Court of Shadows

by Miranda Honfleur

  I’m going to be the Court Apothecary.

  Shaking her head, she deposited her collection of hawthorn into her bag, and continued while Una helped. It was still hard to believe she’d gone from being a possession at House Hazael to a free woman honored with a court position.

  Because he freed you, a voice nagged. He didn’t have to free you, or any of them. Maybe he did love you.

  She paused a moment, eyeing the blooms in her hand.

  Una rose and leaned in next to her, watching them, too. “What is it?”

  “Sometimes, I… There’s a voice inside of me that wishes things were different. That sees things the way I wish they could have been, and not as they are,” she said.

  Una placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “That’s all right. It may not be the same, but when I was growing up, that’s how I thought for a long time. Wishing my father was…” She gave a small shrug. “Different. Honest. Honorable. Caring. I even pretended not to notice, for a while, when he did wrong.”

  Perhaps if she let that nagging voice go on, she might want to pretend, too. It was easier, less painful, that way, but… “How did you stop?”

  “I… saw my mother cry after an argument one day,” she said softly. “And I couldn’t pretend anymore. All my wishing, everything I’d hoped he’d be… That’s what I decided to become.”

  Honesty, honor, and care… Yes, she could see Una living those virtues, at least from the brief span she’d gotten to know her.

  “What did you wish from your father?” Una asked, leaning toward the hawthorn shrub to gather more flowers. Somehow her distancing herself, even a little, made it easier to consider her question.

  “I wish he’d taken a stand when wrong things happened,” she began, and the words fell freely. “I wish he’d helped innocent people who needed it… and cared, not just about me, but about everyone who needed caring. I wish… I wish he’d been there, supportive, when Umi and I needed him.”

  “Maybe those wishes came true, too,” Una said, placing the flowers she’d collected in the bag, then dusted her hands off on her overcoat. “You might be living them.”

  Samara blinked.

  If… If that was true, then Farrad hadn’t been the father she’d wished for, but despite that deficit, or perhaps because of it, she’d flourished, and had become the person he hadn’t been when she’d needed him to be.

  “That’s… that’s a beautiful thought,” she whispered to Una, who smiled warmly.

  “We could use some, couldn’t we? It can’t all be Immortals and deadly trials all the time, right?”

  The trials… in that place steeped in blood. Rielle was going back there in just two days, and she would—

  A shriek pierced the air, ear-splitting and deafening, and both she and Una covered their ears. A great roar rumbled through the ground, and the leaves trembled on their branches.

  The horses yanked at their tethers, and Una hefted the bag and urged her to mount.

  “We have to get back to Magehold. Now,” Una said, after helping her up. She got into the saddle and picked a path through the woods, whispering to the horses.

  Every part of her trembled, and she could barely hold the reins, but her horse anxiously followed Una’s. They were less than an hour’s ride from the city. “What was that?” she asked, her voice quivering.

  The look Una cut her way was thin, frayed. “I… I don’t know, but we don’t want to be here when it comes out.”

  Chapter 49

  Running through the clearing at twilight, Leigh blasted the undead body that shambled toward him, and then another. They kept on coming, but he had the limitless anima to take on them all.

  “Dreshan, slow down,” Ambriel called, beheading an undead dark-elf without a heart. Dozens closed in from the trees—humans, animals, and Immortals, hissing, reaching.

  Katia snared them with roots, Della mind-shielded, and Ambriel cut them down.

  “We’re getting closer,” he called back, casting a repulsion shield and blowing it back against a half dozen undead. The scattered stragglers seemed to be coming from a dense force near the mountain. The horde had to be there.

  Casting another repulsion shield, he cut through the thickening mass of bodies coming for him, feeding more and more anima into the shield, throwing aside anything that came at him.

  He could get to Ava, hit her with his own arcanir ring, and then repel all the undead to get her out.

  “Leigh!” Katia’s high-pitched voice squealed from the distance.

  He spread the shield into a dome, and the undead clustered around him, pushing in until there was a solid wall around him that only grew thicker.

  Far behind them, Della grimaced as she held up the mind shield, the translucent force of her consciousness creating a barrier. A small circle had formed, with her, Katia, and Ambriel at the center, and undead pressed up against it, more and more, harder and harder—

  “She can’t hold it!” Katia screamed, her face pale. Ambriel pressed her behind him as she cast, and he continued cutting a swath around them.

  But it was unending.

  Ava—

  He wanted to keep moving, getting closer, bridging the distance, but—

  With a snarl, he destabilized his repulsion dome. It exploded, a blur of force magic throwing all the undead clustered around him at least fifteen feet.

  Recasting it, he cleared a path toward Ambriel, Katia, and Della.

  “Keep going,” Della shouted, but her voice was thin. “Find her. We can handle this—”

  “No, we can’t!” Katia yelped, spelling brambles to pull some of the undead away, but they were breaking through toward the shield. Using her geomancy, she began to drop some of the ground surrounding them, and undead fell over into the pit she’d spelled.

  A path still remained from him to them, and he approached, keeping up his repulsion dome until Della let him in, then recasting it over her spell.

  “Dispel your mind-shield,” he told her, and she blinked wearily, but obeyed. “Catch your breath.”

  They were losing the daylight, but the rest of them didn’t have the anima for this, or the endurance.

  Even if he’d accepted Della’s reassurances, there was no way he could have left them behind. If something happened to him, Della would have to try taking Ava’s mind, and Ambriel’s arcanir arrows could reach Ava if he couldn’t.

  And Katia—well, she was here, too. And at least somewhat useful.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wincing. “If Papa hadn’t sent me with you, maybe you would be—”

  “Shut up.” He sighed. “We usually work in pairs or teams. Do you know why?”

  Looking away, she shrugged. “To watch out for each other?”

  “That’s right,” he replied. “Right now, I’m watching out for you, and I expect you to do the same for me when we reach Ava.”

  Her eyebrows drew together, but she nodded quickly. “I won’t let you down.”

  Over her head, Ambriel shot him a one-sided smile as he wiped gore off his cheek. He always did know how to impress.

  Della slumped against him, her dark-blond head against his arm. He braced her.

  “My dear,” he said, glancing at Ambriel, “can you—?”

  “I’ve got her.” Ambriel sheathed his sword and hoicked her up into his arms.

  Holding the repulsion dome to push away the undead, he walked a path into the woods as the last rays of the setting sun faded. He kept the dome powerful enough to force the undead away, and he, Ambriel, and Katia sped up.

  After almost an hour of walking, Katia was stumbling over the undergrowth and Della had completely passed out in Ambriel’s arms. Her anima had been reasonably bright last time they’d shared resonance, so in order for her to be so weakened, she must have been venturing out for weeks, alone, struggling, and the failures had to be getting to her.

  Beaufort had scattered, and even the Coven had been sent out by Axelle to protect their territory. She’d truly been
left all alone to search for Ava.

  If only the Tower had worked for the Crown, then other mages could have already come to assist. Other necromancers wouldn’t have had to hide what they were, and could have come forward to help bring Ava’s horde under control.

  But as it was, the Tower would try to take Ava away, if it cared to intervene at all. The Order might kill her, if it wasn’t spread so thin, depending on the particular commander in charge of the mission. And the Crown’s official stance on the Covens had to be denial in order to comply with its treaty with the Divinity of Magic.

  It was so bound up in irrationalities to the point of frustration.

  “I hear our horses,” Ambriel whispered, and nodded southeast. At least the horses had been smart enough to run from danger.

  Another fifteen minutes of walking, and they found their mounts—and their packs.

  “I don’t hear the horde anymore,” Ambriel said.

  “Good,” he replied, grateful for Ambriel’s keen hearing. Perhaps they’d finally gone far enough to make camp. “Katia,” he asked, glancing over his shoulders, “lay the wards—”

  She swayed on her feet and blinked up at him sluggishly.

  With a defeated sigh, he said, “Sit down and rest. Watch over Della while I lay the wards and Ambriel pitches the tents.” He shot Ambriel an inquisitive look, and Ambriel nodded his acquiescence. With a glance back at Katia, Leigh said, “And get that nondescript goo out of your hair.”

  Her spine bolted straight, and she reached for her pulled-back hair, her palm landing on a glob of some dark-red coagulated something, and she cringed. As she walked away, Ambriel leaned in, still holding Della’s petite slumbering body.

  “Take it slow, dreshan,” he said softly. “Your anima may be boundless, but your energy isn’t. Don’t work yourself to exhaustion.”

  He wanted to argue, but Ambriel was right. He usually was.

  Instead, he pressed his head to Ambriel’s, just for a moment, and breathed deep. Divine’s tits, Ambriel smelled like spoiled guts, but he was warm, close, and his. “I’ll take it slow,” he whispered.

  Ambriel pulled away at that, gave him a warm smile, and set Della gently on a bed of flowers next to Katia, who scrubbed at her hair as if she were trying to rub out its color.

  “I think you’re just rubbing it in deeper,” he teased, but she grimaced and scrubbed faster.

  He began laying the ward, weaving his anima thickly into the earth, setting up repulsion on both sides. If anything crossed, the ward would repel everything inside proportionately—and they’d know.

  How close had they been to reaching Ava today? How bright was her anima, and how much longer would it last under fureur? She had to be reaching her limit—she was no wild mage.

  And what if tomorrow the same thing happened?

  “Leigh,” Della rasped, curled up on the flowers, her waves unbound and spread around her. She was one of the most powerful mages he’d known, but she looked so beaten down, so fragile there.

  As he finished laying the ward, he approached her beneath the glow of a candlelight spell—Katia must have spoken the incantation for it. No fires in the forest. At least not this one. She murmured something to Ambriel as they plucked some food out of a pack.

  Della grabbed his coat, and he crouched, pulling up a blanket someone had covered her with. Her eyes, normally a vivid dark blue, were dull, even in the light of the candlelight spell. She had to be exhausted.

  “What is it?” he whispered, sweeping a lock of hair off her face.

  Her lower lip quivered. “If you ever have to choose between me and Ava again, choose Ava.” Tears welled in her eyes, and he sat, then took her hand in both of his.

  “Della, it’s not a choice. We’ll find her and you’ll stay safe, all right?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  “Today, because of me—”

  “Because of you, we know where to look,” he said softly. “Because you’ve been out here looking for her constantly.”

  She lowered her gaze, and tears streamed from her eyes. “You need to get to her, Leigh. Terra only knows how much time she has before—”

  “We will get to her,” he said, rubbing her hand. “Ava needs her mother.”

  Della’s eyebrows creased together, and she curled tighter, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “She needs her father, too,” she said, her voice breaking.

  He swept a hand over his eyebrows, masking his face, as his own eyes watered.

  All these years, he’d been such a fool to think Ava would be safer without him.

  After Takumi and Yuki had died because of him—No, had been killed by him—he’d vowed never to have a family of his own ever again. Even just to be with another lover had taken years, and Della—she had secretly wanted a child, desperately, by a mage of great power. Rumor had it that wild mages could pass on their strength, but he’d never believed in such things. But she had, and had wanted Ava so badly that she’d lied to him about taking preventives.

  He’d wanted to hate Della just for that, and would have never been a husband to her even if he’d been a proper father. But Ava—she had deserved better. Deserved more than a monthly sum of coin as a father.

  The years had faded his anger toward Della, but only intensified the hole in his heart for Ava.

  “Della,” he whispered, “from now on, I will help her in any way I can, in any way she’ll let me. I promise.”

  Della nodded, and as Ambriel called out that her tent was ready, Leigh helped her rise and walked her to it, laid her down on her bedroll and helped her into it.

  When she’d finally given in to sleep, he found Ambriel in his own tent, washing up.

  Here, in the quiet, in the dark, a part of him just wanted to crumple to the bedroll and think about how terrified Ava had to have been, to watch a dryad kill her friend, Brice. So terrified, so overcome, that it had torn open her anima and released her magic for the first time.

  But if he did that, he’d never stop, and only hate himself more for not having been here… and there was time enough for that after she was all right.

  Wordlessly, Ambriel unbuttoned his coat, and slipped it off his shoulders, then moved on to his shirt.

  “I failed her,” Leigh whispered, and Ambriel paused his ministrations to cup his face.

  “Today is only one day, dreshan,” he said softly, “and tomorrow is a new one. Today isn’t the sum of who you are.”

  “But I failed. She needs me, and I—”

  “You’re doing all that you can,” Ambriel said evenly. “What more could you do? Wander the night alone until exhaustion claimed you?”

  He would’ve wanted to do… exactly that.

  But there was sense in what Ambriel said, yet accepting the fact didn’t let him feel the way he was supposed to feel. The way he needed to feel. “If there’s nothing I could do, there’s nothing to blame this on, and then it feels so… so… unstoppable.”

  “But you will stop it,” Ambriel said, brushing his lips with a kiss. “Tonight, you feel inadequate. But tomorrow, you’ll feel confident, and you will do everything you intend to do.”

  Another kiss, and Ambriel undressed him, held him, made him feel wanted, adored, long into the night… until the hopelessness faded, and the inadequacy faded… and his fears faded… and all that remained was love.

  Chapter 50

  In the large room she’d rented at Staff & Stein, Rielle practice-gestured a flame cloak, then an ice spike, and threw it at Luca, who held up an arm in front of him and practice-gestured a conjured shield.

  And a conjured boulder from above.

  She rolled, pretending to gesture a fireball, but he pretend-conjured a water bubble, then a stone golem behind her. She practice-pulled up a wind wall behind her as he practice-conjured another boulder above her.

  “Dead,” he crooned.

  Groaning her annoyance, she grimaced and threw herself onto the bed, where Marfa sat, her nose wrinkled as she watched them both and pick
ed at an entire roasted ham.

  Sweeping a hand over his pulled-back hair, Luca strolled cavalierly over to her, then planted his hands on his thin hips. “If you actually want to have a hope of winning, you’re going to have to get this right.”

  She groaned louder and covered her face with a pillow.

  She’d been poring over books on conjury and light magic, and they’d been at this for a day and a half, when Luca had time. She still didn’t know what exactly the final trial would be, but with only three candidates left, dueling seemed likely.

  Worse still, she didn’t have all the answers when it came to dueling Mac Carra. And the final trial was tomorrow.

  “Maybe you’ll face Orsa,” Luca remarked with a hopeful lilt.

  “Even better,” she said, muffled into the pillow. “She’ll just blind me and then obliterate me with a ray of white-hot light.” She sighed. “If I don’t get chopped by the spellblade while I’m blindly fumbling around.”

  Marfa nudged her. “Maestru, ave a fede,” she said encouragingly.

  “I don’t know what that means,” Rielle replied, “but it sounds good.”

  She threw the pillow off of herself and against the walnut headboard, staring up at the white ceiling while Luca and Marfa leaned over her with concerned frowns.

  With a dismissive wave, she smiled up at them and sighed. “I may not have all the answers, but I’ll win tomorrow.”

  Luca raised a skeptical dark eyebrow.

  “What?” she breathed. “I’m not great at practice, but when I play it by feel, ideas come to me like instinct.”

  That skeptical dark eyebrow only rose higher.

  She blew out a breath and fumbled with her hand on the open-weave bedspread for Thorn. Her fingers closed around its sheath, and she held it up. “See this? Any construct, one slash and poof,” she said.