Sorceress of Faith (60 page)

“Then,
know this,” Chalmon said quietly. “Since you arrived, and your brother, too,
Amee’s Song is stronger. For that I will always thank you. And know also that I
do not forget my debt to you. What I cannot pay in zhiv, I will promise in
favors. My life is yours should you ever need it.” He bowed and turned back to
the Tower door, hesitating as if bracing for more work with others who disliked
him. Then he squared his shoulders and went inside.

After
Venetria watched him go, she gave Marian a strained smile. “I apologize, too. I
knew what we did was wrong. I have no excuses. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive
myself for my own actions.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “My
life is yours, too, Marian. Just direct me in any way.” She curtsied deeply and
followed Chalmon.

Jaquar
heaved a sigh. “Well, that interrupted my romantic walk with you.”

Marian
smiled, pressed his hand. “We were supposed to be on a
romantic
walk?”

Bringing
her closer, Jaquar pulled her hand through his arm and began strolling again.
“Yes, calming, uplifting, romantic.”

“All
that?”

His
eyes were serious. “Everything I can give you, Marian.”

He
smiled. “Parteger Island is really very pretty. Quite pastoral beyond the
theater and Tower.” He waved a hand. “Meadows of flowers, orchards of fruit,
groves of trees…”

“Your
eloquence amazes me.”

He
chuckled with her. “So I’m trite.” His tone turned serious. “You often leave me
without words, Marian.”

They
had reached the outermost large pentacle. Jaquar grasped her other hand so that
they stood facing each other. The heat from the sun wrapped around them, warmed
the air.

His
face was more lined than when she first met him. His eyes seemed bluer, his
gaze definitely wiser. He’d suffered and survived.

As
she had.

As
Andrew had.

They
all lived.

Even
the streaks in his hair looked slightly wider than they had when he first
stared down at her in the Marshalls’ Temple.

“Our
Song has revived, Marian,” he whispered. “Listen to it.”

She
dropped her gaze and let the music surge around her, through her, cycle between
them. It grew with every heartbeat, with every breath, with every moment her
hands touched his. A Song more beautiful than she’d ever heard.

“Dance
with me, beautiful Marian,” he said, and led her into a waltz.

She
closed her eyes and listened to their Song, and as she did, all the things he’d
said and felt about her swirled through her bringing balm. He’d sent all his
love, all his strength to her in her moment of need. He’d named her as mate—and
Sorceress of Faith.

The
tenderness now, of his arms, his steps, his body leaning into hers seemed like
an unending caress.

The
waltz ended too soon.

Marian
met his eyes, saw his yearning.

“I
love you,” he said.

She
closed her eyes. “I know. I care for you.” She swallowed. “Deeply.”

He
brushed a kiss across her mouth, and Marian’s lips tingled, heat bloomed within
her.

Jaquar
smiled. “We match, Fifth Degree Circlet Marian.”
We should Pair-bond.

A
corner of her mouth lifted. “After seeing what happened to Koz and Perlee, I am
doubtful.”

He
shook his head. “They were truly unlucky.” He waved a hand at a Chevalier
pacing the opening of the theater, on guard. “But look at Pascal. He is Paired
with Marwey and neither would give that up. And all the Marshalls—”

Marian
put her fingers over his lips to stop his words. “I must grow accustomed to my
new life here first—”

“An
excellent idea,” Bossgond said. He tapped Jaquar on the shoulder. “Our wounded
and Medicas must stay for a while, and the Marshalls would like you to restore
the water lines.”

They
all walked back to the Tower, but when she reached the looming building, Marian
tugged at her hands and Jaquar stopped.

She
said, “The day is lovely. Peaceful. Let me consider my new life. Please give me
a few moments alone.”

He
frowned and reluctantly let her go.

Thinking
to see some of the aspects of the island that Jaquar had described, Marian
circled the Tower. She breathed in the fragrant air of Amee but soon wanted to
be near Jaquar again.

She’d
just decided to go back when she stumbled straight into the arms of the cowled
master.

37

S
he screamed, but
it was too late.

The
master raised a hand. The blow would kill her.

“I
cry a sorcerous duel, now!” Bossgond shouted as he and Jaquar ran around the
Tower corner.

Jaquar
ran toward her. Bossgond tackled and sat on him.

The
master, Mahlyar, stilled. His fetid breath whistled in her face. The tentacles
on his face squirmed.

People
sprinted out of the Tower, stopped.

“Dark
Power or no, you are bound to a duel, Mahlyar, especially here on Parteger
Island, the common gathering place of all the Tower Community, which you once
were part of. I cry duel!” Bossgond yelled between panting breaths as he
restrained Jaquar.

Not
death at the master’s hands
, Marian thought. Or at least, not right now.
Apparently she had a chance, pitiful though it might be.

Check
your pockets
,
Jaquar advised. He’d stopped struggling.
You are the Sorceress of Faith. You
can destroy it
.

Fight.
Kill. Destroy. All the things she’d never wanted to do, never practiced, shrank
from. She had to do it now.

“Your
pocket!
” Jaquar reminded.

She
remembered. She had the brithenwood wand. The wand! She released a sigh of
relief as she whipped it out.

The
master laughed, clapped his hands. “Duel force field, nothing in and nothing
out.”

Jaquar
said,
Remember your Power, your mastery over Weather elements. Storm and
—

A
clear dome of rippling energy snapped over them and cut Jaquar’s instructions
off. Her world narrowed to herself and Mahlyar and the fight that would take
place in a circle of fifteen feet.

She
stood panting, eyeing him like a rabbit eyes a mountain lion, nearly petrified
with fear. Fatalistically, she decided to do her best, at least cripple him
enough that when the forcefield was raised, Alexa and the others could get him.

Even
as she thought this, he waved a crooked, pus-laden finger in the air and made a
door. It cracked open and dark slanted into the circle in beams. The dark death
ray again…

She
met its mad gaze. It was not human nor animal. It was not a “he.”

“I
can escape home,” it said, so softly she thought only she could hear. “Or even
better, I can bring others through after I’ve sucked your Power and eaten your
brain.”

A
shudder seized her. She had to stand. She had to fight.

She
had to win.

“You
are such a failure, Marian,” Mahlyar said, and his voice was all Candace—and
others.

The
words were thrown at her again and again, and with them images of people
throughout her life who’d found her wanting by standards other than Marian’s
own. A teacher, a society debutante, another grad student, Jack Wilse…

“Enough!”
she screamed. Screaming felt good.

She
advanced with her wand.

The
whispers of failure circled her again, and this time the visuals had solidified
into three-dimensional people, all tall enough to make her feel childlike, and
flinging failure after failure at her.

But
this tactic wouldn’t work. She had fought this battle earlier. Hadn’t Bossgond
bolstered her confidence? Hadn’t Jaquar just named her the Sorceress of Faith?
And besides that outside validation, she had her own true self-esteem.

She
was
a success! She had succeeded in goals that she’d set for herself.
She had mastered her Power and become a Circlet. She had found a man to love
and share her life with. Most of all, she had saved her brother.

And
why was Mahlyar using these hateful puppets? To distract. He didn’t seem to be
doing anything else, like firing up a thunderbolt, he was just watching her. To
test her? Perhaps. To psych her out. Yes!

And
because he was afraid of her.

The
knowledge dazzled her.

She
aimed her wand at him, sent fire spearing toward him.

Palm
out, he deflected it.

“
You
are the failure!” She could play his game. “
You
failed to raise your
Tower.” It didn’t sound too awful to her, but his features contorted. He shot a
stream of darkness.

She
jerked her wand, countered the stream, sent it into the ground at his feet. He
snarled.

They
circled. Anxious faces outside the dome—Pascal, Swordmarshall Thealia, Alexa—watched.
She couldn’t let their fear become her own.

He
flung back his hood and howled, shocking her.

She
jumped back. His face was patchy with color, bloodred, Lladranan gold, dead
gray. A large brow ridge overhung his deep-set sockets. One eye showed small
and red, the other hollow bone. Four-inch tentacles sprouted from around his
mouth, three at each temple, thicker ones at the angle of his jaw.

Marian
thought she’d go mad if one of those tentacles touched her.

His
bolt of dark light caught her in the chest with hideous cold. Her heart slowed,
her torso numbed. Her brain went foggy.

Then
her left ankle gave.
No!
She hopped. Stomped her left foot, both feet.
Her soles tingled as energy from the ground whispered through her. A tremor
shivered through her. Not enough energy, not enough Power. Still, she flicked
her wand and fire spurted. He waved it away, advanced with lips curled back
showing sharp pointy teeth.

Marian
set her feet, settled into her balance, raised her wand and summoned all the
Power she had to shoot a flame.

With
a finger-snap, Mahlyar built a shield to deflect her fire.

She
stared as he kept coming.

He
yanked the wand from her hands, shrieked with pain and let it fly. It hit the
forcefield, then the ground.

So
much for a wand as a weapon. Fear pooling inside her, she stooped and picked up
a rock, threw it at him.

It
hit his shoulder and he grunted.

This
wasn’t good.

Sneering,
he flexed his fingers. Claws flicked from the tips, gleaming and murderous.

She
ran for the wand. It was better than the rock, maybe still had some Power.
She’d thrown a brithenwood stick once to good effect.

Scooping
it up, she blessed adrenaline for her new strength. This time she whistled a
short spell—“Kill, kill, kill”—and dredged up the last shred of anger and hate
and destructive emotion from her body. She whirled and flung the wand, mind
directed.

It
skewered his left hand, torched it.

He
screamed, blew on his hand and encased it in ice.

With
evil determination, he flicked a writhing thread of dark energy at her. It
caught her left ankle, twisted, twined. Trapped.

With
one jerk he had her feet out from under her, was dragging her to him. He
grinned, his black tongue licking over thick lips, his facial tentacles pulsing
bloodred in triumph.

Terror
immobilized her. She flopped around. Caught.

Think!

A
pointed rock bit into her bottom.

Use
the pain!

Use
your Power!

From
the sun. She reached and it flowed into her, energizing.

From
the ground. Her nails clawed the ground and rich energy poured into her.

Energy.
Power. Use it!

How?

She
was a Weather mage. Lightning!

Yes.

She
couldn’t Call it from outside the forcefield.

But
she could call it from inside herself. She formed the bolt, her whole body
arcing as she sought to contain the energy. It ran through her head to toes to
head, a closed circuit, escalating in Power, infusing every cell, sparking down
every nerve. Suddenly her Power was
there
.

She
stared up at Mahlyar, and he bent slowly down, grinning, tentacles curling,
reaching, grasping.

She
jammed her arms out, fingers stiff and spread.
Lightning!

Blue
fire zapped him, flung him back to hit the forcefield. He fell to the ground.

She
stumbled to her feet and limped toward him. Her left ankle hurt—she sent a
streak of lightning energy to encircle it, halted at the pain as her own Power
burned away all traces of the Dark.