Burning Skies (55 page)

Marcus. Gone.

The words didn’t mesh in her mind. She rejected them even if they were probably true. Searing heartache rolled through her. Combined with the drugs in her system and the ache in her body, she must have passed out again.

When she came to, her thoughts immediately returned to Marcus. Again, she kept her breathing slow and even, her eyes closed. She regulated her mind. She ignored the pain.

She thought back on the past several days, then the past four months.

The big questions of life came to her:
Why am I here, what is my purpose, why so much suffering?

A memory surfaced of her husband. The fever had caught him hard. Their little girls were already buried in the earth and she knew she’d soon have a grave to dig herself. She had wanted to die.

But when his death approached, he had somehow found the strength to clutch her hand and to look at her. “Live, my darling. Live. Live for all of us.” The words so faint, the last he had spoken.

An hour later, he was gone.

Live, my darling.

Live.

Live for all of us.

The words echoed through her head, fierce and strong as though something of his wonderful spirit remained within her.

That was a hundred years ago and a million tears later.

She thought of Eric. She had been willing to risk her heart with him, to try to live again, but Eric had died and with his death something in her had died as well, some willingness to press on. Yes, she worked … she worked hard. Yes, she was committed to making a difference in Endelle’s administration and in the war. But she had not been committed to life, to living. That was what Marcus had been trying to tell her, the reason he believed she couldn’t easily do a split-self. The only time she’d succeeded was when he’d held her in thrall and she’d been able to let go.

And now Marcus was dead.

Grief threatened her once more but this time she refused to let it come. It seemed to her that in this dark place, where she was imprisoned deep in the bowels of the earth, where the heat kept her sweating and she was chained to a wall, where she would no doubt be bled frequently for the properties of her blood, she had a choice to make here and now. Would she live or would she disappear behind the safety of her walls, of her half-lived life?

Live, my darling, live.

Sometimes choices came at the oddest times and the most impractical.

While chained to a wall, for the first time in a hundred years, she chose to live, to really live.

And in that choice came a powerful determination to somehow find her way out of this mess, this evil imprisonment. That no one had come before, not Endelle or any of the Warriors of the Blood, told her that Crace’s forge was shielded. If she wanted out, she’d have to be the one to get herself out.

Her mind, as weak as it was, flashed over one truth. If she could split into two selves, both parts corporeal, she could find Endelle in the darkening. If she found Endelle, they could work together to figure this out, how to bypass the shields, everything. But it was up to her.

*   *   *

Marcus was going out of his mind.

He had recovered fully. Three hours had passed from the time Horace had declared him healed.
Three hours
and they still hadn’t located Havily. He was pissed as hell! He’d eaten a whole cheese pizza and drunk a quart of fucking Gatorade, but Endelle, even with Parisa’s help, had been unable to get to Havily.

He moved restlessly, pacing the ground, his hand at his side as though clutching the hilt of a sword. The blast had destroyed his battle gear but he had backups, plenty of backups, and wore one now.

He was still surrounded by his warrior brothers, each armed with sword and dagger and patrolling the perimeter. Endelle was nearby, in a meditative state and hunting through the darkening, but his nerves were raw. She was convinced that all of Greaves’s underground military sites were cloaked with heavy shields so that even though Parisa sent a continuous stream of Havily’s location, Endelle still couldn’t get to her, still couldn’t find her.

At least Parisa kept letting him know that Havily was still alive.

Small fucking comfort.

At one point, Marcus had insisted that Parisa
show
him the voyeuristic vision, thinking perhaps his more profound connection to Havily would allow him to see her, then fold to her position. The sight of her had almost brought him to his knees. She was shackled to the wall just as Parisa had described, pale and unconscious. But as hard as he tried, as determined as he was, he found it impossible to fold to her.

So he relied on Endelle, and her haphazard hunt through the darkening. She was confident that once she found Havily by this means, she could bypass whatever shields were blocking the location and if nothing else pull Havily out of danger and into the darkening. She could keep Havily in the darkening indefinitely, but there was one problem: An individual had to exit the darkening at the point of entrance, which meant Havily would have to return to her place of incarceration before she could leave it.

The hope was that once Endelle found Havily in the darkening, she could bring Marcus in as well. In turn, Marcus could create a telepathic link with Havily and fold directly to her position in Crace’s forge. At least, that was the current plan.

Of course, if Havily hadn’t been drugged out of her mind she could have taken herself into the darkening, something Crace apparently knew, hence the drugs. Parisa had told him that more than once in the past three hours, anytime Havily appeared to be waking up, Crace would cross to her and push a button on the hospital equipment hooked up to her IV.

Too many moving pieces.

Whatever.

“Report,” he barked, pausing in his march to stare at Parisa, who remained sitting on Medichi’s lap. She was pale and obviously frightened but she kept her voyeur’s window open and for that he was grateful.

“She’s still unconscious,” Parisa said. “She’s still sitting on the low bench. She’s breathing and Crace isn’t near her.”

“Good,” he said, but, yeah, he was going out of his mind. He started pacing again. “We have to move this along. He won’t stay away from her.”

He felt helpless. He stared at Endelle and engaged the link he had with her.
Anything?
he sent.

Sorry, Warrior, but the darkening has limitations. If Havily could find a way to call to me, if she could do a split-self, I think I could get to her. She’s just so out of it. But we won’t stop till we bring our girl home. I promise you that.

He sighed.
I know.

And that was why he loved Endelle. Why all the warriors loved her. She was a piece of work but at her core, she was all heart.

*   *   *

The droplet of sweat soaked into the gauze draped over Havily’s chest. She had been sweating profusely from the time she’d realized her only way out was to do a split-self and move her second self into the darkening. That had been
hours
ago. Creator help her!

Let go.

She was trying … so hard.

Let go.

She heard Crace moving around. He even hummed at times and occasionally laughed.

She had worked the problem of splitting-self in many different ways: relaxing her mind, trying to remember what Endelle had taught her, what it had felt like to complete the process when Marcus had held her in thrall.

She focused on that experience once more. When he’d put her there, what had been the truest part of her condition? She’d had no will, that much was true, but there was something else.

When the light came on, a single word shot through her head.

Shields.

The word hit her mind like a sudden wind shear.

She grew dizzy. She knew now exactly what needed to be done.

But a pair of heavy battle sandals appeared below her nose and a hand grabbed her hair and lifted her head up. “So you’re awake. Good. I have need of you and I’m not referring to just your blood.”

He unwrapped the waist strap that kept her tied to the wall then popped her manacles. She was so weak that she tumbled forward right off the bench. Fear rippled over her as he tore both needles from her arms. He then rolled her onto her back, her head striking the stone. She was little more than a rag doll given the drugs still in her system.

“What can I say,” he cried. “Your blood fires me.”

Havily was too weak to do more than remain inert. But she closed her eyes and as he pushed her legs apart, she dropped her mental shields 100 percent … and what do you know, she split herself and found herself lying in a similar position in the darkening. Alone. In that space, however, her mind was perfectly clear. She could feel her primary self and Crace’s muscled knees that kept shoving at her inner thighs.

Oh, God.

She screamed Endelle’s name.

Three seconds later Endelle was right there, standing in front of her, almost blinding in the golden glow of her aura.

“Marcus,” Endelle cried. She waved a hand and there he was. Alive. Marcus was alive?
He was alive!

He grabbed hold of her arms.

She had to act fast. “The manacles are off but Crace has me pinned on the floor. I’m still drugged.” How easily she could move and talk in her split-self.

He drew in a ragged breath. He put his hands on her face. “Show me.” She closed her eyes and focused. She streamed the location to him, the visceral heat of the forge, the hard stone floor, the humid air.

He kissed her. “I will be with you in seconds now.” He turned to Endelle. “Send me back to the Festival grounds. From there, I can fold to her.”

Endelle nodded and he was gone.

Endelle stared at her. “Return to your primary self. Do all that you can to stay alive, to get both of you out alive when Marcus shows up. Crace is powerful. Marcus will need you, otherwise I’d bring you back into the darkening. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Havily closed her eyes and returned to her body.

She opened her eyes and Marcus stood god-like over Crace, a hand reaching down to grab the monster by his long hair and haul him to his feet.

*   *   *

Marcus didn’t have time to fold his sword to him. Instead he jerked the bastard away from Havily. Marcus pulled back his fist and struck him as hard as he could, one heavy right hook that connected with Crace’s jaw. Crace’s head snapped back. Though he stumbled, he caught himself and sent his own fist flying in Marcus’s direction.

Marcus shifted just enough so that the blow glanced off his shoulder, which took Crace and all his momentum forward a few more stumbling steps.

Marcus caught him by the arm and once more drew him upright. He slammed a fist into his ribs and heard a nice crack, but Crace only grunted a little. He had blood around his mouth. Marcus could guess the source, especially since Crace had a maniacal light in his eye and apparently was
feeling no pain.

Shit. Crace had taken Havily’s blood. Shit.

*   *   *

Havily watched the battle. She rolled on her side and worked at dragging herself backward, toward the wall, toward the bench and the shackles, trying to get out of the way. She was so weak and had a hard time focusing.

She wanted to help but what could she do? She couldn’t even lift her arm and the effort it had taken her to do a split-self had left her even more lethargic than before.

She tracked the battle in front of her, but they were just two large shapes moving back and forth. She heard deep grunts and the sounds of fists hitting flesh.

The men landed close to her.

Crace was on top and throwing punches into Marcus’s face. She could hear them, one after the other, like wet sliding slaps without end.

She blinked. The hitting had stopped and Marcus was flat on his back, pinned down with Crace on top of him. The bastard was smiling, sweat pouring off his porcelain complexion, his muscles flexing, his fangs long and sharp.

Reality finally toughened her mind.

Marcus was going to die.

Crace slapped him across the face. Marcus’s eyes were swollen and bleeding. “Havily,” he whispered through thick bloody lips. “I’m … sorry.”

Havily knew what she had to do and she had to do it fast.

She let go once more, lowering her shields all the way. She swished into the darkening and called again for Endelle.

Endelle and her brilliant golden aura reached her within two seconds. Havily explained the situation. Endelle told her to wait. A few more seconds and Luken appeared in the darkening.

“Show me,” he cried, his blue eyes glowing.

Havily put her hands on Luken’s face and, as she had done with Marcus, streamed the location of the forge. He smiled. “I’ve got him. Don’t worry. Now get back to your primary self and let’s get you out of there.”