Dark Haven (24 page)

Kalcen leaned forward as Tris and Kiara unwrapped his gift. It was a triptych with beautifully painted illuminations, drawn by a skilled artist. The frame was covered with gold. “I’ve had my astrologers consult the stars to create this. We set much stock by the stars in East‐mark. One panel is for you,” he said with a nod toward Tris, “and one for you,” he said with a smile for Kiara. “It foretells lucky and inauspicious dates for 80 years from the day of your births. In the center, my seers have read the stars for this day, and predict that signs are favorable for a male child to be born within a year.”

For nearly a candlemark, Tris and Kiara received the gifts of the nobility: beautiful silver, finely etched crystal, and gem‐studded jewelry. Tris felt himself begin to relax as the pile of gifts 203

diminished without incident. He and Kiara were effusive in their thanks, but he knew that Kiara also was mentally wincing at the competitive opulence of the presents from nobility eager to gain favor with the new king and queen.

At last, one gift remained. It was draped in cloth, a rectangle the size of a doorway.

“Think it’s a portrait?” Kiara whispered to Tris with a laugh, knowing how much he hated Jared’s life‐sized paintings of himself.

“Goddess, I hope not! We’ve only just finished burning all the ones Jared made.” He sobered and his eyes widened. “There’s something wrong.”

“What is it?”

“Blood magic. I can feel it.”

The servants swept back the cloth with a flourish, revealing an ornately framed mirror. The frame was gold, engraved with an intricate design of runes.

“Don’t touch that!”

Tris’s warning came an instant too late. The mirror wavered in the servants’ grip and one of them reached out a hand to steady it, touching the glass.

The mirror misted and the glass disappeared. An ear‐piercing shriek sounded, and before the servants holding the mirror could scatter, a huge beast bounded through the frame. The beast was corpse gray, with slick, hairless skin stretched across a nightmare body. Its misshapen head held bulbous eyes and sharp, protruding teeth. It walked upright like a man, on solidly‐muscled 204

hind legs that ended in massive claws. With its clawed forearms, the beast swept aside the men holding the frame, casually ripping the head from the nearest of the servants.

“Not on my watch!” Harrtuck ran at the beast with his sword drawn, slashing with a blow that should have felled a bear or a wolf. The beast lashed out with its forearm, raking four deep tracks across Harrtuck’s shoulder and flinging him across the room. Harrtuck landed hard against the wall and lay still. Shrieks and cries erupted from the terrified wedding guests as they scrambled to get out of the beast’s way. Jair grabbed a torch from the wall behind him and ran at the beast with a cry, swinging the torch wildly to break the thing’s advance on the partygoers.

“Get everybody out of here!” Tris shouted to Soterius, who was already on his feet. Tris vaulted the table, drawing his sword as the beast advanced and frightened guests scattered. The beast focused on him, as he hoped. Tris stepped closer.

Tris lifted his hand to raise a warding but before it snapped into place, he felt another person enter the space.

“You sure know how to throw a party.” Vahanian was behind him, sword drawn.

Outside the warding, Tris was dimly aware of Carroway and Soterius shouting for order. He heard Donelan and Kalcen call for their guards. A solid row of soldiers, his own plus the guards from Isencroft and Eastmark, formed a perimeter, their weapons ready.

The beast lunged for Tris, and Tris ducked, but not quickly enough. He felt the beast’s claws rake across his back, sending him sprawling. His wounded ankle buckled underneath him, sending sharp pains up his leg. Jonmarc charged, sword raised, and scored a deep gash on the thing’s shoulder, only to be swept aside by its powerful forearm. Tris stretched out his power, hoping to snuff out the life force of the beast, but the stench of blood magic made his senses reel. He 205

could feel no glimmer of soul in the magicked creature.

Tris tore the charm from around his neck. “Take this—I’ve got a plan.”

Jonmarc grabbed the chit before he realized what it was. “Not that same damn talisman!”

“You’re safe with it—keep him busy.”

“Be quick about it!”

Armed with the talisman, Jonmarc gave a battle cry and threw himself toward the beast, hacking in great two‐handed blows that would have felled any.natural creature. His vayash moru training served him well; his quick reflexes kept him a hair’s breadth away from the thing’s talons. The creature’s skin barely registered the blows, but it turned away from Tris, with its baleful yellow eyes fixing on Jonmarc as it advanced a step toward him. Jonmarc dodged and ducked, missing the worst of the creature’s blows. Its claws raked down his left arm, shredding his silk shirt and digging against the mail beneath.

“Now!”

Jonmarc leapt out of the way as a wave of fire burst from Tris’s outstretched hands. Within the warded dome, the beast shrieked as flames enveloped it. Jonmarc threw up an arm to shield himself, as far back against the warding as he could get. When the flames stopped, the beast lay on the floor, its charred skin in tatters. Carefully, Tris rose to his feet, gasping at the pain in his ankle. Jonmarc lowered his arm and took a cautious step forward.

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“Is it dead?”

Before Tris could answer, the thing sprang up, launching itself at his throat, its sharp‐toothed mouth wide. Tris stumbled backward as his ankle gave out on him. The beast’s claws screeched across the chainmail shirt, digging into the mail and drawing Tris closer to its jaws.

With a cry, Jonmarc dived for the thing’s back. Jumping astride it, Jonmarc turned his sword point down, driving it into the beast’s back with both hands. The beast roared and twisted, but it did not loose its grasp on Tris, who was close enough to smell the stink of its breath.

“Get clear!” he shouted to Jonmarc, who pulled his sword free and threw himself off the beast’s back. Dark ichor ran from the gash. The beast staggered but did not fall.

Tris focused his magic on the depths of the thing’s body. He sent a wave of flame, not around the beast but within, flame that began in its belly and burned through its torso. The beast screamed, writhing as the flames consumed it from inside. Tris struggled free of its claws just as the fire streaked from its mouth, flames engulfing its huge, misshapen head, its bulbous eyes wide.

Tris’s ankle folded under him. He scrambled to get out of the thing’s way as it made one last lunge for him, flames tonguing from its maw, its breath heavy with the stench of charred flesh.

The teeth snapped just shy of Tris’s throat as Jonmarc brought his sword down on the beast’s neck. Weakened by the flames that consumed it, the beast’s hide yielded to the sharp blade. As Jonmarc bore down with his full strength, the blade tore through, severing the head from the body. Charred, inside and out, the massive body staggered and fell, oozing a vile black ichor that smelled of rotted meat.

Jonmarc took no chances, stabbing the beast repeatedly until he was sure that it would not move again.

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When the creature did not stir, Tris let the wardings fall. Soldiers circled the beast, alert for trouble.

“Get that damned thing out of here,” Tris ordered, gritting his teeth against the pain. Cam wrapped the body in a tablecloth, hefting it over his shoulder. Another guard followed, holding the beast’s head in a makeshift sack. Together, they hurried out of the room.

Jonmarc helped Tris to a chair and Soterius sprinted to join them. Kiara pushed her way through row of guards, her eyes wide, a borrowed sword ready in her grasp.’ Jair joined them, still holding the torch. Esme ran to where Tris was sprawled in his chair. Across the room, Carina knelt next to Harrtuck.

“How badly are you hurt?” Esme asked.

“Nothing except that damned ankle. I don’t think I’m bleeding.”

As Esme began to remove Tris’s boot from his injured leg, Jonmarc went to join Carina. Harrtuck lay in a pool of blood, with four deep slashes that went through his shoulder and upper back.

Beneath the bloody gashes, Jonmarc glimpsed the white of bone.

“I can’t do this alone,” Carina said. “I’m losing him. I need your help.” Her hands were covered with Harrtuck’s blood; he was pale and his breathing ragged.

“I’ve always been the patient—I don’t know how to help.”

“Do you trust me?” Carina met Jonmarc’s gaze.

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“With my life.”

“Drop your guard and let me draw strength from you.”

Jonmarc hesitated, completely at a loss. If she can read my thoughts as she draws from me, what will she see? So many things in the past I’m not proud of, so much blood on my hands. If she can see where I’ve been, what I’ve done, will it change her mind? He looked at Harrtuck.

“Take what you need,” he said, closing his eyes. Tris and Gabriel told him he had better natural shielding against magic than most mortals. That had come in handy against mages or vayash moru who had tried to sway his thoughts. Now, he struggled to disarm those defenses. He focused on the familiar warmth of Carina’s power, the touch he knew well from so many healings.

He gasped and swayed as she began to draw from him, trying to shut out the buzz of the conversation around him, the shouts of the guards and his own heightened senses that still hummed with the energy of battle. Harrtuck must be worse off than I thought. He remembered how Tris and Cam and Carroway had let Carina draw from them when she had done battle healings in the caravan. Carina had told him how many hours Tris and Sakwi had sustained her when he’d been brought back from the Nargi camp more dead than alive. Feeling the steady drain for the first time, he marveled at their resilience, humbled at the cost it had taken to heal him so many times.

He watched as Carina’s touch knit together the sinews and skin of Harrtuck’s back “more quickly than the most skilled surgeon, closing the gaping wounds until only scars remained. Joined in thought with Carina, he could feel the warmth of her healing. power as she strengthened Harrtuck’s life force, bringing back the flickering thread until its glow was solid. Harrtuck was no longer in danger, although he was sure to feel the pain of bruises for days to come.

Jonmarc was unprepared as Carina turned to him, clasping his hand between her own, slick with blood. Thank you. Her voice sounded in his mind, closer than thought. He felt her 209

presence deeper than words, slipping against him more intimately than skin to skin, as if for an instant, their souls were intertwined. Just as quickly, it was gone, and Carina looked away from his questioning gaze. The sensation left him reeling. By the time he gathered himself to speak, Carina had slipped away, wiping her hands on her ruined ball gown, moving toward where the guards and servants clustered to see if anyone needed her skill.

Harrtuck rolled over and groaned. “Careful there,” Jonmarc said, making his tone as light as he could. “You came near as a whisper to seeing the Lady.”

“Aye,” Harrtuck rasped, grimacing as he eased onto his newly healed back. “I thought I heard Her, singing for me in the distance.”

“Thank Carina.”

“Tris—is he all right?”

“A little banged up, but not bad. Next time you decide to charge one of those things, take an army with you.”

“Yeah. An army.” Harrtuck’s voice drifted off. Jonmarc moved aside as two soldiers came up with a stretcher and slid Harrtuck onto it. He walked back to where Esme was just finishing up with Tris’s ankle. Carina was nowhere to be found.

In the distance, Jonmarc heard music, and guessed that Carroway had been successful in cajoling the frightened guests into enjoying an impromptu concert. “By the Whore!” Donelan roared. “I’d heard tell that the two of you could fight like that, but I’d never expected to see it myself—and certainly not up close.”

“If I had any doubt of your power as a mage,” Kalcen said to Tris, “or yours as a swordsman,” he 210

said with a nod toward Jon‐marc, “I have none now.” “Glad to oblige,” Tris said dryly. “Keep your weight off it for a few days,” Esme instructed as Tris gingerly tried to stand. “If I thought you’d listen, I’d send you to bed and tell you to stay there.”

“He’s supposed to be on his honeymoon,” Jonmarc noted. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Carroway shouldered his way through the soldiers. “Finally got away from the guests,” he said.

He glanced from Tris to Jonmarc. “You two all right?” ~ ‐

“Considering the choices, not bad,” Jonmarc replied.

“I’d say you’ve fought those things before.” Jair’s gaze lingered on the scar that ran from Jonmarc’s ear down below his collar. “More times than I’d like to remember.” “We told the guests that you were both fine and that the beast was destroyed,” Carroway said. “Crevan’s pouring the brandy fast to get it off their minds. If you’d like, I’ll make the announcement that the newlyweds have retired to the royal chamber. You’ll be spared another appearance and the crowd can keep on drinking.”

Tris glanced at Kiara. “Wonderful idea— especially if it keeps me off the dance floor.”

Half a dozen soldiers escorted Tris and Kiara to their rooms. As Tris closed the door and locked it behind them, he wished that they might have the kind of total privacy a king could never enjoy.

“You go hard on your wardrobe,” Kiara observed. Tris looked down at the shredded long coat with the glimmer of chainmail that showed through the ruined sleeves and sighed.

“Just one more reason I liked what we wore on the road. Cheaper to replace—and a lot more comfortable.”

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He laid aside the tattered coat. His shoulder was beginning to throb from the force of the magicked beast’s strikes. Tris winced as Kiara helped him remove the torn shirt and the chainmail that clearly showed deep claw marks. His chest and arm were already darkening with bruises.

“Keeping you in one piece is going to be harder than I thought.” Kiara’s humor didn’t reach her eyes.

Tris drew her toward him. “Second thoughts?” His fingers toyed with her long hair, and the scent of her perfume quickened his heartbeat.