Dark Lady's Chosen (12 page)

“I want to try to connect with the Flow again,” Carina said. “But this time, I want to be the conduit—and let Taru’s magic amplify mine.”

“Too risky,” Riqua replied with a dismissive gesture. “We were just lucky that neither of you were killed the last time.”

“It reached out to me again last night,” Carina said, wondering whether the others could hear the strain in her voice. “You don’t understand—my dreams aren’t my own anymore. I’m sure I glimpsed another battle through Malesh’s eyes. I looked for Jonmarc, but all I saw was fire and shadow.” She recounted the vision she had seen of the Flow, and the images of blood magic. “Please,” she said, looking from one to another. “I have to try.”

Taru nodded. “I’m willing.” Royster nodded his assent.

This time, Carina sat in a chair in the middle of the room. Taru stood behind her with her hands on Carina’s shoulders. Riqua stepped back, joining Lisette near the wall. Royster looked up from the old books that lay open in front of him. Raen glowed dimly in the shadows, watching somberly.

Carina closed her eyes and focused on slowing the rapid beating of her own heart. She grew calm, breathing deeply and rhythmically, clearing her mind of anything except her memory of the light. She could feel Taru’s magic in the touch of her hands. As she did when drawing energy from a helper with a healing, Carina created a bond, enabling her to pull from Taru’s power.

She stretched out her right hand in entreaty, mentally reaching out to the roiling energy beneath Dark Haven. Light flared around her, flaming red through her closed lids. Willing herself to remain calm, Carina opened herself to the light, seeking a way to connect so that she could begin the healing.

Power sparked, throwing Taru clear. Carina heard the others cry out and opened her eyes.

She threw up her arm to shield her face. A white wind swirled violently around her, sparkling as if made of powdered glass. The wind rose from nowhere, cutting her off from the others, and Carina gasped as the Flow connected to her healing magic, drawing from her as it had done in the caves below the manor house. Carina slid from the chair onto her knees. She could hear voices shouting as if at a great distance, but within the wind, there was nothing except the howl of the Flow, hungering for the warmth of the magic she bore.

A blinding flash of blue light flared, and powerful arms seized Carina, lifting her from the Flow. The blue light moved with them, straining against the buffeting crystal wind. They moved only a few feet before the blue light faded, replaced by an amber glow Carina knew to be Taru’s warding. Behind them, the crystal wind vanished as quickly as it had come.

Carina collapsed onto the Noorish rug, utterly spent. Thin lines like bloody lace traced across her hands and arms. Though a fire burned on the hearth, she shivered violently. The crystal wind had gone, but in her mind, Carina could feel its lingering touch, and the sense that for the moment, her magic blunted its pain.

Taru lowered her shielding and the others rushed to Carina’s side. “You’re just lucky Raen and Riqua could reach you,” Taru fussed. She laid a hand over Carina’s heart and Carina felt Taru’s healing magic restoring the energy the Flow had stolen, healing the tracery of cuts.

“I made a difference,” Carina whispered as Lisette lifted her gently and placed her on a couch. “I could feel the healing. But it wasn’t enough…”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Riqua fretted. “If the Flow needs healing so badly, it’s hardly going to have the power to heal you.”

“Not now. Not until it’s healed.”

“That’s too late if it’s destroyed you.”

Carina shook her head stubbornly. “We have to try. It’s not about healing me. Maybe that’s not possible. But if we can heal the Flow, then the blood magic loses its power. I can feel what it’s doing to the Flow. It showed me… what Curane’s mages have done. I don’t think Tris can win his war like this—with the magic broken and out of reach. There’s too much at stake. I need to try again—at the source of the Flow.”

“No mage has ever survived that,” Taru warned. “Many have tried.”

Royster looked up sharply, as if he had only just begun to listen. “But never a Summoner.”

Taru frowned. “Carina isn’t a Summoner. Tris Drayke’s the only Summoner of power—and he’s down on the Southern Plains.”

Royster’s face was alight with inspiration. “Do you remember how Tris kept Jonmarc alive after the assassin’s attack at Staden’s palace? How he anchored Jonmarc’s soul with his power? If Tris and Carina worked together—Carina could open herself completely to the healing, and Tris could tether her soul, replenishing her energy. No one’s ever tried it. The magic hadn’t gotten so badly out of balance when Bava K’aa was still alive—and since she’s died, there’s been no Summoner for things like this. Yes,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “It just might work.”

“It would take weeks for Tris to come to Dark Haven—assuming he could ride away from the front lines of a war!” Riqua protested. “Carina doesn’t have weeks to wait.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to,” Taru said quietly. They turned to her expectantly. “We know that this particular branch of the Flow runs from below the Northern Sea down through southern Margolan and beyond. The Sisterhood warned Tris that the Flow runs right beneath Curane’s holdings, that it would make the blood mages more powerful because of that.” She turned suddenly to Riqua. “How fast could your people reach the Margolan plains?”

Riqua frowned. “At top speed—which we can’t sustain forever—three nights.”

Taru looked to Carina. “I’ll help you write a letter. We’ll explain what’s happened, and what you mean to do. From the visions you’ve seen, it doesn’t sound as if the war is going well for Tris. He may be as desperate for options as we are. We’ll set a time on the fourth night—seventh bells—and ask him to link his magic to the Flow and search for you. He knows your soul’s imprint;

he must, you’ve healed together so often. You’ll know if he touches you across the Flow. If he can anchor you and hold on before you step into the Flow, we just might have a chance.”

“This is madness.” Riqua began to pace. “Three nights is a guess. We don’t generally move so far so fast. I’d have to use
vayash moru
in relays. The
vayash moru
who reaches Tris won’t be anyone he knows. Why should Tris believe him?”

“Trefor is one of your brood, isn’t he? And there were others—both from your family and from Gabriel’s. Would they recognize one of their own?”

Slowly, Riqua nodded. “Of course.”

“Then Trefor and the others could vouch for the messenger—and he’ll have Carina’s letter, with your seal. I can add the mark of my power, for good measure.”

Riqua’s gaze was troubled. “I don’t like it. But I can’t think of anything else and we’re all running out of time.” She looked to Carina. “If we’re wrong about Tris’s magic being able to reach across the distance through the Flow, there won’t be a way to rescue you. I’ve seen mages die in that power. It consumes them.” She shuddered. “I don’t wish to witness that again.”

Taru helped Carina to take Royster’s place at the desk. Carina thought for a few moments, and then began to write. The others waited as she told the story of Malesh’s betrayal and the end of the Truce, of the slaughter of the villagers and her own encounter with Malesh.

She wrote of the war that Jonmarc and Gabriel were trying to prevent and the way the Flow reached out to her for healing.

The words seemed almost too fantastic for her to believe as the ink streamed behind her pen.
He’ll think I’ve gone mad,
Carina thought as she finished her plea, folding the letter closed. Riqua held wax to the candle flame, dripping a red pool to seal the parchment pages together, and pressed her ornate signet ring into the warm wax. Carina added her signet imprint as well. Taru touched the parchment with her fingers, adding the signature of her own magic, warding the note against any reader except Tris.

Riqua looked to Lisette. “Call for Temis. He must leave tonight. Bring him to me.”

Lisette left, to return moments later with a tall man whose lank, dark hair was drawn back in a queue. Temis listened intently as Riqua shared his mission, glancing frequently to Carina as they talked. Riqua slipped the sealed parchment into a leather pouch and handed it to Temis. “Nothing is more important than that this letter reaches King Martris by the third night,” she said, folding her hands around Temis’s. “We know that Malesh is using blood magic to elude Uri and

Gabriel. Break that power, and we may save the Truce. Curane is using blood magic to defeat the Margolan army. If Jared’s bastard takes the throne, he’s sure to resume hunting our kind, as his father did. This may be the salvation of our people as well as the Winter Kingdoms. May the Dark Lady guide you.”

Temis gave a deep bow in respect and slipped from the room. Riqua stared after him before turning to the others. “Now, we wait.”

The night was far spent by the time they were finished. Carina was exhausted, but the fear of sleeping and the terror of her dreams forced her awake. Riqua and Lisette had already sought their day crypts. Royster dozed in a chair by the fire in the parlor. Carina stood near the window, protected from the first light of dawn by heavy curtains.

If I believed Jonmarc would return, I’d have a reason to care more whether or not I survived.

But he’s sworn the Bargain. We’ll be together. One way or another.

Taru stepped up behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder. Carina knew that Taru could feel the tightness in her neck and that Taru’s healing magic could easily read her tension. “I don’t think healing is what you’re after, is it?”

Carina swallowed hard and shook her head. Tears refused to come. “Too many people have died, Taru. We thought that if we took back Margolan’s throne from Jared that it would stop, but it didn’t. From what I’ve glimpsed in the Flow, the war’s not going well for Tris. How could it, when magic won’t work properly? Now Malesh, breaking the Truce. He wants a war because he thinks the
vayash moru
will win. And Jonmarc—”

“I’ve never believed that mortals can bargain with the Lady,” Taru said.

“But I’ve seen men make the Bargain, when Cam and I were with the mercs. They never came back.” Carina’s voice was just above a whisper.

“Men can accomplish the impossible when they no longer care about their own safety,” Taru observed. “Many efforts fail because our desire to survive makes us falter at the last moment. If we no longer want to live, and desire only death with meaning, the unthinkable becomes possible.”

“Are you talking to me, or about Jonmarc?”

“What do you think?”

Carina sighed. “I don’t know anymore. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it wasn’t the Lady who gave those soldiers their victory. Maybe they were able to kill their enemies because they weren’t

afraid of death anymore, and they didn’t come back because they didn’t want to. But Jonmarc knows that destroying Malesh destroys me. He’s lost so much. If it comes to that—

will he choose to come back?

“I can feel myself dying, Taru. I can feel the magics at war inside me, burning each other out—like this damned war in Margolan, or the war over the Truce. No one wins if everyone is dead.”

“Did you tell Jonmarc about the bond?”

Carina was silent for a moment. Far beyond the mountains, a faint pink haze lit the winter sky. “After a fashion.”

“After a fashion?”

“Did I tell him that over time, healers become bonded to our mates? That we weaken and die when we lose a lifemate? Not in so many words. I think he suspects. It was his idea for us to make a ritual wedding. He knows what happened with Ric. Does he know the bond is one-sided? That it only affects the healer? No.” She shook her head. “It’s too much in his nature to put himself where the danger is. I didn’t want him to be afraid of risking me. It would cost him his edge, and he needs that.” She paused. “I didn’t tell him because I wanted him, Taru. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him, Lady forgive me, not even Ric.”

She turned away. “Goddess, we’ve made a mess of things! Even if you’re right, even if Istra’s Bargain is just a soldiers’ legend, I’m afraid Jonmarc doesn’t care about living through this fight. He’s got a score to settle, and no reason to believe that I’ll survive.”

She faced Taru, knowing that the mage could see the struggle in her face. “There’s one chance of something good coming out of this. If I can heal the Flow, that gives Tris a fighting chance in Margolan, and it might make Malesh vulnerable. If Jared’s bastard gains the throne, the kingdoms could be at war for a generation. And if Malesh destroys the Truce, the mortals and the
vayash moru
will keep on fighting until they destroy each other.”

Carina met her eyes. “If I can’t survive this war, then at least I can play my part.”

“We don’t know what will happen if Tris can anchor you. No one’s ever done that before.

The Flow is the source for all our power. Even healers. It needs your healing, but it may be able to offer you something in return. There is a chance it could help you heal.”

Carina looked away.
The Flow might heal the damage Malesh did to me. But unless we
figure this out before Jonmarc kills Malesh, it doesn’t matter. Malesh’s death will kill me
anyhow. I

don’t know whether Jonmarc and I have been together long enough for the bond between
us to affect me. But if it does, and he dies destroying Malesh, then I’ll die, too.
Worse was the alternative, that she might survive without Jonmarc.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Kiara.” Cerise folded her arms across her chest. “Scrying drains you at the best of times.”

“Carroway told me that scrying didn’t go so well for you on the road,” Macaria put in. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

Kiara thumped her fist against the tall back of a chair in frustration. “Things are different now. Arontala was hunting us then. He used the scrying ball to find us, followed my magic back to find me.”

“Arontala and the Obsidian King may be gone, but Curane still has dark mages. You must be careful.”