by White, Gwynn
He shrugged. “Or she followed us. Can you feel the Bone?”
“No. And Soul-Forged is making farting noises. He’s ticked off because we don’t share his relish for Feeding his Bone our friends.”
The door opened. Six Fae walked in, shaking off snow. Two walked to the bar, two others leaned against the wall near the door, and two sauntered over to the booth where the other six sat. One of them hitched his sword on his hip.
Her hackles rose.
The simple steel handguard was horribly familiar. Just the day before, a Nyhan Fire-Weaver had swung a sword just like it at her head. Later, when she, Ayda, and Dain had walked through the battlefield Reaping souls, she’d seen hundreds more just like it—a Nyhan military-issue weapon. She glanced at the rest of the Fae, looking more carefully at the blades.
Four Nyhan swords.
Dominik swore—he must have followed her gaze—and his hand went to the sword tucked beneath his cloak. “We need to get you out of here. Now.” He stood.
She dithered. “The Bone must be here. We need to get into that storeroom before they use it.”
Dominik leaned over the table until his face was no more than an inch from hers. “Your life is more valuable than that damn Bone. Get up. And get out. Now.”
“But the Bone is right here—”
His eyes drilled into hers. “As soon as we’re out, I’ll send up a flare for Dain. Now move.”
When she stood, relief washed across his features.
A flash of movement at the door hooked her. Izanna slipped out into the night.
“She’s leaving,” Caeda whispered.
“And so are we.” His hand on her back propelled her along the narrow passageway between the booths.
The two Fae standing at the booth prowled into their path. They smirked. One crossed his arms over a chest gleaming with steel. The other held out his hand—a mage. She gripped Soul-Forged, wishing she knew what to expect from the Fae.
“Going somewhere, Soul-Reaper?” the mage drawled in a broad Nyhan accent.
Dominik clicked his fingers.
The mage’s eyes widened. He levitated briefly and then crumpled to the floor. A plume of purplish red whirled up out of him like fog.
Soul-Forged jerked in his sheath. “A soul, Nasty Reaper,” he wheezed. “Let’s grab it. Quick, before it escapes.”
Before she could reply, a magical shield dropped over her. Simultaneously, four blades flew off the mantle above the bar—the bottles Soul-Forged had been counting; Dominik must have magicked them into knives.
Two of the blades veered off to the Fae at the door. Slouched together in hushed conversation, they didn’t even see them coming until they tore into their throats.
Both joined their companion on the floor.
The other two blades headed for the booth. The Fae were on their feet. One of the blades found its mark, slicing into a throat, but the last was blasted out of the air by a fireball, tossed by a Fire-Weaver.
The room swirled with souls. Soul-Forged chatted like a squirrel.
As much as she dreaded letting Soul-Forged anywhere near these dead bodies, she pulled him from his sheath to defend Dominik while he protected her.
A fireball hurtled toward them.
Instead of ducking, Dominik yelled a battle cry. Both his arms waved in the air.
The Fire-Weaver gasped. He writhed briefly before his head crashed down onto the table. Another soul winked at her. Soul-Forged tugged in her hand.
No! We aren’t Reaping souls. She held him back with all her strength.
“Four down. Eight to go,” Dominik shouted. “And some more magic for your shield.” Steel screeched as he drew his sword. “Use it and get out of here. Get Dain.”
As much as she hated leaving him, she leaped onto the table and launched herself over the head of the closest Nyhan. She landed with a jolt.
But as she spun for the door, a Fae from the bar loped there first. His sword was drawn.
“Add one to the list,” she gritted out. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Get out of the way.”
“Or what?” He simpered. “You’ll reap my soul?”
“No, but I will cut straight through you.”
“We can’t let you leave,” another Nyhan said from behind her. “We don’t want to harm either of you, so just put your weapons down and stop fighting.”
She pivoted. The Fae males who had been propping up the bar when they had come in stood behind her with swords in their hands.
All signs of their earlier drunkenness had gone.
So had the pleasure workers. Only the bartender quietly polished a glass, blatantly ignoring the fight.
Somehow, she and Dominik had wandered straight into a setup. There had to be at least fifteen Nyhan warriors pitted against them.
Was Zella involved? She rolled her shoulders back to hide her shock.
Against these odds, she and Dominik didn’t stand a chance. Not without his magic or Soul-Forged’s help.
I need your killer light to help us get out of here.
“No! See, two can play the ‘no’ game, Nasty Reaper.” He rolled back into the far corners of her mind.
She swore. And then used him to lunge at the leader giving the commands. Perhaps drawn by the possible promise of a soul, Soul-Forged added his weight to the swing.
The Fae’s head cleaved off his shoulders. He collapsed in a flash of bloody mist. A tendril of red light snaked out of his severed neck and latched on to Soul-Forged.
She yanked Soul-Forged away before he could slurp the soul into his steel belly. Ignoring his wails of anger and distress, she pivoted to meet a blade swinging for her.
It bounced off Dominik’s shield.
Capitalizing on the Fae’s surprise, she crashed Soul-Forged into the attacker’s belly.
Dominik tossed a throwing blade into the chest of the Fae blocking her way to the exit.
With free passage, she lunged to open the door.
Dominik snarled, a mixture of anger and pain.
She whirled to him.
A dagger was embedded in his chest. It had just missed his heart.
Red fury blinded her. Roaring, she pounced at the nearest Fae. Like one, she and Soul-Forged slashed, parried, and cut.
“Caeda, stop!” She vaguely heard Dominik shouting.
Still, she and Soul-Forged slashed at arms, legs, heads—
Red and blue, purple and black, cosmoses and megaverses spilled into the air.
Soul-Forged drank them in.
Dominik grabbed her shoulders. “Enough!”
The door flew open. Snowy wind blasted into the room. It rushed across the fallen bodies. Snow melted red in the blood.
So much blood.
Her head cleared. A mound of corpses lay between her and the bar.
But still more Fae came for her and Soul-Forged.
His smacked his lips. “Oooh, Nasty Reaper, I’ve supped well. But there are more of them. Let’s not stop now.” He weighed heavy in her bloody hand.
The Bone could be right there, behind the bar.
But enemies rushed toward her and Dominik, and blood seeped down his tunic. And she would not feed Soul-Forged even one more soul.
Disgusted with herself and him, she grabbed Dominik’s arm and yanked him outside.
They sprinted for the alleyway. The trails of light and souls sticking to Soul-Forged snapped.
“Don’t let them get away!” one of the Nyhans shouted.
Boots ground on snow as their attackers chased them.
Ghostly pale, Dominik panted beside her. He pressed his palm into the wound on his chest. She’d seen enough depleted mages in battle to know that he had nothing left in him. Not for her shield. Not to send up a flare. And not even to heal himself. She wanted to curse at him for wasting everything he had on her protection, but the words wouldn’t form.
“Get them!” someone yelled.
A blade whistled through the air.
It nicked the tip of h
er ear before ricocheting off the wall.
Heart pounding, she skidded down a narrow, stinking alleyway, praying no one was at the other end. Dominik followed, almost slipping on ice. He hissed and gasped in pain, fresh blood staining his tunic.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she panted, trying to hide their scent among the smell of piss and vagrants and snow on the wind. “We need to get to Dain. And you to a healer.”
He nodded wordlessly. His lips were drained of blood and color.
She hauled his arm over her shoulder and pulled his weight onto her. That he didn’t argue leant speed to her race through a narrow archway and into the main city square. Two hundred paces up the street, three guards walked on the sidewalk between two taverns.
“Thank the Bone!” She yelled to them, but the wind blew her shout away. With Dominik pressed to her side, she stumbled through the shadows toward them.
They were some twenty yards away when one of them spotted her and Dominik. His lips parted in shock.
“Lieutenant Caeda! I—I mean, my lady.” He broke into a run, reaching them far quicker than she could have gotten to him. He lifted Dominik out of her arms.
Her gaze flashed to the second guard. “Get Lieutenant Dain.”
He bowed his head and sprinted into a tavern.
The third guard pulled his blade free. Through her heavy breathing, she listened for any signs of their pursuers. Although Soul-Forged was heavy with the souls he’d gorged on, she held him at the ready.
Dain rushed out onto the street. “Caeda!” He sprinted over to her. “What the hell happened?”
“Nyhan attacked us. At the Ivory Hawk on Garnet Street. I think the Bone was there. They would have moved it by now, but send in troops to check.”
“Garnet? I thought you were working Anvil Street?”
She glared at him. “I’ll explain later. I need to get Dominik to a healer.”
Dain took in Dominik’s injury and nodded once. “Carriage is where you left it. I’ll see you back at the palace.”
She didn’t wait to see Dain organize what she guessed was a futile search. With guards carrying Dominik, she led the way to her carriage. They heaved him onto the seat, and she climbed in after him.
A whip cracked, and they were barreling back up the hill for the Round Palace—where a healer waited for Dominik.
And the king for her.
18
The healers’ catacombs under the Round Palace stank of crushed herbs and rubbing alcohol.
And hope.
Or maybe that was Caeda’s desperation speaking as she trotted next to Dominik’s stretcher. Unconscious and bleeding, two apprentices carried him into a marble-walled cavern. A Fae dressed in blue-and–white healer’s robes waved them to a waiting bed. The apprentices gently rolled Dominik off the stretcher and onto the pristine white sheets. His blood stained them instantly.
The healer pulled bandages and an assortment of bottles from of one of the shelves carved into the walls. He laid them on a trolley, and wheeled them to Dominik. His eye caught her for the first time. “My lady!”
He bobbed a bow. She was about to tell him to stop fussing about when he grabbed a pair of scissors and hacked open Dominik’s tunic.
A sheen of blood and sweat covered his tanned, muscled chest. Blood still seeped from the gash less than an inch above his heart. Only propriety stopped her from picking up his hand. It was enough that the two of them had flouted the king’s orders; it wouldn’t do to parade her feelings for him as well.
“This isn’t just blood loss that ails Lord Dakar.” The healer traced his hands across Dominik’s body. “This is magical. And my lady is also covered in blood. What happened?”
She hedged. “He did deplete his magic. Can it be fixed?”
“In time.” The healer scooped six blue stones off the shelf. He placed them on Dominik’s forehead, chest, diaphragm, stomach, and legs. “These will help.” He dripped a syrupy liquid into the cut. The bleeding slowed, and Dominik’s grimace softened. Iridescent green magic tingled between the healer’s splayed fingers and the wound. Slowly, the skin began to knit together.
The wet rasp of Dominik’s breathing evened.
Some of the tension knotting her back eased. In a very short time, Dominik Dakar had successfully wheedled his way under her skin. Not a good thing, given his family’s entanglement with Taliesin and the king.
Footsteps pounded on the marble floor outside the cavern.
“Uh-oh. Only Cruel Fae stomps like that,” Soul-Forged said with relish. “This should be fun.”
She stiffened.
Long dark hair disheveled, eyes hard and cold, King Kaist loomed in the doorway. He was trailed by a contingent of guards. He looked first at her and then at the unconscious Dominik.
She bowed.
He stepped deliberately up to the bed. “I was waiting in my chambers for news on the Bone. Imagine my shock when my equerry informed me that not only had the Soul-Reaper and Lord Dakar expressly disobeyed my orders, but Lord Dakar had been brought into the catacombs on a stretcher.” He thumped his fist into his palm. “Mind telling me what the hell happened, Soul-Reaper?”
Only the truth—or at least some of it would work. “We were attacked, sir. By Nyhan soldiers.”
The king’s jaw dangled. “Nyhan soldiers in Upper Whaivag?”
She gave a curt nod. “Yes, sire. Dominik and I tracked them to a tavern in Woocerk—the one Soul-Forged showed me. We didn’t want to bring the guards with us because it would have attracted too much attention.”
He glowered. “Seems you managed to do that all on your own.”
She fought her flush of embarrassment by digging her fingernails into her palm. Her hands were sticky with blood—Dominik’s and the Fae’s she’d killed in the tavern. “I’m sorry, sire—”
“The Bone?” he interrupted. “At least tell me the Bone is safely back in your tower.” His dark eyes bored knowingly into her. He knew that that Bone hadn’t been rescued.
A trap, then. So what did he want from her?
She spoke cautiously. “Sire, we failed in our efforts.” The word failed pierced her like an arrow.
“Failed?” The word rolled off King Kaist’s tongue like honey. “How is that possible?”
She snapped to attention. “I don’t wish to make excuses, sire, but we were outnumbered.” It grated that the healer bustled around Dominik, and half a dozen of her former comrades waited at the door, listening to all of this.
“Lord Dominik Dakar, Element Fabricator without equal, and Lady Caeda Aerith, Soul-Reaper of Yatres, outnumbered?” The king’s fist slammed down onto the bed. Dominik moaned. She clenched her fists. “Numbers would not have been a problem if you had taken guards as I had commanded.”
Sweat beaded on her brow.
Before she could reply, Elion and Sundamar Dakar rushed in. The living embodiment of Dominik, Sundamar’s sea-green eyes bulged, and his face drained of color.
“My son!” He stumbled to Dominik’s side, and touched the stone on his forehead. “Depleted! This was never supposed to happen. Who drained him?”
Before she could stop it, she glanced at Elion.
His face was pale, too, and desperation glinted in his eyes. He mouthed, “Say nothing. Please. For all of our sakes.”
Acutely aware of the threat of a vicious father, as well as her culpability in Dominik’s loss of magic, she nodded. She dodged Sundamar by answering the king. “Sire, we saw someone else in the tavern. Someone who very likely had a hand in helping the Nyhans.”
Sundamar’s head lifted, much like a beagle’s on a scent.
The king bared sharp teeth. “Who?”
“Lady Izanna. She came into the tavern soon after we did, but she left before the attack happened.”
Sundamar’s breath caught.
The king’s thin lips tightened. He turned to his guards. “Arrest Lady Izanna. Send someone now. Have the Bone-Crushers on hand. Soul-Reaper, make sure they pull every b
it of information out of her.”
She shuddered, hating that she had to be involved in a torture session. Yet another reason to doubt the greatness of Yatres. As much as she disliked Izanna, she wouldn’t wish the Bone-Crushers on anyone.
A guard snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, sire.” He swept out of the room.
Elion slumped against the wall. No doubt he couldn’t believe his friend was involved. She felt his pain—betrayal was never an easy thing to deal with.
Sundamar ran a hand through his long hair, leaving a streak of Dominik’s coppery blood on his forehead. “Sire, Izanna Krislee is a friend of my family, but if she is responsible for what happened to my son and heir, make her pay. And those Nyhan bastards, too.”
“Justice shall be dealt, I assure you. And speaking of which—” The king wagged a finger at her. “Must I remind you where your allegiance lies, Soul-Reaper?”
She blushed scarlet, both at the astuteness of the question, and that her loyalty was in doubt.
Soul-Forged chuckled. “What an interesting conundrum, Nasty Reaper. To be both loyal and disloyal in the same breath. Quite the achievement. You should be proud of yourself. Soul-Forged can’t remember any Soul-Reaper ever managing that before—and he remembers everything.”
She grimaced, grateful that no one else was privy to Soul-Forge’s chatter.
King Kaist snorted. “At least you have the decency to show your mortification. Must I call for another oath of allegiance? Or will you obey my commands from now on?”
Lying was one thing, but swearing an oath she knew she couldn’t—wouldn’t—keep was altogether something else. She snapped another salute. “I am well aware of my obligations to my king and my country, sire. Nothing has given me greater joy than serving my monarch and helping, in my small way, to make Yatres great.” Body as tight as a bowstring, she waited for his reply.
He watched her through those dark, all-seeing eyes. “Garrik informed me about your visit to the iron box. How fares your Sword?”