Whatever had previously been blocking the cellular signal was no longer in effect, and now there wasn’t a phone in the room that wasn’t pressed to someone’s ear in a call of distress.
As Farrell looked on, he could feel but one reigning sensation: clarity. Yes, Farrell’s mind was crystal clear.
A cold wave of darkness began to fill him, ridding him of all the anxiety and fear that had invaded his psyche during the attack. All emotions were washed away, leaving him with a perfect single-mindedness.
Farrell looked at Crys. She was standing with Jackie, gesturing frantically toward the doors. Jackie was shaking her head no.
The stark need to obey Markus’s command enveloped him like a cloak of shadows. The edges of his periphery—of the very physical world in which he stood—began to darken.
“Yes,” Connor’s voice was cool and calm. “You could do it with your bare hands. Place them around her throat and squeeze. Watch the life fade from her pale blue eyes.”
“Farrell,” Adam said, grabbing his arm. “We need to find Dad and get the hell out of here.”
Farrell stared at his brother, not fully seeing him. A harsh, panicked voice started ringing in his ears.
“What’s wrong with you, leaving us over there all alone?” It was his mother, standing next to Adam, having reunited with him at some point in the chaos. “Farrell, answer me!”
He was going to kill Crystal Hatcher.
“Farrell!” his mother said again, louder now, and then she slapped him, hard, across his face.
The surprise of the blow and the stinging pain that followed managed to part the shadows around him. He gaped at his mother. “You slapped me.”
“You’re acting like a fool, standing here in the middle of this war zone! We must go. Now!”
“But I need to . . .”
Wait. What was he thinking? He couldn’t kill Crys—she hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Even if Markus was right—if her aunt was somehow working with Damen—what did that have to do with Crys?
Crys was innocent. It was a breach of society code to execute someone who hadn’t earned their death.
Farrell looked to Crys again. His mother was still screaming at him, pleading with him to get going, but he couldn’t look away. It was as if Crys had suddenly become more of a magnetic force for him than she previously was. She met his gaze, and he saw nothing but raw fear in her eyes.
Fear for her sister’s life.
He began to tremble. He clenched his fists so tightly that his short fingernails bit into his skin. He peeled the thin mask off his face, only now remembering that he was still wearing it, and threw it to the floor.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out.
What was wrong with Markus, giving him a command like this? Markus hadn’t been thinking straight—he was too full of personal pain and misplaced vengeance.
Then, at the sound of her voice, he froze.
“Farrell!”
He forced his eyes open, and there she was, just an arm’s reach away from him.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Because I’m going to tell you this once and only once.” She looked at him earnestly, that fear in her eyes growing even deeper. “You need to stay away from me.”
“What I need is to save my sister,” Crys said. “You have to help us find out where she’s been taken.”
“Aren’t you listening? Get away from me, or you’ll be very sorry.”
Whatever she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice made her take a shaky step backward. “Are you trying to scare me?”
“I’m trying to warn you. Go away.”
“Farrell,” his mother growled. “We’re leaving. With or without you.”
“Wait!” Crys snapped at Isabelle. “I need answers first. And I know Farrell can get them for me.”
Without even realizing what he was doing, he took hold of the front of her dress and drew her closer—so close that all of his senses were completely filled by her. Her warmth, her strawberry smell, her lips. Her vulnerable throat.
“Stay. Away. From. Me,” he snarled.
He released her and, forcing himself not to look directly at her again, managed to leave the ballroom without encountering any further obstacles.
Chapter 17
MADDOX
Following Alcander’s instructions, they swiftly made their way toward a village just over the border, in Central Mytica.
Liana insisted she be the one to carry Al in his canvas sack. Rather than being squeamish about the head, as Maddox had expected, she was fascinated by its very existence.
What Maddox wasn’t quite pleased about was that the witch and the head hadn’t stopped arguing since they began their journey.
“Valoria was the first of the immortals created from the magic of the universe, therefore she is the most important,” Al said to her now. They’d created a makeshift campsite to rest and eat at before continuing on to the village of Laverte, on the coastline of the Silver Sea.
“Ha!” Liana chirped. “What a laugh. No, I’m afraid it was the sorceress Eva and, some say, her evil twin brother who were the first of their kind.”
“Again with the twin brother,” Barnabas grumbled. “Eva never told me anything about him.”
Liana sat cross-legged on the ground, with Al next to her, cushioned by the folded canvas sack, and she regarded Barnabas across the campfire burning between them.
“You have spoken with Eva,” she said, one eyebrow raised skeptically.
“I’ve done more than just speak to her. But a gentleman doesn’t tell tales.”
She arched her brow even further. “An immortal—the most important immortal—the most powerful immortal of them all—would bother herself with the attentions of a mere mortal?”
Maddox watched Barnabas curiously, eager to hear his response.
“I’ll not discuss such personal matters with a common witch,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”
Gentleman indeed, Maddox thought. His gaze shifted to Liana.
“You’re right, I wouldn’t know how to grasp a tale as outlandish as that,” she said, seemingly unaffected by the rebuff. “Alcander, what else has the radiant goddess shared with you about her history? What does she say about the southern goddess?”
“Please, call me Al. And I assume you’re referring to the inferior southern goddess?”
“Is that what she calls her, Al?”
“Valoria doesn’t sully herself by speaking of her rivals. However, she did once order me to add a specific tale to her official chronicles. I won’t bore you with the whole tale, but the central theme of it was that she”—he was careful not to speak the dangerous name out loud—“was always jealous of Valoria’s beauty. Beauty was not gifted to her upon her creation, so to make up for it she had to use great wafts of air magic to make herself appear attractive.”
Maddox nodded. “I have also heard that, uh, she is ugly, both in appearance and in spirit.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Liana allowed. “To possess air magic—to be the embodiment of such magic—would offer you endless possibilities.”
“The embodiment.” Barnabas scoffed. “Those two frauds aren’t the embodiment of anything, and they’re not true goddesses, either—no matter what foolish mortals might choose to believe. They stole their advanced magic right out of the immortals’ world.”
“What?” Al gasped. “You are accusing Her Radiance of being a thief? How dare you!”
“Unbelievable,” Barnabas scoffed. “You’re still defending her? She cut off your head, remember?”
“Well . . . yes. That is true. But she did so wrongfully. I was her loyal servant, and it’s only further proof of my innocence that I still show respect for her in the face of blatant lies and accusations.”
Barnabas merely rolled his eyes.
“Tell me more about the magic they stole,” Maddox urged.
>
Barnabas turned to Liana. “Do you know this tale already?” he asked her.
She frowned. “Perhaps a version of it. But I’m fascinated to hear exactly what it is you think you know.”
“That reminds me: You haven’t told us about your home. Where are you from that you’ve heard these kinds of tales?” he asked.
“Here and there.”
“What is your family name?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“When did you learn you were a witch?”
“Quite some time ago.”
Barnabas groaned. “How illuminating. I swear, it’s impossible to travel with women. Talking to them is like trying to untangle a knotted web of words.”
Maddox repressed a smile. He knew Liana was baiting Barnabas, something she’d been doing since they first met. So far, beyond showing annoyance, Barnabas hadn’t risen to her sly quips. At first he’d been displeased that Maddox had insisted that she join them, but Maddox was definitely starting to get the feeling that Barnabas had finally seen the value in traveling with a witch—after all, the hardest part of their journey was the gap between Camilla leaving and Liana arriving. Not that Barnabas would ever admit any of that out loud, of course.
“Go on, then, Barnabas,” Al said, putting on an overly dramatic tone of diplomacy. “Tell us what you think Her Radiance stole. We can’t wait to be educated.”
“Al, am I right to assume that you’re trying to earn your place in our fire? Or are you angling to have a rag stuffed in your mouth?”
Al blinked prissily. “Neither, if you please.”
“Then shut up.”
The head replied with only a glare.
“If you really want to know, I’ll tell you,” Barnabas said. Maddox straightened up and leaned in closer as his father warmed his hands over the fire. “The magic is called the Kindred, a priceless treasure guarded for millennia by Eva and her fellow immortals. Together the Kindred consist of four crystal orbs, each of which contains the essence of the four corners of elemental magic: air, fire, water, and earth. These orbs were both feared and coveted for the very same reason: the unprecedented, world-shattering power contained within their cores. But there was better cause to fear them, in my opinion. For if they fell into the wrong hands, who knows what kinds of disaster and chaos would follow?” He glanced at Liana. “How does this compare with your version so far?”
She shrugged. “I suppose it’s about the same.”
“Wonderful,” Barnabas said, then continued on. “Unfortunately, most of these guardians, these immortals watching over the Kindred, were—and still are—vastly corrupt and greedy. So, sixteen years ago, after much conspiratorial planning, two of them—Valoria and that other one—stole the crystal orbs and, in the process . . . murdered Eva.” His voice broke upon Eva’s name, and he went silent.
Maddox watched him, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Barnabas?” he ventured.
Barnabas raised his hand, palm out, to Maddox. “It’s fine. The story is nearly over anyway. As I said, this was sixteen years ago. As punishment for their crimes, the other immortals banished Valoria and her cohort—an extreme form of banishment that made it impossible for the goddesses to return to their own kind. They were forced to remain here, in Mytica, with mortals who live for a mere flicker of time compared to one with eternal life. Perhaps that’s why they’re so cranky and unsatisfied.”
“If that’s so,” Liana said thoughtfully, “if they did steal the Kindred, then why wouldn’t they just take the unprecedented, all-powerful magic and leave Mytica? Why not set out for a home that was better suited for them and their greatness? This universe of ours is vast and greatly unexplored, you know.”
“That,” Barnabas said, “is a mystery to me. One I don’t really care to solve. Though, frankly, I’d be happier if they left. Then the throne would be free for the deserving Princess Cassia to occupy.”
“Al?” Maddox asked. “Did Valoria ever tell you why she stays in . . . Limeros?” It felt strange to speak aloud the new name the goddess had given to Northern Mytica.
“She did not,” Al replied. “And I never asked. But I’m certain she has an excellent reason.”
“You know what I think?” Barnabas said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I think you know more about her than you’re telling us.”
“Oh?” Al said haughtily. “And what would I have to gain by withholding information from you?”
“Perhaps you don’t trust us to fulfill our end of the bargain to make you whole again when all of this is over.”
Al’s expression darkened. “Tell me: Should I trust a pair of thieves like you? Trust must be earned, Barnabas. And yes, perhaps I know a great deal that you might find valuable. I’ve no idea which bits of knowledge will interest you and which you’d find useless, but either way, not a word of anything unrelated to finding Princess Cassia will leave my lips until I’m ready.”
“I really, truly wish to throw you in the fire,” Barnabas growled.
“No,” Maddox snapped. “Stop.” Barnabas was so smart, so wily, yet his temper often made him act rashly.
“You are a kind boy, Maddox,” said Al, relief flooding his tone. “I appreciate you looking after and protecting me from those who wish me harm in my current helpless condition.”
Maddox glared at him. “I won’t protect you forever. We agreed that you have a week to prove your worth—to find the princess and to tell us anything about Valoria that will help end her reign. If you fail, with either or both of these tasks, Barnabas can do whatever he likes with you. With my blessing.”
Al regarded him with a fresh look of horror. Oddly, Maddox found this pleasing. Barnabas caught his eye and gave him a wink.
Perhaps he and his father had more in common than he’d thought.
• • •
After they ate and rested, they continued onward toward the village named Laverte, reaching it just after night had fallen.
“I visited this place before, years ago,” Al said from his sack. Liana opened it up a bit wider at the top so they could better hear him. “It was a lovely place—so lovely that I set some of my tales here. Lush vegetation, beautiful and friendly people, well-tended roads. And several vineyards that produced the most outstanding wine. As I always say, one day Central Mytica will be known for its wine.”
“I hate to be the one to tell you this,” Barnabas said, clearly enjoying the task of delivering his news to Al, “but it seems that Laverte has greatly changed since you were last here.”
“What do you mean?” Al practically wailed. “Show me!”
They had certainly not entered the same village that Al had just described. Instead of lush and beautiful, it was dry and stark. Under the moonlight, Maddox could see no greenery, only dirt roads, all of which seemed to lead to a maze of buildings, a sea of gray and brown stones lit by a series of wind-beaten lanterns placed along the road.
The stench of animals and humans alike permeated the air.
It was dilapidated, but it wasn’t deserted. As they entered the village center, they crossed paths with several citizens, many of them shabbily dressed, most of them eyeing Maddox’s party without a word.
“I can’t quite picture Princess Cassia living in a place like this,” Maddox said as they passed through a particularly pungent patch of air.
“She’s here,” Al said. “I know it.” But the tone of his voice told Maddox that his previous confidence and enthusiasm had been replaced by worry—likely for his own safety more than anything else.
“Even if she’s gone,” Liana replied, “we might be able to get a lead on where she went.”
“Ah, yes,” Barnabas said. “All we need to win the day is optimism.”
“Do you have a better plan?” Liana shot back.
“The more dead ends we reach, the more I begin to consider Camilla’s vile plan.”
“What?” Maddox said, stopping to confront Barnabas more directly. “You really think that seeking
audience with Cleiona is possible?”
Barnabas glared at him. “You said her name again.”
“Forget that! Are you being serious?”
“Not quite yet, my boy,” he said, and Maddox was surprised to see that his strong response seemed to have shaken Barnabas a bit. “But I have to tell you that I am giving it some serious thought. Valoria spreads lies about the southern one. It’s obvious, and not only from legend, that they are fierce enemies. If Alcander continues to do nothing but prove what a disappointment he is, then we may have no other choice but to seek the other one out. Besides, I’d be a fool to let my prejudices get in the way of making sound decisions.”
“You just wait,” Al grumbled. “I have plenty of valuable information in this head of mine.”
“Such as?”
“I told you: You’ll have to wait.”
“Stop,” Liana said firmly. “We’re wasting time.” She covered Al’s face completely with the canvas sack, ignoring his protests. “We need to find the busiest tavern in this village and start asking questions.”
“Finally, a good suggestion,” Barnabas grumbled.
Barnabas led the way, while Maddox, Liana, and Al trailed behind him.
“He hates me,” Liana said quietly after a few minutes of silence.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Maddox said.
She eyed him. “Oh? Really?”
Watching the two of them quarrel over the last couple of days had actually been quite entertaining to Maddox. By now, he knew Barnabas well enough to know that, had he truly hated the witch, he would have left her behind long ago.
Maddox shrugged. “You give him a hard time, and he lets you. Plus, you’re very pretty. Frankly, I think he likes you.”
“Unlikely.”
“Well, he’s too old for you, of course.”
Liana fell quiet, but Maddox noticed the way she looked ahead, watching Barnabas with increased interest. “What about you, Maddox?” she said a little while later. “Is there a young lady in your life?”
He’d dreamed about Becca last night, for the first time since she left. In the dream, she was wearing a shockingly short black frock that showed off her very attractive legs. What was stranger than the revealing dress, though, was the glittering mask covering part of her face. She was eager to take him somewhere, to a place Maddox sensed would be filled with danger. He’d wanted desperately to shout at her, to warn her not to go, but his dream self couldn’t form words. Still, he kept trying to warn her until the moment Barnabas shoved him awake at the first spark of dawn.