by White, Gwynn
“You do.” His boots plopped back onto the desk. “Thoughts?”
She hesitated, and then decided to tell him everything. If she couldn’t trust Garrik, then she didn’t want to be alive in this world. “My list of suspects is short. Sundamar, Izanna, Dominik, and Elion.”
His bushy eyebrows vanished into his dark hairline. “Sundamar Dakar? Why him?”
She took another swig of her drink. “He spirited Izanna in. He’s a Fabricator. It would have taken powerful magic to send arrows into Ryo and Lane. And Sundamar despises his sons.”
He tapped his fingers on the table. “Actually, he adores his son. That’s the problem.”
“Dominik?”
He nodded. “I agree, an Element-Fabricator could have done it. But anyone with a glamour would have fooled Lane. Ryo maybe not, but he wasn’t a particularly strong mage. Perhaps he didn’t see through it, either.”
She gnawed her cheek. “Izanna?”
“I don’t like to accuse.” He fanned his hands on his desk, then reached for his throwing knife. He tapped it against his fingernails.
“But?”
“But she is obsessed with the Bone. Has been for years. I’ve warned King Kaist about it numerous times. Ayda, too.” He grunted. “The words ‘paranoid’ and ‘delusional’ came up in discussions.”
“A real conversation killer.”
“Indeed. Still, I like to keep an eye on what she’s doing. Hence letting her come to me with questions.”
Tension oozed out of her.
Garrik was as true as she’d always known him to be.
“Could Sundamar be involved?”
He closed his eyes and tossed his head back. “These unfounded accusations—” He took a swig of his mead and topped up both mugs. “He does get impatient with the king at times.”
Pity she didn’t know Sundamar Dakar beyond sight. It would have helped to at least have a conversation with him. “It would serve him well to have his son on the throne.”
Garrik rubbed his eyes, then looked at her with his usual canny sharpness. Only this time it carried an edge she’d never seen before. “Caeda, I would not mention what I’m about to say to anyone but the Soul-Reaper. Or the king. As the king already knows, I must tell you. Can I trust your confidence?”
“At least while I still have command of my faculties. Can’t promise once Soul-Forged drives me mad.”
He thrust the point of his throwing knife into the already scarred desk. “I have some thoughts about that, too. But first, Sundamar. King Kaist gave Taliesin to Dominik as a down payment on a rather large loan he has with the Dakar family. Marriage to Taliesin makes the Dakar family royal. Sundamar snatched up that opportunity for his son.”
The king was trading Taliesin and the ultimate ownership of the kingdom to pay back his debt? And Dominik’s father had no problem turning his son into a commodity, either.
Her heart clenched. “Does Dominik know this?”
“I don’t believe he does.”
How he would hate to know how little his father thought of him, that Sundamar would trade his happiness for royalty.
“As enormously valuable as becoming royalty may be, it’s a drop in a vast ocean of debt.” Garrik stood and strode to a wall safe almost lost in the weaponry. He waved a hand over it, and the door popped open. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and tossed it down on the desk in front of her. “The king gave me that for safekeeping.”
She took it, read it, and gasped. “Over a million gold coins! That’s what the state owes the Dakar family?” She slumped back in her seat. “Why?”
“Wars cost money.” Garrik sat down heavily. “The price of owning the Bone. Every nation wants to fight us for it. The king agreed to pay Sundamar back with spoils from the Nyhan victory. There aren’t any.”
“So, the state is bankrupt?”
The words made no sense when Taliesin dressed just once in gowns worth more than a lieutenant’s annual wage.
Garrik shrugged. “It’s powerful motive, Caeda.”
That it was. She slurped her mead. “And Dominik and Elion… do they know about this?”
Garrik refilled both their mugs. “Sundamar isn’t known for his openness. If he did share, it would probably be with Dominik.”
“The son he claims to love but had no problem trading for power?”
Garrik steepled his fingers. “The king has commanded that you work with Dominik. I’m sure that has brought its own pressures.”
“The fox watching the hens.”
“I could not put it better. You must decide how much of this you need to share with him.”
“I thought you said I had to keep my mouth shut?”
“If dribbling out information helps find the Bone and those who stole it, I think the king and I can trust your discretion.”
Her chest burned—and it had nothing to do with the mead. “I won’t let you down.” She ran her finger across the top of her mug. “I have to say I’m surprised about something.” When his eyebrows cocked, she added, “Everyone keeps asking me what Soul-Forged says and does. You haven’t.”
“I’ve told you why, Nasty Reaper. He does not want to know what I think because he’s ashamed. And so he should be. Deceiver. Sneaky traitor.”
A grunt from Garrik. He leaned back in his chair and grabbed a tattered book from a cluttered shelf. “This brings us to the next part of this discussion. Controlling your Sword.”
She leaned forward expectantly. “I’m all ears.”
“I recall Ayda saying something similar.” He lifted the leather cover—it was swollen with age. The pages were brittle and stained. “I’ve kept detailed records of the triad of power since the first Soul-Reaper was called.”
She laughed hollowly. “You were alive when the first Soul-Reaper was called?”
Again that canny look. “I was.”
Soul-Forged fidgeted. She braced herself; it was only a matter of time before he started a chorus of protest.
“You knew the… owner of the Bone?” She had to know. Breath held, she waited for his reply.
“I was there when he was defeated.”
“Traitor. Trickster. Deceiver,” Soul-Forged shrieked. She clutched her head, and trembled. “Not just there. Wicked Fae. Evil Fae. Betraying Fae.”
Garrik’s hand slapped against her forehead. “He will call me a traitor. A deceiver who led him to his death. No doubt that’s what he’s doing now.” He spoke sharply. “Command him to stop.”
Soul-Forged wailed louder, the sound so manic, so determined she knew the command would be pointless.
And unfair.
She clutched her head and moaned. “Did you lead him to his death?”
“I did what was best for Yatres.” Garrik’s hand was heavy on her head. “No different than what you have done in your capacity as a soldier, and will continue to do as Soul-Reaper.”
Her stomach churned with the urge to vomit.
Just what had her kingdom been built on? And could she be a part of something that had caused so much anguish—so much pain—to Soul-Forged?
Garrik scowled at her. “Caeda, is he under control?” He spoke as if they were on the parade ground, drilling.
She didn’t need to lie. Her limited acting skills would never be enough to hide her contorted face or violent shaking.
Garrik knelt before her. “A triad of power, Soul-Reaper,” he barked. “The only way to survive it is to be at the apex. The Bone and the Sword—they will both try and usurp that spot. When they succeed, the Soul-Reaper goes mad. Death soon follows, usually by her own hand. You have to fight, Caeda. Fight like you have never fought before.”
And still Soul-Forged raged. A physical thing, he crashed around her head like a drunkard breaking bottles behind a tavern.
“How?” she croaked, desperate for the noise and stabbing pain to stop. Is this what life was like for souls in the Bone?
His fist slammed the desk. “Take command. Grab him by the throat and lead h
im. State the rules. He speaks only with permission. No more riddles. He obeys your every desire.”
She rocked back and forth keening, only just managing to rasp, “And… and if he doesn’t?”
“There’s an iron box in your quarters. Has no one shown it to you?”
“Not the iron box! Nasty Reaper. Not the iron box!”
She shook her head numbly.
“Bright Reaper never put Soul-Forged in the box. Not once.”
“Command him!” Garrik insisted. “Or he will manipulate you into madness. Is that what you want?”
She closed her eyes and pleaded, “S-soul-Forged, enough.”
“Never enough, Nasty Reaper. Never enough until Traitorous Fae pays for his treason. And Laylea and—”
Garrik shook her shoulders. “Make him listen.”
When her head lolled, he slapped her face. It stung, and her head jerked painfully.
“He’s hurting my Nasty Reaper! Nooooooo!” Soul-Forged shrieked with the intensity of a gale-force wind in her head.
Her skull would burst.
She cowered in her chair.
Another sharp slap, this time on the side of her head. “Look at me!” Garrik yelled. And then another. “Let me know you control him.”
With him shouting and hitting, the pain was so intense in and outside her head that she couldn’t have answered even if she’d wanted to. She clenched her eyes shut and concentrated on not vomiting.
Blue light speared her retinas.
Her eyes shot open.
The light slashed across Garrik’s face like a rapier. His cheek split, splattering his blood across her chest and face.
She jumped up, sending her chair clattering back. “Soul-Forged! Stop it!”
“No! Traitorous Fae is hurting my Soul-Reaper! Soul-Forged must protect his Nasty Reaper!” He burned hot against her in his sheath. The blue-light surged, an arrow directed at Garrik’s chest.
He raised his fingers—
She dove across the room to redirect the light—and to dodge Garrik’s Body-Petrifying magic.
It hit her square in the chest.
Her muscles locked with her in mid-air. Unable to move, to breathe, to speak, she crashed helpless to the floor. Garrik ripped the iron shield off his wall, shattering glass everywhere.
“Noooo! Wicked Fae! Not again. Not again.” Like a bolt of lightning, Soul-Forged’s light forked. It darted around to ensnare Garrik.
Lungs starving for breath she couldn’t draw, eyelids frozen open, all she could do was watch.
Garrik thrust the shield at the light. One fork hit it. It sizzled and died.
The second dodged around and slashed his leg open. “Stop!” He stumbled. “Or your Reaper will suffocate while you play. Is that what you want?”
The light pulled back, flickering erratically.
Garrik tossed the shield over her body.
It covered Soul-Forged. His light blinked out.
Chest aching for breath, she would have heaved a sigh of relief if her frozen muscles would let her. Now Garrik would release her from his magic.
He didn’t.
Terrible truth came crashing in—was he working with the thief? Had he trapped her to kidnap her?
She wanted to scream, to yell for help, but her petrified throat refused to obey.
Starved of air, her lungs folded in, and her eyes blackened.
The riot in her head faded.
14
A cool cloth pressed on Caeda’s forehead. It did nothing to stop the sting of a thousand ants from biting her. Her back burned through her leathers as if she lay on hot coals.
“Take it easy, Caeda.” Dominik’s soft voice.
He was working with Garrik? The ache in her chest was crushing.
She opened her eyes and frowned, partly because she could. Garrik must have lifted his spell.
Still, an iron ceiling glowered down at her.
She moved her head to look around and froze. Nausea bubbled, and a mix of bile, hastily eaten lunch, and mead threatened to drown her. She gagged, terrified she’d choke if she didn’t move. But her leaden body refused to obey.
Callused hands gripped her cheeks. Dominik’s face loomed in her vision. It was blistered and raw.
Why, if he was one of the thieves working with Garrik? And her head was on his lap? That made no sense, either.
“You’re in Garrik’s cage,” he said urgently. “We need to get you out.”
Garrik’s cage. An iron box in the detention barracks. It was used for mages who troubled themselves into severe discipline.
“I’m sorry, Soul-Reaper.” Garrik’s gruff voice. “But the Sword was out of control. I had no choice but to restrain him. That meant restraining you, too.”
His face had healed. So had his leg. That meant she had been in here for at least an hour.
She fumbled for her side with a heavy hand. Soul-Forged’s sheath hugged her leg. You still there?
There was no reply.
She wanted to sob.
Time to sit up even if it was an almost impossible struggle.
Dominik’s hands slid under her shoulders. He gently lifted her and leaned her against his chest. One arm wrapped around her waist. “We can get out of here as soon as you’re ready.”
She touched his skin. It wept with blisters.
Her own leathers were clammy, and her skin seeped. How long had she been in here?
Long enough for Dominik to come looking for her.
“I’m ready.” She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t work.
Garrik plucked her out of Dominik’s arms. He draped her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, and strode with her through the building until they reached his office. Dominik scurried behind them.
Garrik propped her up in the same chair she’d sat in before.
“Can I go?” The answer would determine whether she sliced Dominik and Garrik open with Soul-Forged—if she could muster the strength to lift him, of course.
“My door is wide open, Soul-Reaper.” It was. “You were never my prisoner. You can go at any time. And remember, I want the Bone found as much as you do.” Garrik thumped Dominik’s arm. “Salve.”
Dominik hovered next to her.
“In that drawer. Get it.”
Dominik moved in a blur. The drawer flew open. An assortment of Garrik’s possessions flew into the air. He grabbed a small glass jar and almost ran back to her. Garrik reached for it, but Dominik elbowed him out of the way.
“I’ve got it.”
Garrik huffed but didn’t argue. He grabbed a different bottle—it reeked of milk thistle, an antidote to iron poisoning. He poured her a mug while Dominik opened the ointment.
“Drink this,” Garrik commanded. He held it to her mouth. “I know you must be wondering about our intentions, Caeda. They are perfectly honorable. I said I would help you control your Sword and that is what I have done, even if my methods seem harsh.”
She swallowed greedily. It soothed its way down her gullet and into her stomach, settling her nausea.
Dominik shuffled in front of her. With sure fingers, he dabbed wintergreen ointment onto her face, her hands, all her exposed skin.
The relief was instant.
He cracked a smile. “You’ll need to bathe in it to help the bits I can’t see.”
“I—I can do that.” She brushed his blisters. They had already begun to heal. Clearly, he hadn’t been exposed to the iron for as long as she had. “How did you know?”
“You didn’t come back. I was worried.”
She believed him. Whatever Garrik had done, Dominik hadn’t been party to it.
Soul-Forged still hadn’t rustled in her head.
Soul-Forged? Answer me.
“He’ll wake soon enough,” Garrik said sternly.
He must have read the signs of her internal conversation—whatever they were.
She intended to find out. Never again would anyone command her on her relationship with her Swor
d. Or comment when she spoke to him. From now on, she and Soul-Forged would talk how and when they wanted. And in private, they would decide what to do to free them all from the cruelty of the Bone.
She grabbed one of Dominik’s hands. “What time is it?”
“The sun set an hour ago,” he said pointedly. He watched her with guarded eyes while Garrik bustled around. The moment Garrik’s back was turned, he mouthed, “Did you ask about Dain?”
Did he also disapprove of Garrik’s “methods”?
She shook her head and mouthed back, “Not going to. We do this alone.”
He nodded as if he agreed.
Dain would come if she asked, but she didn’t want him disobeying orders for her. If she chose the slippery path to treason, that was her choice, but she wasn’t ready to damn her friend. Not when Garrik had made it so clear where he stood with matters relating to the Bone and the Sword.
She tried to stand, but Dominik squatted in front of her with his chest pressed to her knees. She gently shoved his shoulders. He jumped back.
Shakily, she stood. “Thank you. Both of you.”
Garrik bowed. “You need to rest.” His face softened. “I am sorry, Soul-Reaper. So very sorry, but it had to be done.”
He would think that. Just like it had to be done when he’d lured Soul-Forged to his death. Garrik had probably paralyzed him, too. “I understand. And… and I’ve learned a great deal today.”
His weathered face cracked into a rare smile. “Then I’m grateful. I don’t think the Sword will get the better of you again.” The smile faded. “I received a message from the king that you’re going out tonight to search for the Bone. I will have a contingent of guards waiting for you below your tower. Dain will be in charge.”
Her stomach plummeted. She glanced at Dominik.
“I suggested to the king that a wholesale search of the city would rattle the thieves into moving the Bone,” Dominik said evenly. “He disagrees.”
Not unexpected, but still she hissed out a breath.
Dominik skewered Garrik with a probing look. “What do you think?”
Garrik pursed his lips. “You make a valid point.”