Bewitched & Betrayed

Chapter 14

“Run!” Mychael screamed at me.

I wanted nothing more, but running was easier screamed than done.

I dodged one filmy appendage and almost ran smack-dab into another one. The damned things had floated in through the walls. Right now I didn’t care if the Reapers had followed me or Nukpana. I just wanted to survive the next few seconds.

There were enough Reapers to go around, so while I was the odds-on favorite, Nukpana and his uncle still had their hands full. Reapers were flowing around the Khrynsani mages, ignoring them completely. The mages started hissing some sort of spell that had absolutely no effect on them.

I’d seen fear in Sarad Nukpana’s black eyes once before—right before the Saghred took him. He knew he was screwed then, and he knew the same thing now. He’s wasn’t wholly spirit, but he wasn’t solid enough to put up any kind of physical fight, either.

And I couldn’t reach the bastard. He’d never be more vulnerable than he was right now, and I couldn’t get anywhere near him.

Janos Ghalfari put himself between the Reapers and his nephew; the black magic he’d been gathering to use against me and Mychael was now turned to repelling Reapers. The fireplace was the room’s only source of light and it dimmed more with every poisonous word that came from between the goblin’s lips. The air tightened and a stench like brimstone came from the corner of the room that Ghalfari was defending. He jerked back the heavy drapes, revealing barred windows. He screamed in rage and frustration.

The Reapers had no interest in Markus, and at the moment, neither did the goblins. Markus didn’t have a blade to his throat but was still tied to a chair with a grenade lashed to his arm.

I had to reach him.

The space separating us wasn’t the problem; the Reaper floating between us was. All of its attention was on me. Markus wasn’t the one linked to thousands of imprisoned souls.

I had a worthless kitchen knife in my hand, and my eyes on the Reaper who was floating just out of reach. I didn’t know if the thing was being cautious, prudent, or freaking polite—it was a feeding machine; it didn’t think. I was in the same room with the goblin who’d framed me, threatened me, and promised to kill me. Then there was Markus. I had no proof of what he’d done, but if he died, I’d never know anything. I wanted to get my hands on both of them, but standing in my way was a nightmare that’d nearly killed me.

I’d barely lived through my last Reaper encounter. Now I had to get past one to reach my former boss, who was going to go “kablowie” if one of those Khrynsani knocked his chair over. I just wanted to cut the grenade off of Markus, cut my losses, and get the hell out of here. I knew I’d get another shot at Sarad Nukpana because he wanted another shot at me.

I drew on my power, not the Saghred’s. It wanted no part of this fight. It had coiled down tight, protecting itself, and to hell with me. I gathered my power into a white-hot ball of rage and sent it into the palm of my hand, curling my fingers around it in a glowing fist. It seethed and quivered in anticipation of getting to do something, anything, just as long as it was violent. I didn’t think what would be the wisest use of what I’d summoned. I just punched the Reaper where its face should have been, slamming my fist and my power into that gelatinous body. The impact was so satisfying that I hit it again, adding an enraged scream for good measure.

The Reaper glowed incandescently—and got bigger. A lot bigger.

Oh crap.

And it vanished in a wink of light.

What the hell?

No time to ponder what I’d done, what had happened, or why. The hand that had punched the Reaper hung limply by my side, numb and tingling, and I was panting like I’d run a mile uphill. I didn’t think about the why or how of that, either. There was nothing but open space between me and Markus, and I closed that distance. I had a kitchen knife in my good hand, and no doubt I looked like a woman with a purpose. A murderous purpose.

Markus’s only reaction was a slight raising of one dark and perfectly arched eyebrow. I guess it took more than one exhausted and pissed-off elf to scare Markus Sevelien. Later, when I got my wind back, I could always punch him, if either of us lived that long.

A tendril from another Reaper lashed between us and I instinctively slashed it with my knife. The blade went straight through, the tendril instantly retracting back into the Reaper’s body, emerging to try again.

Suddenly Mychael was there, shielding me and Markus, his entire body blazing with white light, driving that Reaper and all the others back from us, herding them toward the goblins. I knelt to cut the cord that tied the keg to Markus, but I could barely feel my left hand. That meant I had one hand to cut the cord holding the keg and catch it. I wasn’t that good on my best day, and if I tried it, today would be my last.

“Dammit!” I snarled.

I glared up into Markus’s dark eyes and sliced through the ropes binding his left wrist to the chair. When his hand was free, I gave him the knife.

“I’ll hold the grenade; you cut the cord. If you try anything else, you’re a dead man.”

Markus’s brows knit together in a puzzled frown. “We need to talk about that.”

“Count on it,” I snarled.

I could easily wrap my hands around a grenade, but one hand would only clutch the thing. And I wasn’t about to trust my clutching skills right now. I took the grenade in my good hand and clutched it against my chest, tight but not too tight. If it got stabbed, sprung a leak, or just decided to break in half, I’d be covered in Nebian black powder and in ten seconds I’d blow up.

That would really piss me off.

Markus had the knife under the cord. “Ready?”

“Do it,” I growled.

He cut the cord, I held the grenade, and no one went boom—at least not yet.

I shot a glance at the knife in his hand. “Finish yourself.” As far as I was concerned, Markus could take that any way he wanted to.

“Bravo, Raine.” Markus quickly bent and sliced through the ropes binding his ankles.

A couple of days ago, Sarad Nukpana had said much the same thing. I’d rather hear it from Markus.

I think.

Mychael’s charged glow was keeping the Reapers at bay, though now they actually seemed to find the goblins more interesting. At this point, I’d take any speck of good luck I could get.

Even though the Reapers had found someone more fun to play with didn’t mean they couldn’t change their minds, or whatever it was they had. I risked a glance over my shoulder. Nothing between us and the front door and freedom but blessedly empty space.

When we got there, the door was locked, bolted, and for all I knew nailed shut.

Mychael’s hands glowed blindingly white. “I’ll get this.” He saw my left hand hanging limp. “Your hand?”

“Being lazy.” I carefully pulled the grenade away from my chest. I had it in a firm grip, perfect for throwing. “But this hand’s still good.”

Mychael put his hands to the door and nothing happened. “Level Twelve wards?” He didn’t bother to hide his anger and disbelief.

“I had them put there,” Markus said. “Damned things only activated after the goblins broke in.”

Mychael glared at the elven duke and I swear I saw murder flash in those blue eyes, or at least extreme violence. Nice to know I wasn’t the only one fighting those urges.

I didn’t take my eyes off of the Reapers. “Can you get through?”

“Yes,” he snarled.

Janos Ghalfari’s chants reached a crescendo, and my skin tried to crawl somewhere and hide. With his words came the smell of death, bloated and decaying. My stomach threatened to heave. I had no idea what his spell would do, but I knew we didn’t want to be here when he released it.

I tried breathing through my mouth. “Can you get through faster?”

“No!”

Ghalfari was facing the Reapers, keeping them at bay, his features a contorted mask of pain and effort. Nukpana was protectively surrounded by Khrynsani mages, and the door to the left of the fireplace glowed red hot with their efforts. They were going to get away. Dammit. I couldn’t get to them, but if they escaped, we’d just be doing this again at a new place and time.

“Are any of your people still in here?” I asked Markus. “Alive?”

“Any elves in this house aren’t mine.”

I jerked my head toward the door the goblins were burning their way through. “Where does that go?”

“Servants’ quarters.” Markus’s smile was chilling. “It’s a maze back there.”

Just what I wanted to hear.

I felt a whoosh of outside air behind us and Mychael kicked a Level Twelve ward’s ass and blew through the door in one fell swoop.

Janos Ghalfari gave a shout as their escape door disintegrated in a cloud of charred wood and ash. The Reapers turned and rushed toward us.

I hurled the grenade into the room and into the Reapers.

Mychael grabbed my arm and all but threw me through the door.

I didn’t know if Reapers could be blown up, but when you’re scared shitless, desperate, and fresh out of nonsuicidal ideas, you’d try anything. If I couldn’t take out the goblins, I’d take out the house they were running through.

We ran like hell and then some.

Until I saw the eight-foot-high stone wall and massive iron gate, both crackling with protective wards. They were meant to keep intruders out, now they were keeping escaping elves in.

Mychael kept running and held his hand back to me. “Grenade!”

I gave it to him.

We had to be at least thirty yards from the gate when Mychael growled a spell and with a dead-on throw sent the grenade smashing into the gate’s massive latch. He jerked me and Markus behind the trunk of what had to be the biggest oak I’d ever seen. We were about to have chunks of a house blown at us from one direction and an iron gate from the other, and Mychael wanted us to hide behind a tree. I didn’t care how big it was; the house was bigger.

Time slowed to that speed that meant you were about to die and the powers that be were giving your mind one last chance to figure out how to survive. My body just told me to run faster. Mychael’s iron grip ordered me to stay put. He got an arm around me, and his shields formed around all three of us.

I heard odd popping sounds coming from the house and Mychael pulled us to the ground. There were four explosions, each bigger and louder than the one before. The house and everything in it exploded in what I could only compare to broadsides from an entire fleet of ships. A smoke- filled breath later, a fifth blast came from our other side as the gate blew.

Bricks and flaming debris slammed into the wall around the house. The wards on top of the wall did what they were made to do and vaporized anything that touched them, sending blue sparks drizzling down to pop and sizzle against Mychael’s shields.

His shields buckled with each blast, but they held. Call it a miracle or preternatural strength and skill. Whatever it was, we’d thumbed our noses at Death again. If the Reapers didn’t get blown up, at least they got blown back to where they came from.

Mychael released his shields and us. “Move!” he screamed. “Through the gate, now!”

I was hacking and coughing smoke and soot. It had cleared enough to let me see the gate, or rather where the gate used to be. That little grenade had more than done its job. The gate’s metal bars looked like a massive fist had just punched its way through. Best of all, no more elf-frying blue wards.

Markus pulled me to the right. “Down the street is an alley that empties on Hawkins Court. It should be deserted.”

“That’s away from the elven embassy,” I said.

“The embassy is the last place I want to go.”

Now I wasn’t just pissed at Markus; I was confused.

I had to consider the possibility that Markus wasn’t the power behind everything bad that had happened to me or any future plots against me, but I’d always felt a deep and abiding satisfaction with anything that went boom. Pretty flames were an added bonus.

Markus glanced back. “You blew up my house.”

“Consider us even.”

Markus flashed a quick smile. “Consider yourself thanked.”

I blinked. “What?”

“If all goes well, everyone will think I’m dead.”

Maybe a flying chunk of brick had hit him in the head.

The street was still empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. After those explosions, we were about to have a lot of company. Embassy guards, goblins, take your pick. I didn’t want to stay around to run into any of them.

“We go the way he wants?” I asked Mychael in mindspeak.

“It’s the best way out.”

I didn’t want to do anything that Markus suggested, but Mychael knew what he was doing.

We were a couple of houses away from the alley when I heard the hooves.

Crap it.

A squad of elven embassy guards on horseback came around the corner of Ambassador Row headed straight for us. The smoke was thick, hiding the three of us as we dived behind a thick hedge growing at the base of the wall surrounding another house. Fortunately this one wasn’t crackling with wards. The horses galloped by on the street just beyond where we were hiding. The lead horseman was Taltek Balmorlan. For a few seconds, I didn’t move or breathe. With all the smoke, if I took a decent breath, I’d probably start coughing. As the shouting and galloping passed us, I let out my breath and slowly took in another, muffling a cough.

“Did you see Balmorlan?” I asked Mychael in mindspeak.

“I saw.”

“Where do you propose we take Markus?”

“My safe house is too far, and the quicker we get him off the streets, the better.”

“And I’m an accused accomplice to murder in possession of Nukpana’s next victim.”

But this accused accomplice wanted to have a long talk with the almost victim. And the safest place would also be the last place anyone on the island would think to look for Duke Markus Sevelien.

“I know just the place.”

“Nebian grenades,” I told my cousin.

Phaelan whistled.

“Eight crates of them.”

“Damn. Full crates?”

I nodded. “That’s my guess. Took out the entire house, most of the wall, and punched a hole the size of a mountain troll through an iron gate.”

“Eight crates would do that. I hate that I missed it.” Phaelan flashed a grin. “Got to hear it, though. Hell, the whole damned island did. Beautiful work, cousin.”

Not unless it took out Sarad Nukpana and Janos Ghalfari. Though I wasn’t holding my breath.

Phaelan had come with me to Mid to protect me; Uncle Ryn followed the two of us to Mid to eliminate the need for protection. My uncle, who was Phaelan’s father, had dropped anchor in the harbor to motivate the Conclave’s mages to find a way to separate me from the Saghred. He said his anchors were going to stay right where they were and grow barnacles until that happened.

We were on the Red Hawk, Uncle Ryn’s flagship. Mychael and Markus were with Uncle Ryn in his cabin. I’d join them in a few minutes, but there was something I needed to do first.

Calm down.

The trip from the hole in the ground that used to be Markus’s house to the Red Hawk had been quiet, not only because we didn’t want anyone out and about at four bells to see or hear us, but because I didn’t trust myself within choking distance of Markus Sevelien quite yet. After a slight detour to collect the goblin gold, we headed straight for the harbor. Mychael was a wise man; he’d kept himself between me and Markus the entire way here. I was exhausted, I was scared, and I was pissed at more people than I had names for. But most of all, I was confused. Too much had happened and I hadn’t had enough time to sort through any of it. That was bad enough, but I knew it was going to get worse before it got any better. That was if I lived long enough to see it get better. Anything Markus Sevelien was involved in was guaranteed to be intricate, not like a seaman’s knot, but brilliantly intricate, like a finely woven web—and just as dangerous. I’d played chess with Markus on occasion. I’d always lost. Though I’d never stood a chance of beating a man who could think at least ten moves in advance.

If I was in the middle of whatever game Markus was playing now, losing would cost me more than my life. It could cost the lives of my family and friends, and probably anyone who just had the piss-poor luck of knowing me.

I gave Phaelan the condensed version of my evening.

“So let me get this straight,” he said once I’d finished. “Carnades and Balmorlan framed Tam for that elf general’s murder and got him locked up. Two weeks ago he had Piaras kidnapped, and he’s been trying to get his hands on you since the day you got here. And you and Mychael just saved this bastard’s boss? I’m not sure which is worse, saving him or bringing him here.”

“I want answers from him, Phaelan. What better place to bring him?”

Phaelan pursed his lips as he considered the implications. “Some of Dad’s crew are rather gifted when it comes to convincing people they want to talk. And if Markus’s people think he’s dead anyway . . .”

“That’s not what I want.”

“But that’s what might be necessary. If he’s the one that’s been pulling Balmorlan’s strings, the only way he’s leaving this ship is over the side hugging a rock.”

“It would hardly be the first time an underling didn’t tell his boss what he was up to,” I heard myself say. I couldn’t believe I was defending him. I guess doubt would do that to you.

“You said Markus knows what all of his people are up to.”

“Yes.”

“Considering how high the stakes are here, I hardly think Markus picked now to stick his head in the sand.”

I blew out my breath. “And even if he was acting under orders from his superiors, he still acted.”

Phaelan nodded. “He takes orders and obeys them, just the same as every man who has to answer to another man. And if they’re using him, maybe it’s because he’s letting them. How well do you really know him?”

“I thought well enough.”

Phaelan was silent as he looked out through the porthole. The water in the harbor was that glassy calm that came only with the predawn. Phaelan keeping his mouth shut meant he was about to open it and say something he knew I didn’t want to hear.

“Raine, you might have thought wrong,” my cousin said quietly.

He knew I didn’t like being wrong, but I despised being used, taken advantage of, or duped. All of the above made me feel stupid, and right now being stupid would get me and the people I loved a couple of steps closer to being dead. And one of those people was standing next to me. Any mess I’d found myself in, Phaelan had been right there with me in the muck. He claimed he didn’t want me having all the fun; truth was he was determined to protect me every step of the way even though one of those steps might be his last.

Markus had never told anyone in the agency that I worked for him. I was always paid under the table. But he could have been ordered to reveal his connection—or he could have volunteered it himself. Hell, Taltek Balmorlan knew; who else was running around with that information?

“A better question is how much do you trust him?” Phaelan asked in that same subdued tone.

I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know the answer.

“The number of people you can trust, believe in, and stake your life on, you can count on these.” Phaelan held up his hand with five spread fingers. “And if Lady Luck is really smiling down on you, maybe one or two more. But beyond that, everyone has a price for selling you out. And it doesn’t have to be money. It’s not always what you’re paid, but what you’re not willing to pay. You have to consider the possibility that the bastards in the agency’s big offices found Markus Sevelien’s price.”

That was what I was afraid of.