by Bec McMaster
"Looking out through your eyes."
"Oh." She let him.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
"Of course I do."
A hesitation came. "I'm going to strengthen the bond between us, so that I can act as a conduit for you. It will give you my strength momentarily, somewhat like an Anchor and Shield bond."
"A what?"
"No time," he shot back. "Without runes, it's only temporary but it will help. Can you handle my strength?"
"I can handle anything you can give me."
Another hesitation. "Was that an innuendo?"
Verity smiled, and knew he felt it.
"Agatha's a bad influence," he muttered, then pushed something toward her. "Here. Accept the link."
Verity clawed after his link, and nearly fell out of the tree as an enormous surge of power shot through her. She felt like she could move mountains. "Jesus Christ." He was so strong.
"Watch your back, and remember this is borrowed strength. You'll pay the price for this tomorrow. I'm coming."
Then his connection cut down to a narrow thread. She knew he was still there, a link stretching between them, but they both needed to concentrate right now.
"Right," she muttered, her gaze locking on a black robe. She looked at the fight in the center of the clearing, then the sky above it. Time to get her bearings. Time to pack some punches.
Verity swooped, punching in and taking the black robe with her. It was growing easier the more often she did it. Reappearing above Tremayne, she let the black robe go as gravity sucked at them both, and punched out, landing flat on her back in the snow behind a birch tree.
The black robe screamed and plummeted out of the air, landing where Tremayne had been standing mere seconds ago. Tremayne darted aside, looking around and then up with a curse. Drake smashed at him with another wave of force, and Tremayne staggered back into the arms of a snow-laden birch. A circle of bare earth lit the ground around the ward where magic had melted the snow.
Verity moved. Flickering in and out. Grabbing another black robe and performing the same trick. This time above one of the linked sorcerers.
She hit the ground hard and rolled under a shrub as a black robe appeared out of nowhere and dived for her. Then she was gone again, reappearing behind him as he scrambled under the shrub for her. Verity grabbed his ankles and hauled him flat in the snow.
"Bitch!" the black robe hissed, and turned to shoot a sphere of pale blue light at her.
Verity vanished again.
Bishop's energy wasn't endless. She collapsed into the hollow of a tree, pausing to catch her breath as the fight raged around her. Drake and Ianthe were winning now, with red-robed sorcerers falling faint in a ring around them as they hammered at them with magic. Tremayne screamed in pure rage as he pushed his way out of the birch and took stock of his plot and how it was failing.
"Time to finish this, Drake!" he bellowed, and pulled so much energy into himself that the ground began trembling.
The black robes around her looked down in dismay. One of them screamed and turned to run.
"Get back, you coward!" the main one bellowed again, but the rest of them could see the way the tide was turning. One of them bolted straight past her hollow with her cloak flapping. Verity got a good look at her face.
Violent explosions of light detonated in the clearing. Again. And again. Verity buried her face in her sleeve as a rush of pure force slammed her back into the hollow, her hair tearing from her chignon and whipping past her.
When it was done, she looked up from her arm. Her ears were ringing and white bars flashed across her vision, blinding her partly. She could make out figures standing in the clearing, but she wasn't sure precisely who. The stink of burned flesh made her wince.
Translocating closer, she crept out from behind a bush, relief flooding through her as she saw that her little party was all still alive, though both Ianthe and Drake were flat on their backs, as if knocked there. Lucien lowered a shimmering ward, Eleanor and Cleo clamped tightly to his side. He looked for Ianthe, then hurried to her side, helping her to sit up. Ianthe winced as she saw the burning red robes lying in the snow around them.
Including Tremayne.
Drake pushed to his knees, cursing under his breath. "You bloody fool." He reached forward and vanquished the flames licking greenly at Tremayne's fallen body.
Cleo clapped her hands to her lips as she took a half step toward Tremayne. "Father," she whispered.
Drake cast her a glance. "I'm sorry. The only way to stop him was to ward him in with all that energy."
The young woman nodded, swallowing hard. "I know." She squeezed her eyes tightly closed. "I know."
Verity crept out of the shadows, looking around. She'd seen what Order sorcerers could do when they set their minds to it. But the sheer scale of this astounded her.
Bishop charged out of nowhere. He paused when he saw the circle of fallen sorcerers, his breath coming hard. "Are you all right?" he demanded, striding toward her.
She slid into his arms, thanking every god under the sun that he'd returned to her safe and whole. Bishop looked surprised, but squeezed her gently. The link between them surged at their proximity, and she looked up in surprise.
"I'd like to keep it open for the rest of the night, if it's all right with you?" he asked her. "This is not over yet."
Verity nodded, her hand slipping into his, as Cleo knelt by her father's side and reached out to gently close his open eyes.
Drake gently squeezed the young woman's shoulders. Tears wet her pale cheeks. Verity didn't know her well, but it had to hurt to watch her own father die, regardless of his crimes.
"Two down," Bishop murmured, watching the scene with an aloof expression.
He was speaking of Horroway, and now Tremayne.
Sometimes it chilled her to the core how pragmatically he could view this. A bad feeling assailed her. Two to go, if one considered both Morgana and his other brother, Sebastian. As he'd said, this was not over yet.
"Promise me you won't do anything that will destroy your relationship with Drake," she whispered.
He looked at her. "Ver—"
"Promise me."
Bishop's lips thinned. "He's a threat to all of us. I won't sacrifice you. Nor my father. Nor any of the rest of our little group, out of hope that this brother has one small ounce of humanity left inside him."
"Not everything or everyone in the world has to be a threat," she replied. "All you see are shadows sometimes. What if there's a chance that he could be saved?"
"You don't believe that."
She looked toward Drake, who was pulling the steel masks off the red-robed sorcerers, wincing as he saw faces he obviously recognized. "He does."
That gave Bishop enough doubt to make him scowl a little. "My father sees what he wants to see."
"He thought he was getting through to Sebastian."
"Maybe he was wrong." Bishop shook her off him.
She caught his wrist. "This would destroy your father. You know it." And worse, it would destroy Bishop's relationship with his father, which she knew was vitally important to him, even if Bishop didn't speak of it. "Promise me."
He took a long time to answer. "I promise... that I won't act precipitously, Ver. But if push comes to shove, I won't stand aside and let Sebastian destroy the people I love."
He stalked away, pausing to collect Eleanor and help her steady herself. If not for the rare gentleness he showed, like now, she'd sometimes wonder if he truly had a heart.
But then he had just said the people I love, and that included her.
Maybe there was a darkness inside him that would never go away, but maybe there was light there too?
Chapter 29
TORCHES FLICKERED AROUND the grotto, highlighting over two hundred red-robed shapes. Drake threw back the hood on his cloak, taking a torch from the wall as he walked to the channel of oil that lined the circular grotto. A shiver ran down Bishop's spine. This was it. He
couldn't help feeling like disaster hovered over them.
"And so it is"—Drake lit the oil with his torch and it flared to life—"that my time is done and I pass the flame to another."
Flame ran along the narrow channel, making a hissing noise. The channel formed a circle in the heart of the grotto, with a bridge at either end leading to the stone slate circle in the center. A collective whisper echoed through the chamber.
Agatha stepped forward, wearing the white robe of one of the Triad Council who ruled beneath Drake. "All those who stand as candidates for the position of Prime, step forward and take a torch."
Three stepped forward: Madrigal Brown and two others that Bishop recognized, but whose names he couldn't quite recall. At his side, Lucien gave his wife a nudge and with a very faint sigh, Ianthe slid her hood back from her raven-dark hair and stepped forward as well.
Madrigal's gaze settled on her like a snake's. She knew who the competition was.
"Madrigal's Sicarii," Bishop whispered under his breath, knowing that Ianthe would hear him. "She has the gift of Foresight and has never lost a battle before. She'll see any move you make three seconds before you make it."
Ianthe tilted her head toward him, but gave no other sign that she heard him.
The ceremony drew one of the strange sorcerers into the circle to face Madrigal.
Agatha withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and held it aloft. "Yield," she called, her voice ringing through the room. "Or die. If you step outside the circle, then you are effectively yielding. The winner moves through to the next round, where they will face their final opponent." Glancing at Lord Hamersley, another Councilor, she arched a brow. "If you'll do the honors of warding the ring?"
He bowed his head and wove a faintly glimmering ward around the ring that would contain all sorcery within it.
Madrigal and her opponent stepped inside and faced each other, watching the handkerchief in Agatha's hand. Agatha dropped it and instantly the man launched a scathing attack on Madrigal, who merely warded herself and let the sparks shoot off her bubble-like ward.
It ended swiftly, as he'd predicted it would. Madrigal simply countered everything the fellow threw at her, until a well-timed battle globe knocked him off his feet, setting his coat on fire.
"I yield!" he bellowed, crawling back along the slate as Madrigal advanced.
She paused, glancing toward Agatha.
"Madrigal Brown advances as candidate," Agatha called.
Lucien shifted uncomfortably as his wife stepped into the ring to take Madrigal's place, turning to face her opponent, whom Bishop finally recognized as Lord Darville, a pompous popinjay who was nevertheless very dangerous.
"She'll win it," he murmured to his half brother.
"I know," Lucien breathed, never taking his eyes off her. "She's good."
Ianthe was better than good. She countered everything Darville threw at her, though her face was paler than usual. The fight in the forest had taken something out of her, however, and she stumbled briefly as Darville hit her with battle globe after battle globe.
"Come on," Cleo breathed.
"You can do it," Verity said, at his other side, bouncing up and down on her toes.
Bishop watched the interplay. "She's not giving it everything she has," he murmured, watching as Ianthe deflected another battle globe of burning red. He'd seen her fight before. Knew she had more in her. He'd missed most of the earlier battle, but Ianthe should be stronger than this.
Lucien's lips thinned. "She's conserving energy," he murmured. "For Madrigal."
She had to get there first.
But it seemed his doubt was misplaced. Ianthe finally countered the second Darville took a breath, and he realized that this was what she had been waiting for: Darville to overextend himself. Ianthe's fingers wove her sorcery into glimmers of shadows that circled her skirts, and she muttered under her breath, watching Darville the entire time. Her shadows took shape and form: shadow constructs. They stalked toward Darville and he swallowed hard, taking a step back. Flames brushed against his coat, forcing him to look down. One more step and he'd be out of the circle.
"Curse you!" he spat, flinging a red-tinged mage globe that flickered weakly. It went straight through the shadow construct that leapt for him. They dove on him and began pulling at his clothes, dragging him closer to the ring of flames. Nothing he did made any difference. "Yield!" he finally screamed as they threatened to cast him into the flames.
Ianthe flicked her hand, and the shadows melted into the floor. Darville shot her a hate-filled look, but she merely turned and waited for Madrigal to enter the ring again.
Both women faced each other. Madrigal wore her usual white gown, overflowing with lace, and her coiffure remained elegant. Ianthe, on the other hand, looked like she'd been through a storm and back, but there was power in the cool expression on her face, and intent burning in her eyes.
"It's time for a new Order," Madrigal told her, settling into a defensive stance.
Ianthe merely arched her brow. "We shall see."
"Wait."
The lone voice echoed through the grotto and heads turned, here and there, to see who had cried out. Both women stepped apart, turning to face the newcomer.
Snow crunched beneath a man's boots as he made his way through the press of the crowd. Bishop could feel it in his belly; a knot of power, like a vortex hovering just beneath the stillness of the water. It was immense, threatening to crash and burn over the top of them all. The hairs along his arms rose and he saw Lucien look down in shock before their eyes met.
Sebastian, Lucien mouthed.
So this was what it felt like to be in the presence of both of his brothers. He'd been kept out of the action last month, when Lucien and Drake faced Sebastian.
Perhaps his father had feared even then what Bishop might do.
"I claim a chance to contend for the seat of the Prime," Sebastian called, and the last few people stepped out of his path, revealing a tall man with silver-gray eyes, short dark hair, and a sinister smile.
Madrigal's entire face paled. "I yield," she cried out, as if she'd seen something in those moments that terrified her.
Ianthe glanced once at her husband and Bishop saw her swallow. Even at her best she was no match for Sebastian's wild, unpredictable power.
"Don't," Lucien breathed, taking a half step forward. He too had paled.
Ianthe stared at him for another long moment before shaking her head grimly, and turning to face Sebastian.
"Damn you." Lucien moved for the circle, but Bishop grabbed his arm.
"Wait," he growled, under his breath. There was something strange about Sebastian.
"State your name," Agatha called, though she looked a little uneasy.
Sebastian stepped through the ring of red-hooded sorcerers, and leapt up into the slate circle, clearing the flames with inches to spare. He turned, gracing Ianthe with a dangerous smile. "Sebastian Montcalm."
Everyone could see his face now. There was no hiding the fact that he was Drake's son. Every line of his face was a perfect echo of their father's.
"And I am here to become Prime."
He turned to face Ianthe.
* * *
It was the longest moment of Bishop's life. He'd promised Verity he wouldn't hurt his half brother, but this... this was disaster. If Sebastian was challenging for the seat of Prime he'd win it, based solely on strength. And if he sat as Prime, then his mother would be pulling his strings.
Verity caught Bishop's arm as if sensing the thoughts racing through his mind. He shook his head at her. He had a duty to protect the Order. "I can't stand aside, Ver."
"Wait," called another voice, clear and ringing.
Heads turned. Cleo stepped forward, her gaze locked on Sebastian, even as her hands curled in her skirts as if she were nervous.
"You have something to say, gel?" Agatha prompted, resting both hands on the heavy staff. Drake stood at Agatha's side, staring at Sebastian as if he r
epresented a puzzle Drake couldn't quite solve.
Something felt wrong. A chill ran down Bishop's spine. Even before Cleo said it, he knew exactly what the problem was.
"That is not Sebastian Montcalm," Cleo announced firmly, meeting Sebastian's suddenly glittering eyes. "It's his body, but he's... no longer inside it."
The demon.
Gasps echoed through the room. Bishop was watching his father, and he saw the moment Drake realized what had happened and why he could no longer reach Sebastian. It shivered across Drake's face like a blow, his mouth parting in shock, in horror. "No," he whispered soundlessly, and Bishop's heart clenched at his father's pain.
The prophecy spoke of sacrifices. Perhaps this was what it had meant? Lucien had been meant to be the demon's vessel, but Ianthe had fought for him a month ago, averting his fate. Maybe it had never been about the three of them dying, but about what they might lose to the demon. Their sanity, their lives, or perhaps even control over their own body?
"You have proof?" Agatha demanded.
Cleo nodded firmly. "I'm Sebastian's wife. And we are bonded by a soul-bond. I cannot sense him... inside." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Not anymore."
The demon smiled. "I do wish you hadn't done that."
Agatha took a sideways step, eyeing Sebastian uneasily. "You have no right to be here, creature." She suddenly bristled, and Bishop took a step forward. Shit. "Begone from this meeting."
The demon laughed, a chilling sound that echoed through the room. Power suddenly began flowing into his appropriated body, immense power. "And just who is going to stop me? Morgana, I think it's time for a little get-together."
A woman stepped out of the crowd, sweeping back her red hood and removing the silver mask she wore. Almond-shaped green eyes held a glint of mockery as she examined the clearing, her dark hair streaked with a single lock of white. A beautiful, malicious woman.
"How dare you come here," Drake spat.
Bishop had never known her, but she'd hurt his father. That was cause enough. He slipped through the crowd toward her, with a murmur for Verity to stay where she was, a knife slipping from his inner sleeve into his palm. There was still an execution warrant with her name on it out there.