M ARAH STOOD OUTSIDE THE BUILDING AND waited.
It wasn’t easy to force herself to stay still. She hadn’t felt so antsy since… since ever . Her mother had tried to teach her how to cook, and she’d waited to see what her family thought of her first meals, but even that hadn’t left her on tenterhooks. She felt as if she were waiting for a surprise, a pleasant surprise, and yet she could hardly keep herself from twitching. The door gaped open in front of her, practically calling to her. She clutched the dark knife in one hand, her entire body swaying in an invisible wind. It felt as if she were being forced to wait beyond all reason, as if time itself was slowing down…
Guns boomed, behind her. Marah glanced south, towards the castle. Smoke was rising from a dozen fires, but there was no one in view. She could hear the distant fighting steadily growing louder, sense flickers of magic darting through the air as both sides called on magicians to aid their cause. Marah wished Emily had killed the prince, or at least that she would’ve stepped aside and passively let him die; Marah wished, with a fury that surprised her, that she’d taken the chance to kill him herself. Emily might speak of long-term problems, and steady reform, but Marah was all too aware of how many lives would be lost, or ruined beyond repair, in the short term. Someone screamed, in the distance… the sound cut off so abruptly she knew the screamer was dead. Had been killed. She had no idea who she’d been, but her imagination provided too many possibilities. None were pleasant.
Maybe things will be better in the long term , she thought. She wanted – she needed – to believe it. Things could get better. But that won’t matter if we don’t survive in the short term.
Her legs twitched. She wanted – needed – to go inside. Her mind spun in circles… Emily had asked her to wait outside, hadn’t she? And she needed to be inside to see if Virgil would keep his word…? She caught herself walking towards the door, her limbs moving of their own accord, and gritted her teeth. It felt wrong, as if she were being moved by an unseen force, and yet it was hard to think clearly. She bit her lip, tasting blood in her mouth. It brought her a few seconds of relief, before the urge to move threatened to overwhelm her again.
Blood …
She shivered, forcing herself to think. Why had she believed Virgil? She’d wanted to believe him. She knew that, and yet… she licked the blood, and felt something howling at the back of her mind. Blood… Emily had used blood to look for the missing child… did Virgil have some of Marah’s blood? It was hard to even consider the possibility, and yet she had to admit it was possible. She’d slept in his house. He could have taken her blood while she slept.
And she could feel it pushing her now.
She forced herself to walk forward, thinking carefully about every step. It felt as if she was on the verge of falling asleep, too tired to keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds. It was hard to stay focused, as she stepped through the door; hard to keep herself from following the unspoken urge, allowing it to steer her into the building. It reminded her of all the times she’d followed her stepfather’s orders… no, it was far worse than that. She could disobey her stepfather, if she’d been willing to take the beating he’d give her to put her back in her place. Here… she was barely aware of being pushed in a certain direction, her mind working overtime to come up with reasons why she wasn’t able to do anything about it. If she let go of her thread of thought now, she knew she’d never get it back. And yet, as she walked, it grew harder and harder to keep track of what she was doing.
The corridor was dark and cold and there was no sign of Emily… there was no sign of anyone . She reached out with her mind and felt nothing. The wards were gone… or beyond her ken. She didn’t know. Emily had shown her a great deal, and taught her all sorts of tricks, but she was almost painfully aware of just how far she had to go. Resentment flowered in her gut, a resentment directed at almost everyone she knew; it would have been easy for her stepfather to let her study magic, for Virgil or Emily to send her to a proper school…
Her stomach heaved as she reached the end of the corridor and peered into the warehouse itself. It was a shambles, empty crates piled high in places and left broken on the stone floor in others. The neat framework she’d seen in the previous warehouse was nowhere in evidence. The air stank of something she couldn’t place, a strange combination of dead animal and… and something she was sure she’d scented somewhere before. Her legs twitched, trying to move forward on their own; Marah bit her lip again, grimacing at the taste of blood, and forced herself to inch gingerly forward. Emily had to be in front of her.
Magic flared as she rounded a pile of boxes twice as tall as herself, half looking as if they’d been split open by brute force. Their contents had been removed, leaving nothing but wooden crates and dark shadows. The remainder were carefully sealed. Emily was standing in front of Marah, her back turned, working on the wards. Marah frowned, feeling a twinge of dismay. The last warehouse they’d explored had also had interior wards, concealing the slaves so thoroughly they might even have been hidden from the warehouse’s official owners. A nasty thought crossed her mind. Virgil had ordered her to tell Emily there were slaves here… it would serve, he’d said, as bait… but what if he was telling the truth? What if…?
Her eyes lingered on Emily’s back, a second too long. A wave of something rushed through her, as if she’d been pushed out of someone’s way, and her body lunged forward. She barely had a second to realize the knife was in her hand, a second to twist the blade just enough to keep from stabbing Emily right in the back. The blade swept across her back instead, cutting through her personal protections and her shirt, blood welling up from the cut as Marah yanked the blade back. She could feel it now, feel the link between the blood in her mouth and the blood elsewhere… the blood that had been used to manipulate her. It couldn’t hide any longer.
The wards hardened around Emily, holding her in place. She could barely move. Marah swallowed hard, wanting – needing – to believe Virgil had been telling the truth when he’d promised that Emily would merely be held prisoner. It wouldn’t be that hard, would it? He wouldn’t need to kill Emily… would he? And yet… she stared at the blade in her hand, all too aware of just how close she’d come to burying the knife in Emily’s back. Virgil had taught her a little about using a dagger, and she’d been an apt student. If she put the blade through someone’s heart, it was unlikely – to say the least – that they’d survive.
“Good afternoon,” Virgil said. He was suddenly visible. He clapped his hand, then performed a deep and mocking bow. His smirk was proof that he was pleased with himself. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, Lady Emily.”
Marah flinched. He was standing right in front of them, perched on a box… Marah wasn’t sure if he’d been there all along or if he’d sneaked into place under a glamour and simply dropped it. She wanted to believe the former, but… she wasn’t sure of anything any longer. She could feel the blood – her blood – pulsing beside him. She was no longer sure what was true and what wasn’t… she suspected, now, she’d been influenced into believing him. It was still hard to think clearly.
Emily spoke with studied unconcern, but Marah could hear the pain in her voice. Cuts often hurt worse than they should, and Emily’s skin had been sliced with a cursed blade. Guilt flared through Marah’s mind, guilt fueled by the grim awareness she’d walked right into the trap with her eyes open wide. Grief followed, a wave of dismay that insisted she had nowhere left to go. Emily would hate her now – how could she not? And Virgil could no longer be trusted.
“I did wonder,” Emily said. Her breath came in fits and starts. “Have we met?”
Virgil cocked his head. “Yes. May I say you haven’t aged a day?”
The mockery in his voice grated, even though Marah knew it wasn’t aimed at her. Marah gritted her teeth, trying to watch him. It was hard not to see him as stunningly handsome, as everything she wanted in a man wrapped in one package, and yet… she knew it was a glamour, she knew it was a spell tuned to show her what she wanted to see. What did it say about her, she wondered, that she wanted a grandstanding hero? She supposed it made a certain kind of sense. Her stepfather and just about every other man in her life had been the exact opposite, or worse. They were brave when it came to beating their wives and children, but they never stood up to the company.
“And where have we met?” Emily sounded weaker… Marah wondered, suddenly, if the blade in her hand was cursed in more ways than one. It might have been tainted with poison, mundane or magical, and if it was, Marah had sentenced Emily to a long and lingering death. “Whitehall? Mountaintop?”
“That would be telling,” Virgil said. He sounded as if he were enjoying the moment. “Let us just say I’ve been around a while.”
Emily’s voice hardened. “Are you my father’s brother’s nephew’s cousin’s former roommate?”
Virgil seemed oddly amused. “Very witty, Lady Emily.”
“Thanks,” Emily said, dryly. “Tell me… what is the point?”
“The point?” Virgil never took his eyes off her. “The point of what?”
“You set out to create chaos,” Emily said. Marah wondered, suddenly, if Emily was trying to buy time. She was restrained by the wards, but with enough time, she might be able to hack them again and break free. Or even grab her teleport gem and vanish before Virgil could stop her. “Why?”
Virgil smirked. “Why not?”
“Why not?” Marah couldn’t believe her ears. “Why not?”
“The chaos will provide an effective cover for my work,” Virgil said. Marah saw his glamour fade, his face becoming hard and cold. “It matters little who wins the war, if the monarchy restores itself or the rebels take the kingdom or even if the Alluvians invade and occupy Valadon. My work will continue unimpeded.”
“You’re the slaver, aren’t you?” Emily’s voice was flat, cold. “Too much didn’t add up when I heard Marah’s story. You knew she had magic when she was kidnapped, you saved her; you kidnapped children and young adults, making sure the ones who could be traced went to the aristocracy…”
Marah spoke, without quite meaning to. “Was it all a lie?”
Virgil looked almost pitying. “I never lied about the cause,” he said. “I just decided to take advantage of it…”
Marah felt as if she’d been punched in the belly. Virgil had saved her life and given her a cause and… she swallowed hard, wondering just how long she’d been manipulated. She’d had no ties to the city, no friends and family who might come to save her… or cause her to question what she had been told. Virgil had been right to point to the evils of the aristocracy and their lapdogs, to the commoners who climbed high and then pulled the ladder up behind them, and yet… he hadn’t set out to fix it. He’d just taken advantage of it…
“You wanted the war,” Emily said, matter-of-factly. Her voice seemed to be growing stronger, but it was clear she was still in pain. “Why? Why take the slaves…?”
“That is none of your business,” Virgil said. He didn’t seem inclined to keep talking, even to gloat. He’d once told her that gloating and posing was part of the act, but it was better to drop it when doing something meaningful. “The fighting will buy time for me to complete my work here, then leave. And as for you… farewell.”
He raised his hand. Something horrible sparkled around his fingertips, something so vile Marah couldn’t look at it without feeling sick. And yet…
“You said you’d take her prisoner!”
“I lied,” Virgil said. “You were a good student, and if things had been different you might have climbed high, but in the end you are expendable. Lady Emily is simply too dangerous to be kept alive, not with her talent for improbable escapes and impossible victories. The record will show her apprentice led her to her death, casting her judgement into doubt. And as for you…”
Marah staggered, under the weight of contempt so strong it was almost a physical blow. She’d thought she was being clever, she’d thought… she’d betrayed Emily, led her to her death, and… Virgil gestured, his eyes flickering towards the shadows. Marah followed his gaze, just in time to see the slaves emerge from a hidden door and make their way towards her. The young women wore tunics that weren’t even trying to hide their collars. It was… she knew, with a certainty that could not be denied, the fate that was waiting for her. She had been the betrayer and the betrayed and now she was going to spend the rest of her life as a slave… she shuddered. Virgil’s lies had been wrapped around truths, truths that had made it easy for her to believe the lies. She had seen horrors and heard tales of worse – far worse. If she were sold to an aristo who wanted a young woman who would do anything she was told, who’d have no choice but to obey, she doubted she’d last long. Her existence would become a nightmare.
“You played your part well,” Virgil said, his words driving knives into her soul. “But now the game is over and the real nightmare begins.”
Marah summoned a fireball and tossed it at Virgil. He didn’t move as the fireball splattered harmlessly against his wards. He didn’t even bother to retaliate. Marah felt her heart sink into despair, all too aware it was futile. The gap between them was too great for her to catch up, let alone surpass him. She’d never felt so… so defeated, not even when her stepfather had beaten her into submission. She’d told herself she’d be rid of him one day, back then, but here…? She was trapped, and about to be enslaved, and it was all her fault. She had led Emily, the only person who had shown her honest kindness, to her doom.
The slaves caught hold of her arms and dragged her back. Marah tried to fight, but it was futile. They didn’t look that strong, but their collars made them hold her tight even when she was struggling to break free. She wanted to reach for the teleport gem around her neck, yet they were holding her too tightly. She gritted her teeth and tried to kick out, as she summoned a second fireball, only to watch helplessly as it was squashed by the wards. The slaves didn’t seem to notice. Their faces were dead and cold, yet their eyes were screaming “help,” pleading for a mercy that was never going to come. Marah felt the wards tickle her skin, ready to absorb her magic if she tried another spell… she kicked herself, mentally, for thinking she could outwit a powerful magician. She had been tricked, her blood turned against her… she had been so convinced she’d been doing the right thing while she’d been influenced by her blood…
Her blood…
A thought ran through her mind and she acted on it before she could think better of it, going limp in their grip as she channeled her thoughts through the blood in her mouth. She could feel the blood in his pouch, beside him… a flicker of cold amusement ran through her at the thought of stealing one of his ideas and turning it against him. Her anger burned through her mind, a blazing fury at everything he’d done to her, and raged down the blood link. Virgil barely had a second to realize what was happening before the blood caught fire, a sheet of white-hot fury close enough to set fire to his outfit. Marah saw his beard catch fire, his clothes igniting a second later… she had no idea what sort of protections he’d woven into his fancy outfit, but he’d kept her blood so close to his skin that there was no way he’d escape being badly burnt…
He waved a hand in her direction, his face contorted with agony. Marah felt something slam into her with immense force, her entire body shuddering in agony. The flames grew brighter and brighter, the heat cascading towards her; the slaves kept pulling her away, mindlessly following their last orders. Marah collapsed, barely able to focus, as darkness swallowed her.
She wanted to think he was dead, that she’d killed him. But she dared not believe it.
Something exploded, behind her. But it was already too late.