Endless Night (16 page)

S
hielding
both of them while Oliver carried Hester back to his rooms had been more difficult than he could have imagined. He was forced to add earth to his shapings and keep his focus with water split, partly to continue the squeeze on Hester’s heart to keep him unconscious and partly to create the illusion, this time around them both.

Inside his room, he relaxed all but the shaping used to constrict the blood flow.

He had to bind Hester, but how?

And he needed help. Bringing Yanda into this would be risky, but no more risky than showing her the spirit stick in the first place.

Wrapping the man in earth—the next strongest element for him—he maintained his connection to water as he hurried into the hall.

Yanda’s room was three doors down from his. Oliver hurried to it and pounded loudly, praying she would answer.

When it opened, Yanda stared at him, eyes blank.

“Yanda,” he whispered, “I need your help—”

His words cut off as he saw the person behind her.

Sitting at a table, drumming her long nails in a rhythm that seemed to pull on his senses, was Margo.

She smiled when she saw him.

The rod went cold in his pocket.

Oliver used the same sharp blade of water shaping that he had on Hester, this time honed to an even finer blade, and swept it through her shaping. The cold seeping through the rod stopped. He shifted the shaping, turning it toward Margo.

She sprang toward him, too fast for him to see. A long blade arced toward him.

Oliver turned and reached with water and fire toward Margo.

The shaping was not one that he’d ever practiced, but he had seen how such a shaping could be used and hated that he was forced to turn it on her.

The blood pulsing through Margo’s veins froze.

She screamed, a painful, shrill sound that was more like some kind of animal than from any human.

But she stopped. The knife clattered to the ground harmlessly.

Oliver stood, panting, afraid to move, afraid that Margo would get up and attack again, but she didn’t. It was a measure of his nerves that he didn’t even dare go check on her.

Yanda started toward him, the blank stare still plain on her face.

She had been shaped.

“Yanda. It’s Oliver. You need to fight whatever she did to you.”

A shaping built from Yanda with power.

Oliver used the spirit stick, attempting to layer the shaping on her, but there was resistance.

He glanced to the ground and saw that Margo still breathed.

Yanda’s work continued to build. He didn’t know what she would do, but Yanda had more talent in some ways than him. He couldn’t risk her attacking.

Hating himself for what he had to do, he took the knife from the ground and jammed it into Margo’s heart. The blood that spurted out sickened him. Not the sight of it—as a healer, he had seen enough blood that he no longer struggled with it as he once had—but the fact that blood was spilled by
his
hand.

Oliver turned his attention to Yanda.

She took a breath as if waking from a strange dream. “Oliver?” she asked when she saw him. Then, seeing him crouching in front of Margo, she gasped. “What happened?”

Yanda hurried forward and placed her hands on the knife, a shaping of water already forming.

Oliver grabbed her hands and pried them away. “No.”

“But Oliver, this is one of the council—”

He shook his head. “No,” he said again, his voice harder this time.

Yanda sank to the ground. “What happened? Why are you here?”

“You were shaped. Spirit, I would guess.”

“If that was spirit, it was nothing like the spirit you shape through the spirit stick.”

“Hester tried to do the same to me, but the stick blocks it. At least slows it,” he said. “He wasn’t able to get to me.”

And if they had? Why would they have summoned him before the entire council if a single shaper was capable of attacking like that? What purpose would there be for them to have wanted him there?

Oliver rolled Margo from side to side. Her lifeless eyes stared straight ahead, looking no different in death than they had in life.

“Come on,” he said, pulling Yanda to her feet.

They made it back to his room and he stopped, unable to enter.

“What is it?” Yanda said.

“He’s gone.”

“Who?”

Oliver staggered into his room, holding a shaping ready, afraid of what might come at him. Hester, or whoever he was, had already shown himself adept at masking himself, and he could shape without another knowing.

The room was empty.

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened.

“Hester. But not Hester,” he said, quickly explaining what had happened when he went to Hester’s room. “And I brought him back here, bound him in earth, and kept him unconscious with a shaping of water.”

Only the shaping must have failed.

Or had he lost focus during Margo’s attack?

That was more likely. He had barely managed to stop her, and it had taken his full attention to do so. That would have left him distracted and given Hester a chance to recover, probably enough that he could slice through the earth binding him and escape.

Oliver sighed.

“What about the others?” Yanda asked.

“I don’t know. They were all there when I was summoned to the Seat. But they didn’t attack me the same way.”

“Maybe they were only trying to determine what you knew. Was there something that happened that would make them interested in you?”

Yanda looked at him with an unreadable expression. Were it anyone else, and especially now, he would question why she asked. But this was Yanda. He
had
to trust her, didn’t he?

“I don’t think so,” he said.

Yanda watched him a moment and then nodded. “We have to notify—”

“Who?” he asked. “Who is there to notify? If the entire council is in on something, then who do we tell?”

He threw himself into one of his chairs, fear starting to send his heart fluttering. He hadn’t even been this scared when facing Margo, but now that it was over and he’d begun to think about what had happened, what they might be up against, the uncertainty of who he could trust, he felt overwhelmed and scared.

“Oh,” Yanda said, covering her mouth.

“What?”

“Just what you said, isn’t it?” she asked. “If the whole council is in on this, that means the commander too.”

If the commander was part of what was taking place, they were even worse off than he realized. There was no other shaper with near the strength, or skill, as the commander.

“Well, balls,” Oliver said.

W
hen Ciara could see
the forest, the draasin started a gradual descent back to the ground. She watched from the draasin’s back, wondering if they would encounter the dark shaper again. Had he waited for her? Regardless, she needed to return to find Cheneth. If for nothing else, she needed to ask about his relationship with her father.

No sign of attack came.

Ciara relaxed, leaning against the hot spikes of the draasin, settling between them. The wind had shifted as they flew, going from the hot of Rens to the cooler air of Ter and the mountains. The mist she’d seen when they flew from Ter returned, though it didn’t stream over the draasin with the same intensity as it had when they’d raced for safety.

As they neared the clearing, the draasin sent an image into her mind.

It was the clearing, shown in reds and oranges, and two people stood waiting, looking at the sky. Through the image the draasin provided, she couldn’t tell who they were, but the draasin didn’t seem concerned, which made it likely that they were shapers she had encountered before.

Closer to the ground, Ciara could make out the features of Jasn Volth and the dark-haired draasin rider.

Stormbringer!

She hadn’t even considered that the woman would be angry at Ciara for summoning the draasin and taking her from Ter. If this was
her
draasin, then she shouldn’t have.

But did the draasin really belong to anyone?

The elemental banked again, turning her wings so that she drifted to the ground, passing through the illusion with a tingle that rolled through her.

As soon as they landed, the woman hurried forward and stopped in front of the draasin.

“Alena,” Jasn Volth said.

The woman tipped her head for a moment, then turned her attention to Ciara, ignoring Jasn Volth. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t
do
anything,” Ciara said.

“Alena!” Jasn Volth said again.

“Not now, Volth. This
girl
rode off with the draasin. I would like to know how. And why.”

Ciara patted the draasin. “Thank you,” she whispered to the elemental.

The draasin tapped her tail on the ground as if acknowledging her. Once Ciara was off, she made her way to the edge of the stone and curled up, wrapping her tail around her haunch.

“How were you able to ride the draasin?” Alena asked.

Ciara took her j’na and set it into the ground. Even with the soft tap, light surged from the draasin-glass tip. “I summoned her.”

“Summoned?”

Ciara nodded. “That’s why I came to your lands. I need to learn how to master summoning the draasin from Cheneth.”

Alena glanced at Jasn Volth. “Cheneth doesn’t know how to summon the draasin.”

Ciara thought about what her father had said. Cheneth had trained others of Rens, had
created
the ala’shin. If that was what she was to be, he would understand what it was that he had done for her people. And what it meant for her.

“He knows more than you realize,” Ciara said.

Jasn Volth barked out a laugh.

“What did you do to the draasin?” Alena asked.

“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything to her.”

“She’s… she’s changed.”

Ciara looked over at the draasin and the way that she curled up, tail wrapped around her. She seemed no different than when Ciara had first seen her. If anyone had changed, it would have been Ciara, not the draasin. “Nothing other than defend her against Tenebeth.”

“He came for the draasin?” Jasn asked.

“His servant. The dark rider appeared when I came…” Ciara flushed. “When I came here to practice summoning.”

“What dark rider?” Alena asked.

“The one who claimed the draasin. The one defeated in Tsanth.”

Jasn sucked in a sharp breath. “Thenas? He lives?”

“I thought you said he was destroyed. I thought the attack—”

“I thought the same. Are you certain it was him?” he asked Ciara.

“I didn’t recognize him, but he claimed this was his draasin. He controlled a dark power and wanted to take her with him.”

“How is it that you survived?” Alena asked.

Ciara took a deep breath and tapped the j’na on the ground with a sharp strike. Light surged from the end of the spear, and the draasin lifted her head as if waiting to see what else Ciara might do. She pointed the spear toward Alena. “This dissipated the darkness.”

There was a part of Ciara that still didn’t know how she had managed it. She had used nothing more than a summoning pattern and her spear to fend off a shaper of terrible power.

That was why she had returned. She needed to know what else she might be able to do with the power she possessed and
why
she possessed any power at all.

“Did you know that she could do this?” Alena asked Jasn.

“I haven’t exactly been watching her studies with Cheneth, if that’s what you’re asking. Cheneth has his own secrets, and we aren’t always a part of his plan.”

“No. And that’s part of the problem, isn’t it? Cheneth continues to run off, doing whatever he thinks needs to be done, leaving the rest of us with uncertainty, not knowing what exactly he intends.”

Alena turned her attention back to Ciara. “Where did Thenas go?”

“I don’t know. He chased us for a while, but the draasin flew faster than he could travel.” For that, she had been thankful. If the shaper had managed to keep up with her while she was on the draasin’s back, she’d have had no way to use her j’na, no way to defend herself.

Her father claimed the ala’shin could learn to use their power without the focus, but Ciara still needed the j’na and couldn’t image a time that she wouldn’t.

“He’s gone,” Alena said, shaking her head, “but if he’s still out there…”

“Cheneth needs to know. We need to be more vigilant,” Jasn said.

Alena nodded.

“Why did you ask what I did?” Ciara asked. When Alena didn’t answer, Ciara pushed. “When you appeared, you said I had done something to the draasin. Why did you think I had?”

“Because she’s changed. She was reluctant before, but she’s not anymore.”

Ciara looked at the draasin. There hadn’t been anything reluctant about her. The draasin had helped her, had saved her, had answered her summons. “Why was she reluctant?”

“She feared what happened to her. She feared the darkness returning and didn’t think anything could be done to prevent it.”

“And now?”

“She’s seen what you were willing to do. She hasn’t—or won’t—share with me everything that happened, but she… she trusts you.”

“She saved me.”

Alena breathed out. “I think you might have saved her. And, possibly, even more than you realize.”