The Black King (Book 7)

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  “I’m sure there are.” The Black Queen was silent. Then Matt heard footsteps, and his eyes caught movement before he actually realized what that movement was. The Black Queen had walked to the windows. He could barely see her, silhouetted between the column and the window itself. She was looking out the windows as if she saw something there.

  “If I send to Nye,” she said, “I’d have to wait a year to get those soldiers ready. Minimum.”

  “Are we in a great hurry?” DiPalmet asked. “We’ve waited fifteen years.”

  “I would like to act as soon as possible. Fifteen years was too long, don’t you agree?”

  There was a grating sound from the other side of the room. Even though Matt knew what it was, he felt his body stiffen.

  “What was that?” The Black Queen asked.

  “It was me.” Wisdom’s Charmer voice was deep and musical. It seemed warm, even though Matt knew it wasn’t supposed to sound that way.

  “By the Powers,” the Black Queen said. “What hole did you crawl out of?”

  “Probably one that wasn’t buried as deep as the one you crawled out of, Rugad.”

  “Rugad?” DiPalmet said. “What’s this? Have you gone crazy, Wisdom?”

  “Get help, DiPalmet,” the Black Queen said.

  “I’m not crazy, DiPalmet,” Wisdom said, “and I’m not dead. And you were right. There are better Charmers than you on Nye. There are better Charmers than you in the room.”

  “DiPalmet, I gave you an order,” the Black Queen said.

  “I can’t leave you with him,” DiPalmet said.

  “You can’t help me with him either. Now get me some guards.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Matt saw a blur as DiPalmet left the room. This was his chance. He slid through his own door and it didn’t screech, even though he expected it to.

  “I thought you lost your tongue,” the Black Queen said. She had turned so that her left side was facing Matt. She was looking toward the other side of the room.

  “Don’t play games with me, Rugad. I know who you are and I know how you got there.”

  “Then you’ll remember what I said.” The Black Queen took a step away from Matt.

  He was breathing shallowly. He held the doll in a death grip.

  “You said I’d be punished.” Wisdom’s tone was mocking. “I don’t think you’re in a position to punish anyone.”

  “I have my power back,” the Black Queen said.

  “All but your Vision.”

  Matt moved toward the column. His shoes didn’t make any sound on the stone floor.

  “What do you want from me?” the Black Queen asked.

  He could see Wisdom now. Wisdom did look crazy. Cobwebs hung off him, and his face was streaked with dirt. His tattoos were visible in the bright light, and his braids surrounded him like a blanket.

  “I want you to get a taste of how I’ve lived the last fifteen years,” Wisdom said.

  Matt eased the head off the doll.

  “If you can speak, you didn’t live the way I wanted you to.”

  Matt clasped the neck in his right hand.

  “My tongue came back recently. It was a gift from a friend.”

  Matt ran forward and shoved the doll against the Black Queen’s hip. She turned and stared at him for a moment, then looked down.

  Wisdom stayed rooted in place. There were footsteps on the stairs.

  For a moment, the Black Queen seemed to separate into two beings. Her body started to crumble. Matt saw a shape made of smoke rise from her eyes. The shape looked like a young man, with a handsome Fey face and eyes the color of night. The shape stretched, and drifted toward the jar.

  The footsteps sounded closer.

  Then the shape pulled up, as if something grabbed it. It rose, and the face peered into Matt’s. Matt took a startled step backwards, and the shape absorbed into the Black Queen’s body.

  The Black Queen’s hand caught Matt’s.

  “I thought you were too old to play with toys.” With her other hand, the Black Queen yanked the doll from Matt. She flung it toward the window. It hit the ancient glass and shattered. “That’s an old magick, Matthias’s son, and it only works against loose souls.”

  The Black Queen held Matt’s wrist and pulled him closer.

  “I am not a loose soul. I own part of this body. It’s mine. I was raised here, and I cannot be pried loose by Islander tricks.”

  Her eyes were darker when the shade was inside her. Her voice was deeper too.

  “I know what you are,” Matt said.

  “That really doesn’t matter,” the Black Queen said, “because you’re not going to live long enough to do any more damage.”

  The Black Queen’s face was only inches from his own. With a twist of his finger, Matt could hurt her. He could even kill her, but what would that do to Arianna? He didn’t know, and he didn’t dare find out.

  Wisdom grabbed the Black Queen’s shoulders, trying to pull her away.

  The door burst open and guards rushed in. All of them were Fey. DiPalmet was yelling, but Wisdom turned toward them.

  “Stop!” he yelled in Fey and to Matt’s surprise, they did.

  “Keep going!” DiPalmet said. “Get him!”

  “They won’t.” The Black Queen’s voice was dry. “He was always the best Charmer I knew.”

  “You will not harm Matt or myself, ever.” Wisdom said to the guards. Then in a normal tone, he said, “Come on, Matt.”

  Matt shook himself free of the Black Queen. It was unexpectedly easy. Wisdom stepped away, and grabbed his arm as the Queen reached inside her boot.

  “You’re supposed to take them prisoner!” DiPalmet yelled.

  Wisdom pulled Matt forward. The guards parted. Wisdom’s grip was hard. Matt turned—he was going to say that the passage would be quicker—when Wisdom made a gurgling sound. He arched his back and his eyes widened with surprise.

  Blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell to his knees. The Black Queen bent with him, her knife still in his back.

  Now the guards started to move forward as if the spell broke with Wisdom’s death. And Wisdom was dead. His eyes were glazed and he was losing too much blood.

  The guards rushed toward him. Matt looked at the Black Queen who smiled at him. She let go of the knife and Wisdom fell forward. Matt was all alone here, and he had to get out.

  The first of the guards were just reaching for him when he ran his hands along his length and made it seem as if he had burst into flame. They screamed and stepped backwards. He flung a fireball at them, not caring who it hit.

  “You!” DiPalmet yelled. “You stop!”

  But his Charm didn’t seem to work on Matt. Or maybe the wall of flame protected him. He ran for the passageway, but someone was already guarding it. He used the levitation spell, lifting and flinging the guard aside. Then he dove through the door, not bothering to pull it closed.

  He flung frantic fireballs behind him. He was probably setting the entire palace on fire, but he didn’t care. He ran down the stairs. The fire around him lit the cobwebs and flame skittered across them, lighting the staircase all the way down.

  He wondered if he would run out of air, then realized that he didn’t have to. He made a clear bubble of air around his face so that he could breathe.

  Matt wasn’t sure exactly how to get out of here, but he would find the way. Once he was at the dungeons, he would be fine.

  He could hear screaming behind him, and then shouting. Then he heard a door creak open just above him. He flung another fireball up the stairs and continued running, sometimes tripping over his own feet, sometimes missing a step, but always managing to catch himself.

  He had no idea where he was. He wished he hadn’t listened to Wisdom’s plan, but done it on his own. Not that it would have made the spell work. The dolls didn’t work at all, and Coulter had to know that. They all had to know that.

  But if Matt had come alone, Wisdom would still be alive.

>   Matt reached the bottom step and turned toward the corridor, the clean corridor. A door was open on the side, the side he and Wisdom hadn’t gone down, and the entire corridor was lit, not with flames from the cobwebs, but from torches and Fey lamps.

  Foot Soldiers, Beast Riders, a dozen guards cut off all his escape routes. He knew a hundred spells, but none that would get him out efficiently, none that would keep him from being hurt.

  He intensified the flames around him, and then saw what was through that open door.

  The Hall with all the swords.

  “Varin swords, varin swords,” he muttered. “I need a varin sword.” And then he recited a summoning spell.

  Some of the Foot Soldiers were coming toward him, not caring that he was surrounded by flames. They had a crazy look in their eyes. He’d heard from his father that Foot Soldiers didn’t care about themselves. All they cared about was the kill.

  Matt backed against the wall. Wasn’t his summons working? He didn’t know what else to do.

  One of the Foot Soldiers slashed at him with an open hand. The nails at the end of his fingers were long and so sharp that they cut the skin on Matt’s arm, flaying it right off. He screamed.

  Matt had to let Coulter know, even if he didn’t make it out.

  He opened his Link and let the information fly.

  THIRTY-THREE

  EACH REVELATION made Gift look older and stronger and fiercer. Once Coulter would have put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder to comfort him, or maybe to apologize for yet again placing him in a position that neither of them wanted.

  But something about this new Gift prevented that. It was as if the soft and gentle edges of the Gift he had known had been worn away, and the Gift he saw now was a honed version, rather like steel after it had been forged.

  Gift wasn’t just the center. He was their only hope.

  Arianna had her hand on Coulter’s arm. The cousin—Lyndred?—kept shooting frightened glances at Con, although why anyone would be frightened of Con was beyond Coulter. Dash looked alternately fascinated and confused. And Bridge reminded Coulter of Adrian—conscious of the fact that he lacked the power of the others, but content that his knowledge could be of use.

  “I don’t believe anyone is infallible,” Coulter said. “The idea that Assassins never fail had to be something that someone told you to scare you.”

  “Perhaps,” Bridge said. “But—”

  His voice vanished and in its place was a long drawn-out scream of terror. Coulter put his hands over his ears. The pain was excruciating. He fell to his knees, tears running down his cheeks.

  The hands over his ears weren’t helping. The scream continued, louder and louder, deafening everything. Gift was crouched beside him. Arianna slowly got down, but Coulter didn’t want to see any of them. He couldn’t think. All he could do was try to make this stop.

  And then he realized that there were words buried in the sound. Words he understood in a voice he recognized.

  It didn’t work, Coulter. It didn’t work. He’s not a loose soul, He’s grown in there. You have to do something else. There’s stuff in the Secrets that might work, but you have to read the Words, understand it.

  Coulter could see Arianna’s lips move. She was saying his name. Her hands were on his wrists. Gift was talking to someone—Bridge?—asking for help. And the cousin was running toward the stairs, as if she were getting someone.

  They’re surrounding me and they’re trying to kill me and I’m barely holding them off and I don’t know how to get out of here and they’re cutting off my skin and I’ve got a fireshield, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m trying to do a summons, but it’s not working.

  It was Matt, contacting him through the Link. Somehow knowing that made Coulter calmer.

  Maybe I’m running out of magick. Maybe I—

  You’re not running out of magick. Coulter sent through the Link, using all the power he had. You’re panicking. You have to think. Make a physical barrier so that they can’t touch you. Then hurt them if you have to, but get out of there. Where are you?

  The palace, I’m at the palace. I don’t know where. In one of the tunnels, but oh, god, oh, god, here they come. Oh—

  Keep the Link open, Matt. Let me know exactly where you are.

  But there was no response. Gift was still talking to him and Arianna held him in a death grip. Coulter closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw himself and the open Link to Matt, the one that he had decided to risk when they sent the boy to Rugad.

  Coulter walked to the edge of the Link and saw nothing. He heard vague shouting and a scream from far away. He wasn’t sure if he should travel the Link and enter Matt’s mind to help him, or if he should let the boy save himself.

  Matt had the power. He just had to use it.

  You can do this, Coulter sent.

  There were hands on his face, cool hands, and a soft, unfamiliar female voice that dragged him away from the Link.

  No, he said, but he didn’t know if he thought it or said it aloud.

  His eyes opened and he found himself looking at the most beautiful Fey woman he had ever seen. She had dark eyes that were exotic even by Fey standards, swept upwards at an angle that perfectly matched her eyebrows and sharp cheekbones.

  “There.” She took her hands away from his temples and looked over her shoulder at Gift. She was speaking Fey. “I brought him back for you.”

  “Who in God’s name are you?” Coulter snapped in the same language. “Don’t you know what you just did? You’ve left Matt alone there. He may not survive without me.”

  He cursed, and closed his eyes, but he couldn’t reach the Link.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “Gift said you needed help so I—”

  “I can’t reconnect.” Coulter opened his eyes. “Help me reconnect.”

  “I didn’t break your Link,” the woman said. “I simply made your presence stronger here than there. I don’t have a lot of power. It won’t last for more than a few minutes.”

  “That’s a few minutes too many.”

  “What is it?” Arianna asked.

  “Matt’s in trouble, and he was asking for my help.”

  “Where is he?” Dash asked.

  “The palace somewhere.”

  “Then go to him,” the woman said.

  Coulter got to his feet. He was slightly dizzy and his ears were ringing. “It sounded like he was facing an army. I’m going to need some help.”

  “We’ll go,” Gift said.

  “You can’t!” Lyndred said.

  He turned on her. “Try and stop me.”

  “She’s right—” Arianna started.

  “We don’t have time for debate.” Gift pointed at Con and Dash. “You and you come with me. Skya, get Ace to bring some Gull Riders, and Bridge, have the Foot Soldiers catch up when they can.”

  “If you go to the palace with a force like that, you’ll be risking the Blood,” Arianna said.

  “And maybe Rugad’s in enough turmoil that this is the moment we’ve been waiting for.” Gift put a hand behind Coulter’s back. “Can you run, my friend?”

  “Like the wind,” Coulter said, hurrying forward to prove it. “Like the almighty wind.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  COULTER’S VOICE inside his mind calmed him. Matt remembered the exact words for the summoning spell. Before he recited it, though, he intensified the fire around him. A Foot Soldier who had been shoving his hand into the flames, screamed and backed away, his skin on fire.

  Matt winced. He didn’t want to hurt them, but they were crowding him now, their eyes reflecting the flames. The panic he had been feeling moments before rose again and before it completely overtook him, he recited the summoning spell. He had said it wrong before.

  He begged the Powers for a varin sword. Anything to get him out of here. He tossed a fireball into the swarm of Foot Soldiers and it exploded when it hit the floor, making more of them scream, but not stopping the ones who were getting close
to him.

  They weren’t reaching inside the flames any more, but he knew that they were going to. They seemed to be waiting for him to make a mistake, to do something that would give them an opening.

  There were footsteps on the stairs above him. He was boxed in. He was about to scream for Coulter again when a sword floated in from the Great Hall.

  The sword was ancient and nicked, not at all like the swords he had seen in the Roca’s Cave or in the Vault. It floated toward him and instead of going around some of the Fey, it went through them, cutting their skin. They screamed and backed off. One of them reached for the sword and lost a finger. He looked at Matt in surprise.

  Matt was just as surprised. He’d heard about this, but had never seen it. The sword reached him, then reversed itself so that he could grab it by the rotting leather hilt. He had to douse his own flames to do it, and the Foot Soldiers rushed forward.

  He swung the sword and screams echoed around him. This sword didn’t cut. It sliced through things as easily as butter. Hands had fallen beside him, Foot Soldiers falling back, clutching bleeding arms. Blood was spurting, mixing with the fire that was burning on the floor.

  Infantry were coming down the stairs, their faces smeared with soot, eyes red rimmed. Matt took a wild swing at them too.

  “Stay back!” he shouted.

  But they hadn’t seen the damage so they didn’t. He didn’t want to cut anyone any more—he’d seen enough blood—so he formed another fireball and threw it up the stairs, hoping that the Infantry would be smart enough to stay away.

  Then he covered himself in flames again, waved the sword, and ran for the passage that led to the Great Hall. It was the quickest way out of the palace.

  There were Beast Riders in the hall—most of them Dog Riders—and real dogs snarling and yapping, and more Infantry, and a few Domestics looking terrified.

  The Dog Riders came toward him and he was screaming, swinging that sword. They rose on their hind legs, jaws open, teeth foul with saliva and foam. He connected with necks and dog heads and paws and it didn’t feel like it took any effort at all. He heard yelling and whining and moaning behind him and the floor was slippery with blood.