Master and Apprentice (40 page)

It wasn’t hard to find Nurien. Ian must’ve underestimated his arrogance, because the bastard wasn’t even trying to hide.

Inside the temple was one long room with cavernous ceilings and more torch-bearing columns marching along both sides. At the far end was a platform with an altar table, complete with candles. Nurien knelt at one side of the table, Akila at the other—though she was restrained with the blue-black rope spell the scions had used to bring her here. No longer clad in the shirt and jeans she’d had on when she was taken, she wore a sleeveless white gown, dirty and torn where she knelt. On her bowed head was a gold tiara streaked with blood.

Without the cult robes, Nurien still looked like an embarrassment to drag queens. His clothing was gold—skintight pants, billowing shirt, vest, sash. He wore white boots and white gloves. He had on a tiara that matched Akila’s, except for the blood. His was clean, gleaming. It should’ve looked ridiculous, but he managed to pull off the overall effect of royalty the way fairy tales made it sound. The real deal. His face looked royal enough—narrow and pinched, with high cheekbones and a thin blade of a nose that he couldn’t seem to stop looking down.

Neither of them noticed us right away. I suspected Akila had left her mind for a place where none of this was happening to her. And Nurien seemed to be listening to someone. A deep voice spoke in djinn, but Nurien’s mouth didn’t move. He and Akila were the only two up there, and it didn’t look like there was anyplace in the room to hide.

Without a word, Ian bolted past me and streaked toward the platform. I ran after him, and halfway across the vast space I finally realized where the other voice was coming from. Behind the altar was an ornate frame mounted on the wall. A mirror. But it wasn’t reflecting anything. It was an open portal.

Kemosiri’s face filled the frame, his features sharp and unforgiving. Akila’s father looked just like I remembered him: impossibly old for a djinn, his black hair and beard marbled with white, practically oozing smarminess and power. The bastard was bonding her to Nurien. Or had bonded her already. I had no idea what he was saying, whether it was part of the ceremony.

And I doubted Ian gave a shit.

“Nurien!” Ian’s hoarse bellow filled the room. I was surprised he didn’t shatter the columns with it. “Preening, prancing
deceiver.
Get away from my wife!”

Akila shivered all over at the sound of Ian’s voice. She raised her head like it weighed a thousand pounds and faced him with wide, shocked eyes. “Gahiji-an.” His name emerged a dying butterfly of sound, barely lifting from her lips. “You are …”

“Alive!” Kemosiri hammered over her. “Blast you, Nurien, you told me you’d destroyed the whelp. My terms are clear.”

“I know the terms,” Nurien said curtly. He flashed Ian a chilling smile. “Come any closer,
rayan,
and you’ll watch her die.”

I grabbed Ian’s arm before he could do just that. We were still a good twenty or so feet away from the platform. “Wait,” I said under my breath. “Look at her crown. I think that’s—”

“Yes,” Nurien said. “I’d heard you were more clever than we suspected, little scion. It is, indeed, her tether … but it is not her blood.”

Damn it. I didn’t want to be right this time. The spell for destroying a tether only required the blood of the caster. All Nurien had to do was speak the destruction spell, and Akila would die. This close, I could see her hands tied behind her back—and the missing index finger of her left hand. The one he’d cut off to break her bond with Ian.

I hadn’t wanted to be right about that either.

Ian blanched and turned his attention to the mirror. “You,” he said. “You disgusting coward. You would stand by and let him murder your daughter?”

Kemosiri’s eyes narrowed. “I would rather see her dead than bound to a filthy Doma barbarian. Even one who claims to be a prince.”

“No!” A wrenching sob escaped Akila. She struggled against the ropes, almost tipped herself off the platform. “I will not be—”

She froze in place as Nurien cast a lockdown spell on her.

Ian glared at him, then looked to Kemosiri again. “So a barbarian prince is unacceptable, but a snake is not?”

“Enough! I am Bahari!” Nurien shot to his feet. “I will fulfill my end of the bargain, Kemosiri. And when I do, you’ll hear his death cry all the way to your precious palace.” He made a vicious gesture at the mirror. Kemosiri’s image vanished, and the surface of the mirror cracked like rotting ice. Pieces of glass sloughed from the frame and landed on the ground in a rapid succession of tinkling crashes.

Ian sneered. “He does not know of your mixed blood.”

“I am Bahari,” Nurien repeated, calmer this time. “I am a Bahari
noble.
I belong on the Council, and I will take my place. With or without the princess.”

“You would not destroy her.” Ian managed to sound steady, but I could feel him shaking.

“I would, if I’m forced to choose between her and the Council,” Nurien said. “But test me, if you like. Come closer. Cast a spell. Convince yourself that I won’t delight in destroying the last ray of light in your pathetic life, before I take that from you as well.”

Ian didn’t move.

Nurien loosed a wintry laugh. “You have always been weaker than me, Gahiji-an. How it must pain you to realize that now.” He circled the altar and wrapped an arm around the motionless Akila. “If you’ll excuse me,
rayan,
I have a marriage to consummate.”

Before either of us could react, he dragged Akila back and ducked behind the altar. There was a creak, a rustling sound, and a hollow bang. Then silence.

I
an jerked away from me and ran for the altar.

“Whoa!” I went after him, but his legs were longer than mine. And he was a lot more pissed off. “Ian, this is a bad idea. Didn’t you hear what he said?”

“I will
not
allow him to—” He stopped when he got to the back of the platform, and stared down. He didn’t say anything more.

I caught up to him. Behind the altar, shards of broken glass littered a hinged wooden square set flush into the ground. A trapdoor, like the one in the mirror building on the surface. I had a sinking feeling we’d find more damned tunnels under there. And this time, we didn’t have a single clue as to which way to go.

Ian glanced at me, then knelt and ripped the door open. The hinges that had held it into the frame twisted. Wood cracked and splintered. He tore the whole thing free and flung it across the altar, knocking the candles down.

Faint light flickered in the hole, revealing a drop of at least ten feet—no ladder, no stairs. Not even a knotted rope. “He will not defile my wife,” Ian said through clenched teeth. He
swung his legs into the opening and whispered, “Gods help me reach her in time.” Then he pushed off and dropped straight down.

“Well, this’ll be fun,” I muttered. Kicking away a few of the larger mirror fragments, I sat on the edge of the hole and threaded my legs through. It seemed like a long way down. Ian moved aside, and I held my breath and launched myself.

The landing impact jarred me, but I managed not to break any bones or fall on my ass. Unfortunately, things didn’t look much better from this vantage point. We stood in a small alcove with two guttering torches on the back wall. It was a T junction, with tunnels branching left, right, and ahead. Each tunnel petered out into blackness after a few feet.

Even if we split up and took separate tunnels, the chances were good to excellent that we’d never find Nurien down here.

Ian growled and drove a fist into the nearest wall. He left a crumbling, two-inch dent in the hard earth. “Blasted coward!” he shouted, and turned a stricken gaze to me. “We must find her,” he said. “Please. Can you not do something?”

I almost screamed at him. What the hell was I supposed to do? I wasn’t Superman. Couldn’t see through the damned walls, no matter how much earth magic I used.

But maybe Ian could.

“How much do you know about scrying?” I said.

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because Akila’s tether is on her head. If you can find that, we can find her.”

Ian’s mouth opened and closed. “I had not thought of that.”

“So can you do it?”

“I can,” he said slowly. “But I cannot make a visual thought-form. It would only appear in my head.”

“That’ll work. If you can see it, I can see it.”

“Yes. We must do something about that,” Ian muttered. “And there is another problem. Air magic is not my element. If I perform a sustained scrying spell, it will drain me. I will have nothing left with which to face Nurien.”

“Let’s worry about that when we find him,” I said, despite thinking something along the lines of
We’re fucked
. I had no confidence in the idea of me taking Nurien down alone. But I wasn’t about to let the bastard rape Akila either, if I could help it. “Besides, magic doesn’t solve everything.”

“I suppose not.”

He sounded about as convinced as I felt. I handed him one of my blades. “Just in case you find a way to use it,” I said. “And look at it this way. Do we have another choice?”

“Other than running about aimlessly in the dark while Nurien has his way with my wife? No. We do not.” He took the knife and leaned back against the wall. “Have your look, then,” he said. “I will begin now.”

I closed my eyes. It was easier to look through Ian’s vision when my own wasn’t in the way. I concentrated on him, and a torrent of fury and frustration signaled the connection. The tunnels came into shivering focus, a few shades paler than reality, like a worn-out movie filmed with a cheap handheld camera.

The image canted to one side and stopped at each direction in turn: left, center, right. Back to center. Far down in the blackness, a pinpoint of blurred light cast a faint corona. The vision plunged into the tunnel and raced ahead. Thick gloom threaded with smudges of light paled slowly, became dark gray, then earth brown as an opening appeared.

It wobbled through the opening, and into a cave. Not a forced-labor dug space, but a natural cave complete with rock formations and dripping water. The place had to be directly
under the compound. Most of the light came from an opening that led outside the mountain into full daylight. The rest came from Akila’s crown. She lay on the ground near the tunnel exit, still bound and unmoving. Her tiara glowed like a beacon.

Ian’s vision wandered drunkenly past her, presumably seeking Nurien. It rounded a boulder, dodged a patch of jagged rock spears, passed over a shallow water-filled depression. Finally, Nurien came into view, inspecting a dark crevice in the wall of the cave.

His crown was glowing too.

The image vanished, and Ian gasped. “Arrogant fool. He wears his tether in plain sight.”

“Never thought I’d meet a djinn dumber than me.” I hitched a grin and grabbed one of the torches off the wall. “Let’s go down there and explode his ass.”

By the time I turned around, Ian was already in the tunnel.

Even at a sprint, it took longer than I’d hoped to reach the cave. Apparently, scrying spells traveled faster than the speed of desperation-fueled running. I started to think we’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. But we finally found the end of the tunnel.

Ian blasted out first, and stopped almost immediately. I followed him—torch in one hand, blade in the other—and found Akila lying in almost exactly the same place she’d been in Ian’s vision. Half conscious. Alone. There was no sign of Nurien.

“Love,” Ian said in a broken whisper. He stretched out a trembling hand, as if she would disappear if he touched her. She stirred, murmured something, and he stumbled the few steps to her and collapsed on his knees. “Oh, my heart. I thought … never …”

This stunk like a Dumpster at a fish fry. “Ian, something isn’t right,” I said. “Where’s Nurien?”

He ignored me. Slid an arm beneath her and held her to him, murmuring djinn words I couldn’t quite hear. Her eyes fluttered, on the verge of opening.

The crown. There’s no blood.
“Ian! Damn it, listen to me—” An involuntary sharp intake of breath stopped my tongue. I could see her hands now, and her fingers. All ten of them.

That wasn’t Akila. It was Nurien.

“Drop her. It’s him!” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized they didn’t make any sense. But before I could clarify, “Akila” opened her eyes and cast a lockdown at me.

Ian drew back and stared. His brow furrowed. “Akila, why would you do that?”

She smiled and spoke a short stream of djinn. I couldn’t quite understand every word, but I recognized this one. A flame curse.

Ian cried out, fell back. He landed hard and arched up, gasping, then curled on his side clutching his stomach.

I tried to undo the lockdown faster.

The thing that wasn’t Akila stood, still smiling. The illusion evaporated—bonds first, then everything else. Nurien pointed at Ian and cast another flame spell, eliciting a hoarse scream from him. And then he turned his attention to me.

I could move again. I stepped back, tossed a lockdown of my own, and lunged at him, grabbing for the crown.

He sidestepped me. The fact that he could still move unbalanced me, and I came down on hands and knees.

“You are no marvel, boy,” Nurien spat. “You aren’t even shielding. Pathetic.” He floated off the floor and hovered a few feet above me. “Be still while I play with the false prince. It will be your turn next.” He cast a spell I’d never heard before.

I scrambled upright. Nurien drifted up and back. I stepped forward, intending to levitate after him. And I finally saw the smoke.

Wisps of black smoke formed in the air around me, curling and thickening, gathering substance and form. Ropes. They solidified and took on a blue sheen. I bent at the knees, trying to get under them—but they moved with me.

The ropes drew themselves taut around my torso and pinned my arms at my sides. I lost my grip on the torch, but managed to keep the blade. More of them wrapped around my neck and squeezed, not killing tight, but enough to restrict my breathing to shallow draws. The stuff was cool and dry. Solid. It pulsated like a sluggish heart where it touched flesh.