Invincible (24 page)

His eyes glared at her unblinking, daring comment.

“I bequeath it to you willingly,” he said. “Now
let me in
.”

Ink hesitated. Joy nodded, humbled and unsure. It was still another moment before Ink set the blade to the ward's edge, looping another exception, winding it into the shape of Avery's Name. Ink hesitated over the solid line of protection, and with a last glance between Joy and the snow-haired courtier, severed it. The breach snuffed. The ward reformed, including the newest exception: Avery. Ink stepped back, stiff as glass.

Avery launched from the branch and landed softly with the barest tap of his boots on the floorboards, his cloak settling about him like wings. Ink stepped in front of Joy like a shield or a claim. All she could do was stare.

“I can't believe—” she sputtered.

“That's part of your problem,” Avery said haughtily. “One of many. But currently, you have other things to worry about.”

“Speak your piece,” Ink said. “As you say, we have other pressing matters.”

Avery sized up Ink from head to toe as if reconsidering his previous assessments. He spoke over the Scribe's shoulder at Joy. “The Twixt is in an uproar. A veritable civil war has broken out around the scandal of forgetting our King and Queen and lost kin, thanks to you. While the revelation puts many in your debt, it doubtless also has made many fear the repercussions—our monarchs are not known to forgive treason lightly. This, of course, puts you back squarely in the crosshairs of the Tide, which subsequently puts us back on the outs with the Head of the Council and their supporters. In essence, the truth you have brought to light has plunged us into an unforeseen darkness.” He glanced over what was left of Stef's room, disapproval shadowing his face. “You understand the many reasons that the Folk must never war with one another,” he said. “Both our dwindling numbers and our obligations to protect the magic of this world prevent us from infighting to this degree.” Avery glanced at Ink like a challenge. “We cannot risk further strife. I freed you with the understanding that you would bring an end to it.” He was affronted, insistent. “You
must
bring the lost monarchs home!”

She growled back, “I'm
working
on it!”

“Really?” he said. “It looked like you were watching television.”

Joy rolled her eyes and stepped from behind Ink. “I don't have to answer to you!”

“No, but you will have to answer to whomever purchases your secret.” Avery's statement made Joy's breath hitch and Ink's razor flash in his hand. The courtier noted both with approval. He'd succeeded in getting their attention. “Fortunately for you, once a secret is officially sold, the seller cannot divulge it to anyone save the person who purchased it.” His false smile faded. “Unfortunately for you, the fact that there's a secret up for auction means that someone possesses some rather damaging information that they are willing to release, undoubtedly for no good end.” Avery whistled through his teeth. “I hope you know what this secret is so that you can take measures to protect yourself.”

Joy hesitated. She had a very good idea what the secret might be, but no idea whatsoever what she or anyone else could do about it, least of all Ink.
He doesn't know. I haven't told him. I haven't told anyone. So how can it be for sale?

“And lastly,” Avery said. “There are murmurs that all of this was foretold in the lost times of prophecy and legend, that this, now, is the end of an era—the end of our world—and that you, Joy Malone, are its harbinger, known as the Destroyer of Worlds.”

Air dried the surface of her tongue. She closed her mouth with a snap.

He hadn't said anything about Aniseed. Nothing at all.

Avery frowned slowly. “You don't seem surprised.”

Ink shifted lightly on his feet. “Neither do you.”

Avery ignored him. Ink squeezed the razor's handle, an infinitesimal creak. Joy pushed past them both to stand alone in the middle of the room, choosing her words with care. “I don't think that anything the Folk say would surprise me anymore.”

“You claim to know nothing of this?” Avery asked.

Joy shrugged, arms crossed. “You give me too much credit.”

It wasn't an answer and they both knew it.

“And this secret of yours?”

She frowned. “Like I'd tell you.”

He cocked his head to one side, uncomfortably like Ink. “I showed you mine,” he said wryly.

Ink barked, “Get out.”

He brushed past Ink, cool as snow. “I came to warn you,” he said with a twitch of his shoulders. The feathers fluttered and laid to rest. He stood within inches of Joy. “You surround yourself with those who wish to protect you and at least one who has betrayed you.”

Joy was angry enough to dare. “Which one are you?”

Avery stopped, surprised. “Me?” he said, his ocean eyes darkening. “I have wanted nothing but—” He paused, looking at Ink as if suddenly remembering he was there. The edge of his cloak flicked as he withdrew a step. His gaze dropped. “I have wanted nothing from you.”

Something about the words tugged at her. Avery seemed uncomfortably evasive.

That's when it struck her:
Wanted. Past tense.

“You know where he is, don't you?” Avery said, changing the subject quickly. “The Bailiwick.”

Joy shrugged, avoiding Ink's stare. “Why do you ask?”

“The Council is after him,” Avery said. “And they are after you. You are scattering your resources, which is tactically unsound.”

Joy chuckled. “You sound like Filly.”

“She's a warrior,” Avery said. “She knows the art of war. And make no mistake, Joy, this is war. You should be gathering your forces, for protection if nothing else. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.'” He frowned. “Perhaps then you would be able to discern one from the other.”

She turned away. “I don't want to put my closest friends in the line of fire.”

His arm shot out and he grabbed her as if to shake some sense into her. Ink's razor appeared at his throat. Avery ignored it, staring at Joy, his eyes burning, intense. “We're already there, whether you like it or not!” he said. “Accept help! Stop pushing us away!”

His word was
us
but his tone said
me
. Joy hesitated, speechless, wondering what she could say. She tore at his fingers, and he dropped his grip. Ink removed the razor's edge by degrees. There wasn't even a line where the blade had been. Avery swallowed, not taking his gaze from Joy. Ink hovered on the edge of the storm.

“You want to help?” Joy said. “Help me bring proof that it's safe for the King and Queen and everyone else to Return! The sooner we do that, the sooner this is over!” Her arms dropped. She swallowed thickly. Saying it out loud brought the reality home—how dangerous their plan was, how impossible, how frail. Joy stepped backward, away from it all. “Then, maybe, it will be safe for me, too.”

Avery stared at her, stunned, a moment longer than comfortable. He straightened his swallowtail coat with a snap. “I came to deliver my warnings,” he said almost apologetically. “It is up to you whether to heed them or not.”

Risking yourself in the process
, Joy thought, but she didn't say it aloud. She'd backed into the door again, her fingers sliding over the knob. She felt more than saw Ink's gaze on her as she watched Avery. Falling into the sea was much colder than falling into fathomless black.

“Thank you. For telling me. For coming.” She turned the knob, muttering. “Thanks.”

He bowed, saying nothing. His eyes scanned the windowsill where his
signatura
burned, woven into the fabric of the ward.

“Thank you for allowing it,” he said, perhaps to Ink's shoes. “I will return if I hear more,” he added quietly. “Fare well, Joy.” He said it like two words, dual meanings.

She said nothing as he lifted the hem of his cloak high over his head and let it drop, erasing himself in a fall of white feathers.

Ink spun around, sheathing his razor and his gloom as if they'd been erased by Avery's leaving. He paused by the door.

“You would do well to listen to him,” he said.

“Really?” Joy asked. “I'm surprised. I was pretty sure you hated him.”

Ink paused, testing the truth of his words. “It does not matter what I think,” he said. “Originally, he may have aligned with the Tide, but three times now he came for you.” Ink stepped through the doorway before she could follow. “We will always come for you.”

When she stepped into the hallway, Ink was gone.

Joy shut the door quickly behind her and hurried back to the den. Her mind whirled as she flumped down on the couch, staring at whatever was happening on-screen. It was just colors and light and meaningless noise.

“Feeling better?” Dad said with a chuckle in his voice.

“Uh—”

“Tell Mark I say ‘Hi' and invite him to come in the front door next time.”

“Okay,” said Joy, hugging a pillow close to her gut. “I will.”

She watched two people kissing on-screen, having completely forgotten who they were.

* * *

Joy felt a hand ruffling her awake. She could still taste the mint of her toothpaste in her mouth—she couldn't have been asleep long.

She blinked into the lamplight and Ink's dark eyes. Her playlist droned in one earbud; the other squawked on her pillow. She shut off the music.

“Hey,” she said sleepily.

“Hello,” he said, hovering by her nightstand. “May I?”

She scooted over as he sat on the edge of her bed. She rubbed her eyes as they came into focus, the soft light sliding off his silver shirt and wallet chain.

“You left.”

“I left.”

“But you came back.”

Ink's face softened. “I will always come back.”

It melted something uncertain between them. Joy placed a hand by his arm. “Where did you go?”

A business card appeared between his fingers. “I commissioned something to get you safely through Faeland.” He placed the card on her nightstand. She recognized the familiar black squiggle of Idmona's logo. “Your fitting is scheduled for tomorrow, at your convenience, but we should not pursue Stef until then.”

“Thank you,” she said, tucking one elbow under her pillow. “Have you been standing here watching me sleep?”

“No,” he said, sounding curious. “Would you like me to?”

“No,” she said, smiling wider. “It's supposed to be sweet, but I think it's kind of creepy.”

“I remember watching you sleep,” he said, brushing a curl of hair off her cheek. “I did not like it. I watched over you because you asked me to stay.” He glanced back at the desk chair. “Your pain was my pain, even then.”

Joy remembered the night he'd sat vigil after Hasp had kidnapped her and Briarhook had burned his brand into her arm. Briarhook was one of many nightmares she'd experienced during her time in the Twixt and she had asked Ink to stay as she slept off Graus Claude's medicines and Kurt's healing salves. Even though she'd removed the brand, along with Aniseed's deadly poison, some scars took longer to heal. Ink was the only thing that kept those kinds of nightmares at bay.

She touched his hand, stroking the lines of veins and knuckles, the tiny details they'd made together as they crafted him to look more human.

He inspected her face in the near dark. A smile tugged at his lips. “I like you much better awake.”

“Am I awake?” she asked lazily. “I feel like I'm still dreaming.”

The bed groaned under his hands as he bent forward. He stared down at her, smiling, one dimple tucked in his cheek.

“I am quite certain,” he said, his lips hovering over hers. His eyes grew deeper, beyond the black to the inky substance that made up both Scribes and
signaturae
. A second dimple appeared just before he kissed her. A gentle kiss, the brush of lips that stayed, lingering, on the tip of the tongue.

She opened her mouth and kissed him deeper. The mattress groaned again. Joy let out a sigh that was half contentment, half yearning.

“I've been waiting for you,” she said as he lay down beside her. Her hands caressed his backbone, under his shirt.

“I am here,” he breathed into her mouth. His breath was warm and sweet, sending shivers under the covers. Her body rose to meet his as he held her close. “I am very, very here.”

TWENTY

WEDNESDAY MORNING YAWNED
pink and green, the sun tucked behind a soft down of smeared clouds. Joy rolled over in a tight circle of blankets. Half of the bed had been taken over by Ink.

Ink was getting better at feigning sleep. Joy would wake up all at once, but he would join her in stages; it was turning into a game between them. It would start with peeking at each other to see if the other person was awake, which turned into a series of winks and smiles, then blinking and laughter. Kissing, of course, trumped everything. Joy was beginning to love mornings with Ink.

Their lips parted slowly. Ink tasted like fresh water and smelled like rain. He rested his forehead against her temple and laid his arm across her chest. The pillows had rearranged themselves on the headboard and the floor. He caught her gaze, and she fell once again into those fathomless, midnight eyes like a kid jumping into the deep end of the pool.

Joy smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said back instead of his earlier “Is it?” which had taken some time to explain. Words didn't always mean what they said and sometimes, Joy explained, they were just noises humans said to one another. Ink said that even meaninglessness meant something—it meant that you weren't alone.

He brushed her hair out of her eyes and grinned as it flipped back. He played with her bangs, and she played with his sideburns until their fingers tangled in each other's hair and they were kissing again.

“Your father is home,” Ink reminded her between kisses.

“Mmm,” she said, kissing him back.

“We are supposed to meet Filly,” he said, his words smothered and thick as his legs tangled with hers. “And Vinh. And Idmona. To rescue your brother.”

“Mmm.”

They pulled closer, tighter, twining together like two strands of yarn.

Joy's phone buzzed. She rolled away, breaking contact. Ink propped up on one elbow as Joy read the ID.

“This you stop for?” he asked.

“Yeah. Hang on,” Joy felt a prickle of worry. Monica usually texted instead of called. She thumbed the phone icon. “Hey, Mon.”

“Hey, Joy,” Monica sounded equally uncertain. “Sorry to call so early, but I think something's wrong.” Joy could hear her pacing. “I got a package in the mail, and you know how things have been weird with Gordon lately? I thought he'd sent me a present to, you know, make up or something.”

“Uh-huh,” Joy said, sitting up. “Okay.”

Monica's voice sounded strained. “So it's a necklace. I put it on, but now I can't take it off.” There was more than a hint of desperation now. “I don't mean like the clasp is stuck. I mean, when I try to take it off, it gets a little tighter. At first I thought I was imagining things, but now I'm pretty sure and it's kind of freaking me out, so I thought I'd call you—”

“We'll be right there!” Joy said, launching out of bed and grabbing her jeans. “Hang on! Don't move!”

Monica paused. “Wait a minute.
We?
”

“Shut up. Stay on the phone.”

Ink was already pulling his shirt over his head. Joy fumbled with her flip-flops. The wallet chain rattled against Ink's hip as he shoved his feet into boots, flipped the razor in his hand and grabbed Joy's wrist. She kept the phone to her ear as they spliced through the void, the feedback squealing and breaking into static as they stepped through the other side into Monica's hallway on the second floor. Joy dropped the phone.

“Monica?”

There was a thump of footsteps. “Down here!”

They nearly crashed in the foyer, Monica's eyes wide as Ink and Joy rushed down the stairs. Her fingers were fastened around a necklace of creamy pearls.

“How did you two get in here?”

“Indelible Airlines,” Joy said. “You okay?”

“Do I look okay?” Monica kept her fingers tucked in front of her throat. “As long as I don't try to take it off, we seem to have come to some agreement about whether or not I keep breathing.” Her smile was weak. Her lips were chapped. “When I saw a choker of pearls, I didn't think it meant literally!”

Joy took out her scalpel and Ink unfolded his wallet, inspecting the blades. “It's okay,” Joy said. “We'll figure this out.” She hoped that saying the words aloud would make them true.

Ink circled Monica, inspecting the necklace. “Where did you get this?”

“Delivered via FedEx,” Monica said, leading them into the dining room. “Look.” She gestured at the cardboard packaging, the brown paper fill and the rich, robin's-egg blue box inside. “It's Tiffany's! Who would suspect something evil from Tiffany's?” Her humor was strained. “Miss Manners
does not
approve.”

Joy could see the subtle shifting of glyphs along the pearls. The oozing shapes slithered icy down her spine. “It's enspelled.”

“No duh!” Monica snapped.

Ink tucked his razor back into his wallet. “It is resisting being removed in order to give the spell time to infuse,” he said. “Once clasped, it activates, closing the circle. It is a contact spell set on the pearls' surface, absorbed through the skin.”

Monica shifted uncomfortably. “Fascinating. Really. Can you get it off me?”

“Let me see,” Ink said, following the loop of pearls to the small golden clasp at the back of her neck.

“Be careful,” Monica said with a quiver. “I tried using the letter opener and the thing shot blue sparks and singed one of my extensions. Burned plastic hair smells the
worst
.”

“He'll be careful,” Joy said, holding Monica's curls out of the way as Ink swapped his razor for the silver quill with delicately carved fletchings and a wicked-sharp tip. He pinched the clasp and touched the angled shaft to the thread.

Joy saw the flash. The sigils flared and Monica doubled over, gagging and clutching her throat.

“Monica!” Joy screamed.

Ink held the back of Monica's necklace, trying to slip his fingers under the pearls pressed deep into her brown-black flesh. His fingers slid off the tiny globes, scrabbling for purchase as Monica buckled forward, bending over, mouth wide.

“Hold her,” he said. Joy grabbed Monica's shoulders, trying to keep her steady. Her friend's tongue stuck out and her eyes were wild. Joy clenched her teeth, whimpering. The choking noises grew thin.

“Ink! Stop it!” Joy begged. “Make it stop!”

Face impassive, Ink struggled to catch the cord between his fingers, calculating an opening, a moment to strike. Joy knew that one mistake could mark Monica the same way she'd been marked, becoming his unintentioned
lehman
, but waiting too long might kill her. Joy squeezed her friend's shoulders as Monica pitched to the side. “No no no no...!”

Joy slipped and fell. Ink grimaced. Monica wheezed.

There was a burst of gold sparks outside the window.

Joy looked up. Sol Leander loomed outside the ward. His cloak rippled in the wind, face furious.

“Bring her to me!” he shouted through the magic and glass.

“NO!” Joy screamed back. “GO AWAY!”

“Joy—” Ink warned.

“Now!” barked Sol Leander.

Monica curled forward; a tiny wisp of sound eked out.

She collapsed. Joy screamed again.

Ink slashed the air, a complicated loop. A golden cascade disappeared with a zipping noise. The ward was gone. Sol Leander strode through the window as if it wasn't there. Ink drew Joy back in an iron grip, as loving and firm as he had on the lip of Faeland, and just as unwanted.

“Joy,” Ink said. “Don't.”

Sol Leander lifted Monica in his arms and carried her out onto the lawn through the illusion of walls. The grass was still wet from the sprinklers and caught the sunlight like dewdrops. He sank down on one knee, his cape settling in a blanket of stars as he set his hands along either side of her throat. His fingers fastened like claws.

Joy jerked against Ink's arms. Her voice tore loose.

“MONICA!”

The world blurred, a mess of light and stars and robin's-egg blue. Joy could sense the grass through the window—the stones and earth and welcoming soil. She wanted to punch through the foundation, reach through the rubble and rock and ruin and grab the power that was there. Drink it in. Let it fill her. Let it burn her alive.
Let
everything
burn!
And then she would rise up against her enemies and
BURY ALL THAT STOOD IN HER PATH TO HAVE HER REVENGE!

Joy strained, her head pounding in agony. She ached for the cold and the iron and the blood of the earth, the taste of metal and stone and old, old ice. Her rage was without color, her ears echoed without sound, and it was only because she was trapped in Ink's embrace that she failed to do any of it. He held her back.

“Joy!”

Her eyes snapped open, her fury dissipating, her body dropping to the floor as she watched the tiny white orbs fall into the grass. Sol Leander had severed the necklace.

Monica blinked and touched her throat. Inhaling deeply, she sat up, coughing. She rubbed at the skin of her neck, looking pissed.

“Ow!” she hacked and glared at Sol Leander. “That hurt!”

Sol Leander's eyebrows arched, nearly touching his high widow's peak.

“You can see me?” he said, fanning his fingers before her eyes. “You have the
Sight
?” He whirled about, pointing a finger straight at Joy, his cloak snapping in anger. “You gave her the
Sight
?”

“What?” Joy croaked, her voice cracked and raw. Ink helped her to stand as the dining room tilted. She staggered against Ink. “What just happened?”

“She is under his auspice,” Ink whispered into her hair. “He is sworn to protect her, but he could not come inside. He could not get past the wards.” His tone was mild censure. “He came to save her, Joy.”

Joy pushed him away like a physical denial. Shaking, Joy ran out of the house to Monica's side, placing herself like a rickety shield between her friend and her enemy.

“Are you okay?” she gasped. “Monica?”

“I'm fine,” Monica said with a wary edge to her voice. She coughed twice more. “I won't say ‘peachy,' but I'll say ‘fine.'”

Joy turned to Sol Leander, staring at him, unbelieving. “You saved her.”

Sol Leander glared. “And you've damned her,” he said.

Joy swallowed her guilt like wet cement.

“Her life was never in mortal danger,” Ink said, stepping through the front door. The quill was still in his hand. He cocked his head to the side like a bird. “You know as well as I that the spell upon the necklace was not a noose, but a leash.”

Sol Leander declined to meet his gaze, intent on one of the pearls.

Joy held Monica's hands. Her knuckles were pale. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Ink glanced at them both. “It was a trap.”

“A trap?”

“A ruse,” he amended.

Monica rubbed her neck angrily. The dark, pressurized spots had all but disappeared. “So they're fake?”

Ink picked a pearl from the grass. “No. They are real.” He glanced at Sol Leander, then at Joy. “The necklace was not designed to harm, it was merely a delivery method to ensure the enchantment would have time to imbue through the skin.” Monica stared at the pearl-littered lawn. Ink smiled apologetically. “It resisted your attempts to remove it, but my using one of the forged instruments of the Twixt forced the necklace to defensively constrict and for that, I apologize. The pearls are safe now that the spell has been broken.” He rolled the tiny globe between finger and thumb. Sol Leander said nothing as Ink placed it into Monica's palm. “Restrung, they would make a lovely piece of jewelry.”

“So...not Gordon.” Monica poked at the pearl.

“It was a
geas
, a spell of obligation,” Sol Leander explained. “Once bound, you would have to follow its instructions to the letter. But such an enchantment has to be accepted willingly, hence why it came disguised as a gift.”

Monica's lips turned ashen. Joy's fingers clenched.
“You!”

“Not I,” said Sol Leander. “I was forced to wait outside the wards before I could break the binding spell, which placed your friend in considerable danger—something I
expressly
warned you to avoid at all costs.” He twitched his cloak closer, a strangely familiar gesture. Avery had likely picked it up from his master. “As I suspected, your friendship proves to be as flimsy as your word.”

“Hey!” Monica and Joy chorused in protest.

“Nobody
makes
me do anything,” Monica said with heat. “I own my thoughts and my own actions and I don't need to go blaming anybody else for my mistakes.”

“A very human sentiment,” Sol Leander said. “However, someone went to considerable lengths to make sure you would be more than willing to do anything they wished.
Anything
.” He all but snarled at Joy. “Despite your purported values of freedom and choice, it seems that your actions have robbed your friend of both.”