“What do you mean? Thane is out there and you can…” Aini blinked, confused.
Bathilda came close. The scent of magic—sage and something like charcoal—curled around her. Her light illuminated the seams in the duvet and the dried blood on Aini’s ankles. “If you take my hand, we will create a chain of spirits to Mercat Cross and an image of the goings-on outside will appear in your mind.”
Aini’s mouth fell open. She could see Thane? Maybe she could figure out what to do to free them both. “Please. Yes.”
She held out her hands. Bathilda took them in hers and that strange cold-hot feeling surged through Aini’s flesh. Lady Margaret disappeared, then reappeared a moment later. She took hold of Bathilda’s fingers and held out a hand—through the wall. A grimace twisted her face and she spoke to the ghost who must’ve stood in the corridor.
“Cease that at once, you cur, or I’ll haunt your sad cell until midsummer!” Lady Margaret looked back at Aini. “Forgive me. Simon really is a tiresome flirt.”
A laugh almost broke through Aini’s ripe fear and heavy sadness. She squeezed Bathilda’s hand, but passed through the ghostly fingers to find her own thumb.
“Not quite solid, Seer. Apologies.” Bathilda grinned sheepishly.
“Don’t apologize. I’ve just…I’ve never held hands with a ghost.”
“You’ve fought on our side though. You’re fighting for all of us sixth-sensers. And you will again.”
“I hope so.” Aini’s heart lifted. She started to say more, but Bathilda’s face and the room’s television and papered walls fizzed like carbonated water. Another scene played out in front of her eyes.
Under a blue sky, a pine wood stage stretched in front of hundreds of men, women, and children. Nobles sat in chairs along the back of the structure, fine clothes shimmering in the sunlight. Below a flapping banner that simply said Scotland Forever, Nathair spoke with arms raised. The breeze lifted a length of his hair out of place and he deftly smoothed it behind an ear.
As she watched Nathair work the crowd in this unbelievable production he’d arranged, she stood, her heart in her throat. Where was Thane? She squinted as if that would help her see a ghost-induced vision, then rolled her eyes at herself. Her pulse beat frantically. He had to be there somewhere. Maybe she had missed him. He’d already appeared and was gone and now she’d never see him again. She swallowed her panic and forced herself to breathe evenly.
And then he appeared. Walking up the stage’s side stairs, gaze downcast, Thane entered the carefully orchestrated scene. Crowned. Bruised. The king of grief.
The look in his eyes as he saw Nathair spoke of such sadness that it was all Aini could do not to fling herself out the window just to try to see him, to comfort him. His kilt stirred around his knees as he approached the earl. His aura sparkled like a cloak made of sunlight and stars.
She watched it all—the necklace, the roaring, the clever way Nathair got the necklace back again quickly.
Her hand went to her mouth. “The curse. It didn’t protect him. Why? Do you know why?” Bathilda’s face blurred behind the image of the stage.
Lady Margaret dissolved, eyes wide, then Bathilda faded too.
Aini was truly alone.
Why hadn’t the curse worked? She replayed the presentation over and over in her head. Wringing her hands, she drummed up every detail she could. Jack and the rest had been armed. They had hurt Thane inside and out. So why didn’t the ghost rulers take them out? They were Thane’s enemies, standing against the Heir.
“Not right then, though, maybe?” a voice said into Aini’s ear.
Aini frowned, confused. “Is that you, Bathilda? What do you mean?”
“I can’t materialize,” Bathilda said. “Too weak now. Nathair and Jack didn’t have guns on the Heir. They bowed to him. They weren’t against him during the roaring.”
Aini chewed the inside of her cheek and went to the window. Did Nathair and Jack truly fool the curse? A line of men and women—kingsmen and Jack’s crew too—streamed across the inner courtyard. The presentation was over then.
Out of an archway, Thane appeared.
Aini splayed her fingers on the window’s glass, willing him to look up.
One of Thane’s hands held his crown and the other ran through his tangled hair. Jack was hissing in his ear. Thane suddenly stopped, his head snapped around, and he threw words Aini couldn’t hear at Jack. Jack’s chin lifted, then he pointed one finger at Aini’s window.
She held her breath.
Thane’s gaze met hers. The world faded at the edges. Her fingers bunched against the cold glass. She stepped closer. The sun and clouds took turns painting Thane in shades of gold and blue. His lips parted, and his chest moved like he wanted to say something. Aini’s whole body flamed to life.
“Thane,” she whispered. He was her heart, her home, her love. A tightness spread over her throat.
Jack’s lips moved as he adjusted his cap.
Thane’s mouth became a straight line. He slammed his crown onto his head and held Aini’s stare. Fingers shaking, she traced his outline in the window’s condensation and imagined his warm skin and the feel of his muscles moving under his jacket as he held her against him.
A hand snaked around her throat, taking her breath. “I won’t hurt you,” one of Nathair’s men said into her ear. She hadn’t even heard him unlock the door. “Just show your man there you’re being cared for.”
Snorting, Aini threw an elbow back, into the man’s stomach. “Cared for right into the grave.”
The man pressed her cheek against the window. Her condensation outline of Thane smeared and ran in wet rivulets past her chin. Straining to see Thane, she glimpsed his movement. Three steps toward her. He’d lifted his head higher to see her better, but he squeezed his eyes shut like the sight hurt him. When he opened his eyes again, she fought her captor’s grip, swallowing painfully, and gave Thane a fierce smile and a nod.
“My Heir,” she said, moving her mouth so he might discern her words.
His head fell for a moment, then he stared up at her again, fingers gripping the tartan over his heart. “My Seer,” he mouthed.
A sob choked Aini worse than the hand on her throat. Tears bled down her face as Thane spun to follow Jack through a side door. Before Thane disappeared under the overhang, Nathair came up behind him and touched his back. Thane glared at his father—betrayal and a boy’s longing for love washing over his features. Aini’s stomach twisted. Nathair said something, and Thane shook his head and sped up.
“Let me go.” She pushed her captor’s wrist away. “You’ve done your job.”
The man relented and locked her up, alone.
A soft light blinked beside Aini, the glimmer of a ghost reflecting in the window. “Bathilda? Lady Margaret?”
The light faded and the room was silent. Outside noise—vehicles, people, gulls—streamed in faintly, but the strong quiet in Aini’s prison hummed in her ears. She sat on the bed, then lay back and closed her eyes. A list. That’s what she needed. A list of what she knew.
Thane is being coerced into doing as Nathair wished (I’m going to annihilate that man some day)
Bathilda and the other spirits can’t help us escape (physically)
The ghosts can show me pretty much anything (not sure what to do with that honestly)
They can also heal me (And others? Need to ask.)
The rebels know the situation here because Bathilda told them (Is Bathilda stuck in this life? I should be concerned about her wellbeing and not so focused on my own problems.)
Curse not working because Nathair and his rats truly believe they are all for the Heir (eye roll)
French are supporting Nathair against King John and everything is sticky and tangled as a bad batch of taffy (and far less delicious)
I can send more messages. (What do I say and how will that help?)
“I hate to interrupt your pondering, Seer, but—”
Aini shot out of bed, and Ba
thilda whooshed backward. The sixth-senser ghost was only a shadow of pale blue light with a few darker details here and there. The taffy had completely worn off. “What? No. You’re not interrupting.”
“We found something.” Bathilda glanced at a slip of light in the faint form of Lady Margaret. The spirit raised her chin with fabulous disdain.
Lady Margaret seemed to cough, but the action made no noise. Aini couldn’t be sure, but she thought maybe the lady’s mouth moved. No sound came out. She was almost totally invisible.
Bathilda held a hand out to her. “I’ll handle it, my lady.” She faced Aini. “Lady Margaret has been trapped in Edinburgh for a very long time. The…viewing earlier taxed her a good bit.”
“Are you trapped in the city too?”
Bathilda’s cheeks flushed a deep blue. They were the most visible parts of her since the Cone5 taffy had fled Aini’s blood. “I have more freedom. I wish I could explain, but I’m not sure how it works. And I haven’t met any others who understand it either.”
“But not everyone becomes a ghost. I’ve never seen my mother.” Aini swallowed.
“No, I think there is an element that Lady Margaret and I share…I could perhaps call it anger? We both want revenge on the bloodlines who ended our lives. Our deaths were unjust. More than that, I think. We refuse to move on. Not until we’ve seen a change. This is where our strength lies. I think…I think those of us who are ghosts were meant to live as ghosts. Fate, I think.”
Aini gave her a sad smile. “I am honored to be a part of the change you impart on this world. I hope we can see it through, then you can move on to peace.”
Bathilda’s grin lit her up like a candle. “Thank you, Seer.” Lady Margaret slapped the back of Bathilda’s head. Rubbing the spot, Bathilda floated close. Her chiming voice echoed in Aini’s ears, unlike any living person’s voice. “She wants me to tell you our news. We believe the enemy holds the Coronation Stone in a compartment not far from this room. Would it not be in your best interest to move that ancient stone and its magic so yours and yours alone would have access to its power?”
Aini stood, head spinning around her list of knowledge. “How did you find it? Is it a large piece like this?” She held out her hands to represent the approximate size of the larger chunk of the stone, the piece Nathair had taken from Inveraray along with the smaller one on Thane’s necklace.
The spirits nodded. “I saw the thread connection from it to Thane and you,” Bathilda said.
“If you take Thane to the stone, and he calls up the ghosts with his touch, maybe I can command them to attack Nathair and Jack despite what lies they’re telling themselves and everyone else.”
Bathilda shrugged, and Lady Margaret began talking again, still with no sound. “She thinks it will be nigh impossible to help our good Heir escape with that foul-tempered beast hounding his steps.”
Aini had to smile. “You quote the lady well.”
Bathilda giggled. “I can at least talk to the Heir. He heard me in the wash room.”
“The wash room?”
“Aye. I found him there alone.”
“Well I should hope so.” Aini raised an eyebrow.
“He wasn’t sure he’d heard me, but he decided he had.” Bathilda clasped her hands excitedly.
“How did he react to a girl’s voice in his ear while he was in the toilet?”
Bathilda snorted a little. “He wasn’t actually in the toilet.”
Then they were both laughing, and it felt wonderful even though the world was cracking apart.
“Where are they keeping the stone?” Aini rolled Mother’s ring around her finger.
“In a cabinet. Behind Earl Nathair’s desk.”
“Do you think I’ll have to be there when Thane calls up the ghost kings? Or can I command them through you and your mental link—something like what you did for me during the presentation outside?”
“That I don’t know, Seer.”
“I will try to get there then. Will you go to Thane now? Will you tell him where it is? And if he makes it there, will you tell me?”
She paced the floor like Thane, wishing Thane, Bran, and all their cohorts were there to help her plan. Neve could’ve given some anecdote from history, some ruse that worked in a plot long ago. Myles would’ve doled out a ridiculous idea that somehow sparked an idea that would actually work. Vera, well, Vera would’ve just ran right into Jack Shaw, had her way with him, then been cut down on her mad dash to the stone.
Aini said a silent prayer for each of those wonderful, crazy people she loved, then went back to making mental lists of why one move would work and another would not.
Chapter 14
Quelle Surprise
Thane stood across from Nathair’s desk, listening, plotting, planning. Something about this room made his blood shiver. It was almost the feeling he had when he touched the stone, but not quite. Why he was feeling it here, he had no idea. He put on a poker face, but truth be told he was shaken by what had happened today. Shaken to the soul.
Nathair leaned over the expanse of mahogany and spoke low. “My Heir, you did well.”
Thane ignored him. His mind was on Aini and the rebels. At least they seemed to have received his warning about the water. There hadn’t been any reports of sickness or death in the poor quarter of the city.
“Get your head out of the clouds, Heir.” Nathair’s brow knitted fiercely—the same way it did when he used to lecture Thane about bloodlines, legends, and enemies. “The king didn’t poison the water and I do wonder what happened with that…plot. But I believe our city, our people are behind us nonetheless.”
Thane held a straight face. “Amazing that you can persuade a group of people without terrorizing them, hm?”
Nathair ignored the cut. “My men tell me the king is on the move. He stopped to rest, but will be here by tomorrow night.”
A chill seeped into Thane’s limbs. “With an army?”
“Aye.”
Thane’s throat went dry. “Good. I’m ready to fight.”
Nathair’s mouth broke into a grin. “Are you now?” He glanced at a cabinet behind his desk, then back at Thane. “I am glad to hear it. Do you think your Seer might be as well?”
“I do.” She had to be. Somehow, he had to persuade her to side with Nathair for now, then they could deal with him after the battle with the king. If they lived to see that day. “I need to speak to her.”
“I agree. It’s time we move past this and prepare ourselves to take Scotland from John’s greedy, English hands. I wish I would’ve know years ago what I know now. That you are the Heir. That sixth-sensers could be used for good, to free Scotland.”
“John is not the only one motivated by greed.”
“I want power, Heir. Not money. That isn’t nearly enough. Power is the only true currency for men like you and me.”
“But you’re willing to accept shared power with the rebels who fight alongside the Dionadair? You weren’t lying to them today? You won’t shoot Vera of the Dionadair on site when she arrives for your little tête-à-tête?”
Nathair rubbed his nose. “Of course not. Why would I strip us of a strong contingent of fighters? Why won’t you believe me when I say We are on the same side?”
There were thousands of reasons. Only one mattered right now. “Because you shot our Seer.”
Nathair waved him off. “Jack’s man only wounded her to get you to come around.” He poured a glass of whisky and drank it down in one swallow. “And it worked, aye? You can’t argue that.”
“Who exactly posed as me?” Thane had figured that much out. Aini had only run to the enemy because she’d thought it was him. The truth of it tied him in knots.
The whisky glass clinked as Nathair set it on the tray. A trace of amber liquid remained and caught the window’s light. “You don’t need to know that.”
“Tell me.”
“No orders for you yet, Heir.”
Thane lifted his crown and held it in fr
ont of Nathair’s nose. “Oh aye? Then what’s this about then?” He was shaken by the fact that the ghost kings hadn’t attacked Nathair or Jack or any of them. If he didn’t have them, what power did he have here? He flexed his fingers around the crown’s smooth, golden edges. “Just something that brings out the highlights in my hair?”
Nathair bowed his head. “No, my Heir. Of course not. But you must remember I have your best interest at heart and I have a lifetime of experience with this world of power and struggle.”
“I know exactly what you have experience with, Father.”
“Let’s go to our rooms and ready for the meeting, aye?” Nathair slipped around the desk and said something to one of his new men at the door.
Thane stayed right where he was. Breathe in. Breathe out. He could handle this. Somehow. Some way.
“Your luncheon is ready, Heir,” the guard at the door said, holding the doorknob. His flat cap covered his eyes.
Thane slammed the crown on the desk. He felt impotent. Chained. A pointless figurehead.
A voice rang lightly in his ear. “The Coronation Stone is here, Heir.”
He spun. “What?” Gooseflesh spilled over his arms. Ah. A spirit. He would never get used to this.
“The Stone. It is here.” The voice faded, but a small brush of wind blew past his leg and rattled a low cabinet below the dark green curtains.
Thane dropped his hold on the crown and eyed the door guard. The man hadn’t seemed to notice anything. He was looking down the hallway, listening to some other flunkie moan about the crowds being wild.
“…and claimed she’d seen a dragon. Idiots,” the voice said.
Thane grinned. Vision-inducing gum. Myles had used the stuff to cause a distraction while they worked on the problem of Nathair poisoning the water.
Moving quickly, Thane shut the door on the guard and wedged a chair under the handle.
“You can’t do this, Heir.” The doorknob jiggled. “With all respect, you must open this door. Why are you fighting this? I…I don’t understand.”
The Edinburgh Seer Complete Trilogy Page 55