She shook her head, rounding the outside of the castle, and as witches glanced at her, she slowed down. Running would look suspicious, too suspicious, and she wasn’t about to let the mad Coven throw her back in a cell, not while Erardo drew breath, not while Lisandra was out there, somewhere, waiting for her.
Her paced normalized, but she was still trembling inside.
Something had been wrong, very wrong, with Brennan. The mad Coven’s Archon had said something in this land’s tongue, something in a commanding tone, and he had… he had obeyed.
His every muscle had rebelled, but ultimately bent to command.
No one but a Dragonlord or a blood witch could achieve such a thing. The Archon’s scent had been too different, a force witch, but that command… the way the Change had abandoned Brennan, it—
A shudder rattled her bones.
And that roar—
She rubbed her arms. It was the dying roar of an alpha in battle, a warning for the pack to flee, to survive, and never look back. She’d only heard it once before, and she’d thought she’d die rather than hear it ever again, but there it had been.
She had to find Maestru, tell her somehow what had happened, and maybe she’d find a way to break the blood witch’s spell. The arcanir sword—if she put it in contact with Brennan, she could break the spell’s hold until it could be recast. If she injured the mad Coven’s Archon with it, that would break the spell, too.
But if the Archon still had his blood, it would only be a matter of time before she’d cast it on him again. They’d have to find the blood the Archon had of his, destroy it somehow.
She shook her head, heading to the front drive of the castle. Maestru did not shy away from battle, but such a task, with all of the mad Coven here—it seemed nigh impossible. Yet Maestru loved Brennan, despite all their quarrels, and she would want to know.
I’ll find her, and I’ll tell her.
Maestru did not shy away from battle, and neither would she.
Chapter 54
Jon scanned the crowd assembled in the castle’s great hall. It was full—everyone who’d come to the previous trials was here. He, Olivia, and his guards were here, but so was Brennan’s family—his mother, his two younger sisters, one of whom had brought Samara, and… Nora. She stared at him with a mischievous smile, even while her boys ran circles around her.
Mac Carra and Orsa had arrived, along with their supporters, as had many spectators. The two mages answered questions and greeted groups that approached them, those who fawned and admired.
Across the hall, by the Grand Divinus, Brennan stood, unmoving, his hands clasped behind his back, his face utterly expressionless. As his family had walked in, the Grand Divinus had whispered something to him, and he’d nodded to them, smiled, and then turned back to her.
Strange. Was it part of the plan he and Rielle had? Was he distracting the Grand Divinus for her?
The trials were set to begin at noon, and there had to be only minutes left.
Where was Rielle?
“She’ll be here,” Olivia said brightly, patting his arm. “She wouldn’t want to miss this for the world.”
“It’s not her wanting to miss this that I’m wary of,” he whispered back, leaning in. When Rielle set her heart on something, she became unstoppable, no matter the risk, no matter the threat, no matter the danger. Had she and Brennan changed places? Was she trying to find information about the murder of her family?
But she’d promised to compete in the trials, to do her all, and she was a woman of her word.
She’d be here. She had to be. Any minute now.
A chorus of tittering disturbed the general hum of conversation. Mac Carra stood at the center of a small crowd adoring him, his smug smile in place as he flirted. Orsa was similarly surrounded, bombarded with a hundred questions, every one of which she seemed determined to answer in as many words as possible.
Something wasn’t right. “What if there’s been an accident?”
Closing her eyes, Olivia sighed and shook her head slowly. “What if she’s powdering her nose?”
Powdering her…? “What if something’s gone wrong?”
“What if she overslept?” Olivia shot back.
“What if she’s been attacked?” he hissed, putting his hands on his hips.
“What if she’s in the garderobe?”
He grimaced. But even as he worried, he knew if Rielle were in trouble, she’d pull on the bond. Brennan would run to her rescue.
The Grand Divinus stood, and the crowd slowly turned to her and quieted. Brennan still stood beside her, stiff and expressionless.
“She’ll be here,” Olivia said, but there was a tremor in her voice. A nervous tremor. “She wouldn’t miss this. She wouldn’t.”
When all eyes had turned to her and all voices had hushed, the Grand Divinus smiled and held out her arms. “Welcome to the third and final trial of this year’s Magister Trials. A magister must possess three qualities—perceptiveness, resourcefulness, and willingness to sacrifice for the greater good. In the first trial, the winners proved their perceptiveness by avoiding the traps in the catacombs and finding their tokens. In the second trial, the winners proved their resourcefulness, showing they could still find a way to achieve their goals, even when magic was not available to them. And today, the winner will prove him- or herself willing to sacrifice for the greater good.” She paused, looking out over the crowd with dull-eyed gravity. “Sometimes, that greater good requires us to turn on a friend or colleague, or to be willing to risk our lives. Today, in the sequence of their victory from the second trial, our three candidates will—”
She paused again, peering through the crowd, and tilted her head. “Master Mac Carra,” she called. “Step forward.”
Mac Carra raised his square chin, and the crowd parted as he took a hulking step forward.
“Master Orsa,” the Grand Divinus called. “Step forward.”
With a fuss of whispered pardons and apologies, Orsa picked her way through the attendees and stepped out into the open. “Here,” she called out with a grin.
“Master Lothaire,” the Grand Divinus called, eyeing the span of the crowd. “Step forward.”
Jon’s heart thudded in his chest as the silence grew, and he looked to Brennan, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as blinked.
Where was she? Didn’t he care? Wasn’t he going to—
“She’ll be here shortly, Most High,” the Duchess of Maerleth Tainn declared, bowing her perfectly coiffed head to the Grand Divinus.
The Grand Divinus’s brow creased, and she bowed her head contemplatively, breathed deeply, and then looked out at the crowd anew. “The trial begins at noon. Since she is not here, we have no choice but to proceed.” She turned her head to him. “Unfortunately, King Jonathan, that also means you have lost our wager.”
He met her gaze, held it, every part of him taut to steel. Olivia shook next to him, but stood unwavering, too.
At last, he bowed, executed it to the technical perfection his tutors had taught him in the past months, then straightened, turned to the exit, and nodded to his guards.
They cleared a path through the crowd as he strode to the doors, leaving murmurs and gasps in his wake. Olivia clung to him, her slippered feet taking the quick steps to keep up with him.
As soon as they were past the doors, her grip on his arm tightened. “Jon, what are we going to do? It looks Rielle was purposely late, so once we begin our plan with Leigh, it’ll look as though we forfeited here on purpose, and—”
“We have more important concerns,” he said without stopping as he strode down the hall.
Rielle was missing, and Brennan didn’t seem to care. Something was wrong, and he’d find her. No matter what it took, he’d find her, and if she needed help, he would—
As he stepped outside, Marfa was there, rubbing her arms and striding down the drive.
* * *
Rielle had been riding in the carriage for almost an hour
, or at least it felt like an hour. It had to be almost noon, and that was when the final trial would begin. Had the road been so busy?
She was about to draw aside the curtain and call out to one of the coachmen, when the carriage came to a stop. At last they were here.
One of the coachmen opened the door, and hitching Thorn, she stepped out.
They weren't at the castle, but the sea. A sharp, jutting cliff overlooking the wide stretch of gleaming turquoise that was the Shining Sea. The opposite direction.
Gesturing a flame cloak, she stepped back and pulled on the bond, a thread of her bright anima, and—but no, there were two—
From behind, a bitter-smelling cloth covered her face as a cuff locked on her wrist—the second coachman.
Her flame cloak instantly dispelled.
Arcanir.
Caught off-guard as she’d emerged, she struggled against him now, trying to draw Thorn. He shoved her sword hand back down, slamming Thorn back into its sheath.
She stomped her heel down on his foot, and he yelped, loosening his hold on her, but not enough for her to break free. She caught a glimpse of his face—that narrow, gaunt face—
Mac Carra's brother. The one who'd accompanied him to the trials, who’d waited with him in the great hall. The one who'd been following her. Bastard.
He dragged her back inside the carriage, into its darkness, and the other coachman shoved her in from the front. From the seat onto the floor, they wrestled her arms behind her back.
A cloth tightened over her mouth, tied behind her head, and a hand pressed her face to the floor, grainy dust and rough wood. Abrasive ropes bound up her hands.
She kicked out her legs, throwing the other coachman out of the carriage, but with a smug laugh, he only grabbed at her foot, and then the other, and circled ropes around her ankles.
Divine’s flaming fire, there had to be a way out. Some—
"Such a shame," he taunted, tightening the ropes around her ankles until they hurt, "to let a woman like her go to waste. Especially when she's already tied up."
She knew that tone of voice, knew what it meant, and a shudder ripped through her. He would be dead. No matter how she’d do it, he’d be dead if he so much as tried it. She bucked against Mac Carra's brother with renewed force.
He groaned but held her in place, heaving his weight onto her, keeping her pinned so heavily she could hardly breathe. "We don't have time for that. You know our orders."
Mac Carra’s orders? Eleftheria’s?
Divine, she couldn’t breathe—
The other coachman groaned as iridescent white shapes floated across her vision, the edges brightening and brightening…
Thrashing beneath him, she yanked at her bindings to no avail while the white edges of her vision blinded everything and what strength remained in her limbs faded away into nothing.
The other coachman dragged her by her feet out of the carriage while Mac Carra's brother grabbed fistfuls of her mage coat at the shoulders and helped push her out. Someone removed her weapons belt and threw it—and Thorn—into the carriage.
She thudded onto the grassy cliffside and screamed into the cloth covering her mouth, but there was no one here.
Just her, these two men, the carriage, the cliff, and the sea.
They hoisted her up and moved to the ledge.
* * *
Walking down the castle’s drive, Jon moved out of the Divine Guard’s earshot and towards Marfa, Olivia hot on his heels.
Marfa watched him, but then, like a bolt of lightning, she shot up, clutched her hand to her chest, and turned toward the sea, even taking a few steps in that direction.
"Marfa?" he called out to her. "Where's Rielle?"
Facing away from him, she shook her head, then turned to him, her dark eyebrows creased together, her face contorted in horror.
"Maestru," she said, her voice breaking. “R-Rielle… need…" She hissed, turning her head back to the sea for a minute, then blurted a string of foreign words. "Rielle… need."
"I'm coming with you,” he said to her emphatically. Rielle was in need, and that was enough for him. He didn't need to hear any more.
Olivia gripped his arm and yanked him back to face her. "If Rielle is in trouble, then I'm coming with you." The set of her brow brooked no argument.
He put his hands on her shoulders while stable hands brought horses around. "Olivia, I'm going after her, but I need eyes and ears here. Especially if we’re wrong and Rielle happens to return.”
Frowning, Olivia opened her mouth to argue, and then took a breath. With a grimace she nodded. "Make sure she's safe, Jon."
He left four of his guards with her and took Florian and Raoul with him. “Let’s go,” he said to them, and got two curt nods.
He took a horse from a stable hand, ignoring his protests, and followed Marfa as she took off at a run towards the sea.
Incredibly fast, she weaved through the crowds in the street, and he picked a path behind her as his guards slowly trickled in behind him on commandeered mounts.
Was this the Grand Divinus’s scheming? Had she actually acted against Rielle?
Or was this one of the other candidates, trying to defend the competition?
Either way, he would put an end to it. And whoever was responsible would face justice.
Through the market district, a carriage hurtled toward them. With a hiss, Marfa launched herself from the cobblestones and leapt onto one of the coachmen, burying drawn werewolf claws into his neck as she grabbed the other coachman and threw him down before his own horses.
She rent her claws free of the remaining man, and he tumbled to the street.
Onlookers gasped and fled, but Marfa only climbed around the carriage to grab hold of the carriage’s door, and flung it open.
Horses trampled over the second man, and Jon maneuvered his mount to block their path.
He dismounted and stormed to the carriage door.
No sign of Rielle.
Inside, Marfa breathed in deep, and held up a sheathed sword. The Queen’s Blade. "Maestru… here before." She touched a finger to the floor, then held it up. Smudged with red. Blood. "Hurt," she said, her voice rumbling eerily.
Rielle had been in this carriage, and—
He turned to the man who’d tumbled to the cobblestones, who now attempted to scramble to his feet, broken and bleeding.
He grabbed the man by his overcoat and threw him against the coach, drew his arcanir dagger, and pressed it into the man's throat. "Where is she?"
The man pressed his lips shut and looked away, shaking.
With the Queen’s Blade in her grip, Marfa emerged from the carriage, her claws drawn and bloodied, and her human teeth elongated to sharp, wolfish points. She glared at the man with her unsettling amber gaze. "Where?"
The man's shaking turned violent, and then he went limp.
Marfa rent him from Jon's grip, her hand clasped around the back of the man’s neck, and with the crunch of bone, she threw him into the street.
"Come." She sprinted toward the direction the carriage had come from, and Jon jumped back in the saddle, ignoring his guard’s horrified stares.
He urged his horse over the carnage, keeping sight of Marfa as she ran toward the Shining Sea.
The crowd split as people darted aside to let them by, murmurs and gasps rippling in their wake.
He didn't care. Rielle was hurt who-knew-where, and he wouldn't rest until he knew she was safe.
Marfa ran past the outskirts of town and toward the cliffs overlooking the sea, and he stopped breathing as she kept running, all the way to the edge.
He dismounted and looked over the side with her.
Waves crashed against the cliffs at least a hundred feet below, and nothing else was there, just a small stretch of beach about four hundred feet south.
"Maestru," Marfa breathed, and nodded her chin toward the water as she peered down.
She shook her head and yelped, swinging it from side to sid
e, pressing both palms to the sides of her head. "Water…. Can't…" She hissed.
Backing up, he unclipped his sword belt, threw off his overcoat, pulled off his boots.
“Your Majesty,” Florian said, reining his horse into a tight circle as Marfa tossed the Queen’s Blade to him. “Are you—”
“Meet me on the beach.” With a running start, he leaped over the cliff, and Marfa jumped after him.
Chapter 55
As she plummeted deeper and deeper into the sea, Rielle struggled against her bonds, chafing her skin against the wet ropes, pulling as hard as she could.
She doubled over, trying to maneuver her bound hands under her feet and in front of herself. As she crumpled, her abdomen straining against the pressure, and she couldn’t push herself harder, or she’d inhale water. Divine’s flaming fire—
She opened her eyes, and as the sting of the seawater wore off, she sank into the darkness, her chest tight.
As her feet met the sea floor, she pushed off, as hard as she could, hoping to buy at least a little more time as her chest ached from holding her breath.
If only she had…
The mermaid scale.
It was right there, right below her chin, and in a locket around her neck. All she'd have to do would be to—sing to it.
Underwater.
She wriggled her head, trying to shift out of the cloth around her mouth, tugging upward and dipping her chin, straining her head from side to side, until at last the cloth pulled free.
Writhing, she angled to move the locket up against her lips, but—
No choice.
Her chest tightened, so tight she was about to inhale water anyway, and when at last the locket tapped against her face, she sang.
Just the first notes of “Winter Wren,” and water forced its way in, ripping into her, and she coughed, but only more water tore inside.
Inky black dots stained her vision, but she angled up towards the light glowing faintly from the surface, kept struggling toward it, kept struggling, kept...
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