Captive (26 page)

“I THOUGHT YOU
were a wolf,” Tristan said to Seamus. “Not a stubborn ass.”

They’d returned to the top of the battlements, but this time they were facing away
from the sea instead of looking down on the courtyard. Gazing upon the space in which
his whole world had been contained, Tristan couldn’t help but notice how small it
seemed. How limited.

“You’re the one who’s being stubborn,” Seamus argued. “I’m the one who has to pull
this off; let me do it as I see fit.”

Tristan shook his head. “Can’t you set a fire somewhere else? What about the kitchen?
Kitchen fires are a common enough occurrence.”

“The stables not only offer the easiest target—lots of flammable material—but they
also will cause a panicked reaction,” Seamus said. “More than other parts of the castle
would.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone here knows how important they are to you,” Seamus told him.

“I don’t like it,” Tristan said sourly. As eager as he was to leave Castle Tierney,
Tristan would take no joy in seeing it destroyed. Especially not its best features.

“All of the horses will have been turned out for the night,” Seamus said. “They’ll
come to no harm.”

And your favorite horse is already dead.
The wolf didn’t have to say it. Part of the reason Tristan didn’t want to see the
stables burn was because they’d been home to Ares.

“It’s the principle,” Tristan said, arguing simply to indulge his foul mood. “They’re
exceptional stables. And I’ve spent more time there than anywhere else in the castle.”

“That’s the point,” Seamus replied. “It will draw suspicion from you. We don’t want
anyone thinking you could be behind the fire.”

“I would never set fire to the stables!”

Seamus’s grin revealed his sharp canines. “You do realize you’re making my argument
for me.”

“You don’t have to gloat.” Tristan pivoted to look at the tower on his right.

Seamus followed Tristan’s gaze. “That’s the other thing. If you’re using this tower,
the stables are in the right position to obscure anyone’s view. Particularly since
you’ll have a smoke cover as well.”

Tristan winced but nodded. “It’s a good plan.”

“Now, about your end of things,” Seamus continued. “Are you sure you want to summon
the Morrígna? I agree they’ll get the job done, but calling upon them . . . You’ve
never done anything like it, Tristan.”

“I know,” Tristan said. “But that power is my birthright. What good am I in this if
I don’t use it?”

Seamus’s burly shoulders bunched up with tension. “Keep in mind it’s your birthright
that you’re trying to get away from.”

“If we try to use conventional methods to get off the island, we’re more likely to
be stopped.” Tristan crossed the battlement to look toward the mainland. “A boat would
be too slow. And I don’t have a helicopter.” He laughed. “And if I ordered one, that
might be a little suspicious.”

“I know,” Seamus said, but his expression remained troubled. “But the sort of magic
you’ll be calling on is unpredictable. Always.”

“I’m aware of that,” Tristan replied. “But it’s a risk I have to take.”

“And Sarah agrees?”

When Tristan didn’t answer, Seamus chuckled. “And here I thought the best relationships
were founded on trust.”

“They are,” Tristan said. “This isn’t about trust. We trust each other enough to risk
our lives for one another.”

Seamus cast a skeptical gaze on Tristan. “Then what is it about?”

“The war,” Tristan answered. “The power I’m going to use is the very reason that Searchers
and Keepers have been trying to destroy each other for centuries. I am leaving it
behind, but I don’t think Sarah would be pleased to know that our escape hinges on
my calling upon the forces of the nether.”

“She seems like an open-minded lass.” Seamus grinned.

“I don’t want her to be afraid,” Tristan told him. “At least, not any more than she
already is.”

“Fair enough,” Seamus replied. “But you may not be giving her enough credit. She’s
a brave one.”

“I know that.” Tristan leaned out over the battlement and looked down. Far below,
waves crashing upon the rocky shoreline appeared small, but Tristan knew that anyone
caught in that surf unprepared would be crushed in a matter of minutes. Sarah would
need all her courage for later. They both would.

“What time do you want the ruckus to begin?” Seamus asked, following Tristan to the
opposite side of the battlement.

The wind picked up and Tristan buttoned his coat to keep out the chill. “We have a
three-hour window to rendezvous with the Searchers.” He gave Seamus a wry smile. “It
still sounds wrong to say that.”

“Can’t disagree with you,” Seamus said with a laugh.

“It is what it is,” Tristan said. “Start the fire just before midnight.”

“You don’t think that’s cutting it a bit close?” Seamus said with a low growl. “Doesn’t
your date with the enemy start at midnight? I don’t think there’s anything to be gained
by being fashionably late.”

“I know,” Tristan replied. “But you’re right about summoning the Morrígna. It takes
a lot of power, and I’ll have the most at the turning of the day. It’s called the
witching hour for a reason.”

Seamus nodded, his face grim. “Just before midnight, then.”

Sarah had never considered how cruel time could be, but as she sat in her room with
Moira—neither of them able to speak, muzzled as they were by anxiety—Sarah came to
the conclusion that anticipation offered much greater torment than fear.

The day waned and the sun disappeared. Moira built a fire and fetched a light supper
for them, but the food went untouched. Sarah developed a monotonous pattern of moving
her gaze from her uneaten dinner to the door, to the fireplace, and then to her plate
again.

She forced herself to break the cycle by looking at Moira, who was sitting quietly,
staring at her fingers, which she’d twisted together in her lap.

“Maybe you should change,” Sarah said.

After so much silence, Moira jumped at the sound of Sarah’s voice.

“I’m sorry, miss,” Moira said. “I mean, Sarah. You startled me. What did you say?”

“Your clothes.” Sarah gestured to Moira’s uniform. “A dress and apron don’t seem like
the most practical wardrobe for traveling.”

Moira frowned at her. “These are the only clothes I have. I mean, other than my nightgowns.”

Sarah grimaced, though she should hardly have been surprised that even Moira’s clothing
was designed to remind the girl of her purpose in life—to serve in the castle.

“You may not have other clothes”—Sarah rose and went to one of the armoires—“but I
do.”

Relieved to have even a simple task, Sarah hunted through drawers until she found
an outfit more suited to the night’s coming work. She paused, turning to wave at Moira.

“You really don’t need anyone else picking out clothes for you,” Sarah said. “Find
something you like and put it on.”

Moira joined Sarah and began to rummage through the drawers.

“I’m not sure what would be best,” Moira said with a frown. She glanced at Sarah.
“Something like what you’re wearing?”

Sarah nodded. She’d selected clothes that were the closest she could find to Searcher
gear: dark riding breeches, a close-fitting but comfortable knit shirt, and a suede
vest.

Moira’s mouth twisted and Sarah asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just . . .” Moira suddenly laughed. “I’ve never worn men’s clothes.”

“I’m sorry?” Sarah looked down at herself. She hadn’t thought she looked particularly
manly. “Hold on. Do you mean you’ve never worn trousers?”

Moira nodded, still giggling.

“Thank God we’re getting you out of here,” Sarah said, releasing an exasperated breath.

“Sarah.”

Sarah looked up to find Moira’s eyes shining with laughter, but also tears.

“What?” Sarah asked, suddenly worried.

“Thank you.” Moira flung her arms around Sarah’s neck.

Sarah hugged the girl back, her throat too thick to speak. They both gave in to laughter
as they tore through the carefully folded clothes in the armoire, tossing rejects
aside until it looked as if a tornado had whipped through the room.

“Is everything all right?”

Tristan stood in the doorway, gazing in alarm at the chaotic state of Sarah’s bedroom.

Not trusting herself to answer without devolving into another bout of hysterical laughter,
Sarah simply nodded.

“If you say so.” Tristan closed the door behind him. “It’s time.”

Sarah said to Moira, “Get changed in the alcove.”

Moira nodded, quickly scooping up leggings and a shirt.

Tristan crossed the room to meet Sarah. He kissed her and she leaned her head against
his chest.

“Did you know that Moira’s uniform is the only type of clothing she has?” Sarah asked.

“I didn’t know that,” Tristan said with a sigh. “The more I’ve learned since you arrived,
the more I realize what a poor job I’ve done here. Meaning that I’ve done nothing
at all but think of myself.”

“You were taught that this way of living was meant to be.” Sarah looked up at him.
“But that’s not who you are. You’re already changing.”

Tristan kissed her again. “You don’t think I’m a lost cause, then.”

“Never.”

“I brought you a gift.” Tristan shrugged off his coat and Sarah gasped. Her harness,
filled with gleaming knives, was slung over his shoulder.

He handed Sarah the leather harness and she immediately strapped it on. “You do know
how to win a girl’s heart.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Tristan smiled.

Her gaze moved to Tristan’s waist, where a sword hung in its scabbard, and her heart
gave a hard thud against her ribs. If all went well that night, Sarah reminded herself,
neither her knives nor his sword would be painted with blood. If all went well.

Though muffled, Sarah started as a wolf’s howl pierced through the castle walls. A
chorus of howls soon joined the first, the Guardians’ voices raising the alarm.

Tristan’s smile faded. “They’ve begun.”

TRISTAN LISTENED AT
the door, waiting for the shouts and the rush of panicked footfalls to fade, signaling
the moment they might slip into the castle halls without being noticed. Sarah and
Moira hovered nearby. The ginger-haired girl wore a determined expression, but she
had Sarah’s hand in a tight grip.

When he turned the doorknob, Sarah said, “Tristan?”

“Just a moment.” He opened the door a crack. The hall was quiet and appeared empty.
Tristan stepped into the hall and glanced back at Sarah and Moira. “Let’s go.”

They moved swiftly and quietly, Tristan leading the way. Even through the stout stone
walls, cries and howls reached them. As Seamus had intended, the castle’s inhabitants
had rushed outside to battle the fire, and Tristan let himself hope that they could
slip away without a fight.

When he reached the entrance to the eastern tower, Sarah said, “Tristan, wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Tristan stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her.

Sarah nodded at the dim spiral staircase. “Do we have to go this way?”

“Yes,” Tristan told her. “We need to reach the top of this tower. Why?”

With a shake of her head, Sarah replied, “Nothing. Never mind.”

Troubled by her hesitation, Tristan was nonetheless aware that they had no time to
delay. He turned back to the tower steps and started the climb. It wasn’t long before
Tristan pinpointed the source of Sarah’s question. As he approached the wooden door
that led to one of the tower chambers, he remembered that Sarah had been in the tower
before. In that room. Lana’s room.

Tristan wished he had time to reassure Sarah that when the alarm had been raised both
Lana and Owen would have been among the first to respond. The tower, despite being
the home of both the castle’s resident succubus and incubus, still offered the best
means for escape. Tristan kept climbing.

The staircase came to an end in a small armory. Tristan went to the ladder that led
to a trapdoor that accessed the tower’s battlements. He climbed up quickly and threw
the door open. The smoke hit his lungs and he began to cough.

Looking down at Sarah and Moira, he told them, “Cover your mouths with your shirts
and stay low when you come off the ladder.”

Tristan crawled onto the battlements, turning to help Sarah and Moira exit the tower.
Plumes of oily smoke rose from the courtyard. Sarah scrambled to the edge of the tower,
peeking out at the sight of destruction.

She turned to Tristan with a horrified expression. “The stables?”

“The horses were turned out,” Tristan answered, though his chest constricted. He couldn’t
bring himself to look at the burning building. “It’s just the structure.”

“It looks like the whole of the castle is down there,” Sarah said. She began to cough
and covered her mouth again.

“Good,” Tristan said. He stood up, hoping he could keep from coughing long enough
to get through the incantation. “Stay down. I’ll tell you when it’s time to move.”

Sarah nodded and crawled over to Moira, shielding the girl with her body.

As Tristan lifted his arms, the trapdoor banged open and a figure surged out of the
armory.

Tristan went for his sword, but then shouted, “Wait!”

Fortunately, Seamus jumped aside just in time and one of Sarah’s knives clattered
against the battlements. The wolf shifted into his human form.

“What’s wrong?” Tristan crouched down.

“Lana left the courtyard,” Seamus told them. “I don’t know where she’s gone, but it’s
likely she’s looking for you. I thought you should know, and I wanted to lend a hand
if there’s trouble.”

Tristan nodded, rising again to begin his spell. There could be no more hesitation.
Seamus, a wolf once more, stalked in front of Sarah and Moira, his hackles raised.

As Tristan’s fingers began to dance through the air and he whispered words that belonged
to no human tongue, he heard Sarah draw a hissing breath. He guessed she’d been about
to object, to try to stop him, but instead she began to cough. He forced himself to
ignore the sound, concentrating on the symbols that snaked from his fingertips to
hang in the air around him. Unlike the ritual that summoned a wraith, these symbols
didn’t manifest as fire but as shadow. Spooling from his hands like ethereal thread,
the smoke from the stable fire camouflaged the intricate design he created. For that,
Tristan was grateful—he hoped Sarah would see as little as possible of the dark magic
he worked. He was ready to leave that life behind, to forsake his inheritance for
her, but in this moment his legacy was what could save them. Tristan could only hope
that Sarah would understand.

The smoke stabbed at Tristan’s eyes, stinging and blurring his vision. He forced himself
to keep the incantation going despite the feeling that dozens of razor-sharp barbs
were ripping up his lungs.

When the last word of the incantation left his throat, Tristan fell to his knees.

“Tristan!” Sarah left Moira huddled against the battlement and crawled to his side.

Coughs wracked Tristan’s chest until his muscles cramped. Sarah wrapped her arms around
him, holding him tight while he struggled for breath.

“So this is where you’ve gotten to.”

Seamus snarled, pinning his ears back as he glared at Lana. The succubus was perched
atop the battlements, her wings framing her body as if she were a stone gargoyle,
perfectly placed to watch over the courtyard.

Lana gazed at Tristan. “Pulling the temple down on our heads, are we? A clever ploy.
Too bad I sensed your spell as if it were being written on my very skin the moment
you began to cast it. I should have persuaded Bosque to stay for a few days. He’s
going to miss all the fun.”

Sarah’s arms tightened around Tristan. He gave a slight shake of his head and pushed
her away, whispering, “Get to Moira. Be ready.”

He sensed Sarah’s reluctance, but she released him and scrambled over toward Moira
and Seamus. As she moved, Sarah’s hand dipped to her knives and a blade flashed out
toward Lana.

Lana caught the glint of the knife and dodged, but not quickly enough. The blade buried
itself in her shoulder and she screeched.

Tristan jumped to his feet, ignoring the burning of his lungs. Lana rose from her
crouch and tugged Sarah’s blade from her flesh.

“I was going to make you a deal, Keeper,” Lana told Tristan. “A small mercy of killing
your bitch quickly, but I’m afraid she’s just taken that off the table.”

Tristan didn’t answer. He needed to conserve what little breath he had for when it
was truly needed. He kept his eyes on Lana but also on the dark sky at her back.

Lana turned her accusing glare on Seamus. “As for you, dog, I’m willing to name this
foolishness an act of misguided loyalty. If you prove your loyalty to Bosque now,
I won’t tell him of your treachery.”

Seamus bared his fangs at the succubus, answering her with a vicious bark. The wolf’s
hulking form shielded the two women.

“How disappointing.” Lana stretched her hand out. A whip appeared in what had been
her empty palm. Its length danced through the air, formed from shadow rather than
leather.

Seamus lunged at Lana and her whip lashed out, striking his flank. The wolf yelped,
faltering, but he feinted from her next strike. Lana leaped from the battlement to
meet Seamus’ next attack. He slipped beneath the snaking shadow whip and clamped his
jaws around her calf.

Lana screamed and fell back onto her elbows. She shrieked again when two more of Sarah’s
knives lodged in her waist and thigh. Turning toward the women, Lana opened her mouth.

“No!” Tristan shouted.

A spout of flame jetted toward Sarah and Moira. Sarah turned, covering Moira’s body
with hers, but the blaze didn’t reach them.

Seamus snarled and leaped, throwing himself between the spear of flame and its target.
The wolf’s growl died in a whine and his huge body dropped to the ground. Tristan
gazed in grief and horror at the exposed bones and charred flesh revealed by the gaping
hole in Seamus’s side.

“You’ll regret that, Lana.” Tristan rushed to the fallen wolf, standing over him and
taking up the role of shield for Sarah and Moira.

Lana laughed. “I very much doubt that I will.”

Behind her, an enormous dark shape came into view and Tristan smiled. “I think you’ll
find you’re very wrong about that.”

Tristan lifted his arms and shouted into the night sky. A sudden wind, followed by
an inhuman cry, filled the air. Lana whirled around and gasped. With the succubus
distracted, Tristan turned to Moira and Sarah.

“Jump!” Tristan shouted over the screaming wind. “Jump from the tower toward the sea!”

Sarah stood up. “Are you insane?”

“You have to trust me,” Tristan pleaded. “Jump now!”

Though she blanched, Sarah grasped Moira, who appeared too frightened to resist. Locking
her arms around the girl’s waist, Sarah nodded at Tristan and then threw herself and
Moira from the tower battlements.

Tristan closed his eyes, hearing Moira’s scream. Then nothing.

“You wretched child.”

Tristan turned back to face Lana. The gaze she fixed on him was beyond hateful.

“How dare you invoke the powers gifted to you by your master to thwart his will?”

The succubus still held the shadow whip. She was bleeding but showed no sign of faltering.

“I can’t kill you,” Lana snarled. “But I think I’ll be forgiven for causing you just
a little pain.”

She flicked her wrist and the whip coiled around Tristan’s arm. He went to his knees.
The shadow whip’s lash hadn’t caused physical pain; instead it filled him with the
agony of despair. His mind became a torrent of unbearable images: Seamus staring at
him with dead eyes, Moira and Sarah’s bodies broken on the rocks beside the crashing
waves.

He bowed his head, trying to fight the hopelessness that wanted to consume him.

“You will never leave,” Lana said. “And you will never forget that I am the one who’s
kept you here.”

Tristan dared to lift his eyes. What he saw at Lana’s back lit his heart with strength.

“You’ve forgotten something more important, Lana,” he said, standing.

She pursed her lips. “Have I?”

Raising his arms once more, Tristan said, “I summoned the Morrígna.”

“And little good that trick did you,” Lana replied, but her smug expression ebbed.

“Now you remember,” Tristan said, taking a step back.

Lana glanced up a moment before it descended upon her. Giant talons seized Lana’s
shoulders, dreadful pops and cracks sounding as the bones of her wings were crushed
in the Morrígna’s grip.

As she screamed, flames erupted from Lana’s throat. She struggled against her attacker
as she was lifted from the tower but to no avail. Tristan listened to Lana’s shrieks
fade as she hurtled away from the castle and vanished into the night sky.

Another bout of coughs seized Tristan. He doubled over and crawled toward Seamus’s
unmoving body.

Though the charred crevice in the wolf’s side was horrible to look at, Seamus’s face
remained unscathed. Tristan touched the wolf’s soft muzzle.

“I’m sorry, my friend.” Tristan bowed his head. “You did more for me than I ever could
have deserved. Thank you.”

Though he felt such a benediction hardly worthy of Seamus’s sacrifice, Tristan had
to use what little strength he had left for his own flight. He crawled to the edge
of the tower and pulled himself up onto the battlements. Tristan let coughs wrench
through his lungs until he believed himself capable of completing the final incantation.

He stood atop the battlements and dared to look down. Far below the sea roiled, dashing
itself upon the shore in an endless assault. One last time, Tristan raised his hands
and implored the midnight sky for aid. The wind roared at his back and Tristan let
its strength propel him forward. He fell from the tower and into the darkness.