by Melanie Card
Ferocious rage flooded the soul chain. He turned wild eyes on her and bared his teeth. This was the monster Maura had warned her about. Sangsal still seeped between his lips and melted into his skin.
“Keep it together.”
Ward snarled.
“I said, keep it together.”
He swallowed hard and blinked. When his eyes opened, she could see a hint of white. The monster flooding the soul chain, threatening to shatter it and be free, was muted.
Only then did she realize the pirate was screaming and probably had been since Ward had stabbed him.
She clamped at hand over his mouth and sliced his throat. Blood sprayed over her knees, and Ward licked his lips.
More veins pulsed over his cheeks, and he drew in a ragged breath. “Great Goddess.”
“I don’t think the Goddess has anything to do with this,” she said.
“I don’t think so, either,” a voice rasped, and Thanos stormed through the underbrush. The leaves around him turned to ice and shattered, while frozen mist swirled around his head.
He snapped a sangsal whip at Celia, and she drew her sword and sliced it. The smoke burst apart. She swiped her blade at Thanos’s chest, but he flicked his wrist, forming another whip. It seized her weapon and embedded it in the trunk beside him. He grabbed her arm, his cold grip burning. She twisted, trying to break free or control the grasp, but he yanked her forward and clamped his other hand around her neck. Biting frost swept over her skin. She grabbed the dagger at his hip and sliced across his gut.
His grip vanished, and she dove out of reach. Ward leapt at him, but Thanos’s whip lashed out, capturing Ward’s hand. With a growl, Ward twisted his wrist, wrapping the whip tighter around his arm, and yanked Thanos forward. Black veins pulsed over Ward’s face and hands, and his eyes were dark again.
He swiped a clawed hand at Thanos’s face. Sangsal smoke shot from his fingers like miniature whips and sliced Thanos’s cheek. Thanos grabbed Ward’s arm and wrenched it back with a crack.
Ward half screamed, half roared. More sangsal flooded around his hands. He twisted to face Thanos and shoved him against the rise. The pirate slammed his forehead against the bridge of Ward’s nose, but it didn’t even shake Ward. He raked his hand across Thanos’s face, clawing into flesh. Blood oozed down his cheeks, his chest heaved, and his eyes were too wide. Not wild like Ward’s, not the monster he’d been when she’d first met him, but filled with fear. Mist undulated around them with their fast breaths.
Thanos grabbed Ward’s neck. His sangsal whip rushed from his hands and twisted around and around Ward. Ward gasped for air.
Celia yanked her sword from the tree, but Ward dug his fingers into Thanos’s chest above his heart and ripped down. He tore flesh and skin. Thanos screamed. Blood gushed from the wound, and sangsal flooded over Ward’s hand and seeped into his skin. The sangsal around his neck shuddered and tightened. Ice crackled over him, turning his neck and face red.
With a ragged breath, the sangsal around his neck twisted tighter and vanished under his flesh. Black veins swarmed over his face and this time didn’t disappear.
Thanos thrashed against Ward’s grip. Sangsal flooded around him and seeped into Ward.
“Stop!” a voice cried from behind her.
She spun to face the new assailant. Lauro stood in a break between the trees, the Eye of Ivia held before him, glowing a dark red. A force slammed into her and tore at her soul. Darkness clawed at her essence, like it had when Ward’s grandfather had first attacked them in Dulthyne, and again when Jared had cast that reverse wake on the pirates attacking the village.
Her knees gave out, and she fell to the ground. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t focus. She tried to raise her sword and attack but couldn’t make her body move. Then Thanos flew past her. His limp form slammed into Lauro, and they tumbled back. Ward grabbed her, his magic crackling over her skin too sharply, like he didn’t care if saving her also hurt her. He hauled her to her feet, his grip digging into her arm, his fingers freezing her skin through her shirt.
“Ward,” she gasped.
He turned black eyes on her. For a heartbeat, the man she’d first met in her father’s house stared back at her, somehow. Even though they were black, they were still his kind, generous puppy eyes. Then he sneered, and that man was gone. The black veins in his face and neck pulsed, and he launched himself at Lauro.
Lauro shoved Thanos’s body off him and scrambled to his feet, the Eye raised above his head. He screamed two harsh words, and Ward staggered.
“You’re not more powerful than me, pet.”
Ward’s sangsal lashed around him like angry frozen snakes.
Lauro said the harsh words again. Ward sagged to his knees, one hand pressed to the ground. The black veins pulsed faster.
Celia tensed to rush at Lauro, but the Innecroestri glanced at her and an enormous weight slammed into her. She dropped to her hands and knees, fighting to breathe.
Ward trembled beside her, the sangsal smoke and veins writhing around him and under his skin. She ground her teeth and struggled to stand, to move, to do anything.
Lauro strode closer. “You’re nothing. You thought you could be more powerful than me by consuming all the sangsal released from the fissure?” He sneered. “Nothing is more powerful than the Eye of Ivia.”
The tip of a blade appeared through the front of Lauro’s chest, and he gasped. The blade vanished, blood gushed from the wound, and Lauro collapsed, dead, revealing the Master with a bloody sword in his hand. “Looks like you’re wrong. Magic can’t beat a blade.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
The weight on Celia vanished. Ward gasped. His muscles bunched, and his gaze locked on the Master, dark and dangerous.
“Ward.” She forced all of her will into his name, praying he wouldn’t attack.
His head moved the fraction necessary to see her from the corner of his eye. He trembled, the black veins under his skin pulsed, and the sangsal lashed at the air.
“Fight it.”
“I have to get to the fissure.” He drew in a ragged breath, and the black veins faded as if he was regaining control.
“I couldn’t agree more,” the Master said.
The pine branches on the other side of the clearing parted, revealing Stasik holding a shuttered lantern, a crack of light offering just enough illumination to see the surroundings. “No one is going anywhere.”
“I would beg to differ on this one.” The Master grabbed the Eye of Ivia from Lauro’s dead fingers.
Stasik snorted. “You think with the Eye you’re more powerful than me?”
“What is it with Innecroestris and being more powerful?” the Master asked, his tone bored.
Ward straightened, the strain of keeping the sangsal from overwhelming him etched in the sharp lines in his face. “It’s their thing.”
“And ours is to get to the fissure and finish this,” Celia said.
“No one is going anywhere.” Stasik flicked away the cork stopper from a small vial with his thumb and raised it. But the Master pulled a pouch from his pants pocket and wiped it through the blood on his sword. Stasik gasped. Light from the lantern trembled on the tree trunk beside him.
The Master hissed a string of words in a harsh language. “You’re not really in a position to give orders.”
Celia tightened her grip on her sword. If Stasik was going to attack, now would be the time, but the Innecroestri’s shaking increased.
“Head up to the fissure,” the Master said.
Was this his plan all along? Had the Master been fighting to avoid this moment? If Ward had killed Stasik yesterday, he might not have been forced to consume the sangsal from the pirates. If he’d never died or she’d not brought him back, there wouldn’t be a way for the sangsal to take purchase within him. Of course, if the Master hadn’t lied, if Ward had just taken her from Brawenal before that Innecroestri had tried to turn Celia into a shadow walker, none of this would have happened.
The man was also a Seer. Everything he’d done could have been to prevent Stasik from opening the Gate. She wasn’t a cold-blooded killer anymore—perhaps he wasn’t, either. What better place for a Seer than as a part of the Assassins’ Guild? As Master he could control who died and who didn’t, all for the sake of the principality.
“Are you waiting for an invitation?” the Master asked.
“No.” Ward glanced at Celia. The black veins, while pale under his skin, still pulsed, and he looked more pinched than before. He rushed toward the fissure.
Celia followed with the Master and Stasik a few steps behind—the Master controlling the Innecroestri with the pouch and the magic from Lauro’s blood. Ward scrambled up the steps and collapsed to his knees at the edge of the octagon. The sangsal smoke billowed around his body, mixing with his frozen breath, and the veins grew darker under his skin again.
“You have to cross the octagon,” the Master said.
Ward trembled. “I can do it from here.”
“Cross the octagon.” The Master’s tone turned hard, filled with a deadly chill.
Celia shifted, readying to strike the Master without looking obvious. Maura had warned Ward against crossing the protection of the octagon.
“No,” Ward gasped. He pressed his palm against the marble stone.
The Master clenched the pouch and glared at Stasik. “Make him cross.”
Stasik’s eyes flashed wide, and his hand whipped up to obey the Master’s command and control Ward’s soul chain. Celia leapt at the Master. He sidestepped her attack and batted her blade to the side with his sword.
“I said make him cross.” The Master jabbed at Celia. She slipped her sword under his guard, the tip driving toward his heart. Pain exploded across her chest, and her knees gave out, her sword clattering from suddenly numb hands.
Stasik clenched his fingers and wrenched his fist up with a puppetlike jerk. Ward screamed and staggered to his feet.
“Fight it, Ward.”
Another burst of pain roared through her.
The Master knelt beside her. “He can’t. The call of the Gate is too strong. Just like it’s supposed to be.”
“He’s stronger than you think.”
“Actually, I’m hoping he’s strong enough. The Goddess has shown me there’s no other way.” The Master shoved her into the octagon with his foot. Ward lurched to catch her…no, grab her—
No, to claw at her.
White lightning roared through her, stealing her breath. Ward sagged. Sangsal wept from his skin and snaked up from the fissure.
“He’ll destroy you when he gets free,” Stasik said.
“He won’t get free.” A dark smile pulled at the Master’s lips, revealing how much of a killer he really was.
“He’ll get free, but I’ll kill you first,” Celia growled.
Stasik’s hand wrenched up again in the jerky movement, and pain flattened her. The Master stood beside her, somehow crossing the octagon between one blink and the next. Another flash of black and the Master had dragged Ward to the obsidian altars. That had been longer than a blink. Agony seared over the soul chain. She had to stay conscious, had to fight and save Ward, but she could barely raise her head.
Stasik staggered past her. “There’s no point in imbuing him with more sangsal. It’s already flooding to him.”
Gold flashed across the Master’s eyes—a sign of a true Seer’s vision. “If you’d known, you would have chained your pets here.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to control them. Just like you won’t be able to control him.”
“I don’t plan to control him. I plan to sacrifice him.” The Master squeezed the pouch, Stasik groaned, and Ward’s wrists jerked back, ready to be shackled to the altars. He trembled as if he wanted to resist but couldn’t. The Master snapped the left shackle on then bound Ward’s other wrist to the loop of metal, where he’d snapped off the shackle that morning.
“No.” Celia fought to push up, even just get onto her hands and knees.
The Master squeezed the bloody pouch, and Stasik wrenched his hands around.
Ward screamed, and more agony stole Celia’s strength.
“Sacrifice him for what?” Stasik asked.
“To open the Gate to the Dark Son’s Abyss.” The Master said it as if it was something as mundane as going for a walk or buying a mug of ale.
“You can’t open the Gate. You’re not an Innecroestri. Even with the Eye you don’t have enough power.”
“Actually I do.” The Master flipped open the satchel hanging at his hip and revealed the spines of three books.
Ice settled hard in Celia’s gut. Habil’s spell books. He had all three of them and all of the powerful magic within them.
“Where did you get those?” Ward asked, his voice harsh, his jaw tight with pain.
“I’m a Seer. I know things. With Habil’s complete grimoire, the Eye of Ivia, and”—he grabbed Ward’s hand, exposed his wrist, and drew a small knife—“with the sacrifice of an unnatural life, I have enough power to do what Stasik couldn’t.” He dug the knife into Ward’s wrist, hit the major vein, and left it there. Smoke billowed around the cut, and flesh hissed. The blade was silver—the only thing that could really hurt a vesperitti. Blood gathered in a groove cut down the center of the blade, oozed over Ward’s hand, and into a well in the altar.
Celia forced her legs to bunch under her and threw herself at the Master. He sidestepped her attack as if he was merely dancing and slammed his fist into her back, smashing her into the marble ground.
She gasped, fighting to breathe, fighting to fight. The Master shoved her back with his foot and pulled out another knife. He slid it into Ward’s other wrist and grabbed Ward’s face, forcing him to look up. “You should have listened to me.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ward wrenched at the shackle and rope binding him to the altar. The sangsal shuddered sharp and frozen through him, like ice blades slicing at his soul, and his chest throbbed where Stasik ripped at the soul chain. He wanted to tear the Master apart, wanted to bathe in his blood—
No, he needed to force the sangsal back into the fissure. Except he couldn’t seem to focus. His flesh burned where the silver knives dug in, and his vesperitti healing tried to seal the wound shut but couldn’t against the silver. His blood oozed into the well on the altar. Magic flared bright from the obsidian, and the blood thinned, becoming less viscous. It poured down the altar and seeped into the octagon embedded in the marble.
He jerked again but couldn’t find the vesperitti strength he’d had the last time he’d been chained to the altar. More magic rippled around him. The sangsal billowed, making his teeth chatter. A small part of him screamed. He couldn’t let the Master activate the octagon, but the sangsal was stronger and flexed his hands, forcing his blood to flow faster. It wanted the Gate open. It wanted to be fully free.
Celia crawled to her hands and knees, but the Master grabbed her and shoved her at Stasik.
“Hold her.” The Master hissed the command in Vys and clenched the pouch tighter, controlling Stasik with blood magic.
Stasik grabbed the soul chain flowing from her chest and wrapped it around her neck. She gasped and reached for her throat. Her fingers dug into the magically materialized soul chain, drawing stabbing pain through his chest. She screamed and froze. The pain snapped through both of them.
Her icy gaze locked on Ward, sending a shiver through him. He was going to kill Stasik. He was going to kill the Master. When this was done, everyone would be dead.
Fight it. Shove the sangsal back into the fissure and finish this.
Celia’s essence flooded him with a warmth that rushed through the soul chain and pushed back the sangsal’s chill.
Goddess, it was so hard to think. All he wanted was to kill. Except that wasn’t him. He wasn’t a monster, he was a physician. He saved lives. Except he’d killed Thanos and the other sangsal-infected pirate.
His stomach churned. Hot and cold fl
ashed through him. His blood rushed even faster from his wrists, his heart pumping his life essence—a life essence that would flow until he was bled dry and he still wouldn’t die.
A bright light exploded around him, and the octagon activated. The Master pulled one of Habil’s grimoires from his satchel and opened it to a few pages to the end. The Vys symbol for souls shimmered on the cover.
“You don’t have to do this,” Ward forced out, but the sangsal within him screamed to shut up and let the Master open the Gate.
The Master crouched beside Ward. “I do.”
“You don’t want to unleash the evil in the Dark Son’s Abyss. The Goddess chose you to be her Seer, one of her voices in the Union.” The sangsal howled stronger. It was a blizzard from the Great Northern Outposts with sharp ice and skin-freezing cold.
“Tell me again I don’t want to do this.”
“You don’t—” The sangsal twisted around Ward, seeped into his legs, and bled out through his wrists. He wanted the Gate opened, needed it to be opened. “You don’t—”
“Say it, Edward de’Ath,” the Master sneered. “Prove you’re as good and pure as you claim.”
“Don’t.” Ward’s teeth chattered. The cold within him burned, and magic danced over Habil’s grimoire. Blood pulsed just under the Master’s skin, along with the power of his Seer’s magic. It also raced through Celia and Stasik. Ward wanted it all. He wanted the power of their blood and the sangsal.
“You can’t say it.” The Master straightened and hissed words in Vys. A chant to focus magical power and the caster’s will to perform a spell.
The power in the words pounded through Ward. Its dancing on the grimoire’s page grew frantic, bursting jagged spikes of light across Ward’s vision.
Ward, Celia croaked—no, that was in his head. Fight it. You have to fight it.
He wanted to. But that part was so small.
The Master repeated the chant, his voice growing louder. The words were no longer hissed, but said with force and determination. Ward’s magic swept from him into the fissure, and the ground trembled.