Arcana Rising (The Arcana Chronicles Book 5)

by Kresley Cole

I hadn’t choked down anything but hardtack in weeks, would be damned before eating the “meat.” My bones were jutting, but I wouldn’t last long enough to starve.

  Fever would take me soon.

  I shook, sweating against the freezing ground. Breaths wheezing. Dirt and salt caked my damp skin, all along the whip marks on my bare back. Stung like fire.

  The slavers gave prisoners four hours a night to sleep, but I refused to pass out. I couldn’t stand the nightmares, the ghosts. They were coming for me—’cause I was about to walk among them.

  I squeezed my eyes closed. Yet that made the sounds of the ghosts even louder.

  Maman’s liquor bottle clinking against a glass. Her rosary beads whispering as I took them from her neck. Clotile’s soft-spoken French. The sharp pop of gunfire when she shot herself.

  I heard the folks in my Azey army. Just before Richter attacked, there’d been laughter and music. Everyone had been happy. Hopeful.

  Over and over, I heard Selena’s scream of fury: “Emperor!” She’d sensed Richter a split-second before he’d struck.

  I replayed her fierce look as she’d shoved me off a moving horse into an abandoned mine. I’d crashed through rotted planks down into that deep shaft just as the blast had hit.

  Radio busted . . . lava chasing me underground . . . a rushing flood carrying me through the mountain and out the other side . . . miles . . . pain . . . darkness . . . waking in shackles . . .

  Slavers had sold me west. Now I was trapped in yet another mine.

  Evangeline haunted me more than all of them. Was she among the living or the dead? I’d led her right to the Emperor. Had she been far enough away from the explosion? Sometimes I thought yes, sometimes no, tormenting myself, going back and forth.

  Death hadn’t been far. He might’ve sensed the Emperor’s approach like Selena had. Domīnija could’ve used his unnatural speed to rescue Evie.

  I would give anything to know she was okay. Would sell my soul to see her eyes one last time. Whenever she got excited, they shimmered. I’d imagined them all lit up when she’d talked to me on the radio about snow. She’d laughed, and my heart had soared. She’d chosen me.

  Right before the blast—

  My eyes flashed open in the dim mine. Had I heard whispering along with the ghosts? I couldn’t make out the words.

  I darted my gaze. After my last fight with the slavers, I was still seeing double—which was how I’d gotten this fever in the first place. Desperate to escape, squinting in the dark, I’d swung my pickax at the lock on one of my ankle cuffs.

  Fucking missed.

  I’d gouged out a good chunk of flesh. At best, half of my leg would be lost to infection. What use would the overseers have for a slave who couldn’t mine salt? None. They’d slit my throat and feed me to the rest.

  Probably why the other prisoners avoided me.

  ’Cause I was already dead.

  The whisper returned: “Hunter.”

  The hallucinations were getting worse. Losing my mind right along with my leg.

  “Hunter, Hunter, Hunter.”

  Sounded so real. I wanted to yell, “I ain’t the hunter!” The hunter was the idiot who got all those people killed. The idiot who might’ve gotten Evie killed.

  “Hunterrrrrr.”

  “Va t’en! Laisse-moi tranquille!” Go away! Leave me alone!

  “HUNTERRRRRR!”

  I shot upright from the dirt. Damn near blacked out. Was that . . . the Fool’s voice?

  22

  The Empress

  Cold rain fell outside, but Gran and I were warm in her lavish sitting room in front of the roaring fire.

  If the flames reminded me of Jack, I gave no outward sign, numb again after this morning. I’d furiously filled half a notebook with sketches of him.

  Gran sipped from her teacup. Though I sensed a nervous energy in her, she looked more exhausted than yesterday.

  She nodded toward the fancy tea tray, with its cheese and fruit selections. “Despite all of Death’s faults, he does provide some perks.”

  “He’s definitely equipped to ride out an apocalypse in style.” The inside of the castle was as luxurious as the outside was spooky.

  The Flash had charred its gray stone walls with black streaks. Fog seemed trapped on the grounds. Flickering gas lamps lit the courtyard, the training yard, and the long winding drive.

  I remember thinking this castle was haunted by Death. By his loneliness. I told Gran, “You could call him Aric, you know. His name is Aric Domīnija.”

  She shrugged. “I know. Death introduced himself when he picked me up.”

  So much for my little attempt at humanizing him.

  “When I first got here, I snooped around,” she said. “And I asked Paul questions. We talked a lot.” She sounded as if she liked the guy. Paul was about twenty-six or so, with buzz-cut black hair. His blue eyes were widely spaced, and he had a toothy grin that made him approachable. “He told me Death calls this place Lethe, named after one of the five rivers in Hades, the river of forgetfulness. Do you know why?”

  I’d called this place the castle of lost time, which hadn’t been too far off the mark. “It is close to lethal. But I don’t know for certain.” Aric was such a stickler for meanings and details, I could be sure he’d picked the name for a reason.

  In the past, he’d told me he never wanted to forget my previous betrayals. But in the agonizing centuries between games, he’d smoked opium, had probably yearned to forget.

  “The knight prepared this place for just about every catastrophe,” Gran said. “It’s out of the flood zone, and away from nuclear fallout sectors. There are thick metal shutters to cover every window. I even found copper plating in the walls to shield against electrical storms.”

  With no sun and the temperatures dropping, this castle was a self-sustaining oasis. I pictured it as a spaceship on a barren moon, with the only life support around: crops and livestock, clean water, sunlamps, filtered air, and tankers of fuel.

  Too bad it couldn’t withstand a helicopter missile attack. Or a volcano.

  Gran reached for the teapot to top off her cup. “We’re not close to active magma, so if the Emperor attacks, he will have to spill blood to generate his own lava.”

  Richter created it with his blood? “The way I generate plants when none are around?” The way the Lovers had created their carnates.

  Circe had told me the Emperor’s hands bled lava. I hadn’t made the connection. No wonder he was recuperating.

  Gran nodded. “Which drains your power.” She set down the pot, looking fatigued just from lifting it. “There’s another way to grow. I’ll show you—” She coughed, the movements racking her frail frame.

  I leapt up to rub her back. “Did you sleep at all?”

  When the fit eased, she smoothed her hair. “For ten hours. Woke up more tired, though. Stress must be catching up with me.”

  I took my seat again. “Gran, what if you had a stroke?”

  “Did Death tell you that?” The sudden venom in her tone startled me. “Next he’ll tell you that I’m losing my wits. He means to drive a wedge between us.” Her teacup shook when she raised it to her lips.

  “Aric wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t lie. He could have a hundred times to further his own agenda, but he refuses to.” What had he told me and Jack? Lies are curses you place on yourself.

  She set her cup down hard. “All Arcana lie. And feign emotion and betray. It’s the nature of the beast.”

  In the past, I’d tried to seduce Aric, faking affection. Finn had disguised himself as Jack to seduce Selena. She’d lied to me, Lark too. Matthew most of all: Empress is my friend.

  My denial died on my lips. Still, I didn’t believe Aric would. “He told me that you would know a great many things about the game, and that you might have foresight.”

  She allowed the change of subject. “Nothing like the Fool’s precognition. But I get feelings about the future. They guide me, directing my movements.
Right now I’m feeling you won’t be ready for the next stage of the game.”

  “Why not?” I asked, revenge ever on my mind.

  “Your powers aren’t mature. If they had been, you could’ve fought off those Bagman bites instantly. You need to practice, from your basic skills on up.” She dug in her pocket, retrieved three seeds, and set them on the tray. “Do you feel a connection to them?”

  “I sense their potential.” And I could tell their species: pomegranate, climbing ivy, and wisteria.

  “Now try to bring forth a bud without blood. Imagine them sprouting. Casting off their shells.”

  Shells. Husks. A withered corpse planted in the dirt. Tess’s body was like a forever-dead seed. “I-I’ll try.”

  “Once you master this, you’ll be able to sense buried seeds out in the Ash. Your arsenal will be anywhere on earth.”

  I concentrated on the ones before me and pictured them growing. I sucked in a breath when they began to vibrate. No bloodletting necessary. A tiny sprout was budding from one seed, had gained only about a millimeter. I focused, beginning to sweat.

  “You’re doing great. Look at you!” Her words reminded me of my childhood. I recalled how she’d praised me for finding colored eggs one Easter. I’d proudly held up my basket, and someone had snapped a photo of me, Mom, and Gran. Mom had held that picture as she’d passed away with Jack by her side.

  She’d died because of Bagmen. We’d burned her body because of the Lovers. Jack had died without grace because of the Emperor.

  Jack’s eulogy had been Richter’s laughter. Rage welled in me, as powerful as Circe’s tidal wave. Replace the Emperor’s laughter with screams—

  The seeds cracked open; plants exploded outward to crawl and fork across the ceiling and walls.

  “Good Lord, Evie!” Gran looked at me . . . with awe. “I think you could be the most dangerous Empress ever to live.” She surveyed the new growths.

  Regardless of the seed species, all had become vines with daggerlike thorns. I slumped back in my seat. “As long as that means the Emperor dies.”

  “You’re one step closer to truly becoming the Empress.”

  I swiped at my forehead and reached for a glass of water. “I’m not now? What will change?”

  “When you fully give in to the heat of battle, your hair will turn red permanently and your skin markings will always show. You’ll be more powerful than you can imagine.”

  All I had to do was give myself over to the red witch forever. Would I take that risk to kill Richter?

  One problem: the red witch might not stop with him. Evie is a sliver of ME!

  Gran frowned. “I was actually surprised your hair is still blond. But no matter. We’ll keep working. You mastered that so quickly, I think there’s something else you should work on. Close your eyes and cover your ears.”

  I did. I sensed movement, a scrape of metal. One of my vines shifted, so I opened my eyes.

  Gran stood in front of me with a sharp paring knife inches above my head—and that vine gripping her wrist.

  I waved a hand to release her. “You really were going to, uh, stab me?”

  She set the knife back on the tray. “Yes.” Rubbing her wrist, she sat again. “You would heal, and the attack needed to be real for your vines to react.”

  My soldiers had had a mind of their own. And I’d seemed to sense through them.

  At the Lovers’ lair, I’d set vines free, commanding them to kill Bagmen, even perceiving destruction through them. But I’d never felt them working on autopilot before, with no conscious thought from me. “I wouldn’t even have to look behind me to aim?”

  She nodded. “Your vines have an awareness. Even when you sleep, they keep watch. Unfortunately, they’re not foolproof. Some players, like Death, are too quick. He’s slipped past your sentries before. Other players—like the Tower—strike from too far away for your plants to detect them.”

  “What else can I do?” I asked, eager to learn.

  “You can become a talented healer. You have an innate knowledge of medicinal plants, and I’ll teach you more. You can also manipulate wood. Past Empresses crafted priceless jewelry pieces, giving them as signs of favor. And with a wave of her hand, one Empress constructed bridges and shrines, building an entire civilization, easily garrisoning her army of men.”

  Aric had told me I’d commanded an army in the past, one that had clashed against the Emperor’s.

  “Another Empress could spy on foes through any plant on earth. She could even meld her body with a tree, transporting herself from one trunk to another.”

  “No way!” Could I meld into a tree? Hadn’t I once had the urge to put my fingers in the soil and take root?

  “Not that there are any trees left to travel through.” Gran sighed. “I’ll show you more after you’ve rested. You’re still recovering.”

  “I’m fine. I can do this.” But she looked as if my exercise had weakened her.

  “In time. For now, why don’t you tell me about your interactions with Death? He was the last person I expected to show up at my door.”

  “What made you go with him?”

  “I had a feeling that was my path, and I was on borrowed time anyway. Plus he knew things about you. The name of your horse. Your art. Your ballet. He said that you’d spent months trying to reach me, and he planned to give you whatever you desired. Could’ve knocked me over with a feather.”

  Despite knowing everything about me, even my malicious past, Aric still loved me. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore. But every time I contemplated my life, all I saw was my past—Jack—and my future—Richter.

  “Death is very protective of you,” she said. “He can’t help it. He’s cursed to desire you each game.”

  Ouch. “Gran, it’s more than just desire.”

  She sighed. “He’s got you believing he loves you, doesn’t he? He’s killed you two out of the last three games. He beheaded you.” As I’d pointed out to him last night. “He’s a villain, Evie.”

  Time to explain the new program to Gran. “Aric would give his life for mine. I trust him.”

  “I admit he did go to great lengths to rescue you. But only because he can touch you. He’s a red-blooded male, and you’re the sole woman he can be with. What wouldn’t he do to preserve your life?”

  Again, ouch. “Then why would he return you to me?”

  “As a courtship gift, to sway your favor. He’s notoriously calculating, does everything for a reason.”

  She was right about the courtship. Aric had admitted as much. He’d intended to use my grandmother to coerce me, but in the end, he hadn’t gone through with it. He’d wanted me to choose him—but only if I loved him more than Jack.

  How could I explain that to Gran? She would never believe it anyway.

  “We will use this to our advantage,” she said. “He’ll continue to protect you, so you should keep him alive to the very end.” Aric would be happy to know her game strategy was no longer flawed. “Your victory is so close.”

  I shuddered at the idea of winning. “Can the game be stopped?” Could fate be changed?

  “I don’t follow.” She blinked at me, as if I’d just asked, “Hey, can I borrow your credit card and pop over to the mall?”

  “I know others have tried to stop it before.”

  “Some players united, making a big show of peace. But in the end, all those alliances failed. Arcana are born to kill. They only delayed the inevitable.”

  “Why is it inevitable?”

  “The gods decreed this game,” she said. “They set these events into motion eons ago. Someone has to win. No matter what, someone will win. Say the last two cards allied for a couple of decades: they would both age. Once one died, the other would walk the earth—older, weaker. Disadvantaged in the next game.”

  When he’d sought a future with me, clever Aric had already come up with a solution to this problem. He and I would live our lives together, with Lark tagging along. We would somehow predec
ease her (that part had been vague), and she would endure for centuries, forced to play the next game against Arcana young enough to be her grandkids. Yet she’d volunteered for it!

  Being with Aric had seemed so complicated, so loaded with intrigues.

  When I’d chosen Jack, I’d also been choosing the future he represented: building Acadiana, far from the game, repurposing my abilities to help others.

  Gran said, “Not that the Minor Arcana would allow such a union anyway.”

  My eyes widened. “They exist?” In any Tarot deck, there were fifty-six Minor Arcana cards, divided into four suits: cups, pentacles or rings, wands, and swords.

  Such as the eerie ten of swords card. I couldn’t imagine that one as a person.

  Gran’s gray brows drew together. “Of course,” she said, as if she was telling me something I should already know. “They can be as dangerous as Major Arcana. Especially the court cards.”

  “Where are they?” Did they converge too? “How do you find them?”

  “You don’t,” she said. “Best avoid them. Let’s hope the Knight of Swords perished in the Flash. The Queen of Cups too. Truly, a good dozen of them are walking nightmares.”

  “Aric said he sees evidence of them everywhere in some games; other games, no sign at all. He also said that some believe Tarasovas are Minors.”

  Gran crossed her arms over her chest. “Bull manure. I’m no Minor. They have their own functions—to hide evidence of the Major Arcana, to hasten the game, and then to rebuild the civilization afterward. My function is to make sure you win.”

  Why hadn’t Matthew told me about them? Or had he? The last time I’d seen him, he’d said there were now five obstacles to beware: Bagmen, slavers, militia, cannibals, and . . . Minors. “The Fool told me the Minors watch us, plotting against us. I thought he was talking about miners, with an e.” How many times had I misunderstood his decoder-ring talk? Sometimes I could have sworn he’d confused me on purpose. “Why would they plot?”

  “They’ll want the earth righted as soon as possible. Minors like to see dead Majors—because catastrophes end with the close of the game.”

  I’d made promises over my mother’s body to find Gran and see if we could fix all that the apocalypse had broken. Was dying the most helpful thing I could do to further that end?