Understanding dawned a heartbeat ahead of the blade that pushed into his side.
“I’m sorry,” Dina whispered.
The dagger ripped out of Gabe’s flesh as he fell.
“What the damn?” Pio said as Gabe crashed into his legs.
“She’s got a knife!” someone yelled, then chaos erupted.
It all turned into a blur as Gabe prodded at the wound in his side. A weight settled on his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Bright blood bubbled out of the wound under his left arm. She’d aimed for the heart, maybe even nicked it, but he’d drown in blood before he bled out. He coughed up blood, knowing with pathetic irony that this time it came from his lung.
Dimly, he was aware of shouting and frantic scurrying. Someone grabbed him, dragged him out from under a sudden forest of legs. Another person crouched in front of him. He managed to focus on Ofelia.
“We have to stop the bleeding,” she said.
“We need a medic!” Pio shouted. If anyone answered him, Gabe missed it.
Dina. He’d sent her to Captain Meraz, but Ruben had said she’d never made it. Yet once the Alarians had subdued the remains of Tejon Company, there she was, with the rest of them. Where had she gone? He couldn’t think she’d been hiding somewhere out of fear. Not now that he was dying from her betrayal. But she had no earth magic, barely had bone magic. How did she get Rafe down the hole?
“Gabe?”
He latched onto the voice, opened his eyes and found Pio’s face bare inches from his own.
“Saint Ciro’s nuts, Gabe, you scared me. Come on, man. Stay with us.”
Pio liked him again. Maybe he could finally get a lighter that worked. He’d kill for a cigarillo. His lungs protested with a violent heave and he tasted blood. Right. He was dying.
He didn’t want to die. Despite all the pain, all the agony of the past months, he would gladly suffer it for another ten just so he could go home. He wanted to see Roque again, to laugh with Sol and Aracelle, drink with Sergio and stand before Abbess Orellana with Sol’s child and promise to guide him or her in the name of Luz. He wanted to see Evellia again, just to know she was all right, that she was happy, that he hadn’t ruined her life by saving it. He was dying, but by Luz and all the saints in all their cold tombs, he didn’t want to die. And he couldn’t die. Not yet, at least. Whatever else Dina might be, she was also right. Someone had to break the sleep blocks on the prince. If he didn’t, Rafe would eventually die, and so would everyone else Gabe had worked so hard to keep alive. He couldn’t die.
He didn’t have to.
Where that thought came from, Gabe had no idea, but he liked it. When his hand began to move, he was willing to let it and see what happened next. His fingers fumbled at the pocket of his jacket. Above him, Pio was shouting, at him or about him or whatever. It didn’t matter. There was no one here who had a chance of saving him.
There, in his pocket where he’d slipped it when du Serres had come to beat answers out of him. Smooth and warm, the touch of it sending a tingle up him arm and into his heavy chest.
And somewhere very distant, a woman’s voice said, “Yes.”
Chapter 31
When he woke the first thing he was aware of was the breath moving in and out of his body in smooth, easy rhythm. He wasn’t dead.
His legs worked, ribs perfect, arms all right and mind clear. He could breathe without hassle and there was a warm presence in his right hand.
The demon bone.
Flashes came back to him. His fingers closing over the bone; the shock of his magic meeting the demon’s; the black haired woman standing before him.
“It is agreed,” spoken in stilted words.
His life in exchange for a favour sometime in the future.
And now here he was. Alive and damned all in one foul move.
He could hear soft murmuring close by, and further away, the familiar sounds of a busy military camp. Cracking his eyes open, he blinked a few times and focused on the roof of a tent. It was white. Alarian, then. Turning his head revealed the rest of the command tent.
He’d been moved to one side—no doubt his dying body had been a trip hazard—but was still lying on the floor. Given all the benefits of a prisoner of war, no luxury spared.
“Mon General,” Carufel said from somewhere close to Gabe. “The Bone Mage is awake.” The lieutenant leaned over Gabe, peering at him as if he were something odd hauled up in a trawler’s nets.
A knot of Alarian uniforms on the far side of the tent broke apart to allow du Serres through. He stalked over to Gabe, expression stern, eyes narrow, hands clasped behind his back.
“Are you well?” he asked.
Gabe poked at the spot Dina had stabbed. A faint echo of pain but nothing more. “I seem to be.” With the tall general standing over him, Gabe felt vulnerable, so he scrambled to his feet, grunting and groaning as his body worked through a litany of aches and fading pains. When he was finally upright, he came face to face with Carufel’s gun. “Is this necessary?”
“I thought Bone Mages couldn’t heal themselves,” du Serres said with deceptive casualness, ignoring Gabe’s question.
Ah. Yes. A very pertinent question asked by a person who wouldn’t listen reasonably if Gabe mentioned demons. Not that right then, with an enemy general staring at him and a large weapon pointed at his head, Gabe could think of anyone who would.
Gabe swallowed. “First time for everything, huh?”
Du Serres didn’t move, didn’t change expression. Carufel’s fingers flexed on the butt of his weapon.
“Look,” Gabe said, desperation creeping into his voice. “I don’t know how I did it. I just remember really wanting to not die right now and maybe Luz and Saint Sevastian took pity on me. Besides, if I’m dead, who’s going to wake up the prince. He’s been stuffed in a hole in the ground for four days now. No way that would have worked if he was awake. Dina put him into a sleep like I did with the other mages. You can’t wake him up on your own. You need me.”
His argument seemed to have no effect on the general, though Carufel’s gaze did flicker from Gabe to the table on the far side of the tent. Leaning a little to the side, Gabe saw a body on the table. Well, a pair of dirty, bare feet, at least. He couldn’t be certain, but he guessed it was Rafe, retrieved from the earth while Gabe healed. A quick glance around showed him Pio and Dem under guard in another corner, Ofelia bound to a chair so no part of her touched the ground, gagged and blindfolded, surrounded by another compliment of soldiers, but no Dina.
Swallowing a confused tangle of emotions, Gabe asked, “Where’s Dina?”
“The Sacerdio escaped,” du Serres said.
Gabe stared at him. “Escaped? A tent full of soldiers couldn’t keep one little person from getting away?”
Finally, the general’s stern expression cracked, his lips twisting into an angry snarl. He grabbed Gabe’s shirt and hauled him off balance, dragging him a few yards to where two bodies were laid out on the floor. Both were Alarian. One’s head was turned at a fatal angle, the other’s face was a mess of pulped tissue and shattered bone.
“She killed these two men and a third might never walk again. She moved so fast none of my men could see her, let alone catch her. Just like that other demon we discussed this morning. Do you want another similarity, Mage Castillo? Carufel shot her. He’s never missed a target in his entire career. He hit her. We all saw her stumble, saw the blood on her chest, but she kept going.”
Gabe sagged in du Serres’ hold. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. David was unique. He was the Immortal Soldier. Surely he would have known if there was another one like him. But who said David had to tell Gabe everything?
A sick sort of sense began to form in Gabe’s mind. Dina was always perfect. The dry atmosphere of the Valley that cracked everyone else’s lips left hers soft and full. Her hands were always smooth, free of calluses, and she never burned in the unforgiving sun. Because she kept healing the minor injuries, much as David would have h
ealed his own grievous wounds had Gabe left him alone.
“What is she, Mage Castillo?” du Serres asked, giving him a vicious shake. “What are they?”
“I don’t know,” Gabe whispered honestly.
Du Serres’ lips thinned to mere lines, fists twisting in Gabe’s shirt so the already abused material tore some more.
“Mon General,” Carufel murmured. “The prince.”
The lieutenant’s words had no immediate effect on du Serres. Battling an obvious urge to do something violent, du Serres stared at Gabe with a cold intensity that touched his bones and made them shake.
With a growl, du Serres let Gabe go with a hefty shove. He spun on his heel and stalked away. Back on the floor, Gabe let out a long breath.
When du Serres was clear across the tent, Carufel motioned to Gabe with his gun. “Get up. You have to wake the prince, or next time you might not be able to heal yourself.”
Nothing like working under pressure. Gabe got up, his guts tying themselves in knots as Carufel ushered him over to the table. From their corner, his fellow prisoners watched him with a mix of relief and confusion. How was he ever going to explain his recovery to them? They wouldn’t accept the excuse he’d given du Serres—not that he thought du Serres actually believed it, either.
Still, that was an insurmountable hurdle for another time. He had to clear the present one first.
Rafe was dirty and ragged, small cuts and abrasions covering his arms and face. He must have put up a fight when Dina caught him.
“Is he going to be all right?” Dem’s face was tight against a roil of emotions he couldn’t quite hide.
“He’s been under longer than I would like.” Gabe felt the prince’s pulse. It was slow but steady. “He’ll be weak when he wakes up. Can we dim the light in here?”
The few lamps were doused. Gabe removed his glove and laid his hand on Rafe’s arm. The ribs fractured in the ambush had knitted messily. Gabe fixed them first, then moved on to the cuts, sealing them closed. There was a build-up of toxins which Gabe cleaned out before turning his attention to Dina’s sleep blocks.
She had definitely been hiding an impressive strength from him all this time. Strong enough to be a mage, and a powerful one. Her blocks were thick and hard. It was always harder taking down someone else’s work, but this was ridiculous. He threw everything he could at it, battering them over and over and finally, they broke.
Gabe staggered away from the table when it was done, sweat dampening his hair. Carufel caught him and directed him into a chair.
Rafe began to stir. The first word out of his mouth was “Dem.”
Dem surged forward, eyes fixed on his lover so he didn’t see the two soldiers who stepped up to block him. They caught his arms, holding him back.
“Rafe,” Dem called, struggling to get free.
On the table, the prince jerked with the sound of Dem’s voice, eyes flying open, only to blink furiously, tears rolling down his cheeks in the sudden brightness. Still he tried to get up, rolling off the table, legs collapsing beneath him. He hit the ground with a gasp of mixed pain and shock. Arms trembling, he tried to stand, numb legs refusing to support him.
Seeing no help forthcoming from the Alarians, Gabe hauled himself out of his chair, weary body protesting as he crouched by the prince. Hands on his shoulders, Gabe sent a wave of soothing magic into the boy.
“Easy, Rafe,” he murmured as the boy’s confusion swept back through his hands to mingle with Gabe’s own. “You’re all right, calm down.”
Rafe’s racing heart began to slow, his stinging eyes to adjust and after a few deep breaths, he managed to focus on Gabe.
“Mage Castillo?”
Forcing a smile, Gabe nodded.
The boy stared for a moment longer, eyes searching Gabe’s for the answer to a question he hadn’t asked. Then as if he answered it for himself, he said, “It was Sacerdio Dina. She found me just as the Alarians appeared, said she would help me.” He gripped Gabe’s arm. “Mage Castillo, she’s not a Sacerdio. I think she’s a Bone Mage. She put Tonio the Smith into a trance and made him open up the ground by the smithy and push me...” His hasty recounting trailed off as he grew aware of their surroundings.
Gabe let the prince take in the blue uniforms of the Alarians, the stern officers standing behind Gabe, the white walls of the tent and at last, Dem and Pio, held back by bared steel.
Eyes widening, he stared at Dem. “Dem.” He surged to his feet, lunging for him.
Weak, Rafe was easily caught by two Alarian soldiers. Those holding Dem back had a tougher job, but the lovers were kept apart despite their best efforts.
Worried Rafe would hurt himself, Gabe pushed his way to the prince’s side and laid his hand on Rafe’s arm. Another wave of soothing magic calmed the boy so he sagged in the arms of his captors. Seeing Rafe relax, Dem eased back on his own attempts to break free.
“Set him down,” Gabe instructed the soldiers, pointing to a chair.
The soldiers gave him a blank stare, then turned to their general for orders. Du Serres, lips in a tight, straight line, nodded. Rafe was dumped into a chair where he slumped down, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Gabe crouched by him, keeping his hand on the boy to help him stay calm.
“What do you remember?” he asked softly.
Rafe focused on his knees, as if looking at anyone right then was too hard, too confusing. “I thought Dem was dead. Killed in the tunnels. I didn’t want to go on without him, but… but he was here. He wanted to take me back to Father and I couldn’t do that. Not without…” He stopped to take a shuddering breath. “Not without Dem, or allies.”
“Allies?”
Shrugging aside Gabe’s question, the boy continued. “When Dem came to me in your tent, Mage Castillo, I thought I was dreaming. But there were Alarians as well. They were going to hurt him, again, if I didn’t go with them.”
Across the tent, Dem looked ready to say something, but a shake of Rafe’s head kept him quiet.
“Of course, I went,” Rafe said calmly. “Then Dem fought them. He helped me get away.” Looking up, he met his lover’s concerned gaze. “I only went so I could get someone to free you.”
“You should have left me,” Dem said. “I betrayed you. You should have left me.”
“No!” Rafe surged to his feet. Gabe went with him, steadying him. “You didn’t betray me. They tortured you! Hurt you. I don’t blame you for anything.” Trembling, he sank back into the chair. “It’s you who should hate me. I brought you here. I’m the reason they hurt you. All so they could use me against my father.”
“They didn’t tell us who you were,” Pio exclaimed furiously. “I would never have helped Gabe find you if I knew who you were, your highness.”
A shudder wracked Rafe’s body. He looked at Gabe. “You helped them find me? Even though you knew who I really was.”
“I had to,” Gabe said firmly. “They were going to kill everyone if you stayed hidden.”
Rafe searched Gabe’s eyes. Gabe let him, willing all of his guilt and honesty and pleas for understanding into his gaze. After a long, tense moment, Rafe nodded.
An explosive sigh of relief left Gabe feeling unburdened. Rafe didn’t blame him for what he’d done.
“Very well,” du Serres said loudly, stepping up to Rafe. “Prince Ramiero de Ibarra, I am General Nicodeme du Serres. You are my prisoner and hostage. Do you understand what that means?”
“You’re going to use me to gain advantage over my father.”
“Precisely. Our reasons for entering the Valley had nothing to do with subjugating the natives, nor were we preparing for an invasion of Delaluz. Every reason Duke Ibarra had for beginning this war was false and he knows it. With his heir as our hostage, we will force him out of the Valley and continue with our original plans. Toward that end, now that we have you, my regiment will retreat back across the valley to our held ground, Supreme General d’Ancar will cease peace talks with your General Baez and we will p
ursue this war until Duke Ibarra retreats fully from this land.”
Rafe stared at him, then with a glance at Dem for support, the prince took a deep breath, stood and said, “I will go with you peacefully, so long as you release all of my fellow Delaluzians and that no one else is harmed in the process.”
Du Serres’ lips twitched. “I’ll release the soldiers, but the officers and mages come with us. A few extra bargaining pieces never went astray.”
“Agreed.” Rafe smiled. “Demetrio de Covadonga is neither an officer nor a mage. He will be released with the soldiers.”
Before du Serres could respond, the door flaps on the tent ripped apart and Roulier stalked in. His usually steady expression was replaced by one of intense... Gabe shuddered, remembering the colonel’s expression not from personal experience, but from shared memories with Pena. This was the Roulier she knew, the man with a lust for pain, the terrifying need to see its results.
“It’s true, then,” he said, tone thick with something Gabe didn’t want to call passion. “The prince has been found.”
“Yes.” If du Serres felt anything for Roulier’s attitude he hid it well. “We’ll begin withdrawing immediately. See that the remaining prisoners are prepared to be released when we leave.”
“You’re letting them go?”
“The prince and I negotiated.” He motioned to Dem. “De Covadonga will also stay behind. The officers and mages come with us.”
Roulier spared Dem a disregarding glance, but spun on his general at mention of the mages. “We take none of the mages with us. They die, here and now. I won’t have any demons on Alarian soil.”
“No,” Rafe snapped, drawing himself up with all the royal haughtiness Gabe had suspected was there at their first meeting. “You won’t touch my mages. None of them.”
Roulier took a step toward Rafe, but du Serres growled, “Enough, Gael-Jason! I’ve already agreed to take the mages. You know we need as many expensive hostages as we can get. If we’re caught before we reach Alarie, we need something to bargain with.”
Reprimanded, but seething, Roulier glared at Rafe, then at du Serres. The general met his gaze, glower for glower. It seemed a regular thing between them, because when Roulier finally looked away, du Serres wasn’t relieved, just annoyed.
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