A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two)

by Jessica Cluess

  Extermination. R’hlem had shown no mercy.

  “Women and children?” I whispered. My strength gave out, and I slid back to lie on the floor. Blackwood gave me his hand.

  “We’re not certain yet,” he said gently. “Come. I must address our Order.” Our Order was an odd thing to say. “Can you walk?” With help, I got to my feet, and he called Maria and Lilly inside. Between them, they escorted me into the courtyard, but they had to let sorcerers take hold of me at the entrance to the obsidian cathedral, since only the commended could enter that hallowed space.

  Wait until they find out what Maria is, I thought darkly, letting myself be led inside.

  The numbers barely filled the first two rows. Some men, the younger ones, stared blankly ahead or were rocking back and forth. Others were hard at work sweeping up the shattered obsidian with small gusts of wind. I didn’t see any blood left in this place; they must have washed it away. Glancing at the room, I noted something disturbing: most were either very young or old. R’hlem had swallowed up the majority of our best warriors in one go. I saw a few in their twenties, like Valens, who was among those cleaning. But most were either sixteen or sixty.

  Simply being back here made the pain in my shoulder flourish, and I crumpled. The men holding me tried to pull me up rather roughly.

  “Howel!” Magnus was there in an instant, breaking through the men to hold me himself. Wolff and Lambe came to greet me as well.

  They were alive. My wound screamed, as if furious that I’d ignored it for half a moment. Wolff carried me to a seat, settling me in between the boys.

  Lambe whispered, “You took the belladonna. You saw.” He smiled.

  “Yes. I saw.”

  Wolff patted my arm. Somehow we’d all come together again. Damn everything that had happened, I was luckier than most.

  The room quieted as Blackwood climbed the dais. There was no throne for him to sit upon. Its remains lay piled in a corner, a broken reminder of all we had lost. Tension rose as Blackwood took his now rightful place. Sorcerers waited to pounce on the boy Imperator. Why on earth had the queen assigned such a crucial role to someone so very young?

  Then again, as I’d noticed a moment before, we did not have a large selection from which to choose.

  “I know we have suffered a great deal.” Blackwood’s voice rang out. “I know many do not approve of Her Majesty’s choice of Imperator.” Dead silence met this statement. At least one person had the decency to cough. “Let me explain, then. Much of Her Majesty’s government was slaughtered in the ambush. What’s left of the army and navy is scattered about the country. The prime minister is alive but badly wounded. All of our old safeguards have been ripped away.” He scanned the room, clearly watching everyone’s reaction to his words. “The queen requires sorcerer counsel, and I made Her Majesty an offer of safety that I could ensure only if I held the position of Imperator.” I could sense him slotting everyone into the columns of ally or enemy. “My estate in Sorrow-Fell is the best safehold we have left, besides the Dombrey Priory, and Dombrey has neither the space nor the resources to house the rest of sorcererkind.”

  Murmuring began. One man in the back called out, “What are you suggesting, sir?” His tone was harsh. Enemy. Blackwood didn’t falter.

  “We go north to Sorrow-Fell and stay behind the faerie protections.”

  There was instant and explosive arguing about the faeries. I tried to piece together how he intended for this to work. Blackwood held up his hand until order was gradually restored.

  “Sorrow-Fell was a gift from one of Queen Titania’s nobles, of the light court. Mab’s army cannot cross those boundaries any more than Titania’s can. It is physically impossible without an invitation from me. Thus, the estate becomes the one place in our kingdom where we are completely safe from both Ancients and faeries.”

  He was right. I heard people reluctantly agreeing.

  “What about the survivors in London?” Magnus asked, standing up.

  “Yes.” Blackwood sounded regretful. “We can take only those who are most essential. Therefore, all survivors who are non-sorcerer must be left behind.”

  At that, there was full-throated shouting, and if I hadn’t been so weak, I’d have joined in. Leaning against Wolff, I recalled a night at Agrippa’s where Blackwood and I had hotly debated protecting the strong over the weak. I couldn’t have heard him right just now. He had once said no innocent life is worth more than another, and now this? Abandon the people we were sworn to protect?

  Her Majesty commended you.

  “It is the only way to ensure survival.” Blackwood waited until everyone was calm enough for him to continue, though there was still angry buzzing at the back. He looked blank, as though he’d anticipated our reaction, anticipated every reaction. It dawned on me that he was fully in his element. “Those innocents who die in the coming months will be a hard burden to bear, but the generations that come after will exist because of what we do today. There is hope ahead. We have the weapons. We know that R’hlem has been severely wounded.” His eyes found mine. “If we rely solely upon one another, victory could be mere weeks away.”

  Some were not prepared to move on, however. Valens stood, livid with anger.

  “This goes against everything in our commendation vows!” he cried, and I quite agreed. A hush gathered as he kicked aside a pile of broken obsidian. “We cannot leave these people to slaughter!”

  “We hid beneath the ward for years.” Blackwood’s voice was icy. “I’m asking for months.”

  “Monstrous,” Valens snapped. Blackwood closed his eyes, and a cold wind sprang up, chilling me to the bone. The men cried out in surprise. Blackwood looked at every one of us in turn, power surging from him and out to us, just as it had with Whitechurch.

  But Whitechurch had never used his power to silence us. When Blackwood ceased his warning, no one spoke.

  “United, we will survive. Divided,” he said, looking quickly at Valens, “we won’t last the winter. We will be safe, but not complacent. Palehook performed monstrous acts to keep us sheltered from reality, but I will have none of that.” His eyes blazed as he reached out to us. “We will work tirelessly until the Ancients have been destroyed. Who in this room has not lost a friend in this attack? A brother? God forbid, a son?” Some of the older men placed hands over hearts. Blackwood had them now—he had them in his very palm. “I lost a father to these monsters long ago. I will be damned if I lose another member of my family.” He beat his breast. “And the Order is my family, now and always.”

  He was lying. He didn’t grieve his father; he had no great love for the Order. But right now, the boy who hated artifice above all else was reveling in it, because they were all turning to him. Following him. Believing in him. Cursing, Valens returned to his seat. He knew he’d lost.

  “Give me your trust this one time. Let us work together to end this war. Then, when peace has been restored, I will step down as Imperator.” He bowed his head. “You’ve my word.”

  He burned with sincerity, and the crowd broke into applause. In a matter of minutes, he’d won them all over, desperate as they were for someone to take charge. The boys and I, however, were silent.

  “As I say, we shall provide a united front, and I must have the best possible advisors by my side. Which brings me to another, more joyous announcement.” He held out a hand to me. “Henrietta Howel is to become my wife.”

  Magnus gave an astonished laugh. The rest of the room buzzed once more, not angry so much as bewildered. I merely stared at Blackwood. In fact, I smiled. Smartly done.

  The Imperator had the job of dictating the Earl of Sorrow-Fell’s marriage. Blackwood had maneuvered things brilliantly. Somehow, I began to laugh a little.

  “What’s so bloody amusing?” Magnus sounded incredulous.

  How could I explain that, between Eliza and her brother, Blackwoods were expert at springing surprise engagements?

  Soon after these revelations, the meeting broke up. T
here was much to do, loading wagons and carriages with provisions, assigning a guard for the queen’s protective unit, bandaging the sick so that they would be able to travel, and simply devising a clean exit out of the city. London was to be left to rubble and ruin with the hope that one day, we’d be back to rebuild.

  I was able to hobble up the stairs to the Imperator’s—Blackwood’s—chamber on my own. Magnus had wanted to escort me, but I’d declined. This was between Blackwood and me.

  R’hlem hadn’t touched this place. Even the china bulldog remained on its customary table, waiting for a head pat that would never come again. Already, the optiaethis lantern glowed in its own private corner. It had survived the ambush, then. I hated the sight of it. Blackwood appeared to have anticipated my arrival, because he was seated in a chair and doing a poor job of looking casual. When he saw me, there was a mixture of triumph and concern in his face. I tried to sit with dignity, but the pain twisted like a knife. He rushed to help, but I stopped him.

  “I can manage,” I said. He sat opposite me. For someone so bold that he could announce a public engagement, he averted his eyes. “That was a shock,” I said flatly.

  “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Liar.” I didn’t say it harshly. “You wanted to put me in a position where I couldn’t say no; at least, not in the room.” I lay against the back of the seat, which ordinarily no lady would do. But the pain became easier to handle.

  “You know me well,” he whispered, sounding pleased. His eyes tracked over my form again, the overt longing in his gaze heating my face. He couldn’t desire me now that…well, now.

  “I’ve become Unclean.” There was no point trying to pretty up the reality. “You can’t mix a Blackwood bloodline with my degenerate—”

  “Don’t say that!” He rose, his features livid. “I don’t care what you become. I want you.”

  All my coldness thawed, and I found myself near tears.

  “Everything that’s happened is my fault,” I whispered.

  “How is that possible? You’re likely the reason there are any of us left at all. If you hadn’t landed that blow on R’hlem…How the devil did you do it?”

  This was an order from my Imperator. Even now, the impulse screamed, Lie! Lie for your life! But I was too tired and too hurt.

  “R’hlem is my father,” I said. Odd that a few small words could so thoroughly change one’s life.

  The muscles in his face went slack. “What?”

  “He was thrust into the world of the Ancients years ago, during a failed experiment he performed with Mickelmas.” I paused. “And with your father.”

  Blackwood slumped in his seat.

  I told him what Mickelmas had revealed about the runes, and how I had convinced R’hlem to get close enough to strike. Every word seemed to deflate him further. When I described my injury from Rook, he put his head in his hands.

  I told him what his father had done: cutting the rope that sent my father to his doom. When I’d finished, Blackwood was still.

  “You must hate me.” Finally, he looked up, his eyes red. He teetered on the edge of emotion. “Of course you could never love me knowing that.” Every word was soaked in self-loathing. He pounded the side of the chair, the violence startling me, then got up and walked away. “My father poisoned everything else in my life. Why not you as well?”

  “When I rejected you, it had nothing to do with your father. I loved Rook.”

  Loved. Because Rook was gone now. The wounds at my shoulder throbbed, reiterating my failure.

  “Loved?” Blackwood said the word tentatively. Hope was in his voice and eyes. “So you don’t love him anymore.” No question. It was a veiled order. Gritting my teeth, I climbed to my feet. I would not be told what I could and could not feel, not even now.

  Agony burrowed deeper, kicking my knees out from under me. Blackwood caught and cradled me while I grounded myself in the steady rhythm of his heart. The silk of his waistcoat was cool, his small ivory buttons biting into my cheek. He murmured apologies.

  “At least we’re honest with each other again,” I whispered.

  “Yes. Your secrets are mine.” That slight edge of delight pervaded his voice. His grip became possessive. Here was that tiny part of his father, the bit that sought to master. But Blackwood was not his father.

  “I suppose it’s up to you, as the Imperator, what to do with me.” If he wanted to throw me into a prison wagon and drag me up north, I wouldn’t fight.

  “We’ll keep it quiet, of course, but if R’hlem survives, we can use you to our advantage.”

  I’d stabbed my father in the heart. If we met again, I doubted he’d be at his most cordial.

  “You’re taking this rather well,” I said cautiously.

  “I can hardly judge you for your father, given what you know of mine.” Blackwood circled his arm around my waist, helping me to sit. My shoulder throbbed, but the pain diminished as his slender fingers cupped the back of my neck. “In a perverse way, it makes me feel nearer to you.” He brought his lips close to mine. “I know I don’t have your heart the way Rook did, and I don’t enthrall like some.” Magnus’s unspoken name hung in the air. “But I can promise you my love, Henrietta.” His voice caressed my name. “I want you to rule at my side.”

  Rule the Order? I didn’t think I was fit to rule anybody.

  “I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” I said carefully. The desire I glimpsed in his eyes overwhelmed me.

  “You could be the second-most powerful person in English sorcery, and you don’t think it a good idea?” He sounded baffled.

  That was the problem, sorcery itself. We were now an endangered species, about to isolate ourselves further from the world. Perhaps it was wise, but it didn’t feel right. Besides, Mickelmas had left me with the Army of the Burning Rose—well, the promise to protect it, at least. So…

  “May I bring magicians to Sorrow-Fell?” I would simply come out and say it. He blinked. “Mickelmas has gone away and left me his army.” Blackwood’s bewildered expression deepened into concern. Sensing his disapproval, I added, “My father may try to court their favor the way he did with the Fae.”

  Blackwood wasn’t a fool.

  “If we find them,” he murmured, “you may take them on.” He traced my cheek with the tip of a finger. “Let it be a wedding gift.” In one small moment, Blackwood had maneuvered me perfectly. He might not even have known he’d done it, but it was his way, as surely as it was a spider’s nature to spin a web. Passing the back of his hand down my cheek, he whispered, “Despite everything—your lies, your wounds, I cannot help but love you. I’m helpless against it. Be my wife.”

  “If I said no, would you force me?” As the Imperator, he could. And there was a shine in his eyes, something that came alive with the word force.

  “I wouldn’t,” he said at last, “but no position will be safer for you than the seat at my side.” Then came the most unexpected thing of all from him: the threat of tears. “My responsibilities frighten me. I frighten myself,” he whispered. “Help me. Save me.”

  Save him, indeed, as he’d offered to save me. It was even more than that, really. There was the matter of our fathers, of that odd trick of fate that had bound us together. Our staves bore matched ivy insignias, and I could imagine those tendrils knitting us snugly together. Destiny lay in his touch as he cupped a cool hand under my chin. Something dark that slept inside me stirred, opened one eye. It was as though a secret part of my soul had been designed for his.

  Yet he frightened me, too, with the way he wanted.

  Still, perhaps this was where my path had always been meant to lead. Perhaps the monster I concealed within myself could only be governed by him, and vice versa. And I had my magicians, wherever they might be, along with the non-magical folk shut out from sorcerer protection. They would need someone to speak for them. So, taking a breath, I nodded.

  “Yes?” Blackwood sounded amazed.

  “Yes, I will m
arry you,” I said. He kissed me.

  His lips were soft, but that was the only gentle thing about his embrace. There was no heated teasing as there had been with Magnus, no sense of homecoming as with Rook. His hand gripped in my hair, he claimed my mouth again and again until he was satisfied. When I moaned in shock, he ran a trembling hand down my body. The sleeping thing inside me awoke and unfurled itself, responding to his call. Despite my pain, I also found my lips parting with an unexpected flush of pleasure. Only when I was returning his kiss did he let me go, to make me crave more.

  He took me to my feet, his eyes glowing in triumph. At last he’d got what he wanted.

  It was both thrilling and frightening to see.

  “We will be happy together,” he whispered, tipping my chin and catching my lips until I pulled away.

  “Above all,” I said, “we will be strong.”

  We left London the next morning, our carts and carriages banging over the rubble-strewn streets. The sorcerer army assumed the rough shape of an arrow, with Blackwood and his most reliable Masters at the front, and the uninjured men fanning out behind them. This allowed Her Majesty, the provision wagons, and the wounded to be protected on all sides. As we passed out of the city, a sense of gloom permeated the air.

  For the first time since the Norman Conquest, there would be no sorcerers in London.

  I should have ridden with Blackwood but instead lay shuttered inside his carriage, wincing at every sharp movement. Maria was trying to keep me asleep as much as possible to ease my pain, but even she could not stop the dreams.

  My nightmares had teeth, and they dogged my heels. In sleep, I glimpsed yellow eyeballs and curved talons, heard whispers in a language that should not exist. When I resurfaced from another fevered rest, shaking and sweating, Maria would feed me some broth or another potion. When I couldn’t drink any more, she’d sit with me.

  Had it been this way for Rook? The feeling that, day by day, the dark washed over him with the relentlessness of waves on a beach?