Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (38 page)

"Two public avenues intersect the Great Hall," Kieran said. "I concur with Kim, the royal box is a good idea. It has access to the king's private passage."

I slipped my magic upward, looking for the gallery Kieran had mentioned and the king's box. As I searched, my expectations conjured a gilded, royal balcony in a grand European theater circa 1850, which probably bore no resemblance to reality.

"Seems like everything's sculpted in this place," I mumbled as I snaked my way up the wall's contoured decorations and found a recessed area, about fifteen feet above ground level, which was fronted by a carved balustrade. "I found the gallery, I think, on the next level up. Stone benches down the center? It's an area where people can view the Great Hall's floor, right?"

"Yes," Kieran replied.

"Does the gallery run all the way around, you know, like private balconies at an opera house?"

"Yes. Although the king's box doesn't connect to it," he explained. "Imagine your opera house, except put the stage at its center and the gallery spanning three sides. The fourth side is reserved for the royal box." He paused. "Do you understand?"

"I think so." Similar to a stadium but without any seats at ground level.

Keeping the solid interior wall at my left, I traced my way through the gallery until I hit a corner. Since the space continued to the right, I guessed I hadn't hit the king's box yet.

I thought it odd that I hadn't encountered any signs of life. This being King Faonaín's fortress and all, I'd have expected a guard or two, especially in the gallery, since it offered such a good vantage point.

"I'm surprised you guys don't have guards up …" I faltered, and the word 'here' leaked from my throat like the air from a punctured tire.

I'd stumbled upon two headless bodies splayed prone on the floor, and it took most of my willpower to keep from recoiling all the way back to Earth. Their severed heads had ended up some distance apart, in different directions as though someone had kicked them away haphazardly, no more important than discarded soccer balls.

"What is it?" Tíereachán asked. I heard his movement and felt the heat of him near my right thigh, so I wasn't surprised when his body nudged the outside of my knee.

Eyes squeezed shut and stomach reeling, I grasped at whatever part had brushed up against me and held on tight. It turned out to be his shoulder, and I realized he'd knelt next to me. "I found … two bodies," I croaked and then added in a low tone, "They've been decapitated."

To my left, Kim gasped. "No. It's not Brassal," she said, her voice thready and uncertain. "It can't be. He was in the king's rooms, not the gallery." She said 'rooms' as though the word should be capitalized. "What are they wearing?" she demanded.

Still gripping Tíer's arm like a drowning victim, I 'looked' closer. "Chain armor, by the feel of it. Smooth pants, probably leather. Boots. Something long and cylindrical on their backs." I frowned. "A rocket launcher, maybe?"

Fisk snorted. "Hardly. Wielding material explosives in a magic dominated world would be suicidal. Why do you think we arm ourselves with swords? They're wearing quivers. Given the location, I'd say those are two of the king's archers."

That explained the strange shape on the ground next to one of the men—a bow.

"Agreed," Kieran said. "There are normally two, sometimes three, in each span."

"
Mionngáel
, keep going," Tíereachán said, unhooking my hand from his sleeve and squeezing it between his palms. "I'm right here."

I nodded, a reluctant bob of my chin as though my head was attached by a rusty hinge, and continued to push my magic fingers through the gallery. When I found additional bodies sprawled at the next corner, the shock wasn't as jarring. "Another two bodies."

These guys still had their heads at least. Although, I wouldn't have called it an improvement per se, since they both appeared to have been savaged by a vampire.

"It's weird," I said weakly. "Their throats have been ripped out, yet the ones who were decapitated … Why is it their deaths seem so much worse?" My voice came out as a bare whisper, and I took a breath to steady myself. "It makes no sense."

Strong hands grasped my shoulders. "Steady, love," Tíereachán said as he gently forced me upright.

At some point, I'd listed to port.

Find your backbone
, I scolded myself.
Brassal needs your help.

Squaring my shoulders, I plunged my tendrils ahead, thoroughly checking the rest of the gallery. Unfortunately, I found eleven more bodies along the way, two in the next span, four in the main stairwell that fed the public gallery, three in the royal box, and two at the bottom of the stairs that led down to the king's private passage. Most of them had been killed by strigoi, but four had been slain by an edged weapon of some kind.

I told the others what I'd found. "As far as I can tell, except for the dead guards, the royal box is empty. The stairs are unobstructed, but there are two more dead guards at the bottom. I haven't looked far beyond that."

The king's box was a shorter duplicate of the main gallery—a rectangular room with benches running down the center like the dotted line on a two lane road. Smack dab in the center was a raised platform, a dais, containing a single grand high-backed chair, clearly meant for King Faonaín's royal tush.

"When the king released the Hunt, Lorcán and his conspirators must have decided it was time to make their move," Wade announced. "My lady has received word that Evgrenya's forces and those aligned with her—Houses Ilíandaeon, Faisleanne, and Maleos—are marching under a combined banner and have breached the outer walls of the city."

Kieran and Fisk both issued a fervent curse, Kieran's in Silven and Fisk's in English.

"The rats have come to nest, traitors all," Tíereachán scoffed.

"Anóen, with your aid we can be in a position to help the king until my lady's forces arrive," Wade said. "She'll not stand by while her brother is usurped by those who associate with demons and endorse the torture and rape of her people." He paused and I heard him step closer to me. "Will you help us?"

I opened my eyes, squinting back the brightness of the overhead lights, and found him standing on the other side of the broken table. When I stood up, Tíer followed suit, steadying me with a hand at my right elbow.

"I really shouldn't involve myself in your politics, but judging by what Maeve and Lorcán have done and seeing how Evgrenya treated Caiside, it's pretty clear having them in charge would be a bad thing all the way around." I nodded toward Kim. "I've promised to find Brassal. After that, I'll do what I can to help you."

"No. King Faonaín must come first," Kim said, her voice coarse with unshed tears. "Drop us in his box and then go with the Master of the Hunt. Brassal wasn't far from the king when he was attacked."

I frowned. "Okay … that makes sense." With all this, I'd forgotten about the whole thing with the Hunt. I gave Drustan a sheepish shrug. "Right, let's— "

"You will take Caiside and me with you," Alex ordered.

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off. "If my people are there, they will answer to me for their treachery."

I looked at Wade for guidance. When I received a subtle nod from him, I turned back to Alex. "Fine, but you'll stick with Wade and the others. Follow their lead when it comes to dealing with the sidhe. Agreed?"

"Very well."

"Caiside? You on board with this?" I asked as I whisked Red to the safety of my backpack's outer pocket. I learned Wade's resonance before Caiside had a chance to answer.

I was definitely getting the hang of this adept stuff.

"I am," he replied, although he sounded somewhat uncertain. I wondered whether this was due to my choice of words or the task at hand.

I shot him a crooked smile. "Okay then … buckle up, people," I quipped, and promptly sidestepped us along the path of my magic, making sure to leave the tether of my magic in place after landing.

Never again would I make the mistake of showing up without access to Earth's potential.

Now I just needed to prevent King Faonaín from getting his greedy hands on it.

Or, rather—on
me
.

We slid into the king's box, easy as can be. Caiside didn't even have time to tense up.

When the blurred walls swirled into focus, I had about one-point-two seconds to gather my footing before Drustan blew a series of plaintive notes on his horn, grabbed me about my hips, and hefted me over his shoulder like a trussed, one-hundred-twenty-pound bipedal deer. The air in my lungs woofed out of me in a surprised gush when my abdomen impacted and then folded over his massive ice-cold shoulder, effectively depriving me of the ability to issue any parting comments to the others, much less take in the conditions of our surroundings.

My inverted view (which afforded me little more than dizzying flashes of creamy-yellow stone between his booted feet) and painful bouncing against the meat of Drustan's unyielding body made for an uncomfortable ride as he strode to the box's turned balustrade. I managed an alarmed squeak from between my chattering teeth as he vaulted over the thick railing toward the floor, an unsettling fifteen feet below. I braced myself, readying my magic to prevent a jarring landing and possible broken spine. Astonishingly, Drustan's enormous black charger appeared beneath us and we alighted onto his back, sliding smoothly into the saddle as if my sidhe abductor had wings.

Evidently, the Master of the Hunt packed some serious mojo in the magic department.

So do you
, I reminded myself. And I refused to be served up to King Faonaín like a side of venison.

Tíer's concern nudged his way into my thoughts.
You okay?

Yeah
, I thought back.
The bastard caught me by surprise
.
I hadn't expected him to be quite so gung-ho.

Using a combination of levitation and gravity, I slid my body down the front of Drustan's armored torso, twisting my butt to the outside, to land sideways in his lap, exactly how I'd ridden when he'd plucked me out of Caiside's prison. This time, though, I maneuvered my right leg over the horse's broad neck to sit in the saddle like a normal person, albeit without the benefit of stirrups. On top of all my other bumps and bruises, my butt and thighs were definitely going to be feeling it in the morning.

I leaned forward in the saddle to keep from squishing Red, who'd kept his footing inside my backpack's outer pocket.

Since Drustan continued to sit tall in the saddle and wasn't currently laid out on the ground, I figured Red's close proximity deterrent spells didn't work on the dead. The thought prompted me to wonder whether strigoi had the same resistance, and I had the ridiculous notion of asking Alex to be a test subject in order to know for sure. Neither Drustan nor strigoi reacted to my clairvoyance, so if they ever did touch him, I breathed easier knowing Red would remain psi-free.

After I called Red up to my shoulder and could lean back comfortably, I had my first look around.

A breathy, "Wow," along with a vaporous cloud of my warm breath, was about all I could manage.

'Great Hall,' indeed. At a near gallop, it took almost thirty seconds to make a full circuit of the immense chamber. I'd say the space was one hundred fifty feet on a side, but that alone wasn't what made the Great Hall 'great.' This wasn't just a hall. The four supporting columns and, even, the very walls, had been expertly carved to mimic a sea of massive sequoias. Overhead, a dense canopy of intricately chiseled leaves loomed at least forty feet above us. The entire arena had been etched into bedrock to resemble an old growth forest, replete with elaborate trompe-l'œil painting over every square inch, tricking the eye to a masterful degree. It was, hands down, the most convincing deception I'd ever laid eyes on, not to mention the most exquisite interior space I'd ever seen. Even the lighting seemed to filter down through the canopy and from between the sculpted tree trunks, as though the trees provided us respite from the noonday sun.

"Beautiful," Red murmured.

"And then some."

Jeez. You guys weren't kidding with the name
, I thought at Tíereachán.
It's enormous. But 'Great Hall' doesn't do it justice. It's breathtaking.

Merely a humble place name
, he explained.
Its true name is Sylvan Hallâ—Hall of Trees.

I relayed what Tíer had said, for Red's benefit, and then added, "No wonder they built a gallery. I could sit here for hours and gape at it."

"The king I served in life saw to its creation," Drustan informed me. "He would be pleased to know
Anóen
and her servant approve."

"Servant?" I blurted, almost barking out a laugh. "Red isn't my servant. He's my best friend. I'm sorry for not introducing you earlier. John Redborn, former necromancer, meet Drustan, Master of the Hunt."

"An honor," Red said as he managed to turn and bow while still holding onto my hair.

"I do not understand," Drustan said. "Are you not bound to this form and sworn to obedience until your mistress' death?"