Ward Against Darkness (Chronicles of a Reluctant Necromancer) (19 page)

Val’s whole body shook. His breath came in ragged gasps. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” Macerio made a claw.

Yes, Val did. Even Ward understood. Macerio could make him do anything. With the soul chain, he could will his thoughts into his pet’s mind and make Val’s body do anything.

Val moaned. His fingers dug into Brina’s neck drawing a strangled scream.

“Val.” Her nails dug bloody rents in his hand. Tears raced down her cheeks.

Sweat slicked Val’s forehead. The veins at his temples, in his neck, and along his arms, bulged. “I understand. I understand. Just let her go.”

“Ask nicely.”

Val struggled to breathe. Brina whimpered, her writhing slowing, growing weaker.

Macerio raised an eyebrow. “I said, ask nicely.”

The plea pressed against Ward’s lips. But if he said anything, Macerio would kill him.

“Please.” Val gasped. “Please. I’m yours. You’re my master.”

“That’s right.” Macerio smiled, his eyes dark with pleasure. “You are mine. You will always be mine. Never forget that.” Macerio snapped his hand into a fist.

Val’s hand spasmed, digging his fingers deeper into Brina’s neck. She screamed again, shrill and desperate. Her eyes grew wide, and with a strangled gasp, she went limp. Val roared and every muscle strained against Macerio’s magic holding him captive.

Goddess above, it had happened so fast. Ward couldn’t make his mind fully register what he’d witnessed. All he could think was he was responsible for another death. Though there was nothing he could have done, he hadn’t spoken out, which made him an accomplice.

Macerio made Val open his hand, dropping Brina to the ground. She crumpled, her eyes lifeless, blood oozing from the gouges Val’s fingers had dug into her neck.

“You will always ask permission. Do what I say, when I say it. Never forget that.” Macerio ran a finger through a streak of blood on Val’s arm from Brina’s scratches. He studied the dark smear on his fingertip then sucked it clean. “Understand that, and there won’t be any more lessons.”

Val shuddered under the Innecroestri’s control.

“Now, I’m not a complete monster. Quirin, wake the girl so my pet can say goodbye.”

Goddess, no. But Ward couldn’t refuse without incurring Macerio’s wrath. Trembling, Ward made himself take the few steps to Brina and kneel, his heart racing, his limbs numb. If he couldn’t wake her, Macerio would kill him as well.

Ward reached for his dagger to prick his finger and realized he didn’t have one. There wasn’t a goddess-eye drawn on her forehead either, but Macerio probably expected Ward to cast without one. It would make him look beyond weak if he needed to bolster the blood already on Brina.

Closing his eyes, he placed his right hand on Brina’s forehead and left hand on her heart. He called on knowledge from the Light Son, power over the dead from the Dark Son, and grace and well-being from the Goddess.
Please bring grace and well-being.
He imagined the power in Brina’s blood flying to the veil, opening it, and drawing her soul back to her body.

She gasped.

Just like that. No struggle, only a hint of concentration, and she was awake.

It happened faster than Ward expected. He thought he’d have to really focus, imagine a blast of power throwing the veil open. But it was as if he’d taken a breath, had a fleeting thought, and there it was. Maybe Allette had been right, and the afternoon’s practice hadn’t been a waste of time.

And maybe just his fear of dying at Macerio’s hands had ensured success.

Brina’s gaze darted from Ward and Celia to Val to Macerio. Val collapsed to his knees beside her. He reached for her but didn’t finish the movement; his hand stopped inches from her cheek, and he bit his lip as if uncertain what to say.

Macerio rolled his eyes and stomped, one heavy thump of his foot. The ground shuddered, and the grass rippled. With a roar, the dirt beside them heaved up into a pillar and split, pouring into two mounds on either side of a shallow rectangular hole. A grave-sized hole. “You’ve had your moment. Toss her in and bury her.”

“But she’ll be with us for fifteen minutes.” The words came out before Ward could stop them.

Macerio leveled his gaze on Ward. “Apprentices need to learn they don’t ask, they only obey as well.”

Ward inched back. “Of course, Macerio.”

“Now, I said toss her in.”

“No.” Val lunged at Macerio.

The Innecroestri flicked a finger, and Val dropped to his knees.

Brina glanced between the two. She didn’t seem to know what was going on or that she was dead.

“You can’t win. I’ve already proven that. Bury her.”

“No,” Val said between clenched teeth.

“I was hoping you’d keep fighting this lesson.” Macerio pointed at Val, who clutched his chest and howled. He collapsed to his side, writhing in agony. Brina reached for him, but Macerio batted her hand away.

Val struggled to rise, and Macerio turned his wrist, drawing another scream. The veins on Val’s neck bulged even more.

“I said, toss her in and bury her.”

Val shook his head. “No.”

Macerio squeezed his fist again.

Val moaned.

Ward hugged himself against his own shaking. Bile burned the back of his throat. He wanted to run. No. He wanted to be powerful enough to stop Macerio. But that wasn’t possible, and if he wanted to survive, he had to watch. He could only pray Val would hold out long enough for the wake spell to end.

Brina staggered to her feet. Macerio pointed his other hand at her and hissed in Vys. Her head jerked back as if struck, and she stumbled into the grave.

“Fight all you want, but you will fill in that hole.” Macerio flicked his fingers. Val lurched to the closest mound of dirt and shoved his hands into the pile. His arms and legs twitched. He didn’t move. Sweat slicked his forehead, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Macerio clenched his hand again. Val screamed and tossed a handful of dirt into the grave.

“Please.” Val screamed again and another handful went into the grave. Brina whimpered inside, but was too stunned from Macerio’s magical blow to move. Another scream from Val. More dirt.

Ward bit the inside of his lip. Allette quivered beside him, and Celia was still as stone on the other side of the grave. There was nothing they could do. Nothing. He couldn’t even end his wake spell for fear Macerio would think him weak and disposable. He had to survive. He could survive. Please, let it be over soon.

Macerio chuckled, his mirth turning to pleasure, the ecstasy of blood magic, the trap that lured necromancers to the darkness and consumed them. What Allette was teaching Ward to embrace.

Oh, Goddess, please. Don’t let him turn into that.

Chapter Twenty-six

Ward’s stomach churned as Val threw another handful of dirt onto the grave. Brina was now buried. Whether Ward’s wake on her was done or not, she was dead.

Macerio licked his finger again, even though it was clean of Val’s blood, and stared at the eastern horizon. Dawn would break soon. “Why is it, Quirin, you always look like you’ve slept in your shirt?”

“I—” He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to remain in Macerio’s presence, but he had to steal the grimoires.

“Change into a fresh shirt and hurry to my work room.” He held an arm out to Lyla who took it, and they sauntered back to the house.

“All right. That’s it. We’re leaving,” Celia said. “And don’t give me that shit about duty and honor.”

“Celia, I can’t.” He was the Union’s biggest fool, but someone had to weaken Macerio.

Val froze, his hands poised to pick up another scoop of dirt. Allette shifted, a tiny movement as if she were afraid to be noticed.

“If there’s a chance, even a small one, that I can get those books, I have to try.”

“Did you just miss what happened? I’m not going to let you kill yourself because of some necromancer honor.” She grabbed his wrist and tugged.

He yanked free of her grip. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No. Someone has to do it.”

“And that someone isn’t you.” She lunged at him.

He stumbled back and threw out his arms to catch his balance, but she seized his wrist. With a twist, she spun him around and wrenched his arm up and back. Pain bit his shoulder, and his knees buckled.

“We’re leaving. This isn’t a discussion.”

The pressure on his arm eased, and he bucked up, shoving her back. “Celia, please—”

Shock flashed across her face, and she leapt at him, tackling him to the ground.

He struggled to rise, but Celia rammed her knee into his ribs. Pain shot across his chest. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pinned his torso with her knees. “I will make you go if I have to.”

“Celia—” He thrashed against her grip.

She yanked him up and slammed him back into the ground. “You don’t get to die today.” She jerked again.

His head hit the ground, and his teeth snapped together. The tang of blood swept across his tongue. He clawed at her hands but couldn’t break free.

“Do you understand me?”

Another jerk. Air burst from his lungs, and white light shot through his head.

Celia gasped. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto Ward’s chest, unconscious…dead…

He rolled her to the side, straining to feel her breath on his hand.

“What have you done?” Val dropped to his knees, pulled Celia into his arms, and glared at Ward, looking every bit the monster that he was. “What. Have. You. Done?”

Ward scrambled back. “I don’t know I—” Oh, Goddess. “Is she dead?” Did he kill her? His throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was numb.

“Get your books and be done with it.”

“But—”

“Go!” Val roared.

Ward scrambled to his feet. Celia had to be all right. She just had to be. But he wouldn’t know with Val holding her, ready to kill him.

“Ward, we have to go. Macerio is waiting,” Allette said.

Celia was still, too still.

“He’ll hunt you down if you don’t show up. He’ll hunt all of us.”

Celia drew in a ragged breath.

“I told you to leave, Innecroestri,” Val said.

“Come on, Ward.” Allette tugged his sleeve.

Celia drew another breath but didn’t wake.

He had to go. He still had an obligation. His mind whirling, he stumbled away. Celia didn’t want to steal the books, and now she couldn’t because of him. He couldn’t do this without her. Except, now, he had no choice.

They reached the door to the mansion, and Allette grabbed the latch. He put his hand over hers, stopping her from opening it. “Get me both grimoires, and I’ll sever your soul chain.”.

Her wide-set eyes were filled with worry. But was it worry for him or worry she wouldn’t get her chance at freedom? “You’ll need your full strength to cast the spell.”

“What I’ve got is the best I can do.”

“I can—” Allette glanced at their joined hands. They stood so close, his arm on hers, her back tucked against his chest. “I can help you regain more strength. You’d only need a little to ensure you’re strong enough.”

“How would I get this strength?” He refused to sacrifice someone to get this power.

“Our master siphons the magic from our soul to sustain his life…and his youth. In turn, we take the soul magic from others to survive.”

“I’m not taking someone’s soul magic to free you.”

“You don’t have to. I can give you some of mine, like Celia gave you hers to save you from the poison.” She wrapped her fingers around his hand and squeezed.

“Celia gave me—?” Right, she thought Celia was his vesperitti. Except she wasn’t a vesperitti. How had he survived the poison?

“I need you to free me,” Allette said.

He didn’t want to take anyone’s soul magic, but if he wanted to free Allette…“Will it hurt?”

She slid her fingers free of his and cupped his cheek with her hand. They stood close, like how he wanted to be with Celia. “The opposite, actually.”

She closed her eyes and blew out a slow breath, then another. A hint of red smoke drifted from her lips. Just like the smoke Macerio had pulled from Enota.

Ward’s pulse sped up. He was about to cross yet another boundary a necromancer should never cross. Too much blood magic, now this.

Allette brought her other hand to his face, capturing him between her tiny palms.

He’d agreed to help. Her freedom, and the destruction of one of the Union’s most dangerous Innecroestri grimoires, was worth this. It wasn’t a stain on his soul if he did it for the right reason.

She parted her lips. Red smoke swirled inside her mouth, pulsing with dark light like a heartbeat. She drew closer, ever so close.

Her lips brushed his. A curl of smoke caressed his cheek, and his heart skipped a beat. Goddess, what was he doing?

More smoke curled from Allette’s parted lips around Ward. It teased into his mouth and up his nose, whispering the promise of unimaginable power. He could be stronger than any necromancer alive—have the strength to defeat Macerio.

No. That was a fool’s dream. All he needed was to weaken Macerio until the Necromantic Council of Elders could defeat him.

Allette pressed her lips to his. A detached part of his mind knew smoke and magic and power poured into him, but he couldn’t feel it. He was still mystically blind. But he wasn’t physically blind. Allette’s lips were soft, her kiss tender. There was a promise of affection, one he yearned to have.

A new ache grew within him. He shouldn’t be kissing Allette, even though he needed the infusion of magic. It should be Celia he kissed.

He grasped Allette’s shoulders to push her away, and she grabbed the back of his head, forcing their lips together. Magic poured around him, choking him, flooding his being. He struggled against her grip, but she held tight with her unnatural vesperitti strength. He was drowning in magic. There was nothing but magic. It would consume his soul, and he would never know it was happening.

The world turned red. All he could see was a dark, pulsing haze. He pushed against Allette’s grip. It was too much. She had to stop.

He jerked again.

Her grip loosened. He shoved her, and she stumbled back. Her voice was weak. “You needed enough to cast the spell.”

“You said—” Red smoke curled from his mouth. His stomach churned. The necromantic laws he’d broken—

“If you fail tonight, I’ll face an eternity of torture.” She looked pale, lessened, as if she were a memory of herself.

“You should have said something.” He wiped his mouth but couldn’t get the feel of her off his lips.

“Would you have agreed to so much soul magic?”

No. Yes… He didn’t know. “I keep my promises.”

And to do that, he had to face Macerio.

Celia drew in another ragged breath. Her lungs burned as if she’d been underwater for too long and air was the most precious thing in the world.

Memory slammed into her. Ward. The fool. He wouldn’t leave this madhouse. When she’d tried to make him, he’d used his magic, she’d gone cold like when his first wake spell on her failed, and—

“He killed me.”

“Reverse wake, actually,” Val said. “You’re lucky. He could have severed your soul chain.”

She scrambled to her knees, realizing, too late, Val’s arms cradled her. She realized too many things too late these days. The hillside was empty save for the two of them. The eastern horizon wasn’t edged with light, so she hadn’t been soulless for long. Ward wasn’t there. “Where is he?”

Val’s scowl deepened.

“Val, where is he?” But she knew. That thing in her chest twisted until everything hurt.

“Where do you think?”

She glanced at the house. She’d known he wouldn’t give up, but she couldn’t let him face Macerio alone.

“Looks like we’re still on.” She stood, but Val grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

“Don’t.” Grief filled that one word, so much pain and no longer any anger. Macerio had broken Val, proven Macerio controlled his body. He had nothing left—no hope, no family, not even his life. Macerio had taken it all.

A cold fury sparked Celia. She hadn’t known Val well, but he didn’t deserve such torment. Macerio needed to pay and stealing two books wasn’t enough. The man needed to suffer.

And right now, Ward was facing that man by himself. Her fear returned, bleeding through her fury.

It didn’t matter that Ward hadn’t listened to her, and it didn’t matter that he’d used his magic to push her soul from her body—perhaps, he was finally coming into his power, which might be enough to save him.

All that mattered was getting him out of that house alive, whether he liked it or not.

She crouched in front of Val. “I don’t know what I am, but I owe my unlife to Ward.”

“You’re bound to him. I can’t see the soul chain, but you have to be.”

Her throat tightened. “I
am
bound to him.” In more ways than she thought possible, and not just a debt of life. She didn’t want to admit how much more she felt, or that she couldn’t abandon him no matter how stupid he was. Not when doing the right thing was about to get him killed.

She met Val’s gaze, knowing her fear and hope and love for Ward showed in her eyes. “You’ve seen the real me, you know I’m more than capable of handling whatever Macerio throws at me.”

“No, you’re not.” Val shuddered and hugged himself. “He can make you do anything.”

“It doesn’t matter. Ward needs our help.” She held out her hand to him. “Are you with me?”

His dark gaze slid from her fingers to her face. “Who are you, Celia Carlyle?”

That was a very good question.

Ward stood in the shadows of a narrow side hall, peering toward the sitting room. He could do this. Without Celia. But no matter how many times he repeated it, he couldn’t accept it. Because he didn’t
want
to do it without her.

He still couldn’t believe she’d attacked him or that he’d cast a reverse wake on her. He couldn’t take pride in his successful casting. All he felt was shame. He was a murderer, and he’d used magic he didn’t know he had against Celia. She’d probably left with Val. It had been foolish to even hope she and Ward would have a friendship.

But that didn’t matter now—if he said it enough times, maybe he’d believe it.

He smoothed the sleeves of the new shirt Allette had given him before she’d hurried off. He could be walking into a trap…he probably was. All he had was Allette’s word and too much of her soul magic.

He dropped his hand to the hilt of the dagger she had also given him. It wouldn’t do much against Macerio’s vesperitti, but any weapon was better than none. Celia’s absence ached within him, and he struggled to push his feelings aside. Stealing the grimoires was the only purpose he had left.

With a quick breath, he stepped into the hall, and there was Celia, framed by the archway in the middle of the passage, as if his thoughts had summoned her. She was stunning. Her black dress accentuated her pale skin and blue-black hair. Ice filled her blue eyes, but he couldn’t tell if it was rage at him or determination.

She strode toward him, deadly grace ready to tackle him again.

He squared his shoulders. “I’m not leaving.”

“So it would seem.”

Did that mean she’d returned to help him even after he’d used magic on her? He looked away, unable to meet her cold stare any longer. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure at the time you did.”

He couldn’t tell if her voice held anger or amusement. “Celia, I—”

“Later. Let’s get through the next hour first.”

“Of course.” They never found a good time to talk about what was really important.

“When Allette and I slip out of the room, distract Macerio for five minutes, then make your excuse and get out of there. We’ll meet up by the stables and leave. No more than five minutes.”

“Five minutes.” He should feel good that she’d returned for him, but, beyond all logic, it stung that she was all business.

“If it looks bad, don’t wait. Get out of there.”

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Good. Now take this in case you need it.” She pulled one of his surgical knives from the front of her bodice.

It was silver-plated. Someone had been thinking, which was more than he’d done lately. He slid the knife into the dagger’s sheath at his hip, behind the dagger. “Thank you.”

She frowned, her expression strained, probably because he’d cast a reverse wake, and she felt bound to go through with his suicidal plan. She reached for him as Rodas rounded the corner.

“Standing in the hall won’t keep you safe.” Rodas sauntered toward them, his girth swathed in black, the curls of his wig bouncing against his shoulders, leaving powder stark against the fabric. “You have no strength. You should run while you can.”

“Quirin has more strength than you think.” Celia eased closer to Ward and squeezed his arm to remind him to play the role of Quirin.

He forced one eyebrow up and gave Rodas his cockiest expression. “Macerio will determine who’s best.”