Dead Magic (25 page)

It still felt reckless and impertinent to him, but Dorian couldn't shake the underlying fear that they were already too late. In the back of his mind he could still see the vision Magic had given him while he was wounded. If it was to be believed, then the Pillars would not fail until they were both safely in Delgora. What happened between now and then, however, was still a matter for debate.

Dorian turned back into the house and began checking the rooms. He started with the study, then the drawing room, making certain every window was secured.

It is possible for future events to alter,
he mused. Magic Himself had said so on the day of Elsie's ascension. Every person's decisions affected Fate, or at least Time. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be cursed as Median. Stuck, Winslow had said, between Past, Present and Future. It would have to be disorienting, not knowing if you're seeing the present or the past. There could be no peace for her, only the constant struggle to understand how events unfold.

Elsie had been told to come to Winter Tournament,
he thought.
Something had to happen here. Something that couldn't happen anywhere else.

He returned to the hallway and headed for the kitchens.

Eight years ago, Magic had known the most likely course of events when he came to Delgora. He had known as he walked into the manor house that Vicaress Reonne-may she be cursed for eternity-had planted a Dellidus creature in the room. Which meant he had known his physical form would die that day.

Why? What did that gain him? What benefit was there for anyone that Magic had died?

Elsie couldn't imbue anyone with Talent, not even using the tattooed arm. Those among the Witch-Born still had their Talents, but it would be nothing against the oncoming Wild. Magic had to have known that would happen. Why leave them defenseless? Did Magic want them all to die?

Dorian stepped into the kitchen and paused. Gremor lay draped limply over the table, face down in a plate of food. It took several seconds for Dorian to process what he was seeing. Then he rushed forward and touched the old man's throat, feeling for a pulse. He got one, steady and strong, and breathed a curse.

"Elsie!" he shouted and ran for the door.

He'd left her in the guestroom upstairs. Panic squeezed his chest tight as he took the stairs, bending time and pushing himself forward with his magic. He burst into their room and stopped.

Elsie lay unconscious on the bed, but there was no sign of an intruder. He could sense that she was alive, but her Talent felt distant to him. He hurried to the bed and began searching frantically. Only a Remora stone could render her powerless.

He felt under the sheets, checked beneath the bed, but couldn't find it. He knew it was there, though. He could feel his own magic recede into his core from its presence. He finally found it squashed between the mattresses; a hard lump of rock no bigger than an egg.

Yanking it out, he turned to throw it through the window when a dart struck him in the chest. An instant later, his vision smeared and he fell to his knees. The stone dropped from his nerveless fingers. Even if the stone had rolled far enough away for him to access his magic, Dorian knew the poison that had hit him.

Pain flared at the dart's entry point and every muscle in his body contracted. He slumped to the side and struggled to breathe. There was supposed to be a second dart, the one to finish him off, but none came.

Instead he heard a very familiar, very hateful chuckle originate from the far corner of the room. Dazed and incapable of movement, Dorian watched as Alois Orzebet, his half-brother, walked toward him.

"All those years on the run didn't teach you a thing did they, big brother?" Alois said.

A moment later, Alois's fist slammed into his jaw and Dorian fell to the side.

***

Elsie woke slowly. Her head hurt and she had the disorienting feeling that she was somehow sitting up. Her neck was strained and cramped, lolling her head heavily as she began to take control of her body. She finally lifted her head and opened her eyes, fighting off a wave of dizziness as the room came into focus.

She was tied to a wooden chair with one large Remora stone strapped to her lap. She stared at the ugly green stone for a moment, seeing the sharp angles and irregular shape, and understood her predicament. She'd known an attack was coming. She'd felt it every day for the last eight years; a creeping, quiet sensation that told her every breath she breathed in freedom was a gift.

Magic had warned her that there were many plots against her. Magic had said she would be forced to confront them someday. Somehow she'd imagined the Wild would break through before any real harm could come to her. Surely then the Council would see how right she was and desist in this violent spectacle.

But she had been wrong. Someday was suddenly right now.

Cold moonlight pierced the room from a barred window high up on the western wall. The corners were in shadow and there was one very sturdy looking door in the eastern wall. Directly in front of her Dorian sat in a similar chair. He was tied as heavily as she was and his head hung limp to one side. Even in the dark she could see that he was sweating. His fingers twitched at odd intervals and every now and then his muscles strained, though she got the feeling this was not against the bindings.

Dorian was unconscious, feverish and in a great deal of pain.

Poison,
she surmised. She'd know those effects anywhere; Fervarium, a poison that Elsie herself had concocted during her time as a Bedim assassin.

The plan had been to use the poison to kill the Dellidus creature that used to lurk in Delgora. That hadn't worked, though. So she'd sold the recipe on the black market instead to raise money for weapons and armor. She thought when Bryva died that she'd paid the price for that mistake, but here it was again. Elsie wanted to look away from Dorian, but couldn't.

"Mother said you'd wake up first," a familiar voice said from the corner.

Elsie glanced up as Alois Orzebet stepped into the moonlight. He was a tall, powerfully built man with a shock of tousled brown hair and his mother's gaunt features. His boots crunched over the pebbly floor until he stopped just beside her chair. Then he crouched down, bringing himself face to face with her.

"We weren't certain how much good a stone would do against you," Alois said, reaching out to touch her gloved arm. "But mother was insistent. At least in regards to you."

"What does your mother want?" Elsie asked.

She tried to muster some sound of nobility to her voice, but she heard only the rough rasp of someone recently choked. Then she remembered how she'd gotten here. She'd gone in to prepare for bed when someone had garroted her from behind. Ironic, really, considering the garrote had been her weapon of choice for many years.

"My mother? She just wants to level the playing field a bit," Alois said with a chuckle. "Lady Lorant? Now she just wants to kill you."

Another time, another place, Elsie might have been alarmed by his proclamation. But she'd spent the better half of her life under the constant threat of death, so instead of alarm, Elsie only felt a prick of sadness. She looked at Dorian, trying to shove away the thoughts of him in mourning. If they didn't kill him too, Dorian would spend the rest of his life fighting to avenge her. She knew this in the deepest part of her soul. His grief would be unbearable.

Lady Lorant,
Elsie thought.
Of course.
Eight years ago, Elsie had uncovered Lord Ivan Lorant's plot to overthrow Delgora House, incriminating him in the assassination of Elsie's parents. He was executed by order of the Council just six months after Elsie's ascension to House Witch. Lady Loreena Lorant, on the other hand, was exonerated. The Council proclaimed her ignorant of her husband's political machinations and allowed her to retire from her position as Lorant's House Witch.

Elsie should have known that Orzebet would make an alliance with the Lady. Minne and Loreena were two spiteful women on their own-combined they would be deadly.

"You really don't care, do you?" Alois asked. "Death inches closer to you and you don't even blink."

"Death presses close to all of us right now, Alois," she said. "If I don't die at your hands today, the Wild will kill me tomorrow. Forgive me if I can't work up any excitement for you."

Alois laughed. "You're trying to frighten me with talk of the Wild! How long have you been preaching about its coming? I haven't seen so much as a flicker from any of the Pillars."

"Because you haven't been paying attention!" Elsie snapped. "Every House Witch has had to order the abandoning of at least one town boarding the Wild."

"One town in three hundred," he scoffed.

"One town every year for the last six years," Elsie said. "That's eighteen towns in three hundred. The Council keeps it quiet out of fear of the Untalented, but our borders are slowly shrinking."

"Right, so I'll start worrying in another twenty years."

"There won't be another twenty years, Alois. We're lucky if we have even one left."

"The Pillars have stood for millennia. They won't fall."

"The Pillars stand with the strength of the Witches. We haven't had a new witch in eight years, Alois. Pay attention! When we fall, so will the Pillars."

Alois sneered at her. He touched her cheek with a knuckle and rubbed her skin lightly. "Like I said, my mother wants to even the playing field. The great Elsie Delgora might fall, but Orzebet House will stand."

He stood and left her, opening the door just long enough to exit. She heard a lock slide into place and released her breath. She'd known it was no use talking to him, but she had to try. Alois was vindictive and mean and he hated Dorian, but that didn't mean he had to be stupid, too.

Taking a deep breath, Elsie closed her eyes and tried to search for her Talent. The stone rendered most Talented useless, but she was different. She had Magic inked into her arm. After years of letting the deity drive her insane, it was time to see some benefits from it.

Valeda waited until evening before making her way to the Panoply. If she'd had a choice she would have stayed away completely, but her personal effects were stored in the room Lord Delgora rented for her. She was cold, hungry and out of money, so she walked quickly across the street and toward the establishment doors.

She hoped someone else would come for her-Dorian or Bartholomew-but she could sense Winslow's nearness. Her Talent whispered the knowledge to her, but it could not locate his exact position.
It's just as well,
she thought. He would likely find her first anyway. He had spent the better part of a month trailing her in Tormey; he was a practiced hand at it now.

"Another hour and I would have been forced to send Warders out to find you," Winslow said from behind her.

Though she'd been expecting him, the sound of his voice still surprised her. Valeda paused mid-step, but continued on without speaking to him. He had made enough of a fool out of her, she was not going to argue in the middle of the street. Besides which, she had lost feeling in her little toes about an hour ago. The prospect of a warm bath pulled her through the Panoply doors and to the back staircase. He didn't try speaking to her again until they were out of earshot and past the second floor.

"I behaved poorly," he said at last. "I do beg your forgiveness."

They were almost to the third floor. Seven more steps and she could be in the hallway. Four doors down to the left was her room.
Safety,
she thought,
warmth and quiet and food
. But she stopped on the landing between floors. Staring up into the gloom of the hallway, she debated what to say.

All day long Valeda had practiced scathing things for Lord Agoston, but all of them failed her now. She hadn't expected him to apologize, much less feel the sincerity of it coursing through his Talent. Her anger evaporated, leaving her with nothing but an empty exhaustion. Her feet ached from walking all day and her stomach rumbled in protest, so she closed her eyes and sighed.

"It doesn't matter, my Lord," she said. Opening her eyes again, Valeda turned to face him. He looked surprised and wary, but didn't seem to move. "None of it really matters anymore."

"Your virtue suddenly doesn't matter?" He sounded incredulous. She couldn't blame him for that. A week ago she would have agreed with him.

"Do you think my virtue can save me?" she asked. "When they find out about us they won't stop at ransacking my room. I'm smart enough to work that bit out for myself."

She didn't clarify who "they" were. He knew she meant the Council. Winslow looked away, turning to grip the wooden railing. She heard it creak and groan under his hands, felt a powerful emotion pass through him, but couldn't identify it. He couldn't deny her assertion. The Council would come after them when they discovered two half-Wild Witches in their borders. And if the way they treated Lady Elsie was any indication, Valeda doubted they would survive the winter.

She watched him for a moment, fighting the desire to wrap her arms around him and hold on tight. He was so brave and so strong. He'd fought to keep Mirabella and her mother alive. He'd fought for his independence from his own mother. And he would fight and die for his friends, she knew it. But he would never, ever, let her into his life.

He was cradling some distant pain, mourning someone lost, and refused to live fully. To let her in would require that he release that pain, and she could sense that he wasn't ready.

She turned back to the steps. She wasn't a fanciful person, but for a blip of a moment she'd actually hoped there was something real between them.

"I'm tired, Lord Agoston. Good night."

He didn't respond and he didn't try to stop her, so she left. She practically shuffled to her room, she was so exhausted. Emotionally and physically spent, Valeda unlocked her rented room and stepped inside. Reaching blindly for the switch on the wall, she fumbled until the lights flickered on and then she froze.

It was a standard room-Lord Delgora hadn't wanted to draw too much attention to her. One table and one chair were both capsized. But the room was not ransacked like her home.