More cracks appeared in the ice. One swallowed a tent. Richard turned and plunged into the fleeing crowd.
Miranda stood by the top of the stairs and huddled in her cloak. Watching Richard and Lucius, she barely noticed the people jostling her. Once they were off the ice, many turned to watch their fellows in peril.
The day’s sudden warming probably portended something about the time changes, but she had no idea what.
Scanning the ice frantically, she spotted Richard. He and Lucius worked to help passengers of a cart caught in a crack in the ice while the driver frantically unhitched his team. Her Gifted eyes caught a faint hint of silver around Richard’s and Lucius’s hands when they bent to the ice. They were firming it.
Merchants scrambled to strike their tents. Already weakened by the warming day and stressed by the crowd’s weight, the ice again cracked with another sharp report. Across Miranda’s sight flashed a vision of the ice breaking into floes, spilling people and wares into the Thames.
She had to help, but how?
She didn’t know weather magic, but she did know word magic. Could she use it now?
She walked a short distance from the crowded stairs and knelt by the water. Extending her hand over the ice would be too conspicuous, so she only pointed one finger as she whispered, “Cold. Be cold. Freeze.” Nothing happened.
A channel opened in the cracking ice. The waterman on the stairs pushed his boat into the opening.
How had she felt when Arabella had pushed her power? She groped for the feeling. In a rush of magic that left her dizzy, she found it, but something seemed to hold it back. She pushed harder.
Another crack opened in the ice. The miniature ship on runners slid into it, passengers screaming.
Richard ran toward it, and the people tumbling out clutched at him, pulling him toward them as he tried to resist, to keep his arms free so he could help them. He broke away, only to have more people grab him. They were dragging him into the river.
The ice under his feet cracked, and Miranda had a sudden vision of him falling into the water, pushed down by people scrambling to escape.
Chapter 17
“No,” Miranda gasped. Gathering her will, she pushed with all her being. “Freeze. Hold.”
Magic roared through her like a flooding river. Power sang in her blood, surging from her finger to the ice. The chill of its firming echoed in her bones. Frost spread across it.
On the ice, Richard broke free of the grasping hands. The frost reached the widening crack where he worked. Frowning, he glanced at her. Their gazes met, and a flick of his hand, even as he pulled a drenched, shivering woman from the water, made the frost she’d created vanish.
Yet other cracks were forming all across the river. People stampeded for the banks. She couldn’t stop all of the cracking, but mayhap she could help Richard and others near her.
Miranda repeated the incantation, pouring more into it, taking care this time to imagine the ice holding, not freezing anew. If it did that, people might look for the cause.
Abruptly, her power ran out. Spent and dazed, she swayed and had to steady herself with a hand on the ground. Where was Richard?
People still streamed past her, blocking her view.
Finally, she spotted him hurrying toward her among the last people on the ice. Miranda let out a relieved breath.
Full of concern, his eyes met hers. He rushed up the steps to the bank. “Are you well?”
She nodded, accepting his help to stand. They took a step, and the world spun.
He drew her close to peer into her face. “Miranda?”
“Just dizzy. It was difficult.”
“It was astonishing,” he corrected. “I was amazed when your magic joined with mine and Lucius’s.” He drew her against his side, and she leaned into his strength. The bay leaf scent of his clothes wafted into her nose, and his body felt strong and solid against hers. It felt good.
Too good.
“I can walk,” she said, her voice weaker than she expected.
“Lean on me anyway. Such works take much of one’s strength, even for those with more practice and experience than you have. After expending so much power, we both need food and rest. We’ve a major work of magic to face tonight. We must be ready for it.”
The mantel clock ticked toward midnight, and someone tapped on Miranda’s door. Her heartbeat quickened, and her hands felt suddenly cold. The time had come for the ritual. Thanks to resting through the evening, she no longer felt so weary, but she dreaded the rite she was about to undergo.
So much depended on it, and she had made so little progress controlling her power. Had gained so little experience. But Richard had much more. Perhaps that would suffice.
When she opened the door, his solemn eyes scanned her face. “Ready?”
Not by half. But Richard’s friend had disappeared. Anyone night be next—Arabella, Miranda herself ... or even Richard.
“Yes,” she answered, forcing determination into her voice. Fear chilled her veins and tightened her chest, but doing nothing, hiding from her power, would only make things worse.
Richard nodded. “Then let’s go. We reach the pool through the library, and Morgan’s handmaiden awaits us there.”
They walked down the corridor in silence. Worried about what was to come, Miranda didn’t feel inclined to conversation anyway.
The earl ushered her into the library, where a tall, solemn woman sat waiting for them with Arabella. The woman’s thin face showed no great age, but silver threads glinted in her long, reddish braids. Instead of fashionable garb, she wore a straight, simple gown of silver velvet with green knotwork embroidery around its hem and its wide neck.
Richard introduced Miranda to the woman.
Ancient wisdom shone in the newcomer’s dark eyes. “Well met, cousin. I’m Tessa, one of Morgan’s handmaidens.”
The idea of a woman as a guardian of anything still seemed strange, but there’d been too much strange happening in Miranda’s life of late for her to blink at that. This gentle-looking woman must wield great power.
Arabella stood, her petticoats rustling. “Luck to you, my dears,” she said. She kissed Richard’s cheek and then, surprising her, Miranda’s. “Richard, you’ll let me know when it’s done.”
“Yes, Grandmère,” he said, and she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Tessa glanced at the mantel clock, which showed ten minutes until midnight. “This rite must begin at midnight,” she said.
“Of course.” Richard strode to the fireplace and touched the carved wooden shelving beside it. The shelf swung inward, revealing a narrow stone staircase descending behind the wall.
Miranda stared, amazed. What other secrets did this house hold?
“I’ll go first,” Richard said, “to avoid tripping the snares.”
Miranda took a deep breath. “Snares?” she asked, looking from him to Tessa.
“Safeguards.” He flashed her a quick smile. “You’ve nothing to fear so long as you’ve a family member in the lead.”
Tessa nodded, apparently at ease. If this wise woman seemed confident, Miranda could at least pretend to be the same. Besides, she trusted Richard to help her if she needed it. She gathered her skirts and followed him into the darkness.
He summoned a glow around his hand to light their way. “Witchlight,” he explained to Miranda. “You’ll learn this, too.”
“So you’re a student,” Tessa said as they wound downward into darkness. “You must be Richard’s first.”
“Grandmère has taught her much more than I.” His voice echoed from the walls. “She has learned a great deal.”
Mainly, she’d learned how terrifying such powers could be, but she put the thought aside. She’d longed to learn, and the only way out of this tangle was directly through it. Miranda kept a hand against the wall to steady herself and followed the winding stair in silence.
Long moments passed as they descended. Surely they’d passed t
he ground floor by now. How far down did this extend?
At last, Richard stopped before a rough stone wall. He pressed his palm to a spot that seemed like any other, and the wall swung back. The faint burble of falling water and a wave of moist, cool air came from the opening.
A tight band encircled Miranda’s chest. Such secrecy implied great power and terrible knowledge. He’d said this was dangerous, but it seemed even more so now, in the darkness so far below the house.
They stopped in a chamber about twenty feet across. The light Richard held wasn’t strong enough to show the ceiling, which was lost in darkness above.
He nodded to the far wall. “Should you ever need it, another tunnel lies there, by the basin.”
“Behind the wall?”
“Grandmère can help you if I’m not here.”
Tessa cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you anticipate needing an escape soon, cousin?”
“Given the pace and tumult of these changes, who can say?” He snapped his forearm forward, as if tossing the light that surrounded his hand. The ball of light flew from one sconce to another, illuminating torches. It arrowed back to his hand, where it died.
The light revealed a vaulted ceiling. In the far corner a foot-wide waterfall tumbled four feet into a frothing basin and vanished.
Tessa nodded at the waterfall. “It will do.”
She turned to Miranda, her gaze probing. “Morgan’s pool at Pendragon has so much magic in the earth around it that its own power, which is greater than any it can give this fountain, lies contained. This place has no such safeguards. Once I add the water from Morgan’s pool, its magic can flow between the two of you in unpredictable ways.”
“You can change your mind,” Richard said quietly.
But she couldn’t. People who should live had died, including Richard’s friend. Those who should be dead walked, and chaos ruled the weather. The changes to the past must be undone, the looming plague forestalled, or thousands could die. “If I can help, I must.”
Behind her, Tessa said, “After I pour in the water I brought, you will each cut your left hand, for that one leads to the heart. The cut need not be large so long as it bleeds well. Then clasp your hands, cut to cut, and plunge them into the water at midnight.”
Despite all she’d learned about healing, Miranda’s stomach did a hard twist. But this was necessary.
She looked at Richard. In his dark blue eyes, she read steady resolve and no fear. She also read a question. She raised her chin in answer, and he nodded.
“We understand,” he told Tessa.
“Very well, then.” She walked to the basin with an uncorked flask in one hand. To Miranda, she said, “For you to See is not enough, for you’ve little knowledge. He has knowledge but cannot See. So you must do this together from beginning to end if you would find answers.”
“Very well,” Miranda said.
Tessa faced them again. “Let me warn you both that the pool’s magic shows true, not only the vision within it but the hearts of those who use it.”
She paused, as though to give her next words greater weight. “No one pays a fee for its use, but many have paid a price. We who guard it have seen betrothals and marriages, business dealings, and long friendships wither in its depths. I warn you, use it at your peril.”
“Miranda?” Richard said quietly. His face had set in lines of grim determination.
If he could face this risk, so could she. After all, they had come here because they had no other ideas. “I’m willing.”
“And I,” he said.
Tessa told them, “When your blood enters the water, the mists will rise. When they do, summon the vision you seek.”
“You’ll need to do that,” Richard told Miranda, “because the visions we want to explore are yours.”
Tessa nodded. “You must remain intent on your goal, or the mists will turn to your own lives instead. I shall stand with you, of course, but I will not See what you do.”
She emptied the flask into the frothing water, which churned silvery blue for half a dozen heartbeats before settling again. Eerie, ancient-feeling power whispered across Miranda’s senses, and her stomach twisted.
“The pool’s power cannot show you the future,” Tessa told them. “It can show you the past. It can show you a dream or vision and any trails that lead to or from it. Within those limits, you can direct it.”
Miranda’s tight throat didn’t allow words. She nodded.
“Our thanks, cousin,” Richard said.
“I hope you can say that when you emerge. Luck to you.” She walked to the foot of the stairs, then folded her hands. “I will tell you when midnight tolls.”
Richard led Miranda to the water. “Are you ready?” he asked as they knelt by the bubbling basin.
She nodded, silently following. She could do this. She must do this. Too much depended on it.
“I’ll go first,” Richard said. He drew the dagger from the sheath at his waist. The blade flashed. Blood welled from a thin line that crossed his palm just below his fingers.
To her amazement, he smiled. “Ready?”
She managed a weak smile in return as she extended her hand. Again, he moved quickly. Not until she saw the blood welling did she feel the stinging pain it brought.
He held out his bloody palm, and she laid hers across it. Warm and sticky, their mingled blood oozed through her fingers as he wrapped his hand around hers. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. He did the same.
“Now,” Tessa said, her voice suddenly ringing in the enclosed space.
Miranda and Richard plunged their joined hands into the icy basin below the waterfall.
Ripples spread outward from their hands. Beyond the ripples rose a silvery mist, shimmering like dew in a sunrise. It thickened into a cloud, and the shimmer became a surge that rushed toward them.
“Steady,” Richard said. His grip tightened.
The mist surrounded them. It blotted out the sight of him, the feel of his hand on hers, the icy chill of the pool.
Alone in a ghost fog, Miranda fought panic. Nothing seemed real, and there was nothing to steady her. As a scream boiled into her throat, she sensed someone nearby.
Yearning poured from him, an aching loneliness that didn’t conceal a resolute strength. Somehow, she realized that something set him apart from his fellows and created isolation he had learned to endure.
She knew that sense of being alone, just as she knew his determination not to let it lead him into temptation. And she knew him. They had met before, in a vision, and she needed him now. His presence steadied her.
With that, she could put a name to him. Richard.
The intense, beguiling awareness reminded her of Tessa’s warning. She forced her mind away from the emotions that swirled around her. This was no time to give them free rein.
The fog billowed. It spun aside and left her kneeling on dark, glassy nothingness where neither past nor future existed. Only the present mattered now. Drawing deep inside her, tapping her magic, she focused on the dragon vision.
Richard stood in purple-gray mists that stank of rotten eggs and hummed with power. A sense of purpose tugged at him, a need he had to answer. A call to arms.
With a crackle of purple power, the mists shimmering around him coalesced into silver armor etched with boars and sunburst roses. Wispy vapors hardened into a shield on his left arm—silver that bore a stripe of mulberry and one of blue, the center emblazoned with the white sunburst rose of York. A broadsword formed at his hip. As though he had willed them into being.
Another soul brushed his again, now tinged with panic. Come. If you can hear, Sir Knight, come now. Oh, come!
For that, he needed a horse. The mists between his legs solidified into a knight’s high-pommeled saddle. Beneath it, a horse’s powerful body formed, raising him. Its sleek, black head tossed. The transformation ended, and he sat atop an armored stallion that looked much like Zeus.
He touched his spurs to its sleek sides.
The stallion surged into a gallop. Settling himself in the strange saddle, he turned his mount toward the beacon call.
The call grew steadily stronger. With no landmarks, he couldn’t determine direction, but the summons drew him where he needed to go. Sounds came through the fog, thrashing noises such as a trapped animal might make. Slavering and snarling beasts. In his soul, a woman’s desperation throbbed.
Miranda. In trouble and afraid and needing him. He spurred his mount to find her.
The fog thinned before him. There stood a red dragon, just as she had described. Between him and it, a bloody, rearing stag fought a half-score of smaller dragons. The stag fell.
Beyond it, on a carpet of mulberry bordered in blue, lay a white boar bleeding from gouges in its side.
Aware of what he did, yet apart from it, as though he watched through someone else’s eyes, he drew his broadsword in a lightning arc. Bending low, he spurred his mount and charged.
The big dragon roared. Flame belched from its mouth.
Richard thrust his shield up, deflecting the fiery shaft. His attack caught the small dragons by surprise. Some fled. The horse’s hooves smashed them into shadow that melted into the ground. Others attacked, but his blade slashed through them. Wounded, they also turned to shadow and melted.
He wheeled his mount to block the big dragon’s way to Miranda and to the stag and the boar. Facing his foe, he sheathed his sword and flipped opened his visor.
The urge to speak filled him, and words burst forth. “Your time is done.” His voice rang with power, startling him. “The untruths and evils you nurtured shall not prevail but pass away. They are but the shades of night, and I am the herald of day.”
Stretching its full length upright, the dragon bellowed, the sound now hollow and impotent. The creature launched itself skyward and vanished into the gray clouds.
He frowned at it. Vanquishing such a beast couldn’t be so easy. Why had it been?
Miranda’s body warmed, as though a shadow had passed away from the sun. She drew a shaky breath of relief and turned to the stag, which struggled to its feet. Its burns and wounds began, miraculously, to heal. When it glanced at her, the satisfaction in its dark eyes brought a smile to her lips.
The Herald of Day Page 21