Ward Against Disaster Read online

  Allette’s dagger sliced across Celia’s arm, drawing a bloody gash. Celia slashed back, catching the edge of Allette’s forearm. Flesh hissed and more blood splattered to the floor.

  Celia grabbed Ward’s elbow and hauled him up. “Run.”

  Ingrith bolted down the passage, Ward and Celia following close behind. She scrambled back toward Florino’s body and the way out, but a man with smoky eyes stepped from the passage.

  She screamed. Ward yanked her back and dragged her down another passage. Ahead stood the wrought-iron gate, still open from when Ward had tried to save the maid. An uneven pale patch of gray on the floor stood out, a stark reminder of all the blood that had been cleaned up.

  They raced to the passage on the far side, through a pool of light coming from the ceiling, and up a slight ramp into a wider, brighter passage. Allette’s laughter followed them.

  “There’s nowhere to go,” she said in a singsong.

  Ward glanced back. She was close, too close, with at least a dozen curse-possessed men behind her. But she could have been closer. She could run faster than any man, and she could have killed them at any time. She was playing with them.

  They raced down the passage, turning at the next intersection into a long narrow chamber filled with barrels and sacks and tack and mining gear. At the end was a small archway, light pouring in from a wide window.

  Ingrith ran through first. Ward followed and staggered to a stop. There was no place left to go. What he’d seen at the end of the room hadn’t been a window leading to somewhere in the city, but the mouth of a balcony hanging off the side of the mountain. His mind stuttered. There were no other passages, only a too-long drop.

  Ward met Celia’s hard gaze. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Magic,” she said.

  Allette screamed and rushed at them, her dagger raised.

  “There’s no other choice.” Celia threw herself at Allette. The vesperitti swept under Celia’s strike and jabbed. Celia twisted aside and hit a pile of barrels that groaned and teetered with the impact.

  Behind them curse-possessed men flooded the chamber.

  “You can’t do it, Ward, can you?” Allette seized Celia’s arm and threw her against the pile of barrels on the other wall.

  She sagged, and Allette lunged in. Celia twisted at the last minute. Wood cracked and a dark liquid poured onto the floor.

  “Ward,” Celia gasped.

  Three curse-possessed men broke free from the group and rushed at Celia. Goddess, he had to do something.

  Ward scrambled to find something, anything, within him, but his mind was blank. He couldn’t even imagine any magic around him.

  “Not working?” Allette swung at Celia, who ducked and jabbed in with a silver knife, but Allette twisted out of the way.

  Ward struggled to focus. The closest possessed man, about Ward’s age and Celia’s height, swept past Allette and Celia and ran at Ward, his miner’s pickax raised to strike.

  “How about I give you a little help, Ward.” Allette seized the collar of the possessed man’s shirt and jerked him back. The man staggered and with a slow, fluid stroke, she slit his throat.

  Blood gushed from the wound. The man chuckled, bubbling blood from his mouth, and Allette tossed him to the floor.

  “Magic working now?” Allette asked.

  Red light exploded across Ward’s vision, and he staggered back. All that power. He could do anything.

  “Bleed,” the curse men hissed.

  “You know you want to.”

  Ice tickled Ward’s chest. Yes. Just grab that power.

  Ingrith whimpered behind him.

  Goddess, he could just take it. The magic caressed something within him, something he never knew existed. It eased the ice, promised warmth and strength and—

  “Ward.” Celia sliced at Allette.

  The vesperitti sidestepped the attack and shoved Celia into him. She hit his chest, staggering him back. He grabbed the archway to keep his balance.

  “Take the power,” Allette said, black smoke bleeding across her eyes.

  “No.”

  “You’ll succumb. We can make you.” Allette lunged at them.

  Trapped in the archway, they had no place to go. Celia sliced at Allette’s arm. Allette twisted, using her shoulder to take the blow and keep her forward momentum, thrusting her dagger at him.

  Pain bit his thigh. It raced up his side and down his leg. Red magic billowed around him and haloed Allette. It poured around him, the blood from the cut in his thigh connecting to the dead man’s blood on the floor.

  Allette pressed close, capturing Celia between Ward and herself. Smoke gushed from her shoulder and her flesh sizzled from the silver blade. “Got it yet, necromancer?”

  Celia yanked the knife down, digging deeper into Allette’s flesh. Allette danced back, laughing.

  “Got it, blood magi?”

  Ward opened his mouth to deny her, but magic flooded in, suffocating him. He couldn’t think past the power zinging over him. He had to take it, consume it, use it. It was the only way to save Celia. But if he did, he wouldn’t be able to turn back. The magic in his own blood craved it.

  “No.” He seized the closest barrel and heaved with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, pulling it down. The others toppled, crashing into a chain reaction, knocking over more barrels on top of Allette and the possessed men.

  His leg burned and magical power danced across his vision and along his skin. The barrels wouldn’t stop Allette for long. They still had to do something.

  Celia grabbed him, dragged him onto the balcony, and looked over the edge. Ingrith huddled in the corner, clutching the journal. Her eyes were still glassy but, thank the Goddess, she hadn’t started crying.

  “Get her down to that balcony and get out of here,” Celia said, pointing to a balcony below theirs. “I’m going to take care of Allette, once and for all.”

  “What says you’re in any condition to be taking on a vesperitti and a dozen possessed men?” Ward asked.

  “Then necromance their asses and let’s be done with this.”

  Hot and cold shivered through Ward and red bled across his vision. “I can’t.”

  Celia grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him close. “Yes. You. Can.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  The barrels behind them shifted.

  “This is our chance.”

  “You can’t fight Allette alone and”—he fought another shiver—“I can’t help you right now. We have to get Ingrith to safety. We need Nazarius.” Except Ward wasn’t sure any place in Dulthyne was safe, and he didn’t know how much longer he could resist the magic rushing around his imagination.

  Celia growled. “Fine. Ingrith, you climb down first.”

  “You want me to what?” Ingrith squeaked.

  “There isn’t time to debate this.” Celia grabbed the girl and shoved her toward the railing.

  Ingrith turned to Ward. He could see the question in her eyes. Had he looked that scared when Celia had first asked him to jump out a window? Probably. Except this wasn’t just some window in Brawenal City, this was a balcony overhanging a plummet into a mountain valley far, far below.

  “Climb over the edge. Ward, lower her down.”

  The barrels shifted again. A deep, masculine voice groaned within the pile. Celia turned, knives ready.

  Ingrith trembled. “I can’t.”

  “Goddess be damned,” Celia growled, jerking the knives toward Ingrith. “Climb over!”

  Ingrith sobbed.

  “Please.” He had to get her over the edge. “You can do it. I’ve got you.”

  The barrels shifted again.

  Ingrith’s eyes widened. With a whimper, she dropped the book to the balcony below and scrambled over the edge. Ward grabbed her wrists and lowered her down. She landed on her feet, tipped back, hit the railing, and sagged to her knees, weeping.

  More barrels shifted. Celia lengthened her stance. “H
urry up.”

  But he didn’t want to leave her alone, and he didn’t want to risk her deciding to go after Allette by herself. “You first.”

  “I can climb faster than you and am better able to hold off any rushing hordes.”

  A shiver of magic swept over him.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Please Goddess, don’t let her have noticed the shiver.

  A man staggered out of the barrels and rushed at them. He swung his fist at Celia. She ducked, seized his arm, and launched him over the railing. He flailed for the railing below, missed, and plummeted into the valley.

  “Go,” Celia said, over the man’s echoing screams. “I’m right behind you.”

  Twenty - Two

  Seconds later, Celia swung down to the lower balcony beside Ward. She fought a nauseating mix of concern and fear and rage about Ward, their situation, and the fact that he’d been right, she hadn’t been able to kill Allette. When the time came, she’d need help—and Goddess be damned, it was going to have to be Nazarius’s. In fact, the fight with Allette had felt more like a game, a cat toying with a mouse. Allette could have killed Ward with that last strike. She could have killed both of them. And yet they were still alive. Something more was in play, but there wasn’t time to figure out what.

  Before her stood a pair of engraved wooden doors inset with a floral pattern in parchment-thin alabaster. She opened one and glanced inside. Within lay an empty chamber, the floor coated in a thick layer of dust. At the far end, a door hung askew on one hinge, opening into darkness. No witch-stone veins in the walls, floor, or ceiling. They were going to be running blind.

  Wonderful. Could the day get any better?

  Ward dashed up beside her, with Ingrith behind him—who was once again clutching the journal. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a witch-stone marble. It flared to life from the heat of his palm, reflecting in the whites of his eyes. For a heartbeat he looked strange, inhuman, as if there was something more to him…and that more was terribly wrong. But then he stepped into the room and winced, drawing in a ragged breath.

  His black pants were shiny at the thigh, damp with blood, but there wasn’t time to stop and take care of his injury. Allette or any of the men could still hop down from the balcony as easily as she and Ward had. They had to keep moving. The safest place for them at the moment was in the keep proper, not lost in the maze of passages beneath it. Although, maybe not. Those men had looked funny. She hadn’t seen smoke pouring from their eyes, like when Ward had woken Florino, but she didn’t doubt they’d been possessed by the curse, too.

  “Come on, we can plan on the move,” Celia said.

  “Who was that? What was that?” Ingrith asked, her voice small. “Those men—Florino’s eyes—”

  Celia glanced over Ingrith’s head to Ward. Telling the girl the truth was a terrible idea and from Ward’s expression, he agreed. “They’re why we’re in Dulthyne.”

  “And we’re taking care of it,” Ward said.

  “But the Seer—” Ingrith’s teeth chattered, loud in the silence, and she snapped her mouth shut.

  Goddess above, please don’t let the girl fall apart on us. “We can talk about this later. We need to move, now.”

  Ingrith nodded, and Celia strode across the room, motioning for Ward to take up the front position and hold the witch-stone above their heads. Celia took up the rear, dagger and knife ready, while Ingrith huddled between them—quiet, thankfully, and clutching the stupid book Ward had risked their lives to get. It better have answers.

  At the thought of answers, the thing in her chest twinged. Florino was dead, the grimoire was missing, and now she might never have answers to her own problem.

  She shoved that thought back. When Ward and Ingrith were safe, she’d return and see if Florino had found something.

  After about twenty minutes of marching in silence, Ward sagged against the smooth wall. Sweat glistened across his temple, and his face looked even paler than it had before. “We need a plan. We have no water, I’m bleeding, and we have no idea where we are.”

  “Well, we can’t stay put. That increases the odds Allette will find us again.” But he also was right. They could walk around in circles within the mountain until they died of thirst and starvation and never find the way back up to the keep.

  “I might…” Ingrith shifted, still trembling with fear. “If we go a little farther, I might be able to figure out where we are.”

  “And you know this, how?” Celia said, fighting the urge to snap at the girl. The mess of emotions battling within Celia weren’t the girl’s fault. And neither was Celia’s inability to do anything about them. Goddess, she wished she’d been able to kill Allette. That would have made her feel better. But she wasn’t even sure killing the evil bitch would ease the turmoil within her.

  Ward shifted closer to Ingrith. Something swept through him. Celia would have said it was a shiver but it wasn’t that cold in the passages. “Do you know where we are?” he asked.

  The girl turned wide, glassy eyes on him. “I think so. I wanted to be sure first, though.” She sniffed and her eyes hardened, just a little bit. The girl had some backbone. Good. Ward needed that.

  “With Rhia in charge of the household, there isn’t much for me to do. I liked to listen to Florino tell stories.” She sniffed again. “He showed me the maps of these passages a few years ago, and I’ve been working on completing them ever since. There’s a lot about Dulthyne that not even my father knows about.”

  Ward snorted. “I’m sure there’s a lot no one knows about.”

  Like some destroyed curse that wasn’t actually destroyed. But Celia kept that thought to herself.

  “If we are where I think we are, there should be a wide chamber with four passages along the far wall up ahead.”

  They followed the passage to a tall archway and stepped into a large empty chamber with witch-stone bands in the walls and ceiling. Across from them were four more arches.

  Ingrith exhaled a ragged breath and Celia caught Ward’s gaze above the girl’s head. He didn’t look happy at all. Without a doubt he was worrying about the same thing she was—if the curse could possess anyone, was it safe to return to the keep? But they didn’t have a choice. She could only pray there was something in the journal to keep the curse at bay until help arrived. Goddess knew Ward wasn’t smart enough to abandon this sinking ship. And she, apparently, wasn’t smart enough to abandon him.

  With Ingrith protected between Ward and Celia and giving directions, they made their way up to the keep proper. Celia could only thank the Goddess—or perhaps Her Dark Son’s perverted sense of kindness—for not running into Allette or anyone else. They emerged from a narrow passage at the far end of the patio, where they’d first met Talbot, and startled two guards on the entrance door.

  Celia tensed; so did Ward beside her.

  Ingrith squeaked and rushed toward the guards, still clutching the journal. “Send for the physician, the lord Inquisitor is injured.”

  “Wonderful. Maybe we should have told her about the curse,” Celia said.

  Ward pressed his palm to his thigh. “And what good would that do? At least those men aren’t possessed.”

  “You sure?”

  “For now.”

  Clouds still darkened the sky, threatening rain and making it impossible to tell what time of day it was. The scaffolding around the mouth of the crypt remained empty. Save for the soldiers, no one else was on the patio. Limited potential danger. But that didn’t mean as soon as they entered the keep they weren’t going to be surrounded by hundreds of potentially possessed people. Goddess above, this was a disaster and there wasn’t a safe place to go.

  Ingrith dashed back to them with one of the soldiers. The other had run off to find the physician. “Can you make it to your suite?”

  “He’s made it this far,” Celia said.

  Ingrith clutched Ward’s elbow with her free hand and led him inside with the soldier on his other side. In ful
l light, Ward looked even worse. His ashen face made his black eyes stand out—although the bruise had turned an ugly greenish-brown—and his pant leg was plastered to his thigh, sticky all the way to his knee.

  They shuffled at a painfully slow pace to the Quayestri suite. Inside, Ward sagged onto the stool by the desk and the soldier who’d helped him left. Celia crossed her arms. If Ingrith hadn’t called for the physician and wasn’t there watching, Celia would have just grabbed Ward’s illegal medical supplies. But she couldn’t, not without destroying their disguise as Quayestri. And, if Ward’s surgical tools were discovered, not to mention his book on surgery, he would be arrested and eventually real Quayestri would be called to Dulthyne…if Talbot didn’t execute him first.

  Ingrith set the journal on the desk. “I’ll go see what’s taking the physician so long.”

  “No, Ingrith—” Ward reached for her, but she dashed out the door. “Go after her.”

  “And what? She’s just as likely to be possessed as anyone else. I’m not leaving you here, alone and injured.”

  Ward growled and slammed his fist against the desk. “I said—”

  “Yeah, you said. Make me.” Goddess, she had no idea who this new Ward was. There was something fierce, something dangerous and unpredictable about him. His breath came a little too quickly, his pupils were a little too large. She strained to see even a hint of smoke bleeding from them like Florino’s eyes.

  He matched her stare, his expression hard. His fist clenched and unclenched as if he wanted to hit the desk again. The muscles in his jaw flexed and for a heartbeat she feared he’d take her challenge.

  “We have to do something,” he said, his voice strained. He flexed his hand again and a hint of magic crackled over her skin.

  “Ward.” Goddess above, was he actually going to make her go after Ingrith with magic? So far he’d only been able to use magic when desperate. Did that mean he was desperate about Ingrith? That would mean their kiss really had meant something and setting him up with her would be easier than first thought.