Steel's Edge (32 page)

“You should have Charlotte there when you tell her that, or the noble lady might suffer an apoplexy. You're not taking this seriously, are you?”

“That's rich, coming form a man who never took anything seriously.”

“I take the safety of my wife and my family very seriously. What has gotten into you? Is any of this penetrating that thick skull of yours?”

“I'm not worried about the bluebloods stealing Charlotte away. She has seen them before, and she chose me instead. We also have bigger problems than Lady Augustine.” Richard crossed the room to the bookcase and pulled a heavy, embossed volume from the top of the shelf. He'd moved it there so Charlotte wouldn't find it.

“Like what?”

“Charlotte can kill with her magic.”

Kaldar stared at him. “She's a fallen healer. Richard, they'll kill her if they find out.”

“That's part of the problem.”

“What's the other part?”

The book felt heavy, like a chunk of solid rock. Richard flipped through the pages, turning the thick paper sheets to a particular article, and offered the book to his brother. He had read it so many times, he had committed the words to memory. He kept hoping it would say something different. It didn't.

The act of draining another's magic to fuel oneself is colloquially known as life-force drain, a term which originated from the first-person accounts of the rare few who had experienced it. They describe this phenomenon as draining or stealing the target's life. In reality, the user and the target form a magic feedback loop, and it is the target's magic energy, not some mysterious life force, that is being drained. However, since a human body is unable to sustain life without this magic energy, when a target's magic is depleted, the target dies, so the term isn't as inaccurate as it may seem at first glance.

In the event of life-force drain, the user attracts the magic of the target, pulling it to himself and absorbing this energy. The user quickly becomes overwhelmed with the influx of incoming magic, and his body begins to radiate it out in whatever form feels most natural to the user. The user then invariably sends out more magic than he takes in, which in turn, causes him to absorb more magic in a greater volume, which he again must disperse. This essential cycle of absorbing and dispersing is ever expanding; the longer it continues, the harder it is to stop. Consider a snowball rolling down the hill: the longer it rolls, the bigger it grows. The longer the duration of the feedback loop, the greater the amount of magic that passes through the user, until eventually the user becomes a mindless conduit for the flow of magical energy.

There are known instances of interrupted feedback loops, where the user had begun the draw of energy but engaged in it for only a few brief moments. These users report feelings of euphoria and extreme pleasure associated with the absorption of magic. No doubt, this contributes to the difficulty of feedback-loop interruption. In plain terms: stealing magic produces pleasure and is self-rewarding, so much so that many users do not want to stop, and, after a few minutes, they find they cannot.

For the purposes of this study, eleven confirmed instances of interrupted feedback loop were examined, and in nine out of eleven cases, the users reattempted the feedback loop at a later date. All nine lost their humanity and had to be destroyed, as they presented an imminent threat to others. It is this author's opinion that surviving one interrupted loop is possible; however, interrupting such a loop for a second time is beyond the limits of human will.

Kaldar looked up from the page. “What does that mean?”

“How much did George tell you?”

“I know that you were injured, ran into the Edge, she healed you, then the slavers came, killed the boys' grandmother, set the house on fire, and threw you in the cage. Charlotte saved you.”

“When she found us, she initiated a feedback loop. It was her first time killing, and she didn't think she had enough power. She can kill without it, but every time she does, her magic pushes her toward making it again.”

“And if she does?”

“She will pull magic to her from her enemies and send it out as a plague, then she will drain more magic and send that out, and on and on, until everyone around her is dead. She would become a plaguebringer. She would never stop.”

“So she would become an unstoppable crazed mass murder.”

“Yes.”

“Does she know?”

“She knows. She asked me to kill her if she succumbs to it. I tried to talk her out of fighting the slavers, but she refuses to walk away.”

Kaldar sank into the couch. His face was completely serious, something that almost never happened.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice dry. “You finally managed to find a woman as tragically noble as yourself. I didn't think one existed.”

“I'm not tragic.”

Kaldar held up his hand. “Spare me. Some children are born wearing a silk shirt; you were born wrapped in melancholy. When they slapped you to make you cry, you just sighed heavily and a single tear rolled from your eye.” He dragged his finger from the corner of his left eye to his cheek. “Your first words were probably ‘woe is me.'”

“My first words were ‘Kaldar, shut up!' because you talked too much. Still do.”

“You have grimly acknowledged the sadness of your situation since you were a kid. You don't even notice it anymore.”

Richard leaned forward. “Would it be better if I turned everything into a constant joke?”

“Well, someone has to make you laugh; otherwise, you'd collapse under the burden of being you. People can share in the joke. Nobody can share in your anguish.”

“I've been the butt of your jokes all my life, and let me tell you, it's not quite as fun.”

They stared at each other. If Richard had a wet wig in his hands, he would've thrown it against the wall and kicked his brother in the chest. Sadly, they were too old to brawl.

“That's why the face,” Kaldar said. “You did it for her, so you can be on the inside, working against the Five instead of her. Is she worth it?”

“Is Audrey worth it?” Richard asked.

“Leave my wife out of it.”

“You gave yourself up to the Hand for her. Was it worth it?”

“Yes. And I'd do it again.” Kaldar sighed. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “What do you need from me?”

“I'll need your help,” Richard said.

“You have it. We're family.”

Richard went to the wine cabinet, got a bottle of green wine and two glasses, and brought it over. He poured the wine. Kaldar swallowed some and smiled. “Tastes like home. Where did you find the berries? I thought they only grew in the Mire?”

“Aunt Pete grew them somehow in a greenhouse behind her home.” He let the wine roll down his throat. The delicious light taste refreshed him, whispering of swamp and home.

Brennan, Lady Augustine, blueblood society, all of it, he could handle. They were just people. But he had no idea how to protect Charlotte from herself. He couldn't lose her. He tensed at the thought, his muscles locked, as if he were fighting for his life. Fear gripped him. He was so rarely afraid, and here he sat, terrified.

Suggesting that she sit this one out would only have the opposite effect. She would just fight harder.

He went over the plan in his head. They would lay a two-part trap for Brennan, and he would take care of the first half of the plan. With luck, Brennan would take his bait, and Charlotte's involvement might not even be necessary. If he failed to entice Brennan, the plan didn't call for her to use much of her power, only for the use of her name and position. She would be in minimal danger.

If they succeeded by some crazy stroke of luck, he would do everything in his power to make her happy.

“You really didn't try to kill yourself?” Kaldar asked.

Damn it. “Killing yourself requires desperation. I wasn't desperate. You know why I drank? I drank because I was angry. I swore to love her and defend her. I gave her a house, I provided for her, and I treated her well. Even if she didn't love me, it should've been enough. Had she left me for a man, I would understand. I would be angry, but I wouldn't want to keep her with me against her will if she chose another man. She left me because her life wasn't nice enough. That's how low I ranked, somewhere down below the ‘nice house' and ‘no mud in the yard.' I drank because I was pissed off and didn't want to do something stupid.”

“Don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I deserved better than a fucking note!”

“Maybe she was afraid she couldn't leave with you there,” Kaldar said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Richard spread his arms. “Are you implying I'd hurt her?”

“No, I'm implying that Marissa was never much for confrontations. Although I don't know, you're a scary bastard when you get going.” Kaldar winked at him.

Richard pointed at him.

“Oh gods, the finger of doom. Deliver me!”

He would not pummel his brother. It wouldn't be right. Richard forced himself to sit down in the chair. “Are you quite finished?”

“Yes. Well, no, I could go on, but I'll spare you.” Kaldar poured more wine. “It will work out. It always does.”

Richard raised his glass. “I'll drink to that.”

*   *   *

SOPHIE
pulled a cloth from the pocket of her tunic and carefully cleaned the blade. She and Charlotte strolled down the path into the woods, the wolf-dog trotting in front of them like some monster from a child's fairy tale.

“Do you have to do this every time you take your sword out?” Charlotte asked.

“If I draw blood,” the girl answered quietly. “And the orange juice is acidic. It will corrode the blade.”

“Why not make a stainless-steel sword?”

“Stainless steel doesn't bend. A sword must be flexible, or it will break.”

Much like people. “Did Richard talk you into becoming my bodyguard?”

“I asked him. He said that the opportunity exists, but the final decision is yours, and he had ‘neither the capability nor the inclination to compel you to do anything against your will.' He's very formal sometimes.”

He would say something like that, wouldn't he?
“The people we're up against will not hesitate to kill you even though you're a child.”

“I won't hesitate either,” Sophie said with quiet determination. “And I'm faster and better skilled.”

“You're still a child.”

Sophie took a step. Her hand blurred again: strike, strike, strike—was it three? Four?—and she sheathed her sword.

The woods stood silent. Nothing moved.

Sophie sighed, reached out, and pushed a four-inch-wide sapling with her finger. The tree slid aside, breaking into four pieces as it fell.

“It's not as dramatic when it doesn't fall by itself,” Sophie said. “I'm faster than Richard. It takes him a third of a second longer to stretch his flash onto the blade. Do you know what that means?”

“No.” Somehow she knew the answer wouldn't be good.

“It means I can kill him,” Sophie said.

Dawn Mother.
She chose her words carefully. “Do you want to kill Richard?”

Sophie shook her head. “When Spider fused my mother, William killed her. He is my brother-in-law, and it was a mercy killing. My father died with her. He's alive, technically. He eats and breathes and talks. But he is . . . absent. He tries to take care of the family because it's his duty, but if the rest of us disappeared tomorrow, he would walk off the nearest cliff.” Sophie turned to her. “It's not fair. I didn't die. I'm still here, but he doesn't care.”

She'd said it so flatly, her aspect so neutral. She was barely fifteen years old and already she was masking her pain. Charlotte fought an urge to reach out and hug her. It probably wouldn't be welcomed.

“He must care. A parent doesn't just abandon a child.”

“My father did. He loved my mother so much, and now she is gone, and the world stopped for him. He stopped training me. He stopped talking to me after dinner. He stopped talking to everyone unless it's absolutely necessary, so I suppose I shouldn't expect special treatment just because I'm his daughter.”

So much damage. A low pain squeezed Charlotte's chest. It felt like her heart had turned over.

“Richard is the only father I have now. He takes care of me. But I'm faster, and he would hesitate to cut me down. He loves me very much. So I know I can kill him.”

“That's a cold thing to say.”

Sophie glanced at her, surprised. “You think so?”

“Yes.”

“It's just a fact.” She shrugged. “I can't help it.”

Anything Charlotte said to that would sound like a criticism. The coldness was likely a barrier Sophie had built, and the fact that it was there meant fragility. Charlotte stayed silent. Perhaps later, if they had a chance to forge more trust, she could return to it.

“You're planning to expose Brennan at the Grand Thane's wedding,” Sophie said.

“How do you know this?”
Did Richard actually tell her?

Sophie raised her head. Light filtering through the trees dappled her face. “Hawk.”

Charlotte looked up as well. A bird of prey soared above the treetops, circling around them.

“It's dead,” Sophie said. “George is guiding it. He is very powerful.”

The realization washed over Charlotte in a cold gush of embarrassment. “Is George spying on Richard and me?”

“Always,” Sophie said. “All those perfect manners are a sham. He spies on everyone and everything. Declan hasn't been able to conduct a single business meeting in the past year without George's knowing all the details. He does let go when you make love. He is a prude.”

“‘Prude' is a coarse word. He has a sense of tact,” Charlotte corrected before she caught herself.