Flamecaster (34 page)

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.

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 the 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.”

“No,” Strangward said, shaking his head. “There's got to be more to you than that.”

“Has it occurred to you that I'm not the one the empress is looking for? That I'm just a girl with a birthmark who has nothing to do with any of this?”

“That may be,” Strangward said, “but I can't take that chance. If you tell me the truth, I might be able to help you, depending on what the truth is.”

Jenna's anger rekindled. “You'll help me? Before you came along, I didn't need help.”

He frowned at her, as if confused. “What have I done?”

The anger that had been simmering in Jenna came to a full boil. “I had a life,” she said. “It was a hard, desperate life, but it was something. Your mistress set the king of Arden to hunting me, and I lost my only family, my home, and my livelihood in the space of a month. Since then, I've been chained in a dungeon. Forgive me if I'm not eager to accept your offer of help.”

“I am sorry about what's happened to you,” Strangward said. He stood and paced back and forth. “I know what it's like to be hunted.”

Through the window, Jenna heard the bells in the temple tower strike one.

“My lord?” The tallest of Strangward's companions nodded toward the window and raised his eyebrows.

“I know, Teza. I just need a little more time.” Strangward came back and sat down on the hearth, letting his hands drop between his knees. He took a deep breath, then said, “Tell me about your relationship with the Empress Celestine.”

“I am sick and tired of answering the same questions over and over,” Jenna said, her voice rising. “Why don't you ask one of the other dozen people who've asked?”

The emissary raised both hands, as if to fend her off. “I am sorry for that. But I just want to make sure—make very sure—that we haven't missed anything.”

She shivered, and it wasn't just the draft from the window. There was something about the way he said it—something told her that there was a lot riding on the answer.

Abruptly, he gripped her hands again and sent more power sizzling into her. “Why is the empress looking for you? Tell me.” Finally, he let go and muttered, “This isn't working, is it? You really are resistant to magic.” He said it like he was confirming something he'd been told.

But now images swirled through her mind, spinning so rapidly that she couldn't fasten on any one of them. She pressed her hands to either side of her head, as if she could trap them somehow.

What was it? It was so damned frustrating.

“My lord,” the man called Teza said again. “We cannot stay much longer if we're to catch the tide.”

Strangward nodded then, as if resigned. He squatted in front of Jenna, so he could look her in the eyes. “Are you telling me the truth, Jenna?” he asked quietly. In a last-chance kind of way. “You really don't know why the empress is so desperate to find you? This is really important to both of us.”

“No,” she said, “I don't know. I wish that I did. I'd hoped that you would explain it to me. I suppose we'll just have to . . .” Her voice trailed off. She'd heard another voice, deep in her mind, stronger than it had been before.

Flamecaster. I come
.

“Lord Strangward, a moment,” Teza said, motioning him closer. Strangward stood and crossed to where his liegeman waited near the door.

“I know this is hard for you,” Teza said in a voice that Jenna shouldn't have been able to hear. “If it must be done, let me do it.”

“It is not fair for me to ask you to do this task for me,” Strangward said. “You've risked your life, you've lost so much already. I'll do it myself.”

“But I'm volunteering, my lord. You know that I'm good with a blade. It will be a quick, kind cut. She won't feel it, I promise.”

Jenna's heart began to thump. She was no lamb, waiting patiently to be sacrificed. Easing to her feet, she grabbed up the oil lamp from the hearth, sprinted toward them, and flung it at the two of them. It shattered on the floor at
their feet, spilling burning oil over the floor and the two men.

Flamecaster
.

Jenna bolted for the door, leaping over a puddle of burning oil. She grabbed the door handle and yanked at it. Someone—Strangward or Teza—seized her arms and shoulders, dragging her back. They slipped in the oil and fell. The back of her head slammed into stone, and lights exploded behind her eyes. She heard screaming, someone calling her name, the door opening and closing. She smelled burning flesh, and wondered if it might be hers.

At that moment, one of the images Strangward had given her finally came into focus. It was a silver-haired woman, standing next to a fiery crater. She held a struggling child in her hands, dangling him over the flames. And then, as Jenna watched, horrified, she let him go.

She propped up to find that there was flame all around her. The draperies were ablaze, and the tapestries smoldering, stinking of burning wool and lanolin. Flames burned ceiling-high between her and the door. There would be no escape that way. She saw two charred bodies, but nobody else. The rest must have fled, and left her here to burn.