Syphon's Song (38 page)

“Clear the room.” He tossed the last words over his shoulder and the cook and her people scurried out. “What the fuck, Dane? Why do you not have answers for me?” The lieutenant was a hell of a warrior and a decent energy reader—a good combination in a bodyguard, able to defend and accurately anticipate a possible attack. His skill at getting people to talk was almost unsurpassed. Only the general topped him.

“She wouldn’t let me,” Dane explained.

Vincent spun to his mother.

She stood, hands up as if she would plead for mercy for the traitor who had thrown the woman he loved to the other side of the gates. “Vincent, Dell says she’s alright. He’s an oracle. He would know.”

“The gardener is an oracle.” He gave the man a dead look. “That’s not in your employment file.”

Dell didn’t move, as if he knew to stay frozen. “I know Senator Casteel is alive. I’ve seen a vision of a young woman with the Casteel Medallion at the Rushes.”

“A young woman. Not Bronte?”

“It has to be her, who else would it be?” Dell sat up as if he’d realized an answer to his own question.

“Where is she?” Vincent roared, flinging vibes against the man so hard he flattened to the couch, his lungs unable to pull a breath. The pots and pans hanging from the ceiling rattled. His mother scrambled behind him.

“She’s safe. Protected. Ansel is with her.” The words were raspy against Vincent’s pressure. Dell’s dusty brown boots slipped against the floor as he battled to get away.

He’d been gone for one night, and his syphon’s life had turned upside down again. Blasted hells, what was she going through now? “Who the hell is Ansel?” Vincent approached the couch with a steady stomp.

“Casteel sentry,” Dane snapped, stepping up beside him. “He was here last night. He wanted to talk to her after she was crowned senator, but we kicked him outside the gates. I shot him in the leg.” He nodded toward Dell. “You might want to let him get a breath.”

He took Dane’s advice and pulled his energy back from the man’s throat, leaning down to wrap a hand around it instead. He yanked the gardener off the couch, keeping Dell’s arms down with an easy push of vibes. “Where did Ansel take her?”

“She left on her own. He’ll take her home. Where she belongs.”

“She belongs with me!” Vincent dug his fingertips into the man’s throat. He’d already known she’d left on her own, but hearing the words was like a claw swiping through his gut.

“She belongs in Casteel,” Dell gasped. He fought against the energy restraining his hands, but Vincent held him easily. “She’s safe. Ansel wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

“I’ve already heard that. She’s slippery. Does he know that? She got away from me once. She just got away my two best men. And I doubt Ansel is that good, considering his late senator was murdered on his watch!”

“Ansel was the best sentry I ever worked with!” Dell panted, anger pushing at his words. “He protected the territory’s mages better than the senator. Ansel was the one trying to make their lives better in Casteel’s territory.”

“So you were a Casteel sentry, too, huh? Becoming a gardener is a long way for a sentry to fall, oracle. How exactly did that happen?”

Dell grabbed at Vincent’s hand, straining to pull it from his throat. “About seven years ago,” he gasped. “A bunch of the sentries left and scattered around the Republic, hoping to find a mage from a founding family willing to temporarily take over Casteel until a suitable blood relation could be found.” Dell wheezed for air. “We needed a steward that would hand it back if there was ever a proper heir.”

Vincent eyed Dane. His lieutenant nodded. Dell was telling the truth.

Vincent scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. No founding family mage would deign to be a steward. He would keep the land for himself.” Mages gobbled up unattended territory. A heritage of hiding from witch hunts had left them needy for as much safe land as they could claim, and once they had it, they never abandoned it.

Vincent let go of the man’s throat, but kept his arms pinned down with vibes. Dell gingerly tilted his head left and right. “You’re right. A man wouldn’t leave the territory once he claimed it. We were looking for a woman. Females of founding families are raised knowing they’ll leave their territory. We thought a woman would be more inclined to move to Casteel, claim the seat and then relinquish it.” He tried to clear his throat. “We’ve searched for years. None of us had found any candidates to be a steward. So when the senator died, we took the best choice we had. If the medallion were to fall off for a Rallis, then at least we’d have an ethical senator, even if it meant losing our founders and becoming a Rallis Territory. The whole country knows Rallis looks out for their people. And you have the army behind you.”

“The Casteel sentries stole the body?”

Dell nodded. “Ansel stole it. He left the note behind. The note was tricky, trying to explain our gift to the Rallises without the Casteels realizing what we’d intended.”

“Uh-uh. Something’s off about the note. It’s not the full truth.” Dane crossed his hands over his chest as he leaned in with crooked head, examining Dell as if answers were written on his face.

“Did one of the Casteel sentries kill him?” Vincent kept up the questioning while Dane penetrated the man’s mind for answers.

“No,” Dell protested vehemently, shaking his head. “We all took our vow seriously. We protected Casteel. There isn’t a single sentry who would ever harm the Casteel senator.”

“You didn’t protect your senator. You abandoned him by leaving your post.”

“For the good of the people and the land,” Dell retorted. “We did not kill him. Until last night, we thought he’d died of a heart attack.

“You put the body in the gyre.” The breach in security that Vincent had puzzled over had occurred seven years ago when Dell had been hired as the gardener. He just hadn’t done anything to act on his deception until recently.

“Must have hurt going in there,” Vincent said.

“Like a thousand knives.”

“And Bronte?” No way had she been part of this scheme. If they’d planned for her to take the medallion, they could have arranged for her to remove it from the body while it was still in Casteel Territory.

“We thought she was a Non. We never knew she had a power. And we never expected her mother to send her to get the body back. A lucky break for us. We thought Lady Casteel would call the enforcers when they found out the body was gone, or call in the army, or even come here herself. Any way around it, the note would have gotten to the Rallises because it stated the body was here. You all are smart enough to recognize you were the intended recipients of the letter. But the goddess was smiling on us. She had a plan all along. She’s given us a Casteel heiress. We just didn’t know it. Now we don’t need the Rallises or any other founding family. We have a good-hearted senator, and we’re taking her home.”

The man had guts to throw such a threat in his face, especially when all Vincent had to do was push. Dell would go through the window. It would be simple to ensure a sliver of glass sliced into his heart. “Let me tell you what you’ve done, gardener,” he growled. “You’ve shackled a defenseless woman into being your senator. Bronte cannot protect herself against any kind of energy. She’ll step onto the Rushes and crumble with the first spell that hits her. You’ve taken her life and have traded it for the good of a rotting people.”

“Bronte doesn’t want to be the senator.” Allison stood behind him. “She was trying to get the medallion off this morning with a bunch of butter.”

“She doesn’t have a choice.” Dell’s voice was softer as he looked at Allison. “Just as we don’t get to choose our family or our mage power, we don’t get to choose our destiny. We just have to hold on until we find some good.”

“Butter,” Vincent spat. “Bronte has a habit of going to extremes to get herself out of situations that have been forced on her.”

“You just met her, Rallis. You hardly know her.”

“I’ve known her all my life.” It felt like it, he’d dreamed about her for so long. Their connection was automatic. “If she couldn’t slide it off her, she’d probably try to cut it off.”

Dell shook his head as he fell against the couch, his face going pale. Vincent pulled his mage sense away from the man. He didn’t need it anymore.

“Oh, no. She asked about a metallist this morning. At breakfast…” Allison’s voice trailed off. “Surely she knows that wouldn’t…I’m sorry.” She talked through tears. “I’ve messed up again. I told her there was one. That Dell would know.”

He spun to Casteel’s agent. “Did you tell her how to get there?”

“She went to get her car back,” Dell protested, his voice going weak. He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m telling you the truth. You can back off with the torturing vibes, colonel.” He took a raspy breath.

Vincent tilted his head. “I’m not touching you.” He jerked his chin at Dane. “Tell Gregor to get to the junkyard. Smythe and Hobson, too.”

Dell struggled for breath. “Look, no one can cut off a medallion, not even the most talented metal worker. No one would ever try that. It’s impossible. And stupid. The backlash over the land and the mages tied to it would be incredible. Everyone knows that.” He gasped between words.

“Bronte doesn’t know. She might have spent sixteen years at Casteel’s seat, but no one bothered to teach her about being a mage. She tried to get it off with butter!” Vincent spun toward the kitchen door. “Mother, banish the gardener from the land with the strongest spell you can.” He’d let the Rallis sentries deal with the spy. “Dane, you’re with me.”

Dell coughed, clutched at his heart, and fell to the ground. Vincent paused at the door. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re right,” Dell panted. He crawled to his knees. “If that’s not you, must be her. She’s cutting it.”

If it was strangling Dell, a Casteel mage, from miles away, what was it doing to Bronte? Vincent ran out the door, desperate to get to her. Goddess, let him make it in time.

* * * *

The smell washed into her nose with a shallow breath, thick and greasy, the scent of nightmares. A desperate need to flee seethed through her, but the heavy pressure of this place smothered her.

I want to go home.
The thought danced through her like a song.

She could see the place in her mind, the soft light of lanterns hanging above a long table, a cozy bed topped with a quilt. The mental picture was a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded her now. Escaping from this black was impossible.

A low, male voice responded, as if she’d spoken out loud. “Let’s just give you a minute before we go anywhere, senator.” She could barely hear the man’s words over the sizzle crackling in her eardrums. She didn’t recognize the voice, but his words held clues.

She was still a senator.

“It didn’t work.” Her voice broke with the whispered words. She didn’t need to see the medallion to know it still clung to her. The uneven ridges of the chain pressed into her skin under the weight of her arm. Her right side burned, from the tips of her fingers all the way to her shoulder and the side of her face, as if a bolt of lightning had struck her. The rest of her just ached.

“It didn’t work, no.” The blunt words penetrated the static in her ears.

She opened her eyes. The Casteel sentry hovered over her, an angry set to his jaw. Bronte couldn’t remember his name.

“Don’t try to get up. I have some business to finish.” He limped away.

Even her eyes ached. She closed them for a minute. A hard, low
thump
vibrated through the floor and into her body. She craned her head back to see. The dim mage lights illuminated little except for a single glow on the eye of the metallist. He lay on the floor ten feet away. The silhouette of a knife protruded from his chest.

A blade of panic sliced into her own chest. A whimper shook from her throat. She scooted away. Her body scraped along the rough, dirty floor. Her arm dragged uselessly in her wake. She got to her knees. The walls of the room undulated. She leaned hard against her left hand to keep from collapsing. The burn radiating from her right wrist spread upward and reached out to envelop the rest of her body’s nerves. Bronte couldn’t catch her breath between the sight of the dead man, her pain, and the dizziness that almost erased her vision.

“You killed him.”

The sentry walked toward her. She shuffled back.

“Yes.” He stopped moving, his hands out to his sides. “But I would never hurt you. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

A hysterical laugh escaped from her mouth. “You killed him.” She’d already said that. “This is my fault.” Hot tears cooled against her cheeks.