Mistress of Winter Page 17

  “More black emmeria?” Baelandra asked, a toothless dog still trying to seem in charge.

  “It’s not the emmeria. We are safe from that,” Arefaine assured her. “There is something else that holds him.”

  “What?” Shara asked.

  “I am not sure, but I think it is his own will, his own refusal to wake up.”

  Issefyn narrowed her eyes, wondering what the girl’s game was. Where would her lies lead?

  “He might not realize it is safe,” Arefaine said, wearing her pathetic mask of urgent sincerity. “I will go into his dreams and bring him out.”

  “No.” Shara insisted. “I put him in the dream. I should be the one to bring him out.”

  How sweet, Issefyn thought. She’s going to rescue her damsel in distress.

  “Are you sure?” Arefaine asked slowly.

  Does that not fall in with your plans, dear girl? Do you want the pretty boy all for yourself?

  “I’ll do it,” Shara whispered, comical in her pretty anguish. She slowed her breathing and began her spell.

  Issefyn moved a step closer to the Heartstone. Soon, she reminded herself, soon.

  Shara closed her eyes and focused on her breath. She drove the fear from her body, the shock and disappointment. She banished her anger at Arefaine’s bloody-minded impatience, concentrating on her breath, in and out, nothing but the breath.

  Her jitters faded, the fears and doubts passed away as she fell into the bittersweet routine she had gone through so many times before. She reached out for the sleeping Brophy, mingling her ani with his life force. She matched her breath to his, and slowly the two became one.

  Shara felt herself falling, tumbling through mist as she entered Brophy’s dream. She felt her body changing, becoming lighter, leaner, as she transformed into the nineteen-year-old girl he expected to see.

  Opening her eyes, she drifted through the clouds, falling gently without fear. The cool wisps of vapor faded away, and she could see the city below. The setting sun glinted off the Hall of Windows and danced across the waves of the bay. The Water Wall stood massive in the distance, a trellised curtain of stone that had kept Ohndarien safe all these years.

  Shara sank lower, seeking her lover. A surge of emotion filled her as she saw him sleeping atop the Hall of Windows. Her fears melted away in the warmth of relief. Arefaine was wrong. Brophy still lived in the dream they had built together. He was safe and happy here.

  She drifted lower and lower until she alighted without sound on the blue-white marble beside him. Brophy’s feather twirled in the breeze, bound to his neck by the leather thong. His golden curls shifted, tickling his cheeks. He still needed a haircut.

  The sun made his bare skin glow. Seeing him sleeping there, Shara felt a sudden rush of nostalgia. This would be the last time they shared this dream. As painful as visiting him had always been, now that it was over, she felt a loss. Part of her didn’t want to let it go.

  She knelt next to him and drank in the sight of his naked body, then placed a hand on Brophy’s chest. He stirred in his sleep, taking her hand in his.

  “Wake up, my love,” she whispered. “It’s time to go home.”

  Arefaine had been wrong, so very wrong.

  Shara lay across Brophy’s chest, her face nuzzled into his neck. Her body shuddered, and Arefaine turned away, looked at Baelandra. The old Sister of Autumn was watching the dreaming couple with a worried intensity.

  Arefaine glanced at the scene around her. The two Carriers hovered at a distance, their swords drawn. Issefyn knelt nearby, keeping her thoughts carefully hidden. The dead zealot lay crumpled in the moonlit grass, her chest soaked with blood.

  Arefaine looked at the woman’s glassy eyes and didn’t know what to feel. She hadn’t caused anyone’s death in a very long time, not since she was a little child. The Islander deserved to die, but Arefaine’s orders had nearly cost them everything. Was she right to take such decisive action? Could she have risked allowing the savages to jump into the bay with the Sleeping Warden, then tried to capture them later?

  Arefaine banished her thoughts, her brow wrinkling. She wasn’t staying focused. It would be the death of her.

  “You,” she said to one of the Carriers. She had never been told their names.

  He bowed slightly in acknowledgment.

  “Run and find an Ohndarien soldier. Raise the alarm. The Islander must not be allowed to leave the city.”

  The man hesitated. “Your Grace, we have orders not to leave your sight.”

  “You have new orders now.”

  The man hesitated only a moment, then nodded and took off running.

  Arefaine refocused on Shara’s heavy breathing, her twitching body, her grasping hands. She feared what her new friend might have found in the Warden’s dreams. Distant memories of her time in the emmeria drifted back to her. She shut her eyes against the past, suddenly feeling small and helpless, like an abandoned child calling out into the darkness. She’d never escaped those lingering feelings of isolation and despair, and her chest clenched at the thought of going back there. But if Shara needed her, she would have to be ready.

  Shara’s entire body trembled as Brophy slowly opened his eyes and smiled. Golden light played across his face, making his green eyes sparkle.

  “I must have fallen asleep,” he said, reaching up to touch her cheek.

  His touch was soft and warm, she melted into it. “You’ve been asleep for a very long time.”

  “Then it’s time to wake up,” he said, pulling her down on top of him. He crushed her against his chest, and she nearly gasped at the contact. Hungry lips met, and she lost herself for a moment, diving into him like a pool.

  “Shall we go flying again?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered, wanting him desperately. “Let’s fly again, one last time.”

  Shara took his hand and pulled him to his feet. She paused, looking up at his boyish features. She loved the size of him, the width of his shoulders, the strength in his arms. Those arms would soon be wrapped around her. So very soon.

  She led Brophy to the edge of the platform. His feather twirled in the breeze, and she felt her own fluttering against her hair.

  “You won’t need that anymore,” Shara said, touching his wrist. “You can leave it here.”

  Brophy looked down and saw the weapon in his hand.

  “I can’t leave my sword,” he said, looking around.

  Shara smiled. On second thought, the sword seemed perfect, it just looked right in his hand. “Come on.”

  She took his hand and ran with him off the top of the Hall. They spread their arms wide, Brophy’s hand locked on her wrist. They flew past the shimmering glass and swooped over the trees. Brophy laughed as they brushed against the leaves. She led him beyond the Wheel and over the glittering water. Shara pulled him to her as they flew across the city, rising higher and higher.

  “Where are you taking me?” he said, looking around.

  “I have a little surprise for you, just on the other side of those clouds.”

  Brophy looked up, his eyes crinkling. “I can’t leave the city.”

  She squeezed his hand, understanding his confusion. “You can now,” she explained. “This dream is over, Brophy. You’ve done what you needed to do. Let’s go home.”

  Brophy shook his head, resisting her grasp. “No. No I can’t.”

  Shara held on tighter. “Just a little farther. We’re so close.”

  He fought her grip. “Shara, please, I can’t go.”

  “Come on, Brophy,” she shouted over the wind. It was just a few feet more.

  “No!” He yanked his hand away and plummeted toward earth.

  “Brophy!”

  She dove after him, caught him under the arms. He fought her grasp as she struggled to slow their plunge.

  “What are you doing? I have to get you out of here.”

  “Let me go,” he cried, writhing in her arms, but she held tight to him. She dashed for the clou
ds as quickly as she could. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected anything like this.

  “Don’t fight me, Brophy. It’s me. It’s Shara!”

  “You’re not Shara,” he hissed. Sunlight flashed on metal, and a searing pain tore through her. She screamed, choking on a sudden rush of blood in her throat. Gaping down, she stared at the Sword of Autumn, plunged to the hilt in her stomach.

  Her arms went limp, and Brophy’s fell away from her. The wet blade emerged from her flesh, spraying blood into the misty air.

  Shara screamed again as she lunged for him, but he slipped through her hands. She plunged after him, barely able to control her own flight. Why? What was he thinking? What had she done wrong?

  Her chest seized with the pain. She couldn’t draw breath, and the world grew black. Hateful voices knocked her off course, pushing her away from Brophy. She fought the wind, willing herself closer to him.

  He clung to his bloody blade with both hands, not even trying to save himself. The ground rushed toward them faster and faster.

  Brophy screamed just before he hit.

  Shara landed right on top of him.

  Arefaine knew immediately that something wasn’t right, knew it before Shara’s body jerked like she’d been stabbed.

  “What’s wrong?” Baelandra asked.

  “I don’t know.” Arefaine was already trying to sense where the imbalance lay, but she couldn’t find it. As far as she could tell, Shara was still in the same dream she’d entered.

  Shara’s entire body convulsed and a black stain appeared in the center of her dress.

  “What’s happening?” Baelandra cried, looking into the rift. “By the Seasons, what’s happening to her?”

  Arefaine ripped the dress open and revealed an ugly black slash on Shara’s stomach, just above her belly button. The parted flesh was torn and ragged, but there was no blood. Dark tendrils of emmeria sprouted from the wound, slithering across her skin.

  “She’s being corrupted!” Baelandra cried, reaching for Shara.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Arefaine’s command cracked like a whip.

  Baelandra jerked her hand away, immediately touching the place between her own breasts that had once held a heartstone.

  Arefaine dived into the wound with her magic, following it back to its source. “The emmeria is coming from Brophy,” she said, not knowing how or why. “He’s still corrupted.”

  “What do we do?” Baelandra asked.

  “We have—”

  “It’s spreading!” Baelandra shouted. “Look!”

  Ribbons of black emmeria snaked up Shara’s body, darkening the flesh. It oozed past the neckline of her dress, moving closer and closer to her head.

  “Issefyn!” Arefaine shouted. “Use a containment stone. Pull the infection out of her.”

  The former queen stepped forward, chin high.

  “Issefyn?” Baelandra asked, looking around. “But Issefyn isn’t—”

  “The stones are so full already…” Issefyn began.

  Arefaine fixed the old sorceress with an unmistakable gaze. “Just do it.”

  Issefyn gave her a wooden smile.

  “But she…She can’t,” Baelandra insisted. “She doesn’t have the power…”

  “She can do it,” Arefaine said, ripping Shara’s dress in two, exposing the black lines creeping over her pale flesh. Arefaine grabbed the last containment stone and placed it on Shara’s wound.

  Issefyn hesitated. Arefaine hated to trust the bitter and secretive old woman, but there wasn’t any other choice.

  “Help me, or we all die,” she insisted.

  With a cautious nod, Issefyn knelt next to Shara and grabbed the stone.

  “I must follow her,” Arefaine said. “Get her away from Brophy, fight the corruption at the source.”

  “We may have to use the blade on her,” Issefyn said, nodding toward the Sword of Autumn.

  Arefaine’s eyes narrowed. “Only as a last resort.”

  Baelandra looked shocked, but she nodded slowly, pulling the blade closer. A Sister of Autumn would not be a stranger to the need for drastic measures. “But what would happen to you, if you are still in the dream?”

  “Just keep her from turning,” Arefaine said

  Issefyn concentrated on the containment stone, relaxing the veils that hid her true nature and shifting her ani toward the task at hand. Arefaine watched for a scant moment, just long enough to see the black tendrils on Shara’s chest slow and stop.

  With a terse nod, she knelt next to Brophy and put her head next to his. She felt the turmoil inside him, felt the echoes of her three-hundred-year captivity. She did not want to go back to that place. Clenching her teeth, Arefaine banished her fears. The dream did not own her; this time she would be the master.

  With one last deep breath, Arefaine plunged in.

  Issefyn kept her hands on the crystal, feeling its sluggish acceptance of Shara’s corruption. She felt like she held the Great Ocean in her hands, an entire sea of power for her to command. She’d been cautious at first; careful to shield herself from the emmeria’s influence, but keeping her boundaries intact was even easier than she’d thought it would be. Under her expert guidance, the flood of black emmeria rushing into Shara dwindled to a steady trickle, nothing more.

  Issefyn’s mind spun with the possibilities. Her patience had finally been rewarded. All the black emmeria in the world lay at her fingertips. All she had to do was pick it up and claim it.

  Arefaine’s body lay limp alongside Shara, as if the two of them and Brophy had just collapsed after a tawdry little threesome. They were pathetic…

  Pathetic. And helpless.

  She glanced at Baelandra, her fat face a mask of bovine concern. Issefyn’s gaze bored into the redheaded trollop.

  The Nine were just. It was suddenly so clear. Two of those responsible for her sons’ deaths were here, their necks exposed. And the misguided freak who had dared to place herself above Issefyn had trussed herself for the slaughter.

  Issefyn had savored a thousand scenarios where she turned the tables on the Awakened Child in a moment of weakness. She had never imagined it would be so simple. Why risk a dangerous confrontation when Issefyn could just slit the girl’s throat now and be done with it?

  She flicked a quick glance at the mindless Carrier of the Opal Fire who remained, standing vigilant guard. He would be tricky, but surely no more difficult than playing the motherly teacher for half a decade. This was the moment for which she had been born. Her season of triumph was about to begin. The ultimate feast of power and knowledge lay before her, and it would begin with a small appetizer of revenge.

  She looked back at Baelandra.

  It will begin with you.

  Brophy woke up screaming. He leapt to his feet, the Sword of Autumn in hand. A flood of rage swept through his body, and he was ready in an instant, ready to run, ready to kill.

  He crouched naked in the Night Market. Black clouds crowded the sky, locking the city in perpetual gloom. The wind carried angry voices, like distant screams not quite heard. Successive flashes of lightning revealed ghostly shadows hunched between the buildings. This was how it began. This was how it always began.

  “Brophy,” a soft voice said from above him.

  He whipped around and saw a stunning woman with pale blue eyes floating down from the sky.

  He hurried back a few steps, keeping the Sword of Autumn between them. For some reason the red diamond in the sword’s pommel no longer glowed. Brophy shook his head at the strange sight. It had to be another trick. Another lie. It was always a lie.

  The woman hovered above the corpse-strewn street, just out of reach of his sword. Like an Ohohhim holy man, she wore black robes that hugged her waist, tight around her figure. Her long brown hair fluttered in the wind, half-covering her powdered face.

  “Hello, Brophy,” she said. Her voice was a soft contralto, soothing, but his lip curled. She looked like a female version of the Fiend.

&n
bsp; He gripped his sword tighter, preparing to charge.

  “A new dream, Fiend. A new face,” he said. “But you don’t fool me.”

  “No,” she said softly. “The dream is over. It’s time to come home.”

  He scoffed, keeping the sword between them. “It’s never over. It never will be.” He flicked a gaze around the street, looking for the others closing in.

  “No, Brophy, nightmares do end. You ended mine, now I’m ending yours.”

  She looked down at him with a deep, deep sadness in her eyes. His breath caught in his throat. They were blue eyes, not black, and he had seen them someplace before.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am your kin, Brophy. Arefaine Morgeon, the sleeping child you gave up your life for so many years ago.”

  Brophy stopped moving. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You lie. That girl is an infant.”

  “Eighteen years ago I was an infant.”

  His sword dipped as he tried to remember. Could it have been so long?

  She nodded. “The emmeria is safe, held by the Heartstone as she intended. Now I can guide you out of here. It is time for you to wake.”

  His head snapped up, and he looked at her through narrowed eyes. The Sword of Autumn rose again. “That will not happen.”

  “I admire your will, but it is no longer necessary. We have contained the black emmeria. Ohndarien is safe.”

  “No.” He looked around, waiting for the claws, waiting for the twisted faces of his past. They should be here by now. “You’re wasting your time, Fiend. I will never give you what you want. I will never set you free.”

  “I’m sorry, Brophy,” she said. “But we don’t have time for this. Shara could be dying right now.”

  She drifted closer, landing softly on the street. He snarled, rushing forward to cut her down—

  Light flashed around her, and she blocked his sword with her hand. The edge cut deep into her palm, and she twisted the blade out of his hand. It clattered to the street.

  “No!” Brophy screamed, diving for it.

  She grabbed him by the hair and yanked him upward. “Your will is strong, Brophy. But so is mine.”