Ward Against Disaster (Entangled Teen) (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer)

by Melanie Card

  Ward groaned. “Wonderful. Is there any good news?”

  “Well, after that showing in the Executioner’s Square, the duke has locked the city down. No one in or out until the cult leaders are brought to justice.” Nazarius knelt by the washbowl and dunked his hands in the water.

  Ward blew out a ragged breath. “You have to convince him to send for the Necromancer Council of Elders.”

  “I can’t just—”

  “Nazarius, you have to. I was wrong about the rith.”

  “What?” Celia fought the urge to jerk forward. If the Elders needed to be called in, this was bad.

  “The duke won’t listen to me—or Jotham for that matter.” Nazarius scrubbed at the blood on his hands from the fight.

  “Then it’s got him, too. We don’t have a lot of time.” Ward pushed up to his feet, as if he didn’t want to stand but saw no other choice.

  Celia seized his wrist before he could rush away. The contact, flesh against flesh, shot up her arm, and her heart twisted again. She shoved the sensation back, but couldn’t stop envisioning Ward kissing Ingrith. She was a good match for him. Honestly. “Who’s got the duke?”

  “The curse.” He met her gaze, his dark eyes filled with a terror she’d never seen before, not even when they’d first met. “Only Diestro’s curse can possess multiple people at one time. I don’t know how to stop it. We can’t evacuate the city and risk it spreading into the Union…”

  All rage and regret and that thing twisting her heart froze. She had to get Ward out of here.

  “But the Inquest confirmed the curse was destroyed,” Nazarius said. “It has to be something else.”

  “Just because we want something to be true, doesn’t mean it is.” Bitterness edged Ward’s words. “I might have more magic than everyone thinks, but I’m not strong enough to defeat the curse.”

  “Well, there has to be something.” Nazarius dried his hands.

  Celia tightened her grip on Ward’s wrist. Maybe if she never let him go he’d stay safe. “What do we do?”

  “Summon the Elders. With luck, a Seer has already foreseen this and they’re on their way.”

  “That’s it? There has to be something else.” Nazarius stood.

  “I can go over the Inquest journals, see if there’s a way to keep it at bay long enough for help to arrive, but the closest Elders are at least a week away,” Ward said.

  “And the curse can possess anyone.” There wasn’t a safe place in the city.

  Ward pressed his free hand around hers and met her gaze. “The legend says it’ll take those with the weakest wills first, and those with the most evil in their hearts. So the odds we’ll be affected are slim…or slimmer.” He gave a dry laugh. “It explains why Allette came here, though. She’s an evil creature, her soul is black. The curse probably possessed her before she crossed the bridge into the city.”

  “Maybe even beforehand,” Celia said. “We thought the rage she’d had when she killed that farming family had been because of all the horrible things Macerio had done to her.”

  “Goddess.” Nazarius ran his hands over his hair. “What if she knew the curse was controlling her?”

  “Being possessed by a new master would send her over the edge.” Ward pursed his lips. “The curse will feed off that rage. There’s probably a pile of bodies that she’s torn apart somewhere, and we have yet to find it.”

  Celia shivered. Evil in their hearts. She’d done all manner of undesirable things in the name of family and honor. There was no guarantee the curse wouldn’t be able to possess her.

  “All right,” Nazarius said. “You two go back to the library and see if you can find a way to slow this down. Maybe Florino knows something.”

  “If he remembers.” And if he didn’t talk about her request to look into the book Ward thought she’d destroyed.

  “It’s worth a try,” Ward said.

  And as much as she wanted to argue with that to avoid letting her secret slip, she couldn’t.

  “I’ll talk to Jotham. Maybe we can slip a courier out, somehow, and summon the elders.” Nazarius left, leaving the door open.

  Outside, the guards were gone but Ingrith remained. Her gaze jumped from Celia to Ward. “My Lord Inquisitor, I—”

  “We have business to take care of.” Celia forced her voice soft.

  Ward shifted, his lips pinched, his whole face pinched, actually, but she couldn’t tell what emotion he fought.

  This was ridiculous. They had a job to do. She wanted Ward to be happy and Ingrith could be the one to make him happy. Why was it so bloody hard to remember that? “Can you point us to the library?”

  Ingrith’s expression brightened for a heartbeat. “I can take you.”

  Ward tensed. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

  “You said we need to hurry,” Celia said. “Ingrith knows the library. If Florino isn’t at his desk, she might know where to look for him.”

  Ward sighed. “Fine.”

  Ingrith beamed with pleasure, and she turned to head down the hall.

  Ward leaned close to Celia “At least she doesn’t look possessed.”

  Which brought up a whole slew of new questions. “How can you tell?”

  Ingrith glanced back at them.

  “She doesn’t have black eyes.” Ward left the room before Celia could ask what that meant. She hadn’t seen black eyes on anyone during the fight in the Executioner’s Square. All she knew was those people had attacked without caution or care for themselves.

  They followed Ingrith through the wide, bright halls of the keep to the narrow stairs leading down into the library. Celia’s thoughts warred within her. They needed to find Florino, but he would reveal that she’d come to him in secret with a book Ward thought had been destroyed.

  They rounded the corner to Florino’s desk. Something lay piled in the middle of the passage. In the uneven witch-stone light that ran along the ceiling, it was difficult to see what was on the floor, only that it was the size of a man.

  Ingrith gave a squeak and rushed forward. Ward grabbed for her but wasn’t fast enough. “Ingrith, wait.”

  The duke’s daughter dropped to her knees. Ward scrambled to her side, and Celia kept close at his heels. The thing on the floor was Florino. His throat had been ripped out. Blood pooled dark around his head, seeping into the cracks between the uneven and broken floor tiles in a morbid spiderweb.

  Celia drew her sword and scanned the passage. Shadows clung to the bookcases and into the mouths of branching-off passages. Whoever had attacked Florino could be anywhere, and with both Ward and Ingrith useless in a fight, Celia didn’t like the odds.

  “It isn’t safe. We have to go.” But as she said the words, her gaze jumped to Florino’s desk, searching for the spell book. The desk had been trashed. Parchment scattered across its surface and on the floor, and the inkwell had been knocked over, pooling around the base of the lantern. Macerio’s spell book was gone. Gone. And so, too, was any hope of finding out what had been done to her…unless Florino had started taking notes.

  “I need to know if there’s anything in the Inquest’s journals that might help,” Ward said.

  And she had to search that desk.

  No. They had to get out of there. When Ward was safe, she could sneak back down for a look.

  She grabbed Ingrith’s arm with her free hand and yanked the girl to her feet. “Do you know about the Inquest journals?”

  Ingrith shook her head.

  “We’ll come back with someone who knows.” She could do this. She could leave her hope scattered on Florino’s desk to get Ward to safety.

  “By the time we return, someone could destroy them,” Ward said.

  “Destroy—” The Inquest journals, not the notes from the spell book. Shit. Focus. “Anything you’re looking for could be destroyed already. There’s no one here who can tell us anything, anyway. We need to cut our losses.”

  Ward cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.
“If there’s a corpse, there’s always someone to talk to.”

  Damn it, she hated when he gave her that look.

  Twenty - One

  Ward dropped to his knees beside Florino. The major artery on the side of his neck had been slit, but not all of his throat. He still had vocal cords, which meant he could still talk once woken.

  A strange heat radiated from the blood pooling around Florino’s head, and the chill within Ward billowed. Just take the power. Use it. Embrace it.

  No. He only needed to know if Florino knew anything about resisting the curse until help arrived. He dipped his finger in Florino’s blood. Its heat seared into his skin, racing up his arm and crackling against the chill. He shuddered and forced his hand to move the few inches from the floor to Florino’s forehead. His hand trembling, he drew a goddess-eye, then he pressed the palm of his right hand over it and his left hand to Florino’s heart. He closed his eyes and sucked in a slow breath, trying to still the turmoil within him.

  The magic from Florino’s spilled blood pulsed impossibly against his senses, defying his mystical blindness. It crawled along his skin with the promise of heat against the curse’s chill still coiled within his chest. He could see its red glow even with his eyes closed.

  Another shudder swept over him, and he forced himself still. Focus on the spell: calling on knowledge, power over the dead, and grace and well-being. He coaxed the veil open, summoning Florino’s soul to return to his body.

  Someone gasped, and Florino’s chest rose under Ward’s hand with an indrawn breath.

  Ward opened his eyes, his question about the journal on the tip of his tongue. Florino’s eyelids fluttered open. His pupils pulsed and bled across the whites.

  “Oh my Goddess,” Ingrith whispered.

  Ward jerked back but Florino’s hand shot up, seizing Ward’s wrist.

  “Didn’t think it would be that easy, did you, necromancer?” Florino chuckled. Blood bubbled from the slash in his neck.

  Ice raced over Ward’s skin. He yanked his wrist free and tumbled back on his rear.

  “I think it’s time I stop hiding, and let your friends see the truth.” Smoke wept from his eyes.

  Ingrith gasped. Celia swore, then shoved the girl behind her and pointed her sword at Florino.

  “That’s not going to stop me,” Florino…the curse said. He grabbed for Ward’s wrist again.

  Ward scrambled back. He couldn’t let the curse touch him, not with its chill still shooting through his veins. Heat from Florino’s blood surged in promise of a way to end the wake spell. Ward’s imagination snatched at it, pulling it into him. Fire exploded within him. The blood on the finger he’d used to draw the goddess-eye burned too strong for something merely imagined.

  Florino lunged, grabbing Ward’s ankle. Celia whisked her blade down, cutting off the scholar’s hand. Ingrith screamed. With a snap, magic shot from Ward into Florino, but the curse just laughed.

  “That won’t work either.”

  “Try this.” Celia swung at Florino, her blade a flash of steel and reflected witch-stone, decapitating the scholar.

  Florino’s body went limp and his head rolled to Ward’s feet. Black smoke and blood oozed from his severed neck but the curse kept laughing.

  Ingrith screamed and screamed. Celia shoved her back the way they came. “Come on. We have to get out of here.”

  Ward scrambled to his feet. “No. I have to get the journal.”

  “I’m the one holding the sword,” Celia growled. “You do what I say.”

  “This is our last chance at learning anything about the curse.”

  “Dark Son’s curses, Ward. If you want the duke’s daughter to survive this, we go now.”

  Ingrith clamped her hands over her mouth, as if in a desperate attempt to control her panic.

  “I need that book. Get you and her out of here.” He turned to jump over Florino’s body, but she seized his arm. He jerked toward her, rage and fear, fire and ice, burning through him. His imagination reached into the red pulsing around him, ready to blast it at Celia. Florino laughed harder, and Ingrith sobbed.

  “I’m not sure you’re in a position to order me around.”

  The magic throbbed against his senses. It wasn’t real and it wasn’t his. He had to resist. Fight it. “I know you’re just sticking around because you’re obligated to me.”

  “Now is not the time for this conversation.” Celia gave a pointed look at Ingrith. “Fine. Let’s get one of the damned journals and get someplace safe.”

  “Fine.” Except no place in the city was safe, not until the Necromancer Elders arrived.

  They rushed back to the alcove where Ward had done his earlier research. He grabbed the main Inquest journal and turned to go, but movement flashed at the corner of his eye, stopping him. It had been a flash of gold hair, like Allette’s.

  Ward’s stomach lurched and time slowed to a crawl. Allette stepped into the mouth of the alcove. She sneered and grabbed for Ingrith’s hair. Celia tensed, her hand jumping to the silver blade at her hip. Imagined red magic flickered around Ward from the blood on his hand. Allette’s fingers wrapped in Ingrith’s locks, and Celia whipped the silver knife from her sheath. The blade plunged into Allette’s shoulder. Flesh crackled and an acrid smoke filled the air. Her sword in her other hand, Celia pounced and sliced Ingrith’s hair, freeing her. Allette stumbled back, off balance, a hank of the girl’s hair still in her hand.

  Celia yanked the silver knife from Allette’s shoulder and kicked her back another few stumbling steps. Time lurched back to regular speed and Ingrith screamed.

  “Get her out of here.” Celia sunk lower into her fighting stance.

  “Not without you.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  “Don’t want to play, pet?” Allette brought the hank of Ingrith’s hair to her nose and inhaled deeply. “You’re missing out. I’ll share her with you.”

  Ward grabbed Ingrith’s wrist and dragged her into the hall behind Celia and away from the only way he knew of to get out.

  “I don’t share,” Celia said.

  “But she’s so full of potential,” Allette said with a throaty laugh. “You do know how to pick your damsels in distress, Ward. Although you know you’ll never be able to replace what we had, don’t you?”

  “We didn’t have anything.” He pressed the journal into Ingrith’s trembling hands and drew the silver knife he had tucked in the sheath behind his dagger.

  “Now you’re just telling lies. Or are you trying to protect someone?” Allette licked her lips, and Ingrith whimpered. “Old pet or new damsel?”

  Celia tensed, and Allette’s gaze jumped to her. “Oh I see, old pet knows about new damsel.”

  “Are you going to talk us to death or fight?” Celia asked, her voice dark.

  Allette chuckled. “Really Ward, you aren’t powerful enough to keep two mistresses. You aren’t powerful at all. Not yet.” A wicked smile pulled at her lips. “You shouldn’t have followed me to Dulthyne.”

  She drew a dagger and lunged at Celia, who sliced at her arm with sword and knife. Flesh smoked and blood splattered the floor. Allette grabbed for Celia, but she leapt out of the way.

  He had to help Celia, regardless that he was inept with a weapon.

  Ingrith screamed.

  But he also had to get Ingrith to safety, like Celia said.

  Shit.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed Ingrith’s elbow to encourage her to run.

  Two large men stepped into the passage about twenty feet away, and she froze. Wisps of black smoke wept from their eyes, curling in the air, ghostly in the uneven witch-stone veins glowing from the floor and ceiling. The men were as tall as Ward and so broad they could barely stand side by side between the shelves. One wielded a curved long dagger, the other held up clenched, meaty fists ready to fight.

  Ingrith clutched the journal to her chest.

  Ward shoved her behind him and held out his knife. “We have a problem, Ce
lia.”

  Celia sidestepped Allette’s dagger and lunged in with the silver knife, but the vesperitti jerked out of the way before Celia could strike. “Little busy.”

  The men crashed down the passage, knocking books and scrolls from the shelves. Ward’s mind whirled. There was nowhere to go except past either the men or Allette.

  The weaponless man punched. Ward staggered back and bumped into Ingrith. The man’s fist crashed into the shelf beside Ward’s head. Books spilled over the floor and the man swung again.

  Ward’s foot slipped on a book, and he tumbled back. The second man slashed at Ward and knocked the knife from his hand. The man slashed again. Ward jumped to the side and kicked the man in the knee. The man staggered. Ward grabbed the book beside him and bashed it against the man’s head. He fell over into the path of his partner.

  Black smoke poured from their eyes and they laughed in unison.

  “You’re trapped, Ward,” Allette said in a singsong voice. She grabbed Celia’s arm and threw her into the shelves beside him. She hit with a gasp, slid down it, and landed in a squat.

  Ingrith trembled between them, her eyes glassy with tears. Someone yelled, the sound deep and masculine. Behind the first two men, more men pounded down the hall, black smoke swirling around them. There were too many to fight even if Celia wasn’t battling a vesperitti.

  “Get ready to run past me,” Celia growled, and she leapt back at Allette, her knife flashing at the last minute.

  Ward grabbed Ingrith’s arm. She turned wide eyes on him and for a heartbeat he wished he could make this easier on her. But that wasn’t possible and, without a doubt, she already knew how deadly the reality of their situation was.

  The closest man with the dagger swung at Ward’s head. He ducked and shoved Ingrith another step closer to Celia and Allette. From the corner of his eye, he saw Celia dodge Allette’s swing, duck under her arm, and step close. She rammed both knife and dagger—no, knife and knife, she’d lost the dagger and picked up Ward’s dropped knife—into Allette’s sides and shoved her back. “Now!”

  Ward staggered out of the way of another attack and shoved Ingrith past Celia. She yelped, stumbled, and fell to her knees. Shit.