Maryn edged to the back of the closely packed group so the others’ bodies shielded her from Carlich’s view. She snatched the little perfume bottle from its hiding place in her bodice.
Kiellan’s voice was gentle. “Is that truly what you believe, my prince? Or have you allowed your own desires to drown out the Holy One’s voice in your heart? Do you think he condones betrayal and murder?”
Maryn worked the stopper free from the bottle’s mouth and poured the milk into her hand. It dripped between her fingers and splashed on the ground. Dropping the bottle, she rubbed her palms together, frantically thinking. King Froethych’s spell wouldn’t let her harm Carlich. What could she do that wouldn’t hurt him, but would stop him from killing Tior and freeing Vinhor?
Carlich’s hand jerked. A tendril of fire slashed Kiellan’s face. “Be silent! I know the Holy One is with me!”
Kiellan staggered. Rogelan supported him. The sorcerer glared at Carlich. “You know he speaks the truth. Let us go, and give up this nonsense.”
Voerell clutched the writhing, sobbing Barilan. “The Holy One will feed your soul piece by piece to the Vulture for your sins!”
Carlich snarled at her. He swept his hand up the bloody wound on his arm and rubbed his palms together. Fresh sparks blazed skyward. “It’s your own sins you should worry about, Voerell!”
Maryn stared at the blood;-;fueled fire blazing in Carlich’s hands. Of course. She knew one spell she could use. She’d seen him shape the necessary gestures dozens of times.
Curling her fingers into the proper position, she raised her hands and scooped the magic up. The milk burst into blue lightning in her palms.
Kiellan held up a hand. Carlich’s attack had left a charred track across his cheeks; he spoke through blistered lips. “Prince, stop. Let this conflict be settled by honorable combat, not the slaughter of innocents. Keep me as a hostage if you must. But let the women and children go, at least. Your sister, and Barilan, and his nurse—”
Maryn’s hands flew through the spell. Magic crackled around her, buzzing in her spine and skull. She didn’t remember every nuance of the motions, but her will was strong and her purpose blazed in her heart.
Carlich laughed, high and wild. “And lose my chance at the Kingship? Never! It will be mine, and nothing you can say will stop me!”
He whirled. A spear of fire blazed from his hand, piercing the guard who held Vinhor’s legs. He slumped, and Vinhor kicked him away. Carlich turned on Tior.
Maryn elbowed between Voerell and Rogelan, her hands never pausing in their motions, sparks shooting out in all directions. She shouted, “Carlich!”
He spun to face her. Shock widened his eyes and stilled his hands for an instant. He recovered and twisted his hands into a motion that would send his magic to block hers, but it was too late. A wave of sparks poured from her hands and engulfed him.
The magic swelled huge and untamable, wrenching away from Maryn’s control and taking over her arms, driving them to ever more frantic motion, but she didn’t care. She focused all the strength she had on her desire. Carlich stared at her, fear in his eyes, and took a step backwards.
She crowed in triumph, over the roar of the magic. “Stop!” she cried. “Don’t hurt Tior! Let us go!”
Carlich’s arms shook as he fought to resist her order and keep them raised. He was strong, much stronger than she’d ever been. Maryn threw herself with renewed effort into the magic. It carried her along, sucking at her with the same ferocious power that had torn King Froethych’s life from his veins and had nearly killed her once before. She surrendered to its force. Let it burn all her blood into blue fire, if that’s what it took to force Carlich to obey her.
Carlich’s eyes went blank and empty, just as hers must have all those times. The fire of his sorcery died. His hands fell to his sides, unconsumed blood dripping from his fingertips. The wall of flame that confined Maryn and the others flickered and vanished.
Kiellan and Rogelan rushed to Carlich and grabbed his arms. Voerell backed away from Maryn, clutching the wailing Barilan to her chest. “What’s happening?” she cried. “What are you doing?
The magic had Maryn in its claws, drawing her life into its sucking vortex. She couldn’t stop it. Any moment now her skin would split open and the spell would drain the blood from her body. She’d never have the chance to tell Voerell everything that had happened, all the secrets she longed to make known.
Behind Carlich, Tennelan backed toward the shimmering wards. “Men!” he shouted. “Forward! Herald, sound the advance!” Maryn heard the blare of a trumpet, and caught a blurry glimpse of masses of men surging forward, past the hill, toward the city.
No! She had to do something, fast, before the spell overcame her and she could no longer command Carlich. What could she make him do that would end his threat forever?
Carlich stared at her with dull eyes, ready to obey. Maryn’s arms thrashed. Her skin throbbed in time with the pulse hammering in her ears. The earth tilted under her feet. Blackness crowed the edges of her vision.
Maryn wrenched every scrap of will she possessed into one final effort. “Tell them the truth!” she cried. “All of it! Tell them how you murdered your brother, and kidnapped me and Barilan, and tried to make me destroy his soul!”
Lightning burst in a fountain from her chest. It felt like her heart exploding from her body. Hot liquid poured from her, fueling the flames of her sorcery into a blazing inferno.
Dimly over the roar in her teeth and bones and skull, she heard Carlich’s voice, dull and emotionless. “I killed Marolan. I gave Dolia the rose hoping she’d prick herself. When she did, I captured a few drops of her blood on my handkerchief. I’d prepared it with a little of my own so I could make a show of cleansing it…”
Maryn sagged to her knees, unable to hear any more, but it didn’t matter. She’d done it. No one would ever acclaim Carlich king now. Voerell would have all the evidence she needed to arrest and imprison him. Tennelan would hear and call off the army. Milecha would be safe from Carlich’s malice.
Soft grass pillowed her head. A sharp rock pressed into her cheek, but her skin was still impervious to harm. Night swam up to claim her, quiet and peaceful.
Regret stabbed though the calm. Barilan would cry for her. She wished she could be there to comfort him.
But Edrich and Frilan would be waiting for her in the courts of the Holy One. She took the joy of that thought with her into the darkness.
Twenty-one
An arm slid under Maryn’s shoulders and lifted them. A hard surface pressed into her lips. “Here, drink a little. It will help you recover your strength.”
Warm, salty broth sloshed into Maryn’s mouth. She spluttered and coughed, spraying the liquid all over whoever had been holding the cup. She heard an exclamation of surprise, and the arm dropped her abruptly. Maryn fell back, tensing for impact, but the surface she struck was soft and yielding. A bed, she realized.
Blankets covered her, pinning her arms. She pulled her hands free and rubbed at dry, sandy eyes, blinking until tears cleared away the blur of sleep. Overhead, a canopy stretched, woven with a familiar pattern of twining vines and flowers. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she’d seen it before, but then she placed it. She was back in the royal nursery, in the bed she had shared with Barilan.
“She’s waking up.” Maryn turned her head and saw Litholl, Voerell’s midwife, sitting beside the bed. She was twisted toward the open door, speaking to someone in the next room. “Send for the princess.”
Maryn struggled to sit up. “What’s going on? Where’s Barilan? Is Carlich—What happened?” She faltered, swallowing. “I thought I was dead.”
Litholl smoothed tendrils of hair back from Maryn’s face. “No, dear. You’re fine.”
Maryn tried to sort out her confused memories of the moments before everything had gone black. “The spell got out of control. I was sure it would suck all the blood from my body—”
“Ah.” Lithol
l took Maryn’s hands in hers. “But you didn’t use blood to work your magic. You used your milk. Your spell did run out of control, and used up all your strength until you fell unconscious, and sucked all the milk from your breasts. But of course that didn’t kill you.” She smiled. “Rogelan and Kiellan keep arguing whether a spell worked with milk couldn’t draw on blood for power, or whether Carlich’s spell still prevented your skin from breaking open and letting your blood out. But in any case, none of your blood went into the spell, so you’ll be fine. You’ve only been unconscious a few hours. Princess Voerell had you brought here to recover and summoned me to tend you.”
Maryn blinked. She raised her hands to her breasts. “All my milk…Does that mean I can’t nurse Barilan any more? Where is he?”
The midwife patted Maryn’s shoulder. “He’s in the next room, with Semprell. She’s quite annoyed, you know, that he missed two whole weeks of exercises and language lessons. As to your milk…We can’t know for certain until you try, but I strongly suspect there won’t be a problem. As I always tell new mothers, your breasts are never truly empty. They’re always making more. Your spell took all there was at the moment, but they’ve been busy ever since to replace it. If anything, your supply will be increased because of the great demand. That could be convenient, if you have any plans to study magic and become a great sorceress.”
Maryn shuddered at the thought, crossing her arms over her breasts. “Oh, no. I’ve had more than enough of magic to last me for a lifetime.”
“Are you sure? Rogelan is wild to speak with you and find out exactly how you did it. He’s never heard of anyone using milk to fuel a spell before.” Litholl snorted. “Of course, most sorcerers are men. Midwives have always known milk had power, but the sorcerers considered it a trivial thing. Of concern only to women and children, not worthy of study.” She shook her head. “Never mind. Right now you need to rest and recover from your efforts.”
Maryn nodded and slid back down to lie flat, closing her eyes. Maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the idea of learning more about sorcery. She couldn’t help but tremble when she remembered the wild destructive fury of the forces she’d unleashed. But it had been her ignorance that had made her bumbling attempts to use magic so dangerous. Surely it would be better to learn at least a little about the proper ways to harness it, even if she never intended to make use of that knowledge. Her blood and her milk did have power. If she was better prepared, she could use them to protect herself and Barilan should their lives ever again be in jeopardy.
If she was still able to be Barilan’s nurse. She couldn’t rest until she knew for sure. She rolled to face Litholl, pushing herself up on her elbow. “Please, bring Barilan to me,” she begged. “I have to see…”
Litholl started to deny her, but stopped and looked more closely into her face. Her expression softened, and she went to the doorway. “Semprell, he’s had enough for one day. You’re not going to be able to make up for all the time you lost. Let Maryn take him for a while.”
Semprell wore a scowl when she came through the door, but Barilan reached for Maryn as soon as he saw her. She hurried to sit up, and Litholl helped arrange the pillows behind her back. Maryn accepted Barilan into her arms. His warm heavy body felt infinitely precious, as if it had been days since she’d held him, not merely a few hours. She hugged him tight, breathing in his milky, musky scent, then slid him down into position and pulled loose the ties of her shift. He latched on and began nursing with great vigor. Maryn watched him anxiously, sure he’d soon pull back in offended frustration at finding nothing there.
But after a minute or so of frantic sucking, Maryn felt the blessedly familiar warm rush, and Barilan’s sucks changed to long, slow draws punctuated by swallows. The angle of his jaw by his ear flexed in and out. Maryn kept her head ducked over him until she mastered the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. At last she could look up and found Litholl beaming at her. She returned a tremulous smile.
“See?” Litholl said. “I told you there’d be no problem. Look at him. I’ve seldom seen such a content—”
The door opened. Litholl broke off as two guards entered and stationed themselves at either side of the door. Voerell passed between them, her steps heavy, her shoulders slumped in weariness.
Maryn bowed her head over Barilan, watching the princess from the corner of her eye. She didn’t know what to expect. The final confrontation with Carlich had been so confusing, with so much happening so quickly, so many lies mixed with the truth. She hoped Voerell understood enough to realize that Maryn had always been on her side and had done her best to protect Barilan and work against Carlich. But she feared Voerell might dismiss her efforts as inadequate. The princess might allow her anger with her brother to expand to include everyone associated with him.
Voerell brightened a little as she saw Maryn with Barilan at her breast. The princess gestured to the guards, and they left the room to take up positions outside the door. “Litholl, is everything all right?”
“Yes, your Highness. Maryn seems to be well on her way to recovery, and Barilan’s just shown us that her milk remains plentiful.”
“Thank the Holy One.” A weight seemed to lift from Voerell’s shoulders. Only one burden of many, Maryn knew, but not insubstantial. She approached Maryn’s bed. Litholl rose and offered her chair to Voerell. “Your Highness, would you like me to leave you three alone?”
“Yes, please, Litholl. Thank you.” Voerell pressed her hand and gave her a grateful smile. Litholl slipped from the room and closed the door.
Maryn didn’t know what to say. She’d never been alone with the princess before. Voerell didn’t look at her at first, only gazed at Barilan as he busily nursed.
At length Voerell sighed and raised her eyes to meet Maryn’s. “I don’t know how to begin to thank you. I owe you so much. You kept Barilan safe, you managed to get the better of my brother…” She trailed off, her gaze sliding past Maryn to stare unseeing into the distance.
The silence stretched long, until Maryn had to say something to break it. “It was nothing, your Highness. I only did what I had to do. Anyone would have done the same.”
Voerell focused again on Maryn. “I greatly doubt that.” She leaned forward, her eyes dropping to Barilan, her voice rough. “When Carlich seized you and Barilan, and dragged you away…I knew I’d never see my son alive again. Yet here he is.” She reached a tentative finger to stroke Barilan’s hair.
Maryn blushed and looked away. She knew she didn’t deserve such praise, but she couldn’t contradict Voerell.
The princess went on. “From what Carlich says he did to you, it must have been a struggle just to survive with your mind intact, let alone discover a way to defeat him. The spell he used on you, that you turned against him—he must have learned it from that Hampsian sorcerer, for surely no follower of the Holy One would condone it.”
“I’m not in trouble for using it, am I?” Maryn blanched at this new worry. “I wouldn’t have, but I didn’t see any other way—”
“No, no. Under the circumstances it was perfectly acceptable.” Voerell patted Maryn’s hand.
Her reaction gave Maryn the courage to ask the question that troubled her. “Did it work? Did Carlich tell you everything he did?”
“My dear, Carlich hasn’t been able to leave off confessing.” Voerell gave a short laugh. “Once he recited the whole sorry tale, he started over at the beginning, in greater detail. Every wicked thought he ever had, every wicked deed—and there were many. It was quite a shock. I thought I knew my brother, but it seems he had me fooled as much as everyone else. He’s in the gaol now, and as far as I know is still regaling his guards with the litany of his sins.”
“Oh, no.” Maryn struggled to swing her legs over the edge of the bed. “I never meant for that to happen.” The continuing strength of her magic both awed and appalled her. She wished, now that the crisis was safely over, that the lingering effects would go away before they drew far too much em
barrassing attention to her. And she felt ashamed of the rush of vindictive pleasure that swept her when she pictured Carlich’s plight. She knew how cruel such compulsion was, no matter how richly Carlich deserved it. “I can try to cancel the spell, though I don’t know how.”
Voerell gave her a stern look and put a quelling hand on her arm. “You stay right there. It will do my brother good to dwell on his misdeeds for a while. If the spell hasn’t worn off after a few days, I’ll have Rogelan see to it. Don’t you waste another thought on Carlich.”
Maryn sank back into the bed, but she couldn’t leave the matter entirely. “What will happen to him?”
Voerell bit her lip. “He will be brought to trial. The evidence from his own lips will be ample to convict him. He should be—” She swallowed, shaking her head. “What he’s done is worthy of—”
Her lips moved soundlessly. Maryn winced in sympathy, remembering the choking sensation when King Froethych’s spell had prevented her from speaking. Voerell made a few more abortive attempts before finding words she could force out. “The—the usual punishment for treason is death.”
Voerell breathed deeply for a moment, then went on, still with difficulty, but clearly. “Father’s spell prevents me from ordering his execution. As a prince of Milecha, he cannot be put to death on any lesser authority. So I have little choice but to keep him confined in the Royal Gaol for the foreseeable future, under sufficient wards to prevent him from using magic to escape. At some point the effects of Father’s spell will fade, though Rogelan and Kiellan tell me it might be years.” Beads of sweat had formed on her brow; she wiped them away and gave Maryn a crooked smile. “I suppose it’s just as well. There are worse things than dwelling in a land where no one can cause harm to their blood kin. Perhaps by the time that changes, Carlich will have come to repent his crimes.”
That didn’t seem very likely to Maryn. But not impossible, either. “What about those who followed him?”
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