Blood of Innocents (Book Two of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) (29 page)

“Your move,” he said.

Felice groaned with weariness. Her body and mind ached. She struggled to sit up. They had been playing for hours, a long and intricate game. Belying his warrior-like appearance, the God-Emperor was a formidable opponent, and she had struggled from the start.

“I had some tea brought for you; you seem tired.”

She picked up the jug and allowed the warmth to seep into her cold hands. Wearily, she sipped at the hot brew for a few moments until her thoughts collected. Sighing, she dragged herself from the comfortable chair and slowly ascended a ladder to the top tier of the board.

Kelhak gave her a short bow and descended, leaving her to contemplate the game in peace.

She didn’t know if this man was really the Indryallan God-Emperor or merely a high-ranking soldier. With his muscles and demeanor, he couldn’t just be a functionary or some type of administrator, but he had an easy intelligence. He was a well-spoken, thoughtful man.

“So,” Felice said, “there was a man named Kelhak who won the Dominion competition at the Autumn Festival quite some time ago. Were your parents Dominion enthusiasts and named you after him?”

Kelhak met her eyes. “No,” he said simply. “That was me.”

Felice scoffed, then stopped.

Kelhak raised his eyebrows at her.

He was serious. Seriously mad. She had better tread carefully. “I see.”

“Though I have changed from those times. Then, I was a larva, while now I’m… a butterfly.”

Felice kept her face expressionless.

She looked around the board. The play of the pieces was familiar to her, as it should be to Kelhak, if it really was him. All reports placed him at the Autumn Festival so many years ago he should have died of old age long since. It was impossible for someone to live for so long. Her body went cold, and she shuddered at the thought. Unnatural. Either he was an impostor or had found a way to prolong his life.
But at what cost?
she wondered. Before the Shattering, some sorcerers were said to live longer, but that had not been the case for thousands of years.

Her plan for this game sprang to mind unbidden at the start. It was a way to cheat this supposed Kelhak of his sport and to determine if it really was him. She would use the same strategy Caldan had used to defeat her, based, as he had said, on a famous game of Kelhak’s. It was unlikely an impostor would know the strategy, since she herself hadn’t until it had been used against her; and if this man really was Kelhak, he would know his own style and approach early on.

And now, that was the problem. He had reacted as if he had never seen the strategy before, but in an intelligent and innovative way. Some of his moves far eclipsed her responses to Caldan’s moves in their game.

She was doomed. There was no denying the fact. Doomed in this game; defeat was inevitable. Doomed to remain a prisoner or be killed. Did it really matter if this man was Kelhak or not? Somehow, she felt it did but couldn’t fathom why. It niggled at her; there was a link, an importance to this fact, though she couldn’t put her finger on why.

It was almost funny, really. Now she knew what he looked like, she could easily go through the records and sketches of the Autumn Festival at the time. Each festival was well documented, and artists were commissioned to sketch the competitors and the games in the finals. But those records were out of her reach. It didn’t look like she would survive the night if Kelhak held true to his word, and she didn’t doubt he would.

She blinked in the bright light. The sun was setting, and the stained glass windows spattered colors across the room and the Dominion board.

All she could do was delay the inevitable.

“I choose to use my remaining five extra turns now.”

Her statement was greeted with a flicker of surprise from Kelhak, further confirming he was an impostor. He would have known this was coming, if he was who he claimed to be.

While she roamed the board, moving her pieces, descending a ladder to the second tier to reposition another two, Felice brought up her recollections of this buildings position and location in her mind. She knew with absolute certainty its northern wall was on the River Stock, but how close was it? And how high above the river was this room? Around fifty paces, she estimated. She glanced at the windows. There was no way she could get her hands on a rope to descend the wall from here, nor did she think she was up to using her bare hands; and with both Kelhak and his guards so close, she wouldn’t get far before they caught her.

She stopped. She had run out of moves.

Wiping damp palms on her coarse robe, she moved to the table and picked up another plum. “Your turn,” she said to Kelhak, who replied with a frown then a slight shrug before walking away to examine the board.
He knows the game is won, and whatever I do cannot change that fact. But it’s his reaction I’m after.

“Do you mind if I look around?” She pointed to the mural-covered ceiling. “I’ve never been here, and the painting is famous. I’d like to get a closer look, if I may, before… whatever happens.”

“Certainly,” replied Kelhak, distractedly. His attention was focused on the Dominion board.

Felice took her plum to the closest spiral staircase and ascended to the balcony overlooking the room. A quick glance at Kelhak confirmed he remained focused on the game and not on her. She went over her plan. It was… foolhardy.

Kelhak stood on the top tier of the board. Seven steps from the ladder. Forty-one rungs on the ladder. Fifty-seven steps from the ladder to the spiral staircase. Thirty-two steps up the staircase.

Her bare feet scuffed on the carpeted floor of the balcony. She curled her toes in the plush wool and clenched her fists, taking a deep breath, then another. Was it enough? It had to be.

Her unfinished plum dropped to the carpet with a muffled thud. Kelhak didn’t look up. She took a step toward the stained glass window at the end of the balcony. Then another. Her side and head ached where she had been struck. She ignored the pain.

Her steps quickened, sound stifled by the carpet. Gaining speed, she gritted her teeth with effort and willed herself to a sprint. An extra pace or two of distance might make all the difference. Or it might not.

One of the guards cried out in alarm, but it was too late.

Raising her arms in front of her face Felice crashed into the window. Glass splintered, cutting her arms and body as she burst through.

Falling.

Cold evening wind whipped about her body.

She opened her eyes to see the River Stock rise to meet her and curled into a ball, squeezing her eyes shut again.

The water hit her with a force that tore the breath from her lungs. With frantic movements, she kicked her legs to propel her to where she thought the surface lay. She dared not open her eyes in this river.

Her head broke the surface, and she spat out a mouthful of the disgustingly oily water. It tasted like sewage. She coughed and gasped for air, pausing for only a moment to get her bearings. As fast as she was able, she swam for the bank opposite the House of Luthais.

Dragging her sore body up the stone sides of the river and onto the bank, she heard laughter echoing down from a great height. Kelhak.

She snorted water and phlegm from her nose and fled into an alley, dripping a trail of murky sludge behind her. Stinging cuts from the glass covered her arms and legs, and she knew contamination by the river water could lead to a serious infection.

Laughter followed her as she disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter Sixteen

The room lurched around Amerdan, and he started shivering. Gently at first, then with more violence. Another one of his dizzy spells.

Not now; not in front of her,
he thought.

Dotty moved against his flesh, urging him to hide, but he couldn’t move. His mind itched again—an itch he couldn’t scratch. His face grew hot, and beads of sweat formed on his brow. He staggered.

“Are you ill?”

Bells’ voice seemed to come from a distance. He managed to shake his head and lowered himself to sit on the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her watch him with curiosity and a certain calculation.

“I… have occasional spells like this. Nothing to worry about.” Even more reason to kill her now, seeing him like this. But not before she served her purpose.

Bells moved close and crouched before him. “You’re shivering.”

Amerdan clenched his teeth. “Yes.”

“Does your mind itch?”

He went still, not quite sure he had heard correctly. Did she know something about him? He drew a deep breath and tensed to spring. Against a sorcerer like this woman, surprise would have to be on his side. But he had faced worse odds and survived.

“Does it what?”

“In your mind, does it itch? Do you find yourself trying to scratch at something, at a certain spot?”

How could she know this? Was this a type of sorcery?

He nodded slowly. “Yes,” he ventured carefully, always reluctant to give out information about himself.

“But you were tested as a child?”

“For what?”

“By sorcerers. To see if you had a well. I thought all children in the empire were tested around a certain age.”

He nodded again. He remembered the day the sorcerers had come to their house with clarity. After declaring him and his sisters well-less, they had left, but one had returned a few days later to imprison them. “They found nothing.”

“Let me…” said Bells.

Amerdan tensed as he saw an aura flicker around her then dissipate.

Her face went pale, and her eyes opened wide. “That’s… not possible.”

“What do you see? Tell me.”

Bells shook her head then peered into his eyes.

His shivering had stopped, and he stood.

Bells looked up at him from her crouch; curiosity and confusion warred in her expression.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

“They were either incompetent or…” She shook her head, her recovered bells tinkling with the movement. “I’ve never seen the like. You have a well, but… there is a blockage. As if it’s attached to you, but your own mind doesn’t recognize it. And that’s not all. You have two.” Her voice was tinged with wonder. “You have two wells.”

Amerdan studied her face. She wasn’t lying. In moments, the pieces fell into place. His
trinket
. The first person he’d killed and subsumed with it was a sorcerer, the man who captured them and killed his sisters. And the second sorcerer had been the young apprentice. Two sorcerers’ essences absorbed. Two wells. If one well made a sorcerer, then what did two make?

Two made… him.

He chuckled for a few moments, then laughed long and hard.

Bells gave him a rueful look. “The God-Emperor will definitely want to meet you.”

“You’ll have to teach me all you can before then.”

“If I can get through your blocks, I will, I promise.”

“I have faith you’ll do your best.” He turned his finest smile on her. “Just make it better than your attempt to heal Miranda.”

Bells smirked. “She was easy, if I had wanted. But she and Caldan need to suffer. Until I find them again.”

•

Elpidia was a sorry sight when Caldan and Master Annelie burst into the courtyard near the Protectors’ front entrance. Tears and smudges of dirt streaked her anguished face. At first, she didn’t notice him and continued pacing in front of the wagon. Three Protectors armed with swords stood a short distance away, between her and the building. Bells and Amerdan were nowhere to be seen.

Caldan moved toward Elpidia but was stopped by Annelie’s hand on his arm.

“You know her?”

He nodded and shrugged himself free of her grasp. “Yes. Let me see to her.”

Without waiting for permission, he went to Elpidia. When she noticed him approach, her face became grim. To his surprise, she caught him in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

“Shhh. What happened?” Caldan whispered. He scanned the wagon, and his heart clenched when he saw Miranda was safe. “Where is Bells? And Amerdan?”

Elpidia shook her head. “Gone. I don’t know where. I was hit from behind.” She raised a hand and gingerly touched a patch of dried blood and matted hair. “When I woke, she was gone. Maybe another sorcerer came for her… but Amerdan must have come back. I think it was him who hit me.”

“By the ancestors,” cursed Caldan under his breath. “How do you know Amerdan returned?”

“Mice. I asked him to bring me a few mice for my experiments. There were two in my kit when I regained consciousness. He had to have come back.”

Caldan chewed a thumbnail, thoughts churning furiously. Why had Amerdan left Elpidia? Had he come back, seen Bells had escaped, and gone after her? Or… had Bells gotten to him somehow? Had Amerdan thrown his lot in with the sorcerer?

He hugged Elpidia close and whispered in her ear. “We can’t let them know about Bells.”

At his words, Elpidia stiffened against him. “Why? We have to. They’ll be able to help.”

Caldan assumed the Protectors’ knowledge of the forbidden sorcery was limited, but what if he was wrong? Could they heal Miranda?

With Bells now having escaped, he didn’t have many options left.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll tell the Protectors about Miranda, but not about Bells, yet. If the Protectors can’t help Miranda, then Bells is our only chance.”

“Are you sure?”

Caldan grimaced. “I’ll have to play dumb, so I don’t arouse their suspicions. But it’s the only way I can think of—” From behind, he heard Annelie approach. “Trust me,” Caldan urged Elpidia softly. “We’ll heal Miranda, and you.” He released her and turned to face Annelie.

“Is she well?” the master asked. “What happened? And there’s someone else in the wagon.”

“She was robbed. Bandits on the road. The woman in the wagon is a friend of ours. She’s… sick. A disease of the mind, a wasting illness. Elpidia here is searching for a cure.”

Annelie gave him a puzzled look. “Bandits? This close to the city?”

Caldan took Annelie’s arm and drew her aside, away from Elpidia and the wagon. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.

“Out with it, then,” Annelie said. “I had a feeling you were hiding something.”