Ward Against Destruction

by Melanie Card

  “Ward, I—”

  He leaned closer. Her eyes widened, and panic shot through the soul chain.

  She jerked back, yanking her hand from his, snapping the connection between them, severing the flow of magic. She feared him. It was clear in the quivering through the chain. She feared what she’d made him into and didn’t want him to kiss her.

  “You’re right. That was a mistake.” He needed to get away, leave her, put some distance between him and her emotions.

  He rushed to the door and yanked it open. Blinding sunlight burned his eyes, but he raced out anyway. He deserved the pain. He’d feared becoming an Innecroestri—a black necromancer—and he feared he’d become one when he’d brought Celia back from the dead. But becoming a vesperitti was so much worse.

  Celia’s heart pounded. She had wanted Ward to kiss her so badly her lips ached, but then, when he was about to do it, guilt had flooded her. This was such a mess. Remy LeRoux—the Brother of Light who’d sacrificed himself to save the people of Dulthyne—had said she was alive, not undead like Ward thought. Ward had cast a powerful spell, something he wasn’t supposed to be able to cast, and now their situation was reversed.

  Remy had called her a revivesca. A part of her knew a revivesca was the result of a true resurrection. Only a few Brothers of Light in the entire history of the Union of Principalities could cast the spell, and their like hadn’t been seen in generations. So how could Ward have permanently brought her soul back from across the veil?

  And she wasn’t supposed to know that. Remy had infused his memories into her head back in Dulthyne, but he’d said it would fade. Even his knowledge—that she wasn’t supposed to still have—said it should have faded by now.

  She’d been on the verge of telling Ward everything, but the words had escaped her. How did you tell someone the laws they held so dear, regarding the living and the dead having a relationship, were still in effect? Stuck in the middle of running for their lives from the Master of Brawenal’s Assassins’ Guild certainly wasn’t the right time. This was a subject that had to be broached carefully. Yes, that’s why she’d hesitated.

  Which didn’t explain her guilt at all.

  She bit back a growl. No, her guilt was because of what she’d done to Ward. Sure, he’d professed his love to her before he’d died, but now everything had changed. She’d made him a monster. Allette’s words, recalling when she’d first became a vesperitti, were clear in Celia’s mind. Allette had wanted to be with her Innecroestri master, Macerio, and be in the most intimate sense.

  Celia had brought Ward back. She was now his master. Wanting to kiss her might have been his real desire before, but not now. It was brought on by the spell. Without a doubt, his real emotion toward her was hate for enslaving his soul and turning him into what he feared the most.

  Goddess, what had she done? She hadn’t thought this through. She just hadn’t wanted him to die. The thought of living without him had been unbearable.

  The memory of his touch when he’d examined her broken wrist overwhelmed her worries. It had felt so good. Those gentle fingers, trained to save lives, heating her skin. It would be a comfort if the magic-induced attraction went both ways, but she knew it didn’t. Her feelings toward Ward were all hers.

  She brushed her wrist where he’d caressed her, careful of her broken bones. The touch didn’t hurt like it should have. In fact, the throbbing that had been present from the moment Allette snapped her wrist was gone.

  She flexed her fingers. No pain. Carefully, she rotated her hand. No pain. Not even a flicker. Ward had healed her.

  Except magical healing was impossible. Only a few Brothers of Light in the history of the Union of Principalities had known how to heal magically.

  Maybe something had awakened in Ward when he’d faced the curse.

  Cold swept heavy into her. Something had happened. She turned him into a vesperitti, magically chaining his soul to hers. Her healing was a result of her feeding off his soul. Just like a vesperitti fed off his victims’ souls. Ward had transfused some of his soul into her and healed her.

  Except after a vesperitti transferred his soul magic into his master, he needed to replenish what he’d given up…by consuming blood.

  Legends claimed a vesperitti’s hunger was insatiable. Allette had certainly demonstrated a bloodlust. Ward wouldn’t…would he?

  She rushed to the door and threw it open. The wooden walkway was deserted. No sign of Ward, but no sign of anyone else. Which didn’t surprise her, considering the village was being terrorized by an Innecroestri and Gordelian pirates. But it did leave the question of where Ward would have gone.

  Sunlight sparkled on the water, dancing along the walkways’ planks and bouncing along the sides of the houses. If he wasn’t looking to feed on people, he’d want to get into shadows. The easiest place for that would be under the walkway, preferably away from the reflective water. She turned toward the cliffs backing the village. The walkway extended over the narrow strip of rocky shore all the way to a steep granite wall. Perhaps there were caves. Perhaps Nazarius would run into Ward and everything would be all right.

  Or maybe Nazarius would become Ward’s first meal.

  He might be a Tracker, but he didn’t deserve that.

  She rushed toward the cliffs. Halfway there, a person shifted in the shadow of a hut, and Maura stepped onto the path.

  “Looking for your creature?” she asked.

  “My what?”

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve done.”

  “I haven’t—”

  Maura grabbed Celia’s arm. Instinct kicked in, and Celia twisted free of the woman’s grasp.

  Maura’s eyes flashed wide then narrowed. “You’re on Habil’s path,” she hissed. “You already have your first pet. Even if his soul was good once, you’ve blackened it. You should never have brought him back.”

  “I owe him,” Celia said, the words aching soul deep, but with the ache came a shiver, as desire stirred at the memory of all that power.

  “Not like this you don’t. If you don’t control what you’ve made, he’ll kill all of us.”

  The desire chilled. “Ward would never—”

  “Are you so sure? When you call a soul back from across the veil, you never get the whole thing. That’s why it’s called a false resurrection, because the soul you call back isn’t real.”

  “How do you know?” Ward didn’t have an evil bone in his body.

  Maura bared yellow teeth. “You think you’re the first fool I’ve met who’s dabbled in blood magic?”

  Something within Celia screamed that there was more to how Maura knew. “You don’t just see what’s happened to Ward, you sense it.” The words spilled out.

  Maura stiffened.

  “You can see what’s been done. If you’re a necromancer, why don’t you deal with this Innecroestri yourself instead of giving him sacrifices?” Celia asked.

  Maura’s body trembled with tension. “Because I’m not a necromancer.”

  “Then—” But the answer popped into Celia’s mind, like when Remy had imparted all his knowledge into her mind. “You’re a Sister of Darkness.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  But there was. The Grewdian Council of Seers and the Brothers of Light’s Conclave might have convinced everyone that women with abilities were an abomination, but women with magical power existed—even if they were rare. It was one of the reasons those unfortunate women were called Sisters of Darkness. It was said they’d embrace the darkest evil in the Dark Son’s heart to gain their powers.

  “You’re a Sister, and you can see the truth. You can see magic and use it.”

  “I sense it. I don’t see. Not everyone sees magic the same way.” Maura sighed. “I sense magical potential and can heal wounds of the soul.”

  “So when you look at Ward, you can sense that he’s been brought back from the dead?”

  “I can sense the magic keeping his soul in his body. I can sense th
ere’s something that happened with you, too, but it’s strange. I’d guess you’re also a vesperitti, but there’s something not right about the magic in your soul. I can also sense the taint in both of your auras, and the wounds in your souls.” Maura leaned closer. “How can you function with all that pain? All that darkness?”

  The truth of her words was strong. Celia was filled with darkness and agony at the things she’d done. It wasn’t just Ward who’d been bathed in blood. She’d killed enough people—even in self-defense—to drown in it. The shiver of desire swept over her again. It was such a shame she’d let all that magical power go to waste. She could have been strong enough to stop this Innecroestri if she’d just embraced blood magic.

  Except that wasn’t true. Two weeks ago, she hadn’t known how magic worked, but now—thanks to Ward and Remy—she understood…sort of.

  “You’re going to succumb to the darkness. Your pet certainly will, if you can’t control him.”

  Celia shoved back all thoughts of magic. “I’ll handle it just fine. And if you put Ward’s life in jeopardy, I’ll handle you, too.”

  “I’m not afraid to die.”

  “Who said anything about dying? It’s easier to ruin you. I’ll tell your village what you are. What do you think your assistant, Declan, would think? Or the Seer?”

  “Adolfus and I have an understanding.” Maura chuckled, but it held no mirth. “It helps to be able to heal wounds of the soul. As for the rest of the village? Who are they going to believe? You, a stranger? Or me? The kind, elderly woman who’s lived among them for years?”

  “So why didn’t you turn us in when you sensed the truth?”

  “Because you may be a fool, and you may have brought that poor man’s soul back, but you’re not evil. Not yet. That Innecroestri on the island, though, is blacker than midnight without a moon and whatever he’s doing on the Ancients’ Island is terrible.” The woman straightened. “Adolfus foretold of your coming. He’s never been wrong. Not in the twenty years he’s been with the village.”

  “How do you know we’ll even help you?”

  “Because it’s been foretold.” Maura flashed her ruined teeth again. “And if you don’t, I’ll tell the rest of the village what you and your man are. I’m sure they wouldn’t think twice about giving you up for the next sacrifice.”

  “How very untainted soul-like of you,” Celia said, letting her sarcasm color her voice.

  “I never said I was pure.” Maura snorted and shuffled away, her cane clicking on the walkway’s boards.

  She didn’t want to accept that Maura was right, but a part of her feared she was. Another part, a stronger part, felt if she had more blood she could make it right. With enough magic she could stop this Innecroestri, save Ward, and end this constant running from one danger to the next.

  Yes. With enough power she could fix this. All she needed was magic, and blood equaled magic. Blood was the answer.

  Celia turned back to the cliffs and Ward—now that she thought about it, she could sense in what direction he’d gone. It astounded her they’d survived Macerio if he’d known where his vesperitti had been all along.

  A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision. Someone was sneaking up on her.

  She drew her dagger and jerked toward it, her heart pounding.

  The walkway was empty. Water gently lapped against the stilts, and reflected sunlight danced over the boards and sides of the nearby houses.

  Dark Son’s curses. Now she was jumping at shadows.

  Find Ward. That was the first step. If she could find a way to make this right, she would—and right did not include letting Ward die permanently.

  Chapter Seven

  Ward’s pulse still pounded. He’d put distance between Celia and him, but he could still feel her wrist under his fingers. Or was that the sensation from the soul chain? No. What came from the soul chain was fear and frustration. Celia was upset.

  Yeah, with him. She’d known the moment he’d thought about kissing her and the idea had made her jerk away. Whether she said it or not, she knew he was a monster, and that troubled her.

  Which was ridiculous. She was still Celia. She killed people for a living. She wasn’t some necromancer who saw him only as an evil creature. But he couldn’t get her reaction out of his mind.

  And now he’d promised to deal with another Innecroestri. Another one. As if destroying Macerio hadn’t been dangerous enough. He just wanted everything to be done. He wanted things to be normal, and he wanted them to be normal with Celia.

  He raced from the end of the wooden walkway to the cliff face. It opened into a passage filled with cooling shadows. Inside, wisps of red and purple magic glimmered in veins running through the rock. The glow wasn’t right for witch-stone. It was the wrong color.

  Ward blinked, but the glow remained. Goddess, it was amazing and stunning. He was never going to get used to that. Seeing magic. Him seeing magic—and seeing more magic than anyone was supposed to. Sure, Grandfather had said magic was in everything, even if most necromancers couldn’t see it. But it wasn’t strong. Magical power was greatest in blood and weak in everything else. That’s why necromancers used blood.

  But using blood was dangerous. Grandfather had said every time he used blood magic he experienced a little jolt, a euphoric burst that filled him. If a necromancer didn’t resist that burst, he’d risk losing his soul to the blood magic lure and want to cast bigger, more powerful spells and potentially go insane.

  At least here in the darkness, the painful rush of sensation—sound, sight, smell, and feel—eased. Ward followed the passage to a set of stairs carved into the stone, leading up. He didn’t know where he was going, he just needed to move. Maybe his thoughts would clear if he climbed. Moved. He wouldn’t go far. Just to the top of the stairs.

  The stairs opened to a bright square of light. The exit and freedom—if the Innecroestri’s pirates didn’t catch him. Ward eased as close to the light as he could bear and stared through a small copse of trees onto a mountain pasture. A fat bee, surrounded in a glimmering gold sparkle of magic, drifted to a flower, gathered more golden magic from the bloom, then moved to the next. White flower, yellow flower, purple. It didn’t matter. Every time the bee lifted pollen, more gold danced around it.

  A breeze swept over the pasture, picking up the magic in a flurry of colors. It breathed the power through the opening, brushing it across Ward’s face and neck like a lover’s caress. Like Celia’s caress.

  Somehow his thoughts came back to her. Always her. They always would.

  Movement at the far edge of the meadow, among the trees and the rock outcroppings, made more magic flutter into the air. Within it lay a glimmer of something brighter, more powerful. A hint of red. Blood.

  Everything within Ward tensed, and his stomach growled. His hunger erupted, more ferocious than before. Saliva filled his mouth and his heart raced.

  The branches parted and his cousin Jared strode into the waist-high grass. Grandfather’s necromancers had to be searching the mountainside for him. That gave Ward a small sense of relief—they’d never have left Dulthyne unless everything was safe. Maybe he’d died and returned as a vesperitti, chained to Celia forever, but at least he’d broken the curse.

  Ward inched back from the entrance. He couldn’t let Jared see him, but his stockier older cousin, as if drawn to Ward’s unnatural existence, turned toward the passage’s opening.

  Shit. Ward pulled farther back. Jared’s mystic sight was the strongest of any of the de’Ath family. The man was Ward’s opposite in so many ways. He was the most powerful necromancer of their generation, could see the slightest changes in soul magic—he was probably even sensitive enough to notice a vesperitti’s soul chain—and he was definitely strong enough to notice an unnatural aura cowering in the shadows.

  Jared cocked his head then rushed toward the opening. Ward scrambled back, but his toe caught an uneven bump in the rock. He stumbled, lost his balance, and dropped to his hands and knee
s.

  “Ward?” Jared called, his tone uncertain.

  How in the name of the Dark Son did Jared know it was him?

  “Ward de’Ath, I can see your aura. But it’s—”

  From the corner of Ward’s eye, Jared’s aura flashed.

  “Grandfather said—but I didn’t want to believe—”

  Ward straightened and turned around. Jared’s eyes widened, and his aura trembled, racing with a sudden, thrumming pulse.

  “You really are—” Jared gasped.

  Ward’s stomach growled. Jared’s magic hemorrhaged from his aura with his fear, revealing another revolting truth about vesperitti. The instinct to survive had ignited his cousin’s magical resources, making his soul magic stronger, and him a better prospect for a filling meal.

  And Ward was so very hungry.

  Jared staggered back, his body trembling a cloud of magic around him. “What happened? How could you—?”

  “How could I?” A bitter laugh bubbled in Ward’s throat. “Do you honestly think I had a choice in this?”

  Jared swallowed. “Let me end it for you.”

  “Are you strong enough to sever a soul chain?”

  Jared’s gaze dipped to the cord trailing from Ward’s chest. He pursed his lips.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “I’ve never severed one before. I didn’t think it would be so…solid.”

  “Yeah, they’re kind of difficult to deal with.” The only way Ward had managed to sever Allette’s soul chain from Macerio was with her help, as well as with magic from the powerful Innecroestri’s grimoire. With the amount of blood Celia had at her disposal when she’d brought Ward back, his soul chain was probably stronger than steel.

  “We need to go to Grandfather.”

  Yes, Grandfather could end this. Except Celia had brought Ward back. That made her an Innecroestri, and the laws of the Necromancer Council of Elders required she be punished, and there was no way she’d stand for that. Grandfather would be forced to kill her.