My body was still weak these several months after Rook—the Ancient that had been Rook—bit me and poisoned my system. But today, especially after what I’d seen, I felt little tiredness.
Arriving, I knocked on the door. Without even waiting on a reply, I barged in to find Blackwood before a mirror. Granted, in this room it would be difficult to avoid a mirror; they were everywhere. The only furniture in the old parlor was a high-backed wooden chair with clawed lion feet, placed in the direct center of the room. The walls and ceiling sported mirrors of every size and shape. Some were oval looking glasses encased in gilt frames. Others were square, or diamond-shaped. I looked to the ceiling and found a ten-foot mirror staring back at me. But I did not see our reflections in it, Blackwood’s and mine. Rather, the mirror displayed an empty room long overgrown with moss and ivy, weeds growing wild out of cracks in the floor.
A disturbing image.
Actually, the most disquieting thing of all was parked right beside the high-backed chair: it was the optiaethis, the grotesque lantern-like thing we had rescued from Ralph Strangewayes’s house in Cornwall several months earlier. It was small, a ball of glass caged in metal, pulsating white light trapped inside. The sight of that light made me cringe. I hated that Blackwood had taken to keeping it always with him.
But at the moment Blackwood’s attention was focused entirely upon me. His expression lightened when I entered, and then darkened with confusion.
“Henrietta.” He sounded both surprised and awed.
We stared at one another. Lord, he was…well. He was everything a young bride on her wedding day should want. His morning coat was dark green, which set off the brilliant color of his eyes. Tan breeches tucked into gleaming boots defined his strong, slender legs. The cut of his suit hugged his broad shoulders and tapered waist. His night-black hair had been combed back, and a lock fell before his eyes.
I felt myself flush. A part of me wanted nothing more than to drag him to the chapel, marry him, and only then tell him what I had discovered.
Sometimes, I hated being rational.
“It’s bad luck to see you before the ceremony.” Blackwood strode over, taking me into his arms. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until he enveloped me in his warmth.
“I gather you’re not that upset about it.” I skimmed my fingers through his hair.
“Not all traditions are important,” he whispered, and kissed me. The dark, nameless desire that slept inside me awoke, eager for more and more of his touch. When we broke apart, I laid my head on his chest.
“You’re distracting me.” I smiled.
“Not from anything too important, I hope,” he whispered in my ear. God, why did my resolve weaken with his touch? He kissed my cheek, then captured my mouth with his again. I wanted to forget everything else; indeed, I could barely recall why I’d come. A small voice inside me reminded me that there’d be plenty of time for this later.
“I need to tell you something.” I broke away to compose myself. “About the old druid lands.”
His black brow lifted. “So. You completed the ritual.” Blackwood sounded pleased, even as he took in the somewhat bedraggled sight of me. My gown, which had begun as a confection of blue satin with a low, square bodice and intricate lace at the wrists, was damp and spotted with mud. I could only wonder at the state of my hair. But in Blackwood’s gaze, I found desire. “You’re beautiful, Henrietta.” He made as if to kiss me again. The hungry part of me wanted to fold myself against him and forget everything else. But I held out my hand, stopping him before I forgot why I had searched him out.
“Yes, the ritual’s done,” I said. “But I wanted to talk about the druid lands themselves. When a Blackwood bride goes to make a sacrifice, what is she supposed to find?”
“Well. You’re not supposed to find anything. Slice a dove or a raven’s breast, and then—” His gaze sharpened. “Henrietta, do you mean to say that you saw something?”
“It was more than that. I’ve had visions before, but the circle provided more than that. It was as if I’d been absorbed into a moment in time. I’m not sure why I saw them. It could have been on account of the pomegranate.”
Blackwood blinked. “Is that…code for something?”
“Maria thought I should sacrifice fruit, not a bird.” I shrugged. “Perhaps the druid lands enjoy fruit.”
Blackwood frowned. “I still don’t understand.”
“There is a stone circle,” I said. “Twelve stones, all about ten feet high.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. And they were covered in runes.”
Now I had his full, hungry attention. “What type of runes?”
“All types. And when I touched the stones—”
My words were lost in a blare of horns. Even here, deep inside the great Faerie part of the estate, they echoed. Blackwood and I went to the door as the horns blared twice, then three times. That was the call of the barrier patrol. Three blasts meant that something was approaching from the west.
My stomach flipped. Blackwood and I raced out of the old parlor and back into the main house. Pain flared in my shoulder as I ran, but I forced it down. In the distance, I could hear the thunder of hooves. The ground trembled with it. Bloody hell, were the Ancients attacking en masse? Was even our ultimate stronghold unsafe from R’hlem?
From my father?
Last time I’d seen him, I’d plunged a dagger into his heart when he showed one moment of weakness and love. I doubted he would ever make that mistake again.
“My lord.” One of the guards, Virgil, ran to greet us. He was a rosy-cheeked sorcerer, scarcely two years older than I.
“Is it an attack?” Blackwood glanced ahead, trying to gauge the danger. The sorcerer shook his head.
“The barrier’s clear of enemies, my lord. But there’s an entire army of people charging straight for us.”
“Soldiers?” Hope flared through me. Perhaps some regiments in the queen’s army had made their way north to us.
“They’re ordinary citizens, but there are sorcerers with them.”
Sorcerers, traveling with common people? I was pleasantly surprised.
“Should I call for your coach, sir?” the boy asked. Blackwood and I looked at each other. Words were unnecessary; we grabbed our staves out of their sheaths at the same time.
Yes, I wore my stave, Porridge, with my wedding gown. I was a bride, but I was also a sorcerer.
Blackwood and I summoned the wind together and flew for the barrier. The winter chill easily sliced through my cloak and silk gown. Traveling this way, the ten-minute walk to the barrier shortened to two. We arrived to find an entire battalion of sorcerers waiting shoulder to shoulder with staves in hand. Dee was getting his men into line. So was Wolff, easy to pick out because of his height. I searched for Maria but didn’t see her bright red hair.
Through the clearing mist I caught flashes of movement. There was a roar from somewhere in the forest, the sound of voices shouting.
Men erupted into view, some on horseback and some on foot next to wagons and carts. Most of them didn’t look magical at all. They were ordinary Englishmen, and a few women as well. Their faces were streaked with mud and ash, reddened by the icy wind. They tore for the barrier, for safety.
At the head of this makeshift army, charging toward us on a horse, was Magnus.
Magnus leaned forward in the saddle and swung his stave, spraying snow out of the way to clear a path to the barrier. Beside me, Blackwood stiffened. Despite the war, he could never shake his hatred toward Magnus. If it weren’t for Magnus, Eliza would now be safely married and in Ireland.
And miserable, but it was difficult to make him understand that.
Blackwood did not open the barrier. Instead he stood there, the only movement his cloak in the winter wind.
“We have to let them in!”
I cried.
“R’hlem’s men could be waiting for an opportunity like this.” He kept his stave lowered at his side.
Wolff arrived beside us, slapping snow from his dark hair. His cheeks and nose were red as apples. He must have been in the middle of a patrol when the horns sounded.
“Why are we waiting?” He looked from me to Blackwood. “It’s Magnus. Don’t you see?”
Honestly, Magnus might be the prime reason Blackwood was delaying.
“We must let them in.” I exchanged looks with Wolff, who held up his stave in a ready pose for attack. Blackwood sighed and strode forward, leaving crisp footprints in the snow.
“Everyone prepare for the fall. Remember, stay inside the barrier line!” he shouted as the men rushed into action.
Horns blared five short, sharp times, moving every sorcerer into position. We’d never taken the barrier down before, but at least we had a plan for doing so. Six squadrons each were stationed in four different locations—north, south, east, west. When the barrier came down all around the estate, we’d be ready for anything. “Watch so that nothing inhuman comes through!” Blackwood yelled. The edge of our protective shield was marked all the way around the estate with stone pilings. When Blackwood touched the air between the pilings, the barrier would respond to his blood and sever itself.
It would remain down until he touched it again, placing the barrier back up. I followed Blackwood, my stave reassuring in my hand. I brought Porridge to the ground and whispered its name, summoning energy into its carvings. It glowed in seeming appreciation. Porridge had been out of action for so long.
So had I.
We waited until a horn sounded from each of the four corners, signifying that the squadrons were in place. Blackwood took a deep breath and touched the edge of the barrier. The air charged, crackling with energy. In an instant, the invisible shield around us died.
Blackwood and I stood ready as swarms of people ran full tilt onto the safety of Sorrow-Fell ground. Horses thundered past us, their breath steaming in the frigid air. The sorcerers came last, some wearing red army livery, others in plain clothes. I caught a glimpse of Valens as he drove a wagon, guiding the horse with a steady hand. Then I turned, searching again for a glimpse of Magnus.
There he was, still on horseback, though he’d stopped and was looking back into the forest. A cry of joy caught in my throat. All these months, I’d been certain he must be dead. And here, here he was.
I tracked his gaze and saw what had stopped him. Behind him, an older woman had fallen from one of the wagons and lay on the ground. I started forward to help, but Magnus had already taken action. He galloped the horse back up the hill to retrieve the woman.
Blackwood called my name as I hurried out of the barrier’s safe zone, to give cover in case of an attack. How could I do otherwise? It was Magnus, for God’s sake.
Magnus picked up the woman, and I guarded their backs as we all made our way into the barrier’s protection.
Once I’d got back behind the barrier line, Blackwood put the defensive shield up again with a touch. I felt the protection form around us, a momentary pressure on the skin. Blackwood took me by the shoulders.
“That was dangerous, Henrietta!” he cried. I touched his hand for reassurance, but also to release myself.
“No harm done,” I replied.
With a harsh exhale, he turned from me and went to Hawthorne, one of his most trusted men. Hawthorne was an older sorcerer who always looked suitably grim and gray-faced. Perhaps Blackwood liked him for that specific quality. Blackwood and Hawthorne spoke together, probably agreeing with each other on how reckless this had been.
Thankfully, a single, short horn called from the other four points in the barrier. Nothing had got through. I signaled our trumpeter to blast the same message and went to stand beside Blackwood. Together, we headed back through the tangle of forest to the long, sloping yard that led to the house.
Magnus, Valens, and all their people had congregated there. Men and women were climbing down from wagons or holding the reins of jumpy horses.
As the future lady of Sorrow-Fell, I ought to see to them. Whatever I had found in the druid lands could wait. I didn’t think the stone circle was going anywhere.
Passing the new arrivals, Blackwood and I received bows and curtsies and cries of praise. The men and women looked tattered and relieved.
The sight of their happiness warmed me. Blackwood, however, appeared more on edge than before.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he snapped at Magnus and Valens. The two of them were taking down sacks of provisions. As we drew near, I stopped in shock. I had never seen such weary looks from two sorcerers in my life, not even after London fell.
Magnus in particular looked wild. His hair had grown longer in the months since I’d seen him, even more outrageous and windswept. Stubble dusted his cheeks and chin, and his jacket was torn and patched in several places. His body had grown leaner, his flinty gaze more determined.
Well. He wasn’t the only one whose appearance had drastically changed, after all. My Unclean marks had left me thinner, with dark circles beneath my eyes. But he didn’t appear repulsed. In fact, he didn’t exhibit any feeling at all upon seeing me.
I tried not to let that hurt.
“What happened?” Blackwood’s tone softened.
Valens opened his mouth, but Magnus answered. “We needed to resupply.” His gaze raked me up and down, and his eyebrows lifted. He appeared shocked by my silk gown. “Do you always dress so formally here? I’m afraid I left my evening garb at the last battlefield.”
“This is our wedding day,” Blackwood said. I noted how he made certain to hit the word our.
Magnus stiffened. “Ah. Apologies, Howel. Or Lady Blackwood?” He sketched a bow.
“We haven’t performed the ceremony yet,” I replied.
“Well, I know what an anxious bride you must be. What red-blooded woman would fail to swoon at the promise of a lifetime with old Blacky here?” He gave a wan smile. “You’ve someone to give you away, I suppose? For a pound, I’ll take you up the aisle and serve as entertainment at the wedding breakfast.”
“Maria’s asked to give me away. She’s very excited by the idea.” We couldn’t have my father here, for obvious reasons, and I’d rather be given away by a friend than by an older sorcerer I barely knew.
“Yes, that sounds like her, all right.” Magnus’s voice warmed with real fondness.
Blackwood’s arm circled me.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. Both George and I agree. Don’t we, dear?” I said. Blackwood narrowed his eyes, but I would not let him say anything other than yes.
“Of course,” he answered.
“Well, then.” Magnus provided a steadying arm to the old woman he had rescued. Blood smeared the side of her head. God, she needed medical attention at once. “Where may we take the wounded?”
I pointed him past the carts and wagons. “Maria and Eliza are on hand to help with the injured.”
“You can find them in the stables,” Blackwood said.
Magnus snorted. “Stables? You’re the soul of kindness, Blacky.” He marched past, carrying the woman as though she weighed no more than a sack of flour. “Let me guess, we put the horses in the parlor? Sorrow-Fell’s wonderfully topsy-turvy.”
Color rose in Blackwood’s cheeks.
These two were not going to get on well. At least some things never changed.
That left us with Valens, who, while not as ragged as Magnus, was still clearly the worse for wear. A short young man with shaggy blond hair and hooded blue eyes, he’d always looked perfectly groomed and presentable in London. Now his cheeks were thin from hunger, and stubble bristled on his face.
“We need more horses, supplies, water. Whatever you can spare,” he said to Blackw
ood. “Also, these people—”
“We cannot take in those without the means to help,” Blackwood said, though he didn’t sound especially firm about it. The sight of the families rejoicing and crying together in huddled groups was softening him.
“We’d the choice to either take them with us or leave them to slaughter. Or worse,” Valens said.
“After all, R’hlem tends to transform into Familiars any humans that he doesn’t outright kill,” I added. Valens nodded to me, grateful for the support.
Blackwood relented. “Very well. Medical treatment, supplies—”
“Whatever you need,” I added. Valens smiled at me. Hard to believe I’d once considered him an enemy. “You’ll want to warm up before we discuss any further. I’ll arrange for hot soup and bread in the great hall.” I smiled. “You’ve come at a very good time, you know. Your daughter was born last week.”
Valens’s face lit up, and he raced for the house. His wife had come to Sorrow-Fell with us and had given birth to a little girl, Georgiana—named in Blackwood’s honor. Blackwood watched Valens go with some sympathy in his eyes.
“That would be good,” he said, as if to himself. “One day, someone will say those words to me.”
I blushed. He cleared his throat and took my hand.
“I don’t think we can proceed with the ceremony today.” He touched my cheek, sliding a lock of hair from my eyes. “So close,” he murmured. My whole body buzzed to hear the yearning in his voice. I pressed my lips to his.
“We’ll try again soon,” I said. “After I tell you more about the stones.”
“Yes, we’ll talk more. Tonight?” he asked.
“Tonight.”
He kissed me again, and a small, unhappy voice deep within me argued we should have the ceremony anyway.
Every day that we had been at Sorrow-Fell together, I’d wanted him more and more. As days passed into weeks, I had begun to see Blackwood anew. I had always thought him handsome, but now I found my eye inexorably drawn to him whenever he entered a room. Love had enveloped me, entwining my heart with his as snugly as the ivy on the garden wall. It was as if Sorrow-Fell itself had laid some strange enchantment upon me. I liked it.
A Sorrow Fierce and Falling (Kingdom on Fire, Book Three) Page 3