Dark Haven (31 page)

There was nowhere to run, no safe place to hide. Instinctively, Kiara curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees, shielding the child in her belly as the danger moved closer. In the distance, she heard the baying of dogs. Darkness enveloped her. It hurled itself against her mind, as the Obsidian King had once tried to break through her shielding. The amulet at her throat burst into light, and Kiara felt the shadow pull back.

In the distance, Kiara heard the sound of a distant flute playing wild notes that sounded like the coming of a storm. Fog began to swirl around her on the Plains of Spirit, and in the fog, she saw faces and forms. The ghosts swirled around her, drawing on the energy of the amulet’s glow, driven by the music. The ghosts became more solid, and although Kiara had none of Tris’s summoning magic, she could feel the energy that crackled like lightning around her. The ghosts’ mood matched the ferocity of the music, but Kiara sensed no threat from them.

Instead, they formed a protective barrier between Kiara and the shadow, even as the darkness threatened to overwhelm them.

She threw all of her energy into her shield‐ings, knowing that they could not hold out forever, and on the barren plain she could hear the echo of her own screams—

“Kiara!”

Kiara thrashed awake, her heart pounding, wet with sweat. It took a moment to realize that Cerise and Alle stood over her. The three dogs stood at the foot of her bed, their hackles raised, teeth bared. Across the room, near the fireplace, Macaria lowered her flute, wide‐eyed and frightened.

“What happened?”

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“Seanna woke us,” Alle said. “She kept ripping the covers off me until I woke up. She did the same to Cerise. She knew something was wrong.” Seanna’s ghost was faintly visible at the foot of Kiara’s bed, next to the water bowl. Suddenly, the bowl began to rock, sloshing its contents.

Alle looked at the ghost, puzzled. “What?”

Alle’s eyes narrowed, and she dipped a finger into the bowl and sniffed it cautiously.

“‘Whoever brought the cakes for Malae left another surprise. Someone’s replaced the salt water with plain water. Useless.” She looked to Kiara. “What happened?”

Kiara recounted the attack, and looked up at Macaria. “It was your playing I heard, wasn’t it? To draw the ghosts.”

Macaria nodded. “I didn’t know what was happening, but I could feel bad magic. Car‐roway told me that the ghosts of Shekerishet would protect you. I thought if I called them, they’d know what to do.”

Kiara smiled gratefully. “They did. Thank you.”

Cerise dropped to her knees and stretched her hand under Kiara’s bed. She sat up, holding a folded parchment in her hands.

“Give me your dagger,” Cerise said to Alle, who handed over her weapon. Cerise laid the parchment on the floor. It was folded in a complex pattern and tied with red twine, sealed with a wax sigil that shifted as they looked at it. Murmuring under her breath, Cerise took the dagger in both hands and stabbed through the center of the parchment with her full strength. The point of the dagger sliced through the packet and a scream tore from the parchment itself, which curled up as if licked by unseen flames. The door to the corridor burst open and the guards entered.

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“My Lady, are you all right?”

Kiara drew a deep breath and nodded. Cerise and Alle moved to hide the dagger and parchment from the guards’ view. “Just bad dreams,” Kiara said. “Thank you.”

No one spoke until the door closed behind the guards.

“What the hells was that?” Alle asked. Cerise gingerly hooked what remained of the parchment with the dagger’s tip and carefully carried it to the fireplace. As it curled and burned in the flames, they could hear the sound of distant voices in an unknown language.

“Blood magic.” Cerise cleansed the blade of the dagger in the flames before returning it to Alle.

“Someone broke the warding of the bowls, and placed that charm beneath your bed. Tell me again what you saw.”

Kiara repressed a shiver. “I was on a dark plain, like a moor or a bog. There was something searching for me—for us,” she said, her hand going to her belly. “It didn’t want me. It was looking for the baby, for its spirit.”

“The old women of the mountain villages tell tales about dimonns. When a child dies in its crib they say the dimonns have taken its soul. Has Tris ever told you what he sees on the Plains of Spirit?”

“Most of the time, he sees the souls of the dead. Sometimes, he’s glimpsed the Lady. But a few times, he’s seen something else that left him shaken, things he wouldn’t talk about.”

“Healers tread close to the Plains of Spirit, although we don’t see it as a Summoner does. But we 267

can sense the life force, and we know when it wanes. I woke just before the dogs began to bark.

Dogs can see spirits and sense evil. You were quivering all over, your eyes were wide open but not seeing, and then your whole body stiffened. I could feel something draining your life force, like a damper on a candle. I said a charm against darkness, and you woke up.”

“What now? I’m no safer asleep than I am awake. How long can I fight something I can’t even see?”

Cerise took Kiara’s hand. “Tomorrow, we’ll call for one of the Sisters to cleanse your rooms. The blood magic charm opened a gateway to the Plains of Spirit. We need to close it. Then, we’ll set new charms and wardings. One of us will stay in the room at all times to make sure nothing is disturbed.”

Now that the terror had drained away, Kiara felt completely spent. Cerise drew up a chair beside Kiara’s bed and took a blanket from the chest. Alle returned to her post by the door, and the dogs left the fire to lie near Kiara’s bed. Macaria refused to leave, and took up another chair near the fire. Still numb with grief over Malae’s death and exhausted from her struggle with the dimonn, Kiara slept.

“Why have they taken Bian?” In the minstrels’ practice room, Macaria paced compulsively, running her hands through her short, dark hair. “How could anyone suspect Bian?”

Carroway shook his head. The guards had taken Bian from the kitchen on Crevan’s orders.

Rumors about bad food causing Malae’s death quickly turned to dark suspicions, and Carroway barely hid his annoyance at Crevan’s botched response.

“Bad food comes from the kitchen, and Bian runs the kitchen,” Halik replied, his tone making it clear that he, too, considered Bian innocent.

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Paiva, a third‐year fosterling and the newest addition to Carroway’s inner circle burst through the door. “They’ve shut her up in the guard house. It’s too cold in there for an old woman. She’ll freeze before she gets the chance to plead her case.”

Carroway turned toward the fire, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

“Zachar. Malae. Bian. What if it’s not a coincidence? The king leaves the palace—the only Summoner who could question the spirits and know for certain how they died—and within a few weeks, three of the most trusted retainers either die or are sent away.”

“You said Zachar had a brain bleed,” Macaria said.

“Maybe he did. But we weren’t looking for poison before Malae died. We assumed the poisoned cakes were for Kiara, but anyone who’s watched knows Kiara hasn’t eaten much at all this last month.”

“She’s spent most of the time throwing up in the garderobe, that’s the truth,” Paiva declared.

“It was Malae who asked for the cakes. What if Malae was the target?” Carroway said, his eyes wide. “How better to get rid of Bian, who’s been our eyes and ears? Crevan’s on the edge of losing his mind with the preparations for Zachar’s funeral. The king is gone to war, the new queen is vulnerable, we’ve got a half‐competent vice seneschal in charge, and three of our inner circle are either dead or under suspicion. If they can peel away the queen’s friends, then the queen will be exposed. We’d better find out quickly who’s behind this. Kiara’s not the only one in danger. So are we.”

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

LORD CURANE SHOULDERED through the crowded corridors of Lochlanimar. Since the siege began, the tension within the keep had grown daily. Some of it was due to the plague now raging in parts of the village, a plague created by his own blood mages as a weapon against the invaders. Some of the tension could be attributed to the feel of the locked‐down keep. And some was certainly due to the army outside that was visibly engaged in building siege engines to bombard Lochlanimar.

He climbed the stairs to the tower and withdrew a key from where it hung on a chain around his neck. Locked within the tower was the war’s greatest prize—his granddaughter and her infant son.

Curane squinted as he entered the room. The only light came from the fireplace and from the five slitted windows high on the wall. Lanterns sat unlit on a reading desk along the far wall, and candles were dark in their sconces. The room had been made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, outfitted as a noble’s bedroom, complete with a small crib. On the bed, he saw a huddled shape.

Annoyed, he took a candle from its sconce and lit it in the fire, then lit the rest of the candles and a lantern. “Is there a reason you sit in the dark?”

“Why do you care what I do?”

“Your son is the next king of Margola’n. I won’t have him brought up like a cave dweller.”

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“Cave dwellers are free to come and go as they please.”

Curane bit back his first response. “We’re at war. You’re safe in here.”

“A locked door is a locked door.” Canice’s dark hair was uncombed, and she still wore a night gown, although it was midday. She cradled the baby against her, gently jiggling him when he stirred. “We’re exactly where you left us. What did you expect?”

“What’s wrong with you, girl? I’ve seen tavern slatterns who took better care of themselves.

You’re still abed, and you haven’t dressed. I’ve had all I’ll take of your self‐pity. If you don’t shape up, we can find a wet nurse for that baby. I’ve worked too hard to have this sabotaged by a spiteful child.”

“You thought I was woman enough for a king when you sent me to Jared. And between his

‘attentions’ and the birth, I’ll never be suited for another man. You’ve gotten what you wanted from me. What do you care what I’m wearing? No one but the guards see me. Morgan is fed and clean, and he’s finally stopped his colic.”

“You’d probably prefer to have the baby taken, wouldn’t you? Think you’ll go back to the Trevath court and waste your time with that noble trash you call friends. You’ve got a king to raise. Grow up.”

“Why did you come?”

“I’m going to move you to Trevath, back to your aunt’s people. Lord Monteith’s castle is far enough inside Trevath’s boundaries that Margolan doesn’t dare move against him.”

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“Losing so soon? The siege hasn’t even started.”

Curane’s voice shook with anger. “Being cautious. This keep and everyone in it is expendable—

except for that baby.”

“Do your mages know they’re ‘expendable?’”

“This is war. The only thing that matters is achieving the objective. There are always necessary losses.”

“Maybe Martris Drayke isn’t as soft as you thought he was. After all, he killed Jared. That’s a plus right there.”

Curane snatched a dress from the wardrobe and threw it at the bed. “Get dressed. Clean yourself up.”

“Stop shouting. You’ll wake the baby.”

“I don’t give a damn—”

The baby let out an ear‐splitting scream, arching and grasping. Canice fixed Curane with a deadly stare and lifted the baby against her shoulder.

“Don’t let him scare you. Mother’s here. Mother will keep you safe. It’s all right. It’ll be all right.”

.

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“Did you hear me? I want you up and dressed and presentable. Pack your things. I’ve made up my mind. You’re going to Trevath. I’ll let Lady Monteith deal with you.”

Canice did not look up. “Hush,” she cooed. “Hush now. Mother’s here. It’ll be all right.”

“I’ll send guards for you at sundown. You’d better be ready.” Curane slammed the door behind him.

His foul mood carried into his briefing. “Well?” he demanded when General Drostan and the fire mage Cadoc entered the room. “Are we ready?”

Drostan nodded. “Nearly so.”

“Nearly so isn’t enough. Our best chance to strike at the Margolan army will be when it first arrives, before they’ve had a chance to dig in. If we take the offensive, we might turn them.”

Cadoc shrugged. “I doubt they’ll be broken quite so easily, even with magic.”

“We must terrify them. Teach them that we have the will to endure. Let them understand that we’ll hold out.”

“Is that why you’re smuggling the girl out of the keep?” Drostan’s voice was icy. “Hardly proof that you believe this siege to be winnable.”

“I learned long ago to hedge my bets. With Canice gone, there will be one less distraction, and it puts one prize out of Drayke’s reach before the first salvo is fired.” Curane smiled icily. “I’ll send you one of the serving girls and her baby. Use your magic to put an illusion on them. We’ll lock 273

them up in Canice’s place. No one will suspect.”

“Even our best strike can’t defeat thousands of soldiers,” Drostan replied.

“We don’t have to defeat them. We need to make them lose heart. Every day the army camps here, my man at Shekerishet moves closer to success. Our people in Isencroft already have Donelan occupied with the divisionists. We have the resources to keep the army tied up here for months. By stripping the land bare, they’ll have to travel further for supplies—and we have fighters in place to harry their supply line.” He rose and looked out one of the thin windows, toward the plain where the army would camp.

“We’ll teach them to be terrified of what comes by night. Sicken them once the harshest days of winter come. Make them hungry. Drayke and his mages will weaken the longer they stay here, while you and your blood mages,” he said with a nod toward Cadoc, “grow stronger off the rift in the Flow. They’re not a real army, not professionals. Just a ragtag band of volunteers out for an adventure. How long until those volunteers decide to go home?” Curane smiled. “No. We don’t have to defeat his army. We have to break their will. Then Trevath will see the opportunity and come to our aid. We’ll he rid of Drayke, rid of his heir, and both Margolan and Isencroft “will be ours.”