Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) (23 page)

Whyborne

I
watched Griffin carefully as we made our way back through the twisted labyrinth
of the city. For the most part, he seemed well enough, but my fears didn’t ease.
Once or twice, he stumbled over nothing, like a man regaining his land legs
after a long voyage at sea. His eyes scanned the walls, the murals, even the
floor and ceiling avidly, as if seeing something new and fascinating at every
turn.

Workers
swarmed before us, and the stately soldiers floated ponderously ahead and
behind. What if I had made some terrible mistake?

Then I’d
made a mistake. I couldn’t dither about the future, not when I had Griffin to
worry over in the present. He could see arcane energy now, and possibly other
things as well. What would that do to him? Would it make him vulnerable to
mental manipulation, as I was vulnerable to the dweller?

A fear
for another day. What was done was done, and we might none of us survive this.
And if we did, I’d teach him everything I knew about how to strengthen his
mental defenses. Just in case.

I took
his hand in mine. The air grew colder as we ascended, but his wedding band was
still warm from the heat of his body. He cast me a questioning look, but I only
squeezed his fingers. He seemed to understand, though, squeezing mine back and
walking closer to me, so our arms brushed together.

But his
affection brought up another concern. “What does Jack think about…us?” I asked,
careful to keep my voice low.

“I think
he’s more confused than anything. But I talked to him, tried to explain to him
that we’ve built a life together.” Griffin shook his head. “I’m sorry I tried
to keep our relationship hidden. I should have told him before we came here,
and let him decide to either look past it or cut off all ties with me. After
Pa…”

“It was
difficult for you. I understand.”

He shook
his head. “Yes, but that isn’t what I meant. After Pa, I should have learned my
lesson. It’s one thing to be cautious, to conceal ourselves from the public
gaze. But any family I want to be close to will find out eventually, one way or
the other. If my other brother is still alive, and I’m lucky enough to find
him, I’ll explain everything as soon as it seems prudent to do so. That way, if
he’s been convinced by a second-rate sorcerer that you’re some terrible
influence, it will either confirm things or make him question them sooner.”

“Do
you think the Endicotts might find him?” How far would they go to see me
destroyed?

“They
found Jack,” Griffin pointed out. “But without knowing where he might be, there’s
nothing we can do about it. And if we do find him, and he proves to be repulsed
by my inclinations, at least it means your cousins can’t use him as a tool
against us.”

“True.”
I didn’t point out there were other ways it could go wrong. Blackmail would
always be a possibility, should we be found out by those unsympathetic to our
love. But at the moment, walking down an underground corridor built in primeval
times, accompanied by floating monsters, on our way to try and stop Turner from
handing over a new Mother of Shadows to the Endicotts, blackmail and scandal
seemed so inconsequential as to not even bother mentioning.

When we
reached the great doors, I stopped well back from them and let go of Griffin’s
hand. He went to the doorway, staring at something none of us could see. He
stretched out one hand, almost in a caress.

“What
does it look like?” Jack asked.

Griffin’s
mouth thinned. “Like…knots? A tangle of magic. Spiky and sparking. Fire in the
air.”

A chill
went through me. I didn’t like the cadence his voice had taken on, not quite
his own. “Griffin,” I said quietly.

He
blinked. “Yes. Forgive me.” He regarded the lines only he could perceive for a
long moment, then nodded, as if he’d come to some conclusion.

Or as if
agreeing with someone the rest of us couldn’t hear.

“I think
the easiest thing will be for me to guide you, Whyborne,” he said. “Stand
behind me and put your hands over mine. If you feel the shape of the spell, you
can break it, correct?”

“Possibly,”
I said. I started toward him, then stopped, recalling my reaction to the arcane
power I’d taken from the cursed pearl back in Widdershins. “I think the rest of
you should go on ahead.”

Christine
frowned. She’d recovered enough to walk unassisted, although I worried how she
would hold up on the long climb back to the surface. “You aren’t about to do
something foolish, are you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Of
course not!” My cheeks heated as I tried to think of some less embarrassing
explanation. “I’m not entirely certain what will happen to the arcane energy
when the seals break. Probably nothing, but it makes no sense to endanger
anyone other than the two of us. Just as a precaution.”

Her eyes
narrowed. “Very well. We’ll await you at the top of the ramp. And you’d best
not make us wait long.”

She and
Iskander started off, but Jack wavered. “I should stay…”

“Go,
Jack,” Griffin said. “It will be all right. I trust Whyborne with my life.”

When
Jack departed, Griffin glanced at me. “Is it so dangerous?”

“No,” I
confessed. My face felt scalded. “It’s just, when I broke the curse on the
pearl, it…affected me. I don’t know for certain this will, but…well.”

Griffin
frowned. “Why are you blushing? How exactly did the curse breaker affect you?”

“Can we
please just get on with it?”

“Very
well.” He turned back to the doorway and held out his hands, resting them against
something I couldn’t see. Pressing against his back, I reached out and wrapped
my hands over his, fingers splayed between his.

He
leaned back into me. “Now close your eyes,” he murmured. “And try to
see
the pattern I trace.”

I
obeyed. With my eyes shut, I became keenly aware of the thick layers of
clothing separating us. The smell of his skin, the honest scent of sweat
cutting through the acrid stew of the umbrae. The soft sigh of his breath. The
back of his hands against my palms, warm and inviting.

And
beneath that, a flicker. As I’d felt when mapping the lines of power in
Widdershins, or studying the cursed pearl.

“Do you
sense it?” he asked.

“Yes.”
My voice was ragged, thick.

He moved
his hands, tracing the lines of the spells, my fingers threaded through his.
The pattern bloomed in my mind, streaks of fire against the darkness. The
sigils drew their strength from the sun, and on this, the darkest night of the
year, they lay vulnerable and exposed. I could
feel
the power now,
throbbing under my fingers, in my temples, my scars, my groin. And I could feel
him against me, so close but cruelly separated by our heavy clothing.
Everything else fell away; there existed only us and darkness and fire.

“Again,”
I said, because I had to get this right.

His
hands moved, tracing lines. Power flowed now, through us, between us, as I
mapped the ancient sigils like a lover’s skin. My heart pounded and my cock
ached. Griffin’s hood had fallen back, his hair against my lips. I lowered my
head, licked the skin on the nape of his neck.

A little
gasp escaped him, and it sent blood jolting through me. “Ival, what…?”

The
scars on my arm ached, but not unpleasantly, more like an itch that feels
almost sensuously good to scratch. Power shimmered beneath my fingers, thick
here, thin there. I probed the gaps, felt them yield against my will. Stifling
a groan, I bit the back of Griffin’s neck where I had licked before.

He cried
out and shuddered against me. Pleasure sizzled through me at the press of cloth
against heated flesh, but it wasn’t enough. He rubbed his hips back against me
with a whimper, seeking friction.

The
strands of the spell wrapped around us, reacting to my touch. I tightened the
fingers of my right hand around his as I found the softest point of the seals,
the key to unraveling everything.

Yes.
There.

I thrust
in, my body a living tool for my will, the spell yielding before me. Griffin
cried out again. Power trembled and I tasted burning copper in my mouth. My
scars ached hotly as I drank down the spell’s energy. Its arcane fire seemed to
scald me from the inside. The smell of scorched wool rose from my right sleeve,
but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered but this: heat and fire and power
and—

Something
gave way, like the snapping of a rubber band. I stumbled back, blinking dazedly
against the lantern light, bright after the darkness behind my eyes. My breath came
in ragged spurts, my cock heavy, and my blood burned. Griffin turned to face
me, his eyes wild with lust. For a moment, I thought he might drop to his knees
in front of me then and there.

I wanted
him to. I wanted to tear aside his clothing and take him on the floor, make him
beg for more while I fucked him.

No. I
flung my hand out to stay him, and forced myself to take deep breaths.

“I can
see the power in you,” he said hoarsely.

“We have
to go.” I swallowed hard. “Stop Turner.”

“I…yes.”
He took a deep breath. “I see why you asked the others to leave.”

Displaced
air hissed behind me. The soldiers emerged from the corridor, gliding forward.
One passed over my head and, for the first time in untold millennia, left the
city where its kind had been sealed.

I lowered
my hand. “Come,” I said. And walked back through the doorway, the power I’d
stolen from the seals boiling in my blood.

Griffin

Whyborne
burned.

I saw
the lacework of scars on his arm, glowing even through the layers of clothing.
His eyes streamed blue flame, and the sheer power of the arcane energy he’d
absorbed felt like a banked fire against my skin. His spiky hair crackled with
it, like static.

Even
when I’d been at my most suspect of his sorcery, watching him cast spells
always moved me. His confidence, the look on his face when the world changed
according to his will: haughty and heated at the same time. I wanted to beg him
to master me, the way he mastered the very forces of nature, to do anything and
everything he wished with me, to me.

The burn
and friction of magic on my nerves as he manipulated the energy around us, the
feel of his teeth on my neck, had been too much, and I’d spent in my drawers
like a youth. But I still wanted to throw myself at his feet and beg him to
fuck my mouth.

I needed
to focus, damn it. The seals had fallen, but we still had to catch up with
Turner. He might be in Hoarfrost by now.

I paused
just long enough to pull out a handkerchief and hastily clean up. Then we
joined Christine, Iskander, and Jack at the top of the ramp. Soldiers hovered
in the vast space, waiting for us, I thought. I could still hear them talking
with the Mother of Shadows in a faint hum, like a whispered conversation in
another room.

“Thank
heavens!” Christine exclaimed on seeing us. Then she made a fist with her good
hand and punched Whyborne in the shoulder. “Didn’t I tell you we’d find a way
out?”

“Yes,
yes.” He scowled back at her.

She frowned.
“Are you all right?”

They
couldn’t see him the way I could. “I absorbed the energy from the seals.” His
voice was taut, the words clipped, as if half his concentration was elsewhere. “In
case I need to use it against Turner. But I’m not certain how long I can hold
on to it before I’m forced to let it dissipate.”

She
looked worried, but nodded. “Then let’s hurry. Perhaps if he left us any sleds,
the umbrae can pull them for us in place of the dogs. I imagine they’d be much
faster.”

“Hitching
umbrae to a sled? Only you would come up with such an idea, Christine,”
Whyborne muttered.

“Oh, don’t
be jealous I thought of it first.”

“Do we
need to face Turner at all?” Iskander asked. “Surely the umbrae can retrieve
the chrysalis without our help.”

“Please,
let me at least talk to Nicholas,” Jack said with pleading in his eyes.
“Perhaps I can convince him to hand over the chrysalis on his own. That way no
one else has to be hurt.”

I didn’t
think it likely, but as Jack said, it was worth trying. We’d be no worse off if
Turner proved unable to be reasoned with. “All right, Jack. We’ll try it your
way.”

We made
our way through the series of interconnected rooms. As the last one leading to the
rift opened up, the light of Iskander’s lantern fell across a figure lying like
a discarded heap of rags in one corner.

“Scarrow!”
Jack exclaimed, and ran to him.

I
hastened to help Jack. The reverend let out a little moan as we rolled him onto
his back—alive, thank God.

Blood
caked the side of his face, and one eye swelled shut. The clothing over his
left leg was charred, revealing blackened skin underneath. Pain contorted his
features, but he managed to shift into a sitting position with Jack’s help. “You’re
alive,” Scarrow said with a grin that was more grimace. “A pleasure to see you
again, Dr. Whyborne, Dr. Putnam.”

I
studied Scarrow carefully. He didn’t look different to me the way Whyborne had,
but there was something about him, some shift of shadow or brightness of eye, which
whispered he’d been touched by arcane power. If we managed to survive this, at
least I could be certain of never being tricked by a sorcerer again.

“What
happened?” I asked. “I take it you caught up with Turner. Did he escape?”

“In a
way. I found him in the rift. Atop the temple straddling the old river.” He
shifted his weight and winced. Clear fluid oozed from the cracked skin of his
leg.

“We need
to tend your wound,” I said. “Iskander, do you have—”

“No
time,” Scarrow cut in. “Listen to me. Turner changed his plans, I assume
because he stole a queen rather than the soldier he’d expected to find. He’s
not taking her back to Cornwall. He’s performing a ritual to force her to hatch
early.”

“What,
here?” Whyborne demanded.

Scarrow
nodded. “Yes. Your guess as to why is as good as mine.”

“He felt
slighted by the Endicotts,” Whyborne said with a glance at me.

“Why
doesn’t matter, only that he’s still here, and we have a real chance to catch
him,” Christine said.

Iskander
nodded. “Indeed. Christine, you stay here with Reverend Scarrow.”

Her eyes
widened and I half expected her to puff up like an angry cobra. “I most
certainly will not!”

“You
aren’t in any condition to fight, and you sodding well know it.” His lips
tightened. “I won’t stand by and watch you get yourself killed out of
stubbornness.”

“The
reverend has a rifle,” Christine shot back. “If I have something to prop it on,
I can at least aim and pull a trigger.”

“We don’t
have time for this,” Whyborne cut in. “Iskander is right. Turner has only one
guard left alive. We’re more than a match for him.”

He didn’t
wait for her to argue, only turned and strode toward the entrance leading out
to the rift. Wind whispered through the room in his wake, power trembling in
the air. Christine looked furious, but I thought Whyborne had made the right
decision. We couldn’t wait for the wounded to slow us down. I didn’t know what
would happen if Turner forced the queen to hatch prematurely, other than it
would do her no good.

It
likely wouldn’t do us any good, either.

We
emerged onto a balcony with a low wall, overlooking the great rift dividing the
city. Below us lay the ancient watercourse, long dead. The delicate bridges
leapt it at various intervals, and I could see the magic wrapped about the
stones, holding them together long after the ravages of time should have torn
them down. The glowing slime cast an eerie blue light over everything, and high
above us the belly of the glacier groaned as it crawled slowly down the
mountain.

Turner
stood atop the temple, as if waiting for us. The body of the last guard lay at
his feet, gutted in sacrifice by his knife.

“Nicholas,”
Jack whispered. “No. Damn it, no. Why would you do this?”

Magic
twisted in the air around the platform, forming a net, which pierced and bound
the dark shape behind Turner. The Mother of Shadows had been inhuman, terrible,
all coils and feelers. And yet her form possessed its own symmetry, its own
rightness.

The
creature squirming on the platform behind Turner looked painfully incomplete.
Forced too soon from her chrysalis, her glowing eye had three separate pupils,
and her feelers were stunted. Rudimentary wings unfurled from her back, no
doubt meant to be shed after a mating flight, but they curled and twisted into
uselessness.

Whyborne
tensed beside me. Energy snapped around him, seeking release. A cry of pain
echoed in my head, whether from the Mother of Shadows or the young queen in
front of me, I couldn’t say. The umbrae rushed past us, intent on freeing the
stolen queen.

The cry
sharpened, crystallized. Some of the umbrae jerked, as if struck.

Then, without
hesitation, they turned on their fellows. Acid-coated feelers lashed out, and
wings tried to envelop. They made no sound, but I could hear their shrieks in
my head as they grappled wildly. I stumbled, felt Whyborne grab my elbow to
keep me on my feet.

“The
little queen,” I gasped. “She’s strong—some of the umbrae hear her now, instead
of the Mother of Shadows.”

“Oh
hell,” Jack whispered, staring up at where Turner stood laughing now high above
us. “We just brought him an army.”