Fine. That was good.
Naples stalked out of the room. Cyan did not follow.
“We don’t need him.”
Naples spotted Modigliani lounging on the deck like a cat basking in the sun. Scrambling deckhands were moving past and around him, instinctively avoiding the smoky figure without consciously noticing him.
“I don’t need you, either.”
The demon just stretched. “What else do you have, Mancer?”
The words stung. In that moment, the only answer Naples could come up with was, Not a damn thing.
He started to descend the ramp to the docks and the demon moved, catching him by the shoulders and holding him tight.
“He was tasty,” it crooned. “You said yourself, we could have him again if we wanted him. So why are you upset?”
“Go away,” Naples sighed.
To his surprise, the demon obeyed.
Alone, Naples walked with heavy steps back to the center of the city. He had every intention of returning to the Cobalt Hall, but instead his feet took him into the palace. Now that the seals on the door had been broken, the place had a dusty feel to it, like a once-living beast now mummifying in the summer heat.
He climbed the stairs two at a time, and when he reached it, the palace temple let him in.
He passed through the outer temple without paying any attention to it, and when he touched the next door, the Terra’s private sanctuary admitted him with a sigh of magic like coming home.
The blood wasn’t visible and didn’t hang in the air as an odor, but Naples could still sense it. Spilled power. Spilled life. He would have known the Terra was dead even if no one had told him.
He collapsed in a chair and laid his cheek on the old table, his tears flowing freely and staining its scarred surface.
What am I becoming?
He remembered his words to Cyan. He had felt himself turn in his head from sex to a different kind of lust, one for blood and pain. All the fear and hurt had twisted into anger, and he had wanted nothing more than to strike out and injure the one who had injured him.
You could have lied, his common sense was telling him. You could have laughed off the accusations, and convinced him his suspicions about those marks were silly. You could have defended yourself against his other accusations.
He hadn’t wanted to lie—or even tell the truth, in the case of Cyan’s accusations about Celadon. He had wanted Cyan to just trust him. Stupid.
No matter what else might be true, those scars on your body make me think you’re in trouble.
Trouble, yes.
Sex with Cyan had been good. That was it. That was all. And it was over now, so there was no use dwelling on it.
Naples needed to fix the problem. To protect himself. Tell some pretty lies and mop up the mess.
He closed his eyes.
“Terra,” he sighed. “Where did you go? You taught me this. You started me on this path. Now I’ve lost you . . . and I’m losing myself. It’s not the blood that’s the problem, it’s the Abyss in my brain.”
No answer. Of course not. She was gone.
Moving away from the altar, he perused the books Sarcelle had brought to Kavet from her homeland and added to in the decades since. She hadn’t been much of a book-teacher.
He found a slim volume by a Tamari scholar titled Creatures of Blood. He flipped through it, giving a self-deprecating snort when he found a warning he knew Terra Sarcelle would have brushed off as tripe written by old magic users afraid of the newer forms.
Abyssi are creatures of immediacy and instinct. They are pleasure-centered, and rarely able to focus on anything beyond immediate gratification. Though they are capable of childlike joy or temper, and may switch from one to the other given even a slight distraction or provocation, the deeper emotions are beyond their grasp. That which pleases them one moment may be devoured the instant it bores them, without any lingering sentiment, and as the most intent Abyssi can usually be distracted by the prospect of food or entertainment, they are incapable of focusing on long-term goals or consequences.
Those who work with fire and blood—those which come from the Abyssi—must be careful that they control their tempers and their whims, both of which can be devastating if left unchecked.
Naples threw the book toward the vanity across the room, where it smashed into the Terra’s cosmetics and perfumes. Several shattered on the ground, and the reek of talc and lilacs filled the room.
“Why?” he demanded the dead air. “Why teach me this?”
He swiped at one of the shelves of ritual supplies, sending priceless materials flying across the room. A knife-blade bit into his hand, but out of habit he drank the power inside and closed the wound before a single drop of crimson fluid touched the floor. He let out the scream of a trapped animal, and it trailed off into a sob.
He had seen his mother’s horror, and Henna’s, when he had drawn a blade during his fight with Celadon. He shouldn’t have let them see that, but damn it, hadn’t they felt the power the Quin wielded? How could he have ignored it?
And now he was alone in this room and—
Or not.
Modigliani wrapped him in his arms and tails, fur like night caressing his skin. “They’re afraid of you,” the demon whispered, “but they’ll come around. Humans are naturally wary of those with power. Once they get used to your strength, and understand our purpose here, they will not fear you so much and you will not have to feel such . . .” It trailed off. Shame was not a concept the Abyssi could understand. “Such hurt.”
Naples didn’t have the strength of will to pull away from the demon.
He leaned back against it.
Just for a little while, he told himself. Just until this feeling passes.
“I don’t want to disappear again,” he said. “It frightened me.”
“Then I’ll make sure you stay here,” the Abyssi said. “Right here.” It nipped at the nape of his neck, just enough to draw tiny beads of blood to the surface. “And I’ll be . . . gentle . . . with you this time.”
Gentle, too, was not a concept the Abyssi truly understood.
Chapter 37
Dahlia
As Dahlia, Celadon, and Ginger entered the kitchen and found it empty, Ginger’s shoulders slumped with draining tension. Dahlia saw her look around, taking in the plain surroundings, and wondered what she had expected. Cat entrails hanging from the ceiling?
Dahlia hesitated. She knew outsiders were rarely allowed here. Their earlier access had been an exception. But this was an emergency—or could be. She needed to find someone who could help them.
She led the way up the hall that allowed access to the private quarters, because it was the only area of the Hall she knew her way around.
“Hello?” she called.
A woman she didn’t know stepped out of one of the rooms. She frowned at their presence, but asked in a carefully neutral voice, “Can I help you, Dahlia?”
“I’m sorry to intrude,” Dahlia said, “but I need to speak to Henna or Maddy. Are they available?”
There was a heartbeat of hesitation before the woman replied, “Henna isn’t available right now. I might be able to find Maddy.”
“Maddy would be better to talk to, anyway,” Celadon said. “We want someone who uses cold power.”
Ginger’s eyes widened as her brother made such a knowledgeable statement about sorcery, but the normally verbose girl didn’t speak.
“What do you need her for?” the woman from the Order asked. “We’re very busy.”
“Please, just let her know that Dahlia wants to speak to her as soon as possible,” Dahlia said, trying to cut past the woman’s obvious hostility toward Celadon.
Reluctantly, the woman nodded. “I will speak to Maddy,” she said. “Would you wait in the kitchen?”
The kitchen wasn’t as much an exile as the front hall would have been, but the wait was still fraught. By the time Maddy entered the room, both Celadon and Ginger were so te
nse Dahlia worried they might shatter if startled.
Maddy looked exhausted. Dahlia had expected to see her at least a little refreshed since the return of her son, but instead the circles under her eyes were even more pronounced than usual and her steps listless.
“Is everything all right?” Dahlia asked, now almost more concerned about what was going on with the other woman than she was about Ginger.
Maddy shook her head, but didn’t explain. “Who’s this?” she asked, looking at Ginger.
“Maddy, this is Ginger Cremnitz, my little sister,” Celadon said. “Ginger, this is Madder. She’s a member of the Order, and she’s going to help us.”
“Hi,” Ginger said, barely a squeak.
“Hello,” Maddy replied, with an obvious attempt to gather herself and be kind. “I think I’ve heard your brother mention you. How old are you now?”
“Seventeen,” Ginger answered.
“Seventeen . . . I have a son not much older than you.”
Clearly nervous and desperately seeking any kind of response, Ginger blurted out, “Is he cute?”
Maddy and Dahlia both let out a burst of surprised laughter; Celadon grimaced.
“Sorry,” Ginger said. “I’ve never been introduced to a sorcerer before.” She seemed to think that was impolite, too. She colored more deeply, and said again, “Sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Maddy said. “What brings you to the Cobalt Hall today, Ginger?”
Ginger hesitated, looking to Celadon for guidance.
“Show her your wrist,” Dahlia said. “It’s okay.”
Ginger pushed up her sleeve to reveal the unsettling mark. Defiantly, she said, “I’m just here because my stupid brother is paranoid and thinks I . . . What?”
She stopped, her moment of bravery reduced to a quiver of fear again as Maddy took her hand to examine the injury.
“What?” Ginger repeated, when she didn’t get an immediate reply.
“Ginger, would you be willing to do a test of two for me?” Maddy asked. At Ginger’s wary expression, she added, “It will be a little like playing a game.”
“You want to test me for magic?” Ginger guessed.
“What do you want her to do, and why?” Celadon interrupted. “No one ever talked to me about any kind of test.”
“We didn’t need to test you,” Maddy replied. “Your power is very aggressive, and hard to miss even for someone who doesn’t use cold magic.”
“Your what?” Ginger squeaked. “Celadon!”
He put his arm back around her shoulders. “So you can’t see any on her?”
“I can’t, no, but the wound is magical,” Maddy replied. “It’s possible she has just a little power, very tightly repressed.”
“If it’s repressed, I think we would all rather it stay that way,” Celadon asserted. Ginger nodded violently enough Dahlia worried for her neck.
“If this mark is made by her own power,” Maddy said, enunciating her words as if speaking for a small child, “then obviously, her magic isn’t repressed completely, which means it will come out, just as yours did. And if this isn’t made by her own power, then we have an even worse problem than we thought, and it isn’t just members of the Order in danger.” To Dahlia, she added, “I’m assuming, since you got him to bring his little sister into our corrupted halls, that you told him about our troubles?”
Dahlia nodded.
“And we should have been told when they started!” Celadon said. “Your secrets put my little sister in danger. If Dahlia hadn’t seen—”
“Shut up!” Maddy snapped, surprising them all with her deviation from her normal poise. “You do not get to lecture me on the dangers of what is happening, not when every morning I have to treat my people for these injuries. Not after I spent weeks wondering whether it had killed my son. Not when I’m down here trying to care for your sister while the woman I think of as my family is upstairs so badly hurt she may not last the night. Not when—”
Dahlia stepped between them, putting a hand on each of their arms. “Henna’s hurt?”
Maddy drew a deep breath. “She is. It’s the same kind of injury many of our members have experienced. We found her quickly and were able to bandage the wounds and stop the bleeding, but the magic that creates the wounds is beyond the abilities of our healers.” She scrubbed at her weary eyes. “We thought opening the palace would help. If anything, it’s made the situation worse.”
“If you need to be with Henna, we can wait,” Dahlia said.
Celadon stiffened as if he might disagree, but held his tongue.
Maddy shook her head. “There’s nothing more I can do for her right now.” She looked at Ginger, who had gone even paler and was biting her lip with anxiety. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should never have . . .” She held out a hand to the girl. “You’ll be okay.”
“If I have magic,” Ginger said, “I can get rid of it, right? I can take a brand. Can’t I just do that right away? Do I have to be tested? I mean, it’s just a little mark.”
“If you have magic, the brand is an option.” Maddy had to force the words out. “But if you don’t, giving you the brand can hurt you. It looks for magic, and if it doesn’t find any, it keeps looking.”
Celadon drew a deep breath and spoke formally. “Madder, I am sorry I snapped at you. While I do wish your people and mine could communicate more freely, Dahlia’s right that this isn’t the time or place for the argument. I know you will do anything you can to help my sister, even though you have your own burdens, and I appreciate that.”
“I need to bring her to the temple,” Maddy said. “There’s no danger in the tests, and they won’t hurt in any way.” She hesitated for a long moment before adding, “She’s a minor, so if you want to stay with her, you can.”
“I would prefer that.”
Resolutely, Maddy led them into the bowels of the Cobalt Hall and up a wide spiraling staircase. At the third floor, she stopped by an ornate doorway decorated with runes in inlaid gold and silver.
“Dahlia and Celadon, you can follow us in, but I must ask that you remain by the door and not speak or attempt to influence Ginger’s answers. If you have questions, you may ask afterwards. Any distractions—especially from you, Celadon, since your own power is so strong—could lead to a mistake in my reading of her power, which as I’ve mentioned could be very dangerous if she chooses to take the brand.”
Both Dahlia and Celadon nodded solemnly. Dahlia’s heart went out to Ginger, who was trembling as Madder pushed open the doorway and escorted her inside.
Dahlia looked without comprehension around the room, taking in sights she had never seen before and likely would never see again. Almost every wall was lined with shelves, many occupied by books, but others weighed down by an assortment of paraphernalia ranging from sparkling crystal or finely worked metal to what looked like bits and pieces of junk. Small, mismatched tables of various heights, sizes and materials were placed around the room in no obvious arrangement.
She glanced at Celadon; he had crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back against the door, but the posture didn’t look entirely hostile. It was almost as if he were fighting the impulse to reach out.
Dahlia edged closer to him and he took her hand. She could feel a fine vibration in him, and his palm was cool against hers.
“Sit down,” Maddy said to Ginger.
“Where?” the girl asked, looking from table to table. None were high enough for chairs, though several had brightly colored cushions next to them for sitting.
“Wherever you would like,” Maddy answered. “You can look around first if you want.”
Though she was obviously still nervous, Ginger’s natural curiosity had apparently returned. She walked through the room, eyes wide as she examined the tables and the shelves. She started to reach out once, then jerked her hand back.
“It’s okay,” Maddy said. “You can look at things, touch them or pick them up. You won’t damage anything and nothi
ng here is going to hurt you.”
Celadon closed his eyes, as if he understood better than Dahlia what any of this meant and hated it.
“Is this part of the test?” Ginger asked.
“I want you to be comfortable before we begin,” Maddy replied, “and not distracted wondering what something is.”
Ginger let out a snort. “Comfortable and not distracted. Here. Sure.” She idly picked up a small crystal bowl, then set it back down carefully, as if afraid it would break. Her fingertips trembled as she continued to explore.
Though Maddy had implied this was not part of the test, Dahlia could tell she was paying attention to what Ginger reached for, and keeping a mental list.
“Can we get on with this?” Ginger finally asked, putting down a jar of what appeared to be honey with an audible thunk.
“Take a seat,” Maddy said again.
Ginger sighed. With one last glance around the room, she sank down in front of a small glass table with a square of white silk embroidered in silver thread covering most of its surface.
As she knelt, Dahlia saw Celadon let out a silent sigh. He closed his eyes.
Madder went to one of the bookshelves and pulled down a simple box the size of a loaf of bread. It was smooth wood, silver-gray, without ornamentation. She put it on the floor next to the table Ginger had chosen and took out a large stack of glossy cards.
“These cards have symbols on them,” Maddy said, fanning several out so Ginger could see. “I want you to sort them into piles, according to which symbol is on them.”
Ginger watched doubtfully as Maddy put three large stacks of cards face down on the table.
“Do I need to know what the symbols mean?” Ginger asked.
Maddy shook her head. “No. If it matters to you, they’re letters in the old Dursay alphabet. Just sort them according to how they look. If you find a blank card, set it aside.”
Ginger reached for the first card, turned it face up, then paused to look at Maddy. “Just put them into piles?”
Maddy nodded. “Yes, as many as you need.”
Ginger looked at the first card a few moments longer, then shrugged, put it down face up in front of her. She glanced at Maddy again, but the sorceress gave no further instructions.