Lost in a cloud of pain, Evelyn felt someone’s hands on her legs. She concentrated on breathing, then opened her eyes. Archer was dangling below her, his head curled up, his eyes wide with fright.
His trous slipped in her grasp as her fingers went numb.
Archer twisted then, trying to reach up to grab her arm. The movement made her gasp as her shoulder screamed in protest, the muscles tearing. She panted, blinking to keep the tears out of her eyes.
Firm hands locked on her waistband, but made no effort to pull. Instead, the rope dangled down, brushing her cheek.
Archer wrapped his hand around it and took hold, just as the fabric of his trous slipped from her fingers. Evelyn closed her eyes and moaned as the weight came off her shoulder.
“Lady?” Archer’s voice was soft as he hung below her.
“Climb.” Blackhart’s voice floated out to them. “We’ve got her.”
Archer gave her a worried look, then headed up the rope.
Something tugged her tunic at the shoulders, and Evelyn felt herself lifted and pulled back into the privy. Sidian had her, and lowered her to Blackhart’s waiting arms.
She bit her lip, tasting blood, as he lowered her to the seat. No noise, she mustn’t make any noise.
“Shoulder out of joint?” Blackhart whispered.
Evelyn nodded, bracing her arm with the other.
“Can you heal it?”
Evelyn shook her head. “Has . . . to be . . . put in place. Pain. I can’t—”
“Ease her forward,” Sidian said.
A moan escaped her as they shifted her. Evelyn let her head fall onto Blackhart’s shoulder, resting it there. The agony was intense, and she shivered, helpless.
Sidian eased in behind her on the seat, and wrapped his arms around her, one over the good shoulder, the other around her waist. He tugged her back so that she was upright, held tight to his chest.
Blackhart took her elbow in one hand, bracing the other on her collarbone. He leaned close to her. “Evelyn,” he said softly.
Evelyn struggled to lift her head, to focus on his face. He stood there patiently, his hazel eyes meeting hers. He had a wry look on his face, and she frowned, giving him a questioning look.
He shrugged. “Seems I’m always hurting you, Lady High Priestess.”
She shook her head. “No, Orrin.” She drew in a shaky breath. “That’s not—”
Blackhart yanked on her arm, giving it a sharp twist. With a click, the joint slid back into place.
Agony flared. Her vision went black, bringing a blessed absence of pain and consciousness. For long, sweet moments, she floated in bliss, painfree.
“Evelyn,” a voice demanded.
The voice would hurt her, pull her back to the pain, and she honestly wasn’t interested.
“Priestess,” the voice demanded again, urgent and loud.
There was a thump of a heartbeat in her ear, and a pounding on a door, and Evelyn was fairly sure she’d slept past the dawn services. Wouldn’t she be in trouble? But just a few more minutes . . .
“Wake up, Evie.” The voice sounded strained now. Pity, really. As much as she loved serving the Lord of Light, there were just some mornings when you wanted to sleep in—
Someone slapped her cheek. “Now, Evelyn.”
Blackhart. She smiled then. Cradled in his arms, no doubt—alone, just the two of them in the . . . privy.
Her eyes flew open.
Sidian was close to her, his dark black face gleaming with sweat. He smiled when he saw that she was awake. “Heal yourself, Priestess.”
“I can’t,” Evelyn said. The joint was back in place, but the arm was stiff and sore. “The odium . . . they’ll find—”
“They already have,” Blackhart growled.
Evelyn blinked, confused, until she realized that the pounding was coming from the door of the privy. Blackhart was braced, holding the handle, watching the bolt strain, his sword out before him. Something was trying to get in.
“Heal yourself, and we’ll get out of here,” Sidian said, tying his bundle of armor to the rope. His arms were still greased, his chest bare. “There’s not much time.”
“You can’t climb a rope hurt,” Blackhart added. His voice softened. “Focus, Evie. There’s just us, in this moment. Take a breath and focus.”
Evelyn looked at him, at the worry in those hazel eyes. She put her hand under her tunic, feeling the heat of the abused muscles. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and prayed. “Hail, gracious Lord of the Sun and Sky, Giver of Light and Granter of Health, I ask . . .”
The tingle flooded her shoulder like warm sun on a cold day, easing the burn of the muscles and repairing the tears. She rarely needed to work a healing on herself, and the way her powers felt as they worked always surprised her.
The pounding on the door doubled, and Blackhart gripped the handle with a grunt. The bolt was bending, the pressure on it growing. Evelyn stood then, climbing onto the seat, her arm restored.
Sidian was in front of the window, lifting his bundle out the window so it could be pulled up. He gave her a glance. “Me first.”
Evelyn nodded.
The big man turned, easing his shoulders and chest through the hole. It was a tight fit. He backed up and tried again, one hand wound around in the rope, the other pressed against the stones of the wall as he blew out a breath, and scraped through. Once his chest was free, he easily pulled himself up.
Evelyn looked back at Blackhart, still holding the door closed.
BLACKHART glared at Evelyn. The door was going to give at any moment. But the stubborn woman ignored him, staring at the door.
“Move,” he growled, as the door moved outward. He sheathed his sword, and pulled on the handle with both hands, forcing the door back into its frame.
“No,” came her response. She stepped down and moved to the side, pressed against the wall. “How will you—”
“Go.” Blackhart braced himself as the door shuddered.
“What’s a bit more magic?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to snarl at her, but the door was pulled again, almost yanking the handle from his hand. The odium wedged their gray fingers in the gap.
Evie’s eyes got that unfocused look as she concentrated, looking through the gap at a spot in the corridor, crying out, summoning the fire.
He felt it first through the door, as the wood grew hot beneath his body. Then heat and the smell of smoldering wood washed over him through the crack. The door slammed closed, and they both froze, looking at one another.
Blackhart nodded toward the window.
Evelyn leaned forward and kissed him, her warm lips pressed to his.
Blackhart jerked his head back in surprise, but she was already scrambling for the seat, climbing up, reaching out for the rope and pulling it close. She stood in the window, gave him a glance, then started climbing, using both hands and feet.
Blackhart waited as her feet disappeared, waited for the assault on the door to begin again. But there was only silence, and the smell of burning flesh.
He leaped up on the seat, and wasted no time climbing the rope.
SIDIAN was leaning out, watching for her. He grinned at her, reaching down to grab her tunic and haul her in the last few feet.
“Another privy,” Evelyn observed as she climbed in.
Archer was pressed to the wall, as if to keep track of it.
Evelyn gave him a guilty look. “Archer, I’m sorry. I—”
“Moved fast enough to save my life,” Archer whispered. “I owe you, Lady High Priestess. My own fault for being stupid.”
“You just figuring that out?” Blackhart snarled as he climbed in the window.
They all shifted around, making room as best they could. Sidian made a face as he put his armor back on, ignoring the grease. Reader was at the door, listening.
Blackhart hauled the rope up behind him. “We need to move.”
“Where are we?” Evelyn asked softly.
&nb
sp; “Priest’s quarters, behind the Lady’s shrine,” Sidian answered. “There’s a bedroom and a sitting room beyond, then two doors. One leads to the shrine; the other, to the servants’ hall.”
“Let me guess,” Evelyn said. “You looted that as well.”
“I wouldn’t use the word ‘looted,’ so much as ‘stole,’ ” Archer whispered. His eyes were still wide, and he was breathing hard, but he got the words out.
“Through the door to the hall, then two doors to the left,” Blackhart said.
The others nodded, then Reader opened the door.
The room was clear. Evelyn had a brief glimpse of a bed and mattress overturned, and chests and wardrobes pulled open, as they moved across the room, intent on their goal.
Reader listened briefly, then opened the door. They spilled through the door, into the shrine. Or what was left of it.
Evelyn drew in a breath at the battered walls and torn tapestries. Gold stars painted on the ceiling still glimmered in the soft light. But the reflecting pool in the center of the room was filled with dark water, scum floating on the surface.
They moved around the pool, through the wreckage of smashed benches and chairs. There was something dark smeared on the walls, marring the pictures of the Lady of Laughter.
“Dorne is going to have your balls,” Blackhart said.
“Ain’t lookin’ forward to cleaning this up,” Archer mumbled.
Reader was at the door, and they formed up around him, at the ready. He paused, then produced the key in his hand, and knelt to unlock it. “Can’t hear a thing,” he whispered. “But that don’t mean—”
The door exploded into pieces, and the odium were on them.
Reader was thrown back onto the floor. Timothy and Thomas surged forward with their spears. Sidian stepped around Evelyn, using his mace to crack odium heads. Evelyn watched, trying to calm her breathing, ready to cast if necessary.
Then Thomas jerked back with a cry. One of the odium had plunged a dagger into his chest.
“Weapons!” Sidian cried out a warning as he stepped over the fallen man. Thomas dragged himself backward on the floor, the weapon still lodged in his chest. Mage reached down and dragged him clear, toward Evelyn.
She ignored the sounds of the fighting as she dropped to her knees. The dagger was high in the chest. There was little bleeding, but the dagger quivered with the beating of his heart. Thomas’s eyes were wide, and his breathing shallow.
Archer was at the doorway. He’d picked up Thomas’s spear and was using it to hold the monsters at bay as Sidian wielded his mace and shield.
“Hold them,” Blackhart snarled.
Timothy grunted. Sidian brought his shield to bear, and with Archer’s help they started to press the odium back. Mage had the edge of the door, ready to close it.
Evelyn was so intent on the man before her, she almost missed the faint splash behind her.
Odium were coming out of the pool.
Blackhart heard it, too, and whirled about to face the new threat. He stepped in front of her, pulling his blade. “Behind us,” he cried.
Evelyn took a breath, and half closed her eyes so that she could focus on summoning the power. She heard Blackhart’s blade strike, heard the struggle at the door, heard Thomas panting, but ignored all of it in order to cast the fire at the enemy.
She opened her eyes, ready to cast—
They were children.
Children of all ages were coming up out of the water, dripping wet, horribly empty eyes in gray faces. They advanced on Blackhart, their hands out, reaching for him.
Blackhart raised his sword, but the blade hesitated, staying high over his head.
Evelyn’s throat closed. Horrified, she scrabbled to her feet, away from the nightmare that advanced toward her. Thomas moaned, reaching out to grab her ankle, as if afraid she’d leave him.
Blackhart stepped away from the undead children, trying to brush them aside. But they clung with claws and teeth, hanging from his arms, fastening themselves to his legs. . . .
“They ain’t kids!” Mage was beside her, yelling at both of them.
Evelyn could hear the others struggling behind her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
“Too many,” Mage said, then glanced at Evelyn. His eyes were sympathetic, but then grew grim as he turned his attention back to the fight. He extended his hand and shouted three words, calling the fire.
His spell wasn’t big, but it was hot and bright as it washed over the small heads as they emerged from the water. But the odium were wet, soaked through, and though their flesh crisped, it offered enough protection for them to swarm over Blackhart, their clawlike hands grabbing him. Blackhart cursed as they overwhelmed him, pulling him to the floor.
Evelyn heard his sword hit the stone floor, and she screamed his name. The magic came then, and she cast her fire over the monsters. Her fear fed the flames, and she struggled to keep them away from Blackhart. But there were so many, she lost sight of him in the mass.
Mage pulled a dagger, but it was too little, too late. The odium swarmed over them, clawing at tunic and trous, reaching for her outstretched hands. She stepped back, hearing the struggles of the others at the door, and gathered her will to burn these monsters to oblivion.
From behind, a body fell next to her. It was Timothy, his throat slashed open, his eyes wide.
Evelyn swept the flames closer, to try to stop the undead children. But they pressed forward, their wet clothes smoldering, their hair burning on their heads. One reached down and pulled the dagger from Thomas’s chest.
Thomas screamed.
Something struck the back of her head. Evelyn staggered, but the pain and blackness swallowed her consciousness whole.
TWENTY-EIGHT
HE was adrift in pain, darkness, and despair.
It was no less than he deserved. The agony grew, pain in his shoulders and arms. He didn’t bother to cry out or call for aid. None would come.
It was the sounds that forced him back, movement around him. His eyes barely opened, crusted and thick with his own blood.
Orrin was in the throne room. In the Keep. They were in the throne room.
That thought, the thought of his men—that thought more than any other—brought him back. His arms were chained above his head, and he was hanging limp from the irons. He didn’t move, just let himself hang from them as he struggled back to full consciousness.
Before him, two odium held Reader between them, stripping him to the waist and throwing his armor on the ground. Reader’s head hung down, his eyes closed, but he still breathed.
There was a pile of weapons and armor already there. Orrin recognized his weapons, as well as those of the others. With grief, he saw that Thomas lay near his feet, faceup in a pool of glistening blood. Timothy’s lifeless body was draped over Thomas’s chest.
The bite of the manacles into his wrists was no more than he deserved for having gotten such men killed.
Orrin watched as the odium dropped Reader’s armor and pack onto the pile. Reader’s belt was tossed as well. One end flopped on the floor with a rattle from the ring of keys.
The creatures dragged Reader off. They heaved him onto a table set in the center of the room, and started strapping him down.
Orrin let his head loll to the side. Sidian was there, standing silent, in chains. He’d been stripped to the waist as well. He watched the odium with a grim look on his face.
A moan came from Orrin’s other side. Archer, from the sound of it.
There was something at the base of the opposite wall, but he couldn’t focus well enough to tell who it was. But then he heard a soft moan, and he knew.
He brought his feet under him at that point, and stood, taking the pressure off his arms. They tingled with new pain, but he ignored that. “Evie?”
A head lifted, and he could just make out her blue eyes. Mage was next to her, sprawled on the floor. Orrin’s gut twisted when he realized that their chains were those damned sp
ell chains, attached to each wrist, and running through the chains on the walls.
“Orrin.” Evelyn’s voice was a groan. “Where—” She lifted her head and looked around. “Oh no, no.”
“Evie, are you hurt?”
“Children.” Evelyn’s voice cracked. “They used children.”
There was nothing to say to that.
Sidian pulled on his chains, testing their strength. Orrin did the same, but there was no give. “How long have you been—”
“In time to watch them bring Reader in and start stripping him,” Sidian said softly. “Your head is still bleeding.”
“Mage.” Evelyn had managed to reach the young man, pulling his head into her lap. She was checking his arms and legs when he stirred, moaning.
Sidian twisted around, looking up at the wall where the chains were threaded through a ring. “Odium can’t be that good at stonework.”
“They aren’t.” A soft voice echoed through the room. “I used magic.”
The hairs on the back of Orrin’s neck lifted. “It can’t be. You’re—”
“Dead?” Elanore walked through the huge double doors with an escort of odium. She paused in the light, looking as lovely as ever. Her red lips curved in a smile as she looked at Orrin fondly. “Not so, my Lord Blackhart.”
She was dressed all in black, her bodice tight around her breasts, her skirts long and sweeping the floor. Orrin blinked, taking in the stunning perfection of her pale face.
She advanced, the odium walking behind her in a crowd. Men, women, and children, all vacant-eyed and gray, following their mistress. A shiver went down Orrin’s spine. A wave of cold, foul air swept over him as she drew near. He had to blink, as his eyes watered from the stench.
Elanore stood before him, still amused. “Orrin.”
“You’re dead. They brought me your ring,” Orrin said. He focused on her face, flawless and serene.
“Do you still have it?” Elanore’s voice sounded odd, as if distant somehow. “I’d like it back.”
Orrin stared at her. “The Chosen killed you.”
Elanore’s perfect face screwed into an ugly grimace. “That bitch with the red gloves. I’ll suck her soul from her body after I’ve claimed what is mine.”
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