Chapter Twenty-Eight

Nazarius grabbed Jared’s arm and yanked him back before he could leave the cave. Ward, Celia, and Maura were surrounded, and Nazarius wasn’t a match for fifteen pirates, let alone an Innecroestri. The pirates grabbed Celia and hauled her to her feet. She didn’t look good, and he’d never seen her unable to fight before. There was nothing he or Jared could do except hide.

“But they’re surrounded,” Jared hissed.

“We can still go through with the plan if we don’t get caught.”

“Are you serious?”

Nazarius glared at Jared. “The only way to deal with this is to get the necromancers to the island. It would have been easier if they saw Ward heading there, but it still needs to be done. Ward knows this.” The idea of letting Stasik take Ward, Celia, and Maura left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was necessary. “Ward has sacrificed a lot already. Don’t waste this for him by getting captured.”

All he could do was pray Stasik wouldn’t kill them right away. Time was not his friend.

Stasik strode from the cove, and the pirates dragged Ward, Celia, and Maura away.

“All right.” Nazarius released Jared’s arm. “I don’t care how you do it, but you need to convince your grandfather to get to the island.”

Jared swallowed hard and nodded. While he was stockier and a few years older than Ward, he seemed smaller and younger. It was clear Jared’s mettle hadn’t been tested in any kind of fire. Not the kind of fire Ward had faced.

Here was hoping Jared would have the presence of mind to stick with the plan.

Nazarius eased to the mouth of the entrance to the cove and checked to ensure none of the pirates remained. Clear. Good. “Let’s go.”

Jared glanced back into the cave. “But the boy and the Seer?”

“I need to make sure you get safely to your grandfather or all of this is for naught. If the necromancers don’t get to the island, it won’t matter if Declan or the Seer survive.” Goddess, he hated having no choice, but doing the right thing wasn’t always easy—Ward had shown him that.

A man-sized figure pulled away from the shadows by a large boulder.

Nazarius grabbed the back of Jared’s shirt and yanked him behind him.

Jared yelped and the shadow chuckled. “At first glance you wouldn’t see the family relationship,” Severin said.

Nazarius didn’t have time for the Seer’s games. “What do you want?”

“Show some respect, Tracker.” Severin’s tone darkened.

Nazarius drew in a quick breath. It did little to calm the tension curled tight within him. “Apologies. I’m a little pressed for time.”

“I know.” Severin shifted so a beam of sunlight caught the side of his face. For a heartbeat he looked dangerous, then the moment vanished and he was the mild, unobtrusive Seer once again. “The way to the elders is clear for the necromancer.”

Jared tensed. “How does he know what I am?”

“Don’t ask. Go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Jared stepped toward the archway. “Are you sure?”

“He’s sure,” Severin said.

Nazarius nodded, trying to will assurance to Jared. “Remember the plan.”

“The plan.” Jared glanced from Nazarius to Severin, then rushed past them and out into the streaming sunlight.

“My lord Seer.” Nazarius squeezed the hilt of his sword and long dagger but managed to keep them lowered.

“Did you get what I asked for?”

“Did I—?” Right. He’d been sent to the island to steal a hair. Had it really only been that morning? It felt like a lifetime ago.

“The hair?”

“Yes. Of course.” Nazarius pulled the pouch from his pocket. “Do you know what’s happening on that island? Do you know what Ward is planning?” Maybe there was hope. Maybe the plan would work, and the Seer had foreseen that.

Severin took the pouch. “That’s not your concern.”

“Is this what you foresaw for Ward?” Was this the terrible darkness Severin had hinted at? Or had that already come to pass in Dulthyne?

“I said it wasn’t your concern.” The dark intensity returned to Severin’s gaze. “Your assignment is complete. Return to Brawenal.”

“What?” Nazarius’s mind stuttered. He couldn’t have heard that right. “That island is Vekalmeer. There are two Innecroestri there. I’m not leaving them.”

“I said, you’re done,” Severin growled.

“No.” This was not the end. He wouldn’t abandon Ward and Celia to whatever fate Severin had foreseen. Not to mention, Stasik had Maura. She wasn’t involved in any of this, was just a victim. A Quayestri protected victims—he didn’t abandon them.

Severin shifted, suddenly too close. “You can’t stop what’s coming. Not now.”

“I have to try.” If he had any hope of calling himself the Goddess’s man, damn it, even the Dark Son’s man, he couldn’t abandon Maura or his friends.

He shoved past Severin, but the Seer grabbed his arm. He hauled Nazarius around, and a sharp pain bit his side. It was fast, a sudden spike, then a heat that welled over his side.

Severin jerked him closer. Another spike of pain shot through his chest. It bit higher this time, racing over his chest and stealing his breath.

“Your job here is finished. Your services are no longer required, Tracker.”

“I—” Nazarius fought to breathe. His knees buckled, and he clutched the front of the Seer’s shirt to keep his balance.

The Seer wrenched back, a dagger in his hand, dripping blood—Nazarius’s blood. The heat in his side swelled. He pressed his hands against it, and blood gushed through his fingers. Severin had stabbed him, and it was a killing strike. Goddess above, he’d stabbed him.

“I—” Something was caught in his throat. He coughed, and the metallic tang of blood washed over his tongue. The man had hit a lung. The only way to survive this was Ward’s surgery, and there was no way Ward would be able to get to him in time. Nazarius was dead, and his body just hadn’t figured it out yet. “You—”

Severin shoved Nazarius back against the cove’s wall. “You can’t return to the island. Ward must fulfill his destiny.”

“Don’t do this.” He struggled to breathe, coughed more blood, but didn’t have the strength to spit it out.

“You can’t stop this,” Severin growled. He knelt and leaned close. His eyes were dark, evil. This wasn’t the Seer of the House of Bralmoore—this was the Master of Brawenal’s Assassins’ Guild. This was a man who killed for money. Perhaps even for pleasure. He rammed his fist into Nazarius’s side, against the wound. Lightning shot through him. He gasped for breath and choked on blood.

“No one can stop this.”

Severin punched again. Agony roared through Nazarius. Sharp. Blinding. Then darkness.

Ward woke with a start, engulfed in a burning sunset. His chest hurt, and the soul chain roared with fire and words and disjointed thoughts. Celia was falling apart. Her thoughts conflicted—she needed to hold it together, fight, not fight, eat, no, Ward needed to eat.

She lay near him. Even with his eyes squeezed tight against the light, he could sense her. If he focused, he could hear her shallow breaths and even her rapid pulse.

But the moment he loosened his grip on blocking everything out to sense her, the sun became a furnace, the ground lurched from side to side. He had to be on a boat—pirates yelled, their voices booming, the wind roared, and the rope binding his hands sawed at his wrists.

Above all that was the scent of blood. The tang filled his nostrils and made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

He struggled to block out the sensations. But Goddess, all he wanted was to jump at the closest pirate and rip out his throat.

Yes, eat, Celia said in his head.

“No,” he hissed at her.

“Are you awake?” Maura asked, her voice soft.

Ward squinted in the direction of her voice. She sat beside him, her back pressed against the side of the boat. Celia lay beyond, shivering, somehow cold in the summer’s heat.

The sun flared brighter as if bursting from behind clouds. Ward gasped and squeezed his eyes shut.

“We’re almost at the island,” Maura said. “There’ll be shade.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t know what he’d do once at the island. In a way, this was the plan: get to Vekalmeer and have the necromancers chase after him. Except he could only pray that Jared and Nazarius were still alive and that they convinced Grandfather to come. No. Nazarius was alive, and he’d come through for them. They could count on him to get the job done.

“You need to eat.”

Ward didn’t know if Maura had spoken or Celia. “No.”

“Ward—” Definitely Maura.

“Who are you talking to?” Thanos asked. A void, black to all of Ward’s senses, loomed over him, sucking up the light from the sun.

“No one,” Maura said.

Something heavy slammed into Ward’s back. He yelped, and pain shot through him and slowly faded.

The blackness drew closer. “So you’re awake, pet.”

Ward cracked open an eye. Only a hint of soul glimmered in Thanos’s aura. The sangsal had devoured the rest and soon would completely take hold.

“Stasik was impressed you escaped from the altar. But you won’t a second time.”

“And yet you don’t sound certain about that.” It was something Celia would say, and it made Ward sound more confident than he felt.

Thanos leaned closer. Black veins swept over his cheeks and down his neck. The sangsal shot through Ward in an icy response.

“I’m hoping you’ll try.” A foggy tendril of sangsal oozed from Thanos’s hand and slipped, slick and freezing, around Ward’s neck. “I’m really hoping you’ll try.”

The sangsal squeezed, slowly, tighter and tighter. Ward gasped for breath. He yanked at the rope binding his wrists behind his back but couldn’t break free. His lungs screamed for air and the sangsal’s chill called to the sangsal within him, so cold it burned.

“Or maybe I should kill you now.”

Ward thrashed, unable to control himself. He needed breath. He was dying, except he didn’t know if strangulation would kill him. The only way to kill a vesperitti was with a silver blade to the heart, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t suffer.

“You can’t kill me,” Ward gasped.

“Yes, silver blade and all that. But I’m certainly willing to try over and over again,” Thanos sneered. More black veins swept over his face, and a frozen mist curled from his nostrils. “I could kill your master, but that would stop all our fun.”

“And what do you think Stasik has to say about this?”

Thanos growled, flicked his hand, and the sangsal tendril released Ward. “I’d hate to not have the rest of my men made invincible just for a little fun with you. You’re not worth it.”

The boat ground against stone, and Thanos straightened. Glaring sunlight returned, blinding Ward. Thanos barked commands, the boat rocked, and water splashed, too loud and too bright for Ward. Celia’s rush of thoughts flooded him, screaming and crying and still not coherent.

Strong hands grabbed Ward and hauled him from the ship into waist-deep water. He was pulled onto the shore with Celia and Maura. The pirates half marched, half dragged him up the path to the temple. Celia was barely conscious. Her eyes kept fluttering open, but every time they did, a burst of emotions and words rushed through Ward then snapped shut and her eyes closed again.

His heart twisted. She wasn’t losing blood or soul magic. Only a fatal blow or massive damage like the fire that had killed the first Innecroestri they faced could kill her. But if it wasn’t a physical injury, it had to be magical, which Ward knew nothing about.

They entered the temple, but instead of heading to the parlor or one of the other chambers, Thanos led them to the staircase in the antechamber and took them to the basement. One torch flickered with bright magical sparks at the bottom of the smooth steps. Obsidian vines slid along the walls, catching the light and gleaming with a dark fire.

At the bottom ran a narrow, dank passage smelling of mold and decay, lined with a series of cells with new iron bars. Ward didn’t know what the Ancients had intended for these chambers, but Stasik’s plan was clear. He planned to keep more sacrifices here.

“These were originally for Stasik’s pets when they started going crazy,” Thanos said.

The pirates tossed Celia into a cell. She hit the floor with a groan but didn’t wake up. Ward and Maura were shoved in after her.

Thanos shut the door with a heavy clang and tapped a bar. “So it’s more than strong enough to keep you inside. At least when you’re so weak.” A black vein pulsed along his neck. “Who do you think you’ll eat first? The old woman? I bet she doesn’t have much magic in her soul. Or your master?”

Ward grabbed the bars and wrenched, filled with a sudden hot rage, but that only made Thanos laugh.

“Crazy already.” He turned to a man beside him. “Let Stasik know if he wants to use either of the women, he’d better do it soon.”

The men laughed and sauntered back to the stairs, taking the torch with them.

Finally, blissful darkness. Except it wasn’t dark. Light radiated from Maura and sparked sporadically from Celia. It even wept from the walls, the floor, and glowed from the new bars.

Celia groaned, and a blast of unintelligible words shot through the soul chain. He sank to her side and pulled her into his lap, cradling her head and shoulders.

“I’m so sorry.” He didn’t know what he was sorry for. It might have been the Seer who’d gotten them into this mess, but Ward was the one whose honor wouldn’t let them leave. He glanced at Maura, who sat propped against the wall beside them. “I’m sorry to you, too.”

“Are you talking to me?” she asked.

“Yes, sorry. I forgot it’s dark and you can’t see.”

“You’re not supposed to be able to see in the dark yet. You’re too new a vesperitti.”

“I’m not really seeing in the normal sense. I see your soul magic.”

Celia gasped. Another burst of words and pain.

Maura shifted closer. “She’s not well, and she’s getting worse.”

“But I can’t see where she’s hurt. I don’t know how to help her.” Goddess, he’d give anything to just make her all right—and that wasn’t a compulsion from the soul chain, it was his true love for her.

“It’s not a physical injury, it’s a spiritual one.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s what I do. Magic of the spirit.”

“But I can’t see a magical ability in your aura. The Seer has gold, my cousin has red—you don’t have anything.”

“I hide it.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m a woman with magic. Not everyone likes that.”

“A Sister of Darkness.”

“I really hate that name,” Maura said.

“I don’t blame you.” The Sisters were feared, often more than necromancers. A woman with any kind of magic except necromancy was rare—and even women necromancers were uncommon.

Celia trembled, and her pulse sped up. She was dying.

He grabbed Maura’s arm, his pulse racing with Celia’s. “You know what’s wrong. Can you help her?”

Celia convulsed again. Her heart stuttered. Ward’s stuttered with her. Her voice, her pain, poured into him in a whirling, roaring, screaming frenzy.

“Please, Maura. You have to help her.”

Maura grabbed Celia’s hand. “I don’t know if I can.”

Celia shrieked, and pain exploded over the soul chain. He was linked to her, and they were both dying.