The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (47 page)

Lork slammed his weapon away. As he shoved past me with a growl, I looked up at Krillos. “Stop this,” I told him. “The eldring will tear through this town like a plague. Everyone will die.”

“Then save them. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“I can’t,” I said with gritted teeth. “I have no magic.”

“Well then, Troy, I guess Fate really is stomping on you.” Clutching his bloody arm to his chest, Krillos kicked his mount into a run. He turned down the next street, and the moment he was out of sight, Lork gave a shout.

More arrows flew. They were close. I thought they were for me.

When I saw where they were headed, I knew I had no hope of making it. I lunged anyway, and landed at Ansel’s feet just as four steel barbs sunk into his chest.

FORTY FIVE

“H
e’s not meat!” Straddling Ansel’s corpse with a sword in each hand, I warned the eldring back. “Leave him. Find your meal elsewhere.”

Their reply was just as I expected. A nauseating amount of saliva dripped from their gnashing jaws and the pack dropped to all fours. Almost in unison, they spread out in a slinking, half-circle. Forming three rows of ten, the creatures crept toward me through the rain; gray, leathery noses twitching, orange-red eyes staring patiently.

The first row took off. I had no choice but to leave Ansel and run.

Sprinting through the mud, I glanced back. Most of them fell on his body. Three broke off and came for me. I could hear them gaining as I darted up the front steps of the inn, ran inside, and slammed the door.

I slid the first steel bolt home. Drawing the remaining two locks into place, I leaned back against the wood and listened to my pursuers’ wet, anxious snarls on the other side. Claws clicked back and forth across the porch as they pondered a way in.

The claws stopped. I could hear their snuffling.

The eldring’s weight hit the door. The slab jumped and the force shuddered straight through me.

It jumped again and the wood bowed. Again, and the hinges strained.

I didn’t have much time. Neither did anyone else. Outside, beyond the walls of the inn, was a resounding, gut-wrenching blend of human screams
and triumphant, primal howls. The noise was like salt in an open wound. Because there was nothing I could do.

Without magic, I couldn’t help the people in town. I couldn’t escape through the horde to warn those living in the outlying areas. I couldn’t even warn Jarryd.

But I have to. I didn’t bring him home to die.

Paring my thoughts down, centering them on one purpose, I put more effort into it than before, and located a trace of our link. It was barely anything. It was a wisp, a distant, dull imprint on the outskirts of my mind. But I clung to the notion of it. Refusing to let the
Kayn’l
stand between us, I trudged through the miasma of the drug, struggling to push past its confines. Diving deeper, pushing harder, with a determined burst of focused concentration, I went farther inside myself than ever before. Farther still, and I uncovered an untapped store of strength. A pure, quiet confidence—a belief that said I was capable of so much more.

Embracing it, I pressed forward. I broke through the haze that separated us. And all at once, Jarryd’s presence rushed in. I got a deluge of nervousness, concern, relief, and anger. I didn’t have time for any of it.

Bouncing back to him urgent necessity and caution, I gave Jarryd a large, vigorous dose of something I tried to convey as “get the hell out and don’t come back.”

None of it worked. His resistance hit me like a slap in the face. Confusion, temper, along with a swift jolt of sheer insolence, told me he was doing exactly what I didn’t want. He was coming to find me.

“Damn it.” Frustrated, I banged my head into the door. As if in answer, the eldring banged back, and the wood cracked down the center.

It splintered, and I clambered away.

A set of long, curved claws slid in through the fissure. Grabbing on, they gave a quick jerk. A chunk of the door went flying out onto the porch and I bolted for the stairs.

Taking them two at a time, I reached the top and darted down the hall. My goal was the roof by way of the window. But as I parted the curtain and raised a leg to climb over the sill, my boot hit glass.

The window that, just last night, had been open, was shut and locked.

Puzzled, I reached to unlock it, and an odd, stinging sensation bored in through the middle of my back and out my chest.

I looked down for the source and stared in shock at the thick, steel bolt sticking out of my shirt. Dark wetness was spreading out across the fabric. Numbness was radiating into my arms and legs.

A second bolt exploded through me, alongside of the first. I turned, bringing my sword to bear. A third sunk into my side, and I went down.

A man stood in the shadows. He had a large, wooden crossbow in his hand.

Recognizing him, I gasped, “You…?”

Coming closer, Lieutenant Lork squatted down. He surveyed his handiwork with a leering smile. “When you’re dead, I will take that stone from around your neck. Then I will take your head and stick it on the end of a pike. Should make a nice standard, don’t you think? One look at your rotting remains will send those sniveling Rellan whelps and their gutless Kaelish allies crawling away on their bellies.”

I wanted to curse him. I wanted to curse him and his son, and his son’s son, and every Langorian that ever dared to draw breath. Except when I opened my mouth, all that came out was blood and pathetic, choking sounds.

“Captain’s a smart man,” Lork said, nodding to himself. “But he doesn’t understand war. And Draken? Thinking he could turn you against Rella
—
break you like a bull. What he doesn’t get,
witch
, is that rabid, fucking dogs like you can’t be broken. You have to be put down. Crushed. Destroyed.” Abruptly, Lork’s eyes shifted past me. He frowned at the three eldring sitting on their haunches at the top of the stairs. “Wait your turn,” he hissed at them. “You can have him when I’m done.”

Their oddly colored eyes shined in the dim light. Their growls were eager.

“You need to die faster.” Standing, Lork drew back his leg and kicked me.

This isn’t right
, I thought, groaning as he struck me again.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
I had a future waiting for me. One I’d seen, in Neela’s chamber, as she and Jarryd clung to their last moments of life. Another I just realized; Malaq bringing peace to the realms. And a more vague hope that I hadn’t known existed until right this moment: Sienn.

But the vision had been wrong and my hopes way off the mark. I was leaving. I was taking half of Jarryd’s soul with me and I would never know Sienn. Never touch Neela the way I did in the dreams. Never save her kingdom or see my people free.

Shivering, I choked out a blanket, “I’m sorry,” to all of them. Then I closed my eyes and waited for Death.

A typical god, he was taking his sweet-ass time getting here.

FORTY SIX

B
eing dead was different than I expected. It was dark, but warm. Whatever was beneath my naked body was comfortable and smooth. The air had a surprisingly clean, soap-like smell. Most noticeably (and perhaps the most strange), Death had a pair of the softest, gentlest hands. He could hum too. It was a light, peaceful tune he was singing while he ran a wet cloth over my face.

As he moved on to wash the rest of me, everything started to hurt.

It was a general, tender sort of achiness, like strained muscles and day old bruises. My limbs were heavy and my head was a bit sore. Still, if the discomfort was mine for all of eternity, I could learn to ignore it.

I wasn’t sure I could do the same for the nagging thought in the back of my mind. The one that said I wasn’t complete. That I had two gaping, bloodless hollows right through the center of me and another through my side, rotting and festering.

Why I should care how I looked in Death’s house, I wasn’t sure. Yet, the thought of not being whole was disturbing. I lifted a hand to find out if it was true—and Death caught my arm. I opened my mouth to argue. Pressure descended on my lips. It was moist, affectionate, and it struck me that I never imagined Death to be a woman. Or that she would greet me with a kiss.

Not just any kiss
, I thought as her mouth moved passionately against mine.

Death wasn’t being hospitable. She wanted me.

Weirdly aroused, I returned her attentions. I assumed it was a game. That once I joined in she would scorn my impetuousness and that would be that. But I’d been wrong about a lot of things lately. And as her tongue pushed into my mouth and her weight rested on top of me, I decided to stop caring if it made sense that Death was seducing me. She was doing a damn fine job of it.

She felt fine too; as a god should. Her body was long and lean. The bend of her backside fit right in my hands. Her breath, sweet, like wine, rode along my skin. It was tantalizing and warm, like her touch. Each stroke was purposeful and abnormally warm.

At the points of contact, where our flesh met, the heat was intense.

It built to a kind of surging vibration. An energy that was so fierce and tangible, I had the bizarre notion our passion would be visible if I were to only open my eyes and look.
My eyes,
I thought dimly, as we kissed.

Comprehension sped through me.
Gods…I’m not dead.

I flung open my heavy lids to blinding daylight. Pale hair hung in my face like sheets of icy rain. I put my fingers into it and grabbed on. I felt braids and stones.

Sienn.

I turned my head from her mouth. Breathless, I started to laugh, but my elation was cut short by a sharp twinge in the center of my right palm. The ache was distinctive. I recognized it immediately. But it was on the wrong hand.

Sitting up, I pushed Sienn off me. The shove was hard and abrupt. I hadn’t meant to send her reeling off the bed. Yet, looking at the scar she’d given me, she deserved no apology.

A match to the ones on my left hand that linked me to Jarryd, the ones on my right were fresh. They were no more than a few days old. And they linked me to her.

“Why?” I thundered.

Sienn trained her white eyes on me. Her hostility was like a window shattering inside my head.

“Gods, woman,” I gasped. Her wrath hit me again. “Stop it!”

Wiping my kiss from her mouth with the back of her hand, Sienn’s glare slowly wandered from my eyes. It tempered as it moved downward.

That’s when I remembered I wasn’t wearing anything.

I grabbed the sheet at the end of the bed. “You bound us together,” I said, yanking the cover angrily up to my waist. “Did you do this for Reth? Is this some kind of sick way to tie me to him?”

Sienn stood and smoothed out her dress. The fabric was a light, airy shade of blue that next to her white hair, reminded me of winter. So did her expression. “Jem has nothing to do with this. All I did,” she said, concise and snappy, “was save your life. Again.” With a drawn-out, frustrated sigh she sat down on the end of the bed. “The marks and the link both will fade. They aren’t permanent.”

“I don’t understand.” I glanced around. The room was cozy, but sparse. Outside the lone window, a grove of fruit trees flanked a small barn. “I know this place.”

The trees were taller than I remembered. But it had been a while.

Behind Sienn, a cupboard stood against the wall. One of the doors was hanging crooked.
Still?
I thought. I’d only offered to fix it ten times.

“This is Broc’s house,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Is he here?” I sat up a little. “Gods, he must be pissed. I don’t visit for years and then I show up like this. Where is he?” I’d barely gotten the question out before memories hit me. I couldn’t tell if they were hers or Jarryd’s, but I saw the house empty. The furniture in the main room overturned. The walls and floors streaked with gore. I saw my old friend’s body lying near the back door, gutted. “He’s…dead?” I got another flash; a man, much younger. An axe was buried in his head. “His son,” I said, my voice breaking.

Sienn rested a hand on my leg. “I’m sorry, Ian.”

I nodded gratefully. “I knew him since the war.”

“I know.”

“He had a daughter.” I swallowed, recalling a feisty young girl with perpetually tangled hair. “You didn’t find her?”

“She was probably detained. Whatever happened here, Langorians aren’t in the habit of wasting healers.”

It wasn’t much, but I took it. Rubbing the worry off my face, I looked at her. “What are you doing in Rella?”

“I’ve been tracking you since the mountains. When my spell failed I thought…”

“What? That I was dead?”

“It did cross my mind, yes. But apparently, there was
Kayn’l
in your blood and it interfered with my spell. When I couldn’t find you, I honed in on your messenger friend. I was with him when you opened up and reached out to him.” Faint amusement softened her mouth. “He nearly fell over.”

“We still have a few things to work out with the link.”

“I strongly suggested he heed your warning, but he refused to leave.”

“Yeah, he’s like that.”

“Admirable,” she admitted. “Charming even, I suppose. But foolish. Like you.”

“You think me a fool?”

“I did say charming as well.” Grinning, she bit her lip and I gave up trying to stay mad. It was difficult enough pretending Sienn didn’t affect me when we weren’t connected by magic. Now, I could sense how being near me made her pulse race, and I liked it. Feeling the desire spreading through her body, how it swelled and gathered heat like a burning ember, made it hard to even look at her. Instead, I looked down at the wounds on my chest and they sobered me instantly.

Though the holes were indeed sealed, Sienn had yet to repair the scars. They were big and messy. Staring at them made me feel uncomfortably fragile.

“Those will be gone soon as well,” she assured me. “I had to focus my energies elsewhere. You were dead after all.”

My eyes shot to hers. “Dead?”