He charged at her again, slower this time since the gas was finally taking it toll. She moved, summoning her Talent - which was finally reacting the way it was supposed to - and stabbed him at the juncture of neck and collarbone. Still, he was fast enough to slam full-length into her, and they both crashed into the brittle wall. Stones slipped and fell under their weight, shifting the already precarious roof.
With a quick assessment Elsie knew they were about to be buried. She looked back to Feverrette, whose eyes drooped in heavy, drugged sleep until he collapsed against her, caging her to the wall. Wrapping her arms around him, sensing the steady slide of the roof above them, Elsie closed her eyes and summoned her magic for perhaps the riskiest spell she'd ever conjured.
"Yetakupo," she murmured the transportation command and prayed the Fates would be kind.
Only a full House Witch had the Talent to command transportation with any competence. The Archives stated that those few Heir's whom had attempted the spell had done so with disastrous results. One poor creature had ended up in the Wild. Another had landed near the Mountains of Lorant, so high up that they'd lost three toes from frost bite before they'd found civilization again. To her knowledge, none had ever attempted to carry another body with them in the transport.
There was a loud rushing sound, like thousands of large birds flapping their wings around her, and then there was nothing. Elsie cracked an eyelid open, peering out at the surroundings with deepening dread. She should have just covered Feverrette and let the roof fall on them. She could have dug their way out.
It took her a moment to understand what was before her. Visible over Feverrette's limp form were moss covered gray stone with straps of jungle vine crawling up its length. She opened her eyes and smiled, elated at having managed a spell that should have gotten her killed. Granted, she was only an arms length away from the ruin so she hadn't gone far, but they had moved.
With a whoop of excitement she fell backward, resting on the ground and laughing. Feverrette's body lay heavy on top of her, his head sliding down to her chest and lolling with the movement. With a strange compulsion she slid her fingers through his hair, seeing now the two-tones of dark and light brown that comprised the recalcitrant locks. If he took better care of it the smooth, gossamer-like strands near the scalp wouldn't be so hidden. Then the frizz would go down, and he could be considered a handsome specimen.
Not that his hair could improve the vagary of his mouth, of course.
Careful not to injure the man, Elsie slid out from under him, lowering his head to a soft patch of ground. Her Talent seemed to revel in the physical contact so she indulged it, tracing the strong line of high cheekbone down to his jaw. There was the barest cleft in his chin, something she could not have noticed without closer contact. His nose was perhaps a smidgen too long. The physical proportions of his mouth, however, were perfect.
Her mind flashed to their kiss and her fingers stopped their roving. His Talent purred under his skin, reverberating through her fingertips, and she realized of a sudden that she could be feeding him what he needed to wake up. And she really needed him to stay asleep. So she rolled her shoulders, craned her neck until the bones popped and tension released, and made certain not to touch his skin again as she hefted his bulky frame over her shoulder. Her Talent was more than willing to aid her with the task of carrying the man, which was good since she had a long trek to the safe house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Keeping her hood low, Reonne stepped out of the village proper. She'd managed to slip past the guards of the Manor and skirt the shadows well enough to stay hidden from curious eyes. This was her third attempt to meet with the creature. It was a grueling, twisting trip following a mostly placid creek that cut a small ravine out of the mountainside. Twice she tripped on her skirts; three times she had to support herself with the strength of a nearby tree.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, she found the rotted, abandoned cottage.
Mostly abandoned, her mind corrected.
The sharp scent of oranges greeted her and she knew the creature was close. A moment later the brush moved at her left and a tall figure stood. It remained half in shadow, light playing against the warped features of a former man. Reonne kept her gaze on the cottage below, unwilling to turn and look at It. From the corner of her eye she saw it swerve his head, an unnatural movement that betrayed the sight of the serpent attached at the base of his neck.
Leached was more the word.
Its teeth sunk deep into his neck, infecting the once-man with a shared consciousness, poisoning the body into submission while still managing to keep it alive. Once upon a time Reonne had felt remorse for her part in this bargain. Brochan Delgora-Fie had not deserved the fate she had given him. Keeping It at a distance was more than one form of self-defense.
This was the cost of her power, she reminded herself. Sacrifices had to be made.
"We have been expecting you," it said, half a man's voice and half that of the serpent, hissing and growling at her.
"A Witch-Born has come."
"We know."
"He has asked dangerous questions." Reonne took a slow breath.
The Dellidus was not a threat to her. It owed her. She had given It life inside the Civilized Lands. She had let it roam free, feeding on those unfortunates who happened on its lair. So long as she was Untalented, it had no interest in her other than that of food for the body it inhabited. And there were plenty of others to fill that need. Still, the unmistakably sibilant nature of the creature was blatant.
"Dangerous to who?" it asked.
"To both of us."
"All of us," it corrected.
"All of us," she said, and then she turned to face it. "Kill him."
***
There was a terrible cramp in his left thigh. It echoed the general soreness of his body and the awkward angle of his neck. Dorian groaned with the onslaught of discomfort that greeted him. Something was jabbing into his ribs. It took a moment for him to realize the object was in fact his own elbow. Before he opened his eyes, he knew he was in a tight, unyielding place. His legs were curled up so that he was in a mock-fetal position, and he could feel hard wood pressed against his feet.
He knew it was wood - cedar - by the sharp, pleasant scent of it.
"It is unlocked if you want out," someone said from beyond his confine.
Dorian shifted, testing, until his left arm felt something give way. He pushed again and the lid opened, admitting bright light into his sight. He flinched, squinting as the light seared into his temples. It was hard to think around the ache in his head but he managed to understand that he was still alive, albeit half drugged and sore everywhere. His Talent was in the same state because he couldn't gather enough of it to heal himself.
The basics of the room became apparent when he sat up. Shaped like an octagon with wide, open windows and only one door, he could easily see the plume of jungle treetops just beyond. There was one desk, center of the room, with two chairs on either side; a telescope at the farthest window from his position. Something felt off with his cursory inspection of the place but he was too preoccupied with the final revelation.
He was sitting inside a large trunk.
"We couldn't know how you would react to the opium," the same voice said from the desk.
"Opium?" Dorian looked back to the desk, his vision blurring for a moment before he could focus on the woman standing there. "Why didn't she just kill me?"
"Elsie doesn't want you dead," she turned to the desk and began pouring something warm and fragrant into a small cup. "She wants you safe and out of the way."
The woman stepped away from the desk and folded her hands before herself. It was a practiced move, instinctual and professional all at once. Dorian dragged himself out of the trunk, trying to steady his footing as he half-stumbled to the desk. Once there, he leaned on the edge of the desk and fought a sudden bout of dizziness. The age of the furniture caught him by surprise. Sturdy but weathered
, it had nicks along the edges and one corner completely chipped off. And it was not empty.
Several bits of paperwork lay scattered across the surface, held down haphazardly by books and candle holders. He spotted an envelope at the head of the desk with his name scribed in quick, feminine handwriting. It lay just beyond the silver tray of tea.
Rosehip tea, his mind registered as the scent caught him.
Dorian forced himself to pay attention to the woman again. She stood to the side, looking as sturdy and weathered as the desk. Streaks of white played through her black hair. There was a pleasant sort of roundness to her face, comforting and sad all at the same time. Dark eyes held his for a moment as she waited patiently for him to address her again.
"I don't fully understand what is going on," he said at last.
After Elsie's attack he'd been certain she was a Bedim with a clever design to take his life, but were that true he would be dead and not staring at the highly polished surface of a teakettle. He noticed at last what was bothering him. The only brass fixtures in the room were on the telescope. Everything else was ropes and wood. He looked again to be certain, noting that he could not hear the gentle thrum of a generator anywhere nearby.
"What is this place?"
"This is Elsie's inner sanctum." The woman seemed to understand his confusion because she began to explain. "There are no light fixtures. No generators and no steam-powered engines here, nothing that could be traced from the outside."
"A safe house of some kind," Dorian frowned and fixed his gaze on the woman again. "I am a prisoner?"
"A guest."
"And how long am I to be your guest, Madame?"
"Until Elsie returns from Winter Tournament," she gestured to the desk. "I was instructed to tell you that you have leave to use her office during the interim. Nothing is closed to you. You may read what you wish, write what you wish. But please do not destroy anything. What you see before you is the culmination of many years of work."
Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose and released a humorless laugh. "Madame, did she give you leave to explain anything to me?"
"You may call me Naharia," she said as she moved to the door. "I can explain anything you wish to know. Elsie has expressed full confidence in you. However, things will be a good deal easier if you read her note first."
With a small nod of her head, Naharia left him, closing the door behind her. Dorian stared after her, still trying to fight through the headache and still unable to gather his Talent. There were no other options left and he knew it. Irritated, he moved around the desk, skimming over the paperwork as he made his way to the note in question. He spotted a genealogy tree half under a large, well-used book of grey pasteboard and red binding. Pressing one finger to the envelope, he debated with himself over reading it as he slid it toward the edge of the desk.
He'd wanted answers and this was her way of giving them.
Still, he wished she hadn't attacked him. He wished even more that she hadn't bested him. Deep down he knew that was the source of his real ire. Thirteen years on the run and he'd finally been beaten. Dorian wasn't certain if his pride could recover from that.
Expelling a long, unhappy sigh he lifted the envelope and opened it. Her penmanship was small and curvy but at least legible.
Lord Feverrette,I give my sincere apologies for the manner in which you find yourself reading this. I will have it noted that you chose this path.
He snorted in spite of himself. Yes, he'd chosen to be drugged and crammed inside a box. That was exactly what he'd been aiming for.
I promise you will understand all when you've gone through my desk. I cannot imagine you will have much else to do while I conduct my business at Winter Tournament. We can discuss your further involvement upon my return, should you so desire it. First, however, I will offer proof to you. Something that will remove your doubts as to the extreme measures that I have taken.
The telescope is set at my northernmost window. It is angled to view the ridgeline 18 kilometers away. Look through it.
Dorian turned the page over, but there was nothing more. Confused by the cryptic message, he moved to the telescope. Careful not to bump the machine with his hands he peered through the optical lens, blinking until the ridgeline came into focus. For a moment he saw nothing but a small, half-fallen hut surrounded by brush. The brass fixture warmed under his skin as he peered through it some more, patient because his Talent told him to be.
Something moved in the hut, crossing the mostly intact window and blotting out the light for a moment. It came out of the hut then, hunched and miserable looking even in his small field of view. A man of emaciated proportions, shirtless so Dorian could see the shadows lining his ribcage, weaponless because there was nothing at his waist save a sagging roll of breeches.
"Mother, Maiden and Crone," Dorian pulled away from the telescope. Then he went back to it, watching as the creature turned and confirmed his suspicions.
A Dellidus.
Reonne had not been lying.
Other features began to explain themselves. The man's arms appeared to be too long, but that was the Dellidus extending its reach with talons and scales. His back was bent, allowing for the hackle-like spines to shove out and up. Scales wrapped around the man's neck, twining down his torso, and disappearing into the breeches.
It looked up, sudden and quick like it knew it was being watched.
Dorian took a horrified step away from the telescope. He looked down at the paper in his hand, at her handwriting, and everything fell into place. Elsie couldn't kill Reonne if Reonne was connected to the Dellidus. Killing the Vicaress would only free the Dellidus to move out of Delgora lands and into the heart of Magnellum.
Attempting to fight the Dellidus as a mere Heir was suicide. Elsie had to ascend to House Witch before she would have the power to defeat it.
"You understand now, I see," Naharia said from the doorway.
Dorian looked up sharply, annoyed that he'd been so deep in thought he hadn't heard her enter. "Yes, I see," he crumpled her note in one hand, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as he battled through the issue. "I need to speak with her."
"She's at court," a gravely voice called from behind Naharia.
Dorian glanced around the woman to Forvant, who made his way into the room with an aged grunt of disapproval. The man smacked a dingy hat against his thigh twice, puffing dust into the air with each strike. He walked to the trunk and closed it before perching on it.
"I don't like that you're here, Feverrette."
"I don't like that I'm here either. Show me the exit and I'll be on my way."
Forvant smirked and winked at Naharia, "I told you he had wit about him."
"It's no wonder she's taken an interest in you," the older woman said. She walked to the desk and took a seat, gesturing in an inviting way for him to do the same. "Let us see if we can't shed some light on your questions, My Lord."
"Dorian," he corrected her and grabbed a chair. Sitting down, he glanced between the two and tried to formulate a plan. "How did she survive? Reonne's plan was obviously well played out. Why is Elsie still alive?"
Forvant's face twisted up with emotion before he finally scowled and nodded to Naharia. The woman might have looked pristine were it not for the white-knuckled grip she had on her apron. For a long while she sat there in silence, gazing out the window with a frown. Dorian hiked a questioning eyebrow at Forvant, but the man stayed quiet.
"The Fates blessed me with two children," Naharia said at last. "Mistress Tibelda had only Elsie. But she did not want the girl to grow without companionship. So she hired me as a Nanny and requested that my children play with the Heir." A sad smile crossed her face, "I agreed of course. It was good pay and Tibelda was a good Witch. I'd been frightened at first. The ways of Witch-Born are not familiar to me and I was afraid the girl would be strange. Different."
"And she is," Forvant muttered. "Noble. Driven to see her family avenged."
"And at the same
time she wasn't different," Naharia continued. "She was just a little girl." Taking a deep breath, she fixed her gaze on the floor. "That day the girls wanted to play tea. Reonne's close servant Mirias delivered the tea for them to play with. At first she'd wanted to linger but I told her to go, I'm not sure why. There was just something wrong with the way she watched the girls. I found out why just moments later when my daughter, Nessa, took the first drink."
"Fates," Dorian half-whispered. "You saved her."
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Tell me where he is," the voice hissed into her ear.
A sleek dagger's point angled at her throat, and Elsie thought for a moment it might be Artimus. The servant's stairs were getting more dangerous to use, she thought ruefully and kept her body rigid. Dim light curled from a small window around the curve of the stairway, speckling her vision with the light swirl of dust hanging in the air. Then she caught sight of very white, very ruffled sleeves, and she knew her assailant.
"Why whoever do you mean?" she asked.
"Do not play games with me, Skirt," Gremor nicked her skin with the blade.
Her eye twitched with the sting of his attack, but she made no other move to defend herself. "What a derogatory term. How have I earned that?"
"My Lord Feverrette took a special interest in you."
"Oh, I didn't think he was that much of a cad."
"Do not attempt to distract me. I will kill you. Tell me where he is."
"Last I saw, packing a trunk." It was a twisted version of the truth given the fact that he'd been the luggage.
Gremor's hold on her didn't falter as she'd hoped. Instead, he craned her head back, forcing her neck into a more vulnerable position. Elsie began to get annoyed, clenching her jaw in an effort to keep herself calm. She did not have time for this. Leona was waiting and court was about to begin. She didn't know what she was going to do if Reonne still forbade Leona to go to Tournament after the announcement of Feverrette's sudden departure.
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