Dead Magic (21 page)

"It's very kind of him to come meet us himself," she said, trying to take his mind off the train.

"He's just afraid I might go skipping off on him. Dorian's a strange fellow sometimes. He can be quite overprotective."

"Protecting friends seems more admirable than strange to me."

"Yes, well, you haven't lived through several years of his acquaintance. He did force himself into a private little exile for over ten years while the Bedim assassins were after him. Out of fear for our lives, he severed all contact. That was horrible of him."

"Would the Bedim have tried to hurt you in order to draw him out?"

"A clever Bedim might have, yes."

"Then his fear was justified, don't you think?"

Winslow met her eyes then, something sharp flashing in his blue-gray depths. "Justified, but horrible. We Witch-Born are strongest side by side. Barty and I might have been able to help."

Since this was more conversation than she'd had in twelve hours, Valeda decided to argue. He already thought the worst of her; it was doubtful his further irritation could be any harm.

"And what would you have done in his situation? Would you have risked harm to your friends or gone into hiding?"

"I would have at least sent word to my friends that I was alive," he said and glared.

"So you're admitting that you would have gone into hiding as well?"

"I would have hidden from society, but not from my friends. I would have trusted them with the truth."

"And yet, you did not feel compelled to tell Lord Feverrette why you did not wish him to heal you," Valeda said. "You were afraid for his safety, but could not trust him with the truth."

Winslow glanced at the closed compartment door before replying. "It was not just my secret."

"Ah yes, the infamous woman and child you rescued." Valeda strummed her knee, thinking how best to draw him out. She could not question his loyalty to his friends or the faith he had in them, that would only make him angry. She reached for the only thing she could think of: "Lord Agoston, how did you get your Talent back?"

He appeared startled by the new question but answered anyway. "Damned if I know," he said with a shrug. "How did you turn into a Witch-Born?"

She felt her cheeks flush and smiled. "Well, I've been properly pinned," she said. "I thought you would know better than I."

Winslow smiled, his earlier irritation seeming to melt away as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I've a theory, but you won't like it."

"About me?"

He nodded.

Valeda leaned forward too. This she desperately wanted to know.

"Magic wants you to do something," he said.

"But . . . why not just tell me? Why throw Talent into me without asking first?"

"Fayree said the first Witches were chosen," Winslow said. "They weren't asked."

"Yes, but at least they were told what their duty was."

"Yes, but Magic-" he stopped himself and scowled.

"Magic what?"

"Never mind. Things are just different now."

"Different how?" she asked.

"There's more," Winslow said, ignoring her question. "You're . . . we're . . . not just Talented. We have a little Wild in us, too."

Shocked, Valeda sat back. "What?"

Her heart skittered in her chest as she stared at him. She could feel her magic, coiled and ready, settled just at her center. It seemed to know her distress and a strange warmth spread through her, as though to comfort her as she digested his words.

Wild
, she thought.

And she knew, somehow she just knew, that it was true.

"How?" she asked.

"For me it was the verue plant, but I think yours is because of me," he said with a sigh. "My Talent and the Wild fought, but in the end, when I needed it the most, the two fused together somehow."

"So then . . ." Valeda blinked back tears and fought her emotions down. "What are we?"

Winslow shrugged. "Something else, I guess."

"I find it hard to believe that Magic wants a half-Wild, half-Witch to do anything," Valeda said. "If we trust your friend Fayree, then most of the Wild wants nothing more than to kill us all."

"If we trust Fayree, then all of us . . . Witch or Untalented . . . are Wild. We just don't remember it."

"And why would we choose to forget something so important?"

"Did we forget or did we just move on?" Winslow shrugged. "The first Witches are centuries dead. Society has grown and changed. Fear isn't a driving factor anymore because the Pillars have worked for so long we can't imagine them
not
working."

Valeda frowned. He had a very good point. Society had been warned not only by Lady Delgora, but by Fate Herself, that the Pillars would fall, and no one was listening. It was unthinkable that they would fail.

"So what does that leave us?" Valeda asked.

She wanted him to tell her why she of all people had been chosen. Maybe he had some internal link to Magic. Maybe that was how it worked. But if that were so, then she should be able to talk to Magic too. And that idea frightened her more than she wanted to admit.

"I really don't know, Vee," Winslow said. "I wish I did."

"Wonderful," Valeda muttered, sitting back in her seat.

Closing her eyes, she tried to determine what her father would do in this situation. She'd sent word to her family that they needed to go to Delgora as soon as possible and she prayed they had listened to her. But if she knew her father, and she did, then his immediate reaction would be to hunt for answers. He'd go to her home and discover it ransacked, which in retrospect made her feel guilty. He'd be worried.

But if he were sitting in my shoes right now,
she thought,
what would he do?

The answer was very simple. Whenever a story wasn't making sense, whenever the witnesses said contradictory things, then his main rule of thumb was to shut up and listen. Just listen to everyone and focus. Eventually, the truth came out.

She just had to be patient.

Valeda exhaled her annoyance. She hated being patient.

***

Winslow watched Valeda sleep, her head nestled between the seat and the train window. He wanted to wake her up, to kiss the frown that kept tugging at her mouth, but forced himself to stay where he was. This attraction was insane. He barely knew the woman.

Frowning, he tried to consult his Talent for answers. Or his Wildness. Fates! Everything was so confusing.

At least Valeda had handled the revelation with some grace. She'd been upset, he could sense that through his magic, but she'd held it together. It was possible that the verue plant had made the transfer of his Talent to the woman. It had managed to leak the Wild into his form, after all. But then, why didn't his power spread when he'd touched other Untalented? He'd tested it on a boy in Tormey, but nothing had happened.

There was one other problem with that line of thought, too. However Valeda had gotten her Talent, it was unmistakably her own. He could feel it in her, as identifiable as her reddish-brown hair. Perhaps the verue had opened her to magic, but something had to have been there to begin with, something that could spark the flame.

Something Fate or Magic had placed in her.

She shifted and Winslow sighed. It was better that she sleep. He didn't want to answer any more of her questions.

Closing his eyes, he tried to think of Bryva. He summoned her image to his mind; soft, round features and blonde hair. Her eyes were hazel leaning on the olive-green side, but if she wore different colors she could pull out the blue in them. Fates alive, how he missed her!

They'd only shared a few short weeks together, but Bryva Gelgova lived every minute with a contagious passion.
She danced and laughed and fought her way through life,
he thought.

She and Elsie were raised together and called themselves sisters. Bryva had told him once about her fear for Elsie. She'd said that Elsie was one of those people who would sacrifice her life for the nation she was meant to protect. That was part of the reason Bryva lived as she had; to give Elsie a lighter view of life.

Winslow caught a memory of her. They were sparring in his private room in Lorant, laughing through a game of some sort. She'd smacked his thigh with the flat of her blade and give him that open, honest grin of hers. He'd cheated then, using his magic to get in close and disarm her. A moment later, they were kissing. Not the heated, fierce passion that normally infused them, but a gentle kiss; tender.

She had loved him just as much, he knew.

His memory switched to another night, a colder night. Standing in the shadows of an alley with Dorian and Lord Rorant Orzebet close by, he'd watched as Bryva conducted a black market trading deal. It hadn't mattered to him then and it didn't matter now that she had been dealing illegal weapons. When the issue was resolved, it had been decidedly not treason. Bryva was working under the soon-to-be House Witch of Delgora, which made the weapons in question quasi-legal.

He could remember Lord Rorant's voice that night, strained and unhappy, demanding to know if Dorian had anything to do with it. Something changed in Winslow at that moment. Bryva, unaware of their observation, looked calm and confident in the soft light. Snow-covered copper and brick shone through the alley, and Bryva in her martial gear, hair pinned up, stood transposed against it.

There should have been a sound,
he thought. If someone like Bryva was to die, there should have been something louder than the whoosh of frigid air. Two darts struck Bryva in the chest without so much as a thump signifying they'd met their mark.

Winslow remembered running to her, but the rest of the night was a blur. He'd held her, tried to heal her, but the poison had worked too quickly. It was a poison meant for a Witch-Born, meant for Elsie, and Bryva stood no chance.

He could still feel her, limp and heavy in his arms. Her face was too quiet, her open, warm features bereft of the joy, the verve, that Bryva lived by.

Winslow fought himself out of his slumber. He hadn't wanted to remember that part. He'd just wanted her laugh again. Blinking, he shifted to settle more into the corner of his seat.

Valeda was still asleep. He couldn't determine whether or not he was pleased with the continued silence or afraid of the tight knot of grief in his chest.

Valeda was still groping with the idea that she was not only Talented-she couldn't get herself to say Witch-Born since her parents were decidedly not Witches-but also part Wild. It was difficult to imagine the two powers living in harmony, let alone residing in one person. Lord Agoston had little to no idea how it was possible, and even if he did, it couldn't help her accept the fact that she was now magically inclined.

Whatever their origins, Magic, the man-god, and Fate had led Magnellum for centuries. As a youth she had trusted them. As an adult she held some skepticism but always remained respectful. Winslow's story about Median and the Host tree actually made a lot of sense to her. It fit. It explained the Pillars and the rhymes and the insatiable anger of the Wild. Not only that, but as a journalist she was trained to weed out truth from rumor and this felt like the truth.

Fear gnawed at her gut. If Magic and Fate knew the Pillars were going to fall, they would act against it. She imagined Lady Delgora's ark was part of their plan. And she had a horrible feeling that she, too, was to play some part. It was the only explanation for her newfound Talent that made any sense.

They needed her to do something.

The train jostled to a stop and she had to brace herself against the doorframe. She shook off her worries and waited for the doors to open. As she disembarked the train, she spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Not two feet from her position Ambassador Taven stood, wiping his brow with a swatch of blue cloth. He was bundled in furs and wore a navy blue top hat that was dusted with snowflakes. Valeda couldn't help but smile when she saw him, remembering how clearly annoyed he'd been with Lady Delgora at their first meeting.

Things had been a good deal simpler back then
, she thought.
Can it have only been three months since my visit to Delgora?

Lord Agoston broke away from her and moved to collect their luggage. Deciding it best to be polite-and somewhat nostalgic for a time when she'd just been little Valeda Quinlan in a borrowed set of clothes-she stepped up to the Ambassador with a smile.

"Ambassador Taven, how good to see you again."

Monty's eyes widened slightly. He coughed into his handkerchief, but Valeda spotted the way he scanned the crowd. Her Talent rose in warning, stretching through her center, and she had the unexpected sensation of seeing everything around her with unnatural clarity.

She could see in his face that he recognized her, and that he was afraid. For an agonizing moment, Valeda wondered if he'd been the one to order her home ransacked. But then, why was he furtively searching the crowd?

"I beg your pardon, Madam," Monty said as he lowered his handkerchief. "But have we met?"

He's being watched,
Valeda realized. And then-
No,
we're
being watched
.

She brought up the first lie she could think of. "I did an interview with you a year or so back. I beg your forgiveness; I should have known you would not remember something so trivial."

The tension in his face eased just slightly. "Not at all, Miss. Not at all. A common mistake."

With that, he turned and left.
Fleeing, more like,
she thought with a frown. She watched him go, simultaneously afraid of who might be observing her and annoyed that Winslow had not taken the time to teach her. If he'd just taught her, she might have been able to locate whoever was spying on poor Montgomery Taven.

"Everything all right, Miss Quinlan?" Lord Agoston asked.

He was carrying their two small cases, both of which were new, along with their contents. He'd been adamant that they not return to her home, so he had purchased all of their necessities. She'd protested, of course, but Lord Winslow Agoston knew how to take the upper hand. He'd simply paid the seamstress in advance. And by the woman's delighted countenance, Valeda was certain the amount was substantial.