Footsteps announced the arrival of Blackwood’s guard. To them, he said, “Howel’s to remain in this room. I’ll have her meals sent up. Two men will be posted at the door, and two at the first landing, day and night.”
I didn’t resist. When Blackwood held out his hand for Porridge, I unbuckled the sheath and gave it over. I trembled as the stave left my hand—it was like giving away a cherished pet. Blackwood wouldn’t do anything to hurt it, at least.
But I’d need it back.
“For how long?” I asked as he slipped Porridge into his coat.
“For as long as it pleases me.” He left. The two sorcerers regarded me with heavy-lidded eyes. I went to close the door. One of them stopped it with his hand.
“You must think we’re rather stupid. You’ve your magician trickery, after all.” So. The door would remain open, then. Anger flared in my mind. I sat back on the queen’s bed and gazed out the window. Already, men were assembling a pyre, setting the stage for Maria’s demise. My stomach quailed at the image.
Magnus and the others were safe now, but Maria’s time was running out. If I wanted to save her, I would have to act soon.
Mercifully, I still had my plan.
A few hours later, the sky had darkened. As I’d run over the plan again and again that afternoon, searching for flaws, I’d watched them finish constructing the pyre. It was rather simple, a crude wooden platform with a large stake in the center. Kindling had been placed in the open space beneath the platform. The fire would rise high and well in this cold air.
The image of Maria tied to the stake, her red hair turning to actual flame, spurred me on. I’d an idea, but I would need privacy to try it. And there was only one way I could see that the men would allow me to close the door.
I began casually undoing my dress, bringing out a line of cloth from the cupboard. Both of the guards startled.
“I have, er, feminine business to attend.” My monthly courses were not due for three weeks or so, but that certainly did the trick. Both men looked as if I’d threatened to murder a kitten in front of them. “If you’d do me the courtesy of privacy?”
One of the soldiers pulled at the door as though it were his protection against death itself. “Three minutes. No more,” the other man warned.
Finally. I fast buttoned myself up and turned toward the window. They’d taken Porridge from me, which meant controlling the wind would not be so simple. But if Rook’s shadow powers would serve me…just this once, of course.
I shuddered to think of doing it, but there were no other options.
I pushed the window open, facing the cruel bite of the wind. Like a princess escaping a tower where a horrid witch has confined her, I thought. Or a monstrous king. A part of Blackwood had relished imprisoning me. I knew that he loved my strength—he’d told me so, once—but there was another part of him that wanted to see such strength submit to him.
He would get no such submission today.
Right. How did I go about this? I recalled Rook lifting his hand and summoning shadows from every crevice and corner. He had worn the darkness like a cloak, used it to transform and steal through the tiniest cracks and keyholes. I did not want to access that ability—it frightened me. But if I used it just this once, I might be all right. Closing my eyes, I willed the shadows to cover me.
A small, excited voice whispered an unknown language in my mind. The wounds at my shoulder throbbed so terribly that my head pounded in reply.
I tasted fear on my tongue.
I needed to move. The men would soon open the door.
Slowly, I stretched out my hand. This time, the voice in my mind grew louder. Something rustled in the corner of the room, silk gliding across stone. Then a wash of cool overcame me. The pain at my shoulder disappeared for the first time in months. I felt divine.
When I opened my eyes, there was only pitch black. Yet I felt no fear; I could see perfectly. Once, I’d needed my fire to pierce Rook’s shadow, but now it seemed that the darkness had taken root in my skin. It was a part of me.
I was one with the dark. Shadow flowed through my veins, or rather my veins dissipated and became shadow. The weight of my human body was gone; only darkness remained. It was such glorious power. I felt I could travel the world in a single instant, meld into every nook and cranny of the earth. My human mind threatened to vanish…no.
I forced myself to slow. Now in the form of a shadow, I tipped over the windowsill and slid down the ivy—I had never floated so comfortably, even upon the back of the wind. Once on the ground, I shed the shadow as quickly as possible. The dull heaviness of my human body, my arms and legs and head, returned. The pain at my shoulder flared once more, but I welcomed it. I never wanted to use that power again.
Sorcerers strolled past me, heading for the yard. I pressed against the building to hide myself, already regretting not bringing a damned cloak. My teeth chattered. I stole over the snowy grounds, headed for the kitchens.
Thank God, there was no one in the servants’ hall. I went up the stairs and headed to the right. Soon I’d made it back to the Faerie grounds, with no one around to discover me.
My heart thudded as I ran down the winding corridors. I found the spiraling steps and hurried toward the dungeon.
Maria was alone, still chained by the neck and lying on her side. Her red hair spilled out around her head, looking like the coppery sheen of blood in the slanting moonlight. I shook her awake. When she sat up, I waited to see if she was Willoughby. But her frightened eyes told me that Maria had won, for now.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
I hushed her as I began to melt the chain at her neck. After the void and chill of shadow, the fire nearly hurt my hands.
“I’m getting you out,” I said. The links broke, and I helped her to her feet. Maria tugged at the metal collar that still circled her neck. I couldn’t melt that without hurting her.
I wasn’t certain how we would get past the guards in the yard; my imagination had always failed there. Normally that would have driven me mad, but tonight all I cared about was getting out of here. If we could find some warm clothes, a cloak perhaps, that would be so much the better. I wasn’t certain how far we’d make it otherwise. My fire could only hold for so long.
If I could get Maria out, perhaps Lambe’s vision would not come true. We had gotten many of the sorcerers and regular folk out of here—but not all. I wanted to spare them…and Blackwood, if I could.
“Where are we going?” Maria stumbled against me. I’d never seen her so fragile. Fighting off Willoughby’s influence had to be a tremendous drain.
“Up the stairs. If we can reach the ground level, we’ll head out the back door and—”
We weren’t going to reach the ground level or the back door, because a large group of men awaited us at the mouth of the exit. Blackwood stood at the front of them. I wrapped an arm around Maria’s waist and turned us, only to find another group standing in the opposite doorway. No way out.
“That was a clever escape, Henrietta,” Blackwood said. I noticed Porridge hanging in the sheath by his belt. If I could snatch it…
“Please. Let us pass.” I could feel my knees giving out beneath me. Between the two of us, Maria and I were not going to put up any real fight. Blackwood grinned, a mirthless expression.
“Release the witch,” he said. My temper boiled over.
“Half witch. You conveniently forgot the sorcerer half, didn’t you?” I snapped. His eyes flashed a warning, but I spoke to the men. “This is Cornelius Agrippa’s daughter. Look at her eyes and you’ll know the truth.”
A confused murmur broke out. Hawthorne examined Maria with growing astonishment.
“Uncanny.” He looked at Blackwood. “My lord, did you know?”
Maria’s left hand began to clench into a fist—blast, Willoughby must be
coming out. We were in such dire straits, I couldn’t tell if Willoughby’s arrival would make this better or worse. Based on our luck thus far, I was betting on worse.
“This girl murdered my sister. Nothing else matters,” Blackwood said.
“Oh, but it wasn’t poor, sweet Maria that murdered the brat.” Maria threw off my arm and stood on her own two feet now. Or rather, Willoughby did. “That would be I, Lord Blackwood. Son of the man who brought down ruin on this country.” She grinned.
Blackwood’s entire body went rigid with fear. Well, I’d bloody well tried to warn him.
Hawthorne appeared baffled. Willoughby winked a dark eye at him.
“You all burned my kind, but we’re hardier than you supposed.” She sidestepped away from me, keeping the focus of all the men. “Twelve years ago, I helped Howard Mickelmas open a portal to another realm. And the sky became black, and the world was set afire.”
“Mary Willoughby?” That was one of the younger men, who scoffed as he said it. I could feel the disbelief growing. They thought this was a bad attempt on Maria’s part to save her skin.
I could feel something invisible and horrible rushing toward us. Something was going to happen, and soon.
“Let us pass. Now,” I said to Blackwood. He did not respond to me.
“The witch is lying,” he said to the men. “This is a ploy.”
But Willoughby was not done yet.
“I thought I recognized you,” Willoughby said to Hawthorne. “You were among the men gathered by Charles Blackwood to ride out and, ah, apprehend me and Mickelmas. He got away, tricky bastard that he was, but I wasn’t so fortunate. What did I say to you, when you found me?” She pretended to think, then held up a finger. “Ah yes.” Then she let out such a string of curse words that the walls would have blushed if they could. Hawthorne looked ashen. “You said you’d never heard such a tongue on a woman in all your life. You tutted about it. Yes, sir.” She wagged a finger. “You tutted.”
By the look on the man’s face, I knew that Willoughby had spoken true. The men believed Hawthorne’s reaction, and so they began to believe her.
“Blackwood, let us go,” I said. He paled considerably but did not flinch.
“You went to the nearest coven, once you’d had approval from your blasted Order. You kicked their doors in, murdered the men where they stood, dragged the women to your carts, then took them to the pyres and burned them alive.” Willoughby’s eyes sparked. “All you missed was a small girl. Do you remember now, sorcerer? You should have slaughtered her with the rest of her people.”
“My God,” Hawthorne whispered. My mouth felt dry.
“Bind this witch and take her outside,” Blackwood barked. But no one was listening to him any longer.
“Are you sure you’re the one to be giving orders, Your Lordship?” She swirled her skirt as she walked to him. Willoughby gave Maria’s hips a swivel that the girl herself never possessed. “Considering it was your own dear daddy who helped call down those ancient monstrosities?”
I summoned a gust of wind in warning, but Willoughby threw open her hands…and the wind blasted back in my face. Willoughby had access even to Maria’s elemental powers.
Blackwood did not try to make excuses. Perhaps it was madness, but he seemed to deflate with relief.
Already, the power in the room was turning. It might end well for me, or terribly, but I did not know which.
“You sorcerers want to know why you’re all crammed into one bloody estate? Why your homes and families were stolen from you?” Willoughby looked at the men, hatred burning in her eyes. “It’s because the great Charles Blackwood took me and Mickelmas to an isolated place. All three together, we opened that blasted circle and let those hellish demons through. Your dear departed Charlie Blackwood decided to shirk his share of responsibility. Mickelmas and me, we paid the price. And you all reveled in it, didn’t you?” She paced like an animal. “Was there never a seed of doubt, you older gentlemen? When Lord Blackwood gave you his news, did you never entertain the idea that he was perhaps involved?” She chuckled. “Or was it a reason at long last to allow your hatred for magicians and witches to flow?”
The gleeful way Willoughby was grinning, the relish she took in her performance, seemed excessive even for her. Was she buying time?
“Something is wrong,” I murmured, but the men were not listening to me. Blackwood stood straighter than ever, a man waiting stoic on the beach as a tidal wave roared into view.
“So you burned and you tortured and you ravaged us, witches and magicians, too. And you let the monsters stampede about this filthy country, with its filthy people. But did you ever know that your great Earl of Sorrow-Fell was responsible? And did you know that his son knew all about his father’s sins?”
“Liar!” I shouted. It wasn’t a lie at all, but I had to protect Blackwood. When he looked at me, for one moment the anger dissolved between us. Willoughby turned on me.
“Don’t go pointing out liars, my girl. Not unless you’ve a wish to be named in their ranks.” Her gaze was all the threat I needed. She knew about R’hlem.
“Is it true?” Hawthorne asked Blackwood. The earl seemed smaller and younger than I had ever known him. With a few words, Willoughby had stripped him bare. If he’d lied boisterously, he might have convinced them. Who would want to believe such a thing, after all? But Blackwood had never been as comfortable with falsehoods as I had. His silence was all the confirmation needed.
“Then I take it upon myself,” Hawthorne said, “to strip you of your titles and privileges pending a thorough investigation.”
Blackwood’s eyes widened, and I felt a kind of uneasy shifting in the air.
“You fool. Don’t you know what you’re doing?” Blackwood cried as the men seized him. Willoughby began to giggle. God, I wanted to strike her.
“What is it?” I asked Blackwood as the men grabbed his stave.
“If you strip me of my title, the Blackwood family does not control this estate! That means that the barrier—”
He didn’t need to say anything more, because at that moment a great, screaming boom shattered the air. My bones rattled to hear it, and Willoughby kicked up her heels with triumph.
I felt him as soon as the barrier came down. He had lurked in the shadows for such a long time, waiting patiently as a coiled serpent. As soon as he set foot onto the land, my blood screamed in recognition.
R’hlem had come to Sorrow-Fell.
My father was here.
Had Willoughby planned it? R’hlem could visit people across the astral plane, pop into one head and then out of another. Perhaps they’d concocted this together, once Willoughby was in control of Maria’s body. Indeed, seeing the way that horrible woman celebrated stoked the fury within me. Had she not worn Maria’s face, I’d have burned her on the spot.
“Fools!” Blackwood shouted as the men looked about in shock.
I burst into angry flames, which turned out to be the stupidest thing I’d done yet.
Willoughby summoned my fire to her hand and shoved past the men in the doorway. She raced upstairs, trailing sparks as she went.
I needed my stave. Taking advantage of the bewildered men, I snatched Porridge back from Blackwood.
We looked at each other, understanding stretched between us. His lifetime of hiding had ended.
“Give him his authority back!” one of the men shouted. But that would do only so much good now. Still, we might succeed. So long as the essence of Sorrow-Fell remained intact, so long as…
So long as the house did not burn.
Lambe had warned me of the lady burning in the wood.
I went after the witch. The men followed, their voices a confused cacophony as we emerged into the hall to find the place engulfed in rippling flame.
The rooms of the faerie castle were made of
stone, so very little was burning save a few moth-eaten tapestries. But the halls of the main house were polished wood. The place had gone up as neat as a log in a fire. The portraits of ancestors blackened and curled, youthful foreheads wrinkling, pale faces flaking off in bits of ash. The carpets, the wooden furniture, the wooden banisters were all ablaze. It was hot as hell, and the smoke made my eyes water. In the center, Willoughby crowed as she unfurled fiery blast after blast at whatever she could touch.
Blackwood and the men dashed around me, summoning snow and water from outside to put out the flames. Servants poured out the front door, screaming for their lives.
I moved quickly. Though the flames could not harm me, the smoke would. We would all choke to death if it got much worse.
A cry turned my head. At the top of the staircase, standing in her long white nightgown, was Lady Blackwood. Her gray, thin hair hung in her face in strings. She had not put on her veil. In the bright light of the fire, she resembled some ancestral ghost made garishly visible. Extending her thin arms to either side, she cackled.
“Look at it, Charles! Look!” She clapped her hands like a gleeful child.
Oh no.
“My lady, stay there!” I passed through fire without any fear. With a swipe of Porridge, wind buffeted upward to push her back to safety. “I’ll come get you!”
But a piece of fiery timber collapsed in front of me. Before I could catch her, Lady Blackwood deliberately stepped over the edge and plunged into the fire below.
Now sorcerers blasted water onto the ever-increasing expanse of fire, but it was a losing battle. Billows of black smoke flooded the place.
Familiars stormed in over the threshold. They ran a few sorcerers through with their claws and daggers. I found Willoughby dancing closer and closer to the fire. She didn’t care if she and Maria died or not.
I would not let her take my friend.
Screaming, I threw myself into Willoughby, knocking her to the floor. Willoughby tried to strike me, but I slapped her face—Maria’s face—again and again. The heat was atrocious. I was dripping sweat.
A Sorrow Fierce and Falling (Kingdom on Fire, Book Three) Page 12