Taliesin Ascendant (The Children and the Blood) (7 page)

She closed her eyes. It didn’t matter. Everything Darius said yesterday was psychotic, certifiable, and all otherwise insane. She couldn’t let it affect her.

It wasn’t why she was here.

Exhaling resolutely, she rose and, after a moment’s thought, tucked the gun into the back of her jeans. Crossing the room, she opened the door, and then came to a sharp stop at the sight of Cornelius waiting outside.

“Good morning,” he said impassively. “May I speak with you?”

Hesitating briefly, she nodded and let the door shut behind her. Displeasure crossed his face at their location in the hall, but he buried it swiftly.

“I came to ask you not to discuss the so-called ‘Blood’ with the council.”

Her brow drew down. “Why?”

“The Blood were Josiah’s creation. They do not exist.”

A choked scoff escaped her at the bluntness of his tone. “Yes they do. I saw them.”

“What did you see?” he asked, as though he already knew the answer. “A human? Perhaps one who was nearby when magic was done? Perhaps even one
so
nearby that it almost appeared the magic originated from them?”

When she started to shake her head, he grimaced. “Please. Do not bring this up again. That Josiah is known to be insane is enough. But dredging up these fantasies… it will accomplish nothing but to further shame the memory of a man who served your family with unwavering loyalty for twenty years, and who would have continued to do so, had he not lost his mind to the ravages of war.”

She stared at him, uncertain whether to be offended, outraged, or just both. “He wasn’t crazy.”

Cornelius’ face darkened. “Yes, he was. And he spent the better part of eight years proving–”

He cut off as Katherine and another man rounded the corner. With a measure of difficulty, he reasserted his composure and then nodded coolly as the others walked up.

Ashe glanced over, struggling to bring her expression back to something that wouldn’t raise questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

“Good morning,” said the man at Katherine’s side. He gave Ashe a small bow, and she tried not to shift uncomfortably. “Elias de Vila, your majesty. Fifth in line of authority on the Merlin council and representative of the eastern Canadian region.”

He smiled as her eyes went from him to Katherine. “I believe you’ve already met my wife. Did you sleep well?”

“Fine,” she managed, though the word felt like a lie, since collapsing where she sat probably didn’t count. She glanced between them again, struggling not to appear rude. The man was a perfect foil of his wife, as friendly as she was cold. His wavy hair hung loose to his shoulders, with gray interspersing the brown, and his ageless face belied any years the color might have tried to ascribe.

“I think they’re ready,” Elias said.

Ashe looked to Cornelius in confusion, but the man simply nodded again. He motioned for the others to precede them, and then looked back at her as Elias and Katherine walked away.

“After you,” he said.

“What’s going on?”

“A presentation in your honor,” he replied, stiff propriety settled firmly back in his tone.

Her eyebrows rose. “What?”

“You will see,” he said, gesturing to the hall. “It is nothing to be concerned over.”

When she didn’t move, the barest hint of insistence entered his voice. “They are waiting, your majesty.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, letting anger cover the fact the words made her skin crawl.

“It is your title.”

“No, Ashe is my title. It’s my name. And as for the rest…” she made an impatient motion, “I don’t care. I’m going to talk to the council and I’m going to make them understand the Blood are real, because whatever you say, I know Carter wasn’t crazy.” She paused. “And I know what I saw.”

Aggravation touched his gaze, though the rest of his face remained still. “As you wish,” he said with tight neutrality. He motioned to the hallway again. “Now, if you will please…?”

Eyeing him cautiously, she started down the hall. Her brow lowered as she rounded the corner, a sense of something wrong hitting her. Resisting the urge to look back, she continued through the corridor and out onto the walkway.

Her feet came to a stop.

The factory floor was empty. Cots and curtain frames still stood where they’d been, but not a single person remained. The silence was deafening in the cavernous room, and as Cornelius strode up behind her, his quiet voice carried in the stillness.

“This way,” he said.

Slipping around her, he took to the stairs, leaving her to follow. Swallowing nervously, she gripped the metal rail as the steps clunked beneath her feet. The vast space stretched before her as she reached the concrete floor, seeming even larger than yesterday for the lack of occupants. In the distance, she could hear voices, strangely loud and yet indistinguishable. Biting her lip, she continued after him across the room. At the far side, he turned, swiftly climbing a narrow stairway to a metal door set high in the wall. He waited till she joined him, and then bowed his head.

“Remember,” he said. “No reactions.”

Her brow drew down, but before she could speak, he took her arm, opened the door, and then pulled her outside.

They were on the roof of one of the lower parts of the factory. Up ahead, the council formed a line, their backs to her as they looked out on the parking lot several stories below. In the center, Darius was speaking, his hands on a microphone attached to an impromptu podium.

“…I give you Her Royal Highness, Ashley Rebecca Carrington, Queen of Merlin,” he announced.

Darius turned, extending his hand to her, and Cornelius’ arm carried her forward even as confusion chased itself around her face.

And then the expression melted as the hundreds of wizards filling the parking lot came into view.

For a heartbeat, their eyes locked on her.

The rooftop shook from their cheers.

Her legs were like water and she wanted to fall through the floor. To hide. To grab her gun and run like the wind to escape the hordes of people suddenly convinced she was something she could not possibly be.

Queen. Royalty. And her father had been a freelancer. A researcher. The others were farmhands. They’d been wizards, and they’d died because of the war, but this was insane.

Absolutely insane.

“Breathe…” Cornelius murmured, his voice barely audible above the roar.

Air forced itself into her lungs in response to the command, and nausea followed on its heels. In a blur of words, Darius concluded his speech, and below her, the crowd poured into the building like a flood breaking through a levee. Gripping her arm, Cornelius nodded to the council as they flowed past and returned to the door.

“The guards will protect you,” Cornelius told her quietly. “They will keep the crowd at bay. Your only responsibility is to walk forward. Keep your eyes straight ahead. Show nothing of your emotions or fear. Do you understand?”

She looked up at him, words escaping her.

“You can do this.”

“But…”

“You are their queen. Whether you believe it or not. And you have to show them strength. Confidence. Someone worthy of the fight it has taken for our people to survive.” He paused. “They need this, Ashe. For your father’s sake, do not disappoint them.”

She swallowed hard. “But…”

He gripped her arm. Her feet worked where her mind could not, obeying the pressure to move as he led her back to the door.

The factory floor was crammed.

Smashed up to the walls and shoved against the barrier of guards lining the narrow space through the center of the throng, people filled every inch of the room. By the bottom of the stairway, the council waited, and as she reached the steps, Cornelius dropped his arm from hers.

“Walk forward,” he said again, his words a low murmur.

Her feet obeyed.

On legs held up by motion alone, she reached the base of the stairs. At the landing, the council stepped aside, clearing her path. She faltered and fought frantically to keep her face as emotionless as possible as she looked to Darius in alarm.

The barest tinge of sympathy showed past the regal expression on his face. His gaze slid to the side, motioning her along.

She walked forward.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, guards walled a straight path through the crowd, their impassive eyes gazing out at the middle distance while behind them, the mass of wizard humanity stared.

“Long live Merlin! Long live the queen!”

She flinched and, an instant later, the shout reverberated off the walls as the crowd picked up the cheer. Her knees wanted to buckle at the din, but her eyes locked on the stairway, clinging to it as a lifeline. With each step it drew closer, and it took every shred of willpower she possessed to keep from breaking into a run.

The guards at the stairs bowed and then stepped aside as she approached. Gripping the banister, she climbed the steps, finally reaching the walkway.

“To the left, your majesty,” Darius said behind her.

She followed the direction, and turned when he quietly said the word.

The chanting died into expectant silence.

Her heart scrambled into her throat, choking her completely.

“Nod, my lady,” Darius murmured, his lips motionless.

Her head dipped toward the crowd. The roar of cheering returned, even stronger than before. Darius and the other council members echoed her motion, and then he gestured for her to exit via the hall.

Fighting the urge to bolt, she turned and walked into the narrow corridor as behind her, Darius began speaking about coronation ceremonies and other such lunacy to the throng. Beyond the corner, the next hall was blessedly empty and without hesitation, her feet picked up speed, rushing her back to her room.

The door slammed behind her. Heart pounding, she started forward and then stumbled, her legs unwilling to carry her farther. Her knees met the ground with a painful jolt as her arms wrapped around her middle in desperate attempt to stop the trembling.

This couldn’t be happening. This was stupid. This was insane. This was…

A dry sob choked her. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d watched Carter die. Thirty-six hours ago, she’d killed a wizard to save Spider’s life. Three days ago, she’d been living at the Abbey.

One month ago, she’d been a farm kid in Montana, putting up pinwheels with her eight-year-old sister while planning what kind of cake to have for her seventeenth birthday.

Her hand hit the floor to keep her from falling, and her fingers pressed into the concrete.

This wasn’t real.

She had to get out of here.

This was psychotic and insane and–

The door opened and she spun, terrified.

Cornelius stared. Carefully, he eased the door shut behind him, never looking away from her. “Your majesty…?”

A gasping noise escaped her, and she shook her head. “Don’t call me that.”

He paused.

“Don’t…” she continued, holding a hand up to stave off the words as her gaze dropped to the ground. “Don’t…”

“It is who you are,” he said slowly.

“No, it’s not!”

Fire rushed out of her, bursting against his defenses before fading as quickly as it had come.

Choking on her own air, she crushed the magic down, staring at the floor.

“I’m just me,” she whispered. “I’m not… I’m just…”

Warily, he lowered the barrier of energy surrounding him as she trailed off. For a moment, he remained motionless, and then slowly, he crossed the room and sank down onto the bedside.

“Your father never wanted to be king either, you know,” he said softly.

Trembling, she glanced up at him.

A touch of a rueful smile ghosted over his lips. “He was second in line to the throne,” Cornelius continued. “And he was happy to keep it that way. Your uncle, Alexander… now he wanted to be king. He’d been born to it. At least, that’s what your father used to say.”

He looked down at her, seeing the questions in her eyes.

“My family has been close to the throne for generations,” he explained. “And as a result, every so often, your father confided in me. He trusted me.” A pensive look crossed his face. “Most of the time.”

He drew a breath. “I do not know if you remember,” he said. “I know what happened to you at the start of the war. But I was there the night most of the royal family died. I stayed with you and your sister.”

She nodded faintly. “I remember,” she whispered.

“It scared your father, what happened to you. That much magic, ripping through a young child… it left your sister stripped of everything but a shadow of her power, and you nearly a vegetable. For hours, he refused to leave your side, even to address the needs of his people, suddenly embroiled in a war. In the end, he had twenty of us stand guard that night, though I was the only one out in the open.”

Her brow drifted down. “‘That much magic’?” she repeated.

“The spell. Or truly, the backlash of it. God knows how much magic, hundreds of years old, released in a single moment when the Taliesin king shattered the spell. The binding that held their magic was tied to your line, carried on specifically by those who remained part of the royal family itself. And in a moment, most of them were gone. The effects rebounded through the survivors, almost incapacitating Patrick and sending you into a short-lived coma.

“He thought you were dead. And I do not think he was ever as relieved as in the moment when you woke, even in the midst of everything else occurring at the time.”

Cornelius fell silent, remembering, and Ashe looked away.

“Must’ve been convenient…” she whispered after a moment.

His brow drew down in confusion and she gestured distractedly to herself.

“You mean what happened to your memories,” he said, only partly asking.

She didn’t answer. For a few seconds, he was quiet.

“Yes,” he replied. She glanced at him. “But not for the reasons you think. Darius was not entirely correct in his description of why your father kept you from the war. It’s true a bound wizard is not as noticeable as an unbound one, and that some part of the emergency plan consisted of you and your sister hiding till help could arrive.