Dead Magic (31 page)

"What?"

She ignored the drums and the frenzied crowd and focused wholly on Winslow. He smiled faintly at her, but didn't look away.

"I tried to fight it. I thought that somehow . . . loving you would insult Bryva's memory." He swallowed then and his next words came out hoarse and quiet. "I loved her so much, Vee. I planned to mourn her my whole life until you showed up. You with your short hair and independent spirit driving me mad."

"But . . ."

He glanced at Voruke and then back at her. The speech was reaching its climax and they both knew their time was short.

"I pushed you away because I thought it was the only way to preserve Bryva's memory. And I hurt you," he said. "Fates preserve me, but I can't die without letting you know that I love you."

Valeda stared at him, speechless. Simultaneously frustrated by his timing and ebullient at his proclamation, she leaned closer to him. His mouth found hers, kissing her fiercely. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but her wrists were still bound. So she kissed him back, tasting sweat and the faint traces of blood, and prayed he could hear her answer in that.

He was wrenched away from her, dragged by two men and tossed at Voruke's feet. Valeda watched, stunned by too many emotions and the sudden loss of his proximity. They forced Winslow to his knees again, but he was facing her, facing the crowd. A sick feeling gnawed at her center and she couldn't look away.

The drums beat faster now as the basket was brought forward. Even before they lifted the lid, Valeda knew what was inside. Her magic told her, whispered the creature's cursed name into her awareness:
Dellidus
.

Until recently, the creature was nothing more than a myth, but she saw it now. Voruke lifted the long serpent from the basket, holding it at the base of its grotesquely large head. Its mouth opened, revealing curved and dangerous fangs as thick as her forefinger. Reddish-brown scales glistened in the dim light and its muscled tail curled in displeasure as Voruke displayed it to the people.

"No," Valeda whispered, turning her attention back to Winslow.

Someone had lashed a rope around his neck and was pulling him down, forcing his face toward the dirt. Seeing him in that position of forced supplication broke something inside her. She shoved herself to her feet, not certain what she intended to do yet. She just knew she couldn't allow this to happen.

The Dellidus wouldn't kill Winslow, it would take over. It was a living death, a daily torture, to be bound to one. He would have no control over his own body. The creature would feed off his Talent and the man she knew would be gone forever.

"Stop!" she screamed. "You can't!"

She'd gotten no more than three steps before someone knocked her down. Bound as she was, Valeda couldn't find the balance to stay upright and fell sidelong into the ground again. She tried to get back up, but a foot pressed against her cheek and its owner put enough weight behind it that she felt her head might pop. Winslow shouted her name as several hands grabbed the rest of her body, holding her down. It was no use fighting further.

Her assailant's fat, dirty toes obscured part of her view, but she could still see Winslow's face. He strained against the ropes when Voruke bent to speak something in his ear. They weren't that far from her and she could hear him clearly.

"Do not worry, Witch," Voruke said. "Soon, the only thing you'll see when you look at her is food."

Winslow's eyes widened in horror and Voruke let go of the Dellidus. The creature slithered around Winslow's torso, curling its long length about his chest. She saw its head appear just behind Winslow's neck and choked on a sob. Its mouth opened wide and it struck, sinking fangs deep into the muscles at the nape of Winslow's neck.

He let out a tortured cry as the ropes were released and fell to his side. He jerked against the ground, trying to dislodge it, but Valeda knew it was already over. She could sense his magic as it was drawn out of him and pulled into the Dellidus, and stared in despair.

Using the combined Talents of several witches, Elsie was able to lead one very full dirigible from Lorant lands to Delgora in just over twenty hours. It wasn't as efficient as a transportation spell, but it was a good deal safer. As good as she was at zapping herself from place to place, she wasn't certain she could do the same with another person. Even if she could, the time and energy she would have expended would leave her weak for the encroaching battle.

She was already strained from producing the wind necessary to push the dirigible, but a moment with Dorian should fix that. She searched for him in the crowds disembarking the ship. Just prior to docking, Elsie had given instructions that everyone was to head for the ark. Those Witch-Born who had chosen to accompany them were to help direct the Untalented through the jungle and then take up a position for whatever was coming.

Dorian wasn't on the ship.

She had to lean over the railing to see him, but she spotted his unruly hair at the stables below. He was loading several small children onto the back of a horse. She recognized Forvant and Sir Callen doing the same just beside him. Her heart swelled at the sight. They'd discussed this part. A carriage wouldn't make it up the steep, awkward slopes of the mountain, but a single horse could. The fact that Dorian had to retrieve the horses told her that the Delgora denizens had already fled for the ark.

Elsie prayed Fayree had been the cause of that. She hated to think that Delgora might have suffered the same kind of attack in her absence as what had happened in Lorant. But then, she couldn't see any damage to the town or the Manor. From her perch near the rear of the ship she could see the chaotic sprawl of Delgora Proper weaving through massive banyan and mangrove trees. Just beside the dirigible's dock, the Manor stood proud and unscathed, its grey walls looking formidable in the evening light.

"Lady Elsie," Caresse said, walking up to her, "this is the last group to disembark. I've urged the Captain and crew to be among them."

"Good," Elsie said. She looked back to the crowd and was pleased to find it dwindling.

"Jemima Agoston has insisted she wait for you."

Elsie paused, startled. "Winslow's sister?"

She'd only met the girl briefly at Feverrette House before her own abduction and was ashamed to say she'd completely forgotten about her. Bartholomew had taken to caring for Jemima just after Winslow was discovered in the Wild. She had no idea if Jemima was aware of her brother's whereabouts.

"Yes," Caresse said, glancing to the sword at Elsie's hip. "I fear she is quite adamant and refuses to leave without you."

Elsie touched her hilt and frowned. She'd chosen to wear her Bedim gear and knew many of the Witch-Born recognized it. She'd worried at first that they would balk at her, angered by the trademark assassins' gear, but if she was heading to battle, then she needed what she could fight in.

No one had said anything. Those few Witches who had joined them included Dorian's parents, Lady Jessamine and Lord Rorant, as well as Bart and Caresse, Lord Sasson Clenci, and Gaetan Feverrette-Dorian's half-brother on his mother's side.

And, of course, Jemima Agoston.

"Tell her I'm leaving now," Elsie said. "When we get to the ark, we'll have to throw her in. I don't want her fighting. Winslow would kill us all if anything happened to her."

Caresse nodded and left. Elsie watched her go, noting the riding pants and boots the lady wore. She was unarmed. Elsie wondered if there was time to visit the armory, but knew there wasn't. Caresse would have to depend solely on her Talent when the time came.

Elsie turned to grip the railing and prayed Caresse had been trained well.
Eight witches against the oncoming storm,
she thought;
eight out of a hundred or more populating Magnellum.

It would have to be enough. Magic probably meant for more Witches to be here, but society had long since forgotten its roots. They were all political creatures now, their servant-hood long abandoned to great halls and wealth.

"Now you listen to me," a small voice said from behind her.

Elsie turned to find Jemima, bony arms crossed against her flat chest, glaring with hazel-green eyes up at her. She was wearing men's trousers that were too big and a shirt that she'd ripped the sleeves from. She had also sawed off the bulk of her hair, which left her with frizzy blonde curls bouncing around the top of her head as she spoke.

"I mean to fight in my brother's stead," Jemima announced stubbornly. "If he were here, he would be fighting beside you. I'm not Untalented and I don't belong in the ark."

Elsie prayed for guidance, but Magic was insufferably silent in this regard. She looked up at Caresse, who was staring in horror at the girl's butchered hair. Bartholomew stood beside his wife, his normally passive expression replaced by pity and compassion. As Winslow's closest friend, Bart would feel obligated to protect the girl, but Elsie could read the pain in him, too. Jemima was a physical reminder of Winslow's absence. It would be difficult for him to separate the two in his mind.

"If Winslow were here . . ." Elsie said, returning her focus to the young girl. "Where would he want you to be?"

Jemima's face flushed. "That doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

"He isn't here." She stomped one foot. "That's what matters."

"No, Jemima," Elsie said, leaning forward to meet the girl's gaze. "Winslow isn't here. And as his friends, we must honor him. So I ask again, if your brother were here, where would he want you to be?"

Her shoulders slumped and the mulish expression fell from her face. Without another word, Jemima turned and trudged toward the last remnants of the crowd. Elsie straightened and watched her go.

"That was far too easy," Bart said. "She'll try something before we reach the ark."

"We'll just have to keep an eye on her," Elsie said.

"Keep an eye on who?" Dorian asked, striding forward from the gangplank.

A handful of people were still disembarking, but most of them were wearing the uniforms of the crew. She spotted one or two Warders in the mix. Those were Rorant's personal men, but they were mostly directing things and likely wouldn't leave until everyone else.

"Jemima," Bart answered Dorian.

Dorian frowned. "Why? What's she done?"

Elsie reached out to clasp his hand. She felt her Talent spark in response, rejuvenating in the space of three breaths as Bartholomew recounted the situation to him. Dorian stood closer to her, obviously sensing her need, and continued to frown in the direction of the people.

"I'll tell my father," Dorian said. "He'll set the Warders to watching her too."

"Where is Lord Rorant?" Bart asked. "I haven't seen him since we boarded in Lorant."

Dorian's face turned a funny shade of pink and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "My father is giving his regards to my mother."

"Oh, my!" Caresse gasped and covered her mouth. "Do you mean-?"

"Please, sister," Dorian said, "let's not speculate."

Elsie smiled in spite of his discomfort. For one happy second, she forgot about the Wild and just enjoyed his company.
Everything will be all right,
she thought as she watched him. Somehow, everything was going to be all right. They just had to stay close to each other.

***

The ark had three doors set into its circumference. They were large and curved with the iron of the outer hull bolted down and reinforced in such a way that they hoped the Wild couldn't break through. But even with the three entryways into the monolith, people had to wait in line to get in. Dorian watched them as they breathed their surprise, murmuring about how big and wide the ark was. He could imagine their awe once they stepped inside and were escorted to one of the many housing sectors held within.

Elsie had thought of everything. Gardens, food, clothing, bedding, artificial light-though he had to admit the engineers hadn't done so well with the lighting. But then again, nothing could replace the daylight. He looked up at the descending sun. It hovered on the edge of a distant ridgeline, blazing orange and red across the horizon. The darker hues of twilight seemed to cover its glory, slowing creeping in to invade where the brightness of day once shone.

He felt a chill even in the tropical heat and tried hard not to compare the sunset to Magnellum. But his mind would not let the image go. Big, magnificent Magnellum was on the eve of battle. The Wild was seeping in, leaking through the borders, like the twilight took the day. And just like the sun, Magnellum would disappear from view.

"They really should move faster," his mother said.

Dorian glanced at where she stood, just to his left and half hidden in shadow. Her thick brown hair was draped in a braid over her shoulder, and the glint of her grey eyes shone in the dark. They were far enough away from the crowd that he knew no one else had heard.

"You sound like Elsie now," he said.

Jessamine laughed softly and moved to stand beside him. "A compliment, I think. Your wife has shown remarkable resilience and foresight. She withstood the Council where I failed, and managed to build . . . this."

"You never failed, Mother. You were already married when you met my father. There was nothing you could do."

"There were several things I could have done, Saldorian," she said frankly. "I could have pretended not to love Rorant. I could have pushed him away and avoided the scandal. Or I could have sent your stepfather away. He would have gone, at my request. Aubin is a good man, no matter what you think."

"Why didn't you?" Dorian asked.

He wouldn't normally have braved such a question, but after thirty years of pretending not to be curious, he had to ask. They could all be dead shortly, so he couldn't see the harm in knowing the truth. Several in noble society had called him an abomination, a strange mix between first born and second born that they couldn't understand; first born of his father, second born of his mother, and nowhere to fit inside the normal rules of Magnellum society.