Ward Against Darkness (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer) (16 page)

He dipped a hand in the pool but couldn’t raise it to get water to his mouth, and couldn’t find the strength to move the fraction closer to get his face in the water.

Goddess, be kind. Take care of Celia.

The burning light around him softened, and the Goddess herself manifested before him. She was so beautiful. Dark gleaming hair, piercing blue eyes. So much like Celia. So beautiful. So unobtainable.

She caressed his cheek, sending a burning trail of agony across his face. Even her frown was like Celia’s. The delicate line between her brows, the way that lock of hair curled by her jaw. Funny how the Goddess would take her form to claim his soul.

Light burst around him, erupting from his chest, arms, and legs. It poured from his mouth, taking him with it and turning everything white.

Chapter Twenty-two

Celia’s heart raced. She splashed water onto Ward’s face. He was too pale, his eyes unfocused. “Come on, Ward. Focus.”

His eyes didn’t lock on her. They remained on something she couldn’t see. Sweat slicked him, his breath sawed in his chest, and his face contorted in agony. She’d known something was wrong when she saw him leaving the great hall without telling her.

He convulsed, and she scrambled to protect his head. She had to do something, but if she didn’t know the problem, she couldn’t find a solution. He coughed and moaned. Something white was stuck in his mouth. What was he doing eating paper? She fished it out. It was thicker than paper and small, like—

She checked his money pouch. Open and empty. He’d tried to swallow the envelope of Baarasena she’d given him back in Brawenal. But that would make him vomit. Why would he—

Poison. Vomiting was a cure for ingesting poison if caught soon enough. So was diluting it in the stomach with water. She cupped water in her hand, bringing it to his lips, but he wouldn’t drink.

“Come on, please.” But if the Baarasena hadn’t helped, what made her think water would?

There had to be something else, something she could do, someone who could help. Except there was no one in this madhouse she could turn to, and she knew imminent death when she saw it.

He convulsed again, breathing even faster now. His flesh beneath her hand was on fire. Whatever he’d taken was consuming him from the inside out.

Her throat tightened. This was not the way it was supposed to end. Not for Ward. Not in such an ugly way.
She
was supposed to be punished for the terrible things she’d done, not Ward. All Ward was guilty of was caring too much for strangers.
Please, Goddess, if there is any mercy in the world.

Tears burned her eyes, and she wiped at them, furious at her weakness. She didn’t cry, but her eyes kept burning.

Perhaps he had an antidote in his rucksack, or perhaps she could stab the answer out of someone. Someone had to know, and someone had to have a cure. She’d never been able to do nothing before.

The door opened. Val stepped into the doorway. “You left so fast—” He froze. “What happened?”

“Poison.”

“It’s killing him. Why aren’t you doing anything?”

Because she was helpless to save the man who’d given her life back, even if it was only for a short time.

“Well, don’t just sit there. You promised me revenge. If you really want to die, I can kill him after he steals Macerio’s grimoires.”

“What?” He wasn’t making any sense.

Val grabbed her shoulder and shoved her face to face with Ward. “Save him.”

She struggled against his grip. Ward gasped and twitched, his too-shallow breath quick, fragile huffs against her cheek.

“I can’t.” Her throat tightened. She couldn’t do anything. All she knew was death. Life was Ward’s domain.

“Of course you can,” Val growled. “He’s siphoning soul energy from you already. Give him an infusion. Rid the poison from his body and save him. You know he’d demand it from you if he could. You’re his pet.”

“But I’m not.” She wanted to scream. Life wasn’t fair, but she’d hoped—Goddess, she hadn’t realized how much she’d hoped—that just once it would be. “I’m not a vesperitti.”

Val’s grip loosened. “What?”

“But you—” The answer was standing right in front of her. “But you are. Give him an infusion and save him. ”

Ward’s breath stopped.

Everything within Celia froze. No.

She seized Val’s shirt and jerked him close. “Save him.”

“What?” He shoved her back.

“I said
save him
.” If asking didn’t work, she’d make him. She yanked the dagger from her bodice and lunged at him. He sidestepped. She swept around, the blade aimed for a shallow cut across his chest, enough to catch his attention. But he moved faster than she thought possible and grabbed her wrist. “Are you mad?”

She rammed her knee into his gut and wrenched free of his grip. Gasping, he stumbled back, and she lunged. He twisted at the last moment. His hand slammed into hers, knocking the blade from her grip.

It flew over the reflection pool into the darkness beyond. He was stronger and faster. Forcing him to do anything would be impossible. She needed a different tactic. “You want your revenge. Save him.”

Ward gasped. Two quick pants. Then stopped breathing again.

“Please.” She’d never been useless before. Death had always been hers to control, but she’d give up everything for a fraction of the control Ward possessed over life. He couldn’t die. He gasped again. A few more quick pants. Then nothing.

“You really can’t?” Val asked.

Her throat hurt, and a sob broke free. She sagged back to Ward’s side. There were no words, only an ache. An endless, consuming ache. She’d never felt anything like it before and had never been so terrified. “You want your revenge, you have to save him.”

“All right.” He placed his hands on either side of Ward’s face, his thumbs in the hollow of Ward’s jaw, opening his mouth.

A wisp of smoke curled from Val’s parted lips. The smoke billowed within, glowing a slight red. Like the smoke Macerio had sucked from Enota.

Concentration and pain etched Val’s face. He pressed his mouth to Ward’s. Smoke and light poured around them. Celia clutched Ward’s hand. His pulse was so slow and faint, she could barely feel it. Could she feel it?

Her heart stuttered. Where was it?

It was gone.

Val inched back, smoke billowing between their lips, the light casting Ward’s too still face in a sickly glow.

Celia held her breath, held her whole body rigid. It had to work. Ward couldn’t die.

More smoke rushed out of Val into Ward. The muscles on Val’s arm tightened, the veins standing up. With a jerk, Ward gasped, choked, and coughed. His pulse jumped back to life, and his eyes flew open.

It was working.

Ward coughed again and writhed against Val’s grip. The red light intensified. Ward’s thrashing gained strength.

Another burst of smoke slammed Ward’s head back. The smoke swirled around him, seeping through his skin, making him glow. Val heaved and the smoke and light sputtered. He heaved again. His body shook. The smoke dissipated, and Val rolled away, pale and panting.

Ward moaned, and his gaze locked on Celia’s. He raised his free hand, those perfect fingers made for saving life, reached for the curl by her cheek, then sagged back to his side. His eyes fluttered closed, but his pulse was back—weak, but she could feel it under her fingers.

She turned to Val, who now looked too pale

“Celia,” he said, his voice weak. “I need to replenish my soul magic.”

“Your—?” Realization dawned on her. He was a vesperitti. He survived on soul magic, and he’d given what was in his soul to save Ward. Now he needed someone else’s.

“I only need a little.” He shuddered and groaned. “Just enough to strengthen me so I can replenish it properly.”

“Of course.” She reached for the dagger at his hip, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Not that way.”

“But you said that’s the best way to consume soul magic.”

“It’s easier and more efficient. But I suspect you don’t heal like I do,” he said, a hint of the cocky man she knew back at court in his eyes.

“No.”

“If I leave a mark, everyone will know you’re not a vesperitti. I can siphon soul magic, just like I gave it.”

Would he suck all the life from her as Macerio had done to Enota? It didn’t matter. “If you don’t restore your soul magic, will you die?”

Val barked a weak, bitter laugh. “I wish. Even this weak, Macerio’s spell keeps my soul bound to my body. If I don’t replenish the magic, I’m—”

“A victim waiting to happen.” She could just imagine the perverse pleasure Macerio, Lyla, or even Rodas might have keeping Val weak. Val’s situation wasn’t good, but it got worse the weaker he was.

She leaned over him, placed her hands on either side of Val’s face like he’d done with Ward, and pressed her lips to his. He gasped in a ragged breath, and a heat rose in her chest. It flowed up her neck and out her mouth. Smoke whirled at the edge of her vision, and a red glow enveloped her. She was doing this for Ward, and yet she couldn’t help but wish they were Ward’s lips.

Cold replaced the heat. It spread down her legs and arms. It consumed her heartache. Ward was alive. The balance of life and death, good and evil, had been set right, if only for the moment.

Val tangled a hand into her hair and wrapped the other around her back, pulling her body against his and locking gazes with her. A buzzing filled her head, making her thoughts hazy. The kiss deepened, drawing a tight line of magic from her. The memory of Ward and their first real kiss slid from the haze. He had caressed her with gentle fingers and kissed her with fully committed passion.

She kissed Ward back, now in Macerio’s strange mansion. When he regained his senses, he would reject her. She was still dead and there were still laws. But until he pushed her away, she’d savor the press of his lips against hers, the tingling created by his touch, and the nearness of his body.

He eased his lips from hers now, just like he’d done in the cavern.

Too soon.

But she didn’t have a say. He had remembered who he was, and
what
she was. Her thoughts spun, filled with desire and fear, but none of it would make a difference. It hadn’t in Brawenal, it wouldn’t now. She ignored the whirlwind in her mind and clung, for as long as she could, to the feel of Ward and the knowledge he wanted her, too.

He drew in an uneven breath, still trembling with need. The will this man had was incredible. She wasn’t nearly as strong.

“It’s all right, Ward,” she said. And it would be. His friendship was ten times better than the love of the few men she’d been with.

“Celia.” He whispered her name, but he didn’t sound right. His voice was husky, dark.

The haze in her head churned. She was tired, hungry, and dealing with unexpected emotions. That was all.

“Celia.”

No. That didn’t sound like Ward at all.

Something jolted, the haze blew apart, and she opened her eyes. Val held her shoulders. It was Val. Oh, Goddess, she’d been kissing Val. Not Ward. Ward was—

He’d been poisoned, and she—

She twisted out of Val’s grip and scrambled to Ward’s side. His breath was ragged, but he was breathing. He still looked pale and trembled.

Val brushed her arm, drawing her attention from Ward. “I have to go.”

“Did you get—? Did I give you enough—?” Heat flooded her face. She had kissed Val like she’d wanted to kiss Ward. How embarrassing was that?

“I got enough.”

She nodded, uncertain what to say.

Ward moaned, and a convulsion shook him. That thing in her chest twisted.
Please keep breathing. Just keep breathing.

“He should be conscious in a couple of hours,” Val said.

Thank the Goddess. Exhaustion weighed her limbs and made her head buzz, but she couldn’t stop, not just yet. “We need to get him someplace safe.” She hated to ask more of Val, but Ward couldn’t stay here.

“I know just the place.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Nazarius sat on a stone outcrop watching the mansion. He turned the strange spherical key he’d unearthed from the bowels of the house over and over in his hands, trying to figure out how it was a key. Beside him, radiating a nerve-racking sense of evil, sat the reliquary. It was about an hour past midnight, and he couldn’t shake the sense that Ward was in trouble. The necromancer should have left the moment he’d finished the Seer’s assignment. He should never have gone back inside.

Goddess be damned!

Nazarius bit back a growl.

He liked Ward. Ward had done what needed to be done, digging up that cursed reliquary. From a grave no less. That’s what Ward had been branded for, but it took nerve to do it with a Quayestri watching. It took even greater nerve to return to that house.

Something snapped behind him. He jumped, unable to stop the reaction, and reached for his sword before stopping himself. It was the Seer.

Severin was unnaturally skilled at sneaking up on people. He must have been a thief in a previous life. The man was nondescript in so many ways. His face and voice, everything about him actually, was forgettable. His dark hair was cropped moderately close about his skull, not too short to imply military service, but not too long to suggest nobility. His face was neither too refined nor too coarse. The only thing striking about the man was his intense dark eyes, but that came and went, as if he somehow controlled their appearance. Now, they were soft, but the intensity could appear at any moment.

“He found it.” Nazarius nodded at the reliquary.

“I never had any doubt. The key and the book.” Severin held out his hand, and Nazarius gave them over.

“Are you sure Ward is still important?”

Severin cradled the key in one palm, letting the moonlight play along its carved silver surface. “The future has not changed.”

“What would he need to do to change it?” It was a ridiculous hope, but just maybe there was some other person who could take Ward’s place.

Severin gave Nazarius a long look, his lips pursed. “We don’t barter with the Goddess. She has blessed me with a way to stop the impending darkness, and Ward is her tool. Just like you and me.” Menace slid through his words. Just a hint, a reminder that Severin could see the future.

Nazarius knew his place. He’d just hoped…for Ward’s sake. The more he thought about the necromancer saving his partner’s life, about him not being a typical criminal, the more guilt spread through Nazarius. He could never repay Ward.

Severin blew a soft breath on the key. Green light flared around it, bathing the Seer in sickly light, for one heartbeat…two heartbeats…

Then it vanished, and the ball cracked and unfurled into a silver five-point star.

Severin pressed the star to the matching recess carved into the reliquary. More green light flared, and Severin turned the key. Impossibly, wood moved. The lines ornamenting the reliquary became liquid. They rotated a quarter turn and something clicked. The lid cracked open, but Severin didn’t lift it off.

“One more piece to the puzzle.” He removed the key from the box and shoved it into his pocket. “Tomorrow morning, give the locket back to Ward. It now belongs to him. Tell him not to sell it. He’ll need it in the upcoming days.”

“And what’s coming for him?” Perhaps if Nazarius knew something, he could warn Ward, convince him not to get into any more trouble.

“This is something you can’t stop. But your paths will need to join.” He put the reliquary in his satchel. “This grimoire has two sisters. One will leave here tonight, and Ward will chase after it.”

“And the other?”

“There will be time enough to acquire it. For now, you must convince young de’Ath you want to help him.”

Nazarius had no idea how he’d get Ward to trust him, but if the Seer said it had to be done, and if it were the only way to get the second grimoire, then so be it. “Will it be dangerous for him?”

Severin’s gaze turned intense, as if he were weighing Nazarius’s soul. “Just tell him to keep the locket.”

Consciousness flooded Celia. She lay on the floor, a warm body pressed against her, her arm draped on top, keeping whomever it was close. For once in a very long time, she was at peace. This was right. This was where she was supposed to be.

The person beside her sighed, and she opened her eyes. Ward. Oh, Goddess. She was curled around Ward. She was in bed with Ward—

She shoved her foolishly feminine reaction back and finished her wake-up routine—at top speed. No weapons on her—she was still in her borrowed gown. No weapons under her pillow, either. She couldn’t remember what she’d done with her dagger. It had been hidden in her bodice.

After she’d let Val take part of her life essence, he’d carried Ward to the secret temple of the Light Son in the basement. They’d cleared a space and smuggled in blankets and pillows to make a bed. She’d sat beside Ward, Val had caressed her cheek, and there’d been a haze in her head. Val had told her to rest and…

And she’d gone to sleep. Just like that. Dark Son’s curses. She hadn’t been keeping watch. Something could have happened.

She eased her arm off Ward and rolled away, leaving her cold from the separation. Some assassin she was. She was a complete mess.

The dagger lay on the floor at her side where she’d dropped it. She grabbed it and sat up. Val perched on a stool a few feet away, leaning against the altar, watching her.

Heat blossomed across her face. She’d been wrapped around Ward like a lover, and Val had been watching. It shouldn’t have embarrassed her. She’d never really cared what people thought of her before. But that was when she’d known who she was and what truth was. Now…now she had no clue and feared Val had seen something she should have kept secret.

“It’s only been a couple of hours. He’ll wake soon,” Val said.

At least she hadn’t been out for long. She slid the dagger into the sheath down the front of her bodice and turned back to Ward. His color had returned to normal, and his breath was slow and even.

“He’s going to be all right.” Val’s expression was neutral, any hint of his thoughts hidden. “He should probably eat something. You should, too, if you’re going to Macerio’s test at dawn.”

Right. The test. What were the odds that Ward would want to carry on with his ridiculous plan? Dumb question. Of course he would, he had oaths and vows and promises and was determined to kill himself. Well, better to face the crazy Innecroestri on a full stomach than an empty one. The thought was practical and absurd all at the same time, kind of like her life at the moment. Regardless, it gave her a good excuse to get away from Val and Ward and clear her mind. Something she desperately needed. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

He nodded, and she headed up the narrow passage in the dark. By memory, she found the stairs to the servants’ halls. She’d get her old clothes from her room and hide them with Ward’s rucksack in the stables. Then she’d see what food she could find in the kitchen and return. None of the servants bothered her, and she didn’t run into Macerio, any of his vesperitti, or his apprentice–hopeful on her way to her room. She climbed out the bedroom window and was racing around the house to the stables, with shirt and pants tucked under her arm, when movement on a hill toward the river caught her attention.

She ducked in the grass, scanning the area. Wonderful. This was the last thing she needed—those two remaining bounty hunters were still hanging around. Even if they didn’t know about Macerio and his vesperitti, the two soldiers and the Tracker should have scared them off. Why couldn’t the Goddess just give her one little thing? Just this once.

The urge to run across the meadow and dispose of them burned through her. It would be easy. It was dark out, and dawn was a couple hours a way. The night would give her cover, and even if they saw her coming, she was the best at what she did. That hadn’t changed with her new state of unlife. Her skills as an assassin were the same. Lethal, effective, in control.

Except, while killing them might make her feel better, it wouldn’t get the bounty removed from Ward’s head.

No, what they needed was someone to claim he’d killed Ward and Celia and earn the bounty…

And she knew a man who could manipulate a person’s mind to make that happen. Once Ward was safely out of this madhouse,
one
problem could be eliminated.

She slipped into the shed. Inside, the moonlight cut through cracks in the uneven wallboards, creating bands of illumination. The heavy aromas of manure and hay enveloped her from adjoining stables. She pulled Ward’s bag from its hiding spot and opened it to shove her clothes inside. Within was his book on illegal surgical procedures and the leather case with his surgical implements: a collection of silver-plated knives, tweezers, scissors, along with unfamiliar items. Smooth, sharp, silver.

The word stuck in her head. Silver. Ward had said the only way to kill a vesperitti was a silver blade to the heart. Her dagger wasn’t silver, it was steel. If one of Macerio’s vesperitti attacked her, her dagger would be useless.

She had to start thinking straight. No more taking chances.

She opened the leather case, selected two knives, and slid them into the sheath with her dagger.

After stuffing her clothes in the rucksack, she shoved it back behind the rags and saddle where she’d found it. She eased out of the shed and returned to the house. The hall was empty. Good.

She slipped inside and was headed toward the kitchen when Allette walked around the corner. Cold rage burned within Celia, sitting heavy in her gut. If it weren’t for Allette, Ward wouldn’t have almost died. It didn’t matter that the thought was illogical. All Celia could think of was how Allette manipulated Ward.
Her
Ward. And at the moment Ward needed warding.

“What do you want?” Celia asked, the ice within her seeping into her voice. She didn’t care. She wanted to plunge the silver knife into Allette’s heart, but a corpse lying around would probably endanger their plans.

Allette’s eyes widened, and she stumbled back a step.

“And don’t play innocent with me. I know you’re using Ward.” She’d move him someplace safe then return and kill the bitch.

“I’m not—”

“Not trying to use him?” Goddess, even now, even caught, the woman played games. Well, it might play to Ward’s compassion, but it wouldn’t work on Celia. “I’m not interested in games.”

“No—I mean, I am, but this isn’t a game.” Allette hugged herself. “Is he…? Did you…?”

“Save him?” Celia squeezed her hands tighter. She needed to hit something, stab someone, scream with frustration. Whoever had poisoned Ward must have bragged, and surely Macerio had heard Ward left the dance early.

Allette bit her bottom lip, her eyes even wider. “Rodas said he was dead and that proved you weren’t a real ves— I told Macerio Quirin was preparing for this morning’s test and had sequestered himself in his room, but—”

“Ward’s fine, and I’m real.” She couldn’t bring herself to thank Allette for covering for them because the girl might only be helping Ward so she could continue to use him. But at least now Celia knew it was Rodas she needed to kill.

“I never doubted you, and I never doubted him. I just…” Something hard flashed across Allette’s expression, but it disappeared before Celia could determine the emotion. Anger at her accusation? Or her true self bleeding through the facade? “We’re alike. Sisters. That moment we first awoke, called back across the veil, soul chained to another. Macerio was… He was all I could think about, all I wanted to think about.”

Celia bit back her argument. She and Allette were nothing alike. But the woman was opening up and with that came information. Hopefully, useful information.

“The sensation was overwhelming,” Allette said, her voice low. A flush spread across her cheeks, revealing her embarrassment and the truth behind her words. She’d been attracted to Macerio. Well, the man was gorgeous. Celia didn’t know a woman alive who wouldn’t find him attractive, until she became aware of his cruel nature.

Then Allette’s words hit her—Macerio was all she could think about when she’d first been woken. It implied a connection between master and vesperitti that consumed the thoughts of newly made creatures.

A chill seeped through Celia. She hadn’t been acting like herself. Two weeks ago, she would have hunted down everyone potentially involved in a friend’s poisoning, regardless of how guilty they were. And, instead, all she could think about was Ward, keeping him safe, fixing the mess she’d dragged him into, and how she felt about him. She’d fallen apart when she’d thought he was dying…when he
was
dying. She was still a mess.

Allette smoothed a wrinkle in her dress.

Ward had that nervous habit as well.

“We’re firsts,” Allette said. “The weakest of our kind and at the mercy of our masters.”

But Ward wasn’t Celia’s master. She was pretty sure about that, except— Damn, it all came back to the fact that she had no idea
what
she was.

And none of that mattered at the moment. “What do you want from him?”

“I’ve been with my master for almost 150 years.”

Celia narrowed her eyes to hide her surprise. So that part of the myth was true. Vesperitti and Innecroestris could live unnaturally long lives…or unlives as the case might be. “What do you want?”

“Your master isn’t like mine.”

“Get to the point.” Celia wouldn’t let Allette talk about Ward’s kindness. She didn’t deserve the privilege.

“Death.” What little strength Allette had shown melted away, and she became the mousy, scared woman Celia had seen in Macerio’s parlor. “I want an end. Severing the soul chain is my only chance at peace. Macerio is too powerful to stop, and he becomes stronger every day, living on the magic of his vesperitti and the souls they devour for him.”

“Why not stab yourself in the heart? I hear silver works great.”

“I’ll die, but the soul chain will still be intact. I can’t cross the veil.” Allette’s chin quivered. “Macerio will still have me.”

Celia couldn’t begin to imagine the terror experienced and witnessed over the hundred years Allette had been Macerio’s slave, or to be the weakest among eleven other vesperitti, likely at their mercy, as well. Most certainly at Lyla’s mercy. Val had been killed only a few months ago and already he thought death a preferable option to unlife. How would Val survive? He was tough, but no one could last an eternity in that situation without going mad. Their only escape was to get someone to cast a spell to release them from their soul chain.