Shadow & Flame

by Mindee Arnett

  Corwin blinked, trying to make sense of his words. Was it possible? He remembered Kate once telling him that Rendborne had tried to kill both him and Edwin before the uror trials even began, only to fail. But one of his great uncles had died during the second trial, his heart giving out from the strain of it. Both seemed to support Rendborne’s claim.

  With the truth dawning in his mind, Corwin realized that Bonner’s plan had never been a possibility for him. Even if they’d tried, they wouldn’t have succeeded in killing him. The truth only compounded his feelings of guilt.

  “This is intolerable,” Magnar said. “I can’t leave him alive.”

  “I agree, you cannot.” Rendborne grimaced. “You have two choices. Either let the princes actually finish the uror”—he motioned to Edwin and Corwin in turn—“or . . . let me take Edwin back with me to the Hellgate.”

  Magnar’s eyes narrowed on Rendborne. “To what purpose?”

  “The Hellsteel. We’ve almost found it.”

  The Godking shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his expression grim. “Our only purpose in procuring the Hellsteel is to revive the magic of Seva. Not to kill with it.”

  Rendborne bowed his head. “Indeed, that has been our purpose and will continue to be so. But I think it would be foolish to dismiss the daleth’s other properties. If there is any weapon capable of slaying a god—or those protected by them—it is that.”

  Daleth. Hellsteel. This was the reason Rendborne had stolen that book from the great library. Only, Corwin hadn’t seen mention of the substance having any other purpose beyond delivering death. And yet Rendborne claimed he would use it to revive Sevan magic. Was it true? He didn’t know. The only thing he could be certain of was that Rendborne couldn’t be trusted. Even now he had the sense that Rendborne was merely acting in deference to the Godking, pretending to be less than what he was—same as he had when he’d been just the minister of trade before revealing himself as the Nameless One—the Lord Ascender, as his followers called him.

  Magnar stroked a hand over his beard, his gaze shifting from Corwin to Edwin, then back to Rendborne. “What is the risk of letting them finish the uror?”

  Rendborne shrugged. “Who can say? With the gods meddling, anything is possible. But know this: no Tormane who has won the uror has ever known defeat afterward.”

  “Do you mean to say the protection will continue even once they’re made king?”

  “Perhaps.” Now Rendborne turned his gaze on Corwin, malice in his eyes. “And there is no guarantee that Corwin will come out the winner, and thus no one to ensure your claim to Rime through your daughter.”

  “That’s too great a risk.” Magnar drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Very well. Take Edwin to the Hellgate, but make sure no one sees. As far as the rest of Rime is concerned, Corwin was chosen by the uror and Edwin died in the trial.” Magnar raised a hand toward Rendborne. “But the moment you’ve found the Hellsteel, bring it to me. I will use it to kill Prince Edwin myself. No one else may wield it.”

  Rendborne bowed, the very picture of subservience. Every muscle in Corwin’s body tensed at the sight of it. What is your game? He remembered clearly the man’s hatred, how he wanted nothing less than to see Rime destroyed forever. Rendborne didn’t give a damn about the magic of Seva.

  “And what of Edwin’s wife, Sabine?” Gavril asked.

  Magnar considered the question a moment, then waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Keep her here for the next month to see if her courses come upon her. If they do, send her back to her family. If they don’t, arrange for her to meet an end, same as her husband.”

  He was eliminating any chance of an offspring to challenge for the throne. Corwin shook his head, pitying his brother, fearing for him. Edwin didn’t react to this news. He’d made no sound at all since the first sword had struck him. Corwin didn’t know if it was shock or merely Gavril exerting his control.

  Magnar turned to Corwin, clapping his hands once. “I know it’s not the uror trial you hoped for, but, well . . . congratulations on being crowned High King of Rime. We must conduct the coronation as soon as possible. But first”—Magnar glanced at Gavril—“we must be certain that Corwin remains under your control. We can’t have him running off, like the Godspear.”

  With pursed lips, Gavril bowed his head in acknowledgment, giving Rendborne a quick glance that told Corwin all he needed to know about who was truly in charge here. “Yes, your majesty.”

  Then he turned to Corwin, a smile broadening his face. “I have a test in mind to prove his loyalty beyond any doubt. I’m told his former love, the traitor Kate Brighton, is still a prisoner here. I say it’s high time she be executed—at his hands.”

  18

  Kate

  THERE WAS NO ESCAPE FROM the haze of pain. Even asleep she felt it. It was a dull pain, but deep, seeping into her bones, making them heavy. For days it had gone on. How many, she didn’t know. Couldn’t know, not with her head in constant spin, the world tilting around her whenever she opened her eyes. Only the spin didn’t stop with them closed, not truly. She was caught in a vortex of agony.

  My blood, she would think in brief moments of clarity. That was the cause of her suffering. Rendborne was stealing it, harvesting it. Not long after her recapture, Rendborne had her brought to a secret room in the dungeon, the entrance hidden behind a mage door. The moment Kate saw it she knew it had been Isla Vikas’s workroom within the castle. She’d seen it in the Maestra’s memories in the moments before Kate killed her. The fact that Rendborne had brought her here, a room so important to his dead lover, only increased Kate’s fear of what was coming.

  He’d forced her to lie on a stone table in the middle of the room, her legs and arms spread to the sides and secured by leather straps so that her extremities hung over the edges. Rendborne stood over her then, staring down at her with a hateful glint in his eyes.

  “I would kill you now if not for the treasure that flows through your body,” he said, raising the knife in his hands. Then he cut her, slicing into her wrist so deeply she felt the blade scrape against bone. “For Isla,” he whispered as Kate held back a scream, the blood pouring hot and sticky over her hand.

  Three more times he cut her that day. On the other wrist and at both ankles. The pain was excruciating at first, but then slowly faded into a dull throb, one that spread through her whole body. Until at last she was certain the Nameless One had taken too much and that she would die on this stone table, her life and magic drained from her. But just before she slipped into that final sleep, Rendborne healed her, mending her skin back together with his magic to stop the precious flow.

  Then he sent her back to her cell, only to bring her back the next day and start all over again. And again. And again.

  Sweet goddess, let me die, Kate thought as she lay on the stone table now. That she could form a rational thought in the midst of this dull pain, constant dizziness, and confusion should’ve brought her comfort, but it didn’t. She was too tired for any emotion, exhausted to her very soul.

  “Are you sure it’s not too much, my lord ascender?” someone said nearby, the voice seeming to slide over Kate like a wave in the sea. “She seems to be fading.” She didn’t recognize the speaker, but she knew the address. All of Rendborne’s servants called him that.

  “She will be fine,” Rendborne replied. “Kate has proven herself resilient many times already.”

  “Yes, I’m certain that is true,” the man replied. “Only, may I ask why you need so much of her blood? There’s a great deal already.”

  Through the dim haze of her vision, Kate saw Rendborne shift toward the other man. “I would harvest a thousand times more if I could. There is no telling how much protection we will need against the Hellsteel’s power. That is, unless you want to volunteer your own blood in her place, Gavril.”

  Clearing his throat, the man bowed his head. “Whatever my lord ascender needs of me.” But even in her addled state, Kate detected the
reluctance in his voice.

  Rendborne made an amused sound, as if he disbelieved the man’s claim. “Have you secured the uror horse yet?”

  This question, the man called Gavril answered at once. “Yes, I just came from doing it. I swapped out the magestone Edwin had been using to disguise it with a new one and moved the real uror horse to a different area of the stable, one not under rigid guard like where it had been before. Magnar will never expect to find it there, out in the open.”

  “Good. He must not get his hands on it.” Rendborne shifted toward Kate, pressing his fingers into her forearm not far above the cut, as if he meant to help the blood flow more quickly.

  “My lord ascender . . . ,” Gavril began again, hesitant, “if she does die before tomorrow, it might make it difficult for me to convince Magnar of Prince Corwin’s loyalty quite as effectively.”

  Shock jolted through Kate’s mind at Corwin’s name, and for a second the haze seemed to part. Corwin is here? If only she could access her sway, she could find him, make sure he was alive, that he was safe. But the infernal collar remained in place around her neck. Even if it wasn’t there, she was too drained for her magic. Magic is in the blood, Vikas had told Kate once. And hers was nearly gone.

  With a shrug, Rendborne turned away from the other man. “So be it. If she dies, there is still his best friend. Having Corwin execute Lord Dallin will be enough to convince a man as arrogant of his own superiority as Magnar.”

  Dal, Kate thought, making sense of the conversation. Only Corwin was to kill her first. But how? Corwin would never hurt her willingly. Then, with sick realization, she understood. Sway. This man must be a wilder, one gifted with the same power as her. She shuddered, and the gesture tugged at her wounds, sending a stab of sharp pain through her skull. She sucked in a breath, the world spiraling around her. Shutting her eyes, the haze closed over her once more.

  Desperately, she fought it back, forcing her thoughts on Corwin. She knew full well what a wilder gifted with sway could do. He will kill me. He wouldn’t be able to stop it. Even worse, he would know it was happening, fully aware of his actions even though they weren’t his own. It was the worst thing she could imagine. Not for herself, but for him. Despair spread through her, the weight of it so heavy she thought it would crush her.

  For the first time in a long time, since she could even remember, Kate turned her thoughts to the goddess. Sweet Noralah, save me. Save us both.

  For a second, she sensed a warm glow behind her eyelids, but just as quickly it disappeared. And her blood continued to flow. A never-ending ebb, while the goddess remained silent.

  19

  Corwin

  THE EXECUTIONS BEGAN A FEW days later. The Godking held them on Goddess Tor, a towering hill to the south of the city with a massive stone altar, the Asterion, residing on its peak. The Sevan armies had spent the night camped at the foot of the hill when they first invaded, its size providing them cover from Norgard’s watchtowers.

  Terror thrummed through Corwin as he ascended the stairs, his legs soon screaming from the effort. The steep climb was known as the Steps of Sorrows. Thousands of people had climbed it before, each heading to their deaths. But never like this. Goddess Tor and its altar was a holy place, revered and reserved only for those whose lives were being given over willingly to the goddess in sacrifice. But Magnar sought to pervert its purpose, executing unwilling criminals. And he will demand Kate’s death at my hand.

  The thought sliced through him, severing any of the happiness he’d been able to feel at learning that she was indeed still alive. He wasn’t delusional. This would end the same way it had with Henry.

  And Kate would just be the beginning.

  At least Edwin was safe for now. There was that comfort at least. He’d been taken to the Hellgate, in the middle of the Wandering Woods. For how long, Corwin didn’t know. But the moment Rendborne discovered this Hellsteel, it would be over. Corwin raised his eyes to the sky, entreating Noralah. He saw no way out of this situation without divine intervention.

  Behind him, Corwin heard Gavril’s wheezing breaths as he labored with the climb. He fantasized giving the magist a push—one single, hard shove that would send him sprawling to his death on the craggy rocks at the foot of the hill. As ever, though, the Tenets held him tight as a noose.

  When they reached the top, Corwin saw a vast assembly of people already present. The last time he’d been up here had been for the second uror trial. At that time, a large pavilion had taken up most of the area before the altar. Now it was filled with Sevan soldiers. There were no wilders among them, and Corwin guessed the Godking was taking no chances, not until they’d all demonstrated their loyalty to Gavril’s sway. Those tests would be conducted in private. Eravis was absent as well, her father wishing to spare her from the carnage.

  Gavril motioned for Corwin to continue up the far shorter flight of stairs to the Asterion, the raised stone platform resting atop more than a dozen pillars, each engraved with holy symbols that spoke of the birth of Norgard: how Noralah herself marked this land as her own, becoming both its mother and its guardian. Another crowd waited here, highborn Rimish citizens among more throngs of Sevan soldiers. Magnar and his usual entourage stood near the center of the platform where a narrow scaffold had been erected, an executioner standing atop it, a red mask covering his face and a gleaming ax in his hands. Two more soldiers hovered near each end of the platform, both helmeted with nose guards that obscured their features.

  Corwin scanned the crowd, recognizing many of the Rimish citizens. Most were courtiers, the sycophantic sort who would bend the knee to Magnar the moment they were asked to do so, if they hadn’t already. Anyone of consequence—Minister Knox, the master of arms; Alaistar Cade, master of horse; or even Captain Jaol, head of the royal guard—wouldn’t be permitted to roam freely up here. They were either in chains somewhere, or already dead.

  When Magnar’s gaze alighted on Corwin, he raised his hands, and the entire crowd fell silent, the air thick with tension. “Let the trials begin,” the Godking said.

  One by one, Norgard soldiers were brought onto the platform and given the choice to either swear fealty or die. In the beginning, with hope and defiance still beating inside them, many chose the latter, and soon the gray expanse of the Asterion turned red with blood. Although Corwin wanted to look away, he forced himself to watch each death. These men who died for Rime, for Norgard, deserved his witness. It was all he could give them.

  After the soldiers came their leaders, along with Norgard elite. When Master Knox stepped onto the platform, the old man held his head high, expression like stone. “I choose death,” Knox said before the judge even had the chance to present the question. As he knelt in front of the executioner, he turned his gaze onto Corwin. Corwin braced, prepared for his scorn, his condemnation. Instead his old arms instructor nodded once.

  And then it was over, only to start again. On and on it went. Not all chose death. There were just as many and more who swore fealty. These, too, Corwin watched, without judgment. He understood. This wasn’t about loyalty or treason. This was survival. Even without the wilders and magists, the Sevan force was massive, far too many for what was left of the Norgard force to defeat, not without their own army of wilders. Watching his people stand up there, Corwin couldn’t say for certain what he would have chosen in their place.

  When the sun reached its zenith, a new set of prisoners was led toward the platform. At first, Corwin couldn’t see them, the light too bright in his eyes. But when he raised a hand to his forehead, his heart gave a leap at the familiar face of the first person in line. Dark-haired and tall, the left side of his face a cavernous ruin, Dal looked thin and weary, his skin pallid and gaze dull. That was, until his eyes alighted on Corwin. Hope brightened his expression, the sight of it tearing Corwin apart from the inside. Goddess, please, no.

  After Dal came Tira, she thin and diminished as well, as if she’d been starved for weeks in a dank hole somewhere, far fro
m the sun. Even still she cast him a lazy smile, as if bored. Corwin saw the truth underneath, though, fear threading her body, sinewy muscles taut. Corwin stared at her, wishing she could see his thoughts. Goddess, please, just swear fealty. Live now to fight later.

  But then Corwin’s gaze lifted, and he spotted the figure just behind Tira.

  The world seemed to stand still, the sudden stop shifting him off-balance, making his head spin. He barely recognized her. She looked so small, so . . . diminished. Her skin was like ash, with dark smears beneath her eyes and cheeks like sunken pits. She could barely walk, her gaze downcast and hair falling in a tangled mass around her face. A magestone collar encircled her throat. She was like a stranger, and still he would’ve known her anywhere.

  “Kate.”

  Her name came out as nothing more than an exhale, and yet she lifted her head, hearing him.

  “Be quiet and stay still,” Gavril whispered, and Corwin felt the insidious pressure of the man’s sway in his mind. His lips closed at once, but Gavril couldn’t stop him from seeing, from feeling. His heart beat wildly in his chest, and he clenched every muscle in his body as he fought to get free, to go to her.

  And to stop what was coming.

  Oh goddess, save me from this.

  A moment later, Kate and the others were past him and climbing up to the platform. They lined up, facing the Godking and his entourage. But the judge didn’t pose his question this time. Instead Magnar addressed the crowd, motioning to the platform. “These prisoners—Dallin Thorne, Tira Salomon, and Kate Brighton—have been found guilty of sedition against Rime itself, crimes that by both Rimish and Sevan law are punishable by death and only death.” Now he turned to Corwin. “As a show of his devotion to Rime as—we are certain—its future king, Prince Corwin will perform the executions with his own hand.”