Bound by Blood and Sand (12 page)

The ember of anger caught fire, rage burning inside her, overwhelming her. She twisted, trying to shove his hands away from her, to do
something.
He was stronger than she was, and already on top of her. She couldn't move far enough or fast enough. His hand seized her wrist, pinned it down on the mat, and he snapped, “Stop that.”

The Curse hit her, a jolt of pain in her skull. Punishment for rebelling, even from unspoken orders; a warning not to do it again. But she couldn't stop herself, not now. She couldn't move after being ordered not to, but the pulsing, bright energy called to her. As Rannith reached for her again, she reached for the energy, grasped it with her mind, and
pulled.

Suddenly she was outside her body, like she had been the previous night, with the whole estate spread out beneath her. She saw everyone, saw herself and Rannith. Blazing with anger, she ignored the throbbing Curse pain and seized more energy,
threw
it at him. He fell back, staring around in bewilderment, then reached for her again.

Her body was shaking now. Not with fear but with rage, defiance. The Curse punished her, throbbing pain echoing down her body and pulling her back to it when she'd rather be floating above. Even when she stared up through her own eyes, she could still see and feel the magic. See it, feel it,
use
 it.

She shook, and so did the ground.

The ground shifted, the world trembling as if her nerves had run out of her body, down into the sleeping mat and the floor. Rannith let out a short, startled noise, and
now
Jae smiled, despite the pain. The Curse raged inside her, tearing, pulling her apart for disobeying Lord Elan's order—but she was white-hot with anger, and with
power.
The Wellspring Bloodlines' power, not just to control the Well but to touch the elements and use their energy. She pulled all the Bloodlines' power toward her, drinking it in greedily, letting it quench her the way water did. There was so much, the power of dozens of families, hundreds of people, all their magic now at her beck and call. It was so much,
enough.
It drowned out the pain, boiled inside her, and bled out. The room shook with her rage—the room and all of Aredann. Somewhere outside where she lay trapped, people screamed. Furniture crashed as it toppled over, sand and dust cascaded from the ceiling as the brick walls shook with her anger.

“What's…what's happening?” Rannith gasped, scrambling for a sheet to cover himself as he stared around, trying to keep his balance.

“It's me,” Jae said, answering the question gladly. She looked up at the ceiling and could feel each individual brick.

“Stop it!” he screamed.
“Stop it all!”

The Curse reared up again, making her deaf and blind from pain. It stabbed at her skull, raced down her spine. The whole world was agony—

Agony, and
power.
Teeth gritted, she reached for all that power. The Curse ripped at her, stabbed and screamed and tried to wrestle control back, but even when it took over her body, she could still control her mind. She couldn't see properly, couldn't open her eyes unless she surrendered to the Curse's authority, but she didn't need to.

Instead she reached for her magic and struck
back,
throwing energy at the Curse. Even with her eyes shut, she could sense the Curse around her, almost see it. It was enormous, invisible, but everywhere, like the air itself. She'd inhaled it, moved through it, lived with it her entire life, but now she could
see
it, see how it gathered around her, choking her and demanding she submit. She wouldn't, wouldn't,
wouldn't.
She threw magic back at it, all the energy she could find. She wedged the magic inside herself and pushed
out,
tried to throw the Curse back, but it wasn't enough. The Curse rushed into any space she created, too much, too huge. She needed to see more, to see it completely. She pushed past the Curse until she was outside herself entirely, able to see everything in the strange other-vision that was just energy.

The Wellspring Bloodlines were tangled together, each life a strand within ropes, the ropes making up a braid. They were stronger together, but another thread ran through the rope with them. Bloody and burning, it twisted between them, around them, stifling any hint of resistance. The Curse, part of them, destroying them.

When Jae tried to pluck it away, to unravel the Curse from the Bloodlines, another wave of agony hit. The pain struck everywhere at once, in her body and her mind, and more—not just hers. She sensed every Closest in the world screaming as the Curse came down on them all. She retreated, back into its agonizing embrace—

But no, no. Rannith knew she was the one shaking the world. Lord Elan would know she'd tried to disobey him. She
had
disobeyed him, just by holding the Curse off for so long. They'd never let that stand; they would kill her unless there was a way out. But how could there be, when she was one of the threads tangled up in the Bloodlines, in the Curse?

The world pulsed black and red around her as she fought to stay out of her body and in this magic realm. She searched and found
herself
inside the rope of Bloodlines. She was one tiny, glowing thread, but she pulled at it—plucked herself away from the outside. The Curse rushed in, but only in on her, and she didn't care, even as the Curse stabbed and tore, trying to keep her in her place. It hurt, but the pain didn't matter, because she'd rather die than live as one of the Closest any longer. Not when she knew all this magic belonged to them, and not the Highest. She'd never give in to the Highest again—

She pulled with all her strength, with all the Bloodlines' magic, with all the energy she could reach. For a moment it
was
too much, stretching her in every direction, as the Curse tried to pull her apart—

A
snap
echoed above everything else. The pain stopped, and she slammed back into her body so hard that the sleeping mat skittered to the side. Energy still glowed brightly around her as she opened her eyes, but she didn't see the Curse clinging to her. It still pulsed nearby, but it ignored her, the same way it ignored Rannith—

Rannith.

Jae laughed as she sat up, staring at him. He seemed so small, suddenly, puny and pathetic as he cowered. The ground still shook faintly, and the air was hot and dry. When Jae moved, the blanket crackled with energy, as if it was going to shock her. She could sense each individual brick in the ceiling, felt for their energy, and tugged. The bricks above Rannith fell, the ceiling collapsing, rubble piling over half the room while she watched.

Rannith screamed once, and then there was nothing but the sound of bricks tumbling into a pile as they hit the floor. Jae tried to catch her breath, looked down at her handiwork. It was impossible to see Rannith under all that, but she
could
see the pool of blood leaking its way across the floor.

She exhaled and leaned back on the sleeping mat. There was still too much energy in the room around her, so much that it was stifling, and she was exhausted. She could barely breathe as it all tried to escape back to where it belonged, rushing away from her. She let it go, knowing she could call it back when she needed it, use it whenever she wanted, however she wanted. She was free of the Curse—she was
free
—and all that power was hers.

It swept away, and she let it, let the room go black around her, let the exhaustion catch up to her. Shut her eyes, unconscious but free.

Dinner over, Elan retired to Lady Shirrad's study. She and Desinn both followed him and settled around the table. The empty wall stretched above him, the bricks that had been behind the mosaic darker than those around them, untouched by the sun for so long. The mosaic itself leaned against the base of the wall, clean and ready to be packed away.

“My message should reach Highest Lord Elthis soon,” Desinn said. “We'll want the estate to be ready for abandonment when he arrives. The less time he has to spend here, the better.”

Lady Shirrad scowled. “The Well might still provide.” She didn't sound hopeful, though. Just angry.

Elan took a moment to examine her. When he'd first arrived, she'd been made up beautifully, carefully. He'd seen through the facade quickly enough, the paint on her face and the fraying embroidery on her recently dyed dress. Now she didn't seem to care anymore. Instead of an artful arrangement, she'd pulled the thick coils of her hair back into a simple knot. Her face was clean of everything but sweat, and her clothes were as dull and unwashed as everyone else's. She stank of perfume—but so did everyone, even Elan. His skin itched with how much he wanted a bath, but there simply wasn't water for it. No wonder Shirrad had looked so pained when he'd demanded a bath that first night.

“Lady, enough,” Desinn said. “The Highest have decided Aredann must be abandoned, for the good of everyone—even you, whether you want to admit that or not.”

“It's
not
for my good,” she snapped, then looked stricken and turned to Elan. “I—I didn't mean that, Highest. I
do
understand. It's just—Aredann is my home. The idea of abandoning it to the desert…”

“I understand, Lady,” Elan said gently, and for a moment he thought of Jae, the grim look on her face when she'd said she was determined to save Aredann. He hesitated, wanting to tell them the truth. “Lady, the mage-crafted fountain in the garden, the one in that mosaic…”

“What about it?” Lady Shirrad asked.

“I think…I think there may be something unusual about it. Do you know if it was really built by Lord Aredann?”

“I have no idea, Highest,” Lady Shirrad said. “I think so, but I'm not sure.”

“It doesn't matter,” Desinn said. “We can't move it, we can't take it with us. It's a tragedy to lose an artifact like that, but there are plenty of other mage-crafted sculptures back in Danardae.”

“Yes, but…It's just that…” Elan trailed off, still not quite at ease with the idea of telling them. Yes, Jae could find them the Well; he was sure of that now. But she was so angry and volatile. With the Curse to control her, it shouldn't matter, but something inside him twisted when he remembered her bitter claims about the Well's founding. She had to truly believe she was right in order to make those claims at all—but if she said something like that to his father, or even Desinn, their reaction would be swift and violent.

No one questioned the Highest or their history. Especially not some Closest girl. Even if she'd been driven to believe madness by whatever magic had consumed her, she didn't deserve his father's wrath.

“What?” Desinn demanded again.

Elan started to reply, crafting a nonanswer, but the ground shook suddenly, shifting and lurching like a drunkard staggering. Desinn went silent, mouth still open, shocked.

“What was…,” Elan started, jumping to his feet, but he trailed off as the floor trembled and then shook, tremors sending the table skidding from side to side. He crouched, trying to keep his balance, as the mosaic propped against the wall crashed to the floor. Lady Shirrad shrieked, stumbling, her arms flailing at the air. Elan grabbed one of her hands as another tremor hit. The floor buckled, knocking ancient bricks out of place and sending them skidding across the floor.

He looked up. The floor was moving and sending the walls shaking with it. The ceiling was made of the same bricks as the floor, but if the walls were knocked over like the mosaic had been—

A steady rush of dust, ancient mortar knocked out of place, cascaded down. “Quick!” Elan shouted, pulling Shirrad with him as he dove under the table and braced it, trying to hold it still above him.

“What's
happening
?” Shirrad screamed as Desinn came to cower under the table with them.

“I don't know,” Elan managed. He gestured Desinn toward the table leg. “Hold that! If the ceiling comes down…”

A brick banged against the table. Shirrad screamed again, and Desinn scrambled to do as Elan had said, to hold the table in place even as the floor kept shaking back and forth.

“This is impossible!” Desinn yelled above the din of groaning bricks and crashes and screams from across the household. “The ground can't— Nothing like this has ever—not since the War!”

Elan's gasp was lost to the storm of sounds around them as he realized what was happening. Legends said that during the War, mages had turned the ground into a weapon, had used it to swallow up whole armies. They'd called down lightning and fire, and sandstorms that had buried entire estates. Every battle had been fought with magic, won by the side with stronger mages. Now there was only one person at Aredann who could use magic—but he'd ordered her not to.

A scream rose above the rest of the clatter, but not from any of them. It took Elan a second to realize that the scream wasn't one person's alone. He couldn't tell how many, but the scream echoed through the whole room and left him ill. It sounded like someone being crushed to death—maybe dozens of people.

The scream went silent as abruptly as it had started, and the ground fell still. Elan could hear his heart beating in the sudden quiet, and had managed to take a real breath, to open his mouth, when the ground started seizing again. He grabbed for the table leg, but the whole table skittered across the floor, dragging him and Desinn with it. Shirrad shrieked as a brick crashed down next to her. She scrambled and rolled away, unable to get her footing. The table hit the wall and shuddered from the impact.

“We're going to be crushed!” Shirrad yelled, scurrying in a half crawl toward them. “If the wall comes down on the table—”

“The whole ceiling will come with it!” Desinn interrupted.

Desinn was right. Whether it was the wall or the ceiling that came down, they were dead unless this stopped. “Stay here,” Elan said to both of them. He took a moment to gather himself and then ducked out from under the table. He couldn't quite get his footing as he tried to make it toward the door, but if this was Jae, he had to stop her. He didn't know how she was doing this despite his order, but he'd use the Curse to
force
her to stop.

He scurried toward the garden out of habit, but before he reached it, the ground stilled again. He paused, waiting, counting his own heartbeats. When the world didn't show any more signs of upending itself at the count of fifteen, he started walking again. At thirty he started running.

He surveyed the garden. It was in better shape than the study had been. Dirt and sand were everywhere, and a few bricks had fallen out of the building walls, but there hadn't been much else in it to be destroyed. Even the fountain was heavy enough to stay upright, its base holding it in place.

A girl lay next to it, hard to see in the long, dusky shadows. Elan jogged toward her, afraid of what he'd find. If she'd hit her head against the fountain when she'd fallen, there was no telling what shape she'd be in. There was no blood on her, though, and she was breathing. Judging from her simple, dirty shift and bare feet, she was one of the Closest, but he didn't know her name.

Crouching next to her, he rolled her onto her back. She gasped, her eyes open and blinking rapidly.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“No— I—I don't know, Highest,” she gasped, the words barely more than a murmur. “Everything started shaking, and then the Curse, it, it, I don't know, but…” She started to sob, her body heaving.

“Does it still hurt?”

“Yes, Highest,” she said as he helped her sit up. She leaned back against the fountain, pulling her knees up to her chest.

“All right. Then—then sit here until you feel better. But I need to know, where's Jae? Do you know where she is?”

“She's—she— Lord Rannith summoned her,” the girl said.

He nodded and stood, headed back inside. The whole hallway was strewn with debris, bricks that had fallen or been knocked out of place on the floor. The art on the walls, mosaics and woven hangings, were all askew or had fallen entirely, and he sneezed as the dust and sand hit him.

When he reached the study, Desinn was helping Lady Shirrad to her feet. “What happened, Highest?” she asked.

“I need you to take me to Rannith's room.”

“Rannith? Why?” she asked, then backtracked. “Of course, Highest. I just don't understand….”

He didn't bother to clarify, just followed her through the wrecked, messy hallways toward the wing where the Avowed had rooms. Desinn followed them, stumbling. There weren't many footprints in the dust yet, though around them, people slowly appeared in the halls, helping each other.

“We'll need someone to check every room for people,” Elan said, glancing back at Desinn. “To make sure no one is hurt too badly to move. Desinn, take care of it.”

“Highest—”

“Or find someone else to do it,” Elan said, turning back toward Lady Shirrad. He'd been debating whether he should tell Shirrad and Desinn about Jae before, but now he didn't dare until he knew she was under control. She shouldn't have been able to do any of this, not after he'd ordered her not to use magic without permission, unless for some reason, magic didn't always obey the rules of the Curse. If that was the case, then things might get bad again, and he didn't want Desinn or Shirrad to make them even worse.

The closer they got to the sleeping quarters where Rannith had his room, the worse the destruction got. The hall was nearly blocked off with debris at one point, and Elan had to climb across and then help Shirrad follow.

Finally they reached the right room. Shirrad hesitated. “I don't understand why you need Lord Rannith, but…”

“Wait out here,” he said, and tried to open the door. It didn't move, blocked by more destruction. He leaned his shoulder against it and shoved, heard a pile of rubble give way. The door opened slowly, and he pushed his way in as soon as the gap was wide enough.

A patch of sky showed overhead, where half the ceiling had fallen in. Nearly everything in the room had crashed over, and the sleeping mat had slid away from the wall. Jae lay on it, unmoving. He rushed toward her, terrified for one second that she was dead, that the magic had somehow been released by her death, but no. Her chest was rising and falling slowly. He shook her shoulder, but she didn't stir, didn't move at all. It wasn't until he gave up and dropped her arm that he realized she was naked.

She was naked on the sleeping mat—but where was Rannith?

Elan scanned the room again. The whole house was a wreck, but the rubble was much worse in here, piled everywhere except on the sleeping mat itself. If Jae had done this, she must have protected herself, but anyone else in the room…

Blood seeped from under the wreckage of the ceiling, and Elan's stomach churned. He gingerly stepped closer, pausing between each movement, afraid another piece of roof would crash down on him. The ceiling held, and he crouched in the midst of the bricks and began pulling pieces out of the pile.

He found more blood, then a hand. He moved a few more bricks to uncover the arm, found the shoulder, and then—

Rannith's whole body had been crushed, and his skull was smashed open. Elan turned away from it, heaving, and lost his dinner on the debris he'd piled next to him.

“Lord Elan? Are you well?” Lady Shirrad called from the hall.

He wiped his mouth with his hand, pulled himself up, and took a breath. He didn't want to let anyone else in until he knew for sure what had happened.