By Dark Deeds (Blade and Rose Book 2)

by Miranda Honfleur

  Leigh met the queen’s gaze squarely. “Unfortunately, the volatile nature of the Veins makes research difficult, and any research that is done is the property of the Divinity of Magic.” And you want that property. To get it, you’ll have to stand against the Divinity.

  “Yes, I understand that your mages are not under your king’s rule? It was not this way during our time.”

  “The Divinity is a newer religion, claiming power over all mages, and thus, over many lands, through international treaty,” Leigh answered. If the light-elves would but side against the Divinity, so much could be simplified.

  “We were aware of a goddess and her pantheon, but an even newer deity has claimed worship among the humans,” Narenian reflected. “In any case, it seems that our gods still hold some sway.”

  The Dead Gods. He carefully controlled his face. Besides these light-elves, who still worshipped them?

  Narenian folded her hands in her lap and leveled an even gaze at Leigh. “I will be forthright with you, Ambassador,” she said. “Your king is Earthbound, and we hold with the land. An alliance is certain, if that is your wish. Language, plants, research, supplies, troops and so on are negotiable, but we are a reasonable people.”

  Leigh remained silent but stunned, not only at the announcement of an alliance but also at the news that Jon was Earthbound. Had the strange presence he’d felt earlier been Jon?

  “That is wonderful news.” He couldn’t wait to discover the power such a ritual conveyed. He’d been wrong, and Pons had been right. If the Earthbinding truly did grant power over the land, then he’d never been happier to be wrong. More power outside the Divinity’s hands—independent of them—was a good thing.

  “However,” Narenian said, her countenance paling, “the Immortal beasts were problematic before the Sundering, and even with human magic, I question whether they can be defeated. The humans used the Sundering to sever the Immortal beasts’ souls from their bodies. That may be the only solution now, as well—only this time, our race means to remain.”

  The other light-elves stilled; some even gasped.

  Baffled, Leigh didn’t even bother to hide his reaction. Humans could seal the Immortals away again? “How?”

  “The blood of every Immortal to be sealed was collected and used in a rite at the Vein in Amaranth—a place you now call ‘Courdeval.’ Beyond that, I do not know,” Narenian said.

  A sangremancy ritual in the Lunar Chamber. It had to be. But without more information… “Then that knowledge is lost,” Leigh replied.

  “I do not know, but I know who does,” Narenian said. She paused, her starlight eyes glimmering.

  “Who?” He was on her hook, but it didn’t matter. The answer was worth it.

  “Before I share that with you, I will need an assurance from your king, on his honor, that we will not be among those sealed.”

  “I am certain he will agree, but I will have to discuss the proposal with His Majesty.”

  Narenian displayed a faint smile. “Your party brought doves, did they not? I will need a vow witnessed by Aiolian Windsong.” With a motion of her finger, a light-elf woman with unfathomably deep eyes and too-tight braids nodded, her face as expressive as a stone wall. “There’s one more thing.”

  “Yes?” Leigh asked.

  “We will need a dragon mage.”

  Leigh frowned. “What is a dragon mage?”

  “The dragons were the first race to practice the magics—they were magic. They possessed all fourteen of them.”

  “All fourteen of…” Leigh gaped. “All fourteen schools of magic?”

  Narenian nodded.

  Divine’s tits. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, but where do we find a dragon mage?”

  She pierced him with her gaze. “We will make one.”

  Chapter 30

  Jon looked over his hand of cards at Alessandra, who scrutinized her own with pursed lips. The morning light played on the brocade of her pink dress, and in the luster of her long, dark curls.

  He had two cards—a king and a heart—and if he could get rid of both, he’d win. She had three cards herself.

  That evening in the Grand Library had proved to be but the first of many spent in the company of Alessandra. Derric encouraged asking for her hand, while most of the Grands supported at least fostering a closer relationship with her, something to suggest King Macario’s support wasn’t a waste.

  Praise the gods, nothing had gone so far as that evening in the Grand Library, but it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it? She’d either want to know their relationship was going somewhere, or she’d want to move on with her life. And he could hardly blame her.

  But he had other things on his mind. If Olivia was to be believed, he’d be meeting with the spiritualist soon, and then—

  A servant approached and refilled their wine—small stature, fawn-colored braid, chestnut eyes. The woman from the Earthbinding.

  Straightening, he raised his eyebrows, but she only behaved as she always did, gracefully pouring, bowing, silently receding. Manon, Pons has called her recently. She was still here? Serving in Trèstellan?

  But then, was she to lose her position for her willing participation in the ritual? That wouldn’t have been right, either.

  Alessandra’s throat clearing broke his thoughts, and across from him, she arched a brow. “Someone you know?”

  Gods. “I—She’s…”

  A smile played around her mouth. “Don’t bother.”

  Was this it? The collapse of his efforts with her? “Princess, I don’t—”

  “Alessandra,” she corrected, crossing her legs, holding her cards over her chest, and then eyeing him as if she were about to burst with laughter.

  He cocked his head.

  “I hardly expect celibacy from a king.” She shook her head. “And you’re adorable, all flustered and nervous about being caught.”

  Adorable? He frowned. “You don’t expect…” He couldn’t even bring himself to repeat the words.

  She gave a languid shrug of her shoulder. “We’re not married, and even then, couples have arrangements.”

  Arrangements. She’d accept mistresses, lovers…?

  She peered at her cards. “Do you have a heart?”

  He frowned again, and she nodded toward his hand.

  “Oh,” he breathed, looking down at his cards. He did have a heart, and he pulled it out and handed it to her. “But unless you have a king, I win.”

  She drew another card and, grinning, pulled one free and revealed it to him in the palm of her hand.

  A king.

  “So you do have a king,” he said, and laughed quietly to himself.

  “Is that a promise?”

  Jon waited in his study for the spiritualist to arrive, staring at his Sodalis ring as he twirled it on his fourth finger. His life as a paladin was over now, but still, he couldn’t bring himself to retire its badge. It had graced Rielle’s finger once, and that short while had infused it with something so very different than belief in Terra, adherence to the Sacred Vows, or commitment to service in the Order. Somewhere, in this ring, was a promise made between lovers, a vision of their future—a fading image on the horizon, disappearing ever farther into the distance the harder he tried to reach it.

  Was there a place, outside of past and memory, where those two lovers could live out their lives, as they’d planned? Would he ever again hold the only woman he’d ever loved? Would he ever see her again?

  He covered the ring with his palm, rubbing it as an ache formed in his eyes. He glanced out the window. The sky was clear but gray, the world beneath it a land of snow and ice. A southerly wind picked up the snow powder and carried it downwind. His mind followed it, his heart longing for just a glimpse of where she was, wherever she was, to see her alive and safe.

  Opening his awareness, he searched for her, stretched the limits of his mind, the shores and borders of Emaurria. Nothing.

  A knock echoed from the hall.

  “Enter.
” Jon stood and looked at the door expectantly.

  Raoul walked in and bowed. “The Archmage, Your Majesty.”

  “Send her in.”

  Raoul bowed, then left. Jon raised his hand to his chest, where the Laurentine signet ring rested, hanging from its cord. Whatever Rielle’s fate, he would soon know. Tension rose inside him, hardening his every muscle.

  Olivia entered and bowed in perfect form, by all signs recovered from their heated exchange a couple days before. She didn’t support his courtship of Alessandra, but since that day, she’d kept her objections to stony silence and smoldering frowns.

  “The spiritualist has arrived on schedule,” she said.

  “Did you…” His throat dry, he swallowed. “…find out anything yet?”

  “No.” She bowed her head. “I thought it should be you.”

  As much as he longed for some answer to hold on to, his heart pounded at the thought. “Together, then.” He touched the Sodalis ring. “When can we meet with him?”

  “Now, Your Majesty.”

  He stiffened.

  “He awaits you in your solar, with his tutor.” She watched him with uneasy eyes.

  For a moment, he braced his fingers on his desk to gather his composure. Now. Some answer looming in the vague future had been one thing, but now was entirely another.

  Olivia didn’t move.

  “Let’s go,” he said, at last.

  She nodded, and as he left his study and proceeded to the solar, she followed in silence.

  Inside the solar stood a slender young woman with a boy. The woman had short, curly, dark hair that caught the sunlight shining through the stained glass. The boy with her, swimming in his mage coat, appeared no older than ten.

  The young woman curtsied, and the boy bowed.

  “Good day, Your Majesty,” the woman said, her voice tremulous.

  “Please rise.” Something about her face caught his curiosity, and he approached her. When she visibly swallowed, recognition dawned. “You are…”

  “Master Mage Erelyn Leonne, Your Majesty.” She inclined her head and shifted her tawny brown eyes. “Your Majesty, um, defeated me in the Emaurrian Tower’s courtyard.”

  The cantor. She’d had a beautiful voice that night, but his sigil tattoos had protected him from the negative effects of sound magic. A brief memory of striking her flashed in his recollection, and guilt flooded him. He never enjoyed raising a hand to a woman, regardless of the circumstances, but that night had been dire.

  “Forgive me, Master Leonne. My behavior that night was inexcusable.”

  Her eyes rounded, she raised her chin and shook her head. “Not at all! I tried to use magic on you, Your Majesty! It is I who should beg your forgiveness—”

  “Then you’re both sorry,” Olivia interrupted, shooting Jon a peeved look. “Water under the bridge.” She shrugged and gave a forced smile.

  On task. Jon turned back to Master Leonne. “Thank you for coming.”

  “It is my honor, Your Majesty.” Master Leonne put her hand on the boy’s shoulder, who looked up at her uneasily. He was all too young to be a mage, but the éveil could sometimes come early.

  Olivia took a few steps forward. “Although Francis is a spiritualist, Erelyn is a cantor. She is knowledgeable about spirit magic, and her abilities help soothe him. Together, I think they should be successful.”

  When Master Leonne gave an optimistic nod, Jon directed her and the boy to a sofa, then took a seat opposite them in an armchair. Imparting her quiet support, Olivia stood beside him, despite the available seats in the room.

  In just a moment, he’d know where she was. He’d know where Rielle was, where to look, and bring her home.

  “If he doesn’t know the person,” Master Leonne began, “he’ll need something of theirs as a focus.”

  Olivia’s note had said as much. When Jon reached for the signet ring, Olivia laid her hand on his shoulder and shook her head. Instead, she took off her bracelet—a plain silver chain with a small mermaid charm, her mother’s—and handed it to the boy.

  A test. Jon watched with interest.

  The trinket in his palm, the boy stared at it, then glanced at his tutor.

  “You can do it, Francis. It’s all right.” Master Leonne hummed a soft tune.

  When she smiled her encouragement, he looked back at the bracelet and closed his eyes. Slowly, he took on a violet glow, wisps of magic swirling around him like glimmering smoke. “A woman, older, with kind eyes and red hair?” His voice, despite its childish pitch, harmonized eerily.

  “Yes,” Olivia whispered.

  When the boy opened his eyes, his irises were purple as he spoke. “She lives, far to the west. A cold wind blows in from the sea, but the cottage is warm. A cat jumps onto her lap. She sews a cloak.” He blinked, and the violet glow disappeared. Hanging his head, he puffed short breaths.

  Master Leonne put her arm around him, and the boy calmed. She looked from Jon to Olivia and back.

  “My mother,” Olivia explained. “And that is most certainly what she’s doing.” She squeezed Jon’s shoulder and nodded toward the boy.

  Jon pulled the chain, along with the ring, over his head and handed it to the boy.

  “The ring, Your Majesty?” He looked up at Jon hopefully.

  “Yes.”

  The boy handled the object with care, piling the golden chain into his palm with the signet ring. Master Leonne sang, and when the boy closed his eyes, the same violet aura surrounded him. He squeezed his eyes tighter. “A golden-haired woman, beautiful, with eyes the color of the summer sky?”

  His spine stiffening, Jon said, “Yes. That’s her.” His breath came short and quick, his heart thundering. Every muscle in his body went rigid as he awaited the boy’s next words.

  The boy opened his eyes, his irises glowing purple, widening. He shook his head.

  Unable to move, Jon stared straight ahead at the boy.

  His face tight, Jon questioned whether he’d seen correctly. A shake of the head. Breathless, he stiffened as a sudden coldness hit him at the core.

  “Francis?” Master Leonne asked, pulling the boy closer.

  The boy pressed his lips together, his face blotchy. “Reborn…”

  When he squeezed his eyes shut, tears burst from them, and he buried his face in Erelyn’s chest. Blanched, she looked up at Jon, her eyes wide.

  “Reborn,” Jon repeated, breathing raggedly. There had to be more than that. There had to.

  “What does that mean, ‘reborn’?” He turned his gaze to Erelyn, who remained silent but unsettled, holding Francis close. “What does it mean?” he demanded.

  She flinched. “It means—Your Majesty, it means…” Her eyes teared up. “Great Divine, I’m sorry, Your Majesty, it means—”

  Master Leonne’s brows knitted together, and she shook her head. “Anima absorbed back into the earth, repurposed to grow—”

  Before the pressure could break through, Jon sprang from his chair and strode to the window. The light assaulted his aching eyes.

  It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

  Terra have mercy, it had to be a mistake. Black storm clouds rolled in, suffocated the sun, ghosts of lightning haunting their dark shroud.

  His palm went to the Sodalis ring, covering it, feeling it—the tangible promise. Together. They would be together.

  “That’ll be all,” Olivia said behind him, her voice quivering. Footsteps retreated from the room.

  Some part of him broke. He braced his hands on the stone window sill, pressed the rough texture into his palms, leaned into it. Rough and painful. Reality.

  “Jon.” Olivia’s delicate tone made him shudder.

  “No.” The word tore out of him, hoarse and stubborn, even as grief took its unrelenting hold. Thunder rolled. “No.” Gods above, even as he repeated the word, the thrashing inside broke through.

  He whirled around, grabbed the table next to him, and threw it aside. The crash of wood called to the violence
inside him pushing against his inner barriers. He swept a row of books off its shelf, ripped it from the wall, broke it against the stone, flung the pieces.

  His hands needed to destroy, needed to break, needed disorder—the whirlwind inside demanded its due. Magic came to his hands, animated his surroundings, hurled them in myriad directions in loud crashes. All around him became a chaotic blur.

  A tightness seized his chest, and he grabbed at it, the pain.

  It squeezed. His thudded, pounded, heavy.

  “Jon?”

  The room tilted, and he doubled over, tearing at his chest.

  “Jon!”

  Guardsmen rushed into the room, but Olivia shuffled them all out but for Raoul, who held him as everything spun, as needling agony tore into his chest.

  Olivia knelt next to him, her palm stealing into his doublet against his skin. The faint warmth of her magic filled him.

  Wildly, he looked around him, at everything, but there was nothing left—disorder, parts, shattered pieces of a life that had waited for the woman he loved to complete it. Pain deepened at the back of his throat, a hoarse hollow gaping.

  Everything in the solar lay broken, and his breaths only came in gasps and wheezes. Raoul’s hands held him steady, his ice-blue eyes wide.

  “My life… for Her will,” he breathed, speaking the final words thousands of paladins had spoken before him.

  Raoul shook his head, then swore. “With honor and valor, you have served,” he replied, his voice breaking.

  “Her voice… calls… me,” he hissed, grasping at his chest, at its unforgiving tightness.

  Raoul’s eyebrows drew together tightly, his eyes wild beneath them. Drops hit Jon’s face. “Answer with pride… son of Terra,” he whispered.

  Jon squeezed his eyes shut. If it was time, he could die faithful.

  The pain didn’t ease. Gods, he deserved it. All this time, he’d fought off thoughts of Rielle, memories, trusted her rescue to Brennan, and she’d been—she’d been dying. Somewhere far from here, she’d breathed her last, and he hadn’t even known, hadn’t been there, hadn’t…

  A blinding white light flooded his field of vision, and he reached out for her hand.