CHAPTER SEVEN

Drawn from his study by shouts and the thunder of hooves, Dante Safire arrived in his stables to a scene of chaos. His guardsman, Angelo, was trying to calm a wild-eyed, lathered horse so an equally wild-eyed Manoli could unstrap the rider on its back – a white-faced Shade with bloody bandages around her legs. She was clinging to the saddle like a burr which wasn’t helping Manoli or Angelo.

Nearby, Raiden held on to a second horse with Cyril on its back and was having a much easier time. Petra, shirtless and covered in dust and blood, threw himself from a third horse as it trotted into the barn. Unconcerned for the beast, he went to help his uncle dismount. Looking half-dead, blood-covered and scorched, Cyril collapsed in a heap.

Angelo, usually a more-than-competent horseman, seemed unable to bring the unruly horse to heel, and Manoli’s angry cursing wasn’t helping. Stepping in, Dante grabbed the horse’s bridle, clamping down on his own anger and fear so he could calm the animal. He caught Shade’s eyes – blank with fear and exhaustion – and shoved Manoli aside. “You are not helping,” he growled sharply.

The Golondrina glared at him, but obeyed, albeit reluctantly, leaving Dante and the fair-haired Angelo to deal with the horse and rider.

Finally, they got the animal settled. Angelo stroked its muzzle and murmured comfort while Dante focused on removing the straps binding Shade into the saddle. Where had they even gotten the beasts? The horse shuddered and huffed but held still long enough for him to haul Shade off its back and into his arms. She clung to him, trembling, and he feared to put her on her feet lest she collapse.

“Shade,” was all he could manage to say.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Her voice was faint, but defiant, and he felt a rush of relief. He had never seen her so weak, but he recognized the effects of blood loss and overuse of one’s power.

“We can talk later. You need to rest.”

Weakly, she nodded, and her eyes drifted shut. She went limp in his arms, and he called to Matteo who had followed his brother Angelo into the chaos. The man’s usually pale face was paper-white and it was hard to hand her over to him, but he trusted Matteo more than most.

By now, the stable hands had arrived to tend to the horses, and he directed Angelo to help him with Cyril. Raiden and Petra were lifting the older man to his feet. The Imperial’s dusky face had gone sallow and was twisted with concern. Dante could hardly blame him. The residue of the power used against Cyril radiated from his limp frame, and he could hardly believe the man was alive. He would need a healer of great skill, one who surpassed even the Golondrinas’ abilities.

“Send for Korin,” he ordered his valet who’d followed him from his study. He handed Cyril over to an anxious Petra. “Take him to the east suite; Angelo can show you the way. Have Korin meet me there, Marco.”

“Yes, m’lord.” His white-haired valet sketched a hasty bow and departed, his steps quick though Dante knew his knees had to be aching after they’d spent the day overseeing the fields and vineyards. They’d had to race home when he’d felt an unexplained surge of power from the Wastes. Now he knew it had been Shade.

Once she and Cyril had been carried out, calm settled over the stables, and Dante rounded on his emissary.

“What in the lowest hells happened out there?”

“We were ambushed, my lord,” Raiden explained stiffly, standing at attention in his torn and bloodied uniform. “A Capomajus sent men after me. They thought they could get a hefty ransom for the Emperor’s son, the insufferable fools. We were forced to fight. I struck down their leader. I slit him open stem to stern.”

Dante grimaced. “You should have gone for his heart, captain. Or his head.”

Raiden fixed him with a dark glare. “I will next time, my prince. I assure you.” He took a breath, and his features crumpled with sudden guilt. “Cyril took the blow for me. I wish he hadn’t. He’s…”

“Did they say which Capo gave them their orders?” Dante asked.

Ever the soldier, Raiden straightened and smoothed his expression. “Yes. A Capomajus named Valentine.”

“That opportunistic bastard,” Dante growled. Valentine had been a thorn under his saddle for years, but he’d never thought him a fool. To go after an Imperial emissary was madness. The Empire was not Malavita where kidnapping was a way of life. He rounded on Manoli. Tears streaked his dust-covered face, but suppressed fury lurked in his eyes. “How did a bunch of Corsaro lackeys get the better of Shade? She should have been able to handle them in her sleep.”

“We faced a Blackstorm last night,” he said, his hands rising in fists. “Shade called power like I’ve never seen, and she was rightfully exhausted. Those Corsaro bastards didn’t get the better of her! She burned them all to ash.”

“How? If she was as weak as you say?”

Looking stunned, Manoli dragged a hand through his tangled hair. “When Cyril was struck down, Shade lost control. She… She unleashed such incredible magic. I thought we would all be destroyed before she managed to control it.” His voice dropped as if he were afraid to speak too loudly. “She touched the Wild Power.”

By the Faces. So, that’s what he’d felt. The Wild Power. “Faces turn from her,” he said, his voice faint. “How are you still alive? How are any of us still alive?”

“She took the power back into herself,” Manoli said, a hint of awe in his voice. “It was the only way.”

It took a moment for him to understand, and when he did he let loose a string of curses. Manoli and Raiden stood in stoic silence, letting him vent, until at last Dante couldn’t think of another bitter word to express his rage and terror and he sputtered to a stop, feeling utterly exhausted.

“My lord, we must discuss–” Raiden began, but Dante stopped him with a gesture.

“Clean yourself up, captain. We will speak later.”

Raiden’s mouth clicked shut, and he bowed his head.

“What about Cyril?” blurted Manoli. “Can your man heal him?”

“If Korin Illario cannot heal him, then no one can.”

By the time Dante reached the suite where he’d sent Cyril, Korin had arrived and was tending to him. Cyril lay stretched out on the bed, his ruined shirt stripped away. His barrel chest rose and fell shallowly, and his face was as pale as the cotton sheet beneath his splayed salt-and-pepper hair. The old healer stood over him, a small lump of amber in one hand, his face scrunched in concentration.

A tall man with skin as frail as parchment and hair as fine and white as silk, Korin Illario had been the Safire family’s healer for generations. For a man his age – he had to be ancient, having delivered Dante’s own father – he stood straight as a sapling and possessed remarkable strength. His skill as a healer was unparalleled. Dante flexed his hands as he approached the bed, hands shattered long ago by a brutal enemy. Only a pale network of scars, and a dull ache during Blackstorms, remained to remind him of the injury. As to the enemy who’d broken them, he and his Corsaro were dead or scattered to the far corners of Malavita.

“You should be helping Shade,” Cyril rasped as Korin moved the stone over his limp body. The man’s gray eyes were bright with pain, yet he stared daggers at the old healer. His gaze shifted to Dante. “Send your pet Sicani to her, Safire. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be a fool, Cyril.” Dante moved to stand across the bed from Korin, mostly to distract the elder Golondrina from his work. “Let Korin help you.”

Cyril writhed on the bed, futilely trying to right himself. “He should help Shade!” His demand was a strangled gasp, and he subsided, panting.

Korin’s lips pressed into a grim smile. “Your witch is as tough as diamonds,” he said. “Hold still. Your need is greater.”

Cyril groaned in agony. His eyes fluttered closed and he seemed to shrink into the vast bed.

“Will he be alright?” Dante asked, feeling surprisingly anxious for the man’s well-being. Cyril had only ever shown him scorn, but he was important to Shade. Dante didn’t want to be the one to tell her he couldn’t save her old friend. She wouldn’t weep as other women might; she’d most likely stick a blade in him.

“His pure, dogged stubbornness will keep him alive. I have no doubt.”

There was a touch of grudging respect in Korin’s voice.

The amber cupped in Korin’s long, elegant hand began to gleam and his eyes glowed with a matching radiance. Awe filled Dante, as it had since he was a child and he’d first witnessed Korin’s gift: golden, healing light. A power deeper and purer than bloodmagic, born from Sicani blood, the first people of Malavita. Possessed with deep wells of power, they had dwelt peacefully in a land brimming with magic and fecundity for centuries, until invaders arrived on their shores. Having no wish to engage in violence, the Sicani had gradually retreated to the more remote interior of their island.

But the people who’d come to make a life for themselves brought a terrible magic with them. They shed the blood of innocents for power. Such dark magic corrupted the spirits of the land, giving rise to the Unseen. Unwilling to fight human foes, the Sicani had no such reservations against these demon adversaries. Unfortunately, their cataclysmic battle had destroyed the golden heart of their land, leaving the survivors doomed to a slow, agonizing death.

The Sicani had given Dante’s ancestors the secret to the Veils, had shown them how to practice a better bloodmagic using gemstone blades against their own flesh and not that of innocents. They had shown these misguided people mercy and compassion in the hopes they would cleanse Malavita of the Unseen’s blight. But the Brotherhood’s sacred pact to build and preserve the Veils had become something far different, far more self-serving and corrupt.

Cyril mocked Korin by calling him Dante’s pet Sicani. But Korin had never claimed to be an actual Sicani, only strong in Sicani blood. Most of the true Sicani had sacrificed themselves in their battle with the Unseen, and the rest had vanished long ago. Korin had served the Safire family for decades as a healer, a mentor, a friend. Dante owed him his life ten times over and trusted him above all others.

“There are many places within him that are broken. So much damage.” Korin clicked his tongue. “Falling off a cliff would have produced similar results.”

The healer fell silent, all his concentration centering on his patient. It was a trance of sorts, and Dante expected it might last well into the night. He made himself comfortable in one of the cushioned chairs by the hearth. There was a low fire to stave off the coming chill, and Marco had brought him wine and a tray of food, expecting a long night. The wine he gulped down eagerly, but he ignored the food. His stomach had been in knots ever since he’d felt the surge of power from the Wastes, knowing without a doubt Shade had been in the center of it.

He saw her pale face again, felt her limp frame in his grasp, and clutched the arms of his chair, willing himself not to race to her side. Petra was tending to her. She was fine, after all, just exhausted. She’d known not to cut anything vital in her desperate act of madness. She would heal quickly. It brought him little solace, though. Since their unlikely alliance had begun months ago, he’d grown to enjoy her company very much. Even with all the dangers they faced, it had never occurred to him that anything could harm her. Her strength had seemed boundless.

And when was strength alone enough to keep anyone safe in Malavita? His sister had been strong. Fiercely intelligent and utterly fearless, but for the conventions of their society she would have been his equal as a bloodwizard. Korin had been training Mercedes to be a talented healer and had placed great hope in her young daughter to follow suit.

And it had all ended in fire and blood…

Brooding, Dante stared into the hearth, mesmerized by the glowing coals. When Shade had first come to him with a proposition anyone else would have considered madness, Dante had jumped at the chance. A new Veil. The first in over a century. Raised, not by a Brotherhood priest, but by a witch and a prince of Malavita. It was madness. But she had sought him out because of his reputation as an honorable man, a man determined to break the Capos and expose the Brotherhood’s lies. He knew her, of course. She was the Black Witch, a fiend, a rogue and a murderer. And also the wielder of obsidian blades, obsidian blades she’d crafted herself. She’d been inked with tattoos more elaborate and beautiful than anything the Brotherhood had ever produced, as well. How could he not believe in her power?

His eyelids grew heavy and his thoughts scattered. Visions of Shade danced with memories of his sister amid bright flames, shadowed enemies surrounding them…

Pale light seeped through the room’s thick curtains and his fire was nearly ash when a thumping on the chamber’s door pulled him from a half-doze.

Dante rose as the door swung open, pushed by a tall, slender woman in a pale blue robe with a tangle of dark golden hair around her shoulders. Shade staggered into the room toward the four-poster bed, her eyes wide in her white face. She stopped before she reached it and lifted a hand to her lips, looking like a lost child.

“Is he…?” she started to ask, speaking in a near-whisper. She swayed and Dante went to her, offering an arm for support. Barely acknowledging the help, Shade clutched his forearm and leaned against him, her eyes never leaving Cyril.

“He lives,” Korin said. A golden aura enveloped him and when he turned to Shade his amber eyes glowed like coals. Slowly, the light faded. The room turned dim and ordinary. A great sigh rolled from Cyril, one free of pain. Color returned to his face. In the expectant silence that followed, his strong, steady breathing filled the room.

Trembling, Shade pulled away from Dante and straightened, feigning strength. Dante was surprised she’d let herself show any weakness at all, especially in front of Korin. She despised him more than Cyril did. Obviously, her fear for her old friend had affected her greatly.

“You have my gratitude,” she said through her teeth, refusing to meet Korin’s gaze. “But don’t think this changes my opinion of you or your so-called Coterie.”

Korin sighed and gave Dante a wry look. Dante made no reply. On this subject, he had to side with Shade. He didn’t understand Korin’s association with the secretive underground cabal of bloodwizards who worshipped the ancient Sicani and swore the Unseen still touched the land. Not through the blight. They meant actual demons still threatened the land. Shade hated them with a fury. Those fools had turned her away from their door in her darkest need, casting her into the Wastes with the hope she’d politely die. When she’d discovered Korin was a member of the Coterie, she’d nearly broken their alliance. Luckily, he’d managed to convince her to continue.

Unfortunately, he had yet to tell her it was the Coterie who would be providing her with the cornerstones she needed for the Quattro Canto. Even more unfortunately, it was time to tell her.

“I could sooner change the path of the sun than your opinion of anyone, young lady,” Korin said.

Dante cringed at his tone, waiting for Shade to explode. It didn’t take much from Korin to set her off. She stiffened instantly, but before she could respond, Korin spoke again, “The Kindred wouldn’t let you into their stronghold, would they?”

Bright spots appeared on her cheeks. The glance she gave him told Dante all he needed to know. His jaw tightened; he’d feared her mission had been a failure but had still maintained a small hope despite everything. But Shade wasn’t well-practiced at hiding her emotions, not like a true Malavitan highborn lady. Her failure was written plainly on her face. Worse, it had been Korin who’d warned her she would fail to get what she wanted from the Kindred.

“It’s merely a setback,” she said after a pause. Looking aside, she tightened the sash of her robe and ran a hand through her tangle of hair. “If the Kindred won’t come to me, I’ll have to go to them.”

“Go to them?” Dante took her by the arm and turned her toward him. “You mean to cross the Glass Fields like the Brazen Monk and his Doomed companions?” he asked. “Or do you know the secret ways through the mountains, and just failed to tell me?”

A stubborn look settled over her features and her arm went rigid in his grasp. “I will do whatever it takes. I promised you I would secure a safe location for our Veil, one with rich sources of gemstones, and I will. Please, Dante, you have to trust me.” And suddenly, she was leaning toward him, her eyes soft and pleading. “Please, I will find a way. Don’t let him manipulate you.”

Korin chuckled humorlessly. “Who’s doing the manipulating, my child?”

Shade spun toward Korin, somehow managing to press herself against Dante at the same time. He could smell the lavender soap she preferred wafting from her tousled hair. It sent an unexpected shiver through his belly, but he kept his expression blank. The knowing look in Korin’s eyes, however, told him he wasn’t fooling his old friend. Korin had warned him more than once not to grow attached to Shade.

Too late for that.

“I am not a child,” she said sharply. “And most certainly not your child. I made a mistake coming to the Coterie all those years ago; I won’t make that mistake again.” She gave him a bitter smile. “You were right to turn me away. It made me strong. Stronger than you could possibly know.”

“Oh, I know.” His gaze turned stern, cold. “I know your strength, your power. We all know. Every bloodwizard within a hundred miles felt you touch the Wild Power. And we felt you almost lose control of it, too.”

Again, those bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks and her eyes grew troubled, her brow furrowed. Was she recalling that maelstrom of power she’d nearly unleashed upon the entire land? Dante shuddered at the memory, though he had only felt a bare brush of it.

On the bed, Cyril stirred and muttered in his sleep. Korin frowned and stepped away from him, moving closer to Shade and Dante. He lowered his voice and took on a more persuasive tone. “The Coterie has been working against the Brotherhood for far longer than you know,” he said. “No matter your unfortunate past with them, your goals align. They want to see the Wastes brought back into balance and a new Veil raised. They have been waiting and hoping for someone like you to appear, ever since we lost–”

He stopped, his eyes flickering to Dante. “Shade knows about Mercedes,” Dante said, and Shade’s grip tightened on his arm. “And my poor little niece, Elena.”

He looked down at her, a familiar loss welling in his heart. Sympathy darkened her agate eyes. She knew how his sister and niece, along with Mercedes’ husband and entire household, had died in a conflagration set by assassins at their villa. She also knew how the Coterie had manipulated his sister’s child in the womb, hoping to create a bloodwizard who was also strong in Sicani blood. It had not improved her opinion of the Coterie, or of Korin. She blamed them almost as much as he’d blamed the Capomajus Rubeus for their deaths. They had made his poor niece a target, she’d insisted more than once, by making her some sort of potential weapon.

“Yet when I did appear at your door, you tossed me to the wolves,” she said bitterly.

“If I had been among that sect of the Coterie, I would not have treated you so poorly. The Wild Power does not frighten me as much as it does them. And it was fear which led them to act so dishonorably. But, your continuing animosity toward us serves no useful purpose. Not when we have what you need to raise your Veil.”

Dante braced himself. Shade had grown still against him, her gaze locked on Korin. “What could the Coterie possibly have that I would need?” she asked dismissively.

Korin straightened his fine blue tunic, his expression grave. “When you first approached Dante with your wild idea, I thought it a fool’s quest. Even with the knowledge to raise a Veil, how would you manage to do it without the sacred stones for a Quattro Canto? Perhaps your father had provided you with the stones along with the knowledge? But, alas, he had not.”

“He would have,” she said defensively. “He was murdered before he could manage it.” She cast her eyes up at Dante. “It wasn’t a fool’s quest. I had hoped I could find the stones I needed beyond the mountains. Among the Kindred mines. Or I would have stolen them from the Brotherhood if I had to, as my father had intended.”

“And I told you I would provide the cornerstones,” Dante said softly. His brow furrowed as he gazed into her eyes, feeling as if he was about to betray her. Would she hate him after this? His heart contracted at the thought. “But I don’t have them, Shade.”

Her eyes searched his face in confusion. “I don’t understand…”

“The Coterie have the stones you need,” Korin said gravely. “And they will give them to you. With conditions.”

Shock and anger crumpled her features and Shade pulled away from him, stumbling on her injured legs. Dante reached for her and she shoved a stiff arm at him, keeping him at bay. Her hand flew to her eyes as she hunched over as if in agony. “I would sooner crawl across the Glass Fields than take anything from your Coterie,” she growled. “They can shove their stones straight up their backsides!”

She kept her voice low for Cyril’s sake, though Dante imagined she wanted to scream. “Shade,” he said, attempting to approach her again, his hands open in supplication. “Please, I never meant to mislead you. I didn’t tell you at first because I knew your feelings about the Coterie. They’ve had the stones for some time, you see, but they had no idea what to do with them. And then you appeared. Like a miracle.”

“As if the Four and the Hidden sent you to us,” Korin added. Dante threw him a dark look, wishing he would stay quiet. He feared anything his old mentor said would only enrage Shade further. “They came to me soon after you met Dante. I had no idea they possessed such powerful relics, either.”

She didn’t seem to even hear him. She remained hunched, her hands over her face and her shoulders shuddering.

“Shade…” Dante said.

“You know you have no choice, obsidian wielder.” Korin’s voice had deepened, grown resonant. Power seemed to fill the air, and not the gentle gold of healing. Dante’s hand snaked to one of his blade hilts, even as he shrank away from the healer. “If you wish to raise your Veil and save your people, you will accept what we offer. You have no choice!”

Slowly, Shade straightened. Her shoulders squared beneath her thin robe, and she shook her hair back from her face before spinning to face him. “You’ve well and truly backed me into a corner, haven’t you?” she said, her expression cold. She glared at Korin. “What conditions will they demand of me?”

“None you won’t be willing to agree to,” he assured her, sounding normal once again. The air was still, calm. Beyond the drawn curtains, Dante could hear the soft trill of birdsong. A shuddering relief filled him, and his hand dropped from his blade hilt. He tried to catch Shade’s eye, but she wouldn’t look at him. His relief turned sour.

A grim smile bent her rose-pink lips. Her hands settled near her hips, grasping imaginary blades. “We shall see,” she said, and her eyes narrowed. “And be aware, Korin Illario, there is always a choice.”