by Gwynn White
Shrieks rose from the crowded nobles, and glasses of wine smashed on the floor as the hissing light reared up.
Caeda yanked her sword free and jumped between the light and Taliesin. So worried about Ayda, Taliesin hadn’t crossed his mind. Caeda couldn’t put herself at risk as if he were helpless. He pulled his blade free and took up a position at her side.
The light burned red, spinning left and right. A snarl, and it shot straight for Ayda.
His heart leapt into his throat. Even if he sprinted across the ballroom, he was too far away to help her.
Two blades swished as her guards pushed into her path to block the light. He gaped, unable to even breathe as the light forked and slashed into their chests.
Their eyes widened, and their blood sprayed across the throne.
The arching light tossed them aside like walnut shells.
Ayda’s mouth opened—
The crimson thread struck again.
It snagged around her wrist and yanked her to her knees with a sickening crack. The second fork slashed her throat.
Ayda slumped to the ground. A pool of blood as red as the light spread out around her still form.
His best friend was dead.
His world narrowed and darkened as one of the brightest sparks in it snuffed. Murdered by her own Sword.
“We need to get the princess out of here,” Caeda hissed.
Eyes fixed on Ayda, he barely heard her.
“Now,” Caeda snapped.
He shook off his aching stupor and stumbled to help Caeda.
Face a ghostly pallor, Taliesin had collapsed in a heap of tulle and jewels. Instead of staring at Ayda, her eyes were fixed on her parents.
Across the room, the king and queen cowered behind their guards.
One of the guards moved. The light took a curious interest in him. It flared from red to blue and everything in between as it snaked toward him. The guard drew two swords. The light flickered, then lost interest and pulled back.
Caeda leaned down to haul Taliesin to her feet.
The light curled into the air and pointed in his direction. A Fae man, it wasn’t him it sought.
No! Not Caeda! Anyone but her.
“Keep still,” he hissed, urgently. “The light is tracking movement.”
Caeda stiffened.
The light snaked directly at her.
Her face blanched, and she nearly dropped her sword. She looked around, gaping. Her intelligent hazel eyes he loved so much brimmed with panic.
The devilish light flickered to blue.
He’d seen this before. When Ayda had been called. His heart almost imploded.
He sliced his blade through the blue light.
It ignored him—a gnat pitted against a dragon—and tickled her skin. It wound up her legs like smoke, gently caressing her stomach, her chest, and then her face. The thread tangled through her dark hair, pulling it free from its braid.
Just as he had always wanted to do.
Unable to bear those exploratory caresses, he grabbed her shoulders. “Caeda!” When she didn’t respond, he shook her roughly. Her head jerked back. “Caeda, look at me!”
Her gaze met his. Her mouth opened.
It snapped closed.
All screaming in the ballroom stilled.
Everyone stared at her—at them.
“Can’t you hear it?” Caeda croaked. Her skin had gone deathly pale.
He released her and stumbled back a step. Oh, Caeda.
How he wished he could save her from this fate—to take her somewhere safe and secure where she didn’t have to be afraid. Where the days of her life weren’t numbered, and her mind wouldn’t slowly slip away, as Ayda’s had.
But there was nothing he, or anyone, could do for her now.
“The Sword has chosen a new Soul-Reaper,” he whispered hoarsely.
She shook her head. “No. Not possible.”
She collapsed onto her knees. Her breath whistled through her teeth.
There could be no doubt about it. Caeda was the new Soul-Reaper. And the awful Sword had infiltrated her head, like it always did.
It had chosen her.
Of every woman in the room, in the city, in Yatres, the Sword had chosen her.
The Fae he loved.
But now the Sword and the Bone, and the title of Soul-Reaper, belonged to her.
The Sword that had just killed its previous mistress.
“Caeda.” He knelt in front of her. The blue light shrank away from his touch.
“What’s the Sword saying to you?”
A whimper. “Someone has stolen the Bone,” she wheezed.
His jaw dropped. He snapped it closed.
Their world had just changed—hopefully forever.
His head swiveled to the guards protecting the nobles. “Get up to the Soul-Reaper’s tower and check on the Bone now!” he shouted to the closest guard.
Two of them spun, pushing and shoving through the nobles cramming the exit.
“Dominik,” the king shouted.
He’d barely remembered the king’s presence.
“Take the Soul-Reaper and go with them. Then report back to me.”
He grabbed Caeda’s hand and pulled her to her feet. She yanked away from him, so he let go of her. The crowd at the door, parted by them and the guards, watched silently as they clattered from the ballroom and onto the staircase. He took the steps two at a time, coming up right behind Caeda. They burst into the marble-and-crystal lobby below the ballroom tower, raced out the double doors, and across the snowy courtyard that divided the main palace from the Soul-Reaper’s tower.
She gasped—probably at the voice that now invaded her head—and nearly stumbled.
He had to stop himself from grabbing her hand.
“Keep up,” he commanded, in a tone she’d expect from a noble. He swept her behind the guards into the staircase winding up the Soul-Reaper’s tower.
She stumbled and grabbed her head, gagging.
This time, he couldn’t stop himself from offering her his hand.
What to say to her? What to do for a Fae whose entire world has just been destroyed by an unwanted calling by a manic Sword?
“I’m here for you, my lady. Lean on me if you have to.”
She gagged again.
He grimaced. Clearly not that.
She ignored his hand and shoved past him. With him two steps behind, she raced up and reached the landing first.
He bounded up the last step and skidded to a stop next to her.
The two guards stationed outside the schorl door to the Bone room were dead. Hot blood leaked from their necks, from which protruded—
“Arrows.” He swore, then made his way to the open schorl door.
Caeda didn’t join him. She knelt beside one of the dead guards—Ryo had been his name. “He’s not been dead long,” she called.
They likely hadn’t had time to scream.
The schorl door hung open and the wards were gone, inviting all to enter.
He stared into the room where the Bone lived. Shattered glass covered the floor. The display case was broken.
And the Bone was gone.
Despite the terrible, wasteful deaths, he could not resist a sigh of relief. Now the hunt for it would begin.
Hopefully it would never be found.
* * *
Thank you for reading Dominik’s view on the events that changed both his and Caeda’s lives. We hoped you enjoyed! To find out more about our books, drop to our website at: http://www.gwynnwhite.com.
The Ferromancer’s Bane
An Alternative Point-Of-View Scene
Becca Andre
Spoiler Alert! Reading this scene before you read Ferromancer will spoil some of the surprises in the story. This scene was created as a fun extra for those that have already enjoyed the story.
* * *
Grayson’s shoulders ached, but he continued to wrestle with the knotted rope that bound his hands behind his back. Wha
t he wouldn’t give to be bound in chains and shackles. He could escape those in seconds. In truth, he would welcome any brush of iron. Being trapped on a wooden vessel surrounded by water was unsettling. He had noticed a similar sensation on his trip across the Atlantic three years ago, but the metal hull of the ship had grounded him. Yet here, only a few feet from shore, it felt like he’d been thrust in a void.
The hatch above his head opened and he heard someone descend the ladder behind him. The ladder didn’t creak enough for it to be his burly guardsman, Eli. He saw he was right when the boat’s headstrong captain stepped into view.
Her breath came quickly and several tendrils of her dark red hair had come loose from her braid. Had she been running?
Unable to speak with the gag in his mouth, he gave her his best cold stare.
“I just met your friend,” she told him.
Confused, Grayson frowned.
“Mr. Solon,” she clarified.
Grayson came to his feet. Bloody hell, Solon was here? He tried to step away from the trunk he’d been seated on, but his bound hands had been leashed to the support post behind him.
“You failed to mention that he was a ferromancer,” she said.
Grayson tried to respond, but the gag stopped him.
“Sit,” she said.
He glared at her. He didn’t have time for her petty commands.
“Sit and I’ll remove the gag.”
He huffed and decided to acquiesce. This time. He dropped back to his seat on the trunk.
She stepped forward and tugged the cloth from his mouth, allowing it to drop around his neck.
He spoke the moment he could. “You’re certain it was Solon?”
“He was addressed by name. And…he has a metal hand.”
Grayson slumped against the post behind him. “Damn.” He’d been so certain that being taken aboard this boat had enabled him to escape Solon’s notice. Now he had two problems: how to escape this boat and elude Solon.
“He knew I had Lock with me,” she added.
Make that three problems. “Do not call constructs by name, and why are you walking around with it?”
“I forgot he was in my pocket.”
Grayson muttered a few choice phrases under his breath.
“What language was that?” she asked, clearly mishearing his colorful soliloquy.
“Latin,” he lied.
“Do you know a few phrases or do you actually speak it?”
“That’s hardly pertinent.” He let what was inhuman in him color his tone. “What did you say to Solon? Did you tell him I was here?”
“No.” Her tone was matter of fact, as if his inhuman coldness didn’t faze her. “I kneed him in the nuts and ran.”
Grayson stared at her. He must not have heard that right. “You what?”
“In case you were wondering if ferromancers have iron balls, question answered. They don’t.”
Grayson blinked. He had heard her right. The hilarity of the situation, both her brazen observation and Solon’s wounded…pride, sent Grayson over the edge. He threw back his head and laughed. It seemed this girl was the bane of ferromancers everywhere.
When he finally got his mirth under control, he noticed the color in her cheeks. Perhaps she wasn’t as brazen as she let on.
“Since you work for one,” she continued, “I thought you might want to know.”
Grayson sobered. “You still insist that Martel is a ferromancer?”
“My instincts say yes, but I’ve sent the plans to a friend—”
“You mailed the plans?” The only copy of the plans he’d spent years designing?
“Yes.” She didn’t seem to notice his distress. “My friend is knowledgeable and can help me make the determination.”
“He’s an expert in ferromancy?” Grayson didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm.
“He lived in Europe, but his expertise is in the area of mechanical design.”
Grayson slumped against the support post once more. What now? Even if he got the opportunity to escape, he couldn’t leave without his plans—anymore than he could leave without his construct.
“Are you worried?” she asked.
“That this friend of yours will reveal Martel to be a ferromancer, no, I’m not worried.” He smiled to let her see how little that aspect concerned him.
She frowned, no doubt concerned that she’d kidnapped him for no reason.
“Solon said he recognized Lock’s soul,” she said.
Grayson stilled. What else had Solon told her?
“So, it’s true? Automatons really are made from stolen souls?” She pulled his construct, in the form of a silver lock, from her pocket. An instant later, it assumed its true form, though neither of them had given it a command.
Grayson’s heart beat quicker as he watched his construct gaze up at her in adoration. He felt so betrayed.
“He’s so beautiful,” she whispered, rubbing it beneath the chin. “How did Solon recognize his soul?”
“Its soul,” Grayson corrected.
“Do you not know or are you just refusing to tell me?” She looked up from the construct, her green eyes meeting his. “Did you take Lock from Solon? Is that what you meant when you said you procured him in London?”
He refused to answer, afraid of getting lost in the labyrinth of lies he had told her.
The boat lurched into motion.
“We’re leaving?” Grayson asked. Maybe he could escape Solon’s notice.
“Yes. I made the unpleasant discovery that your friend is meeting with my cousin.”
“He’s not my friend, and who the hell is your cousin?”
“Andrew Rose.”
Grayson stared at her. “You’re Bridget Rose?”
“My friends call me Briar.”
“Charming, Miss Rose. What do your enemies call you? A thorn in their side?”
“Ha ha. How do you know my name?” She continued before he could answer. “Oh, right. Andrew had some big plan to marry me off to your Mr. Martel.”
“Was that his plan?” Grayson asked. Andrew hadn’t mentioned that, though he had mentioned several times that he would be introducing Grayson to his cousin.
“Yes.”
“Something tells me you weren’t as thrilled with the idea.”
“That Andrew intended to sell my boat, build locomotives for the enemy, and give me to some ferromancer? I was delighted.”
“So, you stole his boat, pilfered those locomotive plans, and kidnapped me? Seems it would be simpler to just knee Andrew in the nuts.”
“It has proven to be less than effective.” Her cheeks colored again and she turned her attention to his construct, rubbing it beneath the chin. “I wouldn’t think Mr. Martel would be any more thrilled with the idea.”
Grayson sighed, watching her pet his construct. “It might be a bit late for that since you’ve already captured a bit of his soul.”
Briar looked up. “What? Are you saying Lock is…”
“I told you not to name it.” He wanted to laugh at her expression, but if he did, it would rapidly devolve into mad, hysterical laughter. Dear God, she had taken his construct. How, he had no idea.
“You might have told me why!” She stared at his construct in horror.
The automaton sprang up to her shoulder and rubbed its cheek against her throat, responding to her distress.
“What does this mean? What do I do?” she demanded.
Grayson found her discomfort amusing. Now maybe she would get a sense of what he was feeling.
“Is that who Solon recognized?” she continued. “What’s the connection? And why is my cousin involved with both of them?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Captain?” a crewman called down from the hatch above them.
The construct scampered down her chest and vanished into her pocket.
“What is it?” she called.
He opened the hatch. “We have a problem.”
She p
aled. “Andrew saw us?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. It’s the tiller.”
A thump and the boat shuddered, forcing Briar to take a step to the side.
“What the hell?” she demanded.
“We docked beside Darby last night,” her crewman said.
“Shit.” Briar headed for the ladder.
“I can fix it,” Grayson called after her.
Briar hesitated. “You don’t even know what’s wrong.”
“I can fix it.” He held her gaze.
Her crewman snorted. “He just wants you to untie him.”
“A boat floundering at the dock would have to draw attention,” Grayson said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to avoid attention.” He’d do whatever it took to avoid Solon’s notice.
She held his gaze for one long moment, then turned and hurried up the ladder. He heard her footfalls on the roof moving away from him.
“Damn.” Grayson tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He’d been tied up in this cabin since before they docked. He had no idea how visible their floundering boat would be, or if it was something that would draw Solon’s attention.
He sighed. How had his life fallen apart so fast?
Until yesterday, everything had been going exceedingly well. He had found a financier for his locomotives and had even built a prototype. Then Solon’s henchman had found him. Grayson had taken care of the soulless man, but he knew that Solon wouldn’t be far behind. It was time to move. Again. He’d just come to terms with that when his construct had called out, informing him that his trunk had been taken and loaded aboard a canal boat. Trying to retrieve it had landed him here.
The captivity was bad enough, but to have his construct taken by a girl who couldn’t be ferra… Grayson leaned back and closed his eyes. The world had gone insane.
A series of rapid footfalls sounded above him and a moment later, both Briar and Eli joined him.
“The tiller rotates freely on the rudder post,” she said. “We’ll have to dry dock and have it repaired.”
Grayson wasn’t familiar with canal boats, but he nodded, pretending he understood. “I can fix it.”