Dead of Winter (30 page)

“Are there any others out there?” Jack asked.

“Not that I've ever met.”

The bottle made another round. I couldn't believe the two had been talking this long—without fighting. I was hesitant to say anything, didn't want to spook them.

Aric asked him, “How did you come by your talent for reading people?” Though Aric possessed so many gifts, did he wish for that ability? For all these years, he'd been an observer of mortals, but rarely a participant in their interactions.

Jack's gaze clouded.
“Nécessité.”
Deep draw. Pass bottle. “That story true about your armor?”

Under my lashes, I gazed from one to the other. They were lowering their guards a bit.

“Very true. I thought I'd been maddened, suffering from hallucinations, until I found the crypt.”

“So . . . gods are real?”

Aric nodded. “That's how the game came about. They grew bored.”

When he didn't elaborate, I had to speak up. “And? What happened after boredom set in?”

“You wish to hear the origin story?”

“Uh,
yes
.” I passed him the bottle.

“Very well.” He drank, handing it to Jack, starting another round. “A goddess of magic devised a contest to the death for select mortals. She invited deities of other realms to send a representative from their most prestigious house, all youths. Each one bore their god's emblem upon his or her right hand.”

My heart raced . . .
I
had been one of those youths.

“These players would fight inside Tar Ro, a sacred realm as large as a thousand kingdoms, harvesting their victims' emblems; only the player who'd collected them all would leave Tar Ro alive. Naturally, the gods cheated, gifting their own representative with superhuman abilities, making them more than mortal.
Secret
abilities. That's why we're called Arcana.”

“Hail Tar Ro,” I murmured. “The High Priestess told me that.”

“An old-fashioned greeting. She's quite knowledgeable about the games. Very respectful of the old ways.”

Probably not who I should be talking to about ending the game. “Why did the gods give us a call?”

“Shortage of heralds?” Arcana humor.

“Saw your hand earlier,” Jack said. “You've taken out four cards in this game?”

Death had, but he'd hated doing it. I cast about for a change of subject.

“Four,” Aric said, that single word imbued with weariness.

Keen Jack observed, “A Grim Reaper who's sick of reaping?”

Aric schooled his features. “Ending cannibals and slavers is sport. But they're different from most Arcana. All things being equal, I'd rather not.”

Jack seemed to be mulling this over as he passed the bottle to me. “You believe this game can be ended?”

“I've failed in the past to do so. But that doesn't mean it's not possible.” Then Aric told me alone,
—I'm particularly invested in believing that.—

Because he wanted to take me back to his isolated castle of lost time. Have kids with me. Live a long life, but not a never-ending one. In answer, I handed Aric the bottle.

After seeing the misery out in the world—the spreading plague, the cannibals, the hobbled women and shackled girls—could I abandon everything?

Our situation
was
becoming larger than the game. We hunted the Lovers, not only because they'd taken Selena, but also because they'd rained down so much terror on innocent people.

After all my evil in past lives, shouldn't I atone in this one?

“Some cards will have to be destroyed regardless of the game.” Aric's free hand clenched. Was he thinking about the Emperor? “They will never come to heel. Just as the Lovers refuse to.”

“We woan have to worry about those two much longer.” Jack absently rubbed his bandage.

“You shouldn't wear their mark, mortal.”

Jack scowled. “Ain't like I got a choice, me.”

“Burn it with something else. Another shape.”

After a moment's hesitation—as Jack clearly weighed and
approved
of this suggestion—he said, “Why you care, anyway?”

Aric drank deep. “If you knew what the Lovers truly want to do to the Empress, you'd ache to annihilate every last vestige of them.”

I stood on a rise, overlooking the plague valley. Matthew was beside me.

The last thing I remembered was crawling into my sleeping bag after the whiskey had hit me like a two-by-four to the face. Now my friend was here with me. “I've missed you. Are you feeling better?” How much was this vision taking out of him?

“Better.” He didn't appear as pale. He wore a heavy coat, open over a space camp T-shirt.

“I'm so relieved to hear that, sweetheart. Why would you bring us here?”

“Power is your burden.”

I surveyed all the bodies. “I felt the weight of it when I killed these people.”

“Obstacles multiply.”

“Which ones?” A breeze soughed over the valley. “Bagmen, slavers, militia, or cannibals?”

He held up the fingers of one hand. “There are now five. The miners watch us. Plotting.”

“But miners are the same as cannibals, right?”

He shuffled his boots with irritation. “
Miners
, Empress.”

“Okay, okay.” I rubbed his arm. “Are you and Finn being safe?”

His brows drew together as he gazed out. “Smite and fall, mad and struck.”

I looked with him, like we were viewing a sunset, a beautiful vista. Not plague and death. “You've told me those words before.”

“So much for you to learn, Empress. Beware the inactivated card.”

One Arcana's powers lay dormant—until he or she killed another player. “Who is it?”

“Don't ask, if you ever want to know.”

Naturally, I started to ask, but he cut me off. “Do you believe I see far?” He peered down at me. “Do you believe I see an unbroken line that stretches on through eternity? Centuries ago, I told an Empress that a future incarnation of hers would live in a world of ash where nothing grew. She never believed me.”

I could imagine Phyta or the May Queen surveying verdant fields and crops, doubting the Fool.

“Now I tell
you
that dark days are ahead. Will you believe me?”

“I will. I do. Please tell me what will happen. How dark?”

“Darkest. Power is your burden;
knowing
is mine.” His expression turned pleading, his soft brown eyes imploring. “Never hate me.”

I raised my hands, cradling his face. “Even when I was so mad at you, I never hated you.”

“Remember. Matthew knows best.” He sounded like his mom—when she'd tried to drown him:
Mother knows best, son.

I dropped my hands. “It scares me when you say that.”

“Do you know what you really want? I see it. I feel it.
Think
, Empress. See
far
.”

I was trying! “Help me, then. I'm ready. Help me see far!”

“All is not as it seems. What would you sacrifice? What would you endure?”

“To end the game?”

His voice grew thick as he said, “Things will happen beyond your wildest imaginings.”

“Good things?”

His eyes watered. “Good, bad, good, bad, good, good, bad, bad, good-bye. You are my friend.”

“Wait!”

But he was gone, leaving me there, in the company of corpses.

I exhaled, gazing out—

My heart lurched; a
girl
lay among them. She was on her front, swords jutting up from her savaged back. Ten of them.

She turned her head, and it was me, crying blood. . . .

I woke from that disturbing vision—to find just as disturbing a sight.

Jack was shirtless, kneeling before the fire, about to press his red-hot bowie knife over the wound on his chest.

Sitting nearby, Aric looked on, as if this was cool or something.

I shot upright. “What are you doing??”

“Prend-lé aisé, bébé.
”  Take it
easy
? Was Jack buzzed? That bottle lay empty beside him. “I'd rather a knife mark than the twins' brand. Can't stand to see it, me. To feel it.”

I turned to Aric. “And you think this is a good idea?”

“Your squire entertains.” His accent was thick, his words slurred.

Jack flipped him off with his free hand. “Reap. This.”

I gaped. They'd gotten drunk together.

Aric shrugged, telling me, “I'd do the same at the earliest opportunity.”

I would never, never understand males. These two despised each other. They sniped at each other. Yet they'd worked together.

Then I thought of Selena. Maybe I didn't understand females either.

Because she and I had done the same.

Jack inhaled, holding his breath. His bravery burned as bright as the metal inching closer.

Closer. The fiery red reflected off his sweat-dampened skin, off the beads of his rosary. Closer.

When Aric jerked his chin, Jack pressed the blade down.

Contact.
The knife seared his chest. His flesh sizzled, his breath leaving him in a rush.

Jack's head fell back, muscles straining as he silently took the pain.

Years seemed to pass before the blade cooled. He lowered his head, and his glinting eyes met mine. “They got no hold on me.”

“That is a serious goddamned door,” Jack said at the entrance to the bunker.

Aric pounded an armored fist against the damp metal. “Must be three or four feet thick.”

Across sheer mountain passes and through winding canyons, Aric had tracked Selena's call, leading us directly here. A couple of hours ago, I'd begun hearing her as well:
Behold the Bringer of Doubt.
The Lovers' call had sounded too. Their real one.

I regarded the mountain enveloping the Shrine. The peak was wreathed in fog, the rock scorched. “Will the explosives work?”

Jack cast a glance at Milo, gagged and tied some distance away. “
Non
. Door's even thicker than I expected. We need some way to worm our way into the metal.”

“So what do we do now?” I scouted, searching for an opening, a weakness of some kind—as climbing ivy would. “We can't get in, and we can't get them to answer us.” They'd ignored today's attempts.

Suddenly Aric went motionless.

“What's wrong?”

He put his forefinger over his lips and cocked his helmeted head. “The Archer's call just went silent.”

My stomach dropped. I couldn't hear her either! “Is she . . . ?”

“I sense she lives still.”

“You told me a call could go silent short of death—how?” My glyphs began to glow. “Why?”

Aric's expression was grave. “When an Arcana enters a catatonic state.”

Jack swore under his breath.

“I don't understand.” My gaze darted from one to the other. “She's been with the twins for days. What would bring this about now?”

“She must have reached the tipping point,” Aric said.

“Or faced a new horror.” Jack stabbed his fingers through his hair. “My mind nearly flipped when I saw that crank.”

“So basically her brain is breaking? Oh, screw this! We have to get inside now.”

“I'll try the explosives.” Jack marched to his horse, retrieving those munitions: a detonation kit and several blocks of plastic explosives.

While he rigged the door, I paced. Aric looked lost in thought.

Minutes later, Jack held up his detonator. “Doan get your hopes up. These explosives couldn't bust open even a foot-thick door.”

“Then I'll seed vines.” I'd wanted to use my powers to help anyone in need. This was
Selena
. “They'll burrow. Or I'll sand this mountain down with thorns. Somehow we will get in!” I raised my hands to puncture my palms.

“Wait, Empress,” Aric said quietly. “I can get us past the door.”

Jack looked like he was about to roll his eyes. But then he said, “For true?”

Aric nodded. “I can blow it with something very old. And very strong.”

“Then do it!” I clasped his gauntleted hand. “As Selena would say, smash and grab! Let's bring her home.”

“Let's? As in let
us
?” Death peeled his hand away “You don't understand. You were never to be risked in this endeavor. Never. We wouldn't be facing mere Bagmen or mortals, and you still haven't learned to invoke the red witch fully.”

Jack scowled at me. “You told him about the red witch?”

I breezed past that, facing both of them. “There could be more danger out here. An army of carnates could be lying in wait around the mountain. Besides, the twins don't want to kill me right away. So as long as I'm near, you'll be safer. Not to mention that we have their father. Maybe they'll be protective of him.”