Текст книги "Bespelled"

Автор книги: Laura Thalassa

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Outside the palace the world is unnervingly silent, save for a few skirmishes and a couple of soldiers hauling away a chest of something or other. But the teeming scores of soldiers are following me out. It’s all I can do to cast my magic behind me, pushing them and their weapons back, back, back, even as the wordless spell drains my quickly depleting reserves of power.

Off to my left, I can see the shadowy silhouette of the abandoned temple. The priests maintaining it left once we moved in, and no one else besides the odd palace servant has used it since. Sarmatian gods don’t dwell in temples, and I have no use for Roman ones.

I stagger to it, moving as fast as I dare and leaving a trail of blood in my wake. I need to heal my wounds, particularly my abdominal injury, but I cannot focus on more than keeping my magic up at my back, where it protects me and Ferox. Even now, I sense the soldiers battering against it, their shouts and footfalls far too close.

It feels like an agonizing eternity before I reach the temple steps. As soon as I’m inside, I hastily ward the threshold against intruders, the magical strings of my casting somewhat sloppy. My hand shakes, and my pain is distracting me. I add another layer to the ward, this one to block weapons from entering the space—it was a ward we forgot to place on the room of Tamara and Katiari, and Zosines and the other traitors found a way around it.

I spell it just in time too. The first of the soldiers slams into the ward not a moment later. I jerk back at the sound, and my body sways a little. Ferox presses against my side, clearly trying to help me stabilize my balance.

“Thank you,” I say softly, delving my fingers into his fur. One of my hands is still clutching my midsection. “Mend the wound, heal the flesh,” I whisper.

Thick, syrupy magic spreads out beneath my palm, sinking into my skin. I hiss as it tugs on my injury, but already the pain is lessening as the wound repairs itself. I still have two arrows protruding from my torso, but for now, I let them be.

“Illuminate.” The light I cast is faded, watery. My magic is faltering.

I half stride, half stumble toward the back of the temple, where the innermost sanctum is. Where the entrance to the ley line will be.

When I see it, my relief makes my knees weak. It’s barely visible under the light of my magic, but I can just make out the strange distortion in the air where the ley line entrance bends the light.

Far on the other side of the temple, I hear the bangs of weapons and fists against my ward, then the haunting sound of it shattering.

I place my hand on Ferox. “We’ll step onto the ley line at the same time. Ready?”

The panther dips his head, which is the closest thing I’m going to get to assent. Behind us, soldiers clamor toward us. Seconds. We have seconds.

Taking a fortifying breath, Ferox and I cross onto the ley line.

Immediately, the noise quiets, and our surroundings—what little I can make of them in the darkness—smear. Nonmagical humans cannot traverse these roads, at least not without aid. Which means that for now, Ferox and I are safe.

I cannot, however, say that about anyone else who remained devoted to Memnon. To me. They are still locked in battle, getting butchered by an enemy they didn’t see coming.

I need to get to Memnon. Need to save him from whatever fate Eislyn has devised. Need to avenge our people.

My gaze flicks to the walls of the ley line. It’s shaped much like a tunnel, though you wouldn’t know it at the moment. The darkness hides everything except for the faint smudges of starlight far beyond.

With my free hand, I reach around and pull out the arrow from my back, grinding my teeth together and swallowing a scream as I pry the head of it from my flesh, its edges ripping through more muscle. I toss the bloody projectile to the rippling tunnel walls.

“I offer you my blood, violently spilled by an enemy,” I gasp out as the open wound at my back begins to bleed in earnest, “in exchange for the safe passage of me and my familiar to the Khuno River palace.”

What little I can see of the walls ripples, then smooths.

Fuck. It didn’t work.

Without the help of the ley line itself, I won’t be able to find my way to this destination. Instead, Ferox and I will wander along it, hopelessly lost until I either find a way out, or we perish.

Adjusting my hold on Ferox, I reach for the other arrow and dig my fingers into the skin around it. A scream rips from my throat as I pull the second arrowhead out and throw it at the wall. “I offer you my blood, violently spilled by an enemy,” I repeat, “in exchange for the safe passage of me and my familiar to the Khuno River palace.”

This time, the walls hardly even ripple.

“I offer you a memory,” I say to the fae magic, my desperation growing. “In exchange for the safe passage of me and my familiar to the Khuno River palace.”

The walls of the ley line ripple around me, further obscuring the scenery outside.

I take a few steps forward, bringing Ferox with me, but then the walls around me smooth, denying me passage once more.

I cry out. “For gods’ sakes, what do you want? Tears?” I ask. With my free hand, I gesture to my cheeks. “You can have them.”

The ley line’s strange, foreign magic brushes against my face, taking the offered tears.

Still, the wall doesn’t open. I want to scream.

“You already have my blood and my tears. What more do you want?” I ask the darkness. My magic is failing, my blood is streaming down my back, and my body is faint with exhaustion. There’s not much left of me to give.

Why had I not learned to navigate these magical roads without selling little pieces of myself? My ignorance is costing me.

A thought comes to me, one that has me pressing a quivering hand to my stomach. I swallow. There is one more thing⁠—

“Fine, I’ll tell you a secret: I think I might be pregnant.”

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 759 AD, SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTHWESTERN AMAZON BASIN

ROXILANA

We’re spit out onto wet soil, mud oozing beneath my boots.

It worked. My body sags with relief. It worked.

I stand, glancing at my surroundings. The sun is setting here, and though the jungle around me makes many sounds, there’s a peaceful, quiet element to this place that’s jarring compared to the shrieking violence of Bosporus.

Ferox’s growl is all the warning I get.

I’m about to turn when a blade is shoved clean through my back. It happens so fast I don’t have time to do more than choke on my own surprise as I glance down at my abdomen, where the bloody tip of a sword juts out.

Roughly, it’s withdrawn, and with its exit, I collapse to my knees, a cascade of blood pouring from the wound. It’s—it’s right where⁠—

“You cannot know how long I’ve wished to do that.” Eislyn’s beautiful, lilting voice is laced with malice.

With a snarl, Ferox lunges for the fairy. But before he can make it anywhere near her neck, Eislyn brings the hilt of her weapon down on his head. There’s a sickening crunch, and I choke out a scream as my familiar collapses in a heap at my side. The ward that had protected him only minutes ago must’ve disintegrated.

The fae woman walks around to my front, tapping the bloody sword against her side as she appraises me. “I had hoped you’d survive the attack long enough to come here.”

She tilts her head, appraising me. I imagine she’s debating whether to stab me again, though I’m too distracted to much notice. My mate is missing, my familiar is unconscious, and blood is pouring out of my abdomen at an alarming rate.

I can barely think over the pain in my gut, yet I have rage to spare. My body is shaking with it. I gather my magic, preparing to strike.

“Ah, ah,” Eislyn says, using the bloody sword tip to tilt my chin up. “Think about harming me, and I’ll drive this sword through your throat, then that of your familiar’s, and you will die never knowing what became of Memnon.”

I go still, terror replacing anger. “Where is he?”

Her eyes flick to the palace to my right for the merest of instants before she casually says, “I thought you were his soul mate. That you could find him through your bond alone.” She tilts her head again. “Apparently not.”

As she speaks, I focus my magic on my gut wound. It’s a lethal wound, but only if it cannot be repaired. I can repair it. I’m already clutching it, and now I slowly trickle my power into it. All I have to do is live, then I can save both Memnon and Ferox.

“What did you do to my mate?” I ask.

Eislyn stares down at me stoically. “He will sleep for a hundred years, until all he knows and loves has passed on. When he wakes, all that will be left is me.”

My brows come together, even as I feel the nauseating tug of internal injuries sealing themselves up.

She continues. “I already warned Memnon several times that you would prove treacherous. I told him that a civilized Roman girl like you would never fully accept the warring ways of Sarmatians. That his bloodthirstiness would eventually drive you to do something desperate to stop him from all the killing and conquering. He didn’t believe me then, but I’m sure when he wakes and finds you long gone, he will remember my warnings.”

Eislyn’s words would hold weight with Memnon. She’d been an advisor for Memnon’s father as well as several of the kings who came before him.

“And,” she continues, “I will make sure to tell him how you, his dear mate, made a deal with the Romans for peace and how you couldn’t bear to kill him so you left him to sleep. I’ll make sure he knows that you lived a long life—that you remarried, had children, and you didn’t once try to wake him.”

I can barely breathe over my disbelief. Who is this woman?

“He’ll be heartbroken,” she continues, “but in time, he will recover.”

I search her features. “Why are you doing this?”

Her eyes glitter, and the corners of her mouth curve into a sly smile. “That’s a secret you’ll have to die without knowing.”

Instinct rather than eyesight has me noticing the infinitesimal shift of Eislyn’s weight and the adjustment of her grip on the sword.

I call on my anger and my power. “Annihilate,” I breathe.

The spell explodes out of me, the power blowing off her sword arm.

Eislyn screams, reaching for the gaping wound at her shoulder. Her wings unfurl, thinner than linen and far more delicate. She uses them to rush herself to the ley line portal.

I’m already gathering the scraps of my magic, readying them in my hand.

“Annihilate.”

Her form disappears a moment before my spell does, though the ley line absorbs it as well.

My breathing is ragged.

Eislyn is gone. For now.

I stare down at the ruin of my abdomen, and I bite back a sob. If there was a baby, the odds of it surviving such a wound…

I have to dig my teeth into my lower lip to keep from screaming. Tears slip down my cheeks. Don’t think about that. Then there’s Ferox…

I reach out a hand and pet my panther. Beneath my touch, my familiar stirs, then turns his head to weakly lick my hand. I strain for enough magic to heal him. It leaves my palm sluggishly, but I sense the spell take root, and it slowly mends my familiar’s injuries. Once I’m sure he’ll be okay, I let my hand slide from him.

Memnon. Need Memnon.

I force myself to stand, and the world goes dark for a moment. Blood loss, this must be blood loss. It physically hurts to draw on more power and funnel it toward the last of my wounds. My magic is tired, reluctant.

I’m dying.

It comes to me with detached clarity. I’m dying faster than my power can heal. And Memnon is cursed to sleep for a hundred years, and once he wakes, he will be Eislyn’s pawn for whatever bigger scheme she’s concocting. Perhaps it’s love she wants from him. Perhaps it’s power. Whatever it is, she was willing to have his family murdered and entice his friends to betray him. She was willing to twist my motives and my love for him, all so she could see her awful plan through.

I cannot leave Memnon to whatever fate she intends.

I stagger forward, toward the palace, leaving Ferox where he is so he can sleep off his injury. Ahead of me, the river palace gleams among the trees; it’s so unnaturally beautiful it sets my teeth on edge. It always has.

I pass the marble pillars fashioned like trees and the golden vines with their sharp-edged glass flowers that decorate the walls, leaving a trail of blood in my wake.

Eislyn had looked to this place when she spoke of Memnon, and warded as the palace is, it would be the perfect place to hide someone undisturbed for a hundred years.

But where?

I close my eyes and focus on my connection to Memnon. Eislyn had mocked our ability to find each other through it, but it was how he first found me in Rome. I can find him through it too. I just need to focus.

Closing my eyes, I breathe in deeply, trying to ignore the screaming pains of my body and the cold chill that has set in my bones. I let my mind take a back seat to my magic, and then I begin to walk.

I’m so dazed, I nearly fall into the hole in the ground. I stagger back and draw in a startled breath at the sight of the square opening cut into the ground. Next to it is a massive stone slab that’s been cast aside.

I eye the torchlit walls descending from the opening. Memnon’s down there. I can feel it like the beating of my own heart, and if I focus again on our shared bond, I can sense it tugging me closer, closer…

Eislyn had rigorously planned this entire situation, but she’d been careful not to tell me where Memnon was. I don’t think she was finished.

The thought gives me a whisper of hope. That’s all I need. Just a whisper.

Carefully, I descend the stairs, bracing myself against the wall to keep my fatigued body steady.

The decorated walls around me barely register, but then my fingers cannot help but notice the divots where words have been carved. I stare at the writing.

…containing the might of the gods within him, Memnon the Indomitable drove the Dacians from their lands…

…charged into impenetrable Rome with nothing more than his blood riders and captured his queen…

The writing doesn’t sound like me, but I’m one of the few who not only know these events but also how to read and write Sarmatian with the Latin lexicon. It would be easy to assume I helped secretly commission a vault like this and oversee its creation.

A shiver racks my body that has less to do with blood loss and more to do with the disturbing lengths Eislyn went to to carry out her plot.

What does she want with my husband?

The question will plague me.

All thoughts of her motives vanish the moment I step into the burial chamber. And there’s no mistaking that’s what this is. In the center of the torchlit space lies a white marble sarcophagus, the lid of it removed. From here, I can only make out a glimpse of scale armor, but I know—it’s Memnon. Even if the bond wasn’t indicating it, the slope of that chest and the sheen of that bronze armor would.

A ragged sob rips from my throat. I hadn’t believed he was asleep, not truly, not until now.

I drag myself to the stone coffin, the blistering pain of my wounds dulled by the deeper ache in my heart. My gaze barely touches on Memnon’s arresting, sleep-softened features before my legs give out. I’m awash in pain—pain so dark and bleak I don’t know how I’ll surface from it.

He’s already out of my reach. Enchanted to a hundred years of sleep. If it were mortal magic, maybe I could break the spell, but Eislyn is a fairy, and their magic is different, incompatible.

Even if the spell could be broken, I’m dying. Beyond that, Memnon’s empire is now overrun by battle-ready Romans, his traitorous warriors, and a scheming fairy.

We have too many enemies and not enough time. A tear slips out.

I place a hand lightly on the ruined flesh of my abdomen. I want retribution, but more than anything, I want peace. For me, for my soul mate. A single lifetime where we can love each other without the fear of our enemies killing us.

I struggle to pull myself up, gnashing my teeth together against the pain. There’s darkness pulling at my vision, and at this point, my magic is likely the only thing left keeping it at bay, but I do manage to get my legs locked under me. I’ve got life left in me yet.

I glance once more into the coffin, where Memnon rests, still as death. Not even his chest moves with his breathing. I can tell through our bond that he still clings to life, but he gives few signs of it.

I stroke his hair back, drops of my blood and tears hitting his armor.

“This is not how we end,” I whisper. “We are eternal.”

Something dark and resolute moves through me.

We are eternal.

If we cannot have this life, then we shall have another.

Eislyn isn’t the only one capable of using extraordinary measures.

I am as well.

And whatever spell she’s placed on Memnon, I can make one stronger. It might not break the enchantment he’s under, but it can usurp it.

Some final fire stirs in me, rousing me.

I can do this, for him, for us.

I must.

I just need a little help.

My grip on the sarcophagus tightens as I draw my magic together. There’s precious little power left in me and nothing my body wants to give up. But there are other sources of magic—in the air and, more notably, in the ground. The earth is already feasting on the trail of blood I’ve left. I can sense the magic beneath me clamoring for it. Hungry.

There are things that rule that magic, things that have whispered to me every so often. They might be willing to help me cast a spell of the magnitude I need…but they always exact a price.

I bow my head over the sarcophagus and draw the words out. “I call on any god who will answer: Memnon the Indomitable shall sleep the sleep of immortals. And he shall awake only by my hand. I bind my soul to this vow. Even in death, I shall be beholden to it. Take what you must to make it so.”

For several moments, all I hear is the soft, reverent hiss of the torches. Just when I’m nearly sure the spell didn’t work, a low moan starts up in the distance, rattling the torches in their sconces. It builds into a howling wind that tears through the room, blowing my hair back. As it moves through me, I feel it pull away bits of my essence. The blood on my skin vanishes, as do the tears on my cheeks. Something dark and hungry slips inside me through my wounds, and I gasp at the insidious intrusion.

Once this essence is in me, it begins to spread. I choke on my own breath, my hand going to my abdomen. Whatever god answered my plea, it’s named its price. I can feel it feasting on what’s left of my life.

The unearthly wind circles the room several times, then sweeps out, gone just as quickly as it came. The pain eating me from the inside out, however, is still there.

I stagger, struggling to catch my breath. I lean against the sarcophagus, my eyes drawn back to Memnon.

Always Memnon.

Beautiful, monstrous Memnon.

I touch his cheek, my fingers slipping a little. “We will get another life. A better one,” I promise.

I lean into the sarcophagus, ignoring the way my body screams in protest, and press a kiss to his lips. They’re still warm.

I pull away, my mouth lingering right above his. “I will find you again, my king. I am eternally yours.”

I can feel hot tears slipping from my eyes as I straighten. All I want is to crawl inside that coffin and spend my last few moments with him. It would be a good place to die.

Unfortunately, if I mean to see this through, I can’t do that.

I lift a trembling hand, my breath ragged as I force my reluctant magic to lift the coffin lid into the air. I shift it over the sarcophagus and gently lay it down.

Another tear drips, and I can feel my lower lip quivering with sadness and exhaustion. My tired eyes rest on the inscription carved into the top.

For the love of your gods, beware of me.

Memnon the Cursed

It’s a terrible epitaph to leave him with—not that it’s inaccurate—but it will scare off almost anyone who can read it. But in case it won’t, I will need to ward it.

Just the thought of doing so is daunting. I splay my hand over the lid, preparing to wrangle more magic. Yet when I call it forth, my power surges forward, stronger than ever.

A gift from the unnamed god.

I bite my lip to keep from crying out my relief. Though my mind is addled with pain and encroaching death, the ward I cast is strong; the many threads of it have a smooth sheen. As soon as I finish it, another forms and another, until my focus becomes the room at large. This too requires a ward.

I move around the coffin, though my legs don’t feel as though they’ll keep me upright. That noxious presence is spreading, withering me away from the inside out.

Something presses against my legs, and when I glance down, I realize it’s Ferox. At some point, my familiar dragged himself off the ground and ventured into this cursed tomb to find me. He leans against me now, his eyes large, concerned.

I place a hand on his head. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper brokenly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

He pushes his nose into my palm, nudging it, as though demanding reassurance. I run a hand down his black fur.

“I release you, Ferox,” I say. “You shall not be bound by my curse,” I say, invoking my magic and weaving it into my words. “With my death, our bond shall sever, and you shall be free.”

He hisses at me then, as though I have committed some great and terrible act.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, my throat tightening. “You were always too good for me.”

He growls, like even my apology displeases him.

I stagger over to a wall and lean heavily against it.

More spells seep from my palms, coating the room in pale looping threads like some shoddily woven garment.

I heave from the effort, my bones aching, brittle. So tired.

Cannot give up now. Not when the biggest spell is yet to come. It’s a race against this thing inside me. Gods may occasionally be benevolent, but they are almost never merciful. Particularly not the bloodthirsty ones. I doubt this god will extend my life longer than they see fit.

I struggle up the stairs, and though Ferox is obviously still mad at me, he presses his body against mine to prevent me from falling.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice weakening.

The two of us make our way out, the overcast sky so much brighter than the dim room we were in. Once we’re outside, I turn around and lift my arm, my tears coming faster. Leaving Memnon in there feels like a betrayal all on its own, like another knife sunk into my flesh.

I straighten my spine, drawing on my will.

“Seal the opening.” The stone covering slides over the…tomb’s entrance, then with a thud sinks into place.

Ferox makes a low, baleful noise, scratching at the stone like he can unearth it. I have to stifle another sob, drowning in sorrow.

My heart seems to skip a beat, then stall. After a terrifying few moments, it begins to thump again.

I have precious little time left to commit one final spell. A curse that will eclipse Eislyn’s magic with my own.

If my desperate plan is to truly work, it is not enough for Memnon to outlive the enchantment. Eislyn must forget her fevered fixation so she might never come back for him. And those who could remind the fairy of Memnon’s existence, their memories must too be expunged.

I think of the soldiers pouring into the palace and the many cities Memnon has violently conquered. There are thousands who would want to kill my slumbering husband if they ever learned the truth. One whispered word into the wrong ears—it wouldn’t even have to be Eislyn. Other supernaturals could access the ley lines and end the king while he lies vulnerable.

Everyone must forget my sorcerer, so that none may come searching.

Only I shall have that power.

That insidious dark force closes in on the last of me, and my heart seizes again.

One…two…three…

Sluggishly, it resumes beating.

I take a shuddering breath and gather together all that I can of the power at my disposal.

“With all that is left in me, I demand this world and everyone in it forget Uvagukis Memnon. Every last person who carries a memory of him shall lose them, beginning with Eislyn.”

I give the last of myself up to the curse.

Pure, raw power bursts from me, sweeping out across the jungle until I can no longer see it. I sense when the first mind has been struck. It must be Eislyn’s. I take a perverse amount of pleasure knowing I’m peeling away her memories.

She’s the first, but it’s only the beginning of the curse.

Across the world, a thousand upon a thousand people carried some memory or awareness of Memnon. One by one, my magic devours every last memory of him. Memnon the Indomitable simply becomes some vague, cruel commander of legions who came and went.

In my mind’s eye, I can see the petroglyphs bearing his name chip away until the recordings vanish. The ink on papyri rearranges itself to remove Memnon; where his presence is too frequent, the papyri simply burn up.

Across every land he conquered, his name disappears, cast from the record.

I take the memory of Memnon from everything and everyone. I scream as my magic and that foreign essence consume me. The years of my life fall away like a fever dream as the magic leaving me thins out to just a wisp.

My heart stutters as that last thread of magic darkens, then doubles back on itself, moving back toward me.

Must hold on until the curse is finished. For this to work, no one can remember him.

No one…

Not even me.

My magic strikes then, sinking into my flesh and closing in on my memories. With a final, choked cry, my heart stops, and the last mind is wiped.

OceanofPDF.com