Apostate: Forbidden Things

by Nikki Mccormack

  •

  Indigo lost track of what Caplin was saying. The odd sense of pain that had spiked within her earlier, that pain that appeared at her core and yet was somehow not hers, returned with far more force. She flinched, her stomach churning in response to the unpleasant stabbing pain, and Caplin trailed off.

  “Are you all right?” He finally asked.

  She held up a finger for him to wait as she searched in earnest this time. Yiloch and Ian were still in the city, but neither was in any obvious pain. The link to Ian had become faint, however, as though some kind of barrier had risen between them.

  She ground her teeth in frustration.

  There was something else. Something she was missing.

  The strange pain came again and this time she latched onto it, tracing the sensation to its source. It led her back to the academy. She ran up against several strong barriers there and used more ascard to drill past them, following the sensation through to a familiar object. With a sinking sensation, she recognized the ascard signature of the ring Yiloch had given her. Forcing more power along the thread, she extended her ability to reach out beyond the ring and encountered another familiar ascard signature.

  Adran? It was his pain she felt through the ring. What was he doing here and why did he have her ring? Using the ring to anchor the thread of power for a moment, she stretched her ability out from that point, moving several tendrils of power into the room beyond Adran. She touched another presence and recoiled. Surprise and horror took her breath away.

  She put a hand to her throat, gasping as the pain flared again, stronger this time because of the ascard she had anchored into the ring.

  “Indigo. What is it?”

  “I have to go.” She stood, bumping over a side table in her haste. A vase shattered on the floor. “I’m sorry. I can fix that later. If I convince Serivar to confess, will you listen?”

  “Yes, I will, but…”

  “Someone needs me now. I will be back. I promise.”

  She hid herself from sight and left Caplin behind. She made it to the carriage she had arrived in, all the while bombarded by increasingly intense flashes of pain, the last strong enough to trip her up. The driver accepted her urgent direction to the academy and moved the horse out at a fast trot. Then another chaotic mess of sensations struck her, pain, fear, and panic, but it was all coming through her link to Ian this time. A moan of dread escaped her and she reached out with ascard, using it to drive the horses faster. The carriage driver shouted at them to slow and she put a tendril out to calm him in turn. When they stopped outside of the academy there was another carriage parked out in front. She placed both drivers into a deep slumber and hurried inside.

  The pounding of her heart was almost enough to deafen her as she moved cautiously through the building, her palms damp with the sweat of fear. If someone saw her here, they were very likely to recognize her. Now, more than ever, she couldn’t afford delay. Ian was dying. She could feel his life ebbing through their link, though she didn’t know why yet, and the pain response from Adran was growing weaker. Terror tightened her chest, making it hard to breathe as she followed the sensations to Serivar’s office.

  When she stepped into the office, Serivar was pacing behind his desk. His eyes widened, but he didn’t have time to react beyond that before she put him to sleep as well. The heavy thud when he struck the floor made her wince. She would have to hope no one heard. Hastily, she shut the door and hurried to the hidden one at the back of the room. The pungent tang of vomit stung her nose as she entered the training room. The room was dimly lit with a few candles placed on the one table that had been moved to the center, just past a figure slumped in a chair with his back to her.

  Forgetting caution, she ran to the slumped figure, noticing the ropes that bound him to the chair and the dark liquid pooling around the legs. Reaching out with ascard, she lit the candles in the sconces around the room and stopped abruptly, only a few steps from the figure. The dark liquid was blood, and it covered the figures clothing and skin as well. A gentle touch with ascard confirmed that it was Adran.

  Stepping reluctantly around in front of him, she let out a cry of horror. If not for his ascard signature, she wouldn’t have recognized the man sitting there through the blood and open wounds that covered his face. Every part of him was riddled with deep open cuts. His chest barely moved, but it did move. He was still alive, though fortunately unconscious. Struggling against an urge to throw up, she made herself step closer. She reached to touch him, but couldn’t see where to do so without causing pain. She spotted the ring then, placed on Adran’s little finger, sticky with blood. She reached for the item, not sure what she meant to do with it.

  I must help him. She continued to reach for the ring, horribly mesmerized by the glint of white pearl still visible amongst the red of his blood.

  “I’m pleased you could join us.”

  Her head jerked up, her hand snapping back to her side. Myac stood watching her. His pale hair and eyes brought out his resemblance to his father. While she indulged in her horror, he had placed himself between her and the door. A chill swept through her, creeping cold fingers up her spine, but anger quickly incinerated it.

  “What have you done?”

  Myac smiled. “I was only having a little fun.”

  Rage blasted through her and she almost lashed out at him, but she caught herself. Adran needed immediate help. He was far enough gone that it would take nearly everything she had to save him, assuming she could still do so. She sent ascard into him to assess the extent of the damage and had to fight the rising bile when she discovered broken bones and other internal injuries in addition to the obvious external wounds, all of them inflicted with ascard bearing Myac’s signature.

  “You don’t think I’ll sit by quietly and let you heal him, do you?”

  She tensed and withdrew, leaving a tendril of power in Adran to monitor him.

  “Oh,” his smile deepened, “and aren’t you forgetting something.”

  “Forgetting something...”

  She realized then that the pain and panic she’d felt from Ian was gone now. There was only silence in the link. She swallowed and she followed the link to its end only to discover the young creator was in the room with them.

  Myac stepped to one side and she saw Ian lying in a heap by the wall to the left of the door. The stench of vomit came from there. A quick assessment confirmed her fears. Myac had poisoned him. Like Adran, he was either unconscious or too weak to do anything. His heartbeat was faint and stressed, his breathing shallow.

  “When you meshed our power to bring down the Grey Army’s barrier, I got to see exactly how strong you are. I know your limits now as well as I know my own and I can tell by your expression that you’ve already realized you can’t save them both. It really is a shame. Oh, and you have me to deal with as well. You could perhaps save one of them in time, but could you do it after defeating me? Do you think they’ll even be alive long enough to find out?”

  The pleasure in his voice made her anger almost as strong as the helplessness and terror she felt, but not quite. She reached out with ascard. She needed help. Her reach struck a wall of power. The barriers around these rooms were strong and old, protecting the secrets within, but she had breached them earlier, following the touch of the ring. From the inside, however, they were stronger than ever. Someone had enhanced them considerably not to keep magic out in this case, but to keep it in.

  “No, you won’t be calling for help,” Myac said, correctly translating her change of focus. “The barriers have been cleverly fortified by an adept who specializes in such things. I did make a little modification in the hopes that you would feel Adran’s suffering through your ring, but it is mostly flawless.”

  She made herself breathe deep and slow. Despair was welling up inside her. She couldn’t afford to let it overwhelm her. Perhaps she could manage something through the ring if he’d made an exception in the barriers for it.

  “W
asting time, aren’t you? I don’t think they can hold on much longer.”

  She glared at him. “What does it matter if you won’t let me help them?” She hissed the question, fury burning molten within her even as defeat loomed up like a dark shadow in her mind.

  “Well, I suppose it doesn’t, though I am curious who you would choose to help. Would it be your beloved emperor’s best friend or the young creator you seem so fond of? Tell me.”

  Despite the desire not to let him see her cry, she felt tears begin to escape down her cheeks. Through her power, she could feel both men growing weaker. Neither had much time left. She began to work the ascard in both of them, trying to find a way to stabilize them at least. To buy a little time.

  Adran’s body jerked when a fresh wound opened along his neck, his eyelids fluttering for a second. She screamed frustration, balling her hands into fists.

  “You’re not playing the game right.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Her demand rang hoarse and desperate in her ears. She yearned to help Adran, but Myac was too well tuned to her ascard signature after their blending of power in Lyra. Anything she did, Myac would feel and he would make Adran suffer for it.

  The amusement in Myac’s eyes faded and he frowned. A deep inner pain flashed across his face then. It was a pain for which Indigo could feel no sympathy anymore.

  “Yiloch destroyed my life. I thought I would pay him back. I would take everything he held dear away from him. His empire, his companions, ultimately, his life, but my efforts always goes awry. Often thanks to you, it seems,” he added with a bitter smirk. “And he just gets more and more. He gets his empire. He gets you…”

  A chill passed through her as his voice trailed off. “How did he destroy your life?” Her voice trembled, almost as much as her body did now, feeling the agony of the two men dying. He was right, she couldn’t save them both, and the longer they delayed the less chance she would have of saving either.

  “Did you know he killed my mother? Beheaded her right in front of me and left me for dead. That is the man you love. A heartless murderer.” His expression was cold, dark with hatred. “But you knew that. You saw him kill his father. Blood spattered on his face and in his hair. His eyes gleaming with savage pleasure. You know the monster he is.”

  “You would speak of monsters,” she snarled. Adran’s heartbeat was slowing, failing. It couldn’t work much longer given the amount of blood he had lost and the extensive damage his body suffered. She wasn’t sure how long Ian could last either. It depended on what poison had been used.

  “If I am a monster, it is only because that is what he made me.”

  “Stop this, please.” Her voice broke in a desperate sob, but she didn’t care. Let him see her breaking. Maybe he would find some inkling of pity within and have mercy.

  Myac sneered, dashing the faint hope. “Pick, Indigo. Who would you save?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A flicker of movement in the hallway beyond Myac caught her eye. A flash of silver reflected in the candlelight. The silver moved and she realized it was the blade of a sword. For a second, Yiloch’s face appeared then vanished again in the deeper shadows of the hall. Why hadn’t Myac sensed him? Why hadn’t she sensed him? Had they both been too distracted?

  No. There was a perfectly logical reason neither of them had detected him. It was the ring she had given him along with the barriers around the room working together to hide his presence. Hope flickered back to life within her and she struggled to focus, tried to remember what Myac had just said. If she did anything to betray Yiloch’s presence now, she would be trying to rescue three men from Myac’s clutches.

  Meeting Myac’s eyes again, she saw them narrow. A glimmer of suspicion rising at her brief distraction.

  I would save you.

  “It doesn’t matter who I would choose,” she protested, recalling his question. She didn’t try to fight the trembling in her hands or the tears that still ran down her cheeks. No matter what happened now, she was going to lose at least one of them.

  “If I told you I would let you save the one you chose, would that change things?”

  “Then what,” she hissed. “You’d stand aside and let us leave?”

  “I owe you something for freeing me from the Grey adept in Lyra. I would let the one you saved leave. Not you though. You can’t expect me to let you go that easily.”

  Adran’s heart stopped. Indigo spun toward him, sinking to her knees next to the chair in the thickening pool of blood.

  “No!”

  A gasp from Myac drew her attention and she turned to see a silver blade thrust out through his chest. Yiloch grabbed him around the throat, pulling him close. He released the hilt of his sword, leaving it punched through Myac’s chest, and drew a dagger. The dagger he ran across Myac’s neck, slicing deep with a speed and strength that required ascard power.

  “If I created you,” he whispered, “then it is my place to destroy you as well.” He let go of Myac and the adept slumped to the floor, the shock in his eyes already fading as blood gushed from his wounds.

  She turned back to Adran, checking all his vitals, using ascard to assess him. There was nothing to do. He was already gone beyond her reach. Still knelt there in a pool of blood and defeat, she withdrew her power and thrust it into Ian, filtering the poison from his system as fast as she could. He was on the edge, moments from joining Adran, but there was still a chance. Silent sobs shook her as she worked and she felt Yiloch move around her to where Adran was, still bound to the chair. She continued to focus on the task while he cut Adran free and laid him out on the table, anguish pouring off him in staggering waves.

  In time, Ian’s pulse steadied and his breathing began to even out. He would live, though he needed more care. She sagged forward, catching herself with her hands on the blood-soaked floor, her strength nearly gone, and wept, vaguely aware that the ends of her hair were trailing in Adran’s blood.

  Yiloch’s silence finally drew her out of her misery. Glancing around, she found him sitting beside the table on which Adran lay. His elbows rested on the table, his head in his hands, silver hair creating a curtain that hid his face from her. The surging anguish was gone, replaced by a hollow misery. She longed to comfort him, but what could she say or do? Adran had been with him his entire life. How did one help with a loss of that magnitude?

  She struggled to her feet. The weight of the blood that had soaked into her skirt made it drag heavy at her waist, pulling down her weary body and her breaking heart. Adran’s blood, everywhere, on everything. Myac’s blood coated the floor now too. So much blood.

  She took a few tentative steps closer to Yiloch.

  “Yiloch?”

  He lifted his head from his hands, but he didn’t look away from Adran. He held out a hand to her.

  “I believe this is yours,” he murmured, the emptiness in his voice drawing more tears from her tired, painful eyes.

  He opened his hand. On his palm rested the pearl ring he had given her, still smeared with blood.

  “I’m so sorry,” she managed to choke out around the painful tightness in her throat. “I tried.”

  His hand closed on the ring and withdrew. When he spoke again, it was barely more than a whisper. “I believe you did. I know you did, but I need someone to blame right now, someone I can still hurt. I don’t want that to be you.”

  She winced as her heart fragmented again, breaking more than she would have thought possible.

  You’ve proven you can hurt me before.

  She turned away from him and walked slowly, weary in more than flesh, over to where Ian still lay. Kneeling, she placed a hand against his neck, finding his pulse without ascard this time. It was weak, but steady.

  “By The Divine!”

  She turned her head to look at the newcomer. The motion felt slow and unsteady, as though even that effort was almost more than she could manage. She was hollow inside. Broken.

  Caplin stood in the doorway, starin
g at the carnage around the room, looking as though he might be sick. Given his battle experience, she thought that was a considerable testament to the horror of the scene. Yiloch made no move to acknowledge him, so she made herself rise and took a few steps toward him. Several guards waited in the hallway behind him. She knew how she must look with blood in her hair, on her hands, soaked into her skirt, so it didn’t surprise her when most of them narrowed their eyes in accusation and disgust before looking away. Only one of them met her eyes, a middle-aged man who might have been attractive if not for the poorly healed scar across the bridge of his nose.

  She held his gaze. “This man was poisoned,” she said, indicating Ian with one hand. “I’ve cleared the poison from his system, but he still needs attention. Take him to the west building and ask for a master healer.”

  The guard with the scar moved to do her bidding then hesitated, looking to Caplin for approval. Drawing on ascard, she prepared to manipulate him if necessary, but Caplin met her eyes then nodded to the man. She stepped aside, releasing the extra power as two of the guards lifted Ian between them. The creator moaned as they carried him from the room. The sound, a confirmation that he was indeed alive, comforted her. She watched them until they passed out of sight. Part of her wished Ian had been the one to die. She loved him, but it would have hurt Yiloch less to lose him. A vile sting of guilt came quick on the heels of that though, making her wince.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She looked down at the skirt of her dress, at her bloodied hands. How should she answer that question? Physically, she was unharmed. Emotionally, she would feel better if she had been soaked in lard, mauled by a pack of dogs then thrown in salt water.

  “It’s Adran’s blood,” she said finally.

  Caplin glanced at the figure on the table with open-mouthed dismay. He’d spent some time with Adran in the campaign against Yiloch’s father, though not as much as he’d spent with the captain’s late sister, Eris. The mess on the table was hardly recognizable as the same man.