Midnight's Daughter (35 page)

I put a hand over her mouth and glared at Heidar. “Do you have a hearing problem?”

“You cannot win,” he said hurriedly. “They—”

“Did I ask you that?” I grabbed him by the arm, hard enough to bruise. “If she dies, I’ll rip your throat out.”

He drew himself up, spine straight, and fixed me with a level gaze. “If she dies, I will already be dead defending her.”

I nodded. “Good answer.”

“Dory!” I’d passed Claire to Heidar, who was too busy drawing a sword out of the sling across his back to muffle her. “You always do this! Other people have strength, too.”

“Take her and go!” I snarled. Heidar silently passed me the sword, threw Claire over his shoulder and disappeared into the vines. I didn’t see any of the dark shapes break off to follow them, which was both reassuring and a concern. Did they have others posted around the estate, to catch them unawares?

Then something dove at me out of the boiling sky. I lashed out at it instinctively, going on hearing rather than sight, and Geoffrey’s head rolled to the ground at my feet. I nudged him with my foot, and anger raged in the still-living eyes. A master-level vamp could heal a wound like that, given half a century or so of excellent care. But Geoffrey wasn’t a master, or at least, he sure didn’t fight like one. A second later it didn’t matter anyway. A booted foot slammed down on his skull, cracking it like a walnut and grinding it into the mud.

I jumped back, sword high. And looked up into pewter-colored eyes that shone with power like flickering starlight. Recognition was instantaneous, and I dove for him, but the sword literally jumped out of my hand and flew to him. I stumbled as a wall of cold slammed into me, so sudden and so chill that I had trouble breathing.

The Fey examined the weapon with a small smile. “The sword of kings, in the hands of a half-breed whore.” The voice was low and musical, and strangely beautiful. “How… disturbing.”

I managed to get to my feet, although the cold seared my skin like a branding iron. I glanced around, but there was no way out. In every direction, moonlight glimmered off pale faces.

“Do not be concerned.” The Fey spoke to me, but his eyes were on the weapon. He tested it experimentally, gracefully slicing the rain. The clear surface glowed in the dim light, reflecting lightning along its razor edge like a warning. “Once, long ago, this blade took the head of a Svarestri king. I would not dishonor him by using it on you.”

The burning chill was leaching my heat quickly. If I didn’t do something soon, I’d freeze where I stood. But considering the odds against me, conversation seemed the best chance to give Claire time to get gone. “You should maybe use it on whoever set you on this wild-goose chase.”

“What do you mean?” He was still more interested in his new toy than in me. I decided that was insulting.

“I mean, dumb ass, that I may be a half-breed, but I’m not a witch, I’m not a null and I am definitely not a six-foot redhead.”

The Fey’s head snapped up at that. “What?”

I bared fangs at him. “See these? Not standard-issue witch equipment. I’m a dhampir.” I grinned. “You’ve been chasing the wrong girl, genius.”

I guess he decided that the sword wasn’t so holy, after all, because the next second, it was underneath my chin. “Where is she?”

“Why? You want to pay homage to your future king? ’Cause it’s a little early.”

“The half-breed son of that Blarestri buffoon can never rule, and neither can any child he sires on another mongrel.” The sword point bit into the skin of my neck. “Give me what I need and you may live through the day. Otherwise…”

“I heard this speech once this week already. The other guy did it better.”

“Have a care, dhampir.” The Fey’s voice was no longer musical. “You do not know with whom you are dealing.”

Then again, conversation has never really been my forte. “Neither do you,” I said, and lunged. I ducked under the sword of kings and went straight for the bastard’s jugular. I threw everything I had into it, all my speed, and my fingers grasped the unexpectedly warm skin of his neck. But before my hand could close, something touched me, sliding down my spine like the blade of a cold iron knife. It took my speed, my strength, everything—as though all my senses had been cut off at once. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel. Everything was gone. Everything except icy nausea and bitter fear.

And then my senses returned, and it was worse. It was agony, like a thousand tiny shards of ice spearing me at once. My throat spasmed as his hand closed over it. He wasn’t trying to strangle me—he wasn’t even pressing hard enough to bruise—but it felt like I was suddenly choking on ice. My eyes told me there was nothing there, but my throat grew numb, and my gag reflex kicked in, closing the airway completely.

“You wish to test yourself against me?” The voice was flat and hard, like ice over cold, dark water. “Very well.”

His hand came to rest on the front of my shirt, lightly, barely touching me, but it felt like he had spread his fingers and pushed them deep inside my flesh. Not tearing and ripping as an animal might, but in a slow creep like the onset of winter, stealing color and warmth and life. My lungs froze; I couldn’t have taken a breath even if my air passage had been open. My blood slowed down to a sluggish icy soup. That phantom touch sank farther into my body, burning like dry ice, creeping into hidden recesses I hadn’t even known existed until they cramped with it. Frost crept up my spine; ice encased my heart.

I fell, bones reverberating with a jarring shock when I hit the ground. It was no longer soggy, but hard as a rock with a thick layer of ice. The frozen mud glittered white and crystalline against my fingertips as my hand fell uselessly in front of my face. I was vaguely surprised that it didn’t shatter into pieces on contact, like glass. I started to black out, from pain and lack of air.

“The Svarestri command the elements.” The Fey kicked me onto my back with his foot, then crouched beside me. “Do you know the four elements, dhampir? Water, in one form, you are coming to know well, I think. Shall we try another?”

The pain changed from ice to flame in an instant. What had frozen before now boiled. I gasped as the constriction on my throat disappeared, and scalding air rushed into my lungs. A clinical pewter gaze watched as I arched in white-hot agony, my body bent like a bow as flames poured through me. Fire ate away at my nerve endings, but instead of deadening, the pain kept building, getting worse every second, until it felt like my bones would climb right out of my flesh.

The ice in front of my face melted and the puddle began to steam. It looked like the air itself had turned to fire, a boiling mass of knotted lightning. I was surprised that my skin wasn’t doing the same; it felt like my blood was actually boiling in my veins. The Fey put his hand on me again, but where it had been ice before, now it was fire. My shirt began to scorch, as if the fabric had been left too long under an iron. I could feel my skin start to bubble beneath it.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. I collapsed to the ground, splashing in a puddle of water hot enough to burn. My flesh throbbed with every heartbeat; my breath hitched in my lungs as I tried to breathe. I choked on the acrid smell that rose from the burnt edges of my shirt, like the fumes of a candle that had just been extinguished. The Fey pulled his hand away and sat back on his heels. Part of my shirt had flaked away, exposing red, blistered skin that ran from my breastbone to below my belly button. It took me a second to realize why the shape of the injury was so familiar. The perfect imprint of a long-fingered hand had been burnt into me like a brand.

“If I wasn’t protecting you, you would already be dead,” I was told. “But we have two elements to go, do we not?” He wasn’t touching me now, but a constriction was suddenly about my throat. My hands scrabbled at the burning sand beneath me, but I didn’t have the strength to lift them to my neck—I couldn’t even claw at the nonexistent cord. I bit the air, as if I could tear chunks out of it with my teeth, but nothing helped. Too many needs warred in my head—fight back, get air into my lungs, scream for mercy—

Almost as if he’d heard my last thought, the Fey leaned over to look in my eyes. “If you wish to save your life, tell me where the null is to be found.” The constriction relaxed, and I could breathe, although my lungs almost felt like they’d forgotten how. He waited while I gasped and choked. “Nothing to say?” I stared up at him, too raw in every nerve even to glare. Helpless wheezing sighs accompanied my every breath, but I said nothing. I only wished I had enough water left in my parched mouth to spit.

Then I realized the fun wasn’t over, as my lungs kept expanding even after filling to capacity. It felt like I had two balloons in my chest, balloons that were being stretched to their limit and beyond. They would soon burst; they couldn’t possibly hold any more. My eyes blurred with pain and I couldn’t stop a violent shudder. My vision began to fade. Something was screaming inside my head, a high, inhuman sound that had no beginning or end, a raw vibration of wet agony.

Just as I was sinking into blackness, the pressure stopped and I was allowed to exhale. I didn’t cough this time. The air trickled out of me slowly, and I took a few weak, shallow breaths afterward, as if my lungs were afraid to try for more.

I’d hurt worse in the past, but this definitely made the top ten. I wasn’t sure, but it might make the top three. The Fey regarded me thoughtfully, a finger tracing the burns on my chest delicately. “You surprise me. Most of your kind would have screamed themselves hoarse by now.”

I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of the truth, that my throat had locked up, that I’d been too choked on pain to scream. “You’ve never met one of my kind.” It came out as a dry croak, but he seemed to understand.

“No.” The storm-colored eyes narrowed. “I suppose I have not. Well, then.” He stood up, and hauled me to my feet. I stumbled, but that iron grip wouldn’t let me fall. After a moment, the dizziness passed and I found to my surprise that my legs would hold me. I was even more surprised that I hadn’t dropped into a berserker rage. Pain of that magnitude had never failed to bring it on. I never had this much control, not unless…

Unless Claire was around.

I forced myself not to look. That triple-damned Heidar. I’d already promised to kill him, but for this I would kill him
slowly
.

“Since you act like a warrior, we will treat you as one,” the Fey said. “I will give you the opportunity to die fighting.” He draped an arm around my waist to keep me upright. The feel of it made the sweat on my body suddenly chill. “Do you see the house?”

Since it was lit up like a Christmas tree against the boiling darkness of the sky, it was a pretty stupid question. But then, the Fey didn’t seem to have a lot of respect for human intelligence. I nodded. Anything was better than going on to element number four. I didn’t know what form it might take, but somehow doubted I’d enjoy the lesson.

“If you reach the house, I will let you go.”

“Reach the house?” My voice sounded thin and breathy, not at all like usual. But I was grateful for it. If my vocal cords still worked, I couldn’t be as hurt as I felt. Right?

“My people will not try to stop you. But the fourth element will. Touch the house, any part of it, and we will leave you be. Fail—” He shrugged. “I will tell your people where to dig for you.”

I assumed he meant that literally, since the only element left was earth. Goddamned Fey and their goddamned games. I’d heard the stories, but never thought much about them. I had certainly never thought I might die in one. Even worse, that I might die for nothing.

My eyes made a quick survey of the vineyard, but if Claire and Heidar were there, they were hiding well. But were they? The level of control I was somehow maintaining seemed to vote yes, but in that case, why were none of the Fey reacting? Heidar had known the Svarestri were here before I did; surely they would be able to detect him? And then the ground rose up on either side of me like black waves in the sea, and I ran.

I can outrun most things on earth, but not, I discovered, earth itself. I made it to the edge of the rows of vines before a wall of dirt hit me like a club. I tried diving through it, but there didn’t seem to be any end. Acres of soil crashed into me, over me, my overtaxed muscles screaming as I fought uselessly. I was drowning in fine particles that rose up choking thick around me. My abused lungs filled with dust, my eyes and ears clogged with dirt, and heavy clots rained down on top of me like blows from a hundred fists.

I struggled, clawing against the weight with everything I had, but I wasn’t completely certain which way was up anymore. Was I digging toward air and life, or away from it? Was I helping to free myself, or digging my own grave? I couldn’t tell.

Then something rough and hard twined around my ankle and tugged. The ground didn’t want to release me, but the hard ropelike touch wouldn’t be denied. It gave a massive heave, and I shot out of the mound of earth like a bullet from a gun.

There was too much dust in my eyes for me to see, but I felt it when I crashed into the vines like a trapeze artist falling into a safety net. They broke my fall, but not by much. What little air was in my lungs was forced out when I hit the ground, hard enough to rattle my bones. I just lay there for a moment, shocked and unmoving. Then I started to heave and cough up great streams of brown goop, in between trying to suck in whatever air I could.

I heard the sounds of battle going on around me, but it took several minutes for my brain to make any sense of it. Finally, I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and fought my way free of the vines—including the one still securely wrapped around my foot—just in time to see Claire take on one of the Svarestri. I lurched to my feet, sure I’d be too late, certain she was dead. But instead, I saw the Fey stagger and fall to his knees, screaming. I couldn’t figure out what Claire was doing to him—she wasn’t even touching him—but he acted like he was being slowly tortured to death.

I staggered out of the vines, caked with dirt that kept falling into my eyes, and she saw me. She gave the Fey a vicious kick in the ribs and ran toward me, screaming something my dirt-clogged ears couldn’t make out. Behind her, Heidar was battling two of the Fey, and looked like he was holding his own. What I couldn’t figure out was who was dealing with the others—especially the leader. Then Claire crashed into me, sobbing and shaking. The impact was enough to loosen the land fall in my left ear, so that I would have been able to hear myself being royally told off if she had been at all coherent.