Thief of Light (61 page)

“The world’s ending and that’s what I’m supposed to do?” Erik’s growl rattled the windows. “
Practice?
”

Deiter’s lips went thin amid the wine-stained whiskers. “What did you have in mind? Heroics on a universal scale, Magick among the stars?”

Erik shook his head, the shadows she’d noticed before darkening his eyes. At last, he said slowly, “I have no fucking idea.” He sank into a chair. “About anything.” He stared blankly at his hands clasped before him on the table. “The Voice is gone. I don’t even know how I’m going to make a living.”

A cold lump of ice formed in Prue’s stomach. Gray said sharply, “What do you mean? Aren’t you well?”

Erik’s chuckle was very dry. “Apart from being knifed by a Necromancer? No, I’m fine. I just can’t sing anymore, or not the same way.” His eyes met Prue’s, and though they were troubled, his gaze was steady. “My blessing and my curse, both gone together.” He laid a hand over hers where it rested on his shoulder, and with a deep shock, she realized what he was trying to tell her. “I’m glad.”

“Man, are you
sure
?” Gray was aghast. “I don’t believe it. Music was your life.”

Erik gave a weary smile and Prue’s heart ached for him. All that beauty, gone as if it had never been. “A small price to pay for peace.”

“I don’t understand. What about the Unearthly Opera?”

“We’ll meet with Ranald and decide what’s best. They go can home to Concordia, where they’ll be safe. They’re due for an extended period of leave anyway. I don’t care if I lose money on the contract.”

Prue sat down beside him and rested her head against his arm, blinking back tears of relief.
He wasn’t leaving.
Oh gods, oh gods! Suddenly, she was exhausted, her head about to explode with conflicting emotions. She was fiercely glad the Voice had gone, never mind how, but she could only imagine the piercing loss of that sublime musical gift. How it must hurt!

Her gaze traveled around the familiar, mundane space of the kitchen. How many times had she sat at this very table, leading her most ordinary of ordinary lives? Yet here were people talking calmly of death Magick, of gifts spilled from the very fingers of the gods. A woman who could weave fire and not be burned, a lean handsome man with a shadow that
lived
. All the hair on the back of her neck lifted. Next to her sat the man she loved more than life itself,
a wizard who’ d made love to her with Magick
. Feeling chilled, she pressed closer to Erik’s heat.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Katrin tug Florien’s hair and slip him a pastry. Something sweet. Such a comfort for a child.

And she was a thing called a null witch, an aberration, a negative. An
absence
.

Wearily, she wondered if Katrin had more pastries. She could use a little comfort too.

A fortnight later, Prue was at her wits’ end. In her own calm, logical way, she’d worked her way through the readings Purist Deiter gave her, listened to Cenda talk about life in a Purist Enclave, helped Erik with his Magick practice. She even came to terms with Shad, though his silent presence could still make her jump. When Erik and Gray sorted out the sale of the Unearthly Opera to Ranald and the group of backers he’d found, she offered financial advice and drew up the deeds of sale.

Erik displayed quite astonishing business acumen, but it wasn’t until she’d commented on it for the third time that he explained what he’d done to the Opera’s accounts. No one had ever said Erik the Golden was a fool. He waited until he’d loved her into a purring, satiated bundle. By the next morning, it was too late to be angry.

Yes, she thought she’d reached some sort of understanding of the Magickal situation and the part a null witch might play. To her dismay, it was only Erik who baffled her.

By tacit agreement, he’d moved his things from the boarding house and into her suite. Florien came unasked, part of the baggage, taking up residence in a small room on the ground floor, not far from the Spring Green Parlor, which Prue had fitted out as a bedroom for Cenda and Gray—and Shad, of course. Deiter went, grumbling, to the Wizards’ Enclave, where he spent the hours drinking the meager cellars dry and arguing happily with Bartelm and Nori.

She could no longer doubt Erik loved her. Frequently, she’d feel his gaze on her, and turn to see his eyes a dark, brilliant blue, an almost desperate glitter in their depths.

There were days she left the bracelets off and their lovemaking was slow and achingly sweet. Other times, it was fast and hard and thrilling. But increasingly, Erik asked her to wear them and those were the nights he drove her to the peak, again and again, his eyes wide and wild, his dedication to her pleasure bordering on ferocity. Prue discovered, to her combined delight and dismay, that she’d come to crave the mastery that pushed her beyond her limits and set her free to fly, to long for the security of rope and restraints.

After he untied her, she’d lie boneless, in a stupor of satiation, draped over his chest like a sleepy kitten while he massaged her wrists and kissed the marks of the knots.

But later, she’d wake in the early hours to find the bed cold beside her. Erik would be standing at the window, gazing out at the garden, drenched in the double shadows of the Sibling Moons. Or she’d hear the pad of his bare feet, back and forth, back and forth. If she slipped out of bed and went to wind her arms around his waist, he’d drop a kiss on her hair and hug her close, but he wouldn’t speak. Always, his skin was cold and clammy, his heart racing.

He began to lose weight, his face growing gaunt, dark shadows blooming beneath his eyes. The charming smile she loved disappeared as if it had never been. When she asked, he said he was tired, or that his wound still ached. When she pressed, he grew irritated.

At first merely uneasy, Prue became concerned and finally, truly frightened. Erik was withdrawing before her eyes, behind a barrier she couldn’t see, let alone breach. And she was helpless.

One night, he made love to her for hours, staring deep into her eyes, lavishing her with such exquisite care and tenderness she was reduced to tears. Murmuring foolish endearments, he kissed them away, his own voice choked with emotion.

Then he rose and dressed, lit all the lamps and handed over her favorite robe. “Come and sit,” he said, leading her over to the couch. He sounded unutterably weary, so grim that Prue’s chest tightened and she could hardly breathe.

Forcing a smile, she patted the cushion beside her, but he shook his head. “I have something to tell you.”

Prue reached out. “It can’t be that bad.”

But Erik recoiled. “Don’t touch me,” he said curtly. “I can’t do it if you touch me. You won’t want to anyway . . . afterward.”

“Merciful Sister, Erik, what is it?” Her stomach twisted. “Gods, you’re not leaving me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” His eyes were huge dark pits in a face as white as bone. “When I was seventeen,” he said jerkily, “I committed a . . . great crime.”

When she leaped to her feet, he held up a hand. “Promise me, Prue. Promise me you will sit and listen. Don’t speak, don’t stop me, don’t even move. In fact, it would be better if you don’t look at me.”

Abruptly, he turned his back and Prue sank into the cushions, appalled. “What? For the gods’ sakes, tell me!”

He kept his head averted. “Promise?”

“Yes, yes! Gods, what is it?”

Erik fixed his gaze on the bed of Walker’s dark roses. Even from here, he could smell their exotic perfume. “When I was seventeen,” he said, “I nearly died of the lungspasm.” He shrugged. “Hell, I
did
die. I saw the gods, the Lord and the Lady, spoke with Them.”

He heard Prue shift behind him, but he mustn’t turn, or he’d lose his nerve. He was fighting a battle with his roiling guts, his breath coming shallow and fast. Reaching out, he gripped the windowsill. “I see the Pattern now, but at the time, all I knew was that They gave me back the gift of my life—and something else. The Lord warned me. He said everything had a cost.” In an automatic gesture, he touched his fingertips to the talisman on his chest.

“It wasn’t long after my recovery that I realized what I had. If I set my mind to it, I could sing the birds from the trees. If I spoke a certain way, I could persuade anyone to do anything. I was young, incredibly stupid, selfish. It went to my head.”

Fuck, if he didn’t breathe, he’d pass out. Erik gulped in air.

“There was a girl. But she didn’t want me, she was in love with someone else.”

Prue made a tiny noise, and he realized he’d miscalculated—he could see her face in the window, a wavering reflection. She had a hand over her mouth, her eyes huge and terrified.

“You can guess.” He slammed his eyes closed, shutting her out. “It was spring, I’d nearly died and she was so lovely, Inga. Oh, gods.” Pressing his forehead against the cool of the glass, he forced out the damning words, one after the other. “I . . . compelled her and worse, I made her enjoy it.” The laugh was bitter bile in his throat, sour and horrible. “I didn’t want to hurt her, I thought I was helping, but she—”

His knees would no longer hold him up. Gripping the windowsill, he slid down, his cheek against the wall. “She had no idea why she’d given her virginity to me and not the man she loved. She . . . she . . .”

Fuck, get it over with. Say it!
“She drowned herself in the river. I found her, but too late. Too late.”

Frozen silence from behind him. Not even a whisper of movement. He wanted to cry, but his eyes were dry. “So I ran, left Ma, my little brothers, without a word. Out of my head with terror and guilt and shame. I swore I would never use the Voice to compel, only to sing, to bring pleasure. It wasn’t easy, I failed often at first. I’m slow.” He bared his teeth in a grin that was more like a grimace. “But eventually I learned. Unless it was to sing or to prevent a disaster, I hadn’t used the Voice in years. Until I met you.”

The silence went on forever. Erik sagged, completely spent. Vaguely, he wondered if he’d be able to sleep now that it was done. His bags were packed. All he had to do was drag himself to his feet and out the door. Fuck, his lips were parched. He’d stop in the kitchen for water. If Katrin was there, he could say good-bye. He couldn’t think of Prue. Wouldn’t. It was beyond him.

“Why?” The shaky whisper came from the couch. “Why tell me now?” A pause. “Spoil everything?”

Awkwardly, Erik levered himself up. “I’ve never spoken of it, ever, but the Lady said—”

“Which time?” snapped Prue. “The first time you died or the second?”

Startled, he swung around to face her and nearly fell over his feet. Prue was glaring, two spots of red on her pale cheeks.

“The second,” he said numbly. “When I asked Them to take it from me, all of it.”

“Go on,” she said more quietly.

He swallowed hard. “She said . . . she’d forgiven me, that I’d paid, but that I couldn’t . . . couldn’t forgive myself. That I needed you for that.”

Prue rose and took a few jerky steps, the line of her back stiff and uncompromising. Like a suffering animal, Erik couldn’t help but follow her with his eyes, hoping but knowing there was no hope.

“I can’t—” She shook her head. “You forced that girl.” Slowly, she turned, her tip-tilted eyes huge in her white face. Tears glittered on her cheeks. “Perverted your Magick.”

“I raped her,” said Erik hoarsely, wanting to die.

“And you raped her mind.”

“Yes.”

Her lip curled, in exactly the way he’d been dreading. “No excuses? No justifications?”

“No.”

She took a tiny step forward. “You’ve been suffering the tortures of the damned ever since.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered it anyway. “I tried never to think of it, but underneath . . . Yes.”

Prue tilted her head to one side. “Did you send money?”

“I still do. To Ma. For her and my brothers, and for her to give Inga’s family. They don’t know it comes from me.”

Prue wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. “A lot of things make sense now. Inga was the experience that shaped your life, made you who you are.”

“Yes.” He clenched his fists so he wouldn’t reach for her. “When we met, I thought you were a challenge sent by the gods, my punishment, but then . . .” He was such a coward, he couldn’t take the risk, say the words aloud. Erik dropped his head.

The robe swished and small fingers caught his chin. “Then what?” Prue’s eyes sparkled with what looked like fury.

Erik dared to brush her cheek with his knuckles. “I thought you might be my salvation, but I can see I was wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“I can smell the anger coming off your skin. You’re furious. Disgusted.”

Prue flushed. “Of course, I am! How could I be anything else?”

He’d shoved his bags under the bed so she wouldn’t see. “All right,” he said dully. “I’ll get my things.”

“How dare They?” snarled Prue, following some incomprehensible train of thought. “A boy of seventeen!”