Starlight(Pact Arcanum 4) (25 page)

Luscian waved his hand at two armchairs that appeared out of nowhere. “Please. Sit and tell me why you’ve come.” He settled casually into the other chair.

Nick stepped forward warily, then sat with Reaper laid across his knees. “You’re not him. You’re a soul echo.”

“Yes. The original personality of the Crown grew tiresome, so I subjugated it to my will and imposed my own in its place.”

“I took all of his memories. How did he hide this from me?”

“He destroyed portions of his mind to prevent you from acquiring them. A final act of spite, I believe. My knowledge of him ends with his death.”

Nick forced himself to speak despite his ambivalence. “Will you help me?”

“Oh, yes, my son—I
will
help you, if only to see your face when you understand what you must do to save your lover.”

“Tell me.”

“For the Great Work to be complete, after the Children of Darkness are gone, the Redeemer must also perish. This you already know. But what you do not know is that your lover could still live, if you used the Grace to resurrect him.”

Nick stared at him. “If
I
used the Grace? That’s impossible. It’s bound to Rory’s soul.”

“And yet your brother’s whelp drew on its power to smite his mentor. Jiao-long’s heir holds the Grace in his soul, but it may be wielded by another under the right conditions.”

“Rory said the Grace attacked Rafael along a spiritual connection, but he didn’t know how that connection came into being.”

“The connection was forged by the White Wind between the Grace and the Harbinger at the moment of his creation. I have always known this would someday come to pass, that a counterpart to my Crown and Sword would arise to oppose me. It seemed most logical that the White Wind would gift the power to one of its foot soldiers among the Children of Twilight. I did not anticipate the creation of a new race.”

“That’s why you researched Sentinel/Nightwalker hybrids, isn’t it? You were going to try to steal it.”

Luscian smiled again. “Very good, Nicholas. Now consider this: you do not have a spiritual connection to the Grace, but you can forge a connection to your lover’s soul, and through it, control the Grace. Can you think of a way how?”

Nick frowned in thought, then suddenly everything became clear.
Control the soul, control the Grace.
He got back to his feet and stared at Luscian in horror.

Luscian howled with mirth. “And that expression is payment enough.”

Nick choked out the words. “You want me to kill Rory, and give his soul to the Crown in order to control the Grace?”

“Would it be worth it, my son? To raise your lover from the dead, only to leave just that one piece of him behind?”

Nick hissed in rage. “You will not have his soul, Father. Even if I have to ensure that he lives forever in the darkness, he will
never
be yours.” Then he turned his back and walked away into the mist to the tune of Luscian’s mocking laughter.

C
HAPTER 40

November 2142; Court of Shadows Council Chamber Complex, Alexandria, Egypt; Two hours later

Lorcan typed his security code into the keypad in front of him and let the machine scan his retinas. After a moment, a green light flashed and the perimeter ward shut down. He faced William. “Wait here, and warn me if anyone comes.”

William nodded, then disappeared behind a shroud of invisibility.

Lorcan stepped beyond the door and tapped the control on the other side to reestablish the perimeter ward. The overhead lights came on in response to his presence. He walked down the aisle between the glassed cabinets with their precious contents, tens of thousands of black bottles.
How many humans died for us to have this last defense?

The aisle curved gently to the right, side corridors to the other storerooms opening every so often along the left wall. Lorcan would have preferred a straight corridor so he could see ahead of him, but the hallway had been designed to limit the lines of sight specifically so that ambushes could be set up to defend the depot if the ward was breached by an enemy.

Just as it had been.
Lorcan nervously toyed with his ring while he walked, trying not to think of the magnitude of his treason. However, his fears remained baseless and he reached the vault at the end without incident. The center of the spiral was a large, octagonal chamber where they stored the bloodwine made from Sentinel blood, a much more powerful and valuable resource.
At least it was, until the Armistice made it commonplace.

He made his way through the racks to the open space in the center. Clearing his mind, he worked the spellforms he had been given, and felt the spell take shape. When the spell was complete, he released it with a gentle push of will. Through his enhanced senses, he saw the ripple of magic spread away from him, flooding the room.

Then the spell rebounded from the walls of the central chamber and died away. Lorcan stared at the fading traces of magic in disbelief.
The room is warded!

Lorcan felt a sharp pain in his neck, and recoiled slightly.
A wasp? This was a sealed space. There couldn’t be any insects here.
Reaching up to run his fingers over the source of the sting, he felt a sliver of something cold. He pulled it free, and stared at the small needle of bloody ice in his hand. After a moment, it melted entirely while he watched in confusion.

“Innocuous, isn’t it?”

Lorcan spun in place, wincing as the pain in his neck worsened, turning into a tight knot of flames.
Damn, that hurts.
His senses fully open, he caught a faint psychic trace and followed it with his eyes to the far corner of the room.

The shadows rippled, and Vladimir Magister Talizered appeared from behind a shroud of invisibility. The Nightwalker raised the small pistol in his hand and walked closer, his fangs visible as he gave Lorcan a predatory smile. “It was your lover’s illness that gave the Herald the key to developing a weapon to counter the Grace. The poison is an analogue of the neurotoxin that is responsible for Recursion Dyssynchrony, but much stronger. When it runs its course, there will be no psychic template to rebuild your mind. Even if your Redeemer were to bring you back, your body would be only an empty shell.”

Lorcan stumbled backward into the racks of bloodwine and slumped to the floor, his muscles wrenched with pain.
Was this how it was for Nicholas?
The thought of Nick steadied him for a moment. He turned his body so that his back was against the rack of bottles, and faced his enemy. “How did you know I would be here?” he asked, forcing the words out, though his jaws threatened to lock from the spasms.

Vladimir laughed. “You underestimate the Herald. He has been watching you for weeks, waiting for the final proof of your treason. In a way, I admire his dedication.” He sighed. “It’s too bad that your blood is contaminated with the neurotoxin. It would speed our victory along if I could just take the key for the archive from your mind. We’ll just have to get Sean’s instead.”

Lorcan’s eyes widened in horror.
No. Oh, please no.

Vladimir watched him with amusement. “Yes, we know about the archive. Once we have the codes, we will be able to expunge your revolution all at once. Then we will see whether the Grace will be enough to protect the Redeemer from suffering your fate.”

Lorcan closed his eyes, and tried to think clearly in spite of the blazing fire that ran through his nerves. He tore through the cloth of his shirt with his claws and laid his palm over the sigil of the Grace emblazoned on the skin of his chest.
Lord, please. Protect your servant.
Then he worked the spellform in his mind for a Faith Ward.

Vladimir snorted in contempt as a circle of blue flames surrounded Lorcan. “Pathetic. Did you think I would be caught unaware by your tricks? Why else would I strike you down from a distance, like a coward?” He crossed his arms and relaxed against the wall, waiting.

Lorcan tuned him out, focusing instead on the blaze of holy magic that ran through his spirit. Then he stripped away the constraints of his intent. His mind was immediately engulfed in the white fire of a Pure Draw, and time slowed to a crawl in the face of the beautiful music that suddenly filled the universe. It took the discipline of his entire six hundred years of life to rouse himself from listening and instead scream into the light. “My Lords, grant me an audience!” He felt his control slipping in the face of the overpowering music. “My Lords, if you deny me, the Great Work will fail!”

The music stopped, the sudden silence leaving his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Lorcan found himself standing in spirit over his body, surrounded by the flames of the Faith Ward, Vladimir frozen in the act of sneering at him.

A voice echoed suddenly from everywhere. “The audience is granted, Ruarc Magister Diluthical. Ask and ye shall receive.”

Lorcan centered his mind, grateful that at least for the moment, the pain had fled. “My Lords, the Grace has told us that the Great Work would only be complete when the Redeemer himself dies.”

“That is correct.”

Lorcan drew himself up to his full height. “Nicholas will never allow that to happen.”

“Nicholas Magister Luscian knows his duty. He will accept the necessity.”

Lorcan laughed. “Nick would rather die than kill Rory. And I am guessing that aside from Reaper, the only way to kill the Redeemer is Harbinger blood, isn’t it? What will happen to your plans if Nick chooses to kill the Children of Starlight so that Rory will live?”

“That will not happen.”

“Do you know that for sure? Or is it only a statement of probability?”

The voice was silent for a time. “Do you propose an alternative course of action?”

Lorcan forced his mind to stillness against the chaos of hope that rose in his chest. “Was Luscian telling the truth? Can Nick wield the Grace and bring Rory back to life?”

“Yes.”

“But not his soul.”

“The power of the Crown as held by the shade of Luscian will be sufficient to bind the Redeemer’s soul even against the power of the Grace to recall it.”

“Because the Crown is equally as powerful as the Grace.”

“Yes.”

“But if Nick kills Rory, he will wield both the strength of the Grace, and the strength of the Crown. Will that be enough to reclaim Rory’s soul from Luscian?”

The voice said nothing.

Lorcan snarled. “Answer me.”

“Accurate knowledge of future events is forbidden to beings of your level of reality. If you demand this answer, you will not be allowed to return to your plane.”

“If Vladimir is right, the Grace won’t be able to resurrect me with my mind intact anyway.”

“That is also correct. Once the poison runs its course, your mind will exist only as it remains enshrined in your soul. Your physical body will never again be whole.”

“Then I have nothing to lose. Answer my question.”

“Nicholas will not prevail against Luscian.”

Lorcan squeezed his eyes shut.
All for nothing.
“Surely, you can help him win.”

“That temporal location is a quantum nexus, multiple timelines branching from a single moment of possibility. In no timeline does Nicholas succeed.”

“There must be something!”

“Your initial argument was bluster, but accurate. Without your assistance, the Great Work will fail if Nicholas shies away from his duty.”

Lorcan’s eyes snapped open and he gazed into the light with suspicion. “Me? What can I do?”

“Destiny is not absolute, but is made meaningful by choice. There is a finite chance that Nicholas and Sean will be able to breach the defenses of the Court of Shadows in time to halt the progression of the poison in your body. You might possibly survive, but maimed, until your knowledge of future events becomes moot and we allow you to return.”

“And the alternative?”

“The first time you drew upon our strength for aid, you were told that one day we would call upon you. You must choose whether to gamble on a chance at life, or to sacrifice that chance, here and now, to become a random element in the greater design. If you take the second path, we cannot say how you may affect the outcome of the sequence of events, but there are many temporal nexi where you may shift the balance of probability to your own advantage.”

“There must be a catch.”

“You must step outside of time and see the shape of things to come. Your foreknowledge would become complete, and you will never be allowed to return to your plane.”

Lorcan smiled, his fangs showing. “So I can live out eternity in a crippled body next to the people I love, or leave them behind for the chance to help them later?”

“Yes.”

“You people are complete bastards.”

“Magic requires sacrifice, Ruarc Magister Diluthical. You are a pawn in a game beyond your understanding, with infinite stakes. Are you prepared to do what is necessary to shed your flesh and become a player?”

Lorcan turned back to face his body on the floor, his gaze seeking out the ring on his finger. “Can I say goodbye?”

“No. This offer is made once, and once only. Say ‘no’, and you will be returned to them at the end. Say ‘yes’, and you must leave them. Choose.”

I will love you forever. Both of you.
“Yes.”

Then Lorcan staggered as the music returned, thundering and beautiful. He couldn’t resist as it surrounded him and carried him away.

* * *

Vladimir raised an eyebrow as the Faith Ward faded, leaving Lorcan unprotected.
Did he die already?
Then he raised his hand to shield his eyes as Lorcan’s body was consumed by harsh white radiance. When the light dwindled, Vladimir lowered his arm, to see that Lorcan was gone, leaving behind nothing but a residue of fine white ash.

Vladimir leaned forward to look more closely.
No, not quite nothing.
He lifted the plain, gold band from the ashes. It was cool to the touch and unmarked.

“It appears the Imperator has gone to his reward.”