Bewitched & Betrayed (45 page)

“And you made me a promise that I’d be with you.”

“Yes, I did. You still want it?”

His expression was resolute. “I’m not leaving.”

“Thank you, Vegard.”

I was taking the chance that a black mage who had tortured and sucked the life out of who knew how many people, who had stolen, abused, and manipulated the souls of the living and the dead, would be more hated than me. I’d just had the piss-poor luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and have the Saghred bond to me. Yes, it was full of imprisoned souls, but I wasn’t the one who’d done the imprisoning. In a way, I was the rock’s prisoner, too.

I was going to make Death an offer that he hopefully wouldn’t refuse.

The Reapers were here, nearby. I could feel them. The death of a nachtmagus of Ghalfari’s power had probably drawn them in like a lodestone to true north.

So would the Saghred.

I let the power of the stone flare through me. I knew I was probably ringing a dinner bell, but I had no choice.

I felt them coming and did nothing to stop them. Not that I could, or wanted to. Sometimes Death’s minions were downright welcome.

The Reaper rose straight through the cobblestones at my side as from the depths of Hell itself. I could see it, and so could everyone else. It was high noon, bright as a day got, and the damned thing was solid.

There wasn’t a swarm of Reapers. There was only one. A really big one. Taller than Vegard.

The one I’d punched at Markus’s house.

I looked up at the towering mass of tendrils.

I was so going to die.

It was the one Vidor Kalta said was strong enough now to take the living, thanks to my life force I’d fed it when I hit it. And I’d punched it as hard as I could. I didn’t know if Reapers held grudges, but I couldn’t imagine it being happy about something like that—then again, maybe it was.

It just floated there. I’d say it was watching me, but Reapers didn’t have eyes, so I had no idea what it was waiting on, but at least it was keeping its tendrils to itself.

The Reaper didn’t move, but Sarad Nukpana’s specter sure did. The bastard had been using a veiling spell floating above where Mychael and Vidor worked frantically to save Tam, waiting for his chance.

I had one imploring word for the Reaper. “Please.”

The thing just floated there.

Sweeten the pot, Raine. “Help me and I’ll help you.”

“Ma’am, no!”

I tightened my grip on Vegard’s wrist, asking him not to interfere.

All of my attention had to be on the Reaper floating not three feet in front of me. It knew what I was offering. Souls from the Saghred. Souls who wanted to leave, to move on. The Reaper could have taken me there, taken all the souls it wanted and me along with it.

Instead I swear it inclined its head—or where its head should have been—in gratitude. Maybe even respect.

I saw a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. It wasn’t Sarad Nukpana.

It was worse, the kind of worse that made you want to scream yourself hoarse.

Janos Ghalfari was standing across the street, smiling at me, his head twisted at an impossible angle. He raised his hands and turned his head so it faced the right way.

It didn’t stay put. His head fell bonelessly to the side, lolling against his shoulder. I thought I was going to throw up.

Sarad Nukpana had decided to keep his soul in the family.

Janos Ghalfari’s reanimated corpse turned and ran, faster than something dead and broken should have been able to. The Reaper snapped around, tendrils writhing like a nest of snakes, and took off in pursuit. Ghalfari’s body glowed with blood-red light, so bright I had to close my eyes against it. A flash shone through my eyelids. I opened my eyes. Ghalfari had vanished, and all sense of the Reaper was gone.

Vegard sank to his knees in the street, taking me with him. I didn’t try to keep us on our feet. I wanted Sarad Nukpana, but I wasn’t stupid enough to go after a Reaper chasing a corpse.

Death would send his collector back for me soon enough.

I sat next to Tam’s bed and watched him sleep, watched the
movement of his chest as it rose and fell with a deep, steady rhythm, listened to his quiet breathing.

Against all odds, Tam was alive. And unless I shot him again, he was going to stay that way.

Mychael was the best healer in the seven kingdoms, but he had worked on Tam to the point that he had needed a healer himself. No doubt during his career, he’d healed some horrific injuries.

Tam had been dead. You couldn’t be any more horrifically injured than that.

Vidor Kalta had his hands full forcing Tam’s soul to stay in his body. Apparently when you died your soul wanted to leave. Immediately. Tam’s intention had been to live, but his soul had other ideas. Vidor had done the nachtmagus version of a wrestling match.

All while Mychael had been using every bit of healing skill he possessed to close the hole in Tam’s heart and then get it beating again. Justinius Valerian told me later that it was nothing short of a miracle that Mychael didn’t die in that street, too.

Mychael and Vidor Kalta had brought Tam back from the dead. If they weren’t legends in their fields already, they were now.

Justinius’s healer had taken care of Vegard. Last month, the old man had had a spellsong- induced heart attack courtesy of Rudra Muralin. Vegard had pretty much the same thing from Sarad Nukpana. After nearly a week, today was his first day out of bed.

We were in the citadel, in rooms that were well warded and even better guarded. Justinius wasn’t taking any chances. Though he didn’t have to worry about Sarad Nukpana, Janos Ghalfari, or what or whoever the hell he was now.

The bastard had actually managed to get away from that Reaper. I had no clue how he’d done it. Maybe having consumed the souls of some of the blackest black mages in history taught Sarad Nukpana a nifty trick or two for dodging Death. Regardless, he’d left the island before an hour had passed, and just before Justinius Valerian could seal the harbor. We knew this because Phaelan and Uncle Ryn could find out things that the harbormaster, city watch, and Guardians would never get wind of. A goblin matching Janos Ghalfari’s description had bought his way onto a Brenirian frigate headed for Mipor. He’d had a thick scarf tied tightly around his neck. The weather didn’t warrant it, but a broken neck would have. It must have helped hold his head up. Though he would heal. With that much magic surging through his body, he’d heal and he’d do it fast. Normally Brenirians would be reluctant to take on a goblin passenger, but this one had paid in gold—pure goblin imperial. Mipor was in Rheskilia. Goblin territory. A safe haven for an undead goblin son of a bitch who had a ton of payback coming to him.

Though on the upside, maybe since the Reaper didn’t fulfill its end of the bargain, it didn’t expect me to keep mine.

Yeah, I wasn’t holding my breath on that one, either. I kept expecting to have a chill that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with Death’s super-sized minion doing some heavy breathing down the back of my neck.

I wanted nothing more than to get rid of the Saghred and send the souls inside on their merry way, but there had to be a way to do that other than a Reaper using me for a soul straw.

Mychael was asleep on a couch against the far wall. He’d refused to leave Tam’s room, even to sleep. But sleep would only be denied for so long.

Mychael’s coppery hair gleamed in the faint light of the two table lamps burning on either side of Tam’s bed. He was on his back; his hands lay relaxed and open on his flat stomach. Hands that had healed me from the brink of death, and brought Tam back from what lay beyond. I continued to watch him, careful not to move or make a sound. Mychael needed all of the sleep he could get. And like most healers—and warriors—the slightest noise would jolt them from a sound sleep, ready to take care of a patient, or take down an enemy.

A few strands of hair had fallen across Mychael’s eyes and I had a nearly overwhelming urge to brush his hair back. Being Mychael, but also being a warrior, one of two things would happen: a kiss or an armlock. One would be welcome; the other wouldn’t—though both would probably end up with me flat on my back on the floor with him on top of me. I smiled. That wouldn’t be bad; in fact, that would be very good.

I looked at Tam, his long hair spilling over his pillows and down his bandaged chest. His loose-fitting shirt was open down the front for access to the bandages.

When I’d first met Tam, all I’d known was that he was a goblin with secrets piled on top of plots, and that he liked elven women—a lot.

None of that had changed, but everything else had.

He was still a dark mage and he always would be. And as long as I was linked to the Saghred, I was still a dark mage magnet, a temptation he could not surrender to. I knew that—and so did he. Though now he was one big step closer to being out of the Saghred’s reach forever. When I’d shot him, at the moment of his death, our umi’atsu bond had been broken.

The Saghred couldn’t get its hooks into him now.

I leaned back in the chair at his bedside, sighed, and ran my hand over my face.

“Nice shot,” Tam murmured. His eyes were open, watching me. He actually looked rested and relaxed. My eyes felt bloodshot and I probably looked like hell.

I leaned forward and took one of his hands in mine.

It was warm, just like it should be. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I didn’t try to stop them. “Hey, you stood still for me,” I managed. “How could I possibly miss?” I paused, my throat tight. “I didn’t want to kill you.”

“You’ve been mad enough at me before to do it.” A crooked grin played across his lips. “I thought I’d finally give you a chance. Imala stabbed me once. Why shouldn’t you get to shoot me?”

I sniffed and tried a smile.

“Though that was one hell of a way to get a divorce,” he said.

“A divorce?”

“The umi’atsu.”

Mychael shifted on the couch, but surprisingly didn’t wake up.

“He’s been here almost the entire time,” I told him.

“He’s worried that I’ll try to get out of bed and ruin his work.”

“Good reason to stand guard, then.”

Tam looked at Mychael for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “He’s a good man.”

I gazed at my sleeping paladin. “Yes, he is,” I said softly. “And an even better friend,” Tam murmured. He pulled himself up on his pillows and hissed in pain.

That
woke Mychael up.

His hair was tousled with sleep and his face was darkened with his morning beard. He took one look at me, grinned, and just shook his head. “Tam was a perfect patient until you showed up.”

My smile was almost demure. “You know I never claimed to be a good influence.”

Tam winced as he gingerly settled himself on the pillows. “Has Carnades gathered his lynch mob yet?” he asked Mychael.

I froze. “Lynch mob?”

Tam started to explain and Mychael held up his hand. “Save your strength. Carnades is claiming that Tam invited Sarad Nukpana’s soul in.”

Some things were just too freaking unbelievable for words, but I managed. “You have
got
to be kidding me.”

“The middle of the street at high noon isn’t exactly circumspect,” Tam said. “There were a lot of people watching and I did put on quite the evil show.”

“But you were possessed!”

“Carnades has always believed me to be as bad as Sarad Nukpana, if not worse. My actions in that street just confirmed what he’s been trying to prove to everyone since I got here.”

I turned to Mychael. “And let me guess, Carnades is claiming that you and Vidor Kalta are Tam’s evil minions because you saved his life.”

“Essentially.”

“So how did he manage to twist the fact that I killed Tam?”

“You took the law into your own hands and deprived the Seat of Twelve their due process.”

“Let me get this straight: he’s pissed at
me
because
he
didn’t get to kill Tam.”

“Exactly.”

“Mychael, tell me those guards outside are to protect Tam, and not because he’s been arrested again.”

“He hasn’t been arrested,” Mychael assured me. “Nor will he be.”

“And just who is going to pull off that feat?”

“I am,” Tam said. “By pulling the legal rug right out from underneath Carnades or anyone else who cares to challenge me.” He paused uncomfortably. “Sarad Nukpana possessed my body for nearly three hours. That included every soul Sarad absorbed trying to regenerate himself.”

“General Daman Aratus, two ancient goblin black mages, and Rudra Muralin.”

Tam nodded. “There were others as well, poor bastards who Sarad managed to snatch off the streets to sustain himself until he was strong enough to go after bigger game. He absorbed all of their memories, knowledge, and skills. Sarad used my mind to function, my body to act.”

I didn’t need a reminder. I also didn’t need to think about how close he came to getting away with everything, most of all what he’d done to Tam.

“He was in my mind—and I was in his,” Tam said quietly. “Raine, I know Sarad Nukpana’s plans and precisely how he intends to carry them out. Every step of the way.”

“And now he’s running home to share his plans and all of his newfound knowledge and power with his evil cohort, Sathrik Mal’Salin.”

“Sarad will use the king only as long as it is convenient. Sathrik’s crown and throne will be irrelevant once Nukpana puts his plans in motion. Sathrik will be a figurehead king, or he’ll be dead. Once he realizes that his former partner in crime has turned against him, Sathrik will go along, waiting for an opportunity to have Nukpana killed.”

I snorted. “Like that’s going to happen.”

“You’re right. It won’t. Sathrik will be a puppet or he’ll be dead, and the choice won’t be his to make. When Sarad no longer needs him, he’ll kill him. He can’t afford to let him live.”