Page 36 of Blood Slumberm
Celandine held out her arms, palms up to the night sky, and envisioned Anthros’s wards spinning away into Hespera’s stars.
The magic on her cell was rent into powerless threads with a force she felt under her skin.
The door opened soundlessly. She strode down the corridor to the guardroom. Two auras inside. She plucked at the spells they had drunk to help them stay awake on their long shift. By the time she walked through the door, the entire night watch lay slumped over their table, fast asleep.
Celandine spun in a circle, dancing the Widow’s Weave backwards. All the locked chests in the room sprang open.
The glimmer of Hesperine magic led her to Troi’s ring. She snatched it up and pushed through the next door, climbing thestairs to the top of the guard tower. At her mind’s command, the spell lights on the parapet snuffed out.
She let her awareness expand into the moonless sky and rubbed the moonstone with a bleeding finger. A red glow spread from the gem.
A storm of Hesperine magic rose beyond the prison’s defenses. She ran her finger widdershins around the moonstone, wearing away at the flame wards. She bared her teeth, her blood spattering on the stones at her feet.
A narrow breach split open in the wards. A presence crashed through, and she fell to the ground from the sheer might of his magic. A Hesperine manifested before her, crimson light glowing from the stone in the hilt of his sword.
She tilted her head up to look at him, her mouth hanging open. She saw a storm in his steel-gray eyes and pale, hawkish face. Wind tugged at his ankle-length red braid. Now she knew how Troi had felt when the Blood-Red Prince first stood over him with that gleaming blade in hand.
Rudhira reached down and took Celandine’s hand in a powerful but gentle grip. He helped her to her feet.
A gong sounded from deep in the prison. Shouts reached her ears, then boots tramping up the stairs.
Just as the Inquisitors burst out onto the top of the tower, the Blood-Red prince stepped Celandine away through her tear in the Order’s defenses.
twelve
Troistrainedagainstthechains with all the strength he had left, drawing from his healing magic to push back the weakness in his limbs. But there was no healing in the world that could cure his Craving.
He would sit here and fall into Slumber again while Celandine faced her death.
Her distaff hummed with traces of her magic, his last link to her. Each pulse of power in the artifact was weaker than the last. He could feel her fading away.
“No,” he ground out. “No!”
What were they doing to her? How much was she suffering?
The last thread of her presence slipped away. The distaff lay on the table, lifeless and empty.
His Grace was dead.
Troi’s magic screamed out of him, a wave of raw power that shook every object in the room. Then he slumped in his chains, as if all the life had gone out of him, too.
When the Gift Collector returned, a case of tools jingling in his hand, Troi didn’t look up. He couldn’t stop staring at the distaff.
The necromancer halted abruptly and let out a string of profanities. “They weren’t supposed to sacrifice her until the morning. She must have died in interrogation instead, worthless bitch. Now they’ll come looking for you.”
It didn’t matter how Troi died now, whether decapitated by a Gift Collector, immolated by the mages of Anthros, or gradually sickened by his Craving for Celandine. His only regret was that he couldn’t take down her enemies with him.
The Gift Collector spread his leather case on the table, revealing an array of blades and spikes. “It appears we’ll have to rush the delicate process of removing your head. I need to get away from here with evidence of my kill before they hunt you down. I must keep you alive for most of this so you don’t go up in a flash of light and take my trophy with you.”
Troi imagined levitating one of the scalpels and spilling the necromancer’s guts with it. But his magic struggled, fettered as his body by the curses on his chains.
“Well, Firstblood Troilos,” said the Gift Collector, “this is the beginning of the end. You’ll be awake for this part.”
The necromancer pressed the tip of the scalpel to Troi’s throat.
Behind him, the doors of the great hall slammed open. Ancient, icy, Hesperine magic swept into the room. Troi recognized that aura before his eyes made sense of the impossible sight in front of him.
Rudhira stood in the doorway, swinging his longsword in one hand. “Try to collect my head,” he snarled.
