by Jeff Wheeler
“Stay close to me,” she told him. She saw his nervousness, but he was a brave man and always had been.
“I intend to,” he answered.
As Cettie reached for the door handle to the building connected to the underground chambers—including the place of healing where the Everoot had cured her so many times—she tried to sense the presence of hetaera magic. She hadn’t sensed any yet, which made her wonder if the school had truly been abandoned. Surely there were underground tunnels allowing escape.
She gripped the handle, turned it, and pushed it open. Darkness, so dark her eyes could see nothing. The windows had all been shuttered. She walked inside, listening for any indication she was not alone. Her senses were on a knife’s edge, but they did not pick up on any strange sounds or smells. She entered the classroom, giving her eyes a little chance to adjust.
Every detail of the chamber was just as her memory had left it. The wicker chairs, the padded bench. There were oil lamps hanging from iron pegs. All were darkened. She stepped in after her eyes had mitigated the darkness. She walked deeper into the room, Adam following close behind, seeing the things for the first time.
Steady lads. Eagle eyes, all of you. She heard the captain’s order in her mind.
She walked softly, trying to mute her steps. At the other side of the room was another door. Pausing there, she tried to sense if anyone lay behind it. She felt nothing. So she twisted that handle too and ventured deeper into the dark. Retrieving the lantern from her satchel, she invoked its light, illuminating the corridor beyond.
There, at the far end of the corridor, was the stairwell going down to the healing chamber. The place that held the Leering covered in Everoot. It was the deepest part of the school, though she imagined the dungeon lay even deeper. She’d never been there before.
With a shivering heart, she walked toward the stairs. She heard the noise of Adam’s boots behind her. Her mouth was so dry she wished she’d brought some water. It was painful to swallow.
The door.
Cettie put her hand on it, and she immediately felt life emanating from beyond and below. There were people down there, sparks of life, each with their own sad tune.
“There are others here,” she whispered over her shoulder. “Be ready.”
Cettie twisted the handle and then started down the steps. She heard moans coming from below, frightened whispers. The light from the lantern chased back the gloom, revealing that the door to the healing room had been ripped off its hinges. A huddled mass of people covered the benches in the room. None of their feet touched the floor. The Leering below was still working, dripping water from its surface, which pattered into the basin of the fountain.
She kept coming down the steps, scanning everything, trying to make sense of it. She recognized some of the servants who had once obeyed her. They stared at her with horror and fear, as if she’d come to kill them all. What had they been told?
Then she noticed the serpents writhing on the floor. Some were even coiled at the foot of the steps. So the slaves were trapped by their fear. They couldn’t escape, nor had they been taken.
“There are people down here,” she said, speaking to the pin at her collar. “Trapped. Serpents everywhere.”
Be careful, the captain said. How many?
Cettie went down the steps, seeing the huddles of people. There were probably no more than twelve, each one trying to stay above the floor. How long had they been left in the dark? Some winced away from the light of her lantern. As she got closer, she saw there were dead bodies on the floor, sprawled out in painful poses. Snakes hissed at her light as she approached.
“I see a dozen. Some are dead. Do not come closer yet.”
Aye. We’re standing ready. I won’t give orders until you learn more.
“I’m here to help you,” Cettie said in a calming voice as she reached the lower steps, just above the coiling snakes. She’d mastered her fear of them at the school. The students had all been taught to lift and handle them so they could touch them without being bitten.
As she was about to stoop and clear the stairs, she sensed the invocation of power. The eyes of some of the people huddling on the benches began to flash silver. She felt their kystrels flare to life, sending terror at her, terror that would freeze and bind her limbs.
There was the crack of a gunshot—behind and above. From the courtyard.
She felt Captain Dumas’s thoughts suddenly wink out. He was already dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY−FOUR
OATH MAIDEN
Cettie knew the sensation of terror all too well. How many times had she fallen victim to it? She had learned at the poisoner school to confront her fear, and all her other feelings, and to capture them within the medallion she wore around her neck. That medallion had given her the ability to control her emotions. And that was what most people craved—to be in control of themselves, of their circumstances, of their fate. But control was only an illusion, and one with a steep price.
The kystrel had made her its slave.
Terror beat into her now, bringing back the fears of the young girl who’d hidden from ghosts only she could see, but she could not hide from it, nor would she have. The light from the lantern began to dim. How many Myriad Ones slunk through the shadows?
“Welcome back,” said a hateful voice that she recognized at once. Gone was the facade of caring and wisdom. Jevin’s glowing eyes stared at her from the benches. Her mentor. Her deceiver. The menace in his words told him all she needed to know. The man who’d been so solicitous, so kind, intended to kill her.
She felt a hand grasp her wrist. Adam.
He took the lantern from her, and bright light flared from it. Adam held up the lantern, standing on the stairs in defiance.
And Cettie’s terror cringed away from her stronger sense of purpose, just like the Myriad Ones cringed from the light.
Banirexpiare.
The thought came from her and Adam together, their minds joined as one. Shrieks of pain split her mind, a keening sound that rumbled like thunder. The light was a shield now, a barrier the shadow beings could not pass. It grew brighter and brighter as her will and Adam’s united. The brightness revealed that the Leering with the Everoot had been stripped bare of the mossy plant. None of it was left. The craggy face of the carving seemed to be weeping at the loss.
The snakes hissed and retreated from the brilliance, seeking shelter in the shadows. Taking a deep, heartening breath, Cettie stepped into the room.
The first kishion rushed at her, his pistol aimed for her head. He pulled the trigger, but the mechanism jammed. Anger contorted his face. He tried shaking the gun and aimed for her again as she approached him. The trigger went. Nothing happened. Swearing a foul oath, he threw down the pistol and drew a dagger from his belt. This he shoved at her chest, trying to stab her heart.
Cettie felt as if the world slowed. Magic coursed through her, heightening every sense, connecting her to every person in the room. She stepped to the side on instinct, the dagger going wide, and then brought her knee up into his stomach. Her arms moved in unison, performing a Bhikhu technique that Raj Sarin had shown her—the butterfly hands—and when she struck the kishion, she felt an explosion of power erupt from her palms. The man was thrown from his feet as if he’d been struck by a battering ram, his arms pinwheeling as he sailed backward. She felt his bones breaking, and then he lay sprawled on the floor in agony.
“Kill her! Now!” Jevin thundered.
A dagger sailed toward her head, but it seemed to come no faster than a feather dropping. She caught it midair and tossed it aside, moving forward and springing up, her legs scissoring to kick the man in the face. Again she felt a swell of power, an amplification of her abilities. As a hetaera and poisoner, she’d had access to the toxic but occasionally useful knowledge of the Myriad Ones, but now she could draw on memories from a thousand lifetimes of strong warriors, Oath Maidens all.
Three of them attacked her at once, leaving only Jevin,
who grabbed one of the prisoners by the collar and hoisted him off the bench.
The beard and scraggly hair and tattered clothes hid the man’s identity, but then she recognized him. Trevon. She needed to get to him while he was still alive. She had to save him for Sera.
The raw fury on her attackers’ faces showed their hate, their willingness to crush her life. One of them, she realized, was her weapons instructor. Another, a hetaera student she recognized, tried to tackle her, but Cettie sidestepped at the last moment. She was all elbows and feet, blocking strikes, dodging blades. Another enemy raised a pistol and fired again, and this weapon froze just like the last one. The oath magic was protecting her. She brought them down, one by one, striking with more strength than she had ever done before. She was the Mysteries’ vengeance. Its power rippled through her arms, her hands. For the first time in a long, long while, she felt at one with herself, totally at peace in the vortex of a raging storm. Around her, the attackers peeled back, struck and injured, bones breaking, vital organs bruised. The other poisoner in training was among the fallen.
She’d thrown her old master to the ground, but he was up again a moment later, trying to destroy her. She caught his fist and flipped him onto his back with jarring force. His eyes glazed over, and he slumped, either unconscious or dead.
“We trained you too well,” Jevin said. He held Trevon around the waist, pressing a dagger to his throat.
“Trevon,” Cettie said, walking toward them.
“Ah, not so close!” Jevin warned, jabbing the point of the dagger into his hostage’s throat. Cettie saw a trickle of blood.
Trevon’s eyes burned into hers. He begged her to save him with his gaze. His skin was raw, his eyes feverish, so different from the courtly man she’d known. A vivid memory surfaced in her awareness—the first time she’d suspected Sera and Trevon’s arrangement was not merely a political one was on a walk the three of them had taken in a garden in Lockhaven. The couple had bantered with a sweet familiarity, and she’d caught Sera looking at Trevon with longing. She’d asked Sera about that secret smile later, and her friend had actually blushed. Trevon had clearly been brought very low. But he was still alive.
Cettie kept walking, slow and sure.
“Your father is up there, destroying the soldiers you brought with you,” Jevin said. “And then he will destroy you. You failed us, Cettie. We would have made you our queen, but you betrayed us. And so you will die.”
She could hear shots being fired outside, their noise muted by the thick walls. Still she advanced.
“You want him dead?” Jevin challenged, jutting out his chin. “Do you really want to tell your precious friend that you let her love be murdered? You have the power to stop it, Cettie. You have the power to make a mark on both worlds in a way no one else can. Destiny brought you to us, Cettie. You were born to be our vessel, our queen. Accept your birthright, and I’ll spare his life.”
She vaulted at him. Words were his best weapons. He lied and deceived with every breath. They all did. Talking to him would only give him more power.
While she had no doubt he would do as he threatened, she had a small bit of Everoot left. If she could free Trevon quickly enough, his wounds would be healed.
Jevin’s eyes widened with surprise at her attack. He started to cut Trevon’s neck, but Cettie’s hand grasped his forearm and prevented the killing blow. Power radiated from him—a strength his thin frame belied. She tried to pry his arm away to free Trevon, but it was like pulling on a tree.
Darkness was at Jevin’s core. An unearthly darkness. A darkness she recognized.
His visage twisted with anger. “You cannot defeat me!” he snarled. His silver eyes burned with malevolent power. Yes, her ghost was inside him, the one that had tormented her for so many years. His agent—his servant—his master. Had it always been connected to Jevin? Had he been a secret tormenter for so many years, in league with her eyeless enemy?
She slammed the heel of her hand into his face. His head hardly budged. Then he suddenly released Trevon and, dropping the knife, seized her throat with his hands. She pummeled him, trying to break his grip, but her blows were ineffective. The strength she’d felt earlier was draining from her. The magic was shrinking, failing, as her lungs struggled for air.
She kicked him once, twice, trying to break the chokehold. She was on her back, not even sure how it had happened. Spots danced before her eyes.
“You are nothing! Nothing! You forsook them for us, and now us for them. What are you but a false traitor? Die! Die!”
Then, just when Cettie felt consciousness start to dance away from her, Adam smashed the lantern against the side of Jevin’s head. The blow broke the man’s nose, leaving an angry, weeping welt across his nose and eyebrow. It knocked him off her. Cettie could breathe again.
As she struggled to rise, trying to shake off the fog of unconsciousness, she saw Adam standing before her. The glass from the lantern had shattered, exposing the white-hot light of the Leering fastened to the iron. Jevin covered his face, the light seeming to scald him, or perhaps it was the creature inside him. He swore at them, oath after oath.
Trevon had staggered to his feet, holding his neck with one hand, trying to stanch the bleeding, and a pistol with the other. His arm was shaking, but the pistol was aimed at Jevin’s head.
The villain jumped as the blast boomed. The bullet ricocheted around the room, missing Jevin, who had leaped into the fountain around the Water Leering. Blood dribbled down his face as he stared balefully at them. Cettie felt an invocation of magic, a word of power uttered in his mind.
Kennesayrim.
A whorl of magic engulfed him. A conduit opened, just for a moment, a shaft of dark light pulling him away. It had a peculiar sound to it, like a certain set of chords played by instruments. Then the fountain was empty, and the song had ended.
He had escaped with his life, and she knew he would never stop hunting her until one of them lay dead.
Trevon sank to his knees, the smoking pistol falling from his hand. His fingers were smeared with blood, and his pale face went slack.
Adam rushed to him, catching him before he fell.
“It’s Trevon,” he said to her, setting the prince down.
Cettie nodded, still reeling from the fight. She felt bruises forming on her neck. Her vision had blackened at the edges, but she managed to cling to consciousness. Trevon tried speaking, but his words came out as gurgling gasps.
“Shhh,” Adam soothed, working frantically to stop the bleeding.
Cettie found her pouch with the remaining stub of Everoot and quickly removed the little patch of moss with speckled flowers. The lamp illuminated it in her hand. The craving to use the magic on herself was strong, but it felt wrong, so she endured her own pain.
Some of the other prisoners were beginning to gather around now that the snakes had been repelled by the Leering’s light. Cettie felt no threat from any of them, just fear and budding hope. They’d been prisoners there. Slaves. They would be grateful to escape.
“Here, let me,” Cettie said, bringing the moss closer.
“What is that?” Adam asked, his brow wrinkling.
“Trust me,” she said. He backed away at once, still pressing his fingers to the bloody wound. Cettie touched Trevon’s jaw with the moss. Tingles of magic shot down her fingertips into Trevon’s body, and she saw him shudder and groan in relief. The frantic spasms passed, and soon he was breathing cleanly again, his chest rising and falling.
The magic winked out, and Cettie saw nothing left of the root in her hand. As Adam pulled his hand away, he gasped in shock.
“The wound is closed?” he said in surprise.
“It’s a healing plant,” Cettie explained.
Trevon tried to sit up and, with a little help, succeeded.
“I’d almost given up hope,” Trevon gasped. “Sera? Is she alive? I must know the truth.”
Cettie and Adam exchanged a look, then Cettie put a comforting ha
nd on the prince’s shoulder. “We don’t know, but we think so. She was abducted by Lady Corinne a few days ago.”
“Abducted?” Trevon said. “I’ve been in isolation for months. I don’t even know how much time has passed since . . . since . . .” His chest began to heave. “Since our wedding.”
“It’s been over a year, Prince Trevon,” Adam said.
“A year?” he said incredulously. He looked heartsick, bereft.
Cettie’s eyes caught a couple of familiar faces among the prisoners. She almost did a double take. Rand and Joanna Patchett. The real Rand and Joanna Patchett. How strange that she’d never met them.
“Randall Patchett?” Cettie said, looking at him.
“Do I know you?” he answered, confused. He shot a worried look at his sister. “You seem . . . familiar. I’ve heard your voice.” He rubbed his brow in consternation.
She rose and walked toward them. So much to explain. But there wasn’t time. Not yet.
“I must go,” she said, turning back to Adam. “I must stop my father.”
“We’re all going,” Adam said with determination as he rose. “Can you stand, Trevon?” When the prince nodded, Adam gripped his hand and pulled him to his feet. “All of you, come with us.” Adam grabbed the broken lantern, still alight, in his other hand and carried it with him.
Cettie strode ahead, feeling fatigued and drained. The superhuman magic that had filled her moments before was gone. If she’d lain down, she would have fallen asleep in moments.
But she trudged up the stairs, hearing the report of weapons through the walls. With Captain Dumas dead, there was no way to find out what was going on outside. Her father had the magic to turn invisible. He could shoot every dragoon, one at a time. The urgency of the situation lent her strength to mount the stairs faster. Adam brought Trevon after her, and the other freed prisoners followed them, anxious to be away from the dungeon.
Cettie rushed up to the main level and ran toward the door leading to the courtyard. She sensed the magic of a kystrel just beyond it, the power whirling like a storm. The door burst open suddenly.