by Ingrid Hahn
But she couldn’t act alone. That was what the mirror was for. The reflection would double her. Two of her working upon a single stone would be twice as powerful.
Fabric rent as Philippe lost patience with his knife and stripped away her shift, leaving her naked. Broken stone cut into her back, icy drops fell on her bare skin, and her hands shackled above her head were losing sensation.
Philippe tossed the ruined garments into the fire. The glow dimmed a moment before the tatters went up in a single burst of flame.
The inquisitor’s man rested the stone alongside the wooden boards of the brodequins. “Let’s see what good this does you now, shall we?”
Philippe answered a knock at the door, exchanged a few words with whoever stood in the dark crack on the other side, and turned to his master. “We found him.”
Chapter 23
“I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done to her.”
The two large guards keeping Roland in check threw him to his knees at the feet of the inquisitor’s man. Roland’s hair hung around his face.
The stink of singed human skin hung in the air.
Slowly, he looked up into the haggard visage. Roland had caught one glimpse of Sidonie’s naked body streaked with bright blood and had known then that hell would not be too high a price for what he would do.
“We assure you that she’s perfectly safe. Nothing more than a few scratches.”
One of the men leered at Sidonie. The inquisitor’s man’s stern look set the guard to rights and the pair left.
“I’m going to split open your belly and crush your entrails under the heel of my boot.”
“Something we shall look forward to.” The inquisitor’s man nodded to a servant dressed in simple black garb. The other man left and the inquisitor’s man reached down to snap the pendant from around Roland’s neck. He studied the medallion and smiled. “We suppose this makes you think you’re her protector.”
The door opened again. There was a scuffle and the high-pitched wavering cry of a frightened woman. She was shoved down next to Roland.
The tangle of that unique red-blonde hair . . .
Taking in the sight was no less painful than a knife in his belly.
No.
With a new burst of ire, Roland fought to free himself of his bindings.
The woman sat up, squinting as if she’d been shut away in darkness too long.
Good God, how could they have done so much to her in so little time? The rich cloth of her dress was soiled with muck and filth. Her cheeks were stained with tear-streaked dirt, her hair matted. Part of her face was blue and swollen, and crusted blood dripped down her chin from her lip.
Toinette was hardly recognizable. But it was her.
“Cousin?” She squinted at him, her voice a thin waiver when she spoke. “Is that you?”
“If you’re here . . .” Then who protected Jacques?
She burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Roland, I’m so very, very sorry. They came and I fought but they—”
“Hush. It isn’t your fault.” He almost asked if they’d hurt her, but looking at her was answer enough. They were going to pay for what they’d done. Nobody hurt a d’Ambroisin. Nobody. And if any of those bastards had raped her, God save them.
“I failed you.” She was almost wailing. “I failed Jacques. I failed my uncle, your father. I failed the all the d’Ambroisin line.”
“You did nothing of the sort.”
“I was so sure, so headstrong, so—”
“Toinette. Stop. If you require absolution, I will be the first to offer my forgiveness.” Roland was beyond blaming even himself. “You knew your place and you claimed it. You were right.”
The face of the inquisitor’s man remained impassive as he observed them.
This only made the anguish in her sobs more acute. For a terrible minute, she did nothing but cry. “We’re both going to die here and then there will be nobody . . .”
She didn’t need to finish her sentence for him to understand.
Nobody to keep Jacques from being divided. He’d be lost in a matter of weeks, no more than a month. His body might linger here a few more years, but torn between the now and the hereafter, the person who was Jacques would be gone.
Worse. Nobody for her children.
All their greatest fears were about to come true. When Jacques was lost, the gateway would have no protector.
~ ~ ~
Sidonie tilted her head backward to let the drops fall on the skin of her face. She whispered her sorrows into the water, her apologies, and her regrets. Perhaps someday another one such as herself might hear the old whispers of this time and carry the memory forward.
“Sidonie, stay here. You must stay here.”
She looked over at Roland just as Philippe delivered him a hard kick in the stomach. Her whole body clenched as he doubled over. Jaw muscles bulging as if they carried the entire burden of his pain, he came again to sitting, breath coming in jerking hisses between his teeth. The torchlight glinted in the gloss of his heavy black locks.
Roland locked his stare with hers. “You never saw the other side of the medallion.” He was choking, but still tried to manage the words. “You never saw—”
Philippe kicked him again.
The other side of the medallion? One showed side the moon. But the other side of the moon was unknown.
The inquisitor’s man raised a hand to his servant as if he were the pope offering a benediction. “That will do.”
This time Roland didn’t rise so quickly, but lay doubled over, coughing and sputtering and grasping for breath.
Toinette wept.
The inquisitor’s man came to stand over him, nudging Roland’s shoulder with his foot. “You’re the bastard the old Marquis d’Ambroisin raised as his own son.”
Roland trembled with the effort of sitting. His brow glistened with sweat, but he glowered upward from between strewn locks of wavy hair. He panted. “Nothing you say will matter. I know who I am. I know what I am. Nothing you can do will change me.”
“We knew your mother for a time. What a beauty she was.” The skin of the inquisitor’s man’s face pulled as his lips spread into a smile. He clasped his hands behind his back. “You never learned who your father was, did you? Your real father.”
“My real father was the late Jacques d’Ambroisin.”
“Oh, no, my dear boy, he most certainly was not.”
“My real father was the late Jacques d’Ambroisin.” So absolute was his conviction, the air around them wavered.
“Ah. We see how it is.” The inquisitor’s man kept silent for a long span, then continued with a dismissive wave. “Very well. Have it your way.”
From his pocket he withdrew a square of white fabric so fine it was almost sheer, even at the distance from which Sidonie viewed the unfolding scene. Her mind played through Roland’s words again and again. The other side of the medallion. The other side of the medallion. The inquisitor’s man had placed the round silver disk on the gleaming surface of his ornate desk.
Then he knelt to wipe the tears from Toinette’s face. “Don’t cry, my dear lady.”
Toinette sniffled and blinked at him, but didn’t speak.
“Don’t think you won’t have the opportunity to cleanse your soul before you die. We are merciful.”
Showing no hint he heard the woman’s fresh sobs, he settled himself back at the desk. “Philippe, go for the priest, if you will. It’s time to hear their confessions.”
The servant left. The inquisitor’s man took a sip from his cup. Tilted upward, the silver caught a glint of firelight.
Reflections in silver. Perhaps . . .
“Please.” Sidonie licked her lips. “May I have a drink?”
He studied her a long moment. “Too late to try being sweetly pliant, my dear child.”
She swallowed. “My mouth is so dry. Please. One sip.”
“You’re going to try something. You think to kill me.”
“I didn’t come here to kill you.”
With slow reluctance, he rose, his elongated form covering the span of the room in a few silent strides.
The cup would come up only as far as her lips. She wouldn’t be able to meet her own gaze in the reflection, and if she tried pretending to admire the beauty of the craftsmanship, the inquisitor’s man would see right through her.
Behind him, Roland watched, trepidation on his face. Chest rising in a sudden intake of air, his mouth opened, as if to call out her name in warning.
Pained with the force of ignoring him, she braced herself. If he upset what she’d set in motion . . . There was no more room for any mistakes. Once she started spending herself, there would be no going back. Too much too soon and she’d run through all her strength before the first hint of dawn. Too little and she risked alerting the inquisitor’s man and facing a slit throat, a quick exsanguination, and hurried deliverance to Death.
Roland’s mouth closed again.
The inquisitor’s man raised the cup, the narrow fingers encircling the diameter were tipped with long yellow nails.
The silver lip touched the bottom of her mouth, the ruby scent of rich wine flooding her senses. He tipped the vessel upward.
Sidonie sipped. And swallowed. Whatever of her had been reflected into the surface—well, pray it was enough. She’d lost, but she wasn’t beaten. Not yet.
She wouldn’t surrender without a fight.
“Thank you.”
Merde. A partial reflection wasn’t going to be enough. She had to meet her own eyes.
At close view, his skin was even more papery than she’d guessed—smooth, without a single visible pore, and, without expression, lacking any hint of lines or folds. The ghostly images of bluish veins were visible—only just, but visible all the same—under the grayish pallor.
“We did you an injustice just now, my dear.”
She only looked at him. Roland had come to his feet, brow sunk in determination. He ran right for them.
“Here we thought you were going to spit it right back in my f—”
The inquisitor’s man flew forward when Roland’s body made contact with his.
She shrieked. On pain of Roland’s immortal soul . . . “Don’t kill him!”
There was a chilling crack like stone and skull contesting strength and finding in an instant which was solid and which was broken. The long limbs were in a crumple on the floor, blood seeping from the inquisitor’s man’s brow.
Chapter 24
Sidonie had to move her feet to the side, straining her wrists against the metal shackles, to avoid making contact with him.
The wine flew from his hand, and the liquid lingered in an arcing ribbon for a brief moment before landing in a dark splatter, the silver cup clinking and rolling in a circle until it stopped near the fire.
Roland strained against the ropes tying his hands behind his back. “I just have to loosen these a bit and—”
A wavering plea came from Toinette. “Don’t do this, please. You can’t win. They’ll only make you linger longer before . . .”
They both ignored her.
Sidonie’s reserves welled. She split herself out of time, incorporeal for a fraction of a second. Long enough to free herself of the shackles which now dangled and clanked against the stone wall still locked shut. It was a dangerous use of her powers.
A cold rush of blood flooded down the length of her arms. Oh, sweet relief.
She needed to save her strength for what was to come, but every minute counted. If she didn’t seize every opportunity, she would lose her chance.
“Untie me.” Roland offered her his wrists.
“A moment.” Wincing, she shook her hands. Her fingers tingled. With great effort, she clenched and unclenched. She’d been bound hardly any time at all and already a dull ache had started in her shoulders. The agony of feeling raced into her numb extremities as they prickled to life. Enduring the millions of red hot pins stinging her arms was a small enough price to pay.
He strained again, whole body trembling, sweat glistening on his skin as he let out of warrior’s cry. A hand pulled free, the wrist bloodied. The rope fell away and he rubbed the red welts where the abrasion was the worst.
Roland was free. He heaved great gulps of air, shucked his long overcoat, and tore the shirt from his back. He eased the billowing linen over her head, threading her arms carefully through the armholes.
Their gazes locked. Roland grabbed her and devoured her mouth.
Sidonie pushed against him. The cup was still so far away and she had to get her hands on it before—
Whether or not she’d succeed was uncertain. He tore himself away, seemingly of his own accord, ran to bar the door, and then went to the desk to begin digging through drawers.
The inquisitor’s man groaned again, moving this time as if struggling toward consciousness.
Blood still warm from the kiss, Sidonie sent a cold glance to Roland. “You should not have done that to him.”
“You didn’t like it, I realize.”
“A mere technicality.” He reached for Toinette and helped her to her feet, rubbing her shoulders to gently comfort her. His cousin fell into his arms and he held her close.
“An important one.”
“Did you intend to?”
His features set in bleak determination. “I’m not sorry and will never be sorry. How do you know that’s not what was supposed to happen?”
He was right. She didn’t know. Maybe whatever happened here this night was exactly what was supposed to happen. Time leaked this way and that, but the future was never certain. In all the days since the nightmare began, the only thing she’d ever known was that she had to open the gateway.
Sidonie stood above the whining creature bleeding on the ground. “I meant what I said earlier. I didn’t come here to kill you. But I did come here to help you die.”
She could almost feel Roland’s dark gaze boring into her. “That makes no sense.”
From the door came a clunk. The bar kept the hinges from swinging and then a muttered curse. On the other side, someone began pounding and shouting.
“Roland—”
Toinette echoed Sidonie, her voice frantic instead of level. “Roland, please.”
“It’s all right.” Roland had gone through all the drawers on one side and started on the other. “Don’t you see? All we have to do is find the keys. I can hold off the guards. You unlock the cells, then we leave. We’re free. We’ve won. And you won’t even have to—”
“Roland.” Sidonie was still. “Look.”
He stopped and raised his head.
The inquisitor’s man’s eyes shot open. He folded his knees, pressed his hands to the floor, and rose, longer and taller than ever. The thick lines of blood that had spilled across his face from the gash when he’d been upon the floor now cut at a sharp angle toward his lowered chin.
~ ~ ~
Sidonie, in the tent of Roland’s shirt, pulled the collar up and inhaled the scent. The smell of him alone worked a kind of magic almost as strong as the crescent moon itself. These were her final moments and she was going to go to Death knowing she’d been cherished. Protected. Loved, even.
Maybe standing on principle when he’d wanted to marry her yesterday had been wrong.
The pounding at the door went louder.
“Roland, he’s awake. He’s standing.”
“So what?” There was a jangle of metal clinking together and the sound of a drawer sliding back. Seemed
Roland had found the keys after all. “He’s an old man. We tie him up and we—”
Sidonie’s hand shot to the side to catch Roland before he pushed past her to the inquisitor’s man. “No.”
She looked to the inquisitor’s man to see if he understood what was about to come to pass. His face was a mask. In a blink, a figure appeared beside him, slight and steady. As was the way with spirits, she didn’t materialize or come in a flash. It was Lyse.
Sidonie didn’t take her eyes off the spirit. Lyse had been waiting to cross over. For some reason, she couldn’t do it at Bramville. She’d come to Paris following Sidonie and Roland to pass through the gateway herself.
“Sidonie, listen to yourself.” Roland all but growled. “There is no reason for any of this, least of all any reason for you to die.”
The pounding from the door suddenly went silent. “He’s gone for reinforcements. If you leave now, you’ll slip past them.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I see now.” She nodded at Lyse. “You want to cross now?”
Both men looked in the direction where Sidonie had addressed the spirit. Of course it was impossible for them to see her.
The inquisitor’s man winced and clutched at his head. Sidonie grabbed the sellette and set the stool down for him, daring not to touch him. Sweeping back again, she grabbed the silver cup from the ground.
Roland took her by the shoulder. “Sidonie, there is no reason—”
“I heard you the first time, Roland, and yes, yes there is reason. This is what I have come to do.” She stared him down. “This ends. Tonight.”
Roland took a step backward.
She pointed to Toinette. “Untie your cousin.”