Flamecaster

  Lila stared at him. Licked her lips. Looked shifty-eyed and guilty.

  “What?”

  “I think I can help you with that.” Digging into her carry bag with her good hand, she pulled out a small silver object. “Turn around so I can get at your collar.”

  “What’s that?” Ash asked suspiciously, turning around.

  He could feel her fumbling at the back of his neck. “It’s a . . . it’s a sort of a key.”

  “A key.”

  “To open the collar.” Lila was obviously struggling to operate the device with one hand.

  “You have a key to open mage collars,” Ash said in a flat, deadly voice.

  “Well, it stands to reason that there would be keys,” Lila said brightly. “Otherwise, there would be no way to get them—bloody bones!” Growing impatient, the dragon had nudged Lila’s leg, startling her. She flailed backward, ending up on her butt on the floor, nearly eye to eye with the dragon. The key landed next to her with a soft clank.

  “Shhh!” Ash hissed, looking up at the ceiling.

  “That—that—it—”

  “It’s all right,” Ash whispered, stepping between Lila and the dragon. “It’s not in any condition to hurt you.” He hoped. He scooped up the key and handed it back to Lila. Knelt and took a closer look at her face. Don’t you dare pass out until you’ve unlocked my collar, he thought, but didn’t say it aloud because he didn’t want to give her any ideas.

  He turned around so that she could get at the back of his neck. She fumbled with the collar again. Finally, he heard a soft click, and the collar slid forward a little. Ash gripped it on either side, pulled the halves apart, and dropped it onto the floor. Experimentally, he tilted his head one way, then the other. He fingered his amulet. It was like the floodgates burst open, and magic torrented in.

  Above their heads, Ash could hear voices, startlingly close. “The scent is stronger right around here.” A cold finger of fear ran down his back when he realized that they were scenting his blood.

  He turned to look at Lila, who was by now propped against the wall, eyes glazed with pain.

  Squatting next to her, he began to unbutton her jacket. She took hold of his wrist with her good hand. It was slippery with blood. “No,” she said. “I’m all right. Save your strength. You’re going to need it.”

  “Shut it,” Ash murmured, gently pulling free. “I’m just going to see what’s going on. I might be able to slow down the bleeding.” He decided to keep her talking. “How’d you do with the explosives?”

  “The ship’s all wired and ready,” Lila said. “For all the good it does us.”

  “Could you set it off from here?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not saying now. I’m saying if it comes to that.”

  “I’m not blowing up this ship with you on it. I promised my da I’d keep you alive, and I mean to keep that promise.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had a key before now?”

  “Well,” Lila said, “I didn’t have a key, not at first. By the time I got one, I was afraid you were going to get killed in an unsuccessful attempt on Montaigne. Or you were going to get caught and ruin my plans.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  “So. As long as you had the collar on, I knew you couldn’t use attack magic to do it. I’m just glad they never traced the snake and the poison back to you.”

  “I told you. That wasn’t me.” Ash had continued working, and by now he had exposed the wound, a ragged cut that had bounced off her collarbone and into the shoulder. “Good news,” he said, releasing a sigh of relief. “It’s bleeding like a champ, so the risk of dying from poison is just about zero.”

  “Hooray,” Lila said.

  “If it makes you feel better, you were right. It was a bad idea to come here.” Ash pressed his fingers into the wound, trickling in magic. He had no time to do any diagnostics, but given the location of the wound, the blade was unlikely to have hit anything vital. Still, he had to stop the flow of blood, or Lila would bleed out.

  A minute, two minutes, and the flow slowed to a seep. She could live with that. He took off his cloak and laid it over her to keep her warm.

  Something bumped Ash’s shoulder. He turned, and it was the dragon again, looking at him rather plaintively.

  “Look,” he said, “you’re going to have to wait your turn. I’ve got way too many patients, and vampire priests trying to get in, and—”

  He stopped talking and looked up. Somebody was fumbling with the hatch. Ash stealthily rose to his feet, stretched, gripped the handles, and hung on. The hatch lid moved a little, so that he could see light around the edges, but whoever was outside was unable to lift both Ash and the hatch, and it stayed closed.

  “It must be locked,” one of the priests said, pounding on it, the way people do for no good reason. Did he really think that if they were down there, they were going to answer the door?

  “He must be down there,” a second voice said. “We’ve searched everywhere else, and the demon’s stench seems to be coming from here.” The hatch rattled again.

  “I’m lead on this, remember,” priest number one growled. “We all agreed that I’m to be first to bleed the demon mage.”

  “I didn’t agree to that,” priest number two retorted.

  “You were there,” priest number one said.

  “That was days ago. If you wanted first blood, you should have cut one of the other mages.”

  “They aren’t the same,” priest number one whined. “There’s something different about them. Foreign-tasting.”

  “We’d better decide before the others finish with the ones in the cabin,” a new voice said, “or there’ll be all of us sharing.”

  “You are not in on this, Robert,” said priest number two. “Why don’t you go back and see how the others are doing? Maybe they’ll share.”

  The squabbling continued, growing more heated. At least they’d left off yanking at the hatch, but Ash knew it couldn’t last forever. He found the collar and retrieved some of his smaller weapons, secreting them on his person. Not that he was likely to live long enough to use them, but still.

  His flash was building, but it was like he was trying to stopper multiple holes in a crumbling dike. There was no way he could hang on to the hatch, heal Lila, and see to the dragon as well. He needed some help.

  Which gave him an idea. Quietly, he let go of the handles, knelt, and began running his fingers over the floor.

  “What are you doing?” It was Lila, her voice barely a whisper.

  “Looking for the key. Ah. Here it is.” He held it up triumphantly, then looked it over. It was hinged, two half circles that seemed to fit together to form a tube. “How does this work?”

  “This doesn’t seem like a good time to—”

  “I’m going to free the dragon,” Ash said.

  “Oh, I see. This situation isn’t bad enough, so you’re going to try and make it worse.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Ash said. “The dragon can be a distraction.”

  “A distraction. Right. Being burned alive would distract me from my other troubles.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re just hoping it will set the ship on fire and then it’ll blow.”

  Well, he was hoping that. Just a little. “Lila. I need to know now.”

  “All right, fine. It fits on to the collar. Once you close it, slide it along, and when you hear a click, you’ve reached the latch. If you pull on the collar, it should come apart at that spot.”

  Ash eased up next to the dragon. Its golden eyes were fixed on him, pinning him like a serpent’s. “Let’s try this,” he murmured. He released a little flash into the dragon, to placate him. Then, slipping his fingers under the metal collar, he managed to slide the key under. He brought the two halves together, then attempted to slide it along the collar. It just barely fit, and it slid in fits and starts. He worked it around the dragon’s neck, slowly, listening hard. Finally, he heard a click.
Gently, he pulled on the two sides of the collar, and it came apart in his hands.

  He was out of time. Metal scraped on metal as the hatch shifted. Light poured in. Ash leapt to grab the handles. He hung on, but this time the priests seemed to have found a way to work together. Ash found himself rising with the hatch until he was looking into the hooded face and fanatical eyes of a Darian brother. Multiple blades sliced at him frantically. He let go and fell back into the hold. He heard the crash as the priests toppled backward and the hatch landed on the deck above.

  He looked over at Lila. Her eyes were closed. The dragon lay quietly alert, watching him as if to see what he would do next.

  Now we’re in for it, Ash thought. He touched his amulet. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Though if he fried the first few who came through the hatch, that might discourage the rest for a while.

  Where’s the bloody King’s Guard when you need them? he thought.

  Guarding the bloody king, no doubt.

  If he set fire to the ship, would the charges go? He tried to remember what Jenna had said about that. All right, sul’Han, would you rather burn to death, be blown to bits, or have a bunch of fanatics suck you dry?

  Ash gripped his serpent amulet, the one that had belonged to his father, and waited for the first vampire priest to come through the door.

  39

  THE DEVIL’S BARGAIN

  Jenna lay awake in her tower room, listening to a thunderstorm roll in from the northwest. The wind howled, lashing against the walls. Rain thundered on the tile roof, and she could hear it splattering from the mouths of the gargoyles to either side of her window. Thunder crashed, reverberating through the stones of the castle, and lightning glared through the barred window, creating crazy, shifting designs on the walls.

  A change in the weather, Jenna thought, for better or worse.

  She propped up, looking around her chamber, reorienting herself. She’d not slept soundly since she’d been moved from her dungeon room. It was ironic, since this bed was more comfortable, and was not infested with vermin, and she didn’t have to worry about rats coming out of the walls.

  Well, maybe that last part wasn’t entirely true. This palace was swarming with human rats, and they might be coming for her before long.

  Every time she closed her eyes, dreams, images, and memories swarmed through her head.

  That voice, pleading for help. Flamecaster. We are dying.

  She was flying over a coastline, where the turquoise sea met white sands and buff-colored cliffs. The wind tore at her hair, she slitted her eyes against the wind and . . .

  No. It wasn’t the sea, it was Adam Wolf’s eyes, dark with desire, and the taste of his kisses; it was his embraces, all long limbs and gentle, knowledgeable hands. It was the scent of his skin and the thud of his heart.

  It was the way he haunted those borderlands between life and death, dark and light, pain and pleasure, and how he selflessly healed other peoples’ wounds while he kept his own hidden away.

  Gerard Montaigne, the demon who held her fate in his hands. Maybe. And Evan Strangward, who struck an odd chord of memory in her. Why did he seem so familiar?

  Tonight, Adam would put their plan into motion. It hadn’t happened yet—otherwise the palace would be buzzing like a kicked-over beehive. It satisfied her spirit of anarchy—the notion that she could strike one last blow against the king of Arden, whether she landed it herself or not.

  Sliding from her bed, she padded in her bare feet to the window. The wind had driven the rain through the narrow windows of her cell, making puddles on the floor. She shivered. The nightshirt the healer had given her was gone, replaced by a silk nightgown that reached nearly to her ankles. At least her legs were covered now.

  She leaned on the broad stone windowsill, staring out through the grille of metal, thinking that, what with the sound of the storm, she was unlikely to hear an explosion down at the wharf. Please, she thought, though she wasn’t one for praying. Whatever happens, let Adam be all right.

  She heard a faint noise in the corridor and whirled, staring at the door, heart thumping. It sounded like a grunt of surprise and pain, followed by a thud as a body hit the floor. As she watched, the door eased partly open, spilling the light from the hallway into her room.

  Who would have reason to sneak into her room at this time of night? Surely not the king or his minions. Was it a rescue? A kidnapping? Some kind of ambush?

  She looked around for weapons, grabbed up an oil lamp and waited, scarcely daring to breathe, until the door swung open the rest of the way.

  First in the door was a huge man with a long braid on one side of his head. She recognized him—he’d be difficult to forget. He’d been with the Carthian delegation in the king’s presence chamber. The Carthian scanned the room, sword in hand, before stepping aside to admit the others.

  There followed four more, three men and a woman, who took their places just inside the door to her room, as if standing guard. And, finally, Evan Strangward, wearing a knee-length coat over his clothes.

  Definitely not a rescue, then.

  Strangward turned and spoke hurriedly to someone out in the corridor. Looking through the doorway past him, Jenna saw that it was Destin Karn. Karn nodded at whatever the mage had said and pulled the door shut.

  Had the king changed his mind about the interview Strangward had requested? If so, why was this happening in the middle of the night? And where were the blackbirds?

  Strangward stood, feet braced apart, hands on hips, and studied her. She felt self-conscious, standing there in her nightclothes, the wind whipping her gown around her legs, wishing she had a robe to put on. She tried not to look at her rumpled bed.

  Jenna raised the lamp. “Stay back,” she said, “or I’ll use this.” It probably wasn’t a very effective threat against a mage with a sword.

  “Jenna,” he said. “I apologize for the late-night visit, but we are running out of time. Your king has forced my hand.”

  Not my king, Jenna thought. “What do you mean?”

  “I had meant to take you back with me and so have the time to find out more about you. From the looks of things, that might not happen.”

  Jenna stared at him, her mind racing. Did that mean that the deal was off? Adam had said they hadn’t come to terms. There was something furtive about Strangward’s expression and the way he kept looking at the door. His guard stood clustered, fondling the hilts of their curved swords, their bodies rigid with tension.

  “Does the king know you’re here?” Jenna said, taking a shot in the dark.

  Strangward shrugged, rubbed his nose, and said, “No. He doesn’t.”

  “You’re not afraid that I’ll scream and bring the guard running?”

  “That’s possible, but not too likely,” Strangward said. “We’ve dispatched the guards outside your door. Since this is the only occupied room in this tower, I doubt you’ll be heard, especially with the storm going on. All in all, it seemed a tolerable risk.” He gestured toward her, an invitation. “Would you like to give it a go? Screaming, I mean?”

  It’s not like she would feel any safer with Montaigne’s men in the room. At least this way, she might learn something useful.

  “No,” she said. “I suppose not.”

  “Good,” he said. “Shall we sit?” He gestured toward the chair by the hearth.

  She was just stubborn enough that she sat on the edge of the hearth rather than in the chair.

  Touching his amulet, Strangward kindled the logs in the fireplace with a gesture, then sat down on the hearth as well, a few feet away from her.

  “If certain people knew that it was this easy to slip into the palace uninvited, the king would have been dead a long time ago,” Jenna said.

  To her surprise he laughed, long and hard. “You really don’t like him, do you?” he said, wiping at his eyes.

  Jenna breathed in through her nose. He had a wild scent about him, like sunlight and rain in the dust, and storms coming in from t
he sea. It was familiar, like a taut line that connected the two of them together.

  They couldn’t possibly have met before . . . could they?

  “Have you ever been to Delphi?” she asked, extending her hands toward the fire, warming them.

  “No,” he said, leaning back against the fireplace and crossing his legs at the ankle. Although he must have been in a hurry, he made a show of making himself at home. “I have not. Why do you ask?”

  “I keep wondering if we’ve met before.”

  He tilted his head, studying her. “Strange. I was thinking the same thing. Your eyes are memorable. Like cat’s eyes.”

  “So I’m told,” Jenna said.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “we met in a dream.”

  “I am not a dreamer,” Jenna lied. “You said you wanted to talk to me. What about?”

  He sat up then, uncrossed his ankles, and planted his feet on the floor, a signal that he was getting down to business. “Let me see the magemark again.”

  Jenna gathered her hair into her fist, lifted it away from her neck, then turned her back so the emissary could see.

  He reached out and put his hand on her bare shoulder, turning her a bit more. The fingers of his other hand, warm and dry, stinging with magic, traced the pattern just below her hairline. She shivered, feeling the gooseflesh rise under his hand.

  “Hmm,” he said.

  Now he closed both hands on her shoulders, and she felt a whisper of power as he sent it into her. She knew he was trying to use magic in order to get the truth from her, just as Karn had done. She gritted her teeth, but put up with it, thinking that if he learned something, he’d share it with her.

  “You’re not a mage,” he said finally, sounding surprised.

  “I’m not a mage,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t Karn tell you that? I would have told you that, too, if you’d asked.”

  “What kind of magic do you have, then?”

  “What makes you think I have magic?”

  “The empress is hunting you for a reason. Since she’s greedy for power, I assume that you have something she wants.”

  “I’m not going to apologize for being just an ordinary person. To tell you the truth, I haven’t been all that impressed with the gifted people I’ve met so far.”