Another spike of power, but Evelyn’s flames were weakening. Orrin prepared to lunge forward. It was now or—
Elanore gestured, and another spike appeared, flying toward his heart.
Evelyn stepped in front of him. With a soft grunt, she took the blow. The spike slammed into her chest, and she collapsed to the floor.
Elanore shrieked her victory.
Orrin lunged forward, and swung his blade for her neck.
With a gesture, she flung him against the wall, his blade clattering to the floor. “It’s not so easy, Orrin.” She advanced on him, her face still a hideous nightmare.
He scrambled for his blade and got to his feet, moving toward the throne, luring her away from Evelyn’s body. Part of him howled with fear for Evelyn, but the other part lusted for nothing less than Elanore’s death.
“I’ll drain your friends as you watch, and have you as my prisoner,” Elanore gloated as she followed him. “Then I’ll take my odium, and we’ll—
Orrin stood, sword in front of him, and looked over her shoulder. “I don’t think so, bitch.”
“Neither do I,” said Mage from behind Elanore.
Elanore jerked around, seeing the apprentice for the first time.
Mage reached out, chanting his spell, the sickly glow still around his hands. But Elanore grabbed for his wrists, and laughed.
Mage jerked back, his eyes wide. “No—”
“It can work both ways, apprentice,” Elanore rasped as she started her own chant, the same one she’d used on Reader. Mage struggled to break free, but she hung on tight.
Orrin reached out and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back. It twisted around in his hands, so that those eyes stared at him. The gash in her neck gaped wide.
Her chant was cut off in midword, a gurgle emerged from her throat.
Orrin stared down into her eyes.
Elanore released Mage, and reached for Orrin’s eyes with her claws.
Mage slammed his glowing hands down on her chest.
Elanore’s mouth moved, and she let out a high-pitched squeal. She writhed in their grasp, her flesh tearing from the bone. Mage’s face twisted in a grimace, but he forced his hands deeper into her chest.
Elanore screamed, and dissolved into dust, her voice still echoing through the room.
Orrin and Mage stood there, silent. Then Mage fell to his knees, and started retching. Sidian and Archer stood by the door, breathing hard. The odium were collapsing to the floor, nothing more than rotting corpses.
“Evelyn.” Orrin ran to her side, placing his sword on the floor as he pulled her into his arms.
Her eyes were closed, her thick lashes pale on her cheek. Her breaths were shallow and faint. There was a burn mark through her tunic, and the skin beneath was red and blistered.
“Evie,” Orrin whispered, but there was no answer. She was broken—his bright, perfect light—broken and dying in his arms.
He heard the clink of chains, and lifted his head. Mage was helping Reader off the table. Archer and Sidian were over by the brothers, checking Thomas.
“Evie,” Orrin whispered again, burying his face in her hair.
“I’ve no healing,” Mage said as he knelt beside them.
“She’s not long for it, that I know,” Orrin choked. “Without help—”
“I wish I could portal”—Mage’s voice broke—“but I—”
Orrin jerked his head up. “There’s one chance.”
He freed one hand, and reached inside Evelyn’s tunic. He pulled out the little drawstring bag, then the tiny cylinder. He smashed it on the floor.
The summon stick lay in the shards.
He picked it up, and broke it.
A portal formed in the room. White and glowing, with curtains that seemed to move in the breeze.
The others froze, and waited. Orrin cursed when no one came through, then he realized the problem.
He reached inside his tunic, caught the leather thong around his neck with a finger, and pulled the white star sapphire ring free. The silver ring hung there, swaying, shining in the light.
He snapped the cord from around his neck and threw the ring through the portal.
It wasn’t a breath before a man stepped through, one Orrin had seen before. The half-elf, the one with the long black hair. He looked at the group with suspicion, but his eyes went wide at the sight of Evelyn.
“You are of the Church?” Orrin stood, taking up his precious burden.
“I am Dominic. What have you done to her?”
Orrin scowled. “She’s dying. Help her.”
Dominic placed his hand on Evelyn’s chest, and sucked in a breath. “This is more than I can heal.”
“Take her,” Orrin urged. He transferred Evelyn into Dominic’s arms. “Take her, and go.”
Dominic raised one eyebrow in haughty disdain, taking in Orrin’s state. “We will take care of our own.”
Orrin looked down at Evelyn, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her pale face. “Hurry.” He looked at Thomas. “There are others,”
Dominic turned toward the portal.
“Wait.” Orrin reached out. “Tell her”—he paused, taking a breath—“tell her—”
“I will tell her what she needs to know,” Dominic said. He turned, and disappeared through the portal.
The portal vanished.
There was a moment of silence. “Bastard,” Archer growled.
Sidian frowned. “Who was that?”
“A priest of Edenrich.” Orrin ran his fingers through his hair. “That portal opened into the church of Edenrich.”
“Oh, that would have been a fine thing,” Archer said as he stood. “Us showing up there.”
“Thomas?” Orrin asked.
“Dead.” Archer scowled. “Dead before that bastard arrived, I think. Still, he could have offered healing.”
“Not the way their minds work.” Orrin wiped the sweat off his face. “Reader?”
“I’m alive,” Reader groaned. He slid off the table, with Archer’s aid. “But I almost wish I wasn’t.” He gave Orrin a sharp look. “You think that’s it? That it’s done?”
“I think so,” Orrin said. “But it will take time to make sure the odium are gone.”
“And them?” Archer asked, jerking his head toward where the portal had stood. “Will they bring her back?”
“Doubt it,” Orrin growled.
Sidian rose from his knees then, brushing the dust off his hands. “Let’s be about it, then. We’ve work to do. Check the Keep and the lands, and then head for Edenrich. You’ve a pardon to claim, and a boon.”
“Aye,” Orrin said. For the longest moment, he looked at the place where the portal had been. Then he shook his head at his own stupidity. “You’re right. There’s work to be done.”
THIRTY-ONE
“SO,” the Archbishop said as he bit into a pear, “it has been thirty days or thereabouts, has it not?”
“Thirty days, Holy One,” Dominic said, watching the man’s jowls jiggle as he chewed. He had to cast his eyes down from the sight. “Thirty days since she was returned to us.”
“And she is healed?” the Archbishop asked as he lifted his wineglass, still chewing his fruit.
“Physically, yes, Holy One,” Dominic said as he watched the man wade back into his breakfast. “The healers feel that they have done all they can.” Dominic paused. “As to her gifts, they are uncertain as to when those will return.”
“And she obeys my strictures? She is under a discipline of silence and isolation.”
Yes, you fat bastard, Dominic thought. But he managed to restrain his tongue, giving a nod instead. “She has not spoken, Your Grace, since your admonition.”
The Archbishop failed to notice Dominic’s disdain as he shoveled his eggs into his face. “Good,” he mumbled through his food. “That is well.”
“The healers feel she would benefit from being able to leave her chamber,” Dominic said quietly. “Perhaps some light duties—”
“No,” the Archbishop said slowly. “The Queen will insist on seeing her if she hears that Evelyn is well enough to leave her room.”
Dominic managed to stay silent over that comment.
“Evelyn is under discipline for her disobedience.” The Archbishop burped, raising his napkin to his lips. “I have explained that to Queen Gloriana and her advisers.”
“We have not had a chance to hear her side of the story,” Dominic pointed out. “Perhaps she had good reason to—”
“She was with that villain Blackhart. What more do we need to know?” The Archbishop scowled. “She has been too ill to press for details. I must know the extent of her sin before I can determine whether the restrictions should be lifted.” He leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his weight. Dominic had a brief hope it would break beneath him, but it held. “In a day or two, I will meet with her privately. To hear her confession and offer spiritual guidance.”
The Archbishop’s belly gave a loud rumble, and he grimaced as he reached for his spiced wine. “In a few days, Dominic.”
Dominic deliberately waited for a moment until the Archbishop had a mouthful of wine. “Blackhart is here in Edenrich.”
“What?” The Archbishop sputtered, spraying his white vestments with wine. “Here?”
Dominic nodded. “He has asked for an audience with the Queen, and his request has been granted. He will appear before the Queen tomorrow afternoon.”
“Damnation.” The Archbishop shifted in his chair, and Dominic heard him release gas. “The nerve of that bastard.”
“He appeared at the doors of the church as well,” Dominic continued, taking care to breathe through his mouth. “Early this morning. He asked to see Evelyn.”
“Under no circumstances!” the Archbishop bellowed.
“I had him sent away, Your Grace.” Dominic cut him off smoothly. “But he may push the point before the Queen.”
“Why has he appeared?” the Archbishop demanded, mopping at his robes.
“I assume that he is here to claim his pardon, and his boon,” Dominic said. “Certainly, he owes thanks to the Lady High Priestess for whatever aid she rendered.”
The Archbishop heaved his chair back and pulled himself to his feet, muttering something under his breath. Dominic’s nose twitched as the man moved off, but he bowed as required.
The Archbishop stopped, and turned his head. “We shall keep Evelyn here within the safety of these walls, for the sake of her immortal soul. This Blackhart will ask for his pardon and boon, and disappear, and good riddance.”
Dominic raised his head. “And if his boon is to ask for the Lady High Priestess?”
The Archbishop snarled, but it turned to a grimace as his bowels rumbled. He clutched his belly as the room echoed with his flatulence, and toddled off toward his privy.
Dominic left the room as quickly as dignity would allow.
That fat bastard. Dominic clenched his teeth as he strode through the corridors of the church. It had been thirty days since Evelyn had been returned to them, and not once had she been allowed to speak in her own defense or explain what had happened.
He’d been afraid that she’d die in his arms once he’d stepped through the portal. But though the other healers were not of Evie’s strength, they’d been able to save her, and speed her healing. Physically, she was well. Still tired and prone to sleeping, but what else could she do? Isolated in her chamber, and unable to speak.
The Archbishop had even fought her father, who’d demanded to see his daughter. It wasn’t until Marlon threatened to make the Archbishop’s privates rot off that he’d been permitted to see her. Marlon had been content with a short visit, and hadn’t yet pushed for another, but it was only a matter of time.
What worried Dominic more was the presence of Blackhart in the city.
Dominic reached the wide staircase that led to the private chambers of the High Priests. He started up, nodding to those he passed, careful not to let his concern show on his face. He’d seen the look in Blackhart’s eyes when he’d surrendered Evelyn. Now, more than ever, Dominic had to press his cause. Or risk losing her forever.
EVELYN sat in her chamber and listened to the echoes of the morning prayers die away.
Her chair was by the wall, near the bed, placed so that she could see outside. But today the window shutters were closed against the cold. Light filtered through the cracks, warming the stone floor by her feet.
She’d watched the light travel over the floor for many days now, ever since she’d felt well enough to leave her bed. Each day the sun rose and set, and traced a slightly different path on the floor by her feet.
She’d wondered if there was snow yet, but hadn’t gathered the energy to walk across the room and open the shutters to look out. The truth was that she didn’t really care overmuch. It was cold in the room, but her heavy robes kept her warm, and the servants kept the fire built high.
White robes with gold trim. The heavy robes of a high priestess of the Gods of Palins. New robes, since her old ones were lost. Evelyn contemplated the cloth as she sat. There were even gold threads on her slippers. She was the picture of perfection, her white hair just long enough to wrap up in a bun, a side effect of the healing she’d received. There weren’t even any scars from the wounds she’d taken.
She wasn’t sure she deserved these robes.
Evelyn had tried to pray along with the Dawn Service, to greet the Lord of Light as he rose on his day’s journey. But her lips would not form the words.
The silence seemed more appropriate, somehow. Much more fitting. It encompassed her sorrow. Magnified it.
Evelyn knew in her heart that she was committing a sin, wallowing in her pain like this. The fact that the Archbishop’s dictates permitted her to do so made it no less an offense. But she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Tears welled, and she was embarrassed by her weakness. Everyone had been so kind, healing her wounds, seeing to her needs. Her powers of magic had been drained so greatly that it was unlikely she would be wielding them anytime soon.
She had a dim memory of Gloriana at her bedside, with Vembar and Arent, urging her to rest and heal.
Her father had come to see her in the early days, when she’d been helpless as a kitten. He’d taken her hand, and bent down and whispered in her ear. “Quite an adventure you’ve had, Daughter. You get tired of these idiots, and their stupid rules and restrictions, you let me know. There is always a place in the Mages Guild for you.”
She’d teared up at his words and he’d fussed and left, leaving her to heal and to decide.
She wasn’t sure where she belonged, anymore.
Dominic had been kinder still, waiting until she had regained some strength before telling her that Orrin had summoned the portal in order to have her healed, and to remove her from his presence.
Dominic had held out her ring, and in gentle tones explained that Orrin had returned it, indicating that her presence in his life was unwanted and unwelcome now that the task was complete. She hadn’t wanted to believe. But there was the ring in Dominic’s hand, the white surface glittering with its star.
She pulled her hands from her sleeves, and looked down at the ring. Dominic had softened the blow as best he could, but he’d passed on the message. Orrin Blackhart was done with the Lady High Priestess Evelyn.
Evelyn slipped her hand back into the warm sleeve, and closed her eyes. Perhaps it was for the best. She’d thought she’d understood that Orrin had done terrible things in the name of protecting his people, but the sight of those odium . . . so many . . .
She stopped, as tears spilled onto the white robes and soaked into the cloth.
Still, she loved him. Even knowing all that he had done, the very worst of it, still she cared for him.
The time would come that she’d be forgiven her trespasses, and returned to the cadences of life within the Church. She’d lose herself in daily prayers and quiet meditation—and healing, if the Gods allowed.
&nbs
p; But she’d grieve this loss forever.
A soft knock, and her door opened. Evelyn smiled through her tears as Dominic came into the room, looking concerned.
CENWULF stretched out his feet before the fire, and sighed. There’d be snow this night, his bones told him so.
His watch was over, so he was free to sit in the barracks kitchen and warm himself. The others were either on watch or gathered in the main room, talking and throwing dice. Most were sleeping this cold night.
Cenwulf preferred the kitchen hearth, with its warm glow and quiet walls. He’d seek his bed in a moment, once he’d finished his kav. And dealt with the shadow that moved by the pantry door.
“You might as well join me,” Cenwulf growled. “You’re keeping me from my bed.”
The shadow stilled, then darkness stepped forward, and the light revealed a handsome face and hazel eyes. The man was all in black, except for an old red cloak that fell from his shoulders.
“Last I saw of you, you were naked and shivering,” Cenwulf grunted, “and in fear of the mob. No need for you to come back here, unless you’re returning that cloak.”
Blackhart came to stand by the table. “I’ve come for word of Evelyn. Have you seen her?”
Cenwulf looked into his cup. “Fine job you did, taking care of her.”
Blackhart stilled, and Cenwulf saw anger flash through his eyes, then guilt. “I can get no answers from the Court or the Church. So I came here, thinking you’d know.”
There was a pleading tone in the words that surprised Cenwulf. Never thought this man was one to beg. “I’ve seen her. What’s left of her.”
“What’s left?” Blackhart planted his gloved hands on the table and loomed over Cenwulf. “What’s that mean?”
Cenwulf ignored the threat. “She’s well enough. They healed her body. But what’s left is in pain. You can see it in her eyes.”
“Does she venture out?” Blackhart leaned forward.
Cenwulf shook his head. “No, old Gross Belly has her isolated, and under discipline. She is silent and alone in her chambers. For the sake of her soul, you understand. Evelyn hasn’t even been to Court, although the Queen asks often enough.” He glared at the younger man. “The fight’s gone out of her.”
White Star Page 20