Authors: Shea Berkley
His concern was touching even if it was slightly delayed, but he had no idea the consequences that would arise if they didn’t go after the sisters. “I won’t let that happen.”
She took a step away, but he stopped her again. “They’re powerful, Kera. Not just a little bit. Really, wickedly powerful.”
He needn’t tell her. They had killed Wyatt using a magic she couldn’t counteract. She, with all her power, had been useless. Not this time. They wouldn’t catch her unprepared. “He won’t die.”
“You can’t be sure.”
“Yes, I can.” She touched his arm and stared into his eyes, dredging up a calming magic. It seeped from her hand into his arm and raced through him. “I won’t let Reece die.”
Leo snatched his arm away, confused and upset. “He won’t die?” He didn’t sound at all convinced. His mind was stronger than she expected. She’d have to work around his fears.
She touched him again. “Go find Dylan. He needs you. Stay with him and keep him safe for me. Can you do that?”
He pulled away for a second time and scratched at where she’d touched him. She wasn’t sure he’d do as she asked. The suspicious way he looked at her made a ball of guilt lodge in her chest, but a moment later, he said, “I’m going to go find Dylan and keep him out of trouble.”
“Good idea.”
“Yeah.” A flash of confusion crossed his face for a moment, and then vanished. “He needs me.”
The smile she gave him wasn’t really a smile. She’d used magic on a friend, something she’d promised herself she’d never do. But what were her choices? She was doing it for his own good. “Everything will be fine, Leo.”
He nodded and backed away. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.”
And with that, he was gone.
Kera caught up with Signe and Halim just outside the Long Gate, named for a lintel so low you needed to duck to get under, while its length was twice as long as all the other gates. Its function didn’t make any sense, but many aspects of the Ruined City didn’t. Dylan told her video games didn’t have to always be functional, just interesting. Jason had gotten that aspect right when he’d copied the city from his favorite game.
The area where the dead were being prepared for burial was on the other side of the ringworks that surrounded the city walls. The forest rose up behind the spindly wooden altars that marred the hilly expanse of green, like ugly warts on a toad’s back. It didn’t matter how elaborate they were made or decorated, they were an eyesore. Frustration like none she’d ever felt welled up inside her. Lately, death was ever-present, something she couldn’t cure, no matter how hard she tried. It was glaringly obvious what she needed to do. No more hesitating. No more allowing others to dictate the direction she must take. She would tap further into her power. Only then would lives be saved.
As they moved past horse carts holding the dead and skirted around those who mourned, fire smoldered beneath some of the platforms. Others burned bright as families huddled together lamenting the loss of their loved ones. Reece was easy to spot. His altar was small. Plain. The timber too green. It would smoke instead of burn. The rickety structure didn’t look like it could hold up against a light breeze, let alone carry the weight of a body.
She couldn’t bear to see Reece fail. As Signe went to show him the paper, Kera performed a bit of magic, drying out the wood and bolstering what he’d made. When Reece finally lifted Wyatt onto the pyre and set it alight, it burned just as bright as all the others. It took all night, but they stood watch with him until the last ember died, and with each last flicker of heat, Kera’s hatred for the Seven Sisters grew. That they were instrumental in saving Teag only to turn around and threaten to bring her people to their knees, and in the process kill Wyatt, sparked a rage so deep, it scared even Kera.
Signe stayed by Reece’s side, a crutch he leaned on. Halim sat at his feet, singing softly of death and life and love as if one couldn’t exist without the other. And it couldn’t. Not for him. Not for Reece or Signe. Not even for Kera, who sat leaning against a nearby tree, out of the way, watching. Letting the guilt she felt at watching the Seven Sisters kill Wyatt eat at her.
Reece’s suffering wasn’t over, not if he went after the Seven Sisters. And he would. Just looking at him, seeing Wyatt’s burning body reflected in his eyes, told her he would, and keeping him alive wouldn’t be easy.
He wasn’t like his brother. He didn’t talk much. He acted, instantly and without warning. From now on, she would have to keep a close eye on him.
As the sun rose, the wind took Wyatt’s ashes, spreading them over the green hillocks and into the woods. Reece hadn’t made a sound all night. He’d stood like a sentry, his body tight, his expression hard. In his hand he held Leo’s note crumpled between his fingers and palm. Kera hadn’t seen Signe give it to him. She didn’t know if he’d agreed to let them all go with him or not. Kera wouldn’t give him the chance to shut them out. She stood and brushed the dirt from her clothes. “We’ll need provisions.”
“I can go get them,” Halim volunteered.
“No.” Reece didn’t look up. His jaw twitched, and he crushed the note in his fist. “Wyatt’s my brother. This is—”
“—not just about you.” Kera blocked his view of the smoking pyre. “I have to be there. Don’t take this from me just because you think it’s your duty. I should have seen it coming, but I just stood there and let them kill him. I need to be there.”
Reece shook his head. “Your father—”
“—cannot tell me what to do anymore,” she cut in, the poison of hate she felt against the sisters rippling just beneath the surface. “If I wish, I can leave right now, find them, and do it myself. I’m the one who has no need of you.”
Reece’s eyes turned hard and cold. “That would be a mistake.”
He had a threatening presence. Tall, brooding, and hard. He looked as if he would and could tear anyone apart with his bare hands if they tried to get in his way. Appearances were deceptive. It was time he learned exactly who he was dealing with.
Kera stepped closer. “Your mistake is in thinking I am like anyone you have ever known. I look like you, I talk like you and walk like you, but let me make this perfectly clear. I am nothing like you. I can kill you right now, and I don’t even have to move. That’s how much power I have.”
“Kera!” Signe blinked as if seeing Kera for the first time and not liking what she saw. “What are you—?”
Kera silenced Signe with a wave of her hand, melding her friend’s lips together. As Signe struggled to open her mouth, Halim drew near. From the corner of her eye Kera saw him worry over Signe and her distressed mewling. Neither of them could do anything. Her lips were joined until Kera chose to release them.
“Stop it, Kera,” Halim demanded.
She ignored him and stepped even closer to Reece, her words whisper soft. “The Seven Sisters are like me, only they will not hesitate. You will die if you go alone, and in the end, I will have to hunt them down and finish what you failed to do.”
“Stop it,” Halim cried as Signe dropped to her knees, her fingers clawing at her mouth. Tears streamed down her face.
In a flash, Reece swept Kera’s feet from under her, felling her to the ground. He hovered over her, his
incordium
blade pressed to her throat, his emotionless face transformed into a snarl of pure menace. “Let her go.”
She didn’t even have to look Signe’s way. The spell was broken and Signe’s lips were free, letting out her pent-up sobs.
Reece glanced toward Signe, and Kera smiled. The next instant, he was dangling from the tree, vines wrapped around his arms, his legs, and his neck. His blade dangled achingly close but out of reach. “Never take your eyes off your enemy unless they’re dead…and the Seven Sisters don’t die easily.” She stood under his outstretched body. “But you do. All I have to do is pull.” She gave each vine a mental tug, eliciting a grunt from him.
Halim tackled her from behind. With all his weight and speed behind him, he slammed her head against a nearby tree trunk. Stars sparked before her eyes and she lost her footing. Before she went down, he punched her in the stomach. She gasped and hit the ground. When her vision stopped spinning and she could take a deep breath, Reece stood over her, his short sword in his hand. Raising it above his head, he dropped to his knees and stabbed the blade into the ground beside her temple. “Let your ego get the better of you and we all die.”
He stayed over her, his hard glare boring in her eyes, until with a grunt of disgust, he yanked his sword free and stood.
Signe took his place, her face hot with anger. “What is wrong with you?”
Kera fumbled for an excuse. “He needed to be taught a lesson.” She slowly stood. “He’s vulnerable. You all are.”
“So are you.” Signe jerked away and went to Reece.
Clearly Kera was more vulnerable than she thought…and it galled her to admit it. She tried to make amends. “I’m sorry, but he wasn’t listening. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“That doesn’t make what you did okay.” The hurt on Signe’s face was hard to look at. “You promised you’d never use magic on me. You promised.”
“I didn’t mean to. I just…” No legitimate excuse came to mind. Even she didn’t understand what had happened…why she went so far. At the time it felt right. It felt good. Now, when she thought back on it, she felt a little sick. “I’m sorry.”
“How can I ever trust you again?”
“You can.” The thought of losing Signe’s friendship scared Kera. “I swear to you. I will never do that again.”
Yet in the back of her mind, her vow stuck loosely together, easily pulled apart if the need arose. More than revenge was at stake here. Dylan’s life hung in the balance. In her heart of hearts she knew only she could defeat the Seven Sisters. Soon, her friends would find that out for themselves.
Hidden Magic
Apprehension: anticipating misfortune or fearing future trouble or evil.
Yeah, that about sums up what I’m feeling right now. I can’t shake it. Even though we won the battle, Wyatt is dead, the Seven Sisters have turned on us, Kera is taking too many risks, and my dad has locked himself in Phoenix Hall’s tower and is demanding I come to him immediately. Individually, each makes me feel like a failure. Put them all together and my confidence level is shot, and I’m thinking Teag would be better off without me.
I try to slip unnoticed past a gathering of elders and councilmen outside my father’s chambers, but a round of applause rolls through them, and I’m stopped several times and congratulated on my victory over the Rodarians. Respect shines from their eyes, something I’ve never seen before. Destril, a man second only to Hadrain and who has never shown me an ounce of support, draws me to the side and away from prying ears. “I have watched you closely, as any man would an outsider trying to fit in. My trust is hard won, and I never thought to say this, but you are a king in the making. You have my allegiance.”
The seriousness of what he’s saying isn’t lost on me. What he’s doing is dangerous, not just for him, but for his people. Once a
first
gives his loyalty, it can’t be taken away. I’m surprised and slightly horrified. “I haven’t asked for it.”
An open smile graces his face. “All the more reason why you have it. How can you not when I’ve witnessed your willingness to lay down your life for us time and again? I am not the only one who has noticed. You have the qualities we need as our leader.”
“I’m not so sure my father would agree.” Actually, I’m absolutely certain he wouldn’t.
“Your father was once a great man until he lost his way.” Shadows gather in his eyes as he looks at the door to Baun’s chambers. “Though he may not agree, your father has much to learn from you.”
He squeezes my arm. “We know you have lost a good friend. This war has touched all of our lives. It needs to end.”
I agree, but before I can ask him if the council has any new ideas, he moves back toward the others. The most powerful men in Teag huddle close, like a group of nervous sheep outside a wolf’s den. They’re scared, and knowing my dad and the speed at which he’s been collecting new magic, I can just imagine how afraid. Even if Baun is a changed man, as every indication implies, the memory of who he’d been and what he’d done will never go away.
The soldiers guarding my father’s rooms open the double doors for me. I see the same respect in their eyes, the same willingness to please that I haven’t seen before, and I’m not sure how I should behave. I simply nod and walk through the doors.
Though Baun is technically king, I am the acting ruler until he’s declared fit enough to reclaim his throne. I can’t let what Destril said change the way I view the future. My job is to protect Teag until Baun can take over. The end.
When I enter, I notice Dad’s been decorating again. His taste leans more toward Paris Hilton glitter than kingly splendor. There’s so much shine I have no doubt when the sun pours through the windows this place acts as a beacon. I can see myself in nearly every surface. Kera mentioned the
firsts
can be a bit vain, but my dad could give Narcissus lessons.
Even though he’s expecting me, he doesn’t see me. His back is to the doors as he looks up at a huge tapestry I’ve never seen before. It’s a rudimentary map of Teag and acts much like the maps in the map room, giving up-to-date information on the health and welfare of Teag. Unlike those maps, the tapestry colors are smudged, its borders blurry, and on the whole, not very appealing. My dad sweeps his hand over the countryside and stops. An especially nasty fire springs up under his fingers and engulfs a village near the eastern border. He pulls his hand away and the tapestry stops moving.
The door closes behind me, and he whips around, alarm widening his gaze. He’s holding a glass filled with a cloudy green mixture. A dark bottle is open on his desk and more than half of its content is gone.
My father’s greeting is short and not very friendly. “There you are. I sent for you ages ago.” He motions to the bowl and pitcher of water beside the door. “Wash. I have news.”
I splash water in the bowl and rinse the blood from my hands and forearms as best I can. He calls. I come like an obedient dog. I have better things to do than be at his beck and call. Who does he think is defending the city and cleaning up the mess left behind? He’d know if he ever bothered to look out the window. My human friends and I have kept the Ruined City from being overtaken. I dry my hands with a scented towel, toss it beside the bowl, and turn to face him. “I have news, too. Three hundred and eighty of your people are dead. Countless more are wounded. I came when I got the chance.”
He nods, and it’s then I see worry heavily line his face. “Thanks to you, we have won this fight.” He stares up at the tapestry and the muddied picture it has become. “Though not the battle.” In one quick, hard motion, he tosses back the contents of his glass. “Our enemies have retreated, but not for long.”
Maybe not, but I stopped the Nightmare Men from creating a bloodbath. All Dad did was sit shivering in his tower surrounded by reflections of himself. Granted, he’d been poked full of arrows, but it looks like the magic he recently collected had him regenerating like a lizard on Neosporin. It would explain why he wasn’t too concerned about his wounds. “You’ve collected new magic.”
“A few believe I need more than the trace I’ve been allotted to do my job.”
Only Kera is supposed to give him magic. How did he manage to find
firsts
to go against the edict? “That’s cheating.”
“A necessity in times of war, but I don’t expect you to understand.”
I understand more than he thinks.
He sighs and changes the subject. “I heard Wyatt sent out riders to insist our people come here where it’s safer. That’s an illusion now.”
One thing I’ve learned,
firsts
are stubborn, and most will stay to defend what’s theirs. “Some will come. Not all of them.”
“Many will die.” He says that so calmly, it sends a chill through me. He picks up the bottle and waves it near me. “Forgive my manners. Would you care for a drink?”
Warning bells sound in my head. “What is it?”
“
La fée verte
or little green fairy.” He laughs at the name. “Appropriate, don’t you think? Absinthe is the only thing our kind can consume that will give us a rosy outlook on life…and I need a rosy outlook right now.”
“You’re getting drunk?”
As he prepares himself another drink, he clicks his tongue and says, “Getting inspired.” He places a sugar cube on a fancy slotted silver spoon and dribbles water over the cube until it dissolves, turning the clear mint-colored drink a milky green. “It’s said to give power to the powerless.”
Great. All I need right now is a delusional, vain drunk who’s wallowing in self-pity. My anger gets the best of me, and instead of diverting his attention from himself—like that’s even possible—I poke the beast.
“What’s going on?” I point to the tapestry. “Weren’t you just out there? Looks like the area is still under attack.” A thick haze of smoke covers most of the east and part of the west. Only the center of Teag is fairly clear. “I guess your last visit didn’t instill much fear in our enemies.”
“Powerless kings tend to get ignored.” A look of confusion crosses his face. “I heard the cheers when you made your way here. Our people love you.”
Yep. Definitely pouting.
I wonder all the time how different my life would’ve been if he hadn’t gone all “human slayer” on everyone. I would’ve been a normal messed-up kid instead of acting like the Hamlet-sized head case I’ve become.
“I thought the only maps were those in the map room.”
“Gone. All of them.” He nods and lifts his newly filled glass toward the tapestry. “Until I created this.”
“You have a loom?” I stop beside him and look up at the massive hanging. “Isn’t weaving your own textiles a little beneath you? But this is really nice. I mean it. You have a future in interior design if being king falls through.”
His nostrils flare as if he smells something rotten and he roughly puts down his glass, sloshing a good portion of green liquid over his hand and onto the desktop. I guess he doesn’t share my humor.
“I didn’t make it. Someone else did a long time ago,” he says in a tight voice and wipes his hand dry. “I enhanced the tapestry’s function.”
I’ll give him credit for thinking outside the box. I rub my fingers over the thick threads. Nothing happens. “It’s not working.”
He motions me away. “It only works for its creator.”
“A little technical glitch?” Sounds more like his usual control issues surfacing. My father was, and will once again be, the king of the
firsts
though he still struggles with a few unwanted personal issues
.
Shedding his elitist attitude has been a challenge for him.
“You could say it’s due more to my limited knowledge of mapmaking. The maps in the map room were made hundreds and hundreds of years ago using a technique no one remembers. Mine is a poor imitation.”
Okay, that sounds plausible. Hell, he made a living map. I’d say that was pretty awesome…but I won’t tell him that. I move to one of the north-facing windows and look out over the city. I’m so tired, my bones ache. Even my hair hurts when I sweep a hand through it. Off in the distance, I see small fires spring up in a field, lighting the night like fireflies.
Dad joins me. “Funeral pyres.”
A lump sits in my throat and my heart grows heavy. “Wyatt’s dead.”
“I heard.” Dad clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Teag will miss him. We all came to depend on him.”
To Dad, Wyatt was just another soldier to order around. To me, he’d been a friend. I shrug off my dad’s hand and face him. “Why’d you call me?”
He motions me toward his desk. “Look again at the tapestry and tell me what you see.”
“I know it’s a map of Teag,” I say, “but it looks like someone dropped it in a mud puddle and stomped on it. It’s hard to tell what I’m looking at.”
“Teag is burning, and smoke is obstructing our view. The Dark Souls are roaming at will. They’re staying clear of the Ruined City, but they’re attacking the outlying areas with vicious frequency. Our enemies line our borders, and it’s only a matter of time before they come here as well.”
Translation: it’s only a matter of time before someone comes after
him
. “You called me because you want me to eliminate all those threats? I have more power than you right now, but even I’m not that powerful.”
He slumps into his chair and rubs his bloodshot eyes. Though his vision is fully restored, his eyes still bother him at times. He sighs, picks up his drink, and stares up at the tapestry. “I have another task for you. Ever since you rescued me and I saw the devastation threatening Teag, I’ve searched for a particular magical object that has the power to trap the Dark Souls and send them back to the underbelly of Sheol.”
“You’re kidding?” I fall into the chair in front of his desk. Shock, excitement, and disbelief all clash inside me. If such an object exists, we have to find it. “You’re sure something like that is real and not a rumor?”
“Very real.” He slowly spins the glass in his fingers, watching the liquid swirl, though I’m not sure he even sees the glass anymore, just memories. Bad ones. “I used it on the Dark Souls the first time they escaped the Unknown. I thought sending them back into the bottomless pit where they belong would see them gone forever. This time I intend to make sure they never find their way out again.”
Several questions pop to mind. “You had the magic but now you don’t? Where’d it go?”
“Magic is fickle. I couldn’t let something that powerful just lie around. I had to keep it safe.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You mean keep it away from anyone else who might want to use it.”
He downs the rest of his drink, turns his intense gaze on me, and says without an ounce of guilt, “Exactly.”
I’m getting good at translating what he doesn’t want to say.
Still, I can see his point in keeping it safe. If whatever the object is has the power to trap the Dark Souls and send them to hell, what else can it do? “What is it?”
“Telling you, I’m afraid, is problematic. The
first
who made it was far and beyond the most powerful ruler we
firsts
have ever known. His magic could rip mountains in two. Spin the earth backward. Turn enemies into friends. Create hope out of the ashes of burned dreams. Can you imagine a magic so powerful, nothing you wished for would be out of your reach?”
“It sounds dangerous.”
“To some. To others it sounds like freedom.”
Dad takes another sip of absinthe and rests his head on the back of his chair. “When the king grew old, he feared his son, who was not a good man, would abuse the powers he would inherit once his father died. So the king created the very first Keeper of Life, making it look like an ordinary salter’s coin, the least expensive coin we use, to store his magic and then access it when the need arose. No one knew what he had done, and sadly, the son had his father assassinated—”
“And I thought we had problems.”
Dad ignores me and continues his story. “But before the king died, he bestowed his gift of unending power to his daughter.”
“Nice gift.”
Dad senses the sarcasm I can’t keep from my voice and frowns. “When she accepted his gift, the Keeper of Life changed into what she wanted it to be, thus hiding the magic from her brother.”
I clear my throat and ask, “So you’re saying it changes its appearance with every new owner, and you don’t have any idea what it looks like?”
“It would make your job easier if I did. I only know it will be close at hand for its new owner. When I had it, the magic became a timepiece I tucked in my vest. I have heard tell it has been a snuffbox, a cat, a fake eye, and a key. I can only imagine what else it has been.”
“Great, that narrows it down to everything. So where did you hide it?”