The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (5 page)

It was outright euphoria, and my swagger, my claims and convictions, couldn’t hold up to its might. They crumbled and got swept away, and in their absence, was something I’d never thought to feel again: complete satisfaction. I was sated.

Magic was filling a void in me that I hadn’t even known existed.

Gods, help me. I’ve missed this.

“I suppose I pity you.” The man shaped a disconcerting look of sympathy onto Taren’s face. “All that time you wasted, wrapping yourself in denial, fighting to strip away every morsel of your heritage. Falsely believing you could alter your very being. And for what? You’ve overcome nothing, changed nothing. It’s quite sad, really.”

Trembling, I panted at him. “I…am going…to kill you.”

“No, you’re going to cast for me as many times as I require until I’m done with you. And, as far as your instinct to do me harm…it’s understandable. But I don’t recommend you try.”

“You can’t hurt me. You don’t have the blood for it. If you did, you wouldn’t need to hijack
my
spells. And a soldier can’t dominate a body anything close to what you’re doing. You’re…” I couldn’t think. “You’re something else.”

“What I am is more powerful than you.”

I flashed him an impudent, unsteady grin. “Yet, you hide inside a woman?”

Taren’s nostrils flared. Words escaped her gritted teeth. They were no more than faint mutterings, but I knew the cadence and the inflection, and I braced myself.

It did no good.

As the air changed and the spell formed, a barrage of white-hot points of power blasted into me and I toppled over. Penetrating my skin, searing like blades heated over a fire, the unseen arrows plunged into my chest and tore back out again. Stabbing shoulders, limbs, chest, and head; the assault was relentless. The pain was agonizing. Cool mud coated my skin as I writhed in it, but all I could feel was fire.

I let loose a desperate, gut-wrenching cry, and the spell ended. The pain left a moment later, as if all that was needed to make it stop, was an admission of weakness.

Grunting, I lifted up onto my elbows. Spitting gritty lumps of swamp from of my mouth, I shook a mass of sopping hair from my eyes and growled at him, “Where the hell did you learn a spell like that?”

His reply was a low, eloquent laugh. It went on so long I had visions of separating his head from his body with my bare hands just to make it stop. But his body wasn’t here, and as his devious laughter faded, so did the unnatural color tainting Taren’s eyes. They went back to normal and suddenly it was just her standing there, staring down at me with an expression that was almost apologetic.

I wanted to hate her it for it, but I had no time. Taren walked away and the magic left me. Its departure (made worse by my years of temperance) was abrupt and excruciating, as if a hand were reaching down inside and ripping a part of me out.

Pleasure came next, penetrating the pain, fusing with it until I couldn’t tell one from the other. Together they overran my nerves, sweeping over me and through me, stroking and stimulating the smallest, darkest parts of my soul.

Deprived of breath and awareness, I lay helpless and trembling in the mire, as my body became a furious cyclone of energy. It was unbearable. Yet, I was smiling. I’d surrendered myself into the grip of a well-trained whore and I was reveling in her touch, letting her do as she willed to me without regret.

Regret would come later, without fail. Now, I was magic-blind. I was caught in a phase that amounted to no more than a hairsbreadth of climax, an instant where it was virtually impossible to give a damn about anything.

I drifted in it, happily.

Too long
, I thought, savoring the moment.
It’s been far too long.

But distressingly quick, it began to dwindle. With pleasure’s departure, the black aura of the obsidian rose up out of my body. It lingered in my eyes, lending them color for a little while. The color diminished my ability to see, which made the tail-end of being magic-blind not just an arbitrary term.

Thankfully, my interval of sightlessness was brief, and I spent it as I always had: cold, weak, and vulnerable; unnerved by the frailty and nakedness of the moment, and trying to pretend that my utter defenselessness wasn’t near as long as it felt.

I let out a quivering breath of relief as my vision returned. I refused to think about where my spell was headed, or who it was aimed at. That damage was already done. Instead, I sat and shivered, wishing I were blind again so I couldn’t see the swamp going black and withering around me.

Harvesting without discrimination, my magic would steal from the birds, the lizards, and the plants—Taren. Everything within range would die, except me. As a Shinree, my donation was far less. It would weaken me, often to the point of unconsciousness. But I got to live. I got to wake up to the damage I’d done and the lives I never meant to take.

The spell glided near me and I gasped. Its touch was cold and fierce. It robbed my breath like a gust of winter wind. Then it swept through me, and stole what meager bits of strength I had left on its way out.

FIVE

I
lifted my aching head. I started to get up, but my legs were too floppy. My hands were bound behind me, so tight my fingers were numb.

Groggy, I groaned, “Where am I?”

“Where do you think?”

“Huh?” It took me a moment. “Taren?”

“We’re in the palace of the Duke of Doratae. His giant, golden hawk came and flew us over the sea while you were sleeping. Dinner is about to be served but…” reproach entered Taren’s voice, “I’m not sure you’re dressed for it.”

Blinking, I glanced around. Above me was overgrowth and clouds. At my back was a moldy tree trunk, one of many. Beneath me, nearly up to my waist, was a pool of thick, black marshy water. “Fuck you,” I said.

“I tried but you weren’t interested.”

My gaze started clearing. It took my head a little longer. Then I remembered the Shinree man that spelled her. And what he did to me. “No…” My pulse sped up. Dread sunk deep inside. I felt so sick I could barely catch my breath, barely speak. “You bitch,” I sputtered out, glaring up at Taren. She glared back, with this faint amused, almost aroused expression, and I wanted to rip her apart. I yearned to make her bleed.

And I wanted to do it with magic.

It was more than a passing thought. The idea of casting on her, of relishing in the power coursing through my veins while she suffered, was so
prevalent, it wasn’t a notion. It was instinct. I could feel it, tunneling in and spreading out. Urge and temptation were invading together, searching for the weak spots, striving to take root. Promise wrapped around my anger, bolstering it with a guarantee of pleasure that even now, as I fought against it, was chipping away at the scraps of resolve I had left.

It was just like the man inside Taren had said—foolproof. He’d set out to undo me with a single spell, and he nearly had. But I’d had years to build up my defenses against magic’s call and as good as it felt, I could hold out a little longer. I had to, especially against Taren. She wasn’t worth it.

So I shoved it all away; the fear of becoming what I hated, the panic. Like every time before I’d walked out onto a battlefield, I buried the impulse and the fury coursing through me. Indulging it was too risky. Giving attention to the cravings was equally dangerous. Ultimately, it would reach a point when I couldn’t ignore them any longer, but for now, I had some restraint left. I could still keep my head about me and focus on what was important. At the moment, that was finding out what Taren knew.

I gave her a once over. “You look better.”

“Why, thank you.” Taren shook out her freshly washed hair. “It took most the water you had left, I’m afraid, but,” she ran a leisurely hand down the front of her mud-free tunic, “it’s very sweet of you to notice.”

“I was talking about your eyes…that evil, red glow?”

“Oh, that.” She shrugged it off and took a drink from the flask in her hand. “You know, I’m really glad you’re awake. I was getting bored.”

“I’m surprised I am awake at all,” I said, wincing at the kinks in my back. I stretched and moved my fingers, trying to wake them up. “You wasted a perfectly good opportunity to stick a knife in me.”

“Are you complaining?”

“It wasn’t what I would have done.”

“And it wasn’t my idea.” Taren spun around. She walked away and I immediately started working on the ropes. I kept my eyes on her though, and I couldn’t deny I got a sick sort of enjoyment out of watching her try to stay clean. Jumping gracefully over fallen trees, tiptoeing across thick patches of muck like it might actually keep her from sinking, all the while, mud splashed up the sides of her long legs and onto her clothes.

By the time she stopped next to my horse, Taren was as grubby as the mare—and in just as bad a mood. Hair matted, reins dragging, hooves lost beneath water dark as dusk, Kya did not look happy. As Taren made a play for her snarled mane, I wasn’t surprised at all when she bared her teeth and backed up.

“Bitch,” Taren hissed. She threw me an annoyed glance. “Your horse doesn’t like me.”

“Don’t take it personal. Kya doesn’t trust anything on two legs.”

“Can’t imagine where she got that from.” Grabbing hold of Kya’s bridle, Taren yanked her closer. “It’s remarkable how the beast went untouched by that spell you let off. Care to tell me how the horse survived when the trees died clear to the roots? Did you witch her?”

“Once. It was a long time ago.”

Taren gave her a quick inspection. “She looks normal.”

“So do you. And you survived the spell.”

“Guess someone wants me alive.” Taren shoved the flask into one of the packs on my saddle. After fastening the bag shut, she secured the others. Both my swords were shoved into the girth on Kya’s right side and she checked them as well.

Smartly maintaining a firm grip on the bridle, Taren bent down and plucked the ends of the reins out of the water. As she straightened, she tilted her head back and stared at the sky. “Damn. It’s getting dark already.”

I followed her gaze. Only a few streaks of low hanging sun poked through the thick overgrowth of greens and browns. “Going somewhere?” I asked.

“Thought I was.” Taren wrapped Kya’s reins around a cluster of vines and trudged back to me. “Now it looks like I’m sleeping here. With you,” she said, and her expression changed. Her brown eyes fixed on mine and I could see her thinking. Slinking across the swamp, giving me a determined, suggestive smile, I couldn’t tell if it was murder or sex on her mind until she straddled my lap, wound her arms around my neck, and kissed me.

Even then I wasn’t sure.

Pulling back slightly, Taren ran her tongue over her lips. “Mmmm. So that’s what Shinree tastes like.”

She moved in to kiss me again and I turned my head. “Who gave you the ring?”

“Silly question.” Her mouth hovered over mine. “One of you, of course.”

“He hired you to kill me?”

“Not kill you. Just get you away…far, far, away.” She sat back and slid her fingers into my hair. Raking them down, forcing her way through the clumps of dried mud and tangles, she grabbed onto the black ends resting against my jaw and tugged. “I still don’t understand this. I thought you people only gained color when you cast a spell.”

“That’s our eyes,” I said, impatiently. “Tell me about the Shinree that hired you. Casting through someone, forcing another to use magic—those are things not easily done.”

Taren yawned. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Healers mainly influence the body. Oracles command spells that manipulate the mind. Most of us can use glamour in one form or another, but I’ve never heard of anyone that could completely take someone over from a distance. And that attack he threw at me was classic soldiery. His skills just don’t mesh.”

“Sounds like you have a mystery on your hands.”

I tried to catch her eyes. “One you can help me solve.”

“Sorry.” She ran a few kisses down the side of my face. “I’m busy.”

“He’s using you, Taren. What do you think is going to happen when he’s done?”

Blowing out a breath, Taren straightened and drew her legs up. She propped her elbows on her knees, rested her dimpled chin in her hands and looked at me. “You have a woman sitting on you and all you want to do is talk about another man?”

“If you answer my questions I’d be happy to move on.”

“I say we move on now.” Taren pulled a dagger from her right boot. She lifted off me some and kicked my legs apart. Kneeling between them, she lowered the point of her dagger until it touched the waistline of my breeches.

“Careful with that,” I said.

Smiling, she slid the blade under my shirt and poked it up through the material. Slitting the fabric open all the way to the neck, she separated the two halves, one at a time, with the point of her knife. “Very nice,” she murmured, tracing the muscles on my stomach with her free hand. “In fact…” Shoving the torn cloth back off my shoulders and arms, all the way down to the ropes
around my wrists, she poked a finger into my chest and smiled. “No more shirts for you.”

I struggled not to look cross. “Give me his name, Taren. Tell me where he hired you. You aren’t stupid enough to take a job without meeting the man who’s paying you.”

“That was almost a compliment.”

“I’ll give you more than compliments if you tell me what I want to know.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “He approached me in a tavern on the west side of Kael. A dismal little place called the Wounded Owl.”

“I know it. Describe him.”

“He kept to the shadows. Wore a cloak. He was tall.”

“Anything else?” I gave her a hard look. “Anything useful?”

“He’s Shinree,” she said, her exasperation matching mine. “White eyes, white hair…like you. Minus the lovely black stripes, of course.”

“Yeah, those are all mine. Was he alone?”

“I think so.” Lazily, her fingers traveled up to my shoulder. “He didn’t seem to be owned. He certainly wasn’t on
Kayn’l
.”

“He must have been off it a long time. You don’t get that good without a decent amount of tutelage and practice. And slaves don’t get either.”