Concealed Special Edition

by Christina Bauer

  His face stayed still as stone. How I hated it when he did that. “It’s nothing I can discuss.”

  The muscles along my shoulders tightened to painful levels. I didn’t like the idea of Rowan keeping things from me. “You don’t have to be secretive. The Vicomte already told us about Amelia and Rex.”

  “Ah. I see.” Rowan slowly pulled me against him. My almost bare back pressed against the firm planes of his chest. Bit by bit, his heavy arms looped around my waist.

  I frowned. Rowan was never spontaneously cuddly or sentimental. The other times he’d held me, it was because I was in danger or obviously upset. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not a thing.” Rowan leaned his cheek against my hair. “What you say is the truth. Both Rex and Amelia are creatures of state. They always knew they’d have a marriage of convenience, just not to each other. And Rex is a good man. You don’t need to worry about your friend.”

  It still didn’t explain his odd behavior. “And what about you? Are you a good man?”

  “I try to be.” His arms tightened. “I have a plan for us, Elea. Believe it.”

  His reply wasn’t very comforting. I try to be? “What is this plan, exactly?”

  “Nothing I can discuss now, sadly enough.” Rowan released me and undid the last of the hooks along my back. My layered skirts fell from my body. I stepped outside the pile of fabric. Now, I stood only in my undershift and pantalets. Rowan stepped around to face me. The lines of his rugged face were tight. Our moment of intimacy was over. We were warrior mages again.

  I stepped up to the well and hoisted myself up to sit along the edge. My legs dangled into the growing darkness. I looked into inky black below me.

  My people could be down there. Ada. Veronique. I need to save them.

  Rowan looked down the throat of the well. “The surface here looks uneven.” Reaching forward, he brushed his palms across the inner stone. “There are good handholds, though. I can climb it. How about you?”

  “Not to worry.” My old Cloister was set into the side of a mountain. In the summer months, I’d often scale up to the peak. Mother Superior said it was good exercise. I think she just wanted me to see the sun once in a while. I did nothing but study in those days.

  Rowan inspected me carefully. “How long since you last climbed?”

  “Months.” Actually, it was more than a year. Still, I didn’t like the worried look in Rowan’s eyes. I was going down this well, whether he liked it or not.

  “I’ll go first, then,” he said.

  “And why’s that?”

  “Landing on an unknown floor in the dark? That can tricky in slippers and pantalets, unless you have help. Or do you want to use magick?”

  “The spells I’d have to use would be too powerful. Any Fantome within a league of here would sense that kind of casting. I accept you offer of help.” And, if I were being honest with myself, I liked the idea of Rowan grabbing me in the dark.

  “Agreed.” Rowan slipped into the well. For such a large man, his movements were smooth and graceful. He quickly disappeared into the darkness below.

  I sat on the well’s edge, my legs swinging below me in a nervous rhythm. It seemed like hours ticked by as I waited for some word from Rowan. At last, his voice echoed up from the well. “Ready.”

  I checked to ensure that Amelia’s watch was safely stowed in the pocket of my pantalets. Still there. There was nothing else to wait for. Taking a deep breath, I gripped the lip of the well and began the long climb down. One thought occupied my mind.

  Please, let Ada be here.

  17

  The stones felt slimy under my fingertips as I slowly made my way down the darkened well. Fortunately, some of the mortar between the rocks had rotted away, so there were good holds for my hands and feet, even if I couldn’t see them clearly. The moonlight grew dimmer as I relaxed into a downward rhythm.

  Left hand.

  Right hand.

  Left foot, right.

  Stale air filled my lungs. Heavy shadows enveloped me. I gripped the wet stones more tightly. How far had I gone? Was the end of the well near?

  “Rowan?” I whispered. “Where are you?”

  “I’ve got you.” Rowan’s deep voice sounded right below me. Warm hands cupped my waist as he gently lowered me to the floor. For a long moment, we waited there, my back pressed against Rowan’s firm chest once again. His heart thudded with such force I could feel the beat against my skin.

  Rowan leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “We’re at the end of a dead-end hallway.” His breath cascaded down my bare neck, making me shiver. “I think—”

  A light appeared at the far side of a long stone passage. It was the barest flicker of a torch, and it was growing brighter. My eyes widened.

  Someone is down here.

  All of a sudden, the Vicomte appeared at the end of the hallway. Even in the dim light, it was clear how he dressed in a garish pink coat over yellow pants and tall black boots. He paused for a moment, pulled out a watch, and checked the time. Rowan’s grip on my waist tightened. I held my breath.

  Please don’t let him detect us.

  A Fantome stepped up beside the Vicomte. A jolt of worry tightened my chest. The Vicomte and a Fantome? Things were becoming dangerous, indeed.

  “You’re late,” snapped the Vicomte.

  “I came as soon as I could.” The mage was a woman. In the dim light, I could see that she wore the long robes and had a slight frame. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the way her shoulders trembled. What could be bad enough to frighten a Fantome?

  “You dawdled, Gretel. Don’t bother to deny it. You’ve been having dream visits from the Tsar again. When I summoned you here to meet me, you became worried as to what I’d do.”

  “Visits in my dreams? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The tremor in Gretel’s voice told a different story, though. Memories flickered through my mind. For years, I’d had nightmares of my friend Tristan as he suffered in his afterlife. In that case, it was all because we shared a curse. Gretel must have gotten connected to the Tsar through their magick, most likely whatever spells were on the bone crawler inside her. I shivered. It couldn’t be pleasant, having a magickal connection to the most evil Necromancer in history.

  The Vicomte’s voice lowered to a menacing whisper. “Are you still my loyal servant, Gretel?”

  “I pledged my fealty wholly to you, my master.”

  “Then follow me.”

  “Whatever you command.”

  The Vicomte took off down another hallway with Gretel close behind. The flicker of torchlight faded as they went on. I exhaled slowly.

  Rowan let go of my waist and I spun around. The reflection from the Vicomte’s torch gave us just enough light. As our gazes locked, I knew Rowan was thinking the same thing that I was.

  Let’s follow.

  Rowan gestured for me to go first, and I stole down the stone passageway, careful to keep a safe distance between us and the Vicomte. The flickering shadows from the Vicomte’s torch shifted across the rough rock walls. Our path wound steadily downward. Rowan stayed close behind me, a calming presence in the darkness.

  At last, the Vicomte and Gretel entered a large stone space. Here, the walls were mottled and reddish-gray. Long cones of white sediment dripped down from the ceiling, filling the room with natural columns. My eyes widened with recognition. I’d lived in a mountain for years, so I knew what a cave looked like. That said, the far wall in this place was far more than just rock.

  It’s a gateway.

  A series of smooth black stones had been set into the uneven wall, creating an arch that was slightly taller than me. What was once an opening beneath the arch had been bricked up with thin stones. I quickly scanned the runes etched into gateway itself. This one led to the Eternal Lands.

  My pulse sped. This was just as Rowan and I discussed in the underwater cave. I fought the urge to gasp.

  My people could be nearer than ever.

&nb
sp; The Vicomte marched over to the far wall and set his torch into an obliging crevice. Gretel kept a close step behind him. At the same time, Rowan and I crept to hide behind a thick column of white stone. The air around me crackled with anticipation.

  I’d never been so close to rescuing my friends.

  The Vicomte turned to Gretel. “Summon the Tsar.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Gretel pulled back her hood, revealing a childlike face. Her cheeks were quite rounded for a Necromancer, and her small nose turned up at the end. “You can’t expect me to face him.”

  “But I do, and as you said, I am your master. Summon him.” The Vicomte stepped closer to Gretel and lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “I know he’s visited your dreams. I’m not here to punish you for that, only to ask him to stop invading your mind.”

  “You are?”

  “What else would you think?”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. If the Vicomte thought the Tsar was in contact with one of his Fantomes, that mage was as good as dead. The man had serious problems trusting anyone. Most likely, he believed this was the easiest way to discover what they had been discussing. And once the Vicomte had gotten all the information that he could? I shuddered. Gretel was doomed.

  Still, Gretel seemed to believe the Vicomte’s words. Her posture visibly slumped with relief. “As you command, my master.” Gretel raised her left arm. My skin prickled as the magick in the room shifted toward her. Soon, the bones in Gretel’s left hand glowed bright blue. Meanwhile, an azure-colored mist crawled up the rock wall under the gateway. When the magickal haze disappeared, the bricks that had blocked the gate were gone.

  Vanished.

  Instead, the Tsar now stood under the gateway. He was little more than a silhouette against the perfect darkness behind him.

  The Vicomte rocked on his heels. “Greetings, my Tsar.”

  “Gaspard.” I’d have known that voice anywhere. The Tsar was here for certain.

  The Vicomte opened his arms wide. “Come closer, why don’t you, and greet me as a brother?”

  “And why would I do that?” asked the Tsar. “We both know very well that I can’t cross the gateway yet. Well, not without pain.” He sighed. “If you wish to hurt me, you’ll need to do better.”

  “I had no idea that would happen,” said the Vicomte. He wasn’t a very good liar.

  “Still, I can move a little closer without crossing the gateway. After all, I’d like a better look at my one-time loyal follower.” The Tsar stepped forward into the torchlight. He looked the same as when I last saw him at the Midnight Cloister—tall and broad-shouldered in long black robes with the elegant bone structure and pale skin of a Necromancer. He glared at Gretel. “How are you, traitor?”

  Gretel lifted her chin. “I’m fine. Much better now that I follow the Vicomte.” Her voice trembled with every word. A pang of sympathy twisted through me.

  The Vicomte rubbed his palms together. “Now, I’m sure you’re wondering. Why have I summoned you?”

  “Not in particular.” The Tsar’s features stayed perfectly still as he spoke. “No doubt you’ve tried hoarding up Necromancer power into one of my totem rings. Now you want information. How far have you gotten?”

  My mouth fell open. The Tsar always seemed three steps ahead.

  The Vicomte frowned. “Who told you this?”

  A small smile rounded the Tsar’s mouth. “Please. I don’t need spies to predict what you’ll do next. Have you tried to drain one of the Fantomes of their magick yet?”

  The lines of the Vicomte’s face deepened. “Perhaps.”

  “In that case, you know it’s a waste of time,” said the Tsar smoothly. “At one time, the Fantomes were all members of my entourage. I’d have been a great fool to allow my most powerful mages to drain one another. That could create someone strong enough to challenge my power. Give me more credit than that.”

  “I said perhaps,” snapped the Vicomte. His voice was as petulant as a child’s. “I didn’t say that I did it.”

  “But you did try something,” said the Tsar leadingly.

  I shook my head. I’d spent years in training, learning how to control my emotions and manipulate others into revealing their own. The Tsar was using classic Necromancer interrogation methods, and the Vicomte was falling for every trick.

  The Vicomte jammed his hands into his pockets. “Of course, I looked into the possibilities. I’m a scientist. Besides, Fantomes aren’t the only ones with Necromancer power.”

  “True. And you knew about my bone crawlers, too. Those creatures are custom-made to drain Necromancer power. I’ll bet you explored what those insects can do.”

  “Yes, that’s precisely what I did. I tested having bone crawlers drain those with Necromancer power but not Fantomes.” The Vicomte sighed dramatically. “Alas. The bone crawlers answer only to you. It was a dead end, all of it. No one can carry on your work in gathering up all Necromancer power. It was a bold goal. It’s over now, though.”

  The Tsar’s features stayed chillingly calm. “So you’ve no alternate way to transfer Necromancer power into a totem ring.”

  “None at all.” I had to give the Vicomte credit. He told that lie rather believably. If I hadn’t spoken with Amelia, I’d never have thought there was an alternative to the bone crawlers.

  “My focus is now on machines,” said the Vicomte. “All kinds of useful, scientific devices. I called you here today because I demand that you to stop taunting my loyal Fantomes.”

  A wisp of a smile rounded Gretel’s mouth. For a Necromancer, that was a positive avalanche of emotion. I wished I could share her faith in the Vicomte. I didn’t believe for an instant that he’d given up on taking in Necromancer magick. Or that he would waste time calling the Tsar just to protect his people.

  “Your mages are mine,” said the Tsar. “They bear my bone crawlers, and I’ll talk to them when I wish it. And don’t pretend you aren’t using them to help you gather Necromancer power into a totem ring.”

  “But I told you already—”

  “Enough! For years, I’ve known about the little laboratories that are run by your so-called children. One made watches to hold my totem rings inside. Those devices could even transfer Necromancer power into a non-mage, if the totem ring had enough energy within.”

  The Vicomte rolled his eyes. “Where do you get such dribble? Those watches never worked, I assure you. It was a misplaced experiment by a rogue machinist. All prototypes of that sad idea were destroyed.”

  My brows rose. Destroyed? I patted the witness watch in my pocket. Good thing the Vicomte wasn’t too thorough.

  Gretel straightened her shoulders. “You’re avoiding the Vicomte’s demand. I have your bone crawler in me, that’s true. But I don’t want to endure your nightly visits anymore.”

  The Vicomte rested his hand on her shoulder. “Gretel’s right. Leave her and the others alone.” He turned to her, his face gentle. “There are others, aren’t there?”

  Gretel’s eyes widened. For a Necromancer, that was a good as a rousing cry of yes. “I don’t know, my master.”

  “No matter,” said the Vicomte.

  I was sure it mattered a great deal to the other Fantomes.

  “Now.” The Vicomte pointed right at the Tsar’s nose. “I demand that you make the girl’s nightmares go away.”

  A long silence followed. A flicker of a smile appeared on the Tsar’s mouth. It was gone too quickly to be certain, though. “In that case, I will do as you ask.”

  “You will?” asked Gretel and the Vicomte. There was no mistaking the shock in their voices. I agreed with them.

  The Tsar gestured to the gateway. “It’s a reasonable request, after all. Gretel was kind enough to open this gateway. And since she stands so close, I have all sorts of options open to me.” The Tsar waved his hand.

  Gretel began to die.

  The bone crawler beneath her skin glowed bright purple. The thing whipped under her flesh and wrapped itse
lf tightly around her throat. On reflex, I grabbed Rowan’s hand.

  No, no, no.

  The Vicomte stared at Gretel. His mouth curled into a look of disgust. The scene was something was beyond belief. At last, he spoke. “Release Gretel this instant.” There was no heat behind the Vicomte’s words, though. I doubted he cared if Gretel lived. Bastard.

  The Tsar watched Gretel gasp for air. While the Vicomte seemed repulsed, the Tsar appeared empty of all feeling. The sight sent chills down my spine. “Let’s finish our real discussion, shall we?” asked the Tsar. “For months now, you’ve known that I’ve been visiting my old mages in their dreams. Now, this fact suddenly concerns you.”

  “No, it doesn’t. My people are loyal to me.” This time, the Vicomte seemed less confident in his declaration, though. I couldn’t help noticing how he’d quickly dropped the charade of asking the Tsar to release Gretel.

  The poor girl still clawed at the bone crawler under her skin. It made me ill.

  “You have a vortex watch,” began the Tsar.

  “Now, see here. How can you possibly—”

  “And I said enough!” The Tsar raised his hand. “You must have the watch, or you wouldn’t be here. And the thing must also be nearly fully charged, or you wouldn’t have brought her.” He nodded to Gretel. “Once that device reaches midnight, you can become the most powerful Necromancer in the land. Yet so can the Fantomes, can’t they? I cast spells to stop them from draining one other, but not you. So suddenly, you’re wondering what we’ve been discussing in their dreams.” His voice lowered. “Once you have enough power, you wonder if you should kill them all.”

  Gretel collapsed onto her knees, her hands clasping at the bone crawler around her throat. On reflex, I started to move toward her.

  Rowan gripped my upper arm, holding me back. I could have fought him. I didn’t. It was better to stay hidden in the shadows. If I sided with Gretel, I could end up dead.

  “Kill them,” said the Tsar. “That’s what I’d do. Doesn’t matter what they’ve said to me. Power is the ultimate lure.” He lifted his chin. “This conversation is over.” The Tsar snapped his fingers. A sickening crunch sounded as Gretel’s neck snapped. Bile crept up my throat. Once Gretel was dead, her spell would die with her.