Heir of Pendel (A Pandoran Novel, #4) (30 page)

"And which direction would that be?" I snapped. "Orindor? If Daria can't convince Lord Pontefract with a marriage, there's no way I can persuade him. Danton would probably have me arrested on sight—you know he's been looking for an excuse for years. Or maybe I should run back to Valdon, where ten thousand shadowguard are waiting. There isn't a place in this world that's safe for me, especially now that Eris knows who I really am. As an Estroian, I will always be a threat to him. I won't stick my head in the sand and wait for the war to end, either. I refuse to hide while Daria's
life is in jeopardy."

Thaddeus opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but then he glanced in the direction of where Vera slept, and he shut it again.

"I knew the danger," I continued quietly. "Which was why I'd originally intended to go alone. There's still time for you. You can turn around now, stay here with Vera and—"

"Oh, shut up, already." Thaddeus grunted. "You know I'm not going back. Anyway, you're not the only one whose options are fatally limited. Rook's with Point of Fact, the castle's surrounded, and both of my parents would mostly likely kill me on sight. Not a real bright and shining prognosis, if you ask me. You're the only
family
I've got left"—he held up his palm—"yes, you're family as far as I'm concerned, and you need me. You need
us
. Besides, I don't want your death on my head. Rook would never forgive me, and you know as well as I do that Rook's wrath is the last thing any man should ever have to endure."

I cracked a smile despite myself. Thaddeus's expression mirrored my own, and then Ehren opened the door. I could tell by his face something was wrong. Thaddeus could, too, because he jumped to his feet.

"You'd better come quick," Ehren said.

18

DARIA

I
raised my hands, and the sharp point dug deeper between my shoulder blades.

"I said
don't move
," she snarled.

I sighed. "Isla, I'll give you ten seconds to drop the knife and walk away."

"And why would I do that?"

Eight.

"Because you have no idea what to do with a weapon. Put it down. You'll cut yourself."

Her irritation flared behind me. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"You know what, you're right. Here I thought you were capable of counting backwards, but you're still standing there with three seconds left."

She dug the point of her blade in so deep, I was certain she'd drawn blood. "The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because—"

One.

I had her knife in my hand, pressing its edge against her delicate little neck, while my other hand gripped her wrist that was reaching for the spare knife at her waist. I was about to say something else to her when a male voice said, "With a little more pressure, you could sever that vein and never have to deal with her again, you know."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

"Go ahead, princess," the voice continued in the darkness, slippery and cold like a ghost whispering into my ear. "I know you want to. No one would fault you, either. For all the poison and lies she's spread, she more than deserves it. Words are sharper than the sharpest of blades, and they cut deeper, leaving wounds that never heal."

Isla's uncertainty and fear slammed into me in a shield of feeling, and her wrist trembled in my grip. I still couldn't see him in here with us, but I could feel him, sense him, as if the world had gone darker and his presence leeched what little warmth remained.

"Do it," the voice continued from my other side. There was power in his whisper, beckoning and tempting. Pressing against my will and drawing closer as if it were wrapping cold fingers around my soul. "Purge the world of her filth. What choice do you have, besides? Even if you let her live, she'll run straight to Lord Commodus Pontefract and tell him what you've done. You'll never escape him, and he will make you suffer.
Do it
."

My fingers flexed over the blade, sweating as I gripped it tighter, and Isla panted against its sharp edge. Her life was right there, hanging by a thread—a thread I could cut right now. The voice was right: She deserved it. She was a manipulative and scheming little witch, always taunting and teasing with that saccharine voice I loathed so much. Yes, she deserved to die, if anything for preventative maintenance.

Isla whimpered, and it was like a beam of light from a lighthouse punching through thick fog.

Wait.

I didn't kill people to get them out of my way. Even if I thought they deserved punishment—and Isla definitely fit the bill—it wasn't like me to deploy justice with murder. I didn't kill unless it was in self-defense, and the only defense anyone needed against Isla was a pair of earplugs. Physically, she was harmless, and hurting her would be like hurting a small kitten. No, I wasn't going to kill Isla—I wasn't even going to hurt Isla. I held my position, though, because I still didn't trust her. Even the smallest kittens had sharp claws.

"What do you want?" I asked the darkness.

A pause, then the air turned ice cold and goose bumps erupted over my shoulders and down my arms. "You should've done her the favor of killing her yourself."

Isla screamed, a bone-chilling, agonizing wail, and her head wrenched back in agony. Her pain tore through my body, and I pulled the dagger away from her arched neck and caught her before she fell to the ground. Her body convulsed in a fit of spasms so violent she thrashed right from my arms.

"Isla!" I threw the dagger aside and crouched down beside her, feeling around on her body, trying to hold her still, trying to calm her down. Trying to figure out was wrong with her while her pain ripped through me. It felt as if my insides were being pulled out of me through my mouth. Her skin was freezing cold, and something thick and wet oozed from the edges of her mouth. My heart raced and I started panicking. "Isla, what's wrong? Isla…" Her life flickered like a dying flame. "What are you doing to her?" I shouted at the darkness.

Another agonizing scream pierced my ears, but this one was different. This one was final and defeated, as though her soul had been ripped from her body, and then she exhaled in a whimper and her body went slack in my arms.

"Isla…?" I bent over her, pressing my hands to her face and chest, feeling for breath and beating heart.

She was dead.

I cursed, then grabbed her shoulders and shook her. I knew she was gone, but I couldn't stop shaking her as if that might shake the life back into her.

"That won't do any good," said the voice.

I growled, and in a sudden surge of rage, every single candle inside the stables burst to life—from my magic. But I still couldn't find the source of the voice. There was no one else inside the stables except Isla and me and the horses, and when I finally glanced back down at Isla, I thought I was going to be sick.

Her skin was ashen and shriveled like a raisin, and her eyes were gone, leaving behind a pair of black and purple veined depressions. Her once lustrous red hair was now bone-white and coarse, as if she'd aged three hundred years in a matter of seconds. My stomach turned over as cold fear crawled down my spine. I'd seen death like this before, back at the castle.

I drew Nightshade from its sheath and stood, shaking on my feet—whether from fear or revulsion, I didn't know. It had to be around here somewhere, hiding in the stables. I'd faced an unseen before and gotten away, but the first time had been with Alex's help, and the second time…well, I still didn't know how I'd done it because the explosion of my magic had made me pass out right after. But then, who'd been speaking to me earlier? In my limited experience, the unseen couldn't talk. They just drifted and killed, at the command of their maker, which was usually a pykan, but that voice had sounded too human to belong to a pykan.

As if on cue, Tiernan appeared at the end of the lane, near the stable doors. The sight of him made my breath hitch, and my wrists ached with memories. His midnight black hair and those cold blue Pontefract eyes, but his were somehow colder. Soulless and empty and cruel. I remembered his slithe and how he'd used it to coerce me to tell him where the box was. At the time, I'd had no idea what box he'd been talking about, but now I knew. He'd been looking for the box of the Pandors, and he'd planned on torturing me until I told him where it was. It hadn’t come to that because I'd escaped with Fleck's help, as well as my father's and the Del Contes'. I'd been an idiot, because I'd acted without thinking and put them all in danger because of my petulance. It wasn't my proudest moment, but I very clearly remembered stabbing Tiernan through his twisted heart. He should be dead, not standing here staring at me with that frozen gaze.

The temperature dropped and the candles flickered and dimmed as he studied me. It was like standing in one of my nightmares, but this wasn't a nightmare. He was real. His cloak was darker than night, as though he were clothed in shadow, and the bones in his face sharpened to a cruel point at his chin. His resemblance to his brother was uncanny—I could see that now—but Tiernan made Lord Commodus Pontefract seem as soft and cuddly as a Care Bear.

"You…" My voice trembled. There were many ways I could have finished that statement—many ways I probably should've finished it—but what came out was, "Why aren't you dead?"

His brows were so thin they looked as though they'd been drawn on with a black pencil, and when he raised one of them at my question, the peak was so sharp it looked as if it might sever his hairline. "I wondered when I would have the opportunity to speak with you again. Your list of dancing partners was larger than my family's genealogy, which—in case you were unaware—is quite extensive. I worried the night would pass me by without a word. So much has transpired since I last saw you, you know, but then you fell ill and left, leaving me deeply disappointed. I'm glad I had Isla track you. In the end, she proved quite useful. She must have really hated you, princess. I'd never seen her more determined."

"And you killed her!"

Tiernan studied me with those cold, dead eyes. "Interesting that her death should elicit such a vehement response from you when she was more than willing to kill you on my behalf."

"But she was helping you, and you killed her!"

"Helping me? Do you honestly believe I needed her help? I was merely capitalizing on her intentions. In the end, she got what she wanted. Here you are, delivered straight to my hands. As far as Lady Isla is concerned, she's fortunate because for once the outward appearance does indeed match the soul. She died an honest woman."

"You're sick," I growled.

"
Determined
," he corrected, flashing a feral smile. He still stood at the end of the lane, blocking my escape. "And determination makes us do all sorts of things. It is what separates the strong from the weak, princess—just how much we're willing to do to get what we want. Speaking of, how
did
you manage to get past the barrier I placed around your balcony? It took me the better part of an afternoon to assemble it. I took extra care for you, because I do not forget." He tapped a long, white finger to his temple.

My eyes narrowed on him. "Sorry you wasted an afternoon, but you should've learned from last time."

Daria, careful…

He frowned. "You so effectively convinced my brother and my nephew you were without magic that I almost believed them. Commodus has always trusted too much in his own judgment, and his son seems to have inherited the same unfortunate trait. Though in your case, I suppose I can't blame my nephew for his oversight. He's a bit…smitten with you, I believe, and feelings tend to cloud a person's judgment. I, on the other hand, am always a skeptic, which is why I—against their knowledge—went ahead and made the barrier outside your room." He paced the small space around him, the hem of his cloak rippling like black water. "I consider myself an efficient man, and my power is greater than most, thanks be to Mortis, so what I would like to know is how someone of your inferior strength keeps managing to evade my barriers?" He stopped pacing to face me, his expression granite.

"It must be a Pontefract thing," I said.

His pencil-thin brow knit together. "What must be a Pontefract…
thing
?"

"This unfounded overestimation of your abilities."

And this is
not
being careful,
my conscience added.

Tiernan stared at me a very long moment, those cold eyes boring through me even from so many yards away. He noticed the blade in my hands, and his head cocked like a bird of prey. "Ah, Nightshade. Myez Rader said it was in your possession. The ability to penetrate both light and dark—a rare and exquisite device, and somehow it ended up in your hands." He made it sound like
my hands
were something foul and unpleasant. "An artifact like that belongs with its maker."

"And you belong in the fires of Mortis, but it seems nothing is ending up where it belongs these days."

"You've got quite a mouth on you, don't you?" The question was rhetorical. "You're even more brash than when we first met, which is surprising. I would've thought spending some time in this world might teach you a few things about learning your place."

"It
has
taught me my place. Which is exactly why I set out forging a new one. I guess you could say I'm
determined
."

Before he could respond, I threw out my hand, sending a pulse of energy straight at him. He raised his arm to block, and when the blue light hit his arm, the energy rebounded. It crashed into the loft above with an explosion of hay, shovels, and pitchforks, all of which rained down in the space between us.

"Not determined enough," Tiernan said. He flicked his wrist, and a burst of light shot straight at me.

I raised my arm as he'd done, scrambling to find the strength inside of me—straining to pull together an invisible shield. I pulled and pulled, drawing heat from my gut, my chest, my arms, melding it together while pushing it outside of me.