Trial by Fire (44 page)

Tears blurred Lily’s vision. She buried her face in Rowan’s neck to try to blot out the horrid image of herself and her sister suffering. “Lillian’s going to come for the scientists,” she whispered to Rowan.

“I know,” he replied, and launched them over the outer wall and into the dark forest.

chapter 15

Gideon followed Lillian through the carnage in the courtyard. The wounded had been taken inside to be healed, but the dead still lay where they’d fallen, waiting to be dealt with. Lillian stood among the bodies, her pale face unmoving. The hem of her long gown was dark with blood.

“You’ll lead the army out,” Lillian commanded in a flat tone.

Gideon smirked at her. “You’re joking. I’m not a soldier.”

“I know that, Gideon,” she said tiredly. “You’re also not a jailor, but you didn’t have much of a problem playing that part when it suited you.”

Gideon froze. He knew that Lillian had heard about Witch’s End. There was no way to conceal so many dead bodies, not from the Witch, but Lillian had seemed satisfied to apprehend Carrick, throw him in the dungeon, and leave Gideon out of it. He realized that he’d been wrong, and he sifted through his mind quickly to try to find a way to amend his miscalculation.

“You know, you’re only hurting yourself if you have me lead out the army,” he said equitably. “I’m not a natural fighter, Lillian, not even with a witch’s strength in me, and I know you’re not foolish enough to shoot yourself in the foot just to punish me.”

“I’m not punishing you,” she said. Lillian turned away from Gideon and called out to one of the guards on top of the wall, “Captain Leto! Have a pyre built on Walltop!”

“My Lady!” Captain Leto replied eagerly.

“And if there are any soldier who have not been claimed by me but wish to be before the battle, have them arrange themselves in the courtyard,” Lillian ordered.

“No one will wish to go into battle without your strength, Lady,” Leto answered proudly.

The soldiers were looking forward to receiving the Gift, as was Gideon. But someone of his breeding belonged at the back of the fray, enjoying the feeling of the Gift and the spectacle of the fight. He wasn’t supposed to actually fight.

Lillian turned back to Gideon. “You’ll go out first, but you won’t be in charge. I have a well-trained army and plenty of generals for that.”

Gideon’s hands went slick with sweat. He wiped them on the sides of his thighs as casually as possible and blinked his eyes so they didn’t stare at Lillian with walleyed fearfulness.

“So why send me out at all?” he asked as jauntily as he could manage. “I’m not a soldier, I’m not a general.”

“No, you’re a politician, Gideon. Or at least, you’re trying to be,” Lillian said, her eyes narrowing. “That legislation you and your father are working on—that pathetic attempt to make it a law that witches must bond with multiple stones so their mechanics can control them? That will go away tonight.”

“My dying won’t make it go away.” Gideon smiled at her sadly, as though she wouldn’t understand on her own—like it was a good thing that he was there to walk her through it. He even moved closer to her, as if to take her into his confidence. “If you want this multiple willstone nonsense to go away, the best thing would be to work with me. Give me a little something. A bit more freedom, a bit more power in exchange for what I’m willing to give up. We can work together on this.”

Gideon felt himself go rigid against his own accord. His body marched back, away from Lillian, and got down on its knees in the mud and blood in front of her.

“You are going to go out there tonight like a brave man,” she said in low voice. “Your father is going to watch you do it. Many Council members will recall that
they
have sons that I’ve claimed, and now that we are officially at war with the Outlanders, they’ll remember that at any moment their sons, like Thomas’s, could be called into battle by me. They’ll also recall that if their sons smash their willstones during wartime, I have the right to declare them traitors, and they’ll hang.”

Lillian gave Gideon his will back and he staggered to his feet. She’d never taken him over like that before, although she’d done it to Rowan a few times by accident when they were young and clumsy with their powers. Gideon knew about the feeling of helplessness through him, but he’d never experienced it directly before. Now that he’d angered her, he’d wished he had more than that slim warning. That way he would have known what he was up against. He’d never really understood how trapped he was until now.

“Lillian. I’m your oldest friend,” he pleaded. He felt his breath catch in his throat and let it happen, in case crying might convince her. “I stayed with you when Rowan and Tristan left.”

“Only to plot against me,” she said with mock consolation for his gathering tears.

“Only because you shut me out,” he countered accusingly. “I would have been your ally, but what else was I supposed to do when you wouldn’t even pretend I was wanted?”

“Gideon? I know you’re not really hurt, nor are you my ally, so let’s skip the act. You can either go out there, receive the Gift, and revel in the battle with the rest of my army, or I can possess you and work you like a puppet.”

Gideon opened his mouth to protest, and Lillian shut it for him with a painful snap. He tasted blood in his mouth. She’d made him bite off the tip of his tongue. Lillian strode toward him, her nearly black smoke-colored willstone now pulsing with an eerie blue light and her green eyes narrowing to slits as her anger rose up inside of her like a steep wave.

“And I promise you, if you defy me, you won’t even be able to lift your arms to defend yourself when they come to cut you down. This is the only choice you’ve ever had. I’m not going to work
with
you, Gideon. You work when I
tell
you to. Now,” she said, the wave of anger ebbing out of her. She eased away from him, and her livid face drained, leaving it white and smooth again. Gideon bent forward, spitting out a mouthful of blood and the tip of his own tongue. “I think it would be wise for you to arm yourself with your shiniest weapons and your flashiest uniform because you, my oldest friend, are about to die a glorious death.”

Juliet let go of Dana’s neck as soon as they reached the Outlander camp. With barely a backward glance, Dana ran off to find her son. Having no place to go, Juliet spun around and looked up at the walls of Salem. She knew this wasn’t over. Lillian would send out her army. Juliet glanced around at the Outlander camp. There were tens of thousands of people here. There was no way they’d be able to break camp and get away from Lillian’s army in time.

Beyond the borders of the camp, Juliet saw branches moving violently and heard the synchronized shouts of the perimeter guards as they repelled a Woven attack. Even if they tried to get some of the women and children out before the battle, trying to run through the woods at night would be suicide. The Outlanders had to stand and fight—all of them—or they’d die.

“Lady Juliet,” a deep voice called. Juliet snapped herself out of her morbid thoughts and peered into the half dark. She saw a man, flanked by warriors, coming toward her. He wasn’t exceptionally tall or large, but there was something about the set of his shoulders that marked him as the leader. As he got close, she noticed that he had a limp.

“Alaric,” Juliet said, and then corrected herself. “Sachem,” she said, tilting her head down in a respectful nod. Her knees were shaking. Juliet had spent most of her teen years terrified of Alaric Windrider and his tribe of painted savages.

“I heard what you did for my people in the courtroom,” he said. “I thank you and welcome you to my camp.”

Juliet hadn’t expected him to be so polite. She looked up at him, wondering how old he was. His hair was salted with gray at the temples, but up close he didn’t look much older than thirty. He was handsome. None of the stories about him had mentioned
that
, although they seemed to mention everything else, including what had happened to him to make him the most feared leader of the Outlander tribes.

The story, legend now, said that ten years ago his wife and infant girl had died during a brutal snowstorm. The young family had been right outside the Salem gate, but because they were Outlanders, the guards wouldn’t let them in after dark. With the Woven in the woods behind them, and implacable guards on the wall above, he’d had to watch as his wife and child froze to death in his arms. The story went that he got his limp that night trying to kick down the Salem gate in a blind rage.

Juliet didn’t know if any of this were true, but she did know that after that night, Alaric had gone wild. He’d built an army to topple the Thirteen Cities, and five years ago when Lillian had grown strong enough to replace Olga the old, dying Salem Witch, he’d vowed to destroy Lillian’s Coven himself. He’d killed guards, raided the underground train lines that linked the cities, and started demanding that Outlanders had the right to own property and govern themselves. Many felt as he did, and thousands of warriors from dozens of different tribes pledged themselves to him. When Lillian outlawed science, he’d grown even more powerful, as citizens and Outlanders alike flocked to him for protection.

Alaric hadn’t been born a sachem. He’d become one by strength of will alone. And all to avenge his lost wife and child. Juliet had often wondered what drove a man like that—what fueled so much fire. She used to think it had to be hatred, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. The look on his face as he stared down at her was almost gentle.

Juliet shook herself, realizing that she and Alaric had been standing there staring at each other for ages. Even the disciplined warriors in his personal entourage were starting to look uncomfortable. Juliet blushed and quickly dropped her eyes.

“I-I just did the only right thing left for me to do,” she stammered, mortified. “Not that it did any good. This isn’t over, Sachem. Lillian will go to the pyre for this.”

“How do you know? Can you hear her thoughts?” Alaric asked. His eyes narrowed. “Can she hear yours?”

“No. Lillian shut me out a year ago,” Juliet replied, shaking her head emphatically. “There’s something in her mind she doesn’t want me to see, and she’s willing to never share thoughts with me again to keep it from me.” Juliet smiled at Alaric ruefully. “And I know when she’s trying to spy on me by sneaking into my thoughts, so don’t be afraid of her stealing any of your plans through me. Remember, she was my nosey little sister long before she was the Salem Witch. Which is why I know she’ll attack.”

“I don’t doubt you,” he said, almost like he was surprised he was saying it. Alaric suddenly lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck in agitation. “But you can still hear Lily?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We have to get her and the scientists to safety.”

Lily and Rowan hurried through the camp, feeling their way toward Caleb and Tristan. Cheers followed them wherever they went. Lily felt the success of their mission buoying the Outlanders as they prepared for battle. A few Outlanders even came up to Rowan to shake his hand.

“Now that they’ve got to come out from behind the walls, we can win this!” one man shouted enthusiastically as he thumped Rowan on the back. The crowd took up a rallying cry, all of them eager to fight.

Lily glanced over at Rowan as he broke off and led her away. His smile faded fast and a grim look descended on his face.

What is it, Rowan?

They’re deluding themselves. We can’t win, Lily.

Why not?

Lillian will be fueling everyone who takes the field for her. None of these people have ever faced a witch’s army, or even seen what someone can do with a witch’s strength inside of him. It’ll be a slaughter.

“No, it won’t be,” Lily said, disliking Rowan’s defeatism. “If Lillian is going to fuel her army, I’ll fuel everyone who fights for the sachem.”

Rowan stopped dead and grabbed Lily by the shoulders, his face flushing with anger. “No you won’t! You are not ready for the pyre. You’ll die.”

“The pyre?” Lily asked uncertainly. Rowan let go of her and stepped back.

“Firewalking,” he said. “You don’t stand in front of the flames, you go into them.” His voice dropped. “In order to get enough energy to fuel an army, we have to burn you, Lily.”

She stared at Rowan, her thoughts turning over rapidly. “Lillian can do it? She can firewalk and live?”

“She started with little things, like holding her hand over a flame for five minutes.” Rowan paced in a circle, dragging his fingers through his hair. “And at first, she hurt herself. A lot. I had to heal her over and over again. It took years for her to be ready for the pyre.”

“But she was young, right? She hadn’t come into her power yet, had she?”

Rowan stopped pacing and looked at Lily, his eyes sad. “Just once in your life, please listen to me. You’re not ready to firewalk, Lily.”

Lily looked around at the camp. Men and women were focused and united as they prepared themselves for war. They had their scientists back and the promise of an independent future if only they fought for it. She could feel their optimism, their hope for a better life for their children, and she knew Rowan was right. They had no idea what they would be facing. Lillian’s bewitched army would mow them down.

“If I don’t go to the pyre, are you still going to fight?” she asked.

He looked away.

Answer me. Are you going to fight, even without my strength?

Yes.

Even if that means you’ll die?

Yes.

“Then what difference does it make if I die on the pyre or not?” she said, taking his hand. He looked baffled for a moment, and then his face changed suddenly to pleading.

“Don’t do this for me,” he said.

“I know. And it’s okay, Rowan,” she replied. She thought about Lillian, and how she was so willing to hurl herself across the universe and into the unknown for this man. She smiled at him. “I get it now.”