Storm of the Seven Sins, page 15
Oh, by the bleeding Virtues. “How in the nine hells is she supposed to marry you when she’s been kidnapped and taken to the Architect knows where?”
He swivels to look at me, his gaze hard. “We’ll find her. When we do, she’ll be grateful for the commitment of House Satrizona. And she’ll say yes when I ask her to take her rightful place at my side.”
“Her rightful—” Enraged, I push to my feet. “You selfish prick. A boy might be dead. Eva is gone. And all you can think about is making a deal about where to stick your…”
“Westergaard!” Ronan snaps, just as Sebastían stands too, mirroring me. His claws have slid out, and he scrapes them over the table, leaving tiny divots in the wood.
“You think I’m selfish?” he growls. “I’m thinking of the future of my House. Of all our Houses. You’re the impulsive fool. Of the two of us, I hardly think I’m the one who’s thinking with my—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Rage is so thick in my throat, I’m afraid I might choke on it. Instead, I shove my chair back from the table hard enough that it overturns and storm from the room.
The whole way down the hill from the House of Echoes, I alternate between picturing inventive ways to wring Sebastían’s neck and trying desperately to reach out to Eva. If I could just talk to her, know she’s all right, maybe the ache inside my chest would ease. But there’s still nothing at the other end of the bond. Terror ripples through me, and I fight to tamp it down. Fear won’t help me find her.
My stomach rumbles, reminding me that the last thing I ate was Jaxon’s nasty leftovers. As I turn onto Spruce Street, heading in the direction of one of the restaurants that line the river, I have the unmistakable sense that someone’s watching me. I can feel the weight of their gaze on my back, a cold spot between my shoulder blades. My skin prickles with alarm, but when I spin, dagur in hand, there’s no one there.
Every sense on high alert, I make my way down Spruce and onto the City Road. This section of it is quiet, the shops closed. Still, with every step, that sense of being watched escalates, until I can’t take it anymore. I come to a halt, a blade clutched in each hand, and raise my voice. “I know you’re there. Come out. Or are you too much of a coward?”
For a moment, nothing happens. And then a blur of blue hurtles from the roof of the tailor shop, landing on the stones in front of me with a crouch. My breath catches, and I’m halfway to burying my dagur in whatever it is when it speaks. “Surprise.”
“Oh, it’s you.” Aggravation sharpens my voice, blended with relief: at least it isn’t an attacker. “What in the nine hells do you want? And why are you stalking me from the rooftops?”
Sebastían straightens, giving me an infuriating grin. “It’s faster than walking.”
Right. Or maybe he just wants to make the point that his physical capabilities exceed my own, especially now that I can’t access my bond with Eva. “I repeat, what do you want? Didn’t you say enough in that damn war council?” Sheathing my blade, I narrow my eyes at him. “They must’ve wrapped up quickly. What did they decide, anyway? To support you?”
“Of course.” He shrugs one elegant shoulder. “It’s a shit plan, marching right into the jaws of the enemy. You and I both know that. But their options are limited.”
It’s true: this plan is full of holes. If Eldrina’s falcons don’t reach the other Houses and summon their guards in time to meet us near the Commonwealth of Ashes, what do we have? Three hundred guards from Minneska. Riley and Layla. Eldrina. Sebastían. Kilían and me. Against a magical force we don’t understand and the might of all six Commonwealths, assuming the Executor summons them to fight. “Why are you here, then? To rub it in?”
“No. I wanted to ask…” Shifting his weight, he glances down at the cobblestones. “You truly can’t feel her, Westergaard?”
There’s a note of vulnerability in his voice, and for a moment, I wonder if he really does care for Eva as something other than a means to an end. But, surely not. “I can’t,” I admit. “I’ve been trying, but…nothing. You, though? When you told Ronan you’d named her panther, what did that mean?”
“It’s a bond.” The wind riffles through his hair, ripping it loose from its ever-present ribbon, but he doesn’t react. Like Eva, he doesn’t seem to feel the cold. “Not as strong as yours, of course. And not as intense as it would be if my relationship with her was…consummated.” Is it my imagination, or does his voice linger on the last word? “But it’s a connection between us.”
Much as I hate the idea that this exists, maybe it’s something we can leverage. “A connection,” I say slowly. “Can you use it to track her?”
“Perhaps.” His blue-green eyes bore into mine. “And if so, the gods know it’d be more effective than this hair-brained march on an unknown enemy.”
I take a step back, considering him. “You could’ve brought this up in the Council’s chambers. But instead, you tracked me down here to talk about it in private. Why?”
“Think, Westergaard.” For once, that obnoxious grin of his is gone. “Both of us want Eva to be safe, more than anything. Our reasons may differ, sure, but our goal is the same. But the rest of them? Think about what Adelman wants. You think Eva’s safety is top of mind for him?”
“You’re saying you and I are on the same side.” By the Virtues, how did this happen? “And you want us to…what? Join forces? Collaborate?”
“I’m saying we have a connection to Eva no one else does. Yours is blunted by distance and whatever’s been done to her. Mine isn’t as strong, but it’s there. We can use that. But we don’t have to share everything we discover. If we can extract her without risking all-out war, one we’re not positioned to win…” He raises his brows, leaving me to fill in the blanks.
What a damned schemer. I’d like to shove him into the river, but much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. Still, “How can I trust you?”
He smiles at me. “You can trust that I’ll work with you as long as it benefits me. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to find her on my own. And if I locate her first, with a complement of guards at my back… Well, let the best man win.”
I grit my teeth, gauging the distance between the white-capped waters of the Silber and the place where we stand. It’s not that far. One good shove, and in he’d go. “You won’t find her first.”
“Maybe not. But even if I did…” He tilts his head, considering. “You’d want that, right? For her to be safe, no matter what? Even if it was with me?”
He has me there. Much as it tears me up to imagine Eva married to Sebastían, better wedded to him and alive than tortured at the hands of her kidnappers and wielded as the enemy’s weapon. “Yes,” I say, biting out the word.
“Well then.” He extends a hand. “Do we have an agreement?”
I consider what he’s asking: to forge my own alliance with him, going behind the Council’s back. To align myself with the boy who’s hell-bent on marrying the girl I love. Talk about making a deal with the devil.
But if I have to bargain with the devil to save Eva, then I’ll do it, and gladly.
And so I take Sebastían’s hand, and tell him we have a deal.
Chapter 22
Eva
I drift above the ground, buoyed by the wind. This should be impossible, unless I’m in the form of my falcon. But when I manage to open my eyes, what I see confirms my suspicions: I haven’t slipped my skin. I’m still in human form, wearing the black-and-magenta gear I had on when I went to meet the Mages. Yet I’m floating, propelled by a force that I can’t resist, no matter how hard I try.
Trees glide by me, their leaves coated with snow. I tilt my head back and see the sky above me, a bleak, cold, gray.
“…incredible,” an unfamiliar voice says, somewhere close by. “Worth every sacrifice.”
“I told you.” It’s the Executor’s voice, gloating, satisfied.
I turn my head and see him beside me, drifting above the ground. If I could move, I could reach out and touch him.
This has to be a dream. A nightmare.
His head swivels and his eyes catch mine, dark and fathomless. “Eva,” he says. “You are a miracle. My miracle. Look what we have done together.”
I want to shriek at him. To tell him I’m not his anything, except his enemy. To demand to know where I am. To be set free.
But my mouth won’t move. My eyes slip closed.
I dream of Ari screaming my name. Of teetering on the edge of an abyss, unsure whether to jump or skitter away, to safety. Of a deep, dark forest, and a panther prowling through it, green eyes peering into the shadows, growling, Carina, where are you?
I try to answer Ari. To slink from the shadows and tell the panther, Here. I’m right here. But my voice doesn’t come. Instead Ari’s call grows fainter and fainter, and the panther prowls through the shadows, finding nothing, and I’m lost, alone in the dark.
I will have to save myself. But how, when I can’t speak or move?
Sweat soaks my body, plastering my hair to my face. I force air through my lungs, but all that escapes is a desperate mewl. My eyelids won’t rise. My limbs won’t move. Maybe I am still drifting or maybe I lie still. I can’t tell.
I focus all my energy on at least trying to open my eyes, to see where I am, but nothing happens. The pull of the drug is too strong.
Come, Eva, a woman’s voice whispers, closer than Ari’s and the panther’s. You are safe now. It will be all right.
The voice lies. I may not know who it belongs to or where I am, but I know that much. Deep in the recesses of my mind, I huddle, refusing to respond.
We can help each other, the voice coaxes me. Many years ago, Mages and skúma worked together. We controlled the elements; you protected us. It can be like that again.
I don’t want to listen. But there is nowhere for me to go. The voice is inside my head, worming its way into all of the crevices. Wherever I try to hide, it finds me. And, I realize, it’s oddly familiar.
This is the voice that spoke through the raven, back in Vik. It’s devoid of the harsh tones that came from being forced through a bird’s throat, yes. But it’s unmistakably the same.
We serve the Light, the voice says, soft yet inexorable. We have always been a force against the Darkness. Once, you were our guardians. The Commonwealths, with their technology and their laws against sin—they seek to replicate what was once our role. Stand with us, and push the Dark into the shadows once more. Fight with us, and save your mother’s life.
Inside my head, I rock, hands pressed to my ears, trying to shut the voice out. But it is me and I am it and there is no escape.
Many years ago, the voice muses, in a land across the sea, we had another name. Many years ago, you battled by our side, in another form. Now, we are exiled alongside your Commonwealth’s refuse. Now, we subsist on roots and rinds of magic; we are ghosts in the woods. We only want what rightly belongs to us. If you will not give it to us, we will take it, Eva. We will take what’s ours. Your Executor has shown us the way.
If this voice is real—if I’m not dreaming—then what is it telling me? That the Mages used to rule over the skúma, and not the other way around? That the Commonwealths’ dedication to expunging sin has its origins in something far more ancient…something tied to magic?
I don’t know who to believe.
A hand touches my forehead, feather-light, brushing back the hair that clings, sweat-soaked, to my face. All those years ago, the voice says, there was one of us so powerful, she controlled all of the elements, as you control all four beasts. Her gifts have been lost. But now, as you have arisen, so can one such as she. We know it. We feel it. Together, we will rule again.
I want to tell her I have no intention of ruling alongside anyone, let alone their pet Mage. That I’m sick and tired of people using me. But to do that, I have to free myself.
With all my might, I fight to peel off the clinging tendrils of darkness that hold me. I crawl out of the shadows, toward her voice. Let me go, I snarl. Let me out.
For a moment, my eyelids flicker open and I catch sight of her: a tall woman, dressed in red, the same one who deflected the blades I hurled at Mei. Her hair is woven in elaborate braids. Her angular, lined face is inches from mine.
She blinks down at me, surprise in her dark eyes. “So strong,” she says, smiling. “That’s good, Eva. Your strength is what we need. When we’re ready, we will harness it. We will use it to aid your Executor in defeating the Houses, and in turn, he will cede them to us. And then we will take you home again. And the Houses will bow before us.”
“I’ll never help you,” I force out between cracked lips. “I’ll…die first.”
But maybe I only think it. Because the smile on her face doesn’t fade, even as the dreaded needle plunges into my arm. And down I go again.
Chapter 23
Ari
We ride out at dawn, many of us on horseback and the rest on foot. Kilían and Jaxon are with us, their wounds mostly healed by the Mages’ compounds. Adelman travels with us too, though the rest of the Council of Nine stays behind, along with the selkies and some of the guards, to protect the city and the skúma children. Eldrina and her falcons fly ahead of us, close enough that they can still access their familiars but far enough to scout what lies beyond.
And of course, there’s Sebastían, riding silent and watchful by my side. We conferred quickly as we saddled up; neither of us have been able to sense Eva.
It’s like she’s nowhere. Not accessible through the bond, no matter how hard I try or how loudly I call out for her. Not visible in the tracks the Mages’ party left behind, retracing the path we took when we first came to Vik. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s terribly wrong. That we’re not getting any closer to her, no matter how far we travel.
Last night, Sebastían and I briefly considered trying to go it on our own. At least that way, we wouldn’t be so conspicuous. If we were able to retrieve Eva, we’d be depriving the Mages of their greatest weapon. Then, we could bring her back to Vik, regroup, and plan the invasion…the right way, this time.
It was a sound plan. But the last thing we needed was for the Brotherhood to split their forces in search of the Panther of the West, which meant bringing our proposal to the Council for their approval. And no matter what reasoning we offered—including the idiocy of leaving the young skúma children unprotected, except for by Vik’s wards and a small complement of guards—we couldn’t win them over. Adelman was dead-set on riding out to rescue Cordelia, and with Satrizona on board, no one else wanted to be deprived of the glory. So here we are, marching to war against an enemy we can’t see and potentially riding right into a trap.
Fantastic.
As I attempted to impress upon the Council, it would be a sound strategy on the Mages’ part to leave a false trail in the direction of the Commonwealth, while a complement of forces circles back to invade Vik. Sure, they can’t get in without help—but what if Mei’s family turns traitor, in an effort to bring her back into the fold? What if they were concealing their true allegiance all along? Ronan left them under guard, but as we saw when the Executor escaped, guards can be drugged. Or killed.
The thought of Eva, unconscious and vulnerable after that bitch Mei injected her with the Architect knows what, being hauled into Vik like an inanimate object, fills me with rage. I imagine the Executor taking Adelman’s seat in the Great Hall, those red-clothed women flanking him around the Council’s table, the skúma children being caged and exploited, and am hard-pressed not to stab something.
I can tell Kilían shares my misgivings, but he hasn’t spoken up. Maybe he thinks it’s not his place; maybe he thinks this is a doomed venture no matter what avenue we take. Or maybe his head is so clouded by his feelings for my father that he’s not thinking clearly. I want to confront him about what I overheard, to demand to know what he’ll do if Kennett falls, but now is not the time. I feel like I’m living in the cautionary tale the Mothers used to tell us, the one about the woman who predicted the future and was ignored again and again. And look what happened to her: raped, enslaved, and murdered in the wake of a war she fought to prevent.
All of which is to say, I’m in a terrible mood as our army canters through the first mountain pass, which is wide enough to accommodate two horses riding side by side. This high up, snow’s already begun to fall, dusting our shoulders as we ride along the trail. The ground is a mess, but the trampled earth and disturbed vegetation reveal that a sizable group of people has come this way, moving fast…which would seem to indicate that we’re on the right track.
There are no imprints of horses’ hooves, though, just footprints, which baffles me: if they’re walking, how have we not caught up to them yet? And even the footprints are strange: scattered here and there, uneven and rushed. None of it makes any sense.
I say as much to Sebastían, who reins up and dismounts as the path opens into a valley. Since we’re riding at the head of the column, this means everyone behind us has to come to a halt, but for once, I don’t mind the Panther of the West’s high-handedness.
He bends and sniffs the ground. When he straightens, his brows are knitted. “I smell Mages,” he says, lip curling in a snarl. “Including Mei. Others, not Mage or skúma—exiles, perhaps? But I don’t smell your Executor. Or Eva, either. And”—his voice catches as his gaze shifts toward Layla, who’s come up next to him, leading her horse, “I don’t smell Erdahl. Do you?”
She imitates his gesture, black hair sweeping the snow-dusted earth as she inhales. Her shoulders slump, and when she stands, the dark circles under her eyes send a pang through me. I may not be her biggest fan, but the grief that roils off her is palpable. “No,” is all she says.
