The Darkest Magic (A Book of Spirits and Thieves)

by Morgan Rhodes

  “The sky,” Barnabas said warily. It took effort, but Maddox focused his bleary gaze and saw that the heavens were suddenly dark with storm clouds, blotting out any sunset.

  The sight of it chilled Maddox. “Valoria.”

  Barnabas nodded. “We need to hurry.”

  The guards quickly escorted them into the throne room, where Cleiona was already seated on the dais. She wore her hair loose, in a long cascade of golden waves, and her deep blue, crystal-covered dress matched her eyes. Maddox saw a subtle hint of confusion settle upon her face as she watched the two of them—and Al—make their way forward.

  “Where’s the girl?” she asked.

  Before Maddox could say a word, the tall golden doors behind them were thrust open. A bevy of guards entered, escorting a man into the throne room at sword point. Maddox expected to see a look of fear on his face, but as the man approached, all that was there was smugness.

  But the most alarming thing about him was that he wore the brown uniform and red cape of Valoria’s guards.

  “What is this?” Cleiona asked sharply.

  “There is a problem, Your Goldenness,” one of her guards said. “A troop from the northern army is at the palace gates.”

  “Are you attempting to tell me that an entire army managed to travel all the way to my gates without anyone noticing and stopping them?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Goldenness. I believe magic was involved,” the guard said. He jabbed the enemy soldier with his sword. “Tell her.”

  “I am here representing Her Radiance, Valoria, the goddess of earth and water,” the man said, and his tone was just as smug as his expression. “We have traveled here a thousand strong to demand that you turn Maddox Corso over to the goddess immediately. Do so without argument or organized resistance and the goddess promises that no blood will spill today.”

  Cleiona regarded him with disdain. “Guards, step back.”

  In an instant, they did as they were told.

  Cleiona kept her gaze on the soldier as suddenly a ring of fire leaped up around him, trapping him within the flames.

  “I am only the messenger,” he explained, the flames licking at him all the way up to his chest.

  “I’m sure you are well aware of the terrible trend of messengers having to pay for the unwelcome news they deliver.” The fire rose up, sparking and hissing, to the man’s shoulders. “A thousand strong, her army is? Does she really think that has a real chance against me?”

  “She wanted you to know that, uh”—he eyed the flames fearfully—“that she, with her own hand, has marked all of her soldiers with special symbols. She said that the time and vast amounts of energy it required of her were well worth it in the end. Because though she sent only one thousand men, those thousand now possess the strength of a hundred thousand.”

  Barnabas and Maddox shared a worried look. If Valoria had given each soldier the same mark she’d given Goran, would it even be possible to defeat them?

  “Valoria, Valoria,” Cleiona said under her breath. “You have lost your way, my sister.” She turned again to the soldier in red. “And you. Are you marked as well?”

  He nodded.

  “Show me.” With the shifting of her eyes she lowered the flames around him, giving her a clear view as he rolled up his sleeves and showed her the black marks on his forearms. A moment later, the flames were back, roiling down his flesh. He shrieked, but when the flames subsided again, his skin wasn’t burned, just raw and pink. The marks were completely gone.

  He looked up at Cleiona, deep worry in his eyes. He kneeled before her immediately. “I beg for your forgiveness, Your Greatness.”

  “She prefers Her Goldenness,” Barnabas said drily.

  “What else can you tell me?” Cleiona asked.

  The soldier looked up at her. In the span of a few moments, his face had gone completely pale. “Valoria has taken someone captive. A girl whom she believes means something to Maddox Corso. She is willing to make a trade.”

  Maddox gasped.

  “So she’s kidnapped some poor girl, that’s it? She thinks that will be enough to make us do as she wishes?” Barnabas scoffed.

  “Becca,” Maddox managed. Barnabas shot him a look of shock, which quickly shifted to one of understanding.

  “Apologies,” the frightened soldier cut in, “but she says you have a very short time before she orders the girl’s throat cut.”

  In a flash, without thinking for another second, Maddox was storming out of the throne room. Barnabas caught up to him in the outer corridor, and four guards also emerged from the throne room but made no move to stop him.

  “No, you can’t go out there,” Barnabas said firmly as he stepped in front of Maddox to block his path.

  “Get out of my way.”

  “You’re not sacrificing yourself for her. You can’t.”

  “Becca’s helpless out there!” Maddox jabbed his index finger in the direction of the gates. “Valoria’s after me, not her. She won’t kill me—and she won’t kill Becca if she sees me.”

  “I’m not willing to take that chance.” Barnabas reached into the sack he held and pulled Al out by his hair. Al blinked several times, looking scared and scandalized all at once. “Al, listen to me. We need you. More than we ever have. Please, tell us something, anything, about Valoria that might help us handle this situation. What is her greatest weakness? Is there anything you can think of that might convince her to release Becca without any bloodshed today?”

  Al was silent for a long moment, not even complaining about being dangled by a clump of his hair—something Maddox knew he hated. “Apologies, Barnabas. But I cannot.”

  Barnabas growled and gripped Al’s hair even tighter. “Your delusional loyalty toward Valoria is maddening!”

  “No, please don’t misunderstand me. I am no longer loyal to her, I promise you that. She had me executed for treason—for a treasonous crime I’d yet to commit, and that I never would have committed. She had me killed because she had a bad dream. She was wrong to have me killed. And I’ve slowly come to see that she has been wrong about so many things and has made so many bad decisions over the course of her reign. That’s why she needed me—a scribe specializing in fantasy tales who could tell her story the way she wanted others to hear it. She didn’t want to relate the truth. Which is why, Barnabas, I’m sorry to say that all I know about that dark creature are the falsehoods she’s told me. The lies meant to cast her in a better light—in any light at all. And if the price I pay for this admission is you hurling me into a fire because I haven’t proved my worth to you, then so be it.”

  Barnabas hissed out a long sigh. “Don’t worry, Al. You’re not going in any damn fire.”

  “Oh, thank the goddess! Er, I mean, thank you. Thank you, my friend.”

  “Enough,” Maddox growled, shoving past Barnabas. “Get out of my way. I’m going.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Barnabas snapped, grabbing the back of his tunic. “I said no. No, Maddox!”

  “Let go of me.” Maddox clenched his fists, channeling his magic with all the rage he felt.

  He released one of his fists, and Barnabas went skidding backward, clutching his throat and gasping for breath. Then, without a pause or a glance to make sure his father was all right, Maddox continued down the corridor.

  Suddenly, Cleiona was walking next to him, a group of her guards trailing several paces behind.

  Maddox eyed her but didn’t slow down. “If you want to stop me—”

  “I don’t. I’m coming with you. I need to speak to Valoria.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t get too close to her.”

  “I’ll have to make an exception today. It seems she’s given me no choice.”

  Together they exited the palace and entered the darkened day. Storm clouds still gathered, but no rain had fallen yet. A strong wind from behind them blew Maddox’s hair over the front of his forehead, forcing him to slick it back again and again so he could see what lay ahea
d.

  Cleiona had gathered her army, which was at least double the size of Valoria’s troop, which awaited them on the other side of the gate. They stood at attention behind her.

  And there, standing before her red-and-brown-uniformed army, was Valoria. She wore a black gown, its massive skirt embroidered with a gruesome pattern of intertwined silver cobras. Maddox took a deep breath. He tried to look for Becca without compromising the fierce expression on his face as he and Cleiona kept walking toward the northern goddess.

  “Well,” Valoria said as the two approached. “This is a surprise. Greetings, sister.”

  “It was a mistake for you to come here today,” Cleiona said.

  “Come no closer.”

  Cleiona stopped, her expression growing ever tenser. They were about ten feet away from the main gates.

  Maddox watched Cleiona carefully before casting a dark look at the other goddess. Despite her flippant words, it seemed to him that Valoria was greatly perturbed by the sight of her sister, the goddess of fire and air.

  A sudden bright light directed Maddox’s gaze downward. The goddesses’ hands had begun to glow, brilliant light emanating from the elemental symbols branded on their palms.

  Cleiona noticed his curious look before turning her narrowed gaze back to her sister. “It seems that our magic doesn’t want us so close to each other.”

  “Or perhaps it does. Perhaps we’re the ones who stand in its way,” Valoria said, grimacing.

  “It gives both of you great pain to be near each other,” Maddox said. “I can see it.”

  Cleiona nodded, her expression pinched. “This is the closest we’ve been in well over fifteen years.”

  There it was, the solution to one of the great mysteries he’d always wondered about: One goddess lived in the North, while the other, her sister, stayed in the South, leaving a wide stretch of unclaimed land between them.

  He wondered now what might happen if they accidentally touched each other.

  “Let’s move this along as swiftly as possible,” Valoria said tightly, then nodded at Maddox. “I assume you’re here to exchange yourself for the girl?”

  Maddox met her gaze. “I want to see her first.”

  Valoria turned to her sea of soldiers and gestured with a jerk of her chin.

  There was a rustle among the men, and then Goran appeared, holding Becca tightly by her upper arm.

  “Maddox!” she called out.

  Maddox swept his gaze over her, checking if Becca was wounded. He only breathed once he saw that she was unharmed, only frightened. But he could not feel true relief—not while the man who murdered his mother had Becca in his filthy grasp.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded stiffly. “For now.”

  “Perhaps you’d prefer that she come along with us as well?” Valoria said, keeping a keen eye on Maddox as he stared at Becca. “It’s always a delight to witness the power of young love.”

  “Is it?” Maddox asked sharply. “And how would you know how delightful it is? Have you ever loved anything—ever truly felt warmth or kinship or passion with anyone—in your long, wretched, selfish life?”

  Valoria’s lips curled into a cruel, unforgiving smile. “Barbed words can’t injure me today, my dear boy. Not when I’m feeling so victorious. Now, shut that running mouth of yours and come with me. This won’t be as bad as you think. You’ll be happy to know that I’ve had time to think, and I’ve decided to forgive you for your crimes.” She glanced away from Maddox, her attention now fixed on something behind him. “I will even spare your father’s life if you come along without any further difficulty.”

  Maddox turned. There was Barnabas, carrying Al’s sack and pushing his way past Cleiona’s soldiers. Maddox was relieved that he seemed to be uninjured.

  “Don’t interfere,” Maddox growled at him as he came to stand on Maddox’s other side.

  “I’m not interfering,” Barnabas replied. “I’m observing. You’ve made it clear that you don’t need my advice. That you know what path is best.”

  “Is that what that was? Advice? It sounded to me like an order.”

  “Your father cares about you, boy,” Al said quietly.

  Maddox turned to Cleiona. “Open the gates.”

  Al drew in a breath. “Cover me, Barnabas. I don’t want her to see me like this.”

  Barnabas did as requested and pulled the canvas material completely over Alcander’s head.

  Cleiona hesitated a moment before nodding at the pair of guards stationed at the gate. Maddox watched as the gates opened up before him.

  There was no longer any barrier between the two armies. Motionless, silent, they stared at one another from across a divide of a mere twenty paces.

  Maddox took one step forward.

  “Valoria!” Cleiona called out. Maddox froze. “Damen is alive.”

  Valoria snapped her gaze to Cleiona. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  Valoria smiled her wicked grin again and scoffed. “That can’t be. He’s dead. I saw him die with my own eyes.”

  Cleiona shook her head. “The girl you’ve taken captive? She was sent here by Markus to bring me this information. Damen is in her world. He’s there to play with it, like a cat toys with an injured bird before tearing off its head.”

  “Markus?” A sliver of fear slid through Valoria’s green eyes. She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe it. I can’t.”

  “Are you sure? Are you so sure that you’re willing to risk everything? You know what’s at stake if you’re wrong.”

  Valoria turned to Becca. “Is this true?” she snarled.

  Becca nodded. “Yes.”

  “You came here from another world, the same world in which Markus lives in exile?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “Becca is Markus’s daughter,” Cleiona explained.

  Stunned now, Valoria’s eyes grew wider. “Tell me more. I need to know more! Where is the golden dagger? Where is the book that the witch-boy and his father stole from me?”

  Cleiona laughed, deeply and without humor. “I’ve just told you that the greatest evil of our world is back from the dead, and you want to know where you can find a dagger and a book? Your obsession with power continues to disgust me.”

  Valoria glared with narrowed eyes as the ground began to rumble. In mere moments, the earth cracked and splintered, dividing both armies as it spread between the goddesses.

  “Be careful with your words, sister,” Valoria hissed. “Or today will not end well for you.”

  Cleiona narrowed her gaze and flames suddenly shot up from the crack in the ground before disappearing just as quickly. “Do not be vain in your display of magic today, or you will be the one cowering at the end of it.”

  Valoria scowled before turning to regard Becca again.

  “What does Damen want?” she demanded. “Is he coming here to seek vengeance?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Have his powers subsided? Is he still a threat? Is he still capable of destroying worlds, breaking them apart and crumbling them to dust as if they were clumps of dirt in his fist? How did he manage to survive? There were witnesses to his death; he couldn’t have fooled us. Eva wouldn’t have let him live, knowing what he was capable of.”

  Becca shook her head, her face pale. “I . . . let me answer as much as I can. I want to help, but I confess I don’t know everything.”

  “Worthless girl,” Valoria hissed. “It’s obvious that Cleiona has trained you, taught you how to respond to me so that you might manipulate me. I refuse to listen to another valueless word that comes out of your lying throat.”

  “You hear that, little girl?” Goran spoke into Becca’s ear, making sure he did so loudly enough for Maddox to hear. “Her Radiance says you’re worthless.”

  She shook her head. “But wait. I said I can—”

  With a sharp twist, Goran snapped Becca’s neck. He let go, and her lifeles
s body fell to the ground in front of him.

  In an instant, everything in Maddox’s world went dark. Everything—the goddesses, his father, the murderer, the dueling armies standing atop the cracked earth waiting to do battle—except Becca. She was all he could see. Everything else became meaningless.

  “Becca,” he found himself whispering. “Get up. Please, get up.”

  But he knew it was in vain. Becca Hatcher didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Her eyes were open, glossy, and staring directly at him.

  She’d come here to help. To try to save her world from evil, despite how frightened she must have been when Markus proposed that plan to her. And now she was dead because of Maddox. Because of Goran. Because of Valoria.

  His mind was blank of everything except those few simple truths.

  “Maddox!”

  He could hear someone shouting his name as if from underwater. The shouting kept on, over and over, until finally he made out Barnabas’s voice. He kept calling out, his voice pitchy and filled with panic. “Don’t get any closer to them. Whatever you want to do right now—don’t! Please, don’t do it!”

  But it was far too late for that warning.

  Once again the edges of his world darkened to black. Ice flowed through his veins, his limbs, penetrating every inch of his body until he was certain he’d never feel warm again.

  In a violent flash of rage, Maddox tore his gaze away from Becca’s broken body to look directly at Goran. The assassin stared right back at him, foolish defiance in his eyes, the marks Valoria had given him visible on his arms and throat.

  This man killed his mother. And now he’d killed Becca. He’d broken a young girl’s neck as if taking her life was no different than swatting a fly.

  He narrowed his gaze, channeling all that icy rage into a single, cold-blooded thought.

  Die.

  And with that, Maddox crushed his heart.

  Without a sound, without a single gasp for breath, Goran dropped to the ground.

  Maddox had a moment of regret that it had been far too kind a death for such a demon. He should have concentrated harder, made him really suffer. To have heard Goran scream for mercy, to have watched him squirm with unspeakable pain before taking his final, torturous breath—that would have been much more satisfying.