Bride by Midnight (21 page)

“It will not work,” Volker said with humor when she was two steps away. “I know what you can do. I’ve been warned. At least, I have been told what you
should
be able to do. It’s all very interesting and a bit unexpected, I must say. With your partner dead, you should be weakened, but even if that is not the case... I understand that you were able to heal your husband’s heart in the last days of his life because he still had a little bit of it left. I do not.”

And suddenly she was afraid of him in another way. A man with no soul, no heart. If she touched him, would she absorb that horrid darkness instead of offering light? She could heal, she knew that now. Could the same pathways that allowed her to heal also make her vulnerable to evil?

“How do you know so much about me?” she asked. “Are you a wizard?”
A demon? A monster?

“No. My girls, my lovely demons, they told me all about you. The witch and the blade, one to heal and one to kill. You two are—or rather
were
—a part of their collective consciousness, a shared fear, a shared prophecy. They say that together you could’ve ruined my plan. Alone you are nothing more than an annoyance.”

More
. Yes.

His lovely demons... Ksana? The woman Lyssa had sensed on Level Two? Apparently that Ksana had sisters. Of course she did...

Vellance’s words came back to Lyssa as clearly as if the old woman stood beside her now.
“Do you think the Isen Demon is the only darkness that blights Columbyana and the lands beyond? There is more darkness than light in this world, girl. The light must fight to remain the stronger of the two.”

Lyssa dropped her hand and took a step back. Again, her back was pressed to the cold wall. Calling upon a gift that had apparently been enhanced by her fear, she once again reached for the magic she had tried to deny. This time that magic came to her much too easily, as if it was and always had been a part of her. She saw the darkness that surrounded the man—Volker, the man Blade had come to Arthes to kill—as if it were a tangible thing. There was not a drop of light, not a glimmer of hope, in or around him. She absolutely must
not
touch him.

Shaking, she returned to her corner, bowed her head, and closed her eyes. Volker chuckled, and it was a frightful sound. No doubt he thought she was praying fruitlessly to the gods and goddesses, or to the One God, but she was not.

Blade had found her in the forest when he should not have been able to. The thick woods were vast and not easy to navigate, and yet he had located her as if he’d known all along where she would be. If she had healed him, if he lived, could she reach for him as he had reached for her? Could she touch him in spite of the physical distance between them?

And if she could reach him, what would she say? Should she beg Blade to save her, or tell him to run in the other direction, far and fast?

It didn’t matter. She tried, but there was nothing. As strong and real as her newfound magic had felt moments earlier, as much a part of her as it had become... maybe it had not been enough this time. Maybe her powerful and otherworldly connection with Blade was gone because he was gone. Tears slipped down her face, and she felt a new despair.

Just as Vellance had predicted, she was alone. And just as in her worse nightmares, she was lost in the dark.

***

Lyssa had saved him, of that he had no doubt, but Blade could not call himself fully healed. He was weak, and there was still a lot of pain in his chest. What if Lyssa had only healed his skin and beneath... beneath he was ripped to shreds?

No, the pain was lessening as he walked, not getting worse.

As he had found her before, he would find her again. The feeling pulling him back toward Arthes was more powerful than ever before, as if a long silken thread connected him to Lyssa and was reeling him back to the city. If the attackers had left horses waiting nearby, it was likely she was already there, but in whose hands?

He didn’t know, but he would find her.

As he walked he thought of Lyssa, and of Runa. Normally thoughts of Runa were so painful that he turned to drink or violence to push her memory away. But this time, after actually seeing her again—however briefly, through fever dream or a visit to the Land of the Dead—he did not crave whisky or a good fistfight.

He was capable of love; he was not entirely broken.

Blade tried not to think of Runa’s words about a daughter. A daughter that was, or a daughter that would be? A real visitation and message from the dead, or a wish?

Or a fear.

No matter, the thought of a child was a distraction, and at this moment he needed to focus only on his wife. If he found Lyssa, if he saved her... he would never again deny her. He would share her bed every night, if she would have him. If she wasn’t already with child, she soon enough would be.

But first he had to save her, and he had no idea from who, or what.

***

Not far from Arthes, the man who had used the name Stasio for the past six years changed course. Instead of heading west toward Tryfyn he turned to the north. His time in Arthes was finished, for now. He was needed in the mountains, where others of his kind had gathered.

When he could see the mountains of the north in the distance, snow-topped even though spring had arrived and illuminated by moonlight, he dismounted and removed the long robe he’d worn for the six years he had served that fool Miron Volker. The robe had served his purpose. While someone might send out a search party for the wizard Stasio, they would have a hard time coming up with any description other than the long, black, hooded robe.

The robe was enchanted. Some would remember him as being tall. Others would insist he was short. Some would say Stasio was a young man; others would argue that he was old. A few might remember a limp. None would remember his face.

The girl walked toward him, coming from the north to meet him. Though the night was cool, her arms and feet were bare. Long pale hair caught the moonlight, as did her plain silvery dress. He had been expecting her.

Guiding his horse by the reins, he walked toward her. There was no need to hurry. When she was close enough to hear him, he said,

“Linara, yes?”

“Yes,” she replied.

Linara was not the name this beautiful creature had been given at birth. Before her mother had died she’d named her child for a beautiful and poisonous flower. Ksana. This woman child was the first of the Ksana demons, the most powerful. Moonlight lit her face. She was by far the most beautiful of a species of unbearably beautiful girls.

He had not met her, not in person, but they had communicated in a way only the most powerful among them could. Across a great distance, with words and with emotion, in dreams and in quiet moments, they had come to know one another well.

“I am here,” she said simply.

“As I see.” This night, this meeting, had been planned for the past two years. The day, the place, the hour. “Did you kill the woman who dared to falsely call herself your mother?”

Linara smiled, and his heart—which was small and hard and had never known love—hitched in his chest. Such a smile could bring down emperors. “Of course not. Kill a Fyne witch and you bring down the wrath of a powerful clan you do not wish to face.”

“You ran away?” he asked. “How very... ordinary.”

“I told my mother... Sophie... that I had to get away, that I needed to be alone for a while. She didn’t like it, she tried to talk me out of leaving, but she understood. Too many people know my secret.”

When they met on the road they both stopped walking. He reached out and cupped her cheek in one hand. “We have much to do, Linara.”

“Yes, I know. And I am ready.”

“One born, one hatched, one created... they were talked of in hushed whispers among wizards long before the first of your kind was born. Those three will stop us, if we don’t stop them first.”

“That’s why I’m here... Stasio? Should I call you Stasio?”

She turned about and they walked side by side toward the mountains. Far in the distance, visible only to one whose vision was extraordinary, a speck of dragon’s fire lit the sky.

“For now, that name will do.”

Chapter Fifteen

Lyssa slept fitfully on a cold stone floor, without a blanket or a pillow. Her supper had been a piece of hard bread. There had not been enough light to see if there was mold on the bread or not, but she had eaten it anyway. She was starving. She had to eat, for the baby if not for herself. For a few terrible moments she had wondered if there really was a baby, if the idea of a child—Blade’s child—was anything more than a fantasy, a wish.

No, the baby was real. She had come to accept that; to embrace it.

By her reckoning it had been a full day since she’d lost Blade. The hours moved too slowly here, but she could not allow her fear to cause her to become so disoriented that she lost all track of time. She ate, she slept, and she did her best to keep her wits about her.

She dreamed not of Volker or of being trapped in a cold room of stone, but of Blade. In her dream he came toward her. Sometimes he ran, but often he could not. There were times when he could barely walk. He was too tired, too badly hurt. She saw him steal a horse, saw him race toward Arthes and her, and she heard him call her name. Sometimes in a whisper, sometimes with a shout, as if her name were a war cry. Again and again, she heard him call her name.

The baby was real, but dreams of Blade—alive and coming for her—were nothing more than fantasy. As much as she wished them to be real...

She woke when the door to her cell opened with a screech and a clang. Naturally it was Volker, the man who had killed Blade’s sister, the man who collected demon children. Fifteen and sixteen years old, they were no longer true children. They were young women who wished her dead. Lyssa sat up and scooted back, away from the man.

Volker carried with him a steaming mug of something. Tea, broth, chocolate... whatever it was, the sight of that mug made her mouth water. On second thought, if he was bringing her anything it was probably drugged. Poisoned. Did she dare eat anything that came from his hands? Heaven help her, what choice did she have?

He offered her the mug, but she hugged her arms to herself and shook her head.

After a disgusted snort, he took a sip from the heavy mug and then passed it to her again. This time she grabbed the mug, took a sip herself, and closed her eyes in something near joy. Or relief. She drank again. Tea with milk and plenty of honey poured down her throat, and it tasted good.

“I don’t plan to kill you just yet, witch,” he said harshly. “I wish to know more before I make that decision. And as I said, if you prove useful to me I might allow you to live.”

She did not respond. His idea of living and hers were likely worlds apart. Lyssa had no desire to be one of his girls; she would not assist the man who had murdered Blade’s sister—the man who had ordered Blade killed—in any way.

“Are you often ill, Lyssa?” he asked in a calm, almost caring voice.

She cupped the mug in both hands. It was warm, a comfort in this chilled room. Her next sip was a small one, as she savored the tea. She would take whatever small comforts she could, while she could. “No. I have always been very healthy.”

“Of course you have,” he whispered. “Not a fever, not a cough, not a stomachache.”

“No.”

“May I see your hand, Lyssa?”

She saw no reason not to comply, since he could, if he wished, wrestle with her or hit her over the head to get what he wanted. Grudgingly, she shifted the mug of tea to one hand and offered him the other, palm up.

There was little light in the room, so by the time she saw the glint of steel in his hand it was too late. He swiped the dagger across her palm, and it cut deep. She dropped the mug. It crashed to the stone floor, breaking into many small pieces. Warm tea spread across the floor, wasted.

Perhaps Lyssa was unusually healthy, but she could feel pain, and she did bleed.

***

By the time Blade rode into Arthes on a stolen horse, the pain of his wounds was almost gone. One full day since he’d been wounded to the brink of death—and perhaps beyond—and he was healed.

Lyssa was in the palace, he knew. He
felt
. She was hidden deep, in terrible danger, and scared. He kept a sharp eye out for sentinels who might recognize him, but those few he passed on his way to Cyrus’s shop paid him no more mind than they would any other traveler on horseback. Mud on his clothing disguised most of the blood, so his appearance did not draw their attention. A quick glance would reveal nothing but another dirty traveler. Only on closer inspection was the dried blood noticeable.

It took a great deal of self-control not to confront those sentinels he passed. Had the attackers who’d taken Lyssa been true sentinels or thieves in stolen uniforms? No matter. To make his move too soon would be foolish, and would not lead him to his wife.

His heart was pounding as he hitched the horse to a post outside the shop. It was near closing time. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, and on the street Arthes residents walked and rode toward home. Children laughed. Women chattered.

Blade’s mission had been altered, but in some ways, nothing had changed. If he rushed into the palace, he would be killed long before he got to Lyssa. He was willing to risk his own life, but he would not risk hers. And he could not be stopped before he found her.

Cyrus was at the counter, waiting on a customer, smiling as if all was right with the world. He could not know what had happened, but he had to know that Lyssa and her new husband were missing. Most likely he had also heard the accusation of witchcraft from Edine or someone the silly nit had spoken to. He had no right to smile.

That smile died quickly when Cyrus looked up and saw Blade. He paled and stepped back, looking for a moment as if he might actually run.

Blade stalked to the counter, glared down at the lone customer, an elderly man with a love for sweets, and said, “Out.”