Jacasta flung the book from her, suddenly feeling its rage upon her skin. Arisson had focused all his energy into his personal shield, and the shield protecting her from the book had vanished. His mental apology for hurting her wafted across her mind. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she called, “Better me than you.” She opened the Dire Tome and began flipping through the thick pages.
Behind her, more Enforcers and spellcasters pressed Arisson at the doorway to the Heart of the Dragon. His melee and magical skills were tested to the limit.
“Yes!” Jacasta cried, slapping the pages flat as she found what she sought. Focusing her eyes on the shifting words, she began uttering the spell. A ripple passed through the book, and a small glassy black orb rose from the page until it rested entirely on its surface. Jacasta snatched it up, heart pounding, breath catching.
Not much time.
“Arisson, I have the key!” she shouted. Though she did not expect a verbal answer, a rush of love reached her through the Oathen bond. It nearly unmade her; tears flowed down her cheeks as she grasped her dagger in one hand and the orb in the other.
Steady.
His single, clear thought redirected her resolve. She guided the dagger’s point to the skin over her heart. With a final deep breath, a final burst of love to her soulmate, she closed her eyes and plunged the blade into her body, until the hilt pressed against her chest. Agony swarmed her mind, threaded heavily with Arisson’s sorrow and love; she jerked the blade back out and pressed the orb to the wound, growing dizzy and faint as the black orb siphoned away her life’s blood. Moments later, she collapsed near the back wall of the chamber.
Just before her world went black, she murmured to Arisson, “Your turn. I love you.”
She came back to consciousness, seeing a pair of legs standing over her. One of her husband’s swords lay discarded by her feet; she took it. A fight of magic and steel raged all around her as Arisson struggled to fend off the remaining half-dozen Dzur i’Oth members from the key in his hand, the Tome, and his wife’s body.
The dagger was still clenched in her hand. She reached out and stabbed one of Arisson’s opponents in the calf with it. The Enforcer yelped, as much with surprise as with pain. She scrambled to her feet and stood back to back with Arisson. She sensed his shock and amazement.
“What happened?” he blurted.
“I just died,” she clipped, blocking with her dagger and stabbing her opponent in the arm with her sword.
“Again?” His voice was thick with disbelief as he dodged a pair of sword swings and stabbed another Enforcer in the ribs. A dozen more Dzur i’Oth entered at the far end of the room, racing down its length to engage the enemy and recover their precious Tome.
“The key…it’s still full?” she asked.
He locked hilts with a cultist, then shoved him away with a kick to the chest. He took a moment to feel the heft of the object in his off hand. “Yes.”
“The book rakes my flesh off when I get near it, but I heal, and you don’t, so I’ll use the key. Can you buy me some time?”
“I can.” Arisson closed his eyes.
Jacasta knew his trick; he was lining up two layers of his magic-blocking shield, between them and the arriving combatants. Then he inverted one of the layers. The effect of magic trying to block itself created a massive magical backdraft. Every Dzur i’Oth in the room was blasted to the far wall, two hundred paces away. He turned to Jacasta. “Swiftly, beloved.”
She darted to where the Tome lay against the back wall. The page she needed was right across from the one she’d read before, yet the book tried to make it impossible to read the words. She squinted and held the page flat as she chanted the twisting words, feeling a migraine begin to stomp through her skull.
The cultists picked themselves up and ran back toward Arisson. His blade awaited their blood.
“Key!” Jacasta rose to her feet, catching the orb as Arisson tossed it backward over his shoulder. She slammed it against the ancient text of the nearby wall. There and then the portal opened, directly behind the key, expanding a pace in all directions. A hazy blue glow emanated from the hemispherical wrinkle in reality. Within, a stone lectern awaited its charge. Jacasta lifted the large book, shoving it toward the blue space—
The Tome’s consciousness flared to life in her mind. Its chaotic magic focused on her, intensifying its destructive rage on her body.
FLASH—A choice awaits the confiner. How much is she willing to give in order to complete her task? Only complete sacrifice will do. Only everything will suffice.
Jacasta staggered in pain, her hands halfway into the otherworldly dimension. The images the Tome placed in her mind left no doubt as to its meaning: if she pressed the book all the way through the barrier, the spell of confinement would require everyone in the room to die.
Including Arisson.
Beloved. His thoughts were clear in her mind, a skill she’d never mastered. My life for the world. Do it.
The cultists were howling, cursing, screaming at the top of their lungs. Their voices echoed off the curving stone ceiling, where a clinging staircase led to the volcano’s throbbing, molten heart. Arisson braced for their impact upon his blade. Jacasta glanced over her shoulder at him; her husband was willing to die by their blades.
But by her hand? What horror was this, to die at the hands of one’s Oathen? It was anathema!
“Arisson!” she cried, in dual torment. “I can’t!”
He looked at the oncoming enemy, and turned his back on them, lowering his sword. His grey eyes locked onto her green ones. Then we die in failure, rather than triumph.
Her eyes darted to the raised swords that sought his flesh; they were mere steps behind him now.
“I love you!” she cried, tears falling freely over tense cheeks.
Give us victory, Oathen. Arisson’s expression blazed, and he threw his arms wide. Jacasta was drenched in his love, his dedication to their cause…and his forgiveness.
She shoved the Tome through the portal.
She woke again, fully healed, and rolled to her knees in pitch blackness; the torch had given its life as well. She realized with growing horror that she could never truly die, not even at the will of the Dire Tome. She was doomed to live forever, endlessly remembering her shameful deed, her gruesome sacrifice: she had broken her Oath, slain her own Oathen.
The horror that filled her was matched only by the guilt and rage that crashed against each other in her mind, and yet all were dwarfed by the sudden absence of Arisson’s emotions entwined with her own.
She stumbled to his side, finding his familiar form among those of the enemy; her hands sought his face, caressed his cheeks; they were stone cold. No trace of life remained. She kissed his eyes closed.
The enormity of her loss was too much to bear. In the pressing dark, her fingers wormed into her hair, scraping at her scalp and knotting in her braid, and she slumped against Arisson’s body and screamed her horrified sorrow, her tears spilling heedlessly to the black stone floor.
Chapter Thirty-two
Ahm and Sosta led the way down a narrow, twisting staircase, carrying bright lanterns. They descended into passages that had been carved from the living bedrock beneath Sosta’s castle. Several Scions accompanied the outlanders, some because they’d been Oathbound, and others because they were considering the spell for themselves.
The stone walls, dark and rough, reminded Sanych of the small pit where she and Rhona had been trapped. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable underground again. Why does everything in my life seem to be suffocating me?
“Since Oathbinding was rediscovered during the Cult War,” Ahm explained as they wound down the dark stairs, “we’ve learned much more about it: its limitations and capabilities.”
He led the way into a round chamber with a circular dais of white stone in the middle. One of the other Scions stepped first to one wall, then another, and touched a pair of small stone troughs that zigged up toward the ceili
ng. In moments, fire filled the troughs to the top, lighting the room with a golden glow.
“What sort of limitations does it have?” Rhona asked.
Ahm stopped before the dais, and the others halted as well. “Well, for one thing, no one can be Oathbound twice in their lifetime. We tried that; it wouldn’t take.”
“You experiment on Oathbound Scions?” Geret asked with a frown.
“It’s necessary in our war against Dzur i’Oth,” Ahm replied. “The protections that Oathbinding offers us are invaluable. But we must choose the pairs carefully; only one in ten Scions attempt the Oathbinding, and of those, perhaps two in three find a good partner. The spell is permanent, and if the two recipients are not well-matched…” He sighed.
“What…what happens?” Sanych asked, gulping.
Ahm met her eyes. “One of them leaves Shanal. They cannot stand to be anywhere near each other, in the end. Traveling farther than earth magic can reach dampens the spell’s effects.”
Sanych looked at the stone dais, shaken.
Kemsil entered the chamber with Meena. His friends greeted him with hugs and back slaps. He approached Sanych and looked down at her.
“Archivist,” he said, resting his one hand on her shoulder, “I wouldn’t miss this for all the women in the world. Except maybe one, thanks to Meena.” He grinned. “But alas, Anjoya’s not here, so I’m happy to lend you my support. I hope this spell enables you to destroy the Tome.”
“Thank you, Kemsil,” Sanych said, unsure how Meena had managed to lift the banns from him, but too distracted to ask.
“This way, Sanych,” Ahm said, beckoning.
She stepped over by the dais, clasping her hands tightly so they wouldn’t shake.
Ahm rested a hand on her shoulder and met her eyes. “This is a life-altering spell. I’m humbled and grateful that someone of your few cycles would take on this ritual as a means to infiltrate the cult and destroy the Tome, knowing that you will spend the rest of your life bound to another.”
Sanych nodded. Don’t remind me of the gory details; just get it done before I turn coward.
“Traditionally,” he continued, “the two Oathbound choose each other because they work well as a team, or because they are deeply in love, or both. Oathbinding is similar to marriage, in that it involves dedication, sharing, and sacrifice. Not all Oathbound are or become physically joined with each other, however. That is an individual choice.”
Sanych blushed.
“And that’s why I mention it.” Ahm smiled. “However, when the spell was created long ago, it was crafted for such a pair, and so requires a man and a woman. We tried binding brothers to each other, hoping to enhance their combat prowess, but the spell didn’t complete. So, Sanych,” he said, turning and gesturing toward her friends, “it will be up to you to choose your partner. Consider wisely, I beg you, for both your sakes.”
“What?” Sanych’s eyes darted among Salvor, Kemsil, Geret and Ruel. They all stared back at her, taken aback by Ahm’s words.
“Us?” Ruel blurted, goggling.
Ahm gave him a cool glance. “You would prefer Sanych join with one of the Scions, a stranger? We’ve tried that as well, and learned the hard way that previous experience with each other is necessary for a working team. The spell does bind strangers,” he said, sighing, “but without common interest, the intimacy of the spell drives them apart. My own Oathen left Shanal shortly after our binding.” He laid a hand over his heart. “I still feel her, but faintly.”
Sanych looked up at him. Ahm was Oathbound to a stranger?
“Can you explain more about what the Oathbinding does?” Meena interjected. “When it was cast on Arisson and me, no one knew anything about it.”
“Of course. Oathbinding creates a psychic bond between the pair. You are able to sense your Oathen’s mood at all times, and with practice, you may let them sense your exact thoughts, even over long distances. It also—”
“Really?” Sanych asked with a worried look. Sharing my every thought, forever? Her stomach turned over.
“Indeed. Isn’t that right, Meena?”
Meena nodded solemnly. “I was aware of everything Arisson felt.” Her eyes traced the edge of the white dais. “I knew he was coming for me when the cult tried to sacrifice me during their immortality ritual. And…” She bit her lip. “And I felt him forgive me…when I killed him.”
The Scions gasped and murmured. The looks they shot her way were confused, unkind. Geret looked at Kemsil, who shrugged helplessly. Sanych could only stare in utter shock.
“You…you killed Arisson?” Ahm blurted. “You broke your Oath?”
Sanych looked to Ahm. “What does that mean?”
Ahm swallowed, smoothing his expression with difficulty. “It’s part of the Oath’s protection, and the main reason I want you to receive it,” he told her. “Once you’re Oathbound to another, your souls blend. Part of your life force resides within your Oathen, and his in you. This makes you very, very hard to kill, unless you take your own life, or you’re both killed at the same time. Or unless you kill your Oathen yourself.”
He turned to Meena and continued. “The cult’s immortality ritual failed because they tried to sacrifice half of your soul, and half of Arisson’s, in one body. Since they couldn’t steal half a soul, and they had no access to the other half, they had no hope of success…but…why, Meena?” His face was a mask of confusion and pain. “Scions are exiled for breaking their Oath. It is the most vicious crime we can commit.”
Meena smoothed her hands over the dais’ cool stone surface. “The Dire Tome required sacrifice to force it from the world. Along with the key, which took out all of my blood, the ritual to lock the Tome away was designed to kill those who meant it harm. A magical booby-trap. When I tried to imprison the book, it forced me to choose between completing my mission and breaking my Oath. So I broke it. I killed my Oathen to buy the world a reprieve from madness.”
The Oathbound Scions in the room had tears in their eyes. Some held each other tightly. Sanych pressed her fingers over her lips, feeling her eyes tear up.
Ahm laid a gentle hand on Meena’s arm. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “We didn’t know. We just assumed the cult had killed you both, and that only you resurrected.”
“You’ve had a far kinder view of me these many cycles,” Meena said, her voice thick with emotion. She sighed and turned around, facing the group. “All right, I’ve bared my soul. Let’s move on; we don’t have long before Oolat retrieves the Tome, if he hasn’t taken it already.”
Ahm nodded and turned to Sanych. “Have you decided?” he asked.
Sanych faced her male friends, swallowing hard. “If I get to choose, you get to refuse,” she said to them. They nodded.
Rhona watched from the side, hands gripping her elbows. Her gaze was part challenge, part fear.
Sanych bit her lip and closed her eyes. They flickered back and forth under her lids for a long while. Must. Not. Choose. Foolishly.
Finally she opened her eyes and spoke. “If prior experience between us will keep me from fleeing the country,” she said, “I must choose either Geret or Salvor.”
Ruel and Kemsil backed away. Kemsil smiled gratefully at Sanych and rubbed his stump in a self-conscious gesture. She nodded at him, then turned her gaze back to the two Vintens. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rhona whispering urgently in Ruel’s ear.
Wisdom, lend me strength, Sanych begged. I don’t want to be bound to either of them! Salvor’s an arrogant, lying bastard, and Geret’s a self-entitled manipulator! She took a breath and let it out slowly, desperate for a way to make a rational decision. I don’t know how to choose between them. Nobility, royalty: I’m not eligible to join either family back home. But…we’re not in Vint. We’re in Shanal, and the whole world is at stake! Her eyes flickered between the two men, and her heart twisted as she realized she only had one real option.
Geret looked at Salvor. “Didn’t see this coming,” he murmure
d.
Salvor nodded. “I’ll be good to her this time.”
Sanych twisted her hands together and stepped forward. “I choose…” she said into the silence, “Geret.”
“What?” Geret blurted.
“What?” Salvor echoed. His tone was challenging. “Why?”
Sanych’s eyes slid to Salvor’s. “Geret’s a Prince of Vint, and I’m sure you especially will agree that keeping our prince safe is an important task. The Oathbinding will protect him just as it will protect me, and far better than even you could manage,” she said to the bodyguard. “And since he is our prince, we all want that, don’t we?”
Salvor stared back at her for a long, long moment. “The voice of Wisdom herself,” he said, nodding, though his eyes looked suddenly aged.
“No, Geret!” Rhona called, her hands in fists, her face entreating. “Say no! Sanych, you can’t have him!”
Salvor shot her a dark look, and Ruel impatiently hushed her.
“I…my…” Geret stuttered, looking at Sanych with wide eyes. His brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak.
“Geret,” Rhona pleaded.
“You can still say no,” Salvor murmured.
Geret’s lip curled. “No.”
Sanych’s mouth opened in dismay, but Geret was already turning to Salvor.
“I’m not your puppet, Salvor. Nor yours, Rhona,” he added, pointing at the pirate with a glare. He turned toward Sanych again. “And I can’t play by my uncle’s rules anymore. Not out here. Not now. He’s just one Magister, one small ruler of one small country. And I’m here to save him, along with everyone else. He’ll have to live with my decision just like the rest of you will.”
Sanych stepped closer and looked up into his brown eyes. “I’m not sure you can trust me,” she began. “And I don’t enjoy trusting you.”
Geret winced.
“But, our faults aside, will you help me save the world?” she asked, lifting one side of her lips in a smile. “It’ll be an adventure. I hear you like those.” She held out her trembling hand to him, though inside, her heart was shivering with rage and fear. I can do this…
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