Steel Victory (Steel Empire Book 1) (23 page)

“Ah ha!” Toria retrieved it from the back of the drawer, where it had been hidden under a pile of bobby pins. She shoved the drawer closed with her hip and turned around. Syri stood in the middle of the apartment, eyeing the homey clutter with vague disdain. “What’s wrong?” Toria asked.

“Huh?” Syri brought herself back from wherever her mind had been. “Nothing. Admiring the décor. Do you even have a proper workroom?”

“It’s under the carpet you’re standing on. Just needs to be rolled back.” Toria picked up a box of chalk from the counter and threw it to Syri, who caught it with one deft hand. “The circle and cardinal points are painted on the floor and already enchanted. Do whatever else you need to do. How many candles did you need?”

“Chalk,” Syri said, examining the box. “How quaint.” She tossed it back to Toria unopened. “Five candles, please. No specific type or colors, though I imagine you might want one you feel most comfortable with.” She knelt to roll up a corner of carpet to reveal the lines painted on the hardwood floors. “Wow, you are never getting your security deposit back.”

“We lost that the first time I set the kitchen on fire,” Toria said. “Kane’s primary is earth, he can restore the wood before we move out.” While she propped the rolled-up carpet in a corner, Syri began drawing glyphs on the floor with lines of white light from her fingertip.

Ten minutes later, Toria sat in the center of the glowing circle on her living room floor, facing Syri to the northeast. A faint bit of starlight shone through the skylights in the apartment ceiling, but the rest of the room’s warm glow came from the candle Toria held and the four others placed at the main cardinal points of the circle. The halfway points between the main cardinals shined with unfamiliar glowing symbols. She hoped Syri knew what she was doing.

“Do you know what happens when a warrior-mage pair gets separated?” Syri matched Toria’s cross-legged pose, shimmering hands resting on her knees.

Toria did not respond, fighting down the chill that crossed her in the warm room at the uncanny echo of Zerandan’s rhetorical question the night before.

“For too long, I mean,” Syri said. Her eyes caught Toria’s and held them, her cat-slit pupils large in the flickering flames.

“The elf Zerandan didn’t know.” And if he didn’t know, there wasn’t an icicle’s chance in summer Syri did.

“Zerandan’s my great-great-uncle,” Syri said. “You were in good hands with him. And it’s true. Nobody knows. And I don’t imagine you’re in any hurry to find out.”

“Do you really know how to get me in contact with Kane?” Toria could not resist looking over her shoulder to the southern point of the compass, where Kane would sit during a formal working like this. That’s the direction she was used to facing, and this whole situation felt odder by the minute. His absence was an aching wound in the back of her mind. Just the fact that she was certain to feel it if he died kept her from succumbing to true panic.

“I’m damn well going to try.” Syri raised her shimmering hands from her knees and placed them flat on the ground in front of her within the circle. “Deep breath. Relax. Leave the hard stuff to me.”

Like Toria could argue. Even the shields for this were all up to Syri. Despite Zerandan’s claims that shields were passive magic, she was pretty sure attempting to mesh shields with not one, but two, unfamiliar magic systems qualified as active. Ending up with a splitting headache would put a hitch in Syri’s plans and might ruin them altogether.

Syri did not move, leaving her hands braced against the floor. The room around them began to lighten, and out of the corners of her eyes, Toria caught glimmers of a curtain of translucent light. It followed the lines of the circle around them, arching into a dome above their heads. The four candle stubs around the circle gleamed brighter, and the four unfamiliar symbols followed suit. Toria felt drawn to the one on her left, admiring the glitter of unfamiliar magic. The scientist in her stirred, and she began listing questions for Syri on her mental clipboard.

Her voice a harsh whisper, Syri said, “Either look at me or look at your candle. You don’t think I know what I’m doing?”

Toria whipped her head back to the other girl. “Sorry.”

“Don’t care. Just don’t fucking move.”

So she sat still, thumb and forefinger from each hand wrapped around the base of the new taper of purple wax resting on the ground in front of her. A trickle of strange power wound its way up her spine, and she repressed the urge to meet the power with a tendril of her own, investigating it and how it worked. Instead, she stared into the small flame before her.

The tendril traced up the back of her neck and up to her head, making the roots of her hair tingle and feel like they stood on end. Now Syri was in her brain. Where Zerandan’s link had felt like an archaeologist gently sifting through sand, Syri unwound a tangled skein of glowing silken threads.

Syri picked at every knot until she knew what it was—Toria’s skill with a sword here, her talent for baking there. Even the knowledge gleaned from her recent history class.

Then Syri found the magic. Seeing her crafted physical shields rise around her, fluctuate larger and smaller, and then drop again was an odd experience, as if Toria’s own hand moved without her control.

Syri couldn’t contact Kane on her own. At most, they might have held a polite conversation in passing at the Twilight Mists. And that was an optimistic guess. On her own, Syri would have no way to sense Kane from here to the Roman encampment, not without knowing Kane’s magical signature the intimate way Toria did.

So Syri would use Toria’s magic to find Kane. A sneaky way of getting around the curse, but it worked. Toria opened her mind even more, letting Syri explore what it meant to be a warrior-mage. Elven magic was dissimilar from human magic. She couldn’t compare the two. They might not even fall on the same spectrum. Double-edged blade. A nudge in one direction, and Syri would have access to every iota of talent and knowledge Toria possessed. A slip in the other direction, and Syri could crush Toria’s mind, overwhelming it with her own power.

Or Syri could fall all the way in, leaving her body an empty husk while Toria gained an unwilling second personality.

No wonder Syri had snapped at her to remain still. Toria wouldn’t want to share a brain with herself either.

“Whoa!” After cutting the truck’s engine, Max put both hands in the air, and Sethri followed suit. He left the headlights on to keep the surrounding soldiers illuminated. “What’s the big idea? We’re just here to talk.”

After slipping the stiletto beneath her sleeve, Victory raised her hands in the air, too. “Tell Octavian that Toria Connor sent us,” she said, pitching her voice to carry out Max’s window. “He should be expecting us.”

The first soldier traded a look with the other standing beside him, who was armed with a longbow. “The general told us to expect tricks,” he said, his gladius steady.

Victory bit her tongue. What tricks? They were the ones who took her sire and adopted son. They were the ones who hurt her daughter.

With his smooth voice made even more soothing, Sethri tried again. “My name is Alexander Sethri. I represent Limani’s ruling council. We have come to discuss recent events in hopes of coming to a diplomatic solution. I can assure you that we travel alone, armed for personal defense.”

He was good, Victory gave him that. If this party had consisted of only her and Max, the mayhem would have already begun. She appreciated his steady presence.

“We’ll have to disarm you if you want to talk to the general.” The gladius lowered a handful of inches.

“That is to be expected,” Max said. “I’m sure the general and I can understand each other.”

At a gesture from his partner, the second soldier lowered his bow and took off at a jog through the darkness. “Now will you get out of the truck?”

Max looked back over his shoulder. Oh, now he wanted her to decide? “Might as well,” she said. “How else are we going to talk to Octavian?”

Taking the lead, she switched the lock and pushed the door open. If they changed their minds and shot her, the odds of them piercing her heart directly were slim. She’d get back up again. She stepped out with her hands in front of her, slamming the door shut again with a small hip bump. The two soldiers who covered her resheathed their swords when she got out—a good sign. “I have a knife at my right wrist and my sword at my waist,” she said. She would neglect to tell them of the ankle dagger unless it looked like they might perform a physical search.

“May we have those, then?” Good, it looked like they planned to take the polite route. One of her new friends held out his hands, and she snapped the stiletto into her palm. After handing the knife over, she unbuckled the scabbard from her waist. His partner took that, and she managed to relinquish it with just slight hesitation. Unlike Toria’s magical attachment to her rapier, Asaron taught Victory to treat her sword like a tool, nothing more. But centuries of use created a certain amount of fondness. She hoped she would see it again.

If things went to hell, she would need it.

Max also stepped out of the vehicle to relinquish his own small arsenal to the waiting soldiers. “Careful with that, now,” he said, handing over his entire belt to the young man who first stopped them.

“I think we know how to handle weapons,” he said, looping the belt around his arm and holding the bottom of the sword for balance. “We are trained soldiers, mercenary.”

Victory waited for the explosion. Max might be a laid-back guy most of the time, but the value of mercenary work versus formal soldiering was one of his more touchy points.

From the other side of the truck, Sethri called out a warning. “Max...” The soldiers around them tensed, and hands drifted once again toward weapons.

But Max laughed, clapping the soldier in front of him on the shoulder. “So you are, kid. One pointer though: next time a potential foe hands over his weapons, walk a few steps away so he can’t take them right back from you.”

The soldier’s eyes widened, and he ducked from under Max’s hand to follow his suggestion. Tension broken, the surrounding soldiers chuckled at their fellow’s expense. Things would be fine. Max knew soldiers. He had been a Guild trainer in New Angouleme before relocating to Limani. Victory was too out of touch with that world these days. With any luck, they would avert this whole mess, and she could keep things that way.

Another soldier escorted Sethri around to their side of the truck, and he stood between Max and Victory. Smart man. Even sans physical weapons, they were still lethal. One soldier rifled through Sethri’s briefcase, but returned it to him after assuring himself it contained no weapons.

The runner returned, emerging from the darkness behind the bobbing beam of a flashlight. After regaining a bit of breath, he said, “The general has agreed to see you. His pavilion is just over the bridge. If the three of you will follow me?”

Max reached through the truck window to switch off the headlights. Save for the flashlight, the surrounding area descended into darkness. If this had been a hostile mission, it would have been Victory’s cue to act. For a few seconds, she had the advantage over all present.

But this wasn’t a hostile mission. Victory placed her hand into the crook of Sethri’s elbow, quietly alerting Max that she would take responsibility for the civilian. Max stepped behind the soldier and gestured for him to lead the way.

The remaining men fell in loose formation around them while they walked down the road. Around a bend, and the river spread in front of them. The water here was wider and deeper, the current stronger. An ancient metal and concrete bridge spanned the river, remnant of the time before the Last War. Now it was the sole physical link between Limani and Roman territory.

And they planned to use it for their invasion.

“Are you
that
Victory?” A solder next to her broke the silence.

The man behind them shushed him, but Victory said, “Yes, I imagine I am.”

“My great-grandfather fought with you in Castille during the Battle of the Straits.” He gave her a lopsided shrug. “He would always end the story by telling us how beautiful you were. He is right.”

That twist left her a bit speechless, but Max took up the slack. “Oh yes, she’s quite lovely with a sword in her hand. It’s the dresses you have to watch out for.”

“Says the man who takes his own sword out on more dates than he does women.” More of the soldiers around them attempted to hide snorts of mirth.

She took a good look at the soldier next to her, noting the dusky skin and almond eyes marking those descended from the southern portion of Hispania. She looked similar, but her now pale skin took more of an olive tint—Asaron had found her in Aragonia, the northern part of the peninsula.

The Castillans lost the Battle of the Straits, almost a hundred years ago. It led to the eventual absorption of both it and Aragonia into the Roman Empire.

It was the final straw before she fled to the New Continent and Limani. It was a miracle that this soldier had a great-grandfather live to tell such stories after that battle. Had she been human, she would have died any number of times in that long fight.

When they approached the bridge, more armed Romans came into view stationed around its base. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had also wired it with explosives. That was how the Romans fought. Octavian proved things hadn’t changed when he attacked Toria this afternoon.

Victory brushed those thoughts from her mind when they stepped from dirt and sand onto concrete. No time to get riled up over past bloodshed. And while Octavian threatened Toria and prevented her from following him, he’d done no lasting harm. Who knew, maybe the curse she seemed to be suffering under was nothing more than a side effect of her separation from Kane. Nobody knew exactly how the warrior-mage bond worked, least of all her.

She crossed the bridge holding her head high. From this vantage point, she could see the numerous campfires spread through the woods on the opposite side of the river. Those trees held the missing members of her family.

“Hey.” She touched the soldier next to her on the arm, capturing his full attention. In a low voice, she said, “Maybe you can help me out.”

“Depends on what it is,” he said.

“Two of my friends are being held here,” she said. “We’re worried about them.”

“Yeah, the kid and the other vampire. I saw them yesterday.”

“And?”

Giving his fellows darting looks, the soldier stepped closer to her. “I didn’t get to talk to them or anything, but they looked okay. Quiet, mostly.”

Waves of relief washed across her. Toria would be even more ecstatic. Now they knew the prisoners were held here and hadn’t been transported farther south. Excellent news.