Ward Against Death (24 page)

“So his research had nothing to do with it?” Celia sounded so disappointed.

“I’m sorry you’ve traveled all this way. If Nicco had stayed focused on cataloguing the wall carvings in Veknormai, he would have written the only book on the subject. But he fell into the trap so many other scholars have, and that’s the mystery of the Nectar. I can understand why. No one knows what it really means, what it is, or why the Ancients mention it so many times in so many different carvings.”

Tarsh snorted. “Although, let’s face it, the Nectar of Veknormai, or the Dead, written over and over again in a cemetery... It doesn’t seem like such a mystery to me. Probably some kind of embalming concoction or ritual drink the Ancients gave to their deceased.”

§

They returned to the cavern without incident and without a word, which suited Celia just fine. The strain of trying to keep her thoughts veiled, maintain her scholar persona, keep an eye out for any of the Master’s assassins, and resist the urge to rip out Ward’s throat had almost been too much. She had a lot to think about and she wanted to do that thinking without Ward eavesdropping.

She turned to him and forced a smile. “I’m going to look at Nicco’s research again.” She kicked off her shoes and marched to the stairs. It was the best she could come up with, although she wouldn’t be able to sit at her desk for long before Ward came looking for her. She should have said she was going to bed, but it was too late now and she wasn’t going to turn around and tell him she’d changed her mind.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she had to tell Ward something, if only to keep him thinking she didn’t know about his deception. But she had nothing to say. She still had no idea who had killed her and could only guess it had something to do with stealing Nicco’s research, which seemed pretty ridiculous. Perhaps whoever wanted Nicco dead somehow found out she hadn’t destroyed his work and had her killed as well. But that still didn’t explain why there wasn’t evidence of an assignment. It also didn’t explain why the Master had tried to get her to leave town.

There would be repercussions for not leaving. Word had probably reached the Master by now that she was still in Brawenal. She’d have to renew her vigilant watch every tiwatlign="justme she went out, since the Master had as many eyes as her father.

And there was still the matter of Bakmeire and that woman. She shivered at the memory of her sucking the life out of that boy, and pushed the thought from her mind. One problem at a time.

She reached her study, crossed the paper obstacle course on the floor, and sat at her desk. Before her, dead center on the desk, was her father’s journal opened to the first page. Beside that, a neat pile of her loose parchments and a stack of books.

Ward had cleaned.

She didn’t know if she should be furious or grateful, and let the two emotions battle within her for a moment before shoving them aside.

It didn’t really matter how she felt about Ward cleaning her desk. She knew how she felt about him. Period. And just like her, his time would come. Except, for him, there wouldn’t be a necromancer available to wake him.

Until then, she needed to keep him strung along to help solve her murder, or reveal who he worked for. They were likely one and the same.

She sighed and tried to review the meager information they’d uncovered. She knew Tarsh had been wrong and Grysmore had been right. Distraught parchment merchants didn’t buy assignments on overdue scholars, or at least she’d never heard of it happening. She also knew, from Ward, that the words were real and they were herbs. Strange that both intellectuals didn’t know what the words were but Ward did. Perhaps that was a slip on his part. Although he did say they were specifically used by necromancers. Perhaps Nicco was right, and they did have something to do with the Nectar of Veknormai.

She let the pieces swirl around in her mind, trying to fit them together, trying to figure out how it, if at all, had anything to do with her murder.

And whose murder was she really trying to solve? Hers or Nicco’s? What did it matter? The Master was obviously involved. If she went to him and asked, would he tell her? He’d commanded her to leave town and hadn’t killed Ward outright. She couldn’t decide if that was good for her or not.

She flipped to the second page in the journal, revealing more indecipherable scratches. If it were just her, she would have left when they found Solartti dead, blaruncoveut Ward kept looking at her with those big brown eyes, waiting for her to clear his pathetic name and free him from his Oath.

What had happened to her? She shouldn’t have had a problem killing someone like Ward, even if she didn’t know he was trying to manipulate her. It was business, nothing more. His chosen persona was weak. He didn’t know how to survive on his own, and she never would have taken him under her wing before she’d died. She was sure by now she didn’t need him. His spell was holding fine and he was a liability.

“Celia?” a quiet voice asked.

Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? It was all she asked for. The cavern was huge, he could have gone exploring or something, but that wasn’t his real purpose. She knew he had to be close to her to keep her off guard, away from her murderer.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Celia squeezed the edge of her desk and reminded herself, once again, she needed to hide the fact that she had found Ward out. She schooled her expression into an exhausted melancholy and looked at him peeking in the doorway. “What is it?”

“I’ve had an idea and I thought...” From behind his back he produced two cups.

“Excuse me?”

He crossed to the desk and set the cups on it then turned to the bookshelf and picked one of his two jugs of wines. “This is a rather nice merlot. I’ve been saving it for a special moment.”

A nice wine? Huh. She could play this game. His need to stay close could be used to her advantage, particularly if alcohol was involved. She picked up a cup and held it out. “So what’s so special?”

Ward unwound the hemp braid around the jug’s neck, wrapped it around his hand for leverage, and pulled out the waxed stopper.larunn>

“I think I’ve figured out why I can’t wake Solartti.” He filled her cup.

Knowing why still didn’t solve the problem of his death, her death, or Ward. Not something worth celebrating, but drawing attention to that would be counterintuitive. To hold her tongue, Celia took a sip of the wine and focused on the hint of berries and plums. Quite nice. At least Ward hadn’t lied about that.

“Remember that list of herbs?” He swirled the wine in his cup and sat in the chair opposite her.

“The ones Grysmore and Tarsh think are made up?”

“Yes. Which doesn’t surprise me. Unless you specialize in rare herbs, you likely wouldn’t know about them. You’d have no reason to.”

She didn’t know if she believed that. “What has that got to do with Solartti?”

“When ibria—that’s one of the herbs on the list—is mixed with charlatous and zephnyr oil, it creates a poison that destroys the soul. It’s actually one of the cruelest deaths and very few people would stoop so low. But given the circumstances...” He shrugged.

“What does that mean?” she asked before he could continue, taking himself further away from his point.

“It means there’s nothing that crosses the veil. So there’s nothing for me to call back.”

Celia took another sip. “So how do you know it’s this herb and not... you know...?”

“A failure on my part? I might not be a very good necromancer, but I’ve never had a wake fail on me.”

That didn’t surprise her. There was something powerful about Ward, something yet unrealized. Unless, of course, he had fully realized his true potential and was hiding it from her. Which meant she needed to play along. She let a hint of surprise flash across her expression. “You’ve never had a wake fail? Really?”

“Really.” He took a long swig of wine. “Which means there has to be some other reason why I can’t wake him.”

Aside from the fact that Solartti found something out and his master had commanded that Ward not wake him. She stood, eased around to the front of the desk, and sat on the edge. “So how do we find out?”

“I need to put on my surgeon’s cap.”

“You’re going to cut him open?” How disgusting. There was something unnatural about desecrating the dead.

“I could. The herb-charlatous-oil combination blackens the liver. However, I can also detect the herb by doing a simple test of his blood.” His eyes lit up and he sat forward.

It amazed her he knew these things. How could he test someone’s blood and know they had ingested an herb? She picked up the wine bottle, leaned in, and topped up his cup, wishing the neckline of her dress was more revealing.

“And by finding out if that’s how Solartti died, then...?”

“Then we have a short list of suspects.”

“Of people who might have killed Solartti.” She took a gulp of wine and swallowed without tasting it. She already knew who’d killed Solartti. It didn’t help her solve her murder.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence Solartti died as soon as you asked him to find out who sent you that warning note.”

She didn’t think so either since the woman with the earrings had killed him. Goddess, the note about the assassination assignment on her life seemed a long time ago. Even Ward waking her in her bedroom seemed like a different life. “Do you think we’re getting sidetracked?”

Ward stared into his cup, his forefinger tracing the rim.

She took another sip. If he said
yes
, did it mean he wasn’t a player and his late-night visit at that inn was unrelated? Did
no
mean he was playing her? And if he was playing her, why was she still alive?

“I think,” Ward said, his voice soft, “that this is much bigger than you.”

“Bigger than me? I’m the Dominus’ daughter.”

“You don’t need to remind me.” He raised his left hand and winced. “I just think that if we figure out
how
Solartti was killed we can figure out
who
.”

He looked at her with his brown eyes, and she knew she’d found her moment. She set her cup aside and knelt at his feet, clasping his hand between hers. “You’re right. This is our first good lead and we should follow it.”

He nodded and she could tell he wanted to jump up and get started.

“But it can wait a moment. We’re celebrating you. And you haven’t finished your drink.”

“That’s because you topped it up.”

She smiled and sat back on her heels. “And that’s because I plan on getting you drunk and taking advantage of you.”

He laughed and took a long swig from his cup. “No, really, I should—”

“No.” She skimmed her hands up his thighs to his waist and leaned in, brushing her nose against his. “Really.”

He flushed. The strength of her advance was risky, but she no longer had time to play it slow. Now was her only opportunity.

“Celia.” His voice wavered on an uneerep height=ven breath. “I...”

She ran her hands up his chest, along his neck, and cupped his jaw between her palms. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine Ward was the innocent, honest man she’d believed. Beneath her fingers, she could feel his noble heritage, the chiseled lines of his cheeks and jaw. His betrayal hurt more than she thought possible, and she pressed her lips to his before she could change her mind.

He froze, and his lips trembled under hers. It was too fast, too soon, and she eased back. But then he caught the back of her head with his hand and deepened the kiss with a sudden, intense need, sending a shock of pleasure through her.

She gasped, caught off guard. She shouldn’t have been. When Ward decided to do something, he committed to it fully. She’d seen it time and again.

Her assassin’s heart sent cold commands, telling her how to capture his emotions, but she shut it away. The seduction was no longer a game, and she didn’t want to play it now that she was here. She wanted it to be real, wanted to be with this handsome, gentle man.

He set his cup on the floor and brushed his fingers through her hair, pulling more wisps free of her braid. With a renewed kiss, he parted his lips and she met his tongue with hers. His breath was warm and tasted like the merlot, sweet and heady. Heat pulsed through her with every quickening beat of her heart. This would be the last time she’d have a physical connection with a man. She hadn’t had many encounters, and now they seemed too few, her life too short. She shouldn’t have even had this opportunity, but somehow the Goddess had given her this last gift.

She grabbed the bottom of his shirt. He bit his lip, but raised his arms, and she eased the cloth over his head. With a feathery touch she ran her fingers down his chest to the band of his pants, making him groan. He cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her again. This time it was slow and deliberate, drawing a dizzying heat from within her, burning away everything but his lips, his lean, muscled chest, and the need to have both closer, pressed against her.

His right hand found the laces on her dress and he slipped the bow loose. He drew the ties free, each tug a spark, firing her anticipation, yearning for him to touch her flesh again with his Goddess-gifted hands. She trembled at the thought and at the tender passion in his kisses. His lips swept up her neck, and along the side of her face, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his hand still. She ached with need, desperate for him to rip away the clop abreatth between his hands and her flesh. Heat radiated from his palm through the fabric, spreading over her skin, setting every nerve on fire.

“Celia.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

He was so still, like a bird about to take flight.

All his passion, his desire, throbbed beneath that stillness, captured, struggling to break free. She could hear it in his quick breath, feel it in his pulse.

“I...”

He clasped her shoulders and sucked in a slow breath. His passion stilled even more.

No. This was not supposed to happen. Her thoughts whirled and panic bled icy across her desire.

He swallowed hard and leaned back.

Her breath caught in her throat. Please, no. He couldn’t betray her this way, too. It was her last chance. Wouldn’t it serve his purpose to strengthen the connection between them? She was the one in control—it was
her
who manipulated
him
.

“Celia...” He clambered out of the chair, caught his foot on one of the legs, and teetered, struggled to keep his balance, then staggered past her, racing for the door, his shirt forgotten on the chair.

“Ward, plea—” She bit her lip. She would not beg.

He froze and gripped the edge of the doorway without looking back at her. “I...” His knuckles turned white. “I...
Goddess
.”

She helRompan>

“There are laws,” he said, his voice husky.

“What?” Her heart skipped a beat.

“I can’t. There are laws.”

He glanced over his shoulder, a tortured look in his eyes that made her gasp, then turned his back on her. On
her!
This was her last chance, and he rejected her.

She leapt to her feet, fury burning away all other emotions. No one turned their back on her. She was the Dominus’ daughter. The whole situation was out of control. She had only herself to blame, and that hurt more than anything. But she could still make Ward pay for it, too.

“Ward—”

“You’re dead.”

The words slammed into her, a physical blow. Her legs trembled and she ground her teeth, determined to keep standing.

“I’m so sorry.”

He walked out of the room, leaving her numb. Even the fury had vanished.