by C. A. McHugh
“Nyssa translated it.”
And just like that, the glimpse of vulnerability vanished. Her face hardened, and she crossed the room to grab another book from Nyssa’s pile. “That was a personal letter.”
“We know that now, but when I saw you reading something in a strange writing, I had to know the contents.”
“Why?” she shot back. “Because you were worried I was in league with him?”
He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. It was the only way he could keep his calm, especially since she’d nailed his motives.
She threw the last dress hanging in the wardrobe into her trunk. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty. I’ll be gone within the hour, and you won’t have to worry about me again.”
Easier said than done. He did worry about her. And not just because of where she came from or what she was capable of doing. His gut knotted when he realized he actually cared for her as a person. As he studied her more closely, he noted her sunken eyes with dark shadows. Her collarbones jutted out from the neckline of her dress. He had no idea what she’d gone through over the last two weeks, but from the looks of things, it wasn’t parties and feasts in the palace. Despite the show of anger, he sensed an air of frustration.
It matched his own frustration in dealing with the Raven Bringer. Now that he’d found an ally, he had to convince her to stay using any means he could muster. But when he opened his mouth, the first thing that came out was, “I command you to stay.”
She turned to him, one brow arched in challenge. Her eyes took on a predatory gleam.
His mouth went dry, and he fumbled over his words to correct his mistake, but before he could utter a coherent sentence, a loud knock sounded at the door.
Master Eamon didn’t bother to wait for permission to enter. He strode in holding a silver cup and ignored everyone in the room but Seroney. “I have your restorative potion.”
She lifted her chin just a bit. “And I told you I don’t want it.”
“And I say you need it.” He held it out to her. “Master Binnius is quite worried about your condition.”
The statement raised even more questions. Was something else plaguing her besides worry and grief? And if Master Binnius knew of her return, did that mean he was here, too?
“He worries too much.” She slammed her trunk closed and crossed her arms, engaging the healer in a staredown. “Besides, I can smell how much valerian root you’ve put in there.”
A flicker of a smile played on Master Eamon’s face, but he didn’t yield. “You need a good night’s rest. Several nights, actually, by the look of you.”
“I’m perfectly fine. I even saved His Majesty from an angry firebird tonight, so there is no need for that.”
“And in doing such a feat, you must’ve overextended your magical abilities.” He pulled the cup back long enough to cast a spell on her. A faint halo glowed around her. “Just as I suspected. You’re weak and overdrawn.”
“I’ll live.”
“No, you’ll drink this as Master Binnius has directed, unless you want to undermine the headmaster’s authority.”
Aerrin watched the struggle play out across her body, from her gritted teeth to her clenched fists.
“Fine.” She snatched the cup from Master Eamon and chugged it down, oblivious to the healer’s cry of protest.
After she finished, her eyes glazed over, and she wobbled on her feet. The cup fell from her hands with a clang. “You tricked…”
Her eyes rolled back before she could finish, and a chill rippled down his spine as the healer lunged forward to catch her.
“Did you poison her?” Aerrin asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer if Master Eamon had.
“Of course not. I’m a healer, not a murderer.” He lifted Seroney into his arms and jerked his head toward her bed. “Could one of you please assist me?”
Nyssa ran over and pulled back the covers so Master Eamon could place her in the bed.
He pulled the covers back up, stopping just below her chin. “She was more stubborn than I’d anticipated.”
Aerrin almost laughed. Obviously, he didn’t know Seroney. But her last words left him cautious. “She said you’d tricked her. What exactly was in that cup, besides valerian root?”
“A very strong sleeping draught, tempered by an equally strong restorative potion. I tried to tell her to drink it slowly, but she wanted to do it her own way.” Bhasha, Seroney’s black cat, curled up next to her mistress, and the healer paused to scratch the cat’s ears. “Keep watch over her,” he instructed the cat as though it would understand him.
Then he turned to Aerrin and his friends. “As for the rest of you, follow me to the hospital so we can deal with your injuries.”
Aerrin obeyed only because the person he wanted answers from was in a deep sleep, and the only other person who might give him a clue to the headmaster’s whereabouts was standing behind him. “Is Master Binnius here?”
“I regret to inform you that he isn’t.”
“Then how did he issue the order for Seroney’s potion?” Aerrin asked, searching for the holes in his story.
“A message from him arrived earlier, instructing me to prepare the potion and administer it to Seroney immediately. And he said I wasn’t allowed to let her refuse it.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a pained wince. “I was tempted to use magic to change her mind, but thankfully, she complied before I had to stoop to that level of trickery.”
“But you didn’t have a problem tricking her with the potion.” Aerrin eyed the healer and wondering if he was tricking them, too.
Master Eamon didn’t appear the least bit guilty over his actions. “She knew exactly what she was getting. You heard her accuse me of using too much valerian, did you not?”
“What’s valerian?” Leandros asked.
“If you’d paid attention to second-year alchemy, you’d know it’s the main ingredient in most sleeping potions,” Nyssa explained impatiently, then refocused on Master Eamon. “But why mix the two?”
“Because according to Master Binnius, Seroney has been quite distraught over a number of things, and he feared she’d collapse if she continued.” He held open the door to the infirmary. “The health and well-being of both the students and masters within the Academy’s walls are my responsibility, and I don’t take it lightly. That includes tending to that nasty burn on the back of your neck, Your Majesty, so please don’t prevent me from performing my duty any longer.”
Aerrin gave up on getting more answers tonight. After the evening’s events, he couldn’t deny that he needed a good night’s rest, too.
Once their injuries had been healed, he walked back to the common room with his friends. “Master Eamon has horrible timing.”
“But he was right,” Nyssa countered. “Seroney needed his aid.”
“Yeah, she looked awful.” Leandros scratched his soot-smeared chin. “But even looking as rough as she did, she was far prettier than most of the girls here.”
Nyssa jabbed him in the ribs again. “We need to be serious here. First, the discovery that she’s from Oudesta. Now that display of magic.”
“Agreed.” Aerrin threw back his shoulders and quickened his pace. “Master Eamon did us a favor by giving her that potion. It gives us more time to come up with a plan.”
“A plan to do what?” Leandros drew his brows together and squinted the way he did when he was trying to read someone’s thoughts.
The question gave him pause. What exactly did he want? On one hand, if Seroney returned to Oudesta, he wouldn’t have to worry about her being a spy or some other threat to his kingdom. She was an outsider, a foreigner, and she’d illegally crossed the Divide. Such an act warranted her arrest and questioning.
But on the other hand, he’d never heard of someone actually being able to cross the Divide. Her magical abilities exceeded his, as demonstrated by the way she’d saved their lives tonight. And she was one of the few people who knew the Raven Bringer had returned. On
e more person he didn’t have to keep that dark secret from. One more person who might be able to fight alongside him and stop the fiend threatening his kingdom.
He leveled his gaze with his best friend and replied, “A plan to make her stay long enough to learn all that we can from her.”
Chapter 8
The stitch in Raimel’s side burned as he rounded the corner and hid in the dark crevice carved into the underground tunnel.
A second later, Ceryst joined him, not appearing the least bit winded and crowding the already narrow spot.
“Ever hear of personal space?” Raimel hissed.
“Shut up,” the knight ordered before pressing him even flatter against the wall.
They had been on the run for the last twenty minutes, dodging one of His Majesty’s trolls. And by troll, Raimel meant it. Fesser was ugly enough to be part troll.
Shouts echoed the tunnels, growing closer and closer. “I know they’re around here,” Fesser growled.
We’re screwed. Raimel had seen enough of Fesser’s handiwork to know what awaited them if they were caught. First he’d beat them into submission which, knowing Ceryst, would take a while, considering how thick-headed the knight was. Then he’d heal them enough so they looked pretty when he dragged them back to the King of Thieves. And even if His Majesty excused them, Fesser would throw in a farewell punch or two on the way out.
An eerie green light flickered along the walls nearby. They had maybe three seconds to act. Raimel quickly weighed the outcomes of various courses of action. Fesser had at least three other thugs with him, so not only were they outnumbered, they’d risk the king’s wrath for possibly killing one of his top enforcers. And he already knew what awaited them if they got caught. That left only one option, as much as he dreaded it.
They had to slip into the Shadow Realm.
Not that it didn’t hold its own set of dangers, especially after their run-in with the apprentice five nights ago. Going into the Shadow Realm was like placing a big target on their backs for whatever demons could still be lurking in the underground tunnels of Dromore.
“No trespassers allowed in His Majesty’s dominion,” Fesser called out.
Of course, that only pissed Ceryst off even more. He reached for his sword.
That stupid knight was going to get them killed.
Before Ceryst could draw his blade an inch from the scabbard, Raimel wrapped his arm around the burly knight’s chest and pulled him into the shadows.
Anyone else might’ve felt a bit of nauseating disorientation from moving between realms, but Raimel thanked the dark side of his nature that he was immune to it. In the Shadow Realm, everything was reversed. Dark was light, and light was dark. It made demons easier to spot and travel a breeze since he could cover great distances while there, even though mere seconds ticked past in the mortal realm.
Fesser and his gang now appeared to be little more than hazy shadows stalking the bright white stone corridors. Raimel took a moment to scan their surroundings for anything else.
Thankfully, there were no demons.
Fesser walked right past him and Ceryst, never seeing them in the shadows, and continued down the corridor.
They were safe for the moment, but Raimel wasn’t content to exit the Shadow Realm immediately, not when he could transport Ceryst to the safety of his secured “room” in another part of the tunnels. A few seconds later, he slipped back into the mortal realm in front of the magically barricaded door guarding his chamber.
Raimel lowered the ward, threw open the door, and shoved Ceryst inside. He followed, locking the door and raising the ward again before finally exhaling in relief.
Ceryst leaned on an outstretched arm against the wall. “I hate it when you do that without warning me.”
“Would you rather I let Fesser beat the shit out of you?”
“I could’ve handled him.” The knight straightened and adjusted his leather breastplate that still bore the insignia of the Knight Protector. “Now can you tell me why they were chasing us?”
“I didn’t pay a tribute for your admission.” Raimel knew the vague answer would only aggravate Ceryst further, but it was better than trying to explain what that exactly involved. “Of course, you can bypass all this trouble if you just pledge allegiance to His Majesty.”
Ceryst replied with a scowl so dark, Raimel took a step back. “I’ve already sworn my oath.”
His voice shook a bit as he said, “Fair enough. In the meantime, I have to keep sneaking you around down here and praying we don’t get caught.” Raimel pulled out his crescent moon–shaped medal that represented Theodria, the goddess of duality, and kissed it. “Thank you for your protection.”
Ceryst gave him another scowl. “How long are we going to be holed up down here?”
“How long do you want to stay alive?” Raimel tucked his medal back under his shirt and retrieved one of the dried figs he’d helped himself to from a merchant’s stand this morning. “Hungry?”
“No.” Ceryst glared at the warded door as though he could break through the magic with sheer will. “I want to pick up where we left off.”
“It was a cold trail.”
“It was still a trail.” Ceryst kicked at the loose gravel along the stone floor. “I say we need to learn what we can about that merchant.”
They’d spent the last three days trying to track down a man who supposedly sold components used in demon-summoning. His presence had been relayed to him by Princess Katriona, the daughter of the King of Thieves, but the moment they’d found his deserted “shop,” they’d been on one long goose chase trying to discover who his clients were. “If he’s dealing in dark magic, who’s to say he didn’t jump into the Shadow Realm and high-tail it out of Dromore the moment he learned we were after him?”
As soon as he said the words, malicious laughter filled his mind. Raimel clamped his hands over his ears as though it could drown out the Raven Bringer’s voice, but it offered little comfort.
Ceryst ran to him and clamped his hand on Raimel’s shoulder. “What’s he saying?”
“Nothing. Just laughter.” And as much as he hated the mocking tone of the Raven Bringer’s amusement, it was ten times better than some of their previous encounters. The way the apprentice had seized control of him the other night still pained his soul like an open wound. He wanted to be an asset, not a liability, and he’d come too close to killing his best friend. He might not be that lucky next time.
“Sorry about this,” Ceryst muttered before covering Raimel’s face with his hand and smashing the back of his skull against the wall.
The laughter immediately ceased, only to be replaced by a throbbing headache. “Do you have to be so rough?”
“I was being gentle.” Ceryst paced the length of the small room with agitated strides. “I thought the ward would keep demons out.”
“It does, but he’s not a full-blooded demon last I checked.”
“He wasn’t trying to control you, was he?”
Raimel shook his head, only to wince when the ache intensified from the motion. He rubbed the knot forming on the back of his head. “You’re lucky I consider you a friend, or I might feel obligated to repay you for your kindness.”
Ceryst gave him a grin that practically dared him to try.
Game on.
Raimel gathered up his magic and prepared to launch a spell that would transfer his pain to Ceryst, but a loud knock at the door broke his concentration, and the magic fizzled out in a cloud of blue sparks.
They both froze, their gazes fixed on the door.
The knocks continued in the code Raimel had established with Master Binnius years ago.
He peered into the shadows to confirm what he already knew. The tension in his gut eased, and he lowered the ward.
The old mage entered the room, looking at each of them in turn. He cast a bolt of healing magic to Raimel, easing his headache. “Rough night?”
“It wasn’t a warm bed in the best brothel in the
city.” Raimel raised the ward again. “What are you doing here?”
“Did you not send me a letter asking to speak with me?” Master Binnius held out the scrap of paper bearing Ceryst’s slashing script. “I agree, the situation is distressing, and I’m working on a solution.”
Raimel gave his friend the side-eye. “Tattling on me?”
“You’re the one who tried to kill me.” The knight crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “But that’s just one topic I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Ah, I see.” The headmaster conjured a chair and steaming cup of tea out of nowhere and settled in for the report. “I do ask you to be quick. Aerrin’s already returned to the Academy, and he’s had a run-in with trouble tonight, according to Master Eamon.”
Ceryst stiffened, his dark eyes flashing with fury. “Aerrin left the city, and no one told me? And what kind of trouble?”
“Relax, relax,” Master Binnius said, gesturing for the knight to remain calm. “Aerrin is alive and well, thanks to the intervention of one of my associates, and he is now behind the Academy’s protective wards, so he is safer there than he is in his own palace.”
“Then where have you been? Why haven’t you been protecting him here in Dromore, especially knowing it was the Festival of the Longest Night?”
A faint grimace deepened the lines on the old mage’s face. “Please forgive my absence. It seems that after Raimel and I took on the Raven Bringer a few weeks ago, he decided to murder and mutilate my sister in retaliation.”
Even Raimel had the good grace back down after hearing that, especially since he’d been the one to set the Raven Bringer on fire. “I’m so sorry.”
Master Binnius gave him a sympathetic smile. “What is done cannot be undone. Besides, I didn’t leave Aerrin completely unprotected. You two were here. And as I said earlier, I had an associate come to his aid when he needed it.”
Ceryst approached the headmaster, his arms still crossed. “And who exactly was this associate?”
“Are you aware of the sheer number of master mages I have on faculty at the Academy?” Master Binnius replied, flashing a hint of a smile before taking another sip of tea.