by Mary Weber
There’s a flash and one, two, three of the garden lanterns snap out, dimming the space around us as his hand slides to the back of my neck, as if to crack it. He swears in some language I’ve never heard, and that poisoned hunger jolts in my veins, burning my skin beneath his touch as the cold in my bones reacts. Suddenly it’s climbing, clawing, begging to get out of my fingertips to attack him.
He starts murmuring beneath his breath and boring his black eyes into me. I shut mine and push against him and focus on the energy I’m reacting to. On the sensation of power flowing through him. I begin to dig into it, draw from it, imagining I can feel it siphoning off in shallow waves as it whirlpools more and more into the vortex inside me.
I tug harder and the waves grow stronger, until abruptly his murmuring stops and I open my eyes to see Eogan’s body go transparent over Draewulf’s dark shape that’s glued to my hand. And it’s like I’m seeing double. Eogan’s eyes begin to clear.
His hand grips my neck tighter.
Air.
I need air.
The trees around me begin to blur and the shapes of three wraiths appear, but Draewulf doesn’t even glance over—doesn’t even notice Myles’s mental creations dragging their decaying bodies toward us.
My breath is blurring, my head is blurring, and my ears are rushing as the thump, thump, thump of my blood is flailing through my veins to kill him. I scratch at his chest, drawing off his power, but he just squeezes stronger and chuckles until I’m certain my neck is going to break. I hear Myles draw a knife from his spot five paces away, only to see Draewulf swipe his other arm in Myles’s direction, and the lord protectorate goes flying against the rock wall.
“Eogan, please,” I hear my own voice utter, and I narrow my energy’s focus right above his heart. And push.
Draewulf drops his hand and slumps into me.
What in—? I grab my other ankle knives at the same time I’m choking and gulping and trying to shove him off, to knee him in the gut, but a tremble rips through his body, wavering up his backbone, and this time, when his fingers find my arms, it’s for support, not injury.
Eogan?
He lifts his head and there are those green eyes shining through a face that looks old and weary. “For hulls’ sakes, Nym, can you please stop trying to infuriate the blasted fool. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
I raise a brow and draw in another lungful of air. Clearly his personality hasn’t suffered. “Well, forgive me for trying to save us all,” I choke out.
He stands straighter and eyes me, this time with more lucidity, and breaks into that daft smile that makes my idiot self want to drown in his arms.
I return the grin and for whatever reason feel suddenly shy, which is why it takes an entire two seconds more for the realization to dawn on me. “Oh kracken, you’re still alive. Did it work? Did I . . .?” My words fumble over each other as I glance at my hands. The shock and excitement numbing my tongue. Did I separate them?
“Did what work?”
“I brought you to the surface!” I clutch my palms that are still shaking with Draewulf’s energy, then swerve my gaze back up at him, my eyes widening along with my smile.
Only to be met by the flash of wolfish black encircling his emerald green.
Oh.
Not quite.
He squints. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it almost worked! I brought you out!” And even if it didn’t work all the way, I can’t help the relief—the exhilaration—the sheer joy this knowledge brings.
My powers are nearly strong enough.
His lips curl oddly and he coughs. “So it seems.” I can hear it in his undertone—the exhaustion. The wheezing.
I frown. Eogan’s body gives the slightest shudder and his jaw tightens. He droops and I go to catch him. “Oh hulls,” I whisper, because the look on his face says he may not be dead but something’s more than definitely wrong.
A crack of a stick and Myles steps forward, rubbing the back of his head. His expression as he stares at Eogan says he’s fascinated. More than fascinated.
He looks greedy. Even as Eogan suddenly looks like he’s dying.
I will my abilities to hurry. “It’s Lady Isobel, she’s—”
“I know.” Eogan puts his hand on my shoulder to steady himself. “She’s trying her best to finish it.” He brushes his gaze down my face until it reaches my lips, where it lingers as he gives a faint smirk. “Thankfully her powers aren’t quite as effective on me as she remembers.”
I put my hand on his chest and begin to press to absorb whatever it is she’s done to him. “I can almost fix it. Let me—”
Eogan’s face caves with pain. He jerks back and pushes my hand away. “What in—?” He slips his gaze down the rest of me until it lands on my other hand—on my gimpy fingers that are no longer curled but straight. Nearly perfect.
His voice wanes. “Nym, what did you do?”
Behind him, I catch the flash of Myles’s silver-toothed grin.
Eogan follows my gaze, and the next second he’s turned and wrapped a fist around Myles’s shirt. “What have you done to her?”
The lord protectorate’s arms go up in defense even as his voice raises an octave. “Only what she asked for, and it was nothing she couldn’t handle.”
“That’s not what I asked. What did you do?”
“You know exactly what I did. I reactivated her. Gave her something to actually fight with, to protect herself with.”
Eogan snorts. “Protect herself? Is that what you call it? You bleeding little—”
“Ah ah ah!” Myles tries to shove Eogan’s hand away, and when that doesn’t work, he attempts to straighten his shirt anyway. “I think you’d be thanking me.”
“For what? Giving her a death sentence?”
“Perhapsss you’re merely insulted that I was able to give her something you’re not.”
“This has nothing to do with you giving her anything,” Eogan snarls. “So you’d better undo it, or I will—”
“You know I can’t.”
Eogan bares his teeth. “Try.”
Myles wrinkles his lips. “You honestly think she’ll go for that? She’s the one who asked for them.”
Without taking his eyes off Myles, Eogan releases him and says in a softening tone, “Nym, please go back to the person who gave them to you. Ask her to undo it. Tell her it was a mistake.”
I shake my head. He can’t be serious. “I can’t.” I won’t.
“Yes, you can. Gowon will give you the money for it if you tell him I commanded it.”
What is he talking about? “It’s not the money. It’s the abilities. I can help you! I already did—it’s why you’re here now!”
He spins around and stares at me in horror and . . . something else. Fear. “Don’t you see what those abilities will do to you? Don’t you see what they’ve done to him?” He points at Myles, then at himself. “Worse, what they’ve done to Draewulf?”
I freeze. “What do you mean?”
His expression darkens from anger to outright fury, and before Myles can dodge, Eogan’s grabbed him again. “You litched bolcrane—you didn’t even tell her?”
My legs are shaking. “Tell me what?”
He flips toward me and practically chokes out the words. “Nym, what you’ve done by consuming new abilities . . . darker abilities . . . It’s how Draewulf came to be who he is. It’s how he changed from being a wizard.”
My breath dies.
Suddenly the roof, the garden, the starry night sky are falling, and my head is spinning as Eogan’s glare turns caustic at Myles. “I will kill you for this.”
“Oh, give it a rest. We both know she needs power if—”
“No, we don’t know—and certainly not the kind given by a witch! What I do know is that this had nothing to do with her and everything to do with you, and if it is the last thing I do, I will—”
He keeps threatening but I stop listening. Draewulf changed by absor
bing a power like I did?
I swerve my gaze to Myles.
He is gasping and yet rolling his eyes at both of us. “Draewulf went through the procedure multiple timesss—who knows how many over the yearsss, and who knows what kind of experiments he performed to get to what he isss now. It’s not the same thing. It’s not even on the same level.”
“Then why didn’t you tell her?”
“Because it wouldn’t have made a difference,” Myles says, looking at me.
I don’t reply.
Because standing here so close to Eogan I can feel his heart, his realness, even as he’s igniting the air around us with the angered heat pouring off his skin . . . I know it wouldn’t have. I would’ve chosen the same and chanced it.
Eogan suddenly sags. Turning from Myles, he presses against my arm. His tone falls from furious to soft, urgent. “Nym, I don’t have much time. Have you spoken with Sir Gowon yet?”
I prop him up with my hands, willing him my strength, my energy whether it’s of a darker variety or not. “He didn’t believe me. And I’m not certain it would make a difference now anyway because Draewulf’s Dark Army has taken over.”
“Did you give Gowon the message?”
“I told him about the Elegy, but it didn’t matter.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and everything about that simple gesture, that familiar act, makes my shoulders ache and my heart whisper its determination that I want things how they were. I want what existed two weeks ago. “You can take care of it all right now.” He dips his gaze to my hand still holding a blade.
I glance away. We both know I can’t do that.
He sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry for all of this. But I need you to find a way to speak with Gowon again and make him understand.”
“He won’t listen. He either can’t tell you’re not acting like yourself or he doesn’t care. Either way, he doesn’t trust me.”
His lashes flutter, and for a moment a glint of shame slips through along with his frustration. He rubs a hand along his stubbly jawline. “Gowon was brought on as my father’s advisor when I was young, and I’m sorry to say that any coldness displayed on Draewulf’s part is more familiar to Gowon than anything I’ve become in the four years since he’s seen me.” His eyes level with mine even as his chest shudders and his body sags again. “But I need you to try again. Tell him to look again at the Elegy. Tell him it’s begun.”
I swallow. “What’s begun?”
His expression ices over as he pulls away. I watch it. One second it’s soft and tired and concerned, and the next it’s sterile. Something behind it flutters.
“Blast it all, Eogan, what’s going on? What’s begun? Why is Draewulf keeping us alive? And how do I use this . . . thing to free you?” I shove my fingers toward him and let a jolt snake out of them, latching onto his shoulder. He immediately lurches back again and thrusts my palm away.
“Nym, you can’t use that on me. I am trying my best to survive long enough to . . .” The stiff expression softens even as his voice is gravely cautious.
“Long enough until what? Until Draewulf leaves you?”
“Unlike Myles, Gowon’s a good man, Nym. He’ll look out for you and do what needs to be done for the Bron people.”
“That’s not what I asked,” I snap. “Can you survive long enough until Draewulf leaves you?”
A sigh. Finally, “No.”
And he doesn’t have to explain. Because he is dying too soon. Too fast.
And no one can fix it but me.
Eogan’s face yellows for a heartbeat and he looks even more ill. Aged. He runs a finger over a lock of my hair. His breath is coming thick, tangling against my skin and landing on my tears that appeared from who knows where and are dripping off my cheeks and chin. His finger brushes my lips. “Let me go,” he whispers. “End this for all of us.”
Not a bleeding chance. “Don’t you see what I’ve just done? That I’ve brought you to the surface? Do you know what this means? We’re so close. I can help you!”
“You can’t save me, Nym. Especially not with that ability.”
My voice cracks. “You don’t mean that.”
His body’s doing that shivering thing again, and it’s quaking so hard my body’s trembling too. “Get rid of this ability Myles gave you and get away from him. Get away from me.” He grips my arm but it’s not to steady himself; it’s to force me back, to force me to listen. “You have to survive, do you understand? For you, for me, for the Hidden Lands . . .” His quivering is becoming violent. His fingers cup my face. “Tell Gowon we were wrong. Tell him he’s taking the blood in order. He needed me first.”
I’m shaking my head. “First for what?” What is he talking about?
“Just as our Uathúil powers are bound to our land, so are they bound to our blood. He needed mine first for the block. To protect him.” His head tips strangely. I squint. And suddenly I’m losing him. “I will stay alive as long as I can because I will not let you die at his hands. But you have to kill me or run, Nym.”
And then he’s leaning in, brushing his lips against mine in a kiss. “If you don’t, I swear I will come back to haunt the very breath in your lungs and blood in your bones—I will make you survive.” His chest is heaving, his lungs shoving the words up his throat. And suddenly I’m watching him fade, fade, fade through my fingertips, clamoring for every single breath of consciousness as the black seeps its way back in to muddy those green eyes I could’ve swam in forever.
“No! I won’t let you go. I won’t let him take you!” Can’t he see that? Can’t he see he’s the only person who’s ever existed that I could feel safe with? That I could be better with?
That I can save?
His lips part into a bemused, ghoulish smile.
And suddenly that vortex in me is growing, craving, calling out for air. I press my palm back onto his chest and feel Draewulf’s essence fighting against Eogan.
I squeeze. I will free him.
“Nym, don’t. I won’t be able . . .” His voice cuts off as if he’s choking. And it sounds like death in my ears.
“I will not let you take him,” I say to the monster reappearing. But it’s too late because that smile’s already turning, twisting, even as I go from cleaving my hand against his chest to beating it and swearing that I will become strong enough to free him. “Just give me another day,” I whisper to Eogan’s fading emerald eyes.
Draewulf raises a fist to smack me.
Then stops. And scoffs, as if I’m not even worth his repulsion, as if seeing me suffer was torture enough to satisfy his sick bloodlust. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and purposefully, casually, turns and walks away. Flicking his fingers to hurl an unprepared Myles once again at the wall.
I lunge after him but there’s a rustle and a swirling of thick black fog wisps that fill the air and block my vision, and by the time I’ve weaved my way through them, Draewulf is gone.
Abruptly I’m bending over and coughing from that chasm in my chest that has absorbed too much energy and yet not enough. Never enough. My bones are rattling so hard it feels like I’m having a seizure and my head won’t stop pounding.
Myles’s face swims bizarrely in front of me when I walk over to him, and he grabs my arm to pull himself up. For a moment, my skin prickles beneath his fingers.
“Looks like you’ll be needing to hurry the training, my dear.”
CHAPTER 28
WHEN WE REACH THE HALLWAY TO OUR quarters, five wraiths swarm us with their sunken-in, death-masked faces spouting hisses and glaring at us with their chilling yellow gazes. Their bony hands reach for our arms. “Ussss. Ussss,” it almost sounds like they’re saying amid the bustling Bron boots and shouted questions as to how we got out and where we’ve been.
I recoil from the wraiths and lurch for the Bron soldiers. “I need to speak with Rasha,” I tell the largest guard, the one who tried to take my knives after the banquet two nights ago.
“You’re in no posi
tion to ask anything.” He grabs my shoulder and hustles me through the wraiths and toward my room, but as we’re passing Rasha’s, I reach a foot out and kick her door.
There’s an immediate click and the giant guard stalls—perhaps to see if she’ll allow me entrance or simply because I go limp in his arms and he doesn’t feel like dragging me. Either way, the door creaks open and through the partial space I see Rasha slumped on the bed, her brown face pale. She frowns.
“My apologies,” the Bron guard says, and drags me toward my room. I could count to five before she calls after us to let me enter.
“But only Nym.” She peers coolly past me to Myles, who’s being jostled by his own angry set of guards. Behind us, the Dark Army soldiers hiss louder, a low, nerve-clenching sound.
The Bron guard shoves me in and the Cashlin men slam the door behind me, then proceed to make a quick weapons search of me, confiscating my knives before situating themselves, two near the windows and three by the door.
“Well?”
I take a deep breath. “I need your help.”
Rasha lifts a brow.
“To speak with Sir Gowon. As much as I hate to admit it, I believe he can help us. And Eogan,” I add softly.
She nods as if she already knew this.
I move closer to her bed. “Look, I’m sorry I was a bolcrane and I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” I look over at her guards. “For insulting your people regarding the war.”
“Me too.”
I wait. Because I’m hoping that’s not all she has to say.
She sighs. “However . . .” She takes a deep breath. “There may be some accuracy to it.” Her intense gaze eases, almost to the point it glimmers with a fleck of shame. “It’s true we didn’t help your Elemental people,” she whispers. “We did more than you know, but not enough. I’ll not make excuses because we have our reasons for staying uninvolved, but still, some of the decisions our matriarchs have made have not always been right. Nor favored by everyone.”
I nod.
She flutters her hand as if it’s no big deal and her voice takes on its airy tone. “Apologies exchanged and accepted then. However, that doesn’t let you off from explaining to me what in hulls you were thinking in taking on . . . whatever it is you took on.”