The Black King (Book 7) (60 page)

A thunk caught his attention. An arrow wobbled in the railing of the ship, not far from Gift’s face. Gift didn’t seem to notice—he couldn’t notice. He had to concentrate on Rugad.

Coulter couldn’t do anything either. Most of his magick took his hands, and he didn’t dare let go of the globes.

He screamed for one of the Sailors to find a way to protect Gift, Skya, and Bridge. The Sailor nodded and gestured toward another Sailor as he ran toward that side of the deck.

But Coulter knew that, no matter what they did, it wouldn’t be enough. The light that was supposed to destroy Rugad was leading his soldiers right to the
Tashka.

And Gift.

SIXTY-SEVEN

“YOU’VE COME A LONG WAY?” Arianna said scornfully. “Just how far is that?”

DiPalmet watched her. He knew that she and Lyndred had had a falling out, but he had expected more compassion from Arianna. It was obvious that Lyndred couldn’t stand on her own. She was covered in dried blood. Her clothing was ripped and filthy, and she was visibly exhausted.

“Please,” Lyndred said. “Daddy’s dead.”

“So you’ve said, but I see no evidence of that.”

DiPalmet crossed his arms. Was Arianna afraid that Lyndred was a spy? Or going to try to hurt her? It was fairly obvious that Lyndred wasn’t in any condition to hurt anyone.

“He died on the Cardidas. I had to get off the ship.”

Something reflected off the fog outside. DiPalmet saw it, but he doubted anyone else did. Arianna had her back to the south windows, and Lyndred was looking directly at her. But the fog looked as if it were being lit from within.

“So you’re coming back here?”

“I thought you would want to know what he planned.”

“How would you know if he hated you enough to kill your father and go after you?”

The light seemed to be getting closer. DiPalmet took a step forward, thinking perhaps that he should tell Arianna, but she gave him a warning look.

“I think he wanted me to tell you,” Lyndred said softly.

She seemed vague and distracted, almost as if she were having trouble concentrating. Arianna seemed to notice that too.

“What are you doing here? Really?” Arianna asked.

The light rose up to the window and came through. It was a single straight beam that seemed to have the power of the wind behind it. DiPalmet had seen nothing like it before.

“Arianna!” he cried.

She turned and the light hit her square in the forehead. She made a slight squealing sound and staggered backwards, trying to hold her hands in front of her face.

“Lyndred,” she managed. “A Shadowlands! Put me in a Shadowlands!”

Her voice was shaking. She fell to her knees. The light seemed to bore right through her forehead. Her eyes were closed, but DiPalmet could see the shape of them through the lids. He could see her skull through her skin.

He shuddered. She was right. A Shadowlands would protect her from the light. “Help her,” he said to Lyndred.

“No.” Lyndred took a step forward. She glanced nervously at the light. It was directed toward Arianna, and no one else.

The guard touched her arm. “Help her,” he said, as if he didn’t understand the change in her.

“No,” Lyndred said again.

“What are you doing to her?” DiPalmet asked.

“Nothing.” Lyndred stopped beside Arianna and looked down at her. The light illuminated the filth on Lyndred’s clothing.

Arianna had fallen to the floor. She was crawling away from the window. DiPalmet went to her side and grabbed her arms, pulling her where she needed to go. He felt the light. It was hot.

“Behind. The. Column.” Each word seemed like an effort.

He dragged her behind the column, but the light went right through it.

“How do I protect her from this?” he asked.

“You don’t,” Lyndred said.

The guard put a hand on her shoulder. “Make this stop.”

“I’m not doing it,” she said. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Then why are you here?” DiPalmet asked.

“To help Arianna,” Lyndred said.

“Then help her!” he snapped.

“It’s not time yet,” Lyndred said.

The air was filled with a slight burning smell.

“This is killing her,” DiPalmet said.

“Not her,” Lyndred said. “It’s not killing Arianna.”

DiPalmet was getting desperate. Arianna was leaning against him, barely conscious now. “Yes, it is.”

“No,” Lyndred said. “Arianna’s fine. The light’s not touching her. It’s killing Rugad. And I’m supposed to watch until he’s good and dead.”

SIXTY-EIGHT

GIFT WAS CONCENTRATING on Rugad as he had once felt him, a presence within his own mind. He remembered how Rugad had seen himself, as an older man with a young face, a face that looked like Gift’s except that it was dark—dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. Much darker than he had ever been. Gift focused on that young image and that old person, and sent the light directly to it.

Bits of the light fell on his hands, burning him. He wondered if Skya felt the same thing. He hoped it wouldn’t hurt her or the child within her. But he could say nothing. Do nothing. Not yet.

He was dimly aware of the activity around him. Sailors putting up canvas, wood, anything. Voices shouting, arrows hitting the deck around him. He couldn’t move. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare break his concentration.

Again he focused on the image. Coulter had described it in the same way: the creature he had seen inside of Arianna’s mind had been a young man with Rugad’s soul. A young man who had looked startlingly like Gift, the young man Gift would have been if he had been born to two Fey parents.

He opened his eyes for a brief instant. The light continued to flow through the heartstone and into the swirling fog. He could imagine the light flowing over the entire city and going through the palace walls, finding Rugad, and piercing him, the way it had once pierced him on a hillside. Only now he might not have the defenses to deal with it.

Now it might kill him.

Gift closed his eyes again, and as he did, something struck him in the arm. Intense pain burned through him, and he felt the wooden handle slip through his fingers.

He was losing the heartstone.

He opened his eyes, and caught the stone with his other hand, not breaking the connection. The light continued to flow.

Then he looked at what was causing the pain.

An arrow stuck out of his right bicep, blood oozing around it.

The wound could have been worse, but he knew this was bad enough. He had to keep concentrating, had to keep directing all of his energy toward Rugad, no matter how long it took.

No matter how much this wound drained him.

He had to stay conscious. He had to stay aware.

And he couldn’t do anything about the arrows that were hitting the deck around him. The best defense was holding this stone, making sure that Rugad died.

Even if it cost Gift his life.

SIXTY-NINE

DIPALMET had his arms wrapped around Arianna’s body as if he could protect it from the light. The light flowed through the column and directly into the brain, destroying Rugad.

At least, Lyndred hoped it was destroying Rugad. There was no way to tell. Rugad wasn’t speaking any more, and the body wasn’t moving.

We can’t let it go on too long,
Arianna said.

We can’t stop it too soon,
Lyndred thought.
We can’t leave any of him in there.

But how to know when he was really and truly gone? The eyes looked empty, but that could be an act. He could be waiting for Arianna to get back inside, and then do something to her there.

Let me see the face,
Arianna said.

Lyndred stepped closer. The eyes were half open, their blue—once so intimidating—was bright, flaring from the light within. The skin was even lighter than it had been before. It was as if every part of that body was being invaded by the pure white light being sent from the ship.

“I don’t know what you’re doing,” DiPalmet said, “but stop. She’s dying.”

It certainly looked that way.

We can’t kill the body,
Arianna said. Lyndred could feel her panic.
If we do, I’m lost.

I know,
Lyndred thought.

The panic surged worse.
Don’t do this to me. Gift won’t let you.

I’m not,
Lyndred thought.
I have to wait until the right moment.

If she would recognize the right moment.

The guard stepped up behind her. “Do you want me to take her out of here?” he asked DiPalmet.

“I don’t know,” DiPalmet said. “Not if she stops this.”

The eyes went from glassy to empty. The head turned to one side as if nothing held the muscles in place any more. The arms drooped, then slid to the floor.

Nothing controlled the body. It was obvious now. Whatever had been inside was gone.

He’s dead. Lyndred, he’s dead!

If he’s not,
Lyndred thought,
can you kill him when you get inside?

If he’s not dead, he’s got to be wounded,
Arianna said.
I can always leave, and we can do this again.

That sounded sensible to Lyndred. She took a deep breath.

Daddy!
She thought with all the power that she had.
Daddy, make the light stop. We think he’s dead!

SEVENTY

“STOP!” Bridge shouted. “Stop! They think we’ve killed him.”

“Think?” Coulter said, not willing to let go of the globe. There was a pile of burned out globes at his feet. His right arm ached from the strain. “Shouldn’t we wait until they know?”

“How can they know?” Bridge asked. “They can’t until Arianna can go in!”

Coulter let go of the globe. It bounced off the others, then clanged on deck, and rolled toward the Fey at the end again. The sudden loss of light made him blink hard. He felt dizzy, as if something had been pulled from him.

The ship was rocking oddly, as if a wind had come up and created waves. More arrows hit the deck, and there was a muffled cry. He looked toward it. One of the Sprites fell backwards.

The fog thinned.

“Coulter!” Skya shouted. “Gift’s wounded.”

How did he miss that? The ache he had felt in his arm, the exhaustion he was feeling, was that what Gift had been experiencing?

He hurried toward them. Skya had her arms around Gift. She was cradling him. There was fear in her eyes. For the first time, Coulter realized that Skya loved Gift. She just never showed it.

Gift’s face was ashen, and his sleeve was covered with blood. “Did we do it?”

“We think so,” Coulter said.

Arrows continued to clatter around them.

“We have to get somewhere safer than this,” Bridge said.

A dripping wet Foot Soldier pulled himself up the side of the ship and over the railing. One of Rugad’s soldiers. He reached for Skya and she kicked at him, her boots connecting with his stomach, his long nails shredding her pants. Coulter grabbed him, and flung him back.

Suddenly more Foot Soldiers were on the railing. They must have swum from the shore toward the light.

“Get our soldiers from below!” Coulter shouted. “Get them now.”

He flicked his fingers at each of the Foot Soldiers, using a magickal push to send them backwards into the river. That wouldn’t hold them for long, but at least it wouldn’t kill them. Or it wouldn’t kill all of them.

Gift was saying something. The fog was getting so thin, that Coulter thought he could see the shore. The Sprites were still gathered in their circle, but the Foot Soldier he had pulled away from Skya was grabbing one of them, reaching for her head and—

Coulter sent a bolt of fire at him, and the Foot Soldier screamed. Then Coulter shoved him as well, and he toppled against the rail, alight, but without enough momentum to fall. One of the Sailors lifted the Foot Soldier’s legs and toppled him overboard.

Arrows were falling in a wide pattern. They no longer had the hole in the fog to shoot at but they knew the general area.

Gift’s lips were moving, but Coulter couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“Move the ship!” Skya shouted. “He’s saying move the ship!”

Of course. Until Arianna got her body back and could give orders. Coulter turned toward the Navigator. “Get your Sailors in position. We’ve got to raise anchor now!”

The ship was rocking again. How many Foot Soldiers were out there?

Their own Foot Soldiers were coming up from below and rushing the railings, getting in the way of the Sailors. The entire deck was chaos.

It would be up to him. It was always up to him.

Coulter closed his eyes and swept the sides of the ship, severing any part of any Fey touching the outside of the ship below the deck level.

Screams surrounded them, followed by splashes.

He opened his eyes. Skya’s gaze met his, troubled.

“Go!” Coulter said to the Navigator. “Go!”

SEVENTY-ONE

I’M GOING THROUGH THE LINK,
Arianna said.

Lyndred wasn’t sure how they would do that. She hadn’t been certain on this point from the beginning.

Arianna’s body was lying before them, the mouth slack, the head tilted back. DiPalmet was making a soft sound in his throat, almost like a keening.