Shadow City

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  He felt his power ballooning with his frustrated fury. The fiery ghost and the storm-light ghost staggered back, both cowering to the ground. The angel stepped closer, raising his sword. The Prime snarled, and the Grim rose and went to sit between them. He stared up at the angel, who stopped dead in his tracks.

  The Prime turned back to the spirit. He gripped the body behind the neck and began to shove the spirit into his slack mouth, even as the smoke witch fed more magic into the misty healing cocoon. It did not help. The spirit did not absorb into its home flesh.

  The Prime wanted to howl. He gritted his teeth, refusing to be defeated. His to guard; his to punish; his to save. There was nothing more important. If he failed, he would not be forgiven. She would not forgive him.

  In that moment, a shaft of pain thrust through him, marrying the Prime with the man. In that single moment, Alexander and the Prime knew each other. They burned in shared grief so deeply penetrating that for a moment, the world stopped turning, and there was nothing left but ash and despair. The pain was so vast it seemed as if they would shatter.

  Alexander’s head fell back, and his mouth opened in a silent howl that tore his throat with its brutal intensity.

  And then time resumed, because one death does not end the world, not even Max’s, and even in death, Alexander knew that there could be no escape from the hurt. All he could do was guard what was hers—what was now his.

  “Niko,” he said in a strangled voice. “Stay put.” He put all the force of his Prime into those words. Power exploded from him, and Niko convulsed. His entire body shook and clenched. His hands and heels hammered the ground. His teeth clattered together, and his eyes rolled up into his head.

  Alexander laid him down and stood. The ghostly sight had not vanished with the return of his sense of self. It continued to overlie the world. He blinked. It was going to take some getting used to. But as he watched, emerald color flowed into Niko.

  The fallen man settled and stilled, except for deep, panting breaths. Valery withdrew her magic. Alexander helped her to her feet.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “You could have been a little quicker,” she said wearily as she dusted the dirt from her jeans. She glanced up at the sky. “Dawn’s close.” Her gaze settled back on him. She frowned. “You’re different.” She looked past him at Tutresiel, whose sword was still drawn. Beyul continued to watch him. “You can put that away.”

  The angel seemed to agree. The sword vanished like it had never been. It was enough for Beyul. The Grim made a wuffling sound and came over to sniff the supine man. He licked Niko’s forehead with a broad swipe of his pink tongue. At the warm, wet touch, Niko’s eyes flicked open.

  “What happened?” he asked, sitting up. He pressed the palms of his hands to his head. “Feels like a freight train ran me over.”

  Thor and Tyler came forward, watching Alexander warily. Tyler reached out and helped Niko to his feet. The dark-haired man swayed and started to fall. His companions caught him.

  “Shit. What’s the matter with me?”

  “Beyul decided I needed protecting,” Alexander said. Words still felt strange in his mouth.

  “You?” Niko said, spitting to clear his mouth of a bad taste. “Like you weren’t going to kick my ass.” His gaze narrowed. “You’ve changed.”

  Alexander snorted. That was an understatement. He stretched, feeling power roiling through him. He wondered what the change really meant.

  “Your eyes,” Thor said suddenly. “You’ve lost the feral look. But I can still feel the wildness inside you like a powder keg.”

  Alexander could hear the question the other man didn’t ask. All of them were wondering the same thing. Was he safe? Was he about to go off the deep end again? He wasn’t. He and the Prime had become one in a way he had never imagined was possible. The wildness was harnessed.

  “I will be fine,” he said. He thought of Max and wondered if that would ever be true again.

  “Yeah, right. Fine,” Niko said. “I need a drink.”

  None of them could really get drunk. Their magically enhanced bodies processed the alcohol before it could have any effect. Still, it sounded like a good idea. “I would not turn one down,” Alexander said.

  “Then let’s get back to Horngate before we fry,” Tyler said.

  Alexander looked at Tutresiel. “Can you take Niko and Valery?”

  “I don’t need the bastard to carry me,” Niko protested.

  “Maybe not, but he is going to, anyway,” Alexander said. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how far they had to travel back, but he caught himself. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses. The landscape rose around him like a ghostly terrain map. He felt the magic pulsing in the soil and stone, in the trees and foliage. He saw bright sparks of jeweled life and heard the deep thrum of ley magic deep underground.

  He honed in on the weaving that was Horngate. It was beautifully wrought and strong, despite the attacks and losing the coven. Giselle truly was a powerful witch. His nostrils flared. He could almost smell the burning rage of the birthing Fury. Her magic boiled with hatred, betrayal, and rage. He could see the ward circle around her. It gleamed bright yellow, flickering beneath the onslaught of the magic it contained. It would collapse soon.

  Alexander opened his eyes and shook himself. “We should hurry,” he said. “We have a good fifty miles to run.”

  “Maybe you should stay the day in the cave you found,” Valery suggested. “You have less than an hour.”

  “Then we should get started.” Alexander flicked a look at Tyler and Thor. “You may stay if you are afraid.”

  With that, he broke into a ground-eating run. Soon he was flanked by the two men, and Beyul padded close behind. Alexander smiled as he lunged up a slope and leaped down the other side. It was a race against the dawn, but they would make it. And then—

  No. He would not think about Max. He could not. He remembered Tutresiel’s scathing words. She’s broken witch bindings before. Have you no faith?

  Faith was all he had left, and he clung to it with all his strength. He had no other choice.

  MAX WAS BACK IN ILANION’S BED, AND IT DIDN’T smell any better now than when she’d landed on it. She wrinkled her nose and sneezed, then fought her way out of the downy clutch of the pillows and thick comforters. She made it all the way to sitting up before being overtaken by an attack of coughing.

  “Here.” Ilanion held out a heavy purple goblet.

  Max took it and gulped down the water. The coughing subsided. She sneezed again. The room stank of incense.

  “You really need to open a window. This place reeks.”

  Ilanion chuckled, took the goblet, and set it on a table. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I went through a wood chipper.” She stretched and cracked her knuckles. Her hands were bony, and they shook. She fisted them. It wasn’t until then that she realized she was wearing a silky nightgown that revealed more than it covered. She grimaced and pinched the fabric like it was a cockroach. “What’s this?”

  “Your clothing was in need of washing and mending. You . . . reeked.” He grinned maliciously at her, his eyes sparking yellow with laughter. “You were so filthy I took the liberty of bathing you.” His grin widened, daring her to get angry.

  “All by yourself? No maids? Wow. I didn’t think someone like you could wipe your own ass without help,” she said as she wriggled to the edge of the bed. “I hope you didn’t break a nail or get dishpan hands or anything.”

  He laughed, a ringing sound that echoed in the enormous chamber. “I don’t know what dishpan hands are, but it sounds dreadful. No, washing you was a pleasure, I assure you,” he said with a smirk.

  Max looked down at herself. She’d lost a lot of flesh in the last day or so. She looked a lot like a scarecrow on meth. “Then you have seriously bad taste, Goldilocks, because I look like roadkill.”

  She slid to her feet and staggered, grabbing for Ilanion when her legs
started to give way. He caught her around the waist and helped her to a table where a variety of fruits, meats, cheeses, and breads waited for her. Max started bolting it down, shoving her mouth full with both hands. He sat opposite in a backless chair, his wings folded neatly as he watched her.

  She cleared the platters and drank down a sweet, milky tea heavy with some spice she didn’t recognize. It was slightly bitter and hot but tasty nonetheless. The food steadied her body, and she felt her healing spells kicking into high gear. She needed more. Ilanion read her look correctly. He went to the door and opened it and spoke to someone outside before returning.

  “Supper will be sent in soon.”

  She nodded, and the hunger haze started clearing from her mind. “Where’s Scooter?”

  Ilanion sighed heavily. “He is resting. I’ve given him all the help I can, but I couldn’t do much. He won’t last much longer.”

  Max’s face went cold, and her Prime jumped to the killing edge. Ilanion’s wings flared in response. He’d removed his armor and was dressed in a pair of black pants that cuffed tightly around his ankles and was belted around his waist with a gold-embroidered belt. Over it he wore a soft blue shirt that hung open in the front and was laced in the back around his wings. His tanned chest and stomach were sprinkled with gold hair and rippled with muscle. He sat forward.

  “It isn’t just his health. I have sent word to the Korvad that I have him and will auction him to the highest bidder. I also made sure that other interested parties were notified. Maybe it will start a squabble and buy us some time. But the truth is that no one will risk opposing the Korvad. Their offer will come swiftly, and that will be that. After, there will be very little time before I must give him up or they attack. My defenses are strong, but they won’t hold long against the strength of the united Korvad.”

  Max nodded, surprised that he would even suggest resisting. She figured he’d fold as soon as his ass was in the fire. “I should get his heart back first,” she said. “That should buy him some time. Maybe give him some power back to help fight them off.”

  Ilanion shook his head, his mouth pulling flat. “No. He is very weak. He’s quite likely to die if you return his parts piecemeal.” He pounded a fist on the table, making the dishes jump. “In all honesty, there’s an excellent chance he’ll die if you return them all at once, but once they’re fully reunited, he may have the magic to heal himself.”

  Max refused to consider the possibility that Scooter could die. He was just as stupidly stubborn as she was. And he had a lot of hate inside him for the bastards who’d looted his body parts. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “You seem to care about him.”

  The eagle man tapped his fingers on the table. “We created the Torchmarch together. We have known each other a long time.”

  Not that they were friends, Max noted. She wondered just how much she could depend on Ilanion. Still, his anger at Scooter’s condition seemed real enough. There wasn’t much point in faking it. “How much time does he have?”

  He shrugged. “If you get his heart back, that will at least keep them from bleeding him. But even so, he probably has a day or two at best.”

  Max cracked her knuckles and stood. “Then it’s time to get to work. Where are my clothes?”

  Ilanion eyed her from beneath sleepy lids. “Why are you helping him?”

  “I made him a promise.”

  He shook his head. “There’s more to it. You’re too . . . passionate . . . for this to be just obligation.” He leaned forward, his look shrewd. “Why?”

  “Maybe I don’t like bullies and slavers.”

  “Then you’ve come to the wrong place. And while I am sure that that is true, it is not the reason.”

  Max crossed her arms, staring back at him. “What if I told you it’s none of your business?”

  He smiled thinly. “I can wait. Nayan cannot.”

  She scowled and shook her head. “He’s one of mine,” she said reluctantly, knowing how completely stupid that sounded. Still, it was the truth. Scooter belonged to her as much as any of her Blades. She was responsible for him. At least, until he got his strength back, and even then—

  Ilanion burst out laughing at her words and then quieted when she did not share his amusement.

  “You’re serious? But you’re—Nayan is—” He threw up his hands in disbelief. “Are you lovers?” As if that were the only rational explanation.

  Now she smiled. “No, Goldilocks. Not in this lifetime, anyhow.” She sobered. “Time’s wasting. Where are my clothes?”

  “I’ll send for them. But you must eat. You no longer have to worry about fueling the binding spells tying you to the witch, but even so, you were tremendously weakened. You’ll never succeed in this condition.”

  Max stared at him. No longer have to worry about fueling the binding spells tying you to the witch. The words thundered in her mind. She searched for the invisible tie connecting her to Giselle and Horngate. It was gone.

  Emotion broke over her in a torrent. Triumph. Relief. Horror. Desperation.

  Loss.

  A moan wormed its way up from her stomach and escaped before she could choke back the sound. She spun away from Ilanion and sucked in a deep breath.

  “What’s the matter? Surely you can’t have liked being chained to a witch?” Ilanion asked.

  “No, I hated it. I hated her.” And once upon a time, I loved her like a sister. Some of those feelings were still there. Damn Giselle!

  “And yet you seem to be less than happy.”

  “It’s complicated,” Max grated, her throat swelled tight with tears she refused to let fall. “I’ve wanted to be free since the moment I was first bound.”

  “But?” he prodded when she stopped there.

  Max shook her head, hunching her shoulders. “Horngate is my home. If I’m not Prime there, then what the fuck am I?”

  Jagged laughter caught in her chest. For the first time, she really understood Alexander’s situation. Giselle had never accepted him into Horngate, and he no longer belonged to his former witch, Selange. More than once, Max had told him to go out into the world and live his life. Now she had the same option. It sucked.

  She turned to face Ilanion. “I appreciate you healing me and breaking the bindings. It’s just . . . unexpected. I always thought I’d kill Giselle and free myself. Or die trying.”

  For the first time since she was made a Shadowblade, the thought of killing Giselle didn’t invite the crushing pain of her compulsion spells. Now, that she could really get used to. She rolled her shoulders, loosening the tension in them. The corner of her mouth pulled up in a little smirk when she thought of the backlash that had to have hit Giselle. The witch-bitch had finally got a taste of her own pain. A moment later, Max’s humor faded. She hoped it hadn’t killed her.

  Another thought struck her. Everyone would think she was dead. “Oh, crap,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and scraping her fingers across her scalp. “Son of a bitch.”

  “I take it something’s wrong?”

  “They’re going to think I’m dead.” What would Alexander do? Not to mention Tyler, Niko, and Oz. Giselle would soldier on. No question about that.

  “You could leave—reassure them,” Ilanion suggested.

  She was more than a little tempted. She sighed and shook her head. “Traveling the abyss takes too much out of me. I need the strength I have left to help Scooter.”

  “Then come and sit,” he said as someone knocked on the door and it opened. Servants brought in heavily laden trays and set them about. Max watched them in surprise. They looked like they were made of stone, and judging by the heavy thump of their hooves, feet, and claws, they probably were. They smelled of Uncanny magic, though with an underlying tang of something that Max didn’t recognize. It was . . . electric and dark.

  They looked at her and then away. Their eyes glowed like blue coals and were full of intelligence. They set their burdens down with surprising lightness
before withdrawing. They all wore metal bands around wrists and ankles, the same kind she’d seen on many inhabitants of the city.

  “Are they from Chadaré?” Max asked in a carefully neutral voice as she sat down.

  “They were born here, though their people come from elsewhere.”

  “In captivity?”

  “Yes.”

  “You keep slaves.” Suddenly, Max was not at all hungry.

  “Slaves?” He reached for a waxy yellow fruit and bit into it. “They are bound servants. I provide well for them, and they have freedom.”

  “Have freedom,” Max repeated. “Like coming and going when they want? Like saying no when you tell them to do something?”

  Ilanion finished the fruit and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “Of course not.” He cocked his head, seeing her anger for the first time. “It is much like you were until I broke your binding. Clearly, you were not entirely unhappy serving your witch.”

  Since she’d just made a show of her very mixed feelings, Max didn’t bother arguing the point. “It doesn’t make it right.”

  “In Chadaré, might makes right. If you can’t protect yourself or don’t claim the protection of someone powerful, you are free for the taking. In this case, the Enay chose me. Centuries ago, they requested my protection. In exchange, they serve.”

  “Their whole lives.”

  “Some do. Some do not.”

  He didn’t appear inclined to explain any more, and Max didn’t push. Chadaré had its own rules, and she wasn’t going to alienate Ilanion because she didn’t happen to like them. She was going to save Scooter and then get the hell out.

  She silently dug into the feast, bolting down the food without tasting it. A knock on the door signaled the arrival of her clothing, which another of the gargoyle servants brought in. She or he—Max couldn’t tell—laid them on the bed and left.

  Max shoved herself back from the table and started pulling them on, not bothering to go hunting for privacy. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen everything already.

  “I need some weapons,” she said when she was through. “I don’t suppose you have a couple of forty-fives lying around?”