Royals of Villain Academy 8: Vicious Arts

by Eva Chase

  Malcolm’s head twitched, but he was too wary of the enemies ahead to risk looking back at me. His fingers curled too, and an answering sensation brushed across my hand, as if he’d squeezed it back.

  He stepped toward his father, and a couple of the blacksuits who’d rushed into the house emerged behind the barons, several of the mages who’d been stolen from campus among them.

  Agnes was hurrying in front. Her gaze locked on Malcolm. I couldn’t tell if something passed between them or if it was only her instincts guiding her, but her jaw set and she lunged forward to shove Baron Nightwood with all the strength she had in her.

  The baron stumbled down the steps and barely caught his balance when he fell to one knee. Before he could push himself upright again, Malcolm heaved his raised hand forward with a casting word that sizzled with its emphasis.

  The spell rammed straight into the baron’s chest, so hard his whole body lurched backward with the spasm of an electric shock. His eyes rolled up. He sagged on the ground, his head smacking the asphalt. He didn’t move again, only sprawled there limp and lifeless.

  A shriek that barely sounded human broke from my mother’s lips. She marched down the steps, her tongue flying with spell after spell. One cracked open the head of a guy from the Scions’ Guard. Another ripped through one of Connar’s dragon wings all the way to where the thin flesh met his body. He crashed to the ground amid the cars.

  “Mom!” I yelled before I even knew I was going to speak. My legs were moving of their own accord. I thrust myself to the front of our group, with my hands lifted in a pleading gesture, as if any entreaty would be enough to stop her.

  She did stop for a second, at least. Her gaze found mine, burning with intensity, but she paused.

  “Please,” I shouted over the barrage of noise around us. “Let this be over. You can’t keep going like this.”

  But she could. I saw the moment full resolve hardened her features. It set off an answering resolve in me.

  This was who she was—possibly made worse by her awful treatment by the joymancers, but still her. I wasn’t enough to change that. All I could do was be who I was and not let her change me.

  Even if I’d wanted to try to beat her to the punch, there wasn’t time to spit out a casting word before she’d already barked hers. From the whine of the energy as it seared toward me, it would have smashed straight through any shield I conjured. But I wasn’t conjuring a shield.

  “Mirror, rebound, back,” I said as quickly as I could, the casting words tumbling out with all the power I had in me. A wallop of magic wrenched from my chest and flung itself to meet the spell.

  It caught that blaze of magic, stretched with it, and whipped it back toward my mother with the same force she’d put into it.

  Baron Bloodstone only had time to part her lips before her own spell crashed into her. Her ribs cracked, and her head snapped back with a crunching of her spine. Her body shot backward against the steps. She hit the stones with an even sharper smack of broken flesh and bone. Every limb slumped at an unnatural angle.

  My stomach lurched with a rush of nausea, both for her and because that was what she’d meant to do to me. A tremor rippled through me. I took a step forward, not out of any hope—or fear—that her broken body might still contain life, but out of a bone-deep impulse to see, to bear witness and not look away.

  She was who she was, and I was who I was, but she’d still been my mother. There’d been something human and caring in her, even if it hadn’t been powerful enough to offset the rest.

  That momentary urge was almost my undoing. One of the blacksuits who’d been on the barons’ side charged at me with a hiss of rage and the flash of some magical weapon in her hands. My arm jerked up to shield me, and my casting word tripped over the heirloom ring on my right ring finger.

  The razor arc of magic slashed across her face, cutting across her lips and, from the sound she made, right into her tongue. She flinched, clapping her hand over the wound—and then our blacksuits were on her, yanking her away from me.

  I touched the ring as I braced myself for another attack. A weird melancholy sensation rose up over me.

  My mother had tried to kill me, and then she’d saved me, whether she would have meant to now or not.

  Malcolm caught my shoulder. When I turned to face him, Declan joined us too, rubbing his back. I grasped the Nightwood scion’s hand for real the way I had with my magic minutes ago, and he tugged me closer with a ragged exhalation that said he’d found the battle just as wrenching as I had.

  Holden had bent over Connar where the Stormhurst scion had shifted back into human form, his chest bleeding from a shallow gash his brother and Professor Viceport were working to seal. His eyes were alert enough to reassure me that the wound wasn’t life-threatening. Jude was standing a little unevenly a short distance from us, another small explosive in his hand, but rather than throwing it, he was watching his uncle.

  The fighting had fallen off as the barons’ allies had registered the deaths of their leaders. The remaining blacksuits and other mages wavered on their feet, watching us with uneasy expressions but much less conviction than before. Hector Killbrook strode into the space between our opposing groups and let his voice ring out.

  “The pentacle is fallen. It is up to us to rebuild it and everything they fractured during the last part of their reign. Anyone who backs down from the fight and shows their willingness to work with us instead of against us will face no sanctions. Let’s not tear apart our community any further. We have quite the mess to clean up as it is.”

  I waited, braced. Our attackers who’d stayed in an aggressive stance slowly lowered their hands, their stances slumping. A few drifted closer to the barons’ bodies as if needing total confirmation, but their faces showed only hopelessness. They had nothing, really, left to fight for.

  “It’s over,” Jude said, coming up behind us, his voice thick.

  It was. That fact sank in slowly as the mages who’d been fighting us a few minutes ago came up to Baron Killbrook on their own or in small groups and made their gestures of acceptance.

  We’d ended the assault on the Naries—or at least, we would fully once we sent for the fearmancers who’d gone out to spread the chaos. Things were going to be unsettled for a while, but not like they had been the last several weeks. Not like they had been for me since the moment I’d arrived here.

  My greatest enemies, the three barons who’d done everything they could to undermine me and control me as soon as I stepped on campus, were all as gone as they could be.

  My shoulders sagged with the wave of relief. Malcolm’s grasp and Declan’s, reaching for my arm, held me steady. But I didn’t need reassurance. From beneath the anguish and the grief for what I hadn’t been able to save, a much more joyful emotion was bubbling up through my chest.

  I was free.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rory

  Six months later

  The sculpture was more figurative than a literal representation: a waist-high piece of marble shaped into two vaguely human figures in an embrace, with a small mousy form at their feet. I’d been afraid I couldn’t capture my joymancer parents’ faces accurately with all the time that had passed since their deaths, and the symbol mattered more than a perfectly detailed portrayal. It formed the focal point of the sort-of shrine I’d created here just beside the main Bloodstone home.

  A week ago, as soon as the spring weather had turned warm enough to ward off any frost, I’d planted flowers around the base of the statue and the wooden arbor that arched over it. Now, I sent a tendril of magic to urge the roses around the arbor to cling more tightly to its slats. With a little supernatural encouragement, I hoped they’d cover the entire structure by summer.

  Those blossoms hadn’t opened yet, but the violets in front of the statue gave off a tangy scent. I bent to encourage them to shift a little to the sides of the words carved into the marble base: In loving memory of Lisa and Rafael Franco and Debora
h Isaacs.

  I didn’t know what future Bloodstones would make of this display, but I intended to keep the story of their sacrifices alive as long as I was alive to tell it.

  I brushed my fingers over the mouse figure with a bittersweet twinge, but I didn’t think my late familiar and friend would have resented my plans for today. No, Deborah probably would have said something in her brisk voice like, It’s about time you moved on with this, Lorelei.

  As I straightened up, my gaze fell on the other, smaller memorial I’d set up beside this one. The glossy stone held my birth mother’s name, the dates that had marked the start and end of her life, and the only other two words I could bear to add: Remember family. I meant to remember her, even if many of those memories were uncomfortable. And I hoped all future Bloodstones would listen to each other instead of letting ideas of power and glory color over everything else.

  I’d come from two places—fearmancer and joymancer, with love given and secrets kept on both sides—and it felt only right to honor both.

  Footsteps whispered across the grass. Maggie came up beside me, a leather portfolio case tucked under her arm. As the current acting Baron Bloodstone, my cousin had come along on the trip out here to check for some records among my mother’s old things. I’d offered her a place on the property if she’d wanted to live here, since it was plenty big enough for both of us even once our families grew, but she’d opted to keep the apartment she’d been living in while she’d still been presenting herself as a Duskland.

  “I found what I needed,” she said. “Ready to get going?”

  “Yeah. I think I’m good.” I let out a slow breath through the easing jumble of grief and nostalgia inside me and followed her back to the car.

  “Have you got everything set with the blacksuits when it comes to security arrangements for tomorrow?” I asked as she put the car into gear.

  Maggie nodded. “We’ll be well-covered if the joymancers try anything sketchy.” She glanced over at me. “You’ve interacted with their people a lot more than I have. Did they give you any bad vibes when we talked with them before?”

  Over the last few months, our coalition of barons and heirs had tentatively but steadily patched together a peace agreement with the joymancers' Conclave. Tomorrow the two groups were meant to meet up to finally bind ourselves to the conditions we’d agreed upon.

  “I don’t think they trust us completely,” I said. “Maybe they never will. But I’ve gotten the sense that the leadership is at least a little impressed that we were willing to stand up to the old barons as adamantly as we did. They’ve lost people in this conflict just like we have. They must see that it helps them as much as it helps us. And it’s not as if we haven’t made plenty of concessions.”

  The agreement mainly amounted to staying out of each other’s way, which was perfectly fine with me. After the way the joymancers had treated my mother—and me—I wasn’t sure I’d ever completely trust them either.

  “It’ll be nice not to have to worry about them breathing down our necks and assuming we’re up to no good,” Maggie said. “I’m impressed that you got them to listen.”

  I shot her a quick smile. “We all worked together on that one. Seeing how well we’re cooperating, within our own families and with them, has to have reassured them.”

  After the final battle at the Nightwood residence, Maggie had revealed her true heritage, and she and Hector Killbrook had gone through the ceremony to confirm their places in the pentacle. We’d adapted the barony ceremony to confer a similar authority to each of us heirs not yet old enough to take our full place at the table yet. Other than Jude’s little sister, who had been born happy and healthy but obviously wasn’t making any decisions as a newborn, and Hector’s young daughter, all blood members of the barony families had participated in the meetings of the pentacle and gotten a say in the decisions made so far.

  Cleaning up the chaos the previous barons had left behind had been our first and most intensive task. When their allies moving through the Naries’ political circles heard about the barons’ deaths, they’d returned quickly enough, but Nary society had been in a lot of turmoil even after the persuasive spells had worn off and the politicians affected had retracted their statements and orders.

  We’d sent blacksuits out to all the major urban centers to help settle the lingering hostile feelings, and arranged donations to the families who’d lost loved ones during the violence in anonymous reparation. The president had ended up stepping down all the same, and his former vice president was now in charge, which appeared to have worked out all right. Life seemed to have reverted back to normal from what I’d gathered when I checked the news, other than moments of confusion when the Naries reflected back on that brief period of horrible unrest.

  As if triggered by my thoughts, my phone rang. At the sight of the name on the screen, I smiled and answered the call.

  “Hey, Shelby!” I said. “How did the symphony go?”

  “It was amazing,” my friend said, breathless with awe. “I can’t believe—having that many people listening to me—well, I mean, it wasn’t just me, but you know.” She paused, and her voice faltered. “I still feel a little selfish enjoying this after what happened to get me here.”

  As with all the Naries who’d been on campus after our battle with the barons, we’d made the decision to wipe any memory of magic they’d seen from their minds. It was either that or ask them to keep a secret that would weigh on them far more than was fair. The infirmary staff were monitoring the students closely with regular check-ups to address any lingering trauma, but Shelby’s story had been all over the news. Even as a non-paranormal incident, a group of attackers slaughtering an entire orchestra was shocking enough to draw a lot of attention.

  Being the only survivor of the attack, even if her memories of it were a bit muddled by our intervention, Shelby had been asked to speak on talk shows and give magazine interviews. With the therapist Blood U had paid for her to work with, it’d taken her months to shake off the worst of her distress, but she’d benefitted from the spotlight too. Last month, the Boston Symphony Orchestra, which was apparently one of the best in the country, had unexpectedly required a new celloist, and they’d invited Shelby to audition. She’d just completed her first large-scale performance with them last night.

  “They wouldn’t have hired you if they didn’t think you were incredibly talented,” I said. “And it’s not as if you came away from the tragedy without any scars. What happened to the others wasn’t your fault.” I still had to remind myself it was my mother’s, not mine.

  “I know.” Shelby sucked in a breath. “The counselor I’m seeing here has been really good, so I’m not dwelling on the past too much. But anyway. I wanted to see if you can come and visit sometime. My apartment isn’t the biggest ever, but the pull-out couch is pretty comfortable.”

  I smiled. “Definitely. I’ve got to hear you play with your new colleagues. Let me check my schedule for the next few weeks, and I’ll get back to you about when I can fit that in.”

  When we reached the university, Maggie parked in front of Killbrook Hall, right around the spot where I’d first stepped out onto campus when I’d barely known who or what I was. “Good luck,” she said, flashing me a grin, and went into the building for a meeting she’d arranged with Ms. Grimsworth.

  I set off across the grounds to the Stormhurst Building, my heart beating a little faster already.

  There wasn’t anything to be nervous about. This was a totally standard spell, and I was sure of my choice. It just felt more momentous than it might have otherwise with everything that had come before—with the fact that I could make a choice now.

  Professor Viceport was waiting for me in the gymnasium where we’d decided to perform the casting, and so were my four lovers. I raised my eyebrows at them as I came in. “I didn’t think this was a big enough deal to warrant an audience, especially one that includes two barons.”

  Declan, who’d taken the Ashgr
ave barony after he’d graduated back in January, let out a laugh. “We thought you might want to celebrate afterward. Easier if we’re already here.”

  “I’m looking to be reassured that you picked a good one,” Malcolm said with a teasing note in his smooth voice. He’d graduated to take the Nightwood barony only a few weeks ago, but the air of authority already fit him just as well as I’d expected it would. “Then I can explain to Shadow why he’s not getting a hunting companion.”

  My gaze slid to the carry case by Viceport’s feet. Malcolm had amicably pushed for me to follow his example and take a wolf as my new familiar, but I’d wanted an animal I could keep with me in my dorm and anywhere I traveled. I hadn’t settled on exactly which one until I’d been talking with a fearmancer woman who bred cats as a hobby. She’d bemoaned how she hadn’t been able to find a home for one of the kittens from her most recent litter, which by now was pretty much grown, because he didn’t have the hunting instinct that most fearmancers wanted in their familiars and pets.

  I swear he’s made friends with the rabbits in the gardens instead of terrorizing them, she’d said, and my mind had tripped back to my early lessons with my first mentor. To help me come to terms with the need to strike fear to power my magic, Professor Banefield had tried having me protect a rabbit from a stalking cat. The idea of taking in a feline that chummed up to bunnies instead had struck a chord deep inside me. I’d gone to see the cat the next day, and within ten minutes he’d been purring on my lap, both of us committed.

  Viceport had held onto him for a couple of days to prepare him for the magical bond. The moment she opened the case, he bounded over to me, his black fur gleaming under the harsh lights. A proper witch’s cat, she’d said with a hint of humor when I’d first brought him to her. I scooped him up, and he snuggled into my arms as if he was made to fit in exactly that spot.