Court of Shadows

by Miranda Honfleur

  Snarls echoed through the caves, a number of them, and they sounded like they belonged to… something big.

  “Katia,” he hissed, “don’t dispel your earthsight. Not until we have eyes on them.”

  With an abrupt nod, she recast the spell and turned back in the direction she’d been facing. “The aura’s moving, but there’s something else… something else coming here.”

  Something else? “Mother earth, grant me your sight, / Show through your eyes, reveal all life,” he said, closing his eyes as he recited the earthsight incantation.

  When he opened his eyes again, Ambriel shone faintly, a soothing, glowing white, while Katia shone brighter, and Della even more so.

  But in the distance, small though it was, a blinding white-hot aura figured, and he’d only ever seen one brighter—Daturian’s, a wild mage’s. Ava was powerful. Very powerful.

  But clustered around her were glowing shapes like phantoms, ghosts, large and hulking. “Corpse golems,” he murmured under his breath.

  Corpse golems were necrotic minions, controlled by a necromancer just like raised undead, only… they were constructed of corpses, dead flesh melded together to form a new creature, massive, strong, loyal. There were tales of necromancers who’d raised one, a powerful force in battle. Infamous necromancers.

  Ava had at least four.

  Della took his arm. “Leigh, no, you can’t mean—”

  “I count four.”

  She gasped. “That’s—not possible. She’d be… she’d be the most powerful necromancer in an age.”

  Perhaps in history.

  “Dreshan,” Ambriel whispered, taking his hand, “I have faced a corpse golem before.” He bowed his head. “It is formidable, a thing of immense power.”

  Immune to pain, fueled by magic, it could be nigh unstoppable. If a necromancer imbued it with her magic, kept on feeding it, it could stand against nearly any other mage.

  Except a wild mage.

  Formidable… A thing of immense power...

  “So am I,” he replied, and stepping free of both Ambriel’s grasp and Della’s, he forged on ahead, toward the four corpse golems… and Ava.

  Chapter 57

  Soaked to the bone and caked with sand, Rielle strode through the town with Marfa beside her. As their boots clicked and sloshed on the cobblestone street, she ignored the horrified gasps and whispers of judgment as the crowds parted for them.

  Next to her, Marfa’s overcoat was dripping, her hair plastered to her face and hanging in wet tendrils, and she had to look just like her, like some sort of drowned phantom, raised from the sea and stalking the earth. Like an avenging rusalka from cautionary tales told by eerie firelight, instilling fear into men who dared even think to harm maidens.

  She didn’t care.

  She hadn’t abducted herself, nor bound herself in arcanir and ropes, nor thrown herself off a cliff into the sea. If there was any judgment to be dealt, it was to those who had done all those things, to Mac Carra, and to the Grand Divinus.

  And today, she was judgment.

  They passed an abandoned carriage, the carriage that she’d thought had been bearing her to Divinity Castle, ringed by a gawking crowd. Its door hung open, and beside it, a man lay with his neck bent at an impossible angle—the second coachman, who’d tied her ankles.

  Beneath the carriage, the only part of Mac Carra’s brother that wasn’t broken and bleeding was his gaunt face. He’d been trampled by the carriage’s horses, but his neck had multiple puncture wounds that could only have been caused by claws.

  She glanced at Marfa, then nodded to the body. “Did you do this?”

  Face solemn, Marfa nodded, narrowing her eyes at the body. “They… bad men. Kill them.”

  “Good,” she replied, with an approving nod, earning a conspiratorial grin from Marfa.

  Blood for blood, Shadow had once told her, calling her exactly the same, and it had haunted her once.

  But as these two men had held her down, bound her, threatened to hurt her and then attempted to murder her, that haunting had dissipated, like scales falling from her eyes.

  She didn’t harm innocent people, kill innocent people, but those who’d done harm to her, had tried to kill her, and countless others. Those who would go on to harm and to kill, to leave swaths of death and pain and grief behind them while they laughed or counted their coin and planned their next bloody excursion.

  But not if they were dead.

  These were games of variables and equations, and if she removed one murderous variable from the world’s equation, perhaps the sum of innocent people would remain living. And taking one murderer’s life to save even one innocent person—that was a subtraction she could live with.

  And once she reached Divinity Castle, Mac Carra would answer to her. The Grand Divinus would answer to her. If it was the last thing she did.

  The two black Bellanzanos were still harnessed to the carriage, and she approached them, then unfastened their harnesses as one of the horses tossed his head. She handed the reins of one to Marfa as she mounted the other, bareback.

  Picking a path through the gawkers, she made for Divinity Castle, with Marfa riding behind her, and pulled on the bond to Brennan again. Still nothing.

  When they finally approached the castle’s drive, she dismounted, and so did Marfa. There was no one about, only the Divine Guard manning the doors. They let her and Marfa pass toward the doors.

  Then one of the two stepped forward. “No one is allowed to enter. The final is currently taking pl—”

  While she pulled up a wind wall before herself, Marfa stormed up to him and smashed a left hook to his face, sending him flying. The other spelled a repulsion shield before himself, but Marfa walked through it, immune to magic, and got him with her right hook. With an acknowledging nod, Marfa threw open the door.

  Well done.

  Marfa had dealt with them before she’d even had to cast a thing.

  She walked in with Marfa at her side, and before the Divine Guards could cast, she threw an updraft beneath one, then another, sending them flying up to collide with the ceiling, screaming, before she let them fall with a crack.

  They’d live.

  Stepping over one, she made for the great hall, spelling updrafts and gusts while Marfa redefined the meaning of thrashing.

  The halls were bare of anyone but the Divine Guard, although clapping and cheering echoed from farther in—the great hall. Someone had won the final trial, become a magister, or the Grand Divinus was giving a speech.

  The last Divine Guard spelled a fireball at her, flaming and massive, as he ran for the doors, but she pulled up a wind wall, and it blazed over her, past her, while Marfa grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

  Wailing, he covered his head, but she yanked his arm away and punched him in the face until he was quiet, blood gushing from his broken nose. “Shh,” Marfa hissed at him.

  The clapping behind the doors scattered, and murmurs rippled. The doors loomed, massive, the last gate before she’d face the Grand Divinus, Mac Carra, and the eyes watching the Magister Trials and Emaurrian diplomacy.

  She tried to pull one open, but it was locked.

  They’d locked her out.

  Marfa approached, but she held up a hand, and Marfa stopped.

  These were her doors to open.

  With a deep breath, she gestured a cyclone, holding it before the doors and feeding it magic until they flew open, rent from their hinges, and she spelled a hurricane wind to blast those doors into the great hall.

  Screams erupted as one door crashed to the marble, splintering, and then the other, both thudding to the floor.

  The crowd scattered, but the Grand Divinus didn’t move, holding up a hand to her Divine Guard, eyes narrowed.

  And next to her—

  Next to her stood Brennan, his face turned away, eyes squeezed shut, his posture stiffer than she’d ever seen.

  “Master Lothaire,” the Grand Divinus called out, her vo
ice echoing, and the crowd stilled. The Grand Divinus looked her up and down with softening eyes, an act—had to be—and then the creased tension of her expression eased. “You seem to have suffered quite an ordeal. You shall have the help you need,” she said, and turned to a guard. “Summon the healers.”

  He bowed. “Yes, Most High.”

  Before she could stop herself, a laugh bubbled in her throat, and deepened, loudened, continued, echoing into the great hall. “‘Seem to have suffered,’ you say, Most High. But I didn’t do any of this to myself.”

  The Grand Divinus blinked, then glanced at another guard. “Summon the healers, immediately. This deeply troubled young woman requires immediate attention,” she said loudly.

  The crowd shifted as Olivia and Jon filtered to the front, looking her over.

  “Rielle,” Olivia said, her eyebrows knitted together as she reached out, “are you—”

  Daturian stepped out, too, arms crossed.

  Rielle held up a hand, and as the duchess, Nora, the boys, Una, Samara, and Caitlyn appeared on her other side, asking questions, she held up a hand to them, too, keeping her eye on the Grand Divinus.

  Mac Carra was just below the dais, his black mage coat burned in places, and looked over his shoulder.

  “I challenge Riordan Mac Carra to a duel. Magic. Now,” she declared, and the murmuring crowd’s face all turned at once to the Grand Divinus like flowers to the sun.

  “Unfortunately,” the Grand Divinus said, clearing her throat, “the Magister Trials are over, all the candidates save for one have been defeated, and Magister Mac Carra is the victor.”

  Rielle took a step forward, and the nearby guests flinched. “I am still here, and undefeated.”

  “Master Lothaire, the trial started at noon, and you—”

  “No rules,” Rielle said, glaring up at her. “That was your decree, was it not?”

  Gasps rippled through the hall.

  “During the trials, yes, but they are over,” the Grand Divinus said, leaning forward.

  She didn’t waver. “They are not over while I am still standing, undefeated, without withdrawing.” She took another step forward, fixing her gaze on Mac Carra and his sickly pale face. “And dueling is law. This man sent his brother to attack me.”

  He spun to face her. “You lie.” He stared her down. “You did this to yourself.”

  She held up her wrists, still chafed from the ropes. “Did I tie myself up?”

  He scoffed.

  She pulled the arcanir cuff from her overcoat and threw it on the floor before her. “Did I cuff myself with arcanir?”

  “You could have taken that from the second trial,” he spat.

  She gestured to her soaking wet clothes. “Did I throw myself from a cliff into the sea?”

  Grinning too broadly, he shook his head.

  He would face her. No matter what anyone here said, no matter what excuse the Grand Divinus came up with, she would make him face her.

  “Are you denying me because you really don’t believe me, or are you too afraid to face me?” she taunted.

  At that, he snarled, stomping up to her, just five feet away, but Marfa stepped up to him, and he froze.

  “Your brother and an accomplice abducted me from the Marcels’ villa in a carriage, then bound me and had me cast into the sea,” Rielle said, and he narrowed his eyes.

  “Even if that were true, it wouldn’t have anything to do with me,” he spat.

  “Oh, it is true,” she said, taking another step. “Because that carriage, and their broken corpses are lying in the streets of Magehold right now.”

  His eyes widened, and he lunged for her, but Marfa shot out a palm to his sternum and held him back.

  “Accept my challenge,” Rielle said to him, watching the madness in his eyes.

  “I accept,” he roared back at her, spittle flying from his lips.

  A door in the back of the great hall opened, and several white-uniformed mages entered—healers.

  “Erardo,” Marfa hissed, narrowing her eyes at one of the healers, a man with a black beard and gleaming eyes.

  Erardo—the man who’d hurt her.

  “Healers, tend to this girl,” the Grand Divinus commanded. “She’s been jilted by her fiancé and has become mentally unstable.”

  Jilted?

  Her face contorted in a snarl, Marfa began to traverse the hall toward the black bearded man.

  The healers advanced on Rielle, but she looked up to the dais, where Brennan still stood beside the Grand Divinus, his eyes squeezed shut, his face turned away. What was wrong? Why wouldn’t he look at her?

  “Brennan,” she called out as Daturian stepped into the path of the healers.

  “I’m still a member of the Magisterium, and I motion that we hear her complaint,” Daturian declared to the Grand Divinus, who stared him down.

  Marfa grabbed that healer, Erardo, by his overcoat, and threw him against the wall. Nearly everyone turned to face the commotion, nearly.

  But not Brennan. He just stood, unmoving, tense as she’d never seen him.

  “Brennan,” she called again, and he flinched—no, trembled. She moved toward him, but he shook his head slightly, kept shaking it—

  What was wrong? What had the Grand Divinus done to him?

  “Brennan,” she said again, her voice breaking as she approached the dais.

  “Look at her,” the Grand Divinus said to him, her voice icy.

  His eyebrows creased together, he slowly turned his head and opened his eyes. He locked them on hers, intense as he shouldered his way through the gathered guests, shoving them aside as he strode to her.

  Pale, his face was contorted with horror, but his strides were certain—no, aggressive—and she backed up into the crowd.

  “Brennan, what—”

  “Run,” he said, his voice breaking, and advanced on her.

  Chapter 58

  Brennan advanced on Rielle, unable to stop himself, violence coursing through his body as he shoved aside guests in the great hall. The Grand Divinus had said the next time he’d see Rielle—

  Nox’s black breath, he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t—

  A man screamed behind him, one of the healers, as claws—Marfa’s—squelched through flesh and the scent of blood filled the air. His screaming soon ended in a gurgle.

  “Run,” he told Rielle, willing her to flee with every ounce of strength in his voice.

  “Silence, Brennan Karandis Marcel,” the Grand Divinus murmured—barely audible, but enough that he heard—from behind him on the dais, and even as he wanted to scream more warnings at Rielle, his tongue would not move to speak.

  Her sky-blue eyes fixed on him and, as he closed in on her, widened. Her heart beat harder, faster, racing.She extended her hand toward him, fingers reaching out, and something like a choked whimper died in her throat as he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow, muscles aligned to deadly intention.

  Her pulse quickened, and those fingers curled back, that hand lowered, as her feet shuffled backward through the parting crowd toward the open doorway. “Brennan, why are you—”

  Great Wolf, run. Run, Rielle, I beg you.

  As his hands clenched into fists, something inside of him fractured, broke, but his legs kept striding, marching towards her.

  Jon stepped into his path, and Brennan shoved him aside, but Jon only grabbed his arm and redirected it. “What are you doing?”Jon hissed, pulling him back, and he wanted to stop but couldn’t.“Brennan, what’s—”

  His eyes still fixed on Rielle, Brennan kept going, throwing off Jon into the crowd, into the arms of his guards. Mother stepped forward—Nox’s black breath, no—and cried his name, but he only rounded her, just barely, while Una and Caitlyn whimpered questions of concern.

  “Brennan, please,”Rielle begged, tucking herself around the doorway, “speak to me. What’s—”

  Run, keep running, and don’t look back, please, Rielle —

 
; She kept backing up, stumbling over a fallen guard, but didn’t stop. There was no way she could fight him. Not with her magic, that he was immune to. Not with her fledgling sword skills, that he had only began to teach her. And not hand to hand. Never hand-to-hand.

  Her only chance was to run.

  “Tell me what to do,” she shouted at him, tears welling in her eyes. “Tell me what to do!”

  What could she do? Did she even realize it was sangremancy? While the Grand Divinus controlled him with magic, there was nothing—

  Magic.

  She still had the Queen’s Blade strapped to her side. The arcanir Queen’s Blade… and Jon’s Sodalis ring.

  He’d only have to touch it—but he couldn’t even—his hand wouldn’t—

  Bloodied claws clamped down on his shoulder. Marfa.Her grip halted him immediately, and as he spun to face her, she threw him to the floor, pinned him, and dug her claws into each of his arms, anchoring them.

  Her amber gaze pierced him, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Maestru!” she roared. “Sword!”

  Yes, do it, Rielle—

  But even as he thought it, his shoulders lifted off the floor, his body sat up, pushed back even against all of Marfa’s pressure, her superhuman strength, and his hand closed around her arm. Even as she yanked it back, he threw her into the hallway’s wall, her body cracking against a painting frame and a wall relief.

  “No!” Rielle screamed. “Don’t —”

  Breath oomphed out of Marfa’s chest, and she thudded to the floor with a groan.

  A massive stone golem lumbered toward him from the hall, Daturian Trey standing in the doorway behind it.

  The golem swiped, and as soon as Brennan touched it, it dissipated.

  Daturian’s eyes widened, and he threw gesture after gesture of spelled daggers, each hit disappearing.

  “Kill Favrielle. Now.” Another barely audible whisper, only just discernible to his werewolf ears, from the Grand Divinus in the great hall, and he could hear her, even here.

  Turning, he lunged for Rielle, and tears streaming down her face, she shouted his name as he grabbed her upper arms, the violent grip of his hands too strong—Nox help me—too strong—