The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Then, no one had connected any of the conspiracy to the lord chancellor; he’d covered his tracks all too well. But it was clear he’d started something that he meant to continue. The king had forbidden Lucy, Marten, and Keros to try to rescue those who’d been sold because Crosspointe needed Lucy in case the Jutras invaded or the majicars rebelled. He had refused to risk any of them.

  It had eaten at Keros, leaving those people—Lucy’s friends and family—to the bloodthirsty Jutras. After what had happened to his village, it was almost more than he could bear. Seeing it here in Molford—he was done. He wasn’t going to stand around anymore, doing nothing while innocent people suffered.

  He strode down the middle of the street. He felt weak and tired. The fatigue that followed his battle in the Riddles and his illness still dragged at him, and the added journey to Molford had not allowed him to recuperate as he should have. He should be in bed. Majick and exhaustion were a bad mix, especially with majick not working properly.

  The first brothel wasn’t far. He ignored the knot of men on one corner as they laughed and began shoving one another. They all were all well armed and sporting a ribbon of orange and dark green around each of their upper arms, the same colors as the regent’s livery. It marked them as members of the bastard’s growing mercenary army.

  He rounded a corner and found the brothel. It was a new building. The paint was still a bright white. It was a two-story affair with a small muddy courtyard. Iron bars covered the windows, most of which glowed with light despite the lateness of the hour. Keros stopped, his legs braced wide as he faced the despicable building.

  “What are you planning to do?”

  Ellyn’s voice made him start. He jerked around to look at her, saying nothing.

  “You can’t burn it. You’ll kill the women inside.”

  “Children,” he grated. “Children too.”

  Her expression went flat. “The princess sent me to stop you. I have to, or she won’t listen to me about Azaire.”

  He turned away. He still hadn’t come to terms with her—with the knowledge that she’d survived that awful day. Every time he looked at her he remembered his childhood and the day it had ended in screams and blood. He’d mourned Sperray; he’d buried the memories of her where he wouldn’t have to think about them. Now he looked at her and it felt like someone had ripped open his chest. Worse, instead of hating the man who’d done this to them, she served him. His jaw knotted and he swallowed hard.

  “But instead I’m going to help you,” she said.

  “What? Why would you want to?”

  “This is wrong.”

  “What about Margaret and Azaire?” he rasped.

  She hesitated. “Because,” she began slowly, “I wish someone would have stopped the soldiers that day they tossed us into the sylveth.”

  His brows rose. “Yet you serve the bastard who was behind it all.”

  “I serve Azaire. I disagree with what the Gerent did; I wish it hadn’t happened. But I still love my country and I will protect the rest of her people the best I can. If that means serving him, then that’s what I will do.”

  “Then you should go back. Margaret won’t like you helping me.”

  “Can I stop you?”

  He smiled, his eyes cold. “If you can kill me. Or knock me unconscious. Your majick isn’t strong enough to take me down. Not if I’m on guard.”

  She nodded as if expecting his answer. “Then I will help you. Because going back is no option. Margaret will like me leaving you to do this alone even less than not stopping you.”

  He shrugged. “You know best.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “Come with me. Somewhere private. We need to prepare.”

  He led her past the brothel and out through the cluster of houses and shops that sprouted like warts on the edge of the town. Beyond was a field of what appeared to be grain, though it was stunted and the incessant rain had smashed it flat. Keros walked out along the hedgerow until they came to a small copse of trees. Within, he found a tree with a horizontal low- hanging branch. He sat, gesturing for Ellyn to join him.

  “What are your affinities?” he asked.

  She frowned at him. “Affinities?”

  He blinked. “The majickal compass rose. The cardinal directions are Wind, Water, Stone, and Fire. There are thirty-two lesser elements. From these you can build complex spells. You are not familiar with this?”

  She shook her head. “I learned focus and purpose in honing a spell to my will.”

  He rubbed a hand across his mouth, then shook his head, biting his lower lip. What was he doing letting her take part in this? He knew majick wasn’t working and she didn’t know enough about what she was doing to keep herself safe even if conditions were normal.

  “I’ll do this on my own,” he said abruptly. “There’s no time to sort out what you know or teach you what you don’t.”

  “I’m not helpless,” she snapped, lunging to her feet.

  “I know that.”

  “I am a skilled journeyman majicar,” she said, hands on her hips.

  “But you don’t know what the majickal compass is.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t do majick and do it well.”

  “May I see your illidre?” he asked.

  She drew it out of her tunic and pulled it over her head. He held out his hand. She hesitated, then set the slender rod across his palm. He closed his fingers around it. Carefully he used majick to scan the surface. Most illidres carried protective spells to keep other majicars from using them. He didn’t want to accidentally trigger one. There seemed to be no guard on hers, however. He penetrated deeper. Most illidres held the building blocks of spells—bits and pieces the majicar could assemble and combine with newly built majicks. It saved time so that he could put together a quick spell. The more powerful a majicar and the longer he’d been practicing, the more building blocks he stored inside the illidre. A journeyman majicar depended on a master to create his illidre for him, then inserted a few of his most important spell foundations.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect from Ellyn’s illidre. He was surprised to find it held only one single complex spell. He could not follow all of its making. It contained elements from all over the compass, combined in unexpected ways. Many were oppositional—Dream mated with Flesh, Shadow mated with Blood. Oppositional pairing was very difficult and this was done with astounding elegance and control. To have done so in the illidre of a mere journeyman was startling.

  Keros withdrew and handed it back for her. “Who made it for you?” he asked.

  “Her name is Dechuan. There are six master majicars in Azaire and she is one.”

  “What does the spell do?” He nudged his chin at her illidre, now hanging back around her neck.

  Ellyn frowned. “It focuses me. I concentrate and pull majick into the focus and can do almost anything I want.”

  “What about the ghost effect?”

  At her look of confusion, he waved his hand. “The phantom spell that is released when you cast. It’s usually twisted and sticks to other spells, pulling them apart and re-forming into new spells. You have to capture it or it will disrupt whatever it touches—surely you know this?”

  She nodded. “But my illidre collects it back automatically.”

  Which meant the spell inside had a shield on it, otherwise the collected majick would chew it apart in time. This Dechuan was clearly a very skilled master majicar.

  “So are you going to let me help you?” Ellyn demanded.

  He hesitated. “It’s risky for you.”

  Her hands folded over her chest and she glared at him. “I can handle myself. Besides, I get to choose the chances I take, not you.”

  “That is true, but you don’t understand. There’s something . . . .” He trailed off and began again. “The injuries to my face that you healed, and the poison—they came from a battle between four majicars. I got caught in the middle. None of them were sane. Majick did somethin
g to their minds.”

  “And you think that will happen to me?” she asked, still doubting.

  He nodded. “It could. I think the more majick you use, the more you invite it in.”

  “But you’re safe from this insanity,” she said, her brows arching.

  He shook his head. “No. I’m not. But if I’m going to be Pale-blasted, I’d just as soon do it helping these people. But you deserve the chance to choose for yourself.” A choice neither had gotten when they’d been made majicars. He could see the understanding in her eyes.

  “What will you do?”

  His face hardened. “I’ll make a spell web so that anyone who enters or leaves that house will get ill. First it will attack their genitals, and then it will move through their bodies, rotting them alive. It will be a slow, ugly death.”

  “What about the slaves? They must come and go.”

  “The spell I cast will know the difference.”

  That took her aback. “You can do that?”

  He could. But it would take a lot out of him. He wasn’t all that sure he’d be sane when he was done. But he didn’t care. Here, now, he could make a difference. He wasn’t going to walk away. He was done walking away. “I can do it,” he said firmly. “Stand watch. This will take a little time to prepare.”

  The minutes flew past. Keros pulled out his illidre and sat back against the trunk of the tree. He sank down into it and began pulling majick to him recklessly. It came sluggishly and in his mind, the presence began to throb with what felt like eagerness. He began weaving his intent. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he was near to finishing. But he needed help.

  “Ellyn,” he rasped, his mouth and throat dry as dust, his hands tightly fisted around his illidre. His chest felt tight and he felt the edges of his vision wavering as the thing in his mind wriggled and swelled. A sharp shaft of pain ran down his back and into his left leg, then vanished. He jerked, his muscles spasming.

  A pause. “I’m here. Your eyes—they are beginning to glow.” She sounded more curious than frightened.

  He ignored that. He was reaching the limits of his sanity. He felt the presence sliding down deeper into his mind, sending sucking tentacles into the center of his being. He had to hurry. “I need you to focus. I need you to make a web—like a spiderweb. I’ll weave my spell into it and then we’ll attach it to the doors of the brothels.” He hoped.

  Ellyn sat down beside him and gripped her illidre. She cupped it between her palms, drew a breath and blew across it. She closed her eyes. Keros sagged back against the trunk of the tree. He’d pushed his spell inside his illidre and now all he could do was wait for Ellyn to be ready. Her lips moved as she murmured silently. Her hands folded over the slender rod.

  As with his healing, vines spilled from her hands. These were fine—like strands of a morning glory as it clung to a trellis. They knitted together in a lacey pattern, the loosely woven net rippling gently over hands like fine silk. It took less than half a glass for her to complete it. His guess was that one of her cardinal abilities was Water.

  “What now?” she asked, holding her fists up.

  “Give it to me.”

  She held out her hands and he put his over hers. Taking someone else’s spells, even willingly given, took some work. He’d hardly eaten anything during their late dinner, once presented with a slave serving as staff. They had not been as beaten and bruised as the street cleaners on Ashford Avenue, but still his stomach had revolted. The making of his part of the spell had depleted all his shallow reserves. What he did now was on sheer stubborn fury alone.

  He traced its lines, understanding its weaving. It was elegant and deceptively simple. He recognized that the strands were a twisting of multiple affinities—minor and major—but he could not separate them. They melded together in a unified thread. The junctions were knotted together loosely to allow the spell to expand to fill a doorway. It invited touch. It was sensual and eager.

  He looked at Ellyn. “You made it to lure?”

  “It is only an invitation. Only those coming from the outside and within a few feet will feel it,” she said defensively.

  He smiled, hard and angry. “Well done.”

  Now he lifted it, hooking it with his majick and pulling it into his hands before letting go of Ellyn. It was like lifting two hundred pounds. He strained. Slowly it pulled free. He sat a moment, collecting himself. Then he reached inside his illidre, pulling out his spell. It was thorny and sharp and full of poison—the venom of his hatred and helplessness. It was the same venom he imagined that the slaves felt.

  He pushed it into the Ellyn’s net, spreading it out like clay. The spells resisted each other. Melding them was a matter of strength of will and majick. He reached deep, pulling hard from the ground beneath them. Stone. He reached for Pain, Blood, and Tears, minor affinities close to Stone and Water. These he spun into hot glass, layering it over the clay and the net. He dusted it over with Blossom and Gold—adding to the enticement of Ellyn’s web. Last of all, he pulled it inside his illidre, ready to be placed.

  Doing it let the presence inside him spread. It squeezed him, spreading roots through his mind and down into his flesh. He felt like someone was pulling at him, like he was a marionette. He resisted with the strength he had left. But he knew it would not be long before he lost himself entirely. He had to get away from Ellyn and Molford before that. He didn’t want to kill innocents along with the guilty.

  “Come on,” he said, standing up. “It’ll be dawn soon. Now is the best time. Most everyone should be asleep.” His knees sagged and Ellyn caught him around the waist. He leaned against her until his legs firmed and then he drew away. There were memories in that touch that felt like rusty spikes through his chest.

  They returned to town the way they’d come. The sky had begun to clear and the moon was a sliver hanging between the shreds of clouds. As he expected, the town had quieted down. As he might have expected from the military domination of the town, there were no beggars huddled in doorways or alleys and no drunkards lying facedown in their own puke.

  They stepped inside the courtyard of the brothel. Fighting his shaking hands and the black vise squeezing his body, Keros pulled out his illidre. He looked at Ellyn. “Stand back, over there.” He pointed across the street.

  She stared into his eyes a long moment and he could see his reflection in hers. His glowed bright green. He thought there might have been a yellow shine to hers, but he wasn’t certain. She shook her head. “You’re about to fall down. I’m staying right here.”

  His jaw clenched with the struggle to stay focused. He was beginning to feel fuzzy and confused. The one solid thing in his mind was the need to place the spells. “If this goes badly, I’ll kill you and I won’t be able to stop myself. Stand back and you’ll have a cracking chance.” When she still hesitated, he shoved her. “You’ve got a duty to Azaire, don’t you? Don’t risk yourself.”

  Finally she nodded and backed away. He waited until he thought she was far enough, then turned to face the door. This was the easy part. Except he didn’t know how much more majick he could use until the thing in his head chewed through his sanity. It was strong—his arms and legs twitched with strange urges to go somewhere, to do something. He didn’t know where or what. His vision blurred in and out with flashes of blindness. Not much time.

  He dipped inside his illidre. The spell waited. Reaching down again into the earth, he siphoned majick up inside him. The thing in his head quivered and it felt like teeth bit sharply into the side of his head. His right arm and half his chest went numb. He quickly poured majick into the spell, lending it life. Slowly he pulled it from his illidre, leaving behind a duplicate. Now that the spell was made, he could copy it infinitely; it had become one of his stored building blocks. It sat in his fingers like a ball. Lifting it to his lips, he blew it, just as he had with his attack on Weverton. He put all his intent into that sharp breath. It floated away, growing and spreading in the air until it caught
on the doorjamb, covering it like a spiderweb. It clung there and faded, disappearing from sight.

  Keros drew a heavy breath. One down, two to go. An arm wrapped his waist again. He look into Ellyn’s scowling face. “I could be insane,” he reprimanded her. “You have to stay away.”

  “Crack that,” she said. “I’m hear to help.”

  She pulled him out of the courtyard and down the street, pushing him down on the edge of a wooden sidewalk in front of a chandler. She squatted down before him, reaching for her illidre. He shook his head.

  “No. You mustn’t waste majick on me. The thing—” He waved the fingers of his left hand near his ear. His right was still numb. “It feeds on it. The more you use, the more it grows.”

  “The thing?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Something is inside of me. It . . . I don’t know what it is. But it’s there and it’s getting bigger. I can’t quite see you,” he said, squinting through the blur. “My right arm is numb. I can’t move it.”

  She shook her head. “You should have stopped.”

  “I’ve got two more brothels to go.”

  “They’ll just get healers. It won’t make a difference,” she said.

  “They won’t heal from this,” he said with malevolent satisfaction.

  “Why not?”

  “It is not poison and it is not disease. It is revenge and it is tied to their souls. They’ll be dead before a healer understands the spell.”

  He became aware of her hand on his chest where it was numb. Green vines curled around him and he tried to wrench away. He only fell over on his side, his face pressed against the wet wood of the sidewalk. “Don’t,” he said, but Ellyn only moved up kneel beside him, her face set.

  “I’ll do whatever I damned well please,” she said. “I’m not letting you leave me again.”

  He stared. “I didn’t leave you.”

  “I saw you,” she said, her lips stiff as wood. “I saw you.”

  “I thought you were gone. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand any of it.”