The stones in the hilt glowed beneath his white-knuckled grasp. The steel was a wet, glossy red. The auras were spilling out of me, coloring my blood as it soaked the front of my shirt. Watching the circle widen, Jarryd dropped the dagger and stumbled back.
In Sienn’s vision I was standing on the altar. But the wound wanted me on the ground. I reached back, grabbed the crown, and dropped to my knees.
The artifact hit the sand. My blood dripped onto the circlet. As I made my intentions known, the auras pulsed faster; in the crown, and in me. Quickening vibrations sped through my veins. The remaining magic in the Crown of Stones shot across the slight space between us in a twisting colored tendril. It penetrated my open wound and I cried out; harder as the strand took hold and started pulling. I stopped feeling the wound; only the excruciating pain of the draw as the crown siphoned my blood. Not just blood.
Life, I thought, as a gaping abyss dropped open inside me.
I didn’t have much time.
Expanding my focus from what held the stones together; I imagined the repercussions of their cohesion: the fragmenting of my people’s souls, the disintegration of our society. The collapse of our will as it succumbed to magic’s relentless and pleasurable pull. I concentrated on the fusion itself, where our pieces went, how it held the stones together, uniting blood, soul, and magic, and trapping them in a seemingly perpetual bond. I pictured the product of this illusory melding as something visible and tangible. And I saw it. So clearly, I wondered how I could have missed it before: a pale thread woven between the stones. Its crystalline, transparent quality reminded me of Sienn’s hair. But the thread wasn’t one strand. It was three plaited together.
One of blood, one of soul, and one of magic.
Each shimmered in a slightly different hue, releasing a near invisible spark that jumped like lightning between the stones.
I reached out. My will seized the thread as it would an element I sought to command.
My turn, I thought, and yanked.
At first, the spliced bits of my ancestors didn’t want to budge. But I was a direct descendant of the makers of the Crown of Stones. I could damn sure unmake it.
With a stubborn, mental tug, the thread began to unravel. As it lifted out, a tiny space formed between the stones. Their rough edges started separating, and I envisioned what was to come. How the thread would pull free and trail out, winding through the bodies of those in the arena. It would drift beyond them across the sand, into the mountains, over the fields, across the water; touching Shinree in every realm; filling the holes and mending our tattered souls.
The last fibers were nearly free when I felt resistance. It was my turn to give. My turn to prove how committed I was. To show what I was willing to surrender.
Take it, I thought. Take what you will.
And it did, with an explosion of pain that tore through my veins. I thought the cords would rip straight up through my skin as the magic siphoned harder. Blood poured faster onto the stones. They rocked violently against each other. Auras were leaking out, piling in the empty space inside the circlet. A great deal of power was building there, trapped by the last bit of thread still holding the crown together. Vibrations rippled out. Traveling down, increasing in intensity. The tremors infiltrated the sand, shaking those who stood upon it. The stands shuddered and cracked. Fractures formed in the ground around me. They webbed out across the arena in ever-widening fissures.
I had to keep going. If I didn’t release the magic soon, it would tear the city apart.
Weak, fighting the agony consuming me, I stretched an arm out, locked fingers around the Nor-Taali, and tugged it closer. I gripped the hilt with both hands. As I struggled to lift the dagger above my head, I peered over top of the rising swell of power. All eyes were on me; large and white, full of gratitude and overlapped with fear. Somehow I found Sienn’s eyes among all that white. I held them a moment. Then I plunged the dagger down into the center of the circlet.
Steel pierced the pulsing veil. I felt the final string come loose—inside me, like it was me the thread was holding together and not the crown—and the stones burst apart. A colorful barrage of light ruptured out across the sand in a concussive swell. The force smacked into the crowd. Row by row, they fell. I joined them.
Lying on my side, cradled in a lake of my own blood, I watched the wave sweep through my people and bathe them in a shimmering glow. Their bodies convulsed violently. Many were lapsing into unconsciousness. When they woke their world would be changed. Their addiction would be gone. They would no longer be forced to deny their own nature, to feel betrayed by it or be made to struggle against it. The great burden the Shinree had borne for nearly a thousand years would be lifted. No more addiction, no more guilt. I envied them.
The wave continued out though the walls of the arena. The air grew quiet and still. The nine stones were scattered about. Separate, they were nothing special now; their colors and auras were their own.
The obsidian shard had popped loose. I reached out and pulled it toward me. Clenching the black rock in my shaking hand, it bit into my skin. The discomfort, familiar and sharp, was oddly comforting. Wondering how I could feel it over so much pain, I laughed, rippling the puddle of red with my ragged, desperate breath. It was the only sound.
It was going on far too long.
I should be dead, I thought. Why am I not dead?
Then I felt it, deep within me; something was missing. And I understood.
Desperate, I gazed out across the sand. Jarryd was on the ground. He was barely conscious. His eyes were glazed and heavy. I met them. I tried to tell him. I tried so hard, but nothing would come out. I was wrong…
Blood wasn’t enough.
The spell required more to prove the depth of my intentions.
The sacrifice to restore my people was never meant to be paid with my life. But what I’d given up was just as precious.
FIFTY NINE
The reins in my hand shook. I tightened my grip. They shook harder. Lifting the flask in my other trembling hand, I took a fast drink. The amber liquid fell down my throat, warm and bitter. I focused on the sensation, letting it overpower the tremors; willing them away.
Malaq, tying his horse to the post, glanced at me and sighed. “It’s been nearly five months of this.”
I tucked the flask in one of the bags behind me and slid off Kya’s back. “So it has.”
Glancing around the small Langorian harbor town we’d arrived in, one look told me it wasn’t the prettiest of settlements. Fish smell tainted the air. The barren mountains were a harsh backdrop. The glittering ocean, with the distant sun sinking in like a hazy orange ball, was the town’s only redeeming quality.
Watching the sunset, Malaq squinted. It wasn’t the glare. He was thinking, trying to decide whether to let it go. Predictably, he gave in. “I thought you’d be better by now.”
“This isn’t a physical wound, nef’areen. It won’t heal with time.”
“Bullshit. There has to be something in one of those runes.”
“Not these.” I glanced at the dark lines that swept up my left hand to continue under the brace at my wrist. “There’s no magic in them anymore. They’re just scars.”
“You know what I mean.”
“There’s nothing in the library to fix this. What I surrendered I can never get back. I always said Fate has a mean sense of humor.”
“That’s it, then?” I was still amazed by how much disapproval the man could convey with one eye. “You’re giving up?”
I shrugged, and Malaq threw up his hands. They settled on his hips as he scanned the town, surveying the rows of old buildings lining the street and the groups of Langorians ambling along the wooden walkways. His gaze lingered on the dingy docks and the gently bobbing vessels moored alongside. Malaq’s scrutiny was exhaustive, like he might find the answer to my problem scrawled into th
e grimy wooden planks.
“Look,” I said, stowing my annoyance. “I appreciate the company. You didn’t have to ride with me from Darkhorne. Your refusal to travel with guards probably aged Krillos a good five years.”
“More like ten,” he muttered.
“But if you came along expecting some miracle…”
Malaq’s gaze swung back to me, earnest and hard. “I expected you to change your mind.”
“Sorry, my friend, but even your ungodly powers of persuasion have their limits.”
He scowled at me. I ignored it and turned toward the bay. The docks were occupied with a mix of majestic sailing ships and old fishing boats. One was smaller than the others, at least half the size of Krillos’ ship. It was far newer, though, floating serenely in the bay with crisp white sails and a polished wooden wheel gleaming in the evening light.
I gestured at the boat. “Can we take a look?”
“Sure. It is yours.”
Leaving the horses, we walked in silence along the rocky shore. As we reached the docks, I noticed hesitation in Malaq’s gait. I wasn’t surprised at all when he tried again.
“Are you certain about this, Ian? Your stomach didn’t fare too well on your last voyage.”
“That wasn’t a good time for me all around. And I’m hoping she takes after her name.”
“That’s not a name.” Malaq flung a dismissive hand, indicating the lettering scrawled along the bow up ahead. “It’s a phrase. B’tay—”
“Stop.” I hated it when Malaq endeavored to speak Shinree. “B’tay roo-sta.”
“Exactly. Who names their boat, Be Still and Calm?”
“I’ll answer that when you stop naming your swords.”
“I have a better idea. Forget this entire ridiculous idea and stay.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? You’ve made it work thus far.”
“Have I?” I held my hands out. We both watched them shake. “I’ve tried pretending it hasn’t affected me, that I can still be a part of what you’re building. But I’m not the same anymore. I lost a part of me, Malaq. My control is shot to hell. And I can’t keep closing my eyes to the consequences, not for Sienn, or Lirih—not even for you.”
“You didn’t mean to kill that man.”
“Which one?” I said, and he blanched.
“It isn’t right. After all you did, to have to live like this…”
“Right or wrong, it’s done. I sacrificed what was required to destroy the crown.”
“You thought what it required was your life.”
“And in a way, that’s what it took. The spell removed my erudite blood. It took it all, Malaq, everything I inherited from my mother; my abilities, my ancestry, and all the perks that came with it. But it worked. The lines are repaired. There are no more elementals or door-makers, or healers, no more suffering through cravings or the weakness of being magic-blind. For the first time in a thousand years, the Shinree are whole and free from their addiction.”
“Except you,” he pointed out.
“Except me. I’m pure soldier now, a Reth, through and through. Like it or not it’s the only line I own. The only blood left in me.”
“Which is why your cravings are worse than before,” he sighed, yielding wearily. This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation.
We came to a stop alongside the B’tay Roo-sta. A wide plank was laid down for boarding. As we walked the incline, a Langorian man emerged from below deck. Middle aged with a slight limp and a braided beard, he made his way over.
The man’s greeting was a covert whisper. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. I didn’t tell a soul you were coming.”
“Thank you, Tabin,” Malaq smiled. “How is she?”
“A real beauty,” he grinned, “mighty fine inside and out. I’m a tad partial, I suppose, seeing as I was just made master builder. But I’d say The Roarke Shipping Yard outdid itself. All the details are as ordered. There’s room for a small crew but easy enough to handle without.”
“Will she weather a storm?” Malaq asked.
“Like she was made for it. Got her all stocked up like you asked, too. Should I bring the horses on board?”
“Just the mare,” Malaq replied. “I won’t be staying long. And I appreciate the quick work.” He pulled a hefty pouch of coins from his cloak pocket and plopped it in Tabin’s hand. “Pass my gratitude onto all involved?”
“Of course, Your Grace. Thank you.” Nodding gratefully, Tabin jogged off the ship.
I walked around the deck, my head spinning with all the last minute lessons Krillos had shoved down my throat. He was sure I was going to screw something up, break something, or get lost at sea. I grinned to myself, thinking he was probably right.
Malaq was at the rail. He was staring again. This time straight down at the water.
I joined him, putting my back against the rail. “Stop sulking.”
“I’m not. I’m trying,” he said tightly, “to imagine doing this without you. I can’t.” Malaq’s gaze lifted. It was sober as all hell. “You fought harder than anybody for these realms. I don’t care what fatalistic crap you spout off. I don’t care if you’re addicted to magic. You don’t have to leave. Mirra’kelan is your home.”
I considered his words. “For a while, when I was a young, I thought home was the little house I shared with V’loria on Kabri. But it didn’t take long to understand Shinree didn’t really have homes. That damn camp in the bog had its moments. But then I realized it didn’t matter what plot of ground I slept on. What mattered were the people that crossed my mind before I fell asleep. Home isn’t a place, Malaq, at least not for me. But for you,” I smiled at him. “You have a lot here to take care of; a wife, a stepson, and in less than a moon, a babe of your own.”
“Two actually. Elayna carries twins.”
“Really?” I tried to sound surprised. I’d never told Malaq the grim details of his future. Now that I’d changed it, there was no need. “Congratulations. Whose family do they run in?”
“No idea. But one, two; as long as the birth goes well, I’ll be happy.” Malaq turned around and leaned against the rail, crossing arms and ankles. “I wasn’t sure you’d heard. Jillyan’s on her way back from Arulla. She’s agreed to serve as Regent of Kabri.”
“She’s had her fill of Elek already?”
“She’s pregnant.”
I tried to stop myself, but it slipped out. “Guess she did have her fill.”
Malaq squinted unhappily at me. “Bitterness never suited you, my friend.”
“You’re right. She didn’t deserve that. But her child deserves a damn better father than Elek.”
“It’s not his.”
Inexplicably irritated by the whole conversation, I said, “Why are you telling this?”
“Because she wouldn’t. You have more reasons to stay than you realize, Ian.”
I stared at him. “If Jillyan was carrying my child she would have told me. And she would never have gone to Arulla. Not with the way Elek feels about me.”
“Jillyan hoped his views were a minority. That she would find more like Ordree, tolerant and enlightened. Maybe she did. According to her letter, she plans to return when the child is older. But for now, she’s decided it’s best not to remain.”
I thought back to the little inconsistencies. How I’d questioned Jillyan about reading Tam’s journal and opening the spelled box; both required the presence of Reth blood in the body. Her last words to me finally made sense. Still… “No,” I said. “It’s not mine.”
“If there’s any doubt at all, see for yourself. Delay leaving until the child is born.”
“Stop it, Malaq. Desperation doesn’t suit you,” I said pointedly. “And if you’re right, then I have even more of a reason to go. Look at me. I’m a damn poor influence on a child.” I to
ok my hand off the rail. Relaxing more than I had all day, I allowed the tremble freedom, and it ran deep and long, all the way up my arm. It entered my voice as I spoke. “I can push the thought to the back of my mind for a while. I can clench every damn muscle I own and ride out the cravings for an hour or two. I can drown it with drink. Defer it with a taste.” I put a hand on the shard of obsidian; back around my neck on a new cord. Its vibrations were more subtle now that it was nothing but a hunk of black rock and not part of something greater. “But it will always end the same way, with me giving in and draining a life to feed my addiction.” Swallowing one last bit of the obsidian’s pulse, I let go. “My sacrifice has made sure no Shinree child will ever know that pain. So how can I explain it to someone who will never feel it? How can I even subject them to it?”
“If you knew this was the outcome, that you would forfeit your only chance to be cured, would you have gone through with it?”
“Probably. Yes. But don’t ask me in ten years. By then, I might be thinking Death would have offered a much better deal.”
Malaq didn’t reply. He eyed me in that helpless, compassionate way people do when they want to comfort you, but inside, they’re really just so damn glad it isn’t them.
I tried one last time to make him understand. “The Crown of Stones is destroyed. The realms are united. The stigma my people have lived under for centuries is lifted. I’m proud as hell to be one of the reason’s Mirra’kelan is heading into a new age. But that’s exactly why I have to leave. I represent the old ways, Malaq. Not the new.”
“You leaving won’t make the challengers to my peace accord suddenly back down. Attacks have been made against my supporters all across the realms. A Shinree woman was found hanged just yesterday in a Rellan village. It will get better. But…” With a whispered curse Malaq let slip what he’d been holding in. “Goddamn it, Troy, it’s not safe for you out there.”
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne Page 50