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Authors: Erica O'Rourke

BOOK: Bound
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C
HAPTER
36
T
he trip into the Water Arcs’ House was the same as before—gate, stream, fumbling with my stupid ceremonial robe. Dagger from Luc, tucked into my boot.
Through the windows, we could see the Quartoren, milling about, trying to look as if they were in charge. Dominic, of course, pulled it off better than the others, but he paced the room, peering about as if he expected Anton to pop up any moment.
“Don’t see why we couldn’t go back to my place first,” Luc said. “Hell of a day for you. Might be nice to stop and catch your breath.”
I was running on adrenaline at this point—that, and the urging of the magic, a visceral tugging, impossible to ignore. I couldn’t let myself think about today’s events. Thinking would lead to feeling, and that was a luxury I could not afford right now. Billy’s betrayal, Colin’s new life. Handing over information that would send my father back to prison. I would mourn later.
“If I stop, I’ll fall over.” I marched across the glinting-black lawn, the moonlight turning the water to pools of silver. “I need to focus on the ceremony. And Anton. The rest will wait.”
“Poor Mouse,” he said. “You’ve been tryin’ so hard to put all the different parts of your life in neat little boxes. Friends in one and family in another and magic in a third. You’ve probably got a box just for me, don’t you?”
“So what if I do?” I brushed a stray curl out of my face. “You’re the one who said I had to choose between them.”
“I did,” he agreed. “But hard as you’re workin’ to keep everything separate, they just keep overlapping. I’m not saying you don’t have a destiny. You do, and it’s with us. I’m as sure of that as I am my own name. But when this is over, maybe your life can be a mix of Arc and Flat. Like you.”
“I don’t have much of a life to go back to after today,” I said.
“Then we make a new one,” he said. “A little overlap wouldn’t kill me, either.”
The door to the House opened, and Sabine stepped onto the front porch, peering into the darkness until she spotted the pale blue of my cloak. She raised a hand, beckoning us forward.
“Showtime,” I said, and we climbed the steps hand in hand.
“The House is assembled,” Sabine said, her delicate features pinched with worry. “We may begin.”
“Should we go over the plan one last time?” Dominic asked.
“I know what I need to do,” I replied, careful to keep my expression impassive, despite the fury churning underneath. Dominic wanted to play me—to use me as a way to ensure his own hold on power for generations to come. I was nothing more than a pawn to him.
I was nobody’s pawn.
What I needed to do didn’t match up with Dominic’s plans as completely as he thought. I wasn’t loyal to this House or any other. I wasn’t loyal to the Quartoren or the Arcs. I was loyal to the magic, and tonight, I would do everything in my power to ensure its safety.
Luc picked up on my mood, because he broke away from the formal lines we’d fallen into and made a show of adjusting my cloak, tracing the gold designs embroidered on the edge.
“Remember what I said,” he told me. “I don’t care what happens to the rest of them. You keep yourself safe.”
“I will.”
He leaned forward until his mouth was an inch from my ear. “I’d kiss you, but I promised not to.”
“You’re very honorable,” I said.
“Not really.”
“What if I kissed you?” My words were impulsive, prompted by nerves and the recklessness he always brought out in me, but my tone was not.
He drew back, the gold flecks in his eyes mesmerizing. “In front of all these people? Didn’t know you were such an exhibitionist.”
“I ...” I could feel the blush warming my skin.
He smiled grimly. “Ask me again after we get out of this.”
“Maura,” said Sabine. “It’s time.”
We trailed out onto the massive veranda, gleaming crystals like lanterns dotting the lawn. Under the flickering lights, the Arcs’ silk robes gave the impression of gently moving water.
The eyes that tracked my movements were anything but gentle. They ranged from curious to alarmed to openly hostile. My steps were leaden as I took my place at the edge of the crowd.
On the marble-topped table stood a glass basin filled with water and the parchment scroll I’d signed before. On the other side of the basin, a piece of sea glass, one edge chipped to form a crude knife, rested atop a neat stack of white linen squares.
I searched the crowd again. No sign of him.
Yet.
At some unseen signal, Sabine lifted her hands and began the chant to resume the ceremony. The rest of us joined in, and I felt the same surge of magic, saw my skin begin to shine, heard the crowd’s murmurs. This time, Sabine didn’t pause.
As soon as the invocation was finished, the magic settled back under my skin. My fingertips still glowing as the power traced through my veins.
Sabine’s name was the first on the list. Iris picked up the glass knife, murmured a blessing, and handed it to Sabine. I hoped the magic would choose her. Choose anyone. Make my job here easier.
Calmly, Sabine drew the edge of the rock across her palm. The blood welled up in a thick line and she squeezed, letting the drops fall into the basin below. It billowed through the water like crimson smoke, diffusing slowly. My stomach clenched at the sight. When it was completely dissolved, she stretched her cut hand over the surface of the water and began the spell, opening herself to the massive ley lines bordering the House.
I’d taken raw magic into myself more than once. Tempered magic was easier, but it was a little bit like saying that sticking your finger in an electrical socket was easier than getting struck by lightning.
Sabine jerked once, her eyes rolling back, and then she recovered, continuing the spell. The air quivered with the force of it, the water in the bowl roiling as she spoke, struggling to channel the power effectively.
This was the test, Niobe had explained, a public demonstration of how well the candidate worked with the magic. It showed his strength and skill, because everyone here could read the lines. Sometimes the candidate was too weak to direct the magic once it was mixed with his blood, and it consumed him. Sabine seemed to be managing it well enough, casting a finely wrought blue lattice in the air, delicate but steady. It looked like the wards of protection Luc had placed around me, but Luc’s wards always glittered, a constant, shifting array of light, as if they were truly made of fire. Sabine’s were quieter—a faint, will-o’-the-wisp glimmer. I didn’t know if that was because she lacked strength or because she wasn’t a showoff. Either way, it seemed obvious that Sabine was competent. Not outstanding, but capable enough.
Gradually, the lattice faded away. Joshua handed her a linen cloth to bind her hand, because you weren’t supposed to heal a wound from a Succession ceremony. Sabine stepped back, and Iris moved forward to take her place. Sabine’s test was over, and the Succession was under way.
I watched Iris and Joshua’s tests, and then the rest of the candidates proceeded toward the stage, one at a time. Each of them took the magic inside themselves and built a lattice—some were sloppy, the lines jagged as a child’s drawing, and some were gracefully curved. Some were orderly to the point of being rigid, and some were so weak you could barely see them. But none of the spells had the vitality of Luc’s magic.
Whenever Luc cast a spell, the magic moved—flickering and dancing, full of light. I’d always thought it was the nature of fire-based ley lines, but now I understood it was because the magic responded to him. He might not have known it was sentient, but that shimmer was a sign they were working together—not just Luc imposing his will on the lines, but a partnership.
That’s why he was the Heir. Whether the Arcs here understood the meaning behind it, they, too, knew it was essential.
Magic was as unique as a fingerprint, I realized. Every single lattice looked different—the structure, the brightness, the degree of movement within the lines. They revealed everything about the person working the spell. By adding their blood to the casting, each person’s essence was captured perfectly, displaying their truest nature. This ceremony was the Arc equivalent of a polygraph.
The testing continued, but none of the candidates blew me away. A few could barely withstand the magic and were knocked unconscious and carried offstage. There was never an instance where the magic reared up, grabbed my attention, and said,
That one.
I began to worry, as we worked our way through the list of names, that Anton would, in fact, be the one. That he would put on such a display of power that the Water Arcs wouldn’t be able to resist naming him as their leader. I could speak for the magic, but I couldn’t speak for the entire House. The crowd grew restless. Finally, Sabine called Anton’s name. Luc scanned the crowd, ready to spring. The Quartoren stood in silence, Orla gripping her cane, Pascal studying the scene through half-closed eyes, more intent on the activity in the lines than on the ground. Dominic watched me.
Inside me, the magic twanged a warning, and I sent a wave of reassurance back toward it, just as Sabine called Anton’s name again.
This time, the crowd parted to let him through.
He strode past me, hood thrown back, every hair immaculate, betraying no sign that he’d been shot three times in the chest. But his eyes were pools of malice, and I stepped back as he passed.
He took the knife from Sabine, tilted it back and forth to catch the light, and tested the edge against his thumb. He turned and aimed the point at me, smirking.
“Any day now,” I muttered, hands balled into fists.
He drew the blade across his hand without hesitation, without betraying any pain, and let the blood fall freely into the basin
I don’t know what I expected—for it to sizzle like holy water on a vampire, maybe. Something clichéd, some outward manifestation of his evil. But the crimson drops merely spread through the water, tinting it a repulsive pink. His mouth stretched into a horrible grin as he took the magic inside himself, barely flinching.
His eyes dilated as the full force of the power hit him, but he took it in stride, even pausing to survey the crowd. It was a calculated gesture, a deliberate show of strength, and then he began chanting. At first the words were soft, impossible to make out, but as the wards took shape, it became clear that the other candidates’ workings had been child’s play. The blue flame was darker than the others, but the light and magic running over the surface gave it an unearthly sheen. The lines formed a nearly impenetrable lattice, the spaces between the lines so narrow I doubted I could get a hand through. He let the construct hang in the air for a moment, and then it exploded, blinding everyone momentarily.
When my vision cleared, Luc was standing between me and Anton, who chuckled. “You’re forgetting your place, boy.”
Luc’s fingers flexed, but I nudged him. “Not yet.”
“Soon,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Anton.
Silently, Iris handed Anton the scrap of linen to bind his hand. He surveyed the crowd as he tied it, as smug as if he’d already won.
“Next,” he called, and moved to the foot of the stairs, forcing me to pass within reach. As I climbed the steps, he positioned himself in front of the crowd like a general leading an army. I wondered how many Seraphim stood with him. How many targets I had painted on me. And I wondered what would happen when my blood hit the water and I set the magic loose.
C
HAPTER
37
I
could have chosen to make a fresh wound—to use the glass knife on my other hand and leave the scar from Verity’s attack. But it was that scar—the Darkling scar—that had started me on this journey, transferred her destiny to me. It seemed fitting to open it again now, at the end.
Because I was pretty sure this was going to be the end. I just didn’t know what kind of ending it was yet.
I set my jaw as the blade bit in, refusing to give Anton the satisfaction of seeing me whimper. Scarlet drops rippled through the water, and I waited for Sabine’s signal before I began. But instead of chanting the spell everyone else had, I felt for the lines, opened myself up to them, and invited the magic inside me once again.
The rush of energy was staggering, but I managed to stay upright. The magic churned through me like a waterfall, turning my skin light and my eyes sightless. I spoke in the language of the Arcs, musical and silvery, distinctly Water based this time, the words rushing and tumbling from my mouth.
I didn’t know how I could suddenly be fluent in this language—but every word was pure and correct, an exact translation of the magic’s thoughts, a declaration of freedom and triumph and life. It was like a dam had broken and pure energy poured forth. It wasn’t a spell—I didn’t shape the magic or direct it. There was no glowing lattice, no magical fingerprint. I simply lit up like the scoreboard after a grand slam, the magic brilliant and unmistakably alive within me.
The truth revealed, my secret displayed for everyone to see. Especially Anton, who’d put it together before anyone else.
When the magic finally quieted, leaving me spent and shaking on the stage, Anton wore a horrible, catlike grin on his face.
I didn’t bother waiting for Joshua to hand me the bandage. I wrapped up my hand in the crackling silence, unable to look up, or at Luc, or anywhere except the blood soaking through the snowy fabric.
“I came here for you,” Anton said conversationally, breaking the silence. “The Succession’s a quaint little honor. But you’re the real prize. Even more so now that I know what you’ve been hiding.”
“You don’t care about these people,” I said, staring down at him. “You want to destroy them.”
“I want to usher in a new age. Houses are meaningless. Our bloodlines are polluted. The Quartoren work to serve their own interests first. Even this ceremony ... it’s a mockery of what it once was. In olden times, those who wished to be tested risked their lives for the privilege of serving our people. The spilling of blood was literal, not figurative, and the one who survived was the one chosen to lead. We’ve become weak. Debased.”
“People vote,” I said. “They have a say in their future. How is that a bad thing, to let the members of a House determine its path?”
“Because they don’t deserve it,” he said. “You want to be a scientist. This is evolution. I’m merely helping it along, making sure the strong are the ones who carry us forward. Those capable of handling the burden of greatness. Everyone else should be sloughed off. They’re useless.”
“What about me, then? I’m not even an Arc. I’m not useful to you.”
“You’re the most useful thing of all,” he said. “It’s through you that we’ll release the magic and wipe the slate clean. You’ve shown us what we can be, how strong, and pure, and powerful. All we have to do is release the magic.”
“I won’t let you,” I said, reaching for the dagger in my boot.
“No? Not even if it saves the ones you love?” He reached behind him, pulling a cloaked, visibly trembling figure from the crowd. “Poor thing. She thinks you’ll save her. Again. But I think you’re callous enough to let me spill her blood right here. You’ve already let an innocent die for you once today. What’s one more?”
He pulled back the cloak, and Constance stood in his grasp, pale and tearful, blue eyes so like Verity’s, begging me for help.
I set the dagger on the table. “Mouse,” said Luc, his voice low, a warning. “Stick to the plan.”
The only person you need to save tonight is yourself.
But Luc hadn’t counted on this. Verity’s sister. You had to hand it to Anton. He played his cards well.
“Ekomov wasn’t innocent. And he didn’t die for me. Kind of a different situation here,” I said, and moved down the steps, careful and deliberate.
“Think,” said Luc. “Don’t do this.”
I met Constance’s gaze, noting the quivering of her chin, the tears trembling on her lashes. “I know what I’m doing.”
Dominic stepped forward. “Don’t take another step, Maura.”
“You cannot act here, Dominic,” Sabine said.
“Neither can you,” Anton said to her, cheerily. “Or I’ll kill the girl.”
He would. He’d kill everyone here to get a shot at me. To take me over, just like he’d done with Jill, and force me to release the magic.
Constance made a strangled noise and I moved closer, hands held up in a gesture of surrender. As soon as I was within reach, he shoved Constance to the ground and clamped a hand around my wrist, dragging me toward him.
I didn’t bother to resist.
“For someone with such potential, Maura Fitzgerald, you are dreadfully predictable.” His breath was hot against my cheek, but it made me feel cold, his fingers clammy against my skin. “You should work on that.”
“I told you,” said Constance, climbing to her feet and moving to stand just behind Anton’s shoulder. “Mo the Martyr. Works every time.”

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