On Wings of Bone and Glass

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  Copyright © 2015 by M.C.A. Hogarth

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN-13: 978-1791530907

  mcahogarth.org

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Language

  Acknowledgments

  Also by M.C.A. Hogarth

  About the Author

  1

  Waking to excruciating pain was not unknown to me. That for the past few months I hadn't, in fact, was far less credible than the circumstances that had obtained prior to my body's restoration by an elven sorcerer. I had grown up debilitated, and having resigned myself to a short life consisting mostly of suffering, the reprieve had felt like some sort of beautiful dream. And as we all wake up from dreams, I have been waiting to wake from this one.

  What I'd anticipated was to find myself in my old, seizure-raddled, human shell. Instead, when I could think through the bright wall of agony, I saw I was pinned to the floor by more blades than I could count. This intelligence I divined only because I made the mistake of glancing past my arm and seeing the hilts rising over me, like a crop of iron stalks... and from the blood drooling out of me, constantly, as I shifted against them.

  Clever, that. So long as I bled, I couldn't hurt them. And they'd pinned me with so many sharp edges that I couldn't breathe without opening some number of the wounds, because my imperishable body had healed itself around them. The pain was nearly intolerable, but I had endured through so much already. This... this could be dealt with. If I took shallow breaths and did my best not to move... then it was merely agonizing, and not sufficient to snuff my consciousness. Which left me with enough mentation to recall how I'd arrived here. Barely.

  My mentor's colleagues had decided that I was in league with demons, and taken matters into their own hands... and I had given them the opportunity by sending my friends upstairs to their lessons in magery. For an hour! The travesty my captors had exacted on my body must have taken longer than that. God knew they'd wedged enough swords into me. So where were my friends? And what had happened to the genets? And in what world did Eyre's unfriends believe they could keep me this way with the Church's knights above ground? Unless they thought the Church ignorant of my apparent demon-touched nature, and had planned to turn them against me...

  I was in agitated contemplation of these questions when the door opened, which was itself an education. There was a door. I had noted none on our tour when we'd first arrived, which made it likely I'd been installed somewhere in the newest discovery, the palatial halls accessed via the library stairs.

  “Don’t drop them,” an exasperated voice said. “For God’s sake, if you’re going to saddle me with this, have the grace not to make it harder by dulling the things.”

  “Be reasonable, Miss Carrington. They’re sharp!” That was the second of Eyre’s antagonists, the meeker of the two. Powlett.

  “Of course they are. They wouldn’t work if they didn’t. Oh, for love of… just leave them on the floor there and get out.”

  “But what if he attacks you?”

  “If he has the wherewithal to attack me, one more person won’t be much obstacle to him. And your presence is an obstacle to me, because I am now irritated at how thoroughly ruined my shoes are going to be by this debacle.”

  Even through my pain-haze I could hear how dearly he wanted to be released. “If you’re certain—”

  “Oh, get out.”

  The door swung, but didn’t close entirely. I heard the scrape of steel on stone and then my body rocked and a flare of agony ripped up my back. The woman—Carrington, Mary Carrington—put her boot on my side to hold me still. “Stupid bigots,” she growled. “’Oh, get Miss Carrington to do it. She’s a woman, women must have experience with nursing, and blood, and such.’ Miss! They can’t even call me Doctor without twitching. As if I hadn’t sweated my way through school, and with twice their handicaps, to achieve what I have. Oh yes. I’m a colleague until someone needs impaling, and then it’s ‘oh, well, she has experience with pincushions!’”

  “Rather unfair of them, if you ask me,” I said.

  “God and saints!” She leaped away, then slowly walked around the room in an arc until she reached my face. “You cannot possibly be awake!”

  “I wish I wasn’t, believe you me.” I licked the blood from my lips. “Would it be much of an imposition to ask you to cease stabbing me?”

  “So you can work your demon wiles on me with your full powers at your beck?” She shook her head. “I’m afraid not, sir, or prince, or whatever you are.”

  “My demon wiles,” I said, rueful. “They are so compelling that you and your peers attacked me and visited torture on me without apparent hesitation or remorse. Obviously my wiles are rather lacking.”

  She eyed me, setting aside the gory sword she’d removed from my back and lifting a fresh one… but slowly, as if I was some wild beast she should take care not to agitate. “So we escaped before you could turn us to evil, as you did the other humans riding with you. What of it? We were forewarned, that’s all.”

  “And I have done so much evil.”

  Carrington paused. “No,” she allowed. “Or at least, none that I’ve witnessed. But you are very demonstrably an unnatural creature.”

  “On that we’re certainly agreed.”

  She had been about to plunge the thing into my back, and thank God my comment distracted her. I was not healing as quickly as I was accustomed; no doubt my exsanguination had everything to do with that, but short of licking the floor I couldn’t think of how to solve it in any way other than preventing her from re-opening my wounds. “You concede the point.”

  “It is, as you said, demonstrable. I happen to know it’s also unnatural. Elves were born to die, once upon a time.”

  “Before they consorted with demons.”

  “Before,” I said, “they were betrayed by humanity.”

  She thrust the sword through my back. I may have cried out. No, I must have, because instead of resuming her work she leaped away. It was one thing to stick a body full of swords when it was inert, I thought grimly. Another entirely to do so to a screaming person. Panting, I said, “Or did your research not reveal that permutation of history? A small footnote, perhaps.”

  “Humanity did not deliver elvenkind to demons.”

  “According to whom?” That gave her visible pause, or at least I thought it did. Focusing on her was difficult, and lifting my head was only possible by moving against something stabbed through my neck. “I am a student of history and folklore myself, Doctor Carrington. Don’t tell me you don’t understand how the biases of those who record history influence what
is written, and how the story’s told.”

  “As if you know anything about our history!”

  Had I once bemoaned my decision not to memorize our articles of confederation? I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the bubbles of blood that were gliding down my lips. “I know that I despair of young socialites taking on imperialistic titles as affectations for their peers so they can flatter themselves. We bled to overthrow the monarchy, and now its atrocities have been relegated to party stories told by overbred aristocrats in all but name. My best friend is due to marry one of these creatures and I find the idea appalling.”

  She was staring at me, mouth agape—that I saw because she had backed away far enough to put her spine to the wall. I finished, tired, “She fancies herself Princess Minda now. Before I’d left for the Archipelago, it was Duchess Minda. If she marries Chester I fear it will become ‘Empress Minda’ and there will be no living with her.”

  “How can you possibly know….”

  “About the customs of Evertrue’s socialites? Because I grew up there,” I said. “And attended Leigh University. I grew up human, Doctor Carrington. Eyre was my mentor and trust me, if I’d had demon wiles I would have wished myself easier grades because he was never afraid to dock me for slacking.”

  A laugh burbled from her before she could stop herself. She looked away. “Whatever your origin,” she said. “You’re still what you are, or what you’ve become. And I’m sorry, but you’re destined for a bonfire as soon as they’re done debating whether to feed you to it immediately or torture you for information about how many more elves we are to expect.” She tilted her head. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me and spare yourself the torture.”

  “What do you call this?”

  She had the grace to blush. “Worse torture.”

  “At some point, pain becomes undifferentiated,” I said. “You know Eyre, obviously. Do you honestly believe he would give himself over to evil?”

  “No,” she said. More firmly, “And that is precisely why I know that you must be very fair on the surface, to have deceived him so completely. John would never willingly consort with demons.” She looked at me with pity. “I am sorry, sir. I am not without feeling, to wish to see any creature suffer before its death. But I counsel you to prepare yourself for your passing, because there is no preventing it now.”

  “Then may I make one last request?” When she paused, I said, “Since I am likely to have no more of them soon. May I have my spectacles? It is a trial not to be able to see.”

  “I’d think seeing your situation would be rather more distressing than remaining blind to it.”

  “Doctor,” I said, “I was not a scholar of your erudition, but I was one. There is little more distressing than turning away from truth.”

  A hesitation as she considered me. Then she inclined her head. “I will give you this, sir. You know how to play on the emotions of others. But I’ll grant the request in honor of the truth you’ve invoked.” She vanished from my field of view. When she returned, I felt her setting my glasses on my nose. It was an awkward process, giving my inability to lift my head, and I felt her flinching from the blood-soaked side of my face… but she hooked the earpieces over my ears and drew back to adjust the fit, as best she could, on my nose.

  Through them, I saw that glow I’d once assumed to be magic, that I now knew to indicate something else… for I had seen a darkness in Eyre’s other colleagues, and they had had magic for me to draw on. So what was it? What were my enchanted glasses trying to tell me?

  Withdrawing, she drew in a breath, and this was my only warning before she put her foot on me and rocked me once, violently, against the swords already holding me down. This broke all the wounds open at once, and as I screamed, she fled.

  I woke sometime later, or I presumed sometime later by my weakness. All the elves I’d known had assured me that a prince had more power, so perhaps that was the reason I still lived despite how completely they’d bled me. Perhaps the blood of a royal elf was literally symbol, and as long as I clung to that duty, I would live.

  Then again, was I so eager to continue living like this?

  I thought of Ivy’s gentle touch and breathed carefully around my wounds. I thought of Amhric, riding for me, and what would happen to him if I didn’t free myself to warn him. I thought of the elves—found I cared little for them, save the individuals I’d personally met—so I thought instead of the genets. What fate could they expect without someone to champion them?

  I could still die here, if I made an attempt to rescue myself. But I would certainly die here if I didn’t. I flexed my flattened palms against the blood-drenched stone, steeled myself… and thrust upward with all my force.

  There is no anticipating pain. One can be prepared for it and still be shocked by it. I had all of two frenzied heartbeats to sense just how much agony I’d inflicted on myself and then my vision faded, and tried to take my consciousness with it. But I had no way of knowing how soon my enemies would come to bear me to the fire, so I struggled with every fiber in me to cling to awareness, and I would have wept but I was so thirsty and so dry there was nothing in me left to give to tears.

  I thought—was fairly certain—that I succeeded, or at least, that I hadn’t lost consciousness long. When I could focus again on the opposite wall, I had managed to liberate myself from the floor, and some number of the blades had been expelled by flesh eager to repair its insult. Several malingerers, however, were stubbornly holding fast, and my thigh was still trapped. So in addition to all I had suffered, I thought, I would have to pick myself clean of other people’s weapons like a child did nettles? What a farce my life could resemble, when it so bent its will!

  Grim, I dragged the sword out of my thigh, trying not to find it ominous how many weapons they’d found. Where had they come from? Was this collection of scholars and students more martially educated than we’d assumed? And after the thigh, I saw to the last few daggers clinging to my extremities, and it hurt past my desire to trammel it into words, not least because I was forced to watch myself slice myself open. Too, my wounds were appalling sluggish to close, and while I’d found the ability disturbing in the past I was too much in need of my strength to be glad of this sign of normalcy now.

  I looked down at myself, then, and found that I didn’t glow to my own sight.

  I, who was magical in every possible way.

  I removed the glasses and frowned at them, the whole lens and the emptied. Then, resigned, replaced them and tried rising, only to find it beyond my powers. All there was for it was to try again until I succeeded.

  I was engaged in this pursuit when the door shifted, began to open. Hastily I grabbed for one of the swords in a fist too weak for my confidence and prepared myself to face my foes—

  One of the Black Pearls peeked in and then gasped. “Master!”

  “Emily?” Was that my voice? It sounded desiccated, but then I felt so. My tongue rasped the insides of my mouth when it moved. “No… Serendipity? What… what are you doing here?”

  She squeezed inside, beckoned behind her, and there, God help me, was Chester, and at the sight of one another we stared in shock.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked as he began, “What did they do to you?” We stopped again, and I said, “They have divined that without blood I am powerless, so they did their best to deprive me.” Serendipity, trembling against the wall, was staring at the pool with such longing that I sighed. “Don’t waste it, at least!”

  As she licked the floor, tentative, Chester said, low, “We haven’t much time. There is apparently a way down into the library that we didn’t know about and they used it to ambush you, and now they are holding the entire complex hostage while attempting to convince the Vessel that you are in league with the demons. They are showing her references, even, books they’ve found here that describe signs of the demon-inhabited. Serendipity found a passage we believe them to be unaware of, but there’s no telling how long that situation will contin
ue to obtain. The Vessel is distracting them by pretending to consider their evidence, but we can’t tarry. Can you stand?” He slid an arm under mine, one foot skidding on the slippery flags. “We have to get you out of here while we can run. We saw Carrington leave, but we can’t be sure how soon she’ll be back to finish the job.”

  Perhaps I had exhausted all my powers healing the wounds, but I found myself shaking against him, and my knees wouldn’t hold me. We both fell.

  “I had wondered at all the swords,” I murmured.

  “I still do.” Chester eyed them. “I wouldn’t have expected them to have so many. But one thing’s certain: they won’t be willing to relinquish you without coming to blows over it, and then we will have been responsible for murdering other human beings. If there truly are demons encroaching, that seems the sort of act that would give them a ladder down to the world.”

  I shuddered. “No. I’d rather not kill them. Or be killed by them, as they outnumber us and they’d be guarding a small ingress. I’m no military historian, but that seems the sort of arrangement that would allow a very small number of people to hold off an army.”

  “I did study military history, or at least more of it than you did, and you’re right, it’s happened more than once.” Our second attempt at standing also failed, and I clutched at him. “This won’t do, Locke. Can we solve this problem?”

  Catching my breath again was proving difficult. “I… beg your pardon?”

  Chester eyed the pool of blood. Serendipity, I noted, had abandoned it and gone back to standing by the door, her ears tense and her expression focused. “They did all this to divest you of the power to heal yourself, and it seems to have worked. But if all you’re missing is magic, you can take it out of me, can’t you?”