She weighed her options. If she let him in, nothing would be able to stop him. She doubted she or her mother would be useful to him anymore. He would kill or possibly torture them both. If he ever released his control over Arabel again. Arabel’s stomach rebelled in horror, imagining a lifetime spent in this numb, hazy state.
If she refused, what good would that do? He would smash that stone, killing her mother, and the door would open anyway. It was exactly the kind of choice her father loved to give. Meaning, it wasn’t a choice at all.
“Elyrin,” she started, but her body froze again.
“That is the last time, Arabel.” Her father’s face was cold, bored. “I am going to give you your voice, and only your voice, and you will tell me your choice, or I will choose for you.”
The control lifted; she couldn’t move, but she could speak.
She cast desperately around for another way, something else, and her eyes fell on David, lying in a pool of his own blood. She had killed him, and killing him was likely only the first of many things her father was going to make her do.
David’s eyes flickered, and Arabel’s breath caught in her chest. His eyes blinked open, looking around blearily before settling on her. He was still alive. Barely. And, because he had fallen before her father had been let in, Elyrin hadn’t noticed him when he’d constructed his walls. David was inside those walls with them. Hope flared within her. There was a way.
“All right,” she said.
“Be more specific, daughter.”
“Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll open the door for you.” Elyrin’s control faded from her. “But first, give that stone to…” She cast around. There in the center of the guardians was a tiny figure holding an axe twice her size, gripping it with both hands. It was Maureen, from the library. If anyone could disappear, it would be her. “Give it to Maureen.” She pointed, and the woman dropped her axe in surprise. “Maureen, take the stone, and go. Hide.” Maureen nodded and stepped forward to the silver wall, which parted to allow her to pass through.
“Very well,” Cecil said, dropping the stone into the librarian’s hands. As soon as she had it, she darted off, zig-zagging back and forth. She pulled up a stone from the courtyard. Arabel had never noticed before, but it had a handle. She dropped into a tunnel beneath, pulling the stone back over her, and was gone. Well, I definitely picked the right guardian.
“There you are, daughter. Now. Your turn.”
If she refused now, her father would kill off the guardians one by one, in front of her, until she gave in. He had no shortage of bargaining chips. So now all she needed to do was get rid of his only other means of opening the door, and hope he never found Maureen.
“OK,” she said, raising her voice. “And… thank you.”
Cecil raised his eyebrows. “For what, daughter?”
Her eyes wandered over David, flicking from his eyes to the dagger, still embedded in his chest. He was watching her intently. How was she going to make this clear?
“Er… I… I’ve learned a lot here. Learned about… like you said… what’s really important. Some things are… more important than me. This gave me the chance.” Her father crossed his arms over his chest, waving his hand as if to say ‘wrap it up, please.’ “It really… drove the point home…” Not a stupid pun, that isn’t enough. “That some things are worth dying for.”
David’s eyes widened. He shook his head.
Please, she thought.
“Well, excellent, I’m glad to hear it,” Cecil said. “Open the door, or I start killing guardians.”
Arabel moved towards the door, slowly, watching David out of the corner of her eye. Please. He grimaced, slowly drawing the dagger from his chest. She placed her hand on the vault door, this time feeling the love and safety that pulsed beneath it. She angled her body ever so slightly, as if she was bending over to listen to something the door was saying, giving David a clearer target.
“What’s taking so—Elyrin, stop him.” Her father’s voice was edged in panic. Elyrin whirled around, but David was already lifting his arm, the point of the dagger held loosely in his bloody fingertips. His white face contorted in pain as he brought his arm down, hurling the dagger.
It flew straight and true, embedding directly in the center of Arabel’s chest. She gasped, but the air hitched in her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She gasped again, struggling against the pain. Spots flashed in front of her vision and she fell to her knees, her bare palms planted in the snow. She saw a drop of blood fall, the warmth of it melting the ice beneath it, and then she collapsed. Her last thought before she lost consciousness was Try getting in there now, Cecil, and a smile spread across her face.
Her body went numb, the blinding pain in her chest faded from her awareness, and the sounds of shouting drifted farther and farther away. A warmth and peace enveloped her, more comfortable than the downiest of beds. Every worry, every thought, every desire to achieve fell from her, drifting away as if it had never even existed at all. She lost all sense of time and space, felt herself floating in an infinite bright void.
A paw, warm and golden, alighted on her chest, and she became aware that she had a chest. The fox stood before her, larger and brighter than she had ever seen it before. It lifted its nose, pressed it gently to her forehead, and Arabel was filled with a sense of deep love and wellbeing. Whatever she did, whatever she had done, she was loved. The pressure of the fox’s paw on her chest increased, the golden light flowing into her.
The fox began to fade as the last of its light ebbed away. The pressure became a searing pain and Arabel’s eyes shot open. The dagger, stained red with her blood and David’s, lay on the snow in front of her. She reached her hand to her chest, felt the blood-soaked hole in her tunic, the skin unbroken beneath.
Arabel closed her eyes, felt the small warm nose of a fox brush her forehead one last time, and then it was gone.
She was alive. And she could move.
Her father, his face twisted with rage, advanced on her, screaming for Elyrin. To one side, Arabel saw the silver cage, the dragon and spider watching her, and she knew what she had to do.
She dove for the cage, dodging her father’s outstretched fist, and slammed into the bars, reaching her arms inside, offering herself to the beasts. They lunged for her, ripping into her, tearing at her.
Mine.
No. They resisted. They did not belong to her. But they did. They belonged to her father and had belonged to his father before him. They were family, and they belonged to her.
I am angry, she thought, feeling for the dragon. It bowed before her, cringing away and then flooding into her. Fury and torment and rage and hatred boiled in her. Mine. And the other, the other was softer. What are you? she asked, and the answer came. Love, and the pain of betrayal. She felt how deeply, how completely she had loved another, and how that lover had gone to someone else. Hadn’t truly loved her at all. Had used her. She cried, and felt it absorb into her. The bars of the cage disappeared.
There were shouts as the silver barriers winked out of existence, and the guardians drew their weapons. Swords clashed, and cries rang out.
“Elyrin! The walls!”
“Sir, I can’t, my power... She has the demons.”
“Then kill her.” Cecil raised his voice. “Kill the girl.”
Soldiers lunged for her, and Arabel was too dazed to get out of the way. Before they could land a blow, Naomi was there, swinging a sword in each hand, a whirling maelstrom of death. Soldiers fell like blades of grass around her, and Arabel shook herself, dove for a body on the ground, pulling free the sword from its hand. She joined the fight, but the press of men around them grew stronger and stronger.
Naomi glanced at Arabel, jerking her head towards the dais in the center. Arabel nodded. Naomi took a wide, sweeping swing with her blade, driving the men back a pace, and then she was gone. The soldiers fell forward, their eyes widening, their blades whistling through empty air and clattering on the ground. Arabel was only half
a second behind, slipping into the deep and appearing at Naomi’s side on the dais. They had a few brief seconds before the soldiers realized where they’d gone and pounded towards them.
Across the field, Arabel saw Alistair fighting his way towards Cecil, and past him, Avery being driven back by a single soldier. Avery’s eyes darted around in a panic. She tried slipping, but only managed a short hop a few inches to her left. The soldier quickly got her up her against the wall. Arabel looked on in horror, swinging her sword without paying attention to where she was aiming; she screamed out for one of the guardians to help Avery, but no one heard her over the clash of metal. A blade sliced into her arm. She tore her gaze from Avery and swung her blade at her attacker, driving him back a few paces.
She turned frantically back to Avery; the man was swinging his blade straight for her neck. She held a sword loosely in front of her face, but her eyes were clenched shut.
Out of nowhere, an axe slammed into his shoulder; he stumbled back, confused, and there was Ferne. She grabbed Avery’s hand, pulling her out of the fray, and Arabel, gasping with relief, returned to her fight.
There were too many of them; guardians darted in and out of the deep, taking down three soldiers for every guardian lost, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. Suddenly a shout cut through the noise. Arabel turned to see Alistair, his knife against Cecil’s throat.
“Stop!” Cecil yelled, as Alistair dug the knife deeper into his skin. “Stop! Lay down your weapons.”
Elyrin knelt and lifted his hands into the air. Cecil gave him a withering look.
“All of you, drop your weapons, get on your knees,” Alistair shouted. “Against the wall, hands behind your heads.”
Reluctantly, the soldiers dropped their weapons and did as he said. Naomi, soaked in blood, gave a single, approving nod to Arabel, and went to bind their hands. Arabel stood on the dais, the blood-soaked snow all around her, seeing the bodies on the ground. There in the middle of it all lay Oswald. He’d done it, given his life for what he believed in.
She didn’t look at Cecil. Not while the soldiers were bound and taken away, and not while he was led off to the dungeons. Then her eyes fell on David.
Sliding in the bloody snow, she ran to his prone form. No no no no no. Her fingers found his cold, limp wrist. She closed her eyes. A pulse. Weak but insistent.
She tried to heave him up, her feet skidding out from under her. Naomi appeared out of nowhere, her arm under David’s other shoulder. Arabel gave her a look of gratitude, tears in her eyes.
“This way,” Naomi said, guiding them towards the old tower.
It’s all right. He’s going to be all right. She repeated the mantra over and over as they carried David up the stairs to the infirmary.
39
Arabel hovered anxiously nearby while Healer Thorryn dabbed various sour-smelling liquids onto the wound. There was so much blood. Did people even have that much blood? Thorryn hummed to himself as he worked, wrapping clean white linen around David’s chest.
“Is he going to be all right?”
“His humors are imbalanced,” Thorryn said, frowning, his eyes on the red stain already seeping through the bandage. He placed a hand on David’s forehead. “But his energies are strong. His heat and cold well-balanced.” He dabbed a thick grey paste onto David’s lips. Don’t make him look more like a corpse than he does already, please. She wound her fingers together in her lap.
She sat by his bedside, watching the paste slowly dry and flake off over the next few hours. In the evening Thorryn returned, dribbling a reddish liquid into David’s mouth. His eyelids flickered briefly.
She reached out, took his hand, and he opened his eyes.
“Arabel?”
“I’m so, so sorry I stabbed you,” she breathed, and Thorryn frowned again, raising his eyebrows and glancing from her to David.
“It’s all right,” David said. “How are you—” he glanced down at her chest. “Did I miss?”
She shook her head. “No, you hit me. I—I think I died. But, my mother. She did something, and I came back.”
David watched her, taking this in. She briefly told him of the rest of the fight.
“So, Oswald was right, I was working for my father,” she finished. He squeezed her hand. “I don’t know how much you heard, but my mother’s—” She realized with horror she was still wearing the necklace. She pulled it off, staring at that small green stone. “He was controlling me through my mother’s necklace.”
“You couldn’t have known,” David said. “And Oswald was wrong not to trust you.”
“Except I nearly killed you.”
“You sacrificed yourself for us. Twice.”
She blushed. He ran his thumb over her fingers. It was exactly what she’d wanted two weeks ago, for him to think she was good. A tingle went through her fingertips, but at the same time his face when he’d broken up with her flashed across her mind.
“I’m glad you’re OK,” she said.
He eyed her, nodding. A grimace of pain twisted his face.
“All right, that’s enough,” Thorryn said. “You go let him get some rest now.”
She nodded.
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He squeezed her hand in reply.
40
Elyrin was found unconscious in the snow of the plaza. He had collapsed shortly after the battle ended. He was brought to the infirmary, and Arabel went to speak to him when she heard he had revived. He looked even worse than he had a few hours ago, the thin blue veins standing out all across his cheeks and forehead.
Eyeing her warily, he coughed into his withered hand, then placed both hands on the blanket, pulling it more tightly around his neck. “I am sorry, Arabel.”
“First, tell me where my mother is,” Arabel said. She couldn’t bring herself to speak as if her mother was dead.
Elyrin swallowed and licked his dry lips. “She is in the castle. Three floors below your room there is a secret passage behind a painting of a fox.”
Arabel leaned back in her chair, looking away, her gaze drifting over the rows of injured guardians and soldiers. The soldiers were manacled to their beds.
“And—please let me continue,” Elyrin said. “Please forgive me. I was the one who told your father you nearly escaped that day.”
“I figured.” But she hadn’t been able to make herself believe it. “Did you even make me a ward, like you said?”
“No.” Elyrin examined the weave of the cotton. “I am sorry. I… It was easier. To obey your father. At first, I was simply afraid. But I banished my fear—a sorcerer’s first siphon is on his own soul, you know—and after that… well, I told myself that my role was obedience. I saw myself as a tool.”
“You could have stopped all of this.”
“Yes.”
“And the necklace? Was it ever hers?”
“Actually, yes.” He met her eyes for the first time, his lids heavy, his gaze cloudy. “She gave me the idea. She wanted you to have something of hers. Your father would never have agreed. I convinced him. I said we could use it to create a means of controlling you. Of spying on you. Then he agreed. He wanted to use some other necklace, but I convinced him it was too dangerous. That you might remember.”
Well, that was something, at least.
“I wanted you to have something of hers,” he said softly.
She bit back the sarcastic response that suggested itself. He was in enough pain.
“I could have stopped you, you know,” he said suddenly. “At the end. When you… came back. You were still wearing her necklace. I saw you go for the demons.”
Arabel digested this. Did he want praise? After what he had helped her father make her do?
“I know, I know it’s not much. I know it doesn’t make up for…” He drifted into silence, his words slurring. His eyes closed for several seconds.
“Do you know how she brought me back?” Arabel asked finally. He jolted awake.
“I belie
ve your mother gave her life force for you. I saw her break through the castle wards, saw her spirit join with yours, giving its energy to heal your wound.”
Arabel swallowed. She hadn’t wanted it to be true, even though she’d known, on some level, what had happened. That tight pain in her chest returned, but around it there was a protective softness now. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away.
Elyrin’s eyes closed, waiting for her to collect herself.
Finally, she was able to speak around the lump in her throat. “What are you going to do now?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.
She laid a hand on his arm, but he didn’t move or react. Pressing a finger to the papery skin of his neck, she felt a slight thrum. He was asleep.
41
Two nights later, a funeral was held for the fallen guardians. The lanterns in the courtyard were lit, reflecting their soft, gold light on the blood-soaked snow. Rows and rows of black-hooded guardians stood, bearing witness to the twenty-three bodies wrapped in black cloth aligned in a row in front of the open vault doors. The pyre beneath them was lit, and as bright, hot flames consumed the bodies, remnants of their souls, still clinging to their once-living flesh, were released in bright, silvery clouds.
Oswald’s body burned the slowest, and when his light emerged it was a pale violet. Something rearranged itself in Arabel, and a soft purple mist escaped her. She still carried the pieces of Cecil she had absorbed, and one of them had taken a piece of Oswald with it. It floated up to join the violet cloud that was Oswald’s soul. In the center of this cloud was a tiny gold orb, and as the guardians watched, the violet cloud drifted back and forth, finally alighting on Naomi, coalescing around her. The golden orb passed from it to her, and the guardians sank to their knees as the soul of the previous archguard passed through the vault doors, and through the gateway into the Deep.
Naomi remained standing, her hands clasped in front of her and her head bowed towards the flames consuming the last of the fallen guardians.
The Eidolons of Myrefall Page 24