White Blood (38 page)

Vinhor inclined his head. “Yes, your Highness.” He drew the knife from his belt. Keeping his hands low, he quietly cut a slash across his palm and cupped his fingers to conceal the welling blood.

Carlich caught Maryn’s eye. “Hold…” he murmured, his hand cocked in a stilling gesture, low at his side.

Maryn swallowed and nodded. Just a moment more, and she would call down Carlich’s destruction. She couldn’t understand why that thought distressed her so much. He’d captured her, kidnapped her, threatened her, hurt both her body and her soul. Didn’t he deserve whatever judgment the Holy One visited upon him? Didn’t she want to see him meet justice for his many crimes?

She did, and yet she writhed inside at the image of him falling lifeless at her feet, burning with the same blue fire that had consumed his victims. How could she do that to him?

Rogelan broke off his chant, though the light continued to glow around Barilan. “I’m sorry, Princess. It seems he’s right.”

“No! Keep looking!” Voerell stared at her son as if her will alone could strip away any illusion.

“If you insist.” Rogelan raised his voice again. Outside the wards the crowd stirred, and a restive buzz started. With each passing moment it increased in agitation.

“Now!” Carlich jerked his hand down, pointing at Maryn.

Maryn crushed her doubts, focusing only on her purpose. Carlich must be stopped, no matter what it cost her. She sucked in her breath and opened her mouth, her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth, ready to explode into sound.

Nothing emerged. She struggled to force the words out, but her tongue and breath would not obey her will. She couldn’t utter so much as a whisper.

Was she so weak after all, so much of a coward, that she couldn’t follow through on her resolve? But certainty blazed within her. She was willing to take the responsibility for killing Carlich, if that was the only way to stop him. No conflict remained in her heart. So what was silencing her voice?

King Froethych’s spell! She’d made Carlich her kin to protect herself, but now it was working in reverse, preventing her from harming him.

Carlich glared and motioned urgently at her. When she didn’t respond, she thought for an instant she saw disappointment in his eyes. His lips curled into a sneer of disgust. Whirling, he hissed, “Tennelan, quick—”

“Look!” Rogelan cried.

Maryn snapped her head around. The royal sorcerer stood over Barilan, one hand upraised, staring hard at the light haloing the baby’s head. “Look,” he repeated. “There’s something here. Some sort of illusion. It’s strong. I almost didn’t see it, but there’s a bit of roughness around the edges.”

“Can you break it?” Kiellan asked.

“I think so. It will take time, and much blood.” Rogelan glanced at Carlich.

Carlich strode forward and stared at Barilan. He traced the edge of the glow around Barilan’s head with one finger. “You’re right.” Breathing hard, he shot a glance at Vinhor, than back at Rogelan. “I don’t know how it got there.”

Voerell took a step toward him, her hands rising. “You hid it! You worked a spell to conceal the crown from us!” She faltered. “What did you think to gain? Hidden or not, if Barilan holds the Kingship, you couldn’t take it. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to try; you know what would happen…” She stared at Carlich for a moment, then whirled back to study Barilan again.

Maryn saw the realization of just how close he had come to death sweep over Carlich. His cheeks blanched, then flushed red. His fists clenched at his sides. Slowly, slowly, he began to swivel toward Maryn.

Her guts roiled and her knees quivered. She had to get away from him. But there was nowhere to run in the warded space. Would Voerell’s guards protect her if she flung herself among them?

A sharp gasp jerked Carlich’s attention back to Voerell. She looked up, her gaze going back and forth between Carlich and Rogelan. “Is this really Barilan at all?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Did you spell some other child to look like him? Is he hidden away somewhere?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Or did you kill him, after all, to free the Kingship? Did you think to foist a substitute on me—”

Carlich’s sharp laugh cut her off. “I couldn’t harm him, even if I wanted to. You saw Father’s spell stop me.”

He breathed hard for a moment, staring at Barilan. Rogelan held his hands out over the baby, murmuring rapidly. Barilan’s face crumpled; Kiellan stroked his hair and he relaxed.

Carlich’s lips twisted into a bitter parody of a smile. “And I know better than to try to deceive you that way, Voerell. I could never fool you by substituting some other child for Barilan. You’re his mother. You’d know the difference.”

Voerell glared at her brother. Fury shone from her eyes, but Maryn read crippling doubt there as well. No, she wouldn’t know the difference, and Maryn could see that she knew it. If that really had been Frilan, or some other child, Voerell didn’t know her own son well enough to tell them apart.

Suddenly Carlich’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you’re more right than you know, Voerell. Maybe someone did work an illusion on another baby to make him look like Barilan. Maybe the real one is hidden away safe somewhere…”

He whirled on Maryn. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he bent close, his breath hot in her face. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? To protect your son. What I said gave you the idea. I understand why you’d want to. It can all still work out, as long as the Kingship is free. Just tell me the truth!” He shook her.

“Yes!” Maryn gasped. He’d have to believe her; he still thought her bound by his spell to obey him. “That’s what I did. Frilan is back in Ralo, safe. I used what Priest Vinhor taught me to make up a spell and worked it on a child I—” She couldn’t think up a plausible lie quickly enough.

Carlich’s brow furrowed. “But we told you no magic. How—”

He broke off as Rogelan swore. Barilan twisted in Kiellan’s arms and broke into a wail. Rogelan shook his head, sucking in a deep breath. “Gallows, this is strong magic. It must have just about killed whoever worked it. A novice spell gone out of control is my best guess.” He drew his knife and pushed up his sleeve to cut a long gash in his arm. “I’ll break it, Princess. It will just take a moment.”

New sparks burst from the fresh gush of blood. Barilan quit crying and grabbed for them. Voerell looked at him, then back at Carlich. Her eyes went to Maryn, deeply confused. “Nurse? You—”

Maryn wrenched free from Carlich and stumbled toward Voerell. “I did, your Highness. I can explain—”

Carlich shouted over her, drowning her out. “She wanted Barilan for herself! She knew I’d give him back to you, so she hid him away and spelled some other child. I had no part in it.” He grabbed Maryn and dragged her back. “Tell her I’m right!”

Maryn poured out words as fast as she could before Carlich could silence her. “No! That’s Barilan, he’s still king, I hid the crown—”

Carlich clapped his hand over her mouth, but it slid away. Tight as he gripped her, his fingers stopped short of digging into her flesh. Maryn twisted free. Voerell didn’t know what to believe, she saw. The princess looked from Maryn to Carlich to Barilan, mouth moving soundlessly.

“Guards, seize her!” Carlich cried.

Maryn flung herself at Voerell. “Princess, help me!”

Voerell’s face hardened. She gestured curtly to her guards. “Protect her.”

Her guards surged forward to grapple with Carlich’s. Voerell grabbed Maryn’s wrist. “Don’t lie to me! Is that my son?”

“It is! I’ll prove it!” Maryn’s free hand flew to her mouth and she sank her teeth into her finger. Blood welled out, hot and salty on her tongue. Maryn spit it into her palm and scooped her hand through the motion Vinhor had taught her. The blood burst into flames. A surge of power shook her, but this time she held on and it didn’t quite escape her control. She flung the crackling fire at Barilan, willing with all her might for her spell to end and the crown to appear in its full glory over Barilan’s head.

Her power joined Rogelan’s. Together they flared around Barilan, bright as lightning. The light over Barilan’s head collapsed inward to form the glowing shape of a crown.

All around, guards fought, punching and kicking and grabbing. Voerell dragged Maryn close to Rogelan and Kiellan. “Is it real?” she demanded of the sorcerer. “Or another illusion?”

Rogelan studied the glowing crown, and nodded sharply. “It’s real.”

“You!” Carlich shoved between the wrestling guards, staring at the shining crown over Barilan’s head. He whirled toward Maryn, whipped out his knife, and slashed his palm. Lightning poured from his thrusting hand, lashing directly at Maryn. Her eyes clamped shut and she cowered away from the surging blaze.

She felt nothing, not even the buzz of power in her bones and teeth. Opening her eyes, she saw Carlich’s lightning splash harmlessly around the bubble of air that surrounded her with its protection.

“How are you stopping it?” Carlich screamed in frustration. He lunged at her, pouring more fire from his hands, but he couldn’t touch her.

Rogelan rushed to her, raising bloody hands, but she waved away his help. She laughed, filled with wild exultation. “He can’t harm me. I put my milk in his food. We’re kin now!”

Carlich’s face turned red and purple as he understood. With a convulsive movement, he sent the lightning shooting toward Rogelan. Rogelan’s own fire met it, blocking it in a burst of showering sparks.

“Vinhor! Someone! Get—” The magic choked off Carlich’s words.

Vinhor stepped to Carlich’s side. Coolly, as if he stood at his own altar and not in the midst of chaos, he scooped his bloody hand through the air. A fountain of sparks erupted. At first Maryn thought he intended to attack her. But shock coursed through her as she recognized the first familiar gesture his hands traced and saw his gaze fixed on the child in Kiellan’s arms.

“Stop him!” Maryn cried, throwing herself at the prelate. “He’s going to sever Barilan’s soul. Just like they tried to make me do—”

Kiellan’s eyes went wide in horrified understanding. He reached for his knife, but Barilan lunged for Maryn, arms outstretched. His kicking foot knocked the blade from Kiellan’s grasp and sent it spinning to the earth. Kiellan clutched the squirming baby and stooped after the knife. Vinhor’s hands swept farther into the sequence that would leave Barilan a soulless husk and free the Kingship for Carlich to claim.

Maryn jerked her hands up. Nothing prevented her from harming Vinhor. The blood she’d drawn earlier was gone, consumed by her magic, so she raised her finger to her mouth. She must bite deep and draw enough blood to prevail against any spell the priest might cast at her.

Blue light washed over her. She bit savagely into her finger, bracing herself for the anticipated pain, but none came. Her skin felt like tough leather between her teeth. She gnawed frantically, but was unable to make even a scratch on flesh suddenly as impervious as iron.

Her eyes traced the sorcerous fire to its source in Carlich’s hands. He laughed at her, harsh and bitter. “Father’s magic can’t stop this spell. I didn’t harm you, I kept you from harming yourself!”

Maryn lunged at Vinhor, but Carlich twisted his hands and a wave of blue fire shoved her away. Voerell flung herself at her brother, but Carlich’s magic beat her back, too. Ropes of lightning writhed from his fingers, twining around both of them, and Rogelan and Kiellan as well. Barilan wailed. Vinhor’s hands shaped gestures Maryn recognized as the final few motions of the spell.

Behind Vinhor, a pudgy figure broke free of the guard who held him. He charged Vinhor and tackled him around the waist. Together they sprawled to the ground. Tior scrambled atop Vinhor and drove a knee into his back, grabbing for the priest’s hands.

At a shouted command from Voerell, the guard who’d been holding Tior jumped to help him restrain Vinhor. Carlich looked wildly about him. Maryn saw that none of his guards were free to come to his aid, either subdued by Voerell’s guards or still struggling for dominance. The blue fire pouring from his hands momentarily sputtered, but he slashed his arm and renewed its force. It swirled around her, pressing her into a tight cluster with Voerell, Rogelan, Kiellan, and Barilan.

Outside the shimmering wards, men from both sides beat against the magical wall but couldn’t penetrate it. Shouts and clashing weapons echoed over Barilan’s cries, as all along the border where the two armies met skirmishes broke out between Voerell’s troops and Carlich’s.

“Rogelan, Kiellan,” Voerell said, low and urgent. “Is there anything you can do?”

Rogelan shook his head, driving the tip of his knife against his arm. It dented the skin but didn’t break it. “He got me before I could block it.”

“All of us, I think.” Kiellan held out his hand, which also proved invulnerable to Rogelan’s knife. A quick test on Voerell gave the same result.

Kiellan grasped Barilan’s hand and held it up. Ignoring cries of protest from both Maryn and Voerell, Rogelan applied his knife, at first delicately, then with more force. Barilan shrieked and twisted to get free, but no blood emerged. Rogelan and Kiellan exchanged grim looks.

Kiellan stepped to Maryn and pressed the screaming Barilan into her arms. “I think the young king will be happiest with you.”

Maryn wrapped her arms around the baby. He clung to her, quieting. She pressed her face into the top of his head and breathed deep. Voerell reached toward her son, but let her hand drop, turning away.

Carlich diverted a thread of blue flame away from their cage, sending it against a guard who held the struggling Tennelan captive with an arm around his throat. The man’s grip loosened. Tennelan twisted away and drove a fist into the guard’s jaw. The guard crumpled.

“I’ll hold them here.” Carlich jerked his head toward Maryn and the other captives. His voice was strained. “We have the bigger army. I’ll let you through the wards so you can take charge of the attack. Time enough to sort things out once we hold the city.”

“As you wish, my prince.” Tennelan inclined his head.

“But first deal with the traitor who attacked Vinhor.” Carlich glowered at Tior. The pudgy soldier straddled Vinhor’s back, pressing the priest’s outstretched hands into the ground, while Voerell’s guard pinned Vinhor’s legs. At Carlich’s words Vinhor thrashed, and both men struggled to hold him.