take the magic and finish us all off. Make us bleed, sacrifice us, and become my blood magi.”

  He trembled at the thought. The power of the magic threatened his control.

  He could end this. He would end this. There was so much of it and it was his, all his.

  Allette shoved him to his knees, facing the pool filled with blood. “You don’t need a stupid dagger to be powerful. You just need this.”

  Ice billowed within him. If he only took a little…but he’d need so much more than a little to stop Allette and the curse. He’d need everything here and more.

  The blood shimmered, calling to him. All he needed to do was gather it, embrace it, and use it.

  Nazarius lunged at Allette. With one fluid motion, she released Ward, seized Nazarius’s wrist, twisted the knife from his hand, and yanked his arm behind his back. She raked her nails across his face, drawing deep rents in his cheek.

  Ward shot to his feet, but Allette shoved Nazarius’s face close to Ward’s. “You need more blood? Take it.”

  Yes. More. With more he could do anything. He wouldn’t be helpless anymore. He wouldn’t be trapped doing a duty he didn’t want. With magic came strength and power and respect. He could have anything…and anyone.

  Celia could be his.

  She was still on the third tier, forced to her knees by the possessed men holding her. She twisted against their grips but they held tight.

  Celia would be his.

  A small part of him screamed, but it was too small, too quiet, compared to the roarin
g promise of power. His hand snaked out of its own volition and flicked a finger through the blood running down Nazarius’s face. The Tracker wrenched against Allette’s hold. She laughed and shoved her tongue into the closest wound.

  “Ward,” Nazarius gasped.

  Allette dug her fingers into Nazarius’s scalp and yanked his head to the side, exposing his neck.

  Yes, more of it. All of it. Add it to the pool, add all of them to the pool.

  Ward grabbed the knife Nazarius had dropped. Slim, silver, designed solely for the purpose of making men bleed, for cutting them open and defying the Goddess. He’d been defying Her all his life. This was the next natural step. Everything was so clear now. There were two major veins in the neck; severing them would release the soul magic pumping through the body.

  With one slice. Sure. Steady.

  The ice raced down his arms, soothing the fire burning his flesh. Why had he been fighting it? It brought peace and strength. He would herald the dawn of a new, glorious age.

  He raised the knife. Nazarius thrashed against Allette’s grip. Someone screamed Ward’s name, the voice high-pitched and feminine. It slid over the ice but couldn’t penetrate. He needed to do this. He needed—

  Goddess, he couldn’t remember what he needed.

  Fire and ice, light and darkness consumed him. The urge to grab the magic and use it trembled through him. The tiny ball of tight white magic within him, his own imagined soul magic, pulsed fast and desperate.

  “Do it, Ward. End this.” Allette’s voice slithered across his senses, carrying a thread of sticky red with it.

  Yes. End this.

  He pressed the knife to Nazarius’s throat. The Tracker’s chest heaved. The vein on his neck throbbed. He moved his mouth but Ward couldn’t hear him. One slice, and Ward would possess unimaginable power, glorious power.

  The blood magic wrapped around his arms and seeped into his skin. He was stronger just thinking about it. A sacrifice would feel breathtaking.

  Just make him bleed. The sensation would be ecstasy. Just make them all—

  Bleed.

  The face of the workman from the balcony at the duke’s family tomb with smoke pouring from his eyes flooded Ward’s memory. Ward would make them bleed, and he would enjoy it.

  “Take it, Ward,” Allette said.

  “Yes.” His hand trembled. He would enjoy it.

  The muscles in Nazarius’s jaw clenched, and his gaze turned hard.

  Allette sneered. “It belongs to you. Take it.”

  It was his right. He could be the most powerful necromancer the Union had ever seen.

  No.

  Oh, yes.

  Light flashed from the silver blade.

  Except he didn’t want to be a necromancer. He wanted to be a surgeon and a physician. He wanted to save lives.

  The red and ice billowed, and the pulsing white magic within him flared in response. There was no turning back if he sacrificed Nazarius, even if it would destroy Allette. Ward wouldn’t be powerful, he’d be evil. He’d be the perfect vessel for the curse now worming its way into his gut. He would take lives.

  He’d be a monster worse than Allette.

  He slashed the blade down against Allette’s hand. Nazarius’s eyes widened. Allette screamed. Smoke poured from the gash and her flesh sizzled. Nazarius jerked to the side, exposing Allette’s chest. Ward lunged and plunged the knife into her heart.

  Thirty - Six

  Ice swept across Ward’s arms, and magic in the blood coating his hands bit his skin. Allette howled and Nazarius wrenched from her grip. She grabbed at the knife in her chest with one hand, the other still clutching the shard. Smoke poured from the wound, real smoke, acrid with the reek of burning flesh, not the curse’s smoke.

  She staggered forward and fell to her knees. The impact shuddered over her, cracking her flesh. Wisps of ash sloughed from her skin. They hung in the air, frozen between one thump of Ward’s heart and the next. Bloody tears slid from her wide eyes. Her mouth hung open in shock and pain.

  More ice beat through Ward. He drew breath, his pulse striking another furious second. Allette jerked her hand over the pool and released the shard. Blood magic danced across its surface, accentuating every detail, every whorl, every crack, and the sheen of blood coating the shard as it tumbled from her fingers. It had been in the pool. That’s where the curse had been protecting it. And that’s where she was trying to put it back.

  Ward snatched for it, but Allette twisted, slamming into him. Her fragile flesh shattered with the impact, and she collapsed into a pile of ash.

  The shard hit the tip of his finger and tumbled into the blood.

  Movement flashed at the corner of his eye. A strong arm wrapped around his chest and wrenched him back. A sword slammed into the floor where he’d been. Nazarius grabbed the Fortia Vas from the ground and leapt at the possessed man who’d attacked them, but the hand around Ward’s chest hugged him tight.

  “You all right?” Celia’s breath, like Allette’s had, caressed his cheek. Except this felt right. This was where he was supposed to be. The men who’d been holding her lay bleeding on the floor.

  The room erupted into chaos. Cursed people swarmed up the tiers toward them.

  Celia brushed her lips against his neck. “Get the shard.” She grabbed the sword beside her and threw herself at the oncoming cursed people.

  Ward stared at the pool filled with blood. Magic danced red across his vision. The cold snapped and his teeth chattered.

  A man fell face first beside Ward. Nazarius seized the back of his shirt and yanked him away. Yells and screams boomed through the chamber and yet the real danger was the blood. All that magic. He’d almost taken it when Allette had offered up Nazarius. He didn’t know if he had the will to resist a second time. Goddess protect him.

  He shoved his hands into the pool. The ice burned through him. Darkness flickered across his sight, smoky and uneven. People were dying. Good. More power for the curse. It needed to consume more.

  His fingers hit something small and hard. The shard. He seized it and threw himself back from the pool, desperate to get away from the blood, but it coated his hands and arms. The magic seeped under his skin, flooding him with cold. He was drowning in it. Consumed in red and smoke. He couldn’t contain it. Had to use it.

  Nazarius roared and slammed aside an oncoming attack. Celia’s blade darted in, slicing at the throng of people around her. Magic filled the air, a thick, bloody miasma. Ward wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer.

  “The dagger!” Ward yelled.

  A man shoved past Nazarius and raced forward, swinging for Ward’s head. Ward scrambled back. Magic leaked from Ward’s control and slammed into the man. He staggered, his expression dazed as if hit by a partial reverse wake.

  The man shook off Ward’s magic and raised his sword. Celia leapt at them, plunging her sword into the man’s back. Blood splattered Ward, stinging his face and neck. More magic surged. There was too much. He shuddered, struggling to contain it, not use it, not let the curse possess him.

  Celia offered him her hand. He took it and staggered to his feet. They had to get to Nazarius and the Fortia Vas.

  As if hearing Ward’s thoughts, Nazarius turned to them. A woman leapt from the crowd. He sidestepped her attack, but a man seized Nazarius’s shoulder. The woman snatched the dagger and wrenched it from Nazarius’s hand.

  Celia raced after her, but the woman tossed the dagger to a young man on the second tier.

  A man lunged at Celia with a pickax. She parried the attack and shoved him back, fighting to get past the crowd.

  The youth darted to the first tier, racing to the main arch. Ward had to get that dagger. He had to end this.

  The white magic of his soul lashed out in instinct and desperation. It grasped onto the blood magic seeping into him and surrounding him and exploded into a ferocious blast that threatened to consume everyone in the room.

  With a mental wrench, Ward threw protectiv
e magic around Celia and Nazarius, desperate to save them from the blast. Pain roared through him. Half the possessed people collapsed, the rest staggered under the blow. The boy with the dagger fell and skidded across the floor.

  Celia killed a stunned possessed man. Nazarius staggered and dipped to one knee. He turned wide eyes to Ward.

  “Get the dagger,” Ward said. Ice flooded him, and smoke filled his vision. “Get it now.” He tossed the shard to Celia. She caught it and bolted after the dagger.

  The ice hardened and seized Ward’s heart. Goddess, he couldn’t stop it.

  He reached for more magic. It was there ready for the taking. He wrapped it into a lasso and tossed it at Celia. She wouldn’t stop him. No one would.

  She staggered, and he twisted his wrist, jerking her around.

  He was so strong now. No one would laugh at him anymore. He was no longer helpless. But to stay that way the shard couldn’t be destroyed. He’d lose everything if it was.

  Celia’s spirit writhed against his control. He could do anything to her, make her bleed and beg. It would feel good. It was good.

  But that small voice in Ward’s head screamed at him. This was Celia. He didn’t want to make her bleed and beg. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.

  The thread flickered and weakened.

  Celia wrenched back a step. A few more and she’d be at the dagger. Yes. Please.

  “Ward?” Nazarius asked.

  The cold flooded Ward’s thoughts. He tightened his hold on Celia, drawing a scream.

  No.

  Ward ground his teeth. The ice was so strong. “Stop. Me.”

  Nazarius lunged at him. Ward tossed out more magic, capturing Nazarius. The Tracker staggered a step closer, and Ward wrenched him to his knees. With a flick of his finger, he sliced at Nazarius’s soul for the curse to consume.

  Nazarius howled and doubled over. Bile burned the back of Ward’s throat. He had to stop, but his body was no longer his to control.

  “Ward, please.” Nazarius’s gaze darted to somewhere behind Ward. To Celia.