A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Read online

  “It’s like a homecoming.” Magnus put his sword down. “We should have got the other fellows involved. Maybe brought some cider as well.” He stretched his arms above his head, giving his back a satisfying crack.

  “There’s no time for games,” Blackwood said.

  “My favorite part of all this has been spending so much quality time with you, Blacky.” Evidently, a large part of these meetings would involve keeping them from killing each other.

  I handed out the papers and set the copies down on the bench. One could never have too many copies. I’d enjoyed making them, really. It took me back to my teaching days at Brimthorn. While I didn’t have many fond memories of the place, the excitement and relief I saw in the girls’ eyes when I helped them understand a particular equation or conjugate a certain verb in French had made me happy.

  “I’ve created a lesson.” I beamed.

  “Huzzah,” Magnus said dully.

  For a few moments, the boys were silent as they read. I could tell they were confused; I didn’t blame them. There were some terms I simply didn’t understand, and others I wasn’t entirely sure I could read. Strangewayes had bizarre names for his weapons, and no system for matching weapons with titles. I was fairly certain the whip was a cariz, the daggers martlets, but couldn’t be sure. I’d done my best, guessing and filling in the gaps as I went. For the most part, I thought I’d done a fine job.

  For the most part. The point of today was to have a go at each weapon. Even with spotty knowledge, we’d get nowhere without practice.

  “Let’s see this demonstration,” Valens said, picking a thread from his sleeve.

  Hopefully, this would be enough for a start. Dee and Blackwood began sorting out the weapons.

  “We’ve got two twisty swords,” Magnus said, checking the paper for the name. “Er, deckors.” And that was that. He put the sheet by the wayside and didn’t consult it again. “Then there’s the thing that looks like a scythe with teeth, a bone whistle, two normal-sized daggers, a tiny, tiny dagger.” Magnus picked that one up, frowning at it. It was about as long as my palm, blade and hilt and all. “There’re also the three flutes, a whip, and some kind of lantern.” He picked up the last one, then put it down just as quickly. There was something about that particular object that both intrigued and repulsed people.

  I looked back at my paper. “Strangewayes didn’t write about how to use most of them, but he did say that the lantern was ideal for ‘beaconing’ a creature.”

  Magnus took the whip from Dee. When he cracked it, a flash of violet light exploded in our faces. My eyes stung for several seconds before I could see properly again. Blackwood held out one of the swords, his knees relaxed, his arms out straight. He tried swinging it, but the weapon twisted in his hands and fell to the ground, making that sick-dog noise when it struck. My eardrums rattled at the very sound. Valens’s pen scratched as Dee picked up one of the flutes. It really was the oddest-looking contraption: slender, with finger holes along the length and a cruel-looking mouthpiece that resembled a large metal thorn.

  “What’s this do?” Dee asked. I looked at the sheet I’d prepared. Strangewayes had said very little in the way of how to use it, only that the right tune would drive a beast away.

  “We need a melody.” I frowned. “Give it a try.”

  Dee shrugged, put his lips to the thing after wiping it down with a cloth, and blew.

  A moment later, when my ears had finally stopped ringing and my head felt as though it was no longer going to explode, I got up off the ground. The damned sunlight pierced my skull like a knife. Blackwood was on his knees, his hands gripping the back of his head. Poor Dee, tears in his eyes, kicked at the flute where it lay on the ground.

  “You stupid bastard!” Dee yelled.

  “Don’t touch it! It could make the noise again,” Magnus yelled, tackling him. The flute’s “music” had sounded like the demonic screams of a million cats burning in a furnace, but worse.

  Valens had dropped his notebook and was working his jaw, testing his hearing. There were angry shouts from around the other side of the barracks as bootless men in their shirtsleeves came rushing around the corner to gape at us. One fellow sported half a face of shaving cream.

  “No more of the flute today,” Valens ordered, his voice cracking.

  Blackwood grabbed the moldering sheath that the flute had come in, and gingerly slid the instrument back inside.

  “Does anyone want to try the daggers? I mean, martlets?” I asked, determined to use the vocabulary. Weaving as though drunk, Magnus picked one up. I took another.

  “Do you know how to handle it?” he asked.

  “It can’t be too different from a warded blade,” I said, though not with much confidence. Strangewayes’s book had detailed the two sides of the blade—upperside for a blunter edge, downwind for the bottom, extremely sharp edge—but hadn’t gone to the trouble of explaining how best to use the damned thing. It had to be like any normal dagger, yes?

  Probably not.

  “Gently,” Magnus said, reaching back. We parried, and the blades met.

  When the edges touched, a violent, invisible force shoved me back onto the ground, my skirt and petticoats flying about in a damned unladylike fashion. Magnus kept his feet better than I did. Swearing, he helped me up.

  “I don’t want to use the scythe,” Dee said, dropping the thing like it would bite him. I examined the little dagger; what the devil did one do with such an insignificant item? I turned my eyes to the lantern, still pulsing with light.

  Given our luck so far, I decided I’d rather not play with it.

  Sighing, I picked up the bone whistle. It was the only thing here, besides the lantern, not made of that strange orange-gold metal. Finger holes had been carved along the length of it, for playing tunes.

  Oh God, rather like the flute. Making a face, I put it to my lips.

  “Everyone prepare.” Blackwood put his hands over his ears. Valens’s pen stopped, and I blew.

  Absolutely nothing happened. I tried again, once and twice. Nothing. Not a sound.

  “Well. At least it’s completely useless as opposed to hatefully murderous,” Magnus grumbled.

  “Off to a good start, then?” Dee asked hopefully.

  Valens continued scribbling, wearing a satisfied smirk.

  By late afternoon, we’d exhausted the weaponry. Dee did attempt the scythe, as he was the only one of us big enough to properly wield it. He appeared to handle it well. However, the scythe made a muffled, sobbing sound as it slid through the air, rather like a crying child. The noise was so miserable that I begged him to stop and Blackwood had to leave the yard.

  “That was…fascinating,” Dee managed as the four of us made our way out of the barracks. He sounded like he was thanking me for a rainy garden party.

  “It was dreadful,” I said. No point trying to pretend, especially with how ill everyone was. My vision had blurred as we’d progressed through the day, and now there was a persistent ringing in my ears. I’d had to step behind the barracks at one point, press my forehead against the wall, and wait to see if I would vomit. Dee had thrown up, becoming sick inches from Valens’s shoes. Magnus’s nose had begun gushing blood for no reason. As for Blackwood, I’d never seen him more wild-haired or wild-eyed.

  Our bodies had to adjust to handling the weapons. We all sensed it, and it made me horribly uneasy.

  “We need something to lift our spirits.” Magnus clapped a hand on Dee’s shoulder. “Come to my mother’s for tea.”

  “Tea?” Dee sounded faint with longing. My stomach growled, rudely butting into the conversation. Still, stomachs had a way of talking good sense.

  “Would it be wrong to turn up uninvited?” Blackwood sounded as though he was looking for an excuse not to go. But tea.

  “Nonsense. I invited you.” Magnus extended his hand to help me into the carriage. Perhaps I should have gone back home to continue reading up on the weapons. But my stomach growled again, winni
ng the argument. And as Dee was practically drooling, it seemed impolite to say no.

  As the carriage came to a halt outside the house, my stomach knotted up. Meeting new people always unnerved me.

  “Are you sure your mother won’t mind?” I asked for the tenth time as Magnus helped me out of the carriage, Dee and Blackwood following behind.

  “There’s nothing she loves more than company.” He swung open a little iron gate and gestured us to follow him. Magnus’s mother lived in a small redbrick house, on a quiet but pleasant street. A gravel path cut across a bright square of lawn to the entrance. When Magnus knocked, a maid opened the door. Her hair was streaked with gray, and she squinted at us over a pair of spectacles.

  “Polly, my dear,” Magnus crowed. “How are you?”

  “Mister Julian! And guests! Come in, come in!” She waved us into the foyer, fluttering about so much that I feared she’d fall over. “I’ll summon the mistress,” she said, and hurried off up the stairs.

  I smiled as I untied my bonnet. “She’s very enthusiastic.”

  “Yes. Very,” Blackwood murmured in that disapproving tone. Of course, in his house the servants were expected to be emotionless, elegant, and efficient, the three Es of servitude. I gave him an exasperated look.

  “Polly loves my visits home.” Magnus threw his hat with admirable ease onto a peg by the door. And why shouldn’t he feel easy? He’d grown up in this house. His childhood memories were soaked into every corner of every room.

  I wished I knew what that was like.

  “This is delightful.” I looked about. Having lived in Agrippa’s and Blackwood’s homes, I now saw this place as less grand and more comfortable. The walls were papered blue with faded gold flowers, and peeling at the upper corners. Hardwood floors shone from enthusiastic waxing, even if they were a bit worn.

  Listen to me, critiquing a fine London home. Yes, I’ve changed quite a bit, I thought, irritated with myself.

  “Mother will be glad to hear you like it,” Magnus said.

  There were quick footsteps on the stairs, and a woman cried, “Julian!”

  A lady rushed down to meet us. She looked to be in her early forties and still quite attractive, her figure slim and her soft brown hair in curls. Her eyes were large and blue. I could read some of Magnus in her, the same pointed nose and the strong, squared jaw. Because of that jaw, most men would call her handsome rather than beautiful, but her smile had probably softened many hearts. She was lovely.

  She went to her son, and he kissed her hand. “My boy, home again.”

  Magnus laughed. “Well, I couldn’t resist Mrs. Whist’s cooking.” He turned her to meet us. “Mrs. Fanny Magnus.”

  She knew Blackwood and Dee on sight. She warmly gave Dee her hand and curtsied to Blackwood. “My lord, so good of you to visit,” she said, turning down her eyes respectfully.

  It seemed a bit odd that she should have to curtsy to a boy her son’s age, but Blackwood responded with a graceful bow. It wasn’t always easy to read his expressions, but it appeared he truly liked Fanny. That put her in rather an exclusive club.

  “And this is Miss Henrietta Howel.” Magnus winked at me.

  “Miss Howel. At last.” She was graciousness itself as she took my hand. I could see where Magnus got his ease with people.

  Polly trundled down the stairs to meet us again and went to Magnus to pat his cheek, as if he were still some small boy. Blackwood looked stunned, but for my part, I liked it.

  “Polly, you’re getting prettier every day,” Magnus said. “I hope my mother doesn’t work you too hard.”

  The maid squawked at the very idea and scuttled off.

  “You keep a nice home, ma’am,” I said.

  Fanny waved a handkerchief. “Polly’s such a dear. I can’t give her what she’s worth, but she won’t leave! Julian sends me what he can from his pay.” She smiled at her son. “Once I tried letting our cook go. I offered to help her find a better position, but she cried so bitterly that I had to let her stay!” She led us into the parlor.

  “It was always like this growing up,” Magnus told me. “A houseful of laughing women.”

  “It sounds wonderful.” I smiled.

  “It was.” He grinned at me.

  We sat down, and I could barely keep myself from gobbling everything at once. The cake was a delicate sponge, filled with cream and jam. The tea was piping hot. I’d been so engrossed in the training that I hadn’t even noticed how famished I’d become. I could have eaten twenty slices. Dee went back for third helpings, his ears turning red, but Fanny encouraged him. “Arthur, you know I like to see you boys with healthy appetites,” she said. Apparently, Dee was a regular visitor.

  Between Magnus and his mother, it was hard to get a word in, or to stop laughing. Fanny had a theatrical air similar to her son’s. She would widen her extraordinary eyes when she told stories, and the way she mimicked people’s voices was hysterical. There was one tale about losing her bonnet in the park that had me laughing so hard my stomach ached. As the others poured more tea, my eyes lit on a portrait on the back wall, of a striking elderly woman with perfectly set gray hair.

  “That’s my grand-mère, Marguerite. Grandfather met her over in France during the Revolution,” Magnus said, offering me sugar. “She was an actress—and a spy.” He seemed particularly proud of that detail. Fanny scoffed.

  “Grandmamma was not a spy,” she said, sipping her tea.

  He mouthed, Spy, then continued. “She’d no magic whatsoever. When she first arrived in London, she caused quite a stir.” He stared at the portrait with a kind of reverence I’d never seen in him before. “She was the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Indeed,” Fanny said with a contented smile. “She was the best mother-in-law one could wish for.” Magnus looked at his mother with fondness.

  I’d lived in Agrippa’s great house and in Blackwood’s palatial mansion, but this was a home.

  “I wish I’d known my grandparents,” I said.

  “Yes,” Fanny said, sympathy in her eyes. “The war has done terrible things to families. Of course, it’s always possible to expand your family. Isn’t it, Julian?” She looked pointedly at her son. For the first time, Magnus didn’t seem to know what to say. Blackwood immediately changed the topic to the weather.

  Afterward, Magnus, Blackwood, and I stepped into the garden for some air. Dee stayed inside, enjoying the music Fanny played at the pianoforte. The melody followed us into the yard. It was a small, walled-in stretch of grass, but there were also flowering shrubs, and a white-barked tree with a stone bench beneath it stood at the edge of the property. Blackwood moved toward the other side of the garden, looking over my sheet of instructions. I sat on the bench while Magnus made his way around the tree, trailing his fingers along the bark.

  “How’s Maria settling in?” He poked his head around to look at me. “Has she threatened Blackwood with an ax yet?”

  “Don’t be too hopeful. She’s been helping Rook with his…control.”

  Magnus nodded. “So he’s doing well, then?”

  “Yes.” I hated to lie, but it wasn’t exactly a lie. Just stretching the truth. I pretended there was a difference.

  “And your arm?” I asked. I’d been watching him all day. Movement at the elbow was stiff, and I’d heard him hiss in pain when making a particularly fast parry with a knife.

  “I’ll be fine. I always am, after all.” He had to force the lighthearted tone.

  “Can you continue with the weapons?” I fidgeted with the bone whistle, still dangling about my neck like some ghastly ornament. “I know today was difficult. Well, hellish, really.”

  “I’d rather train than rest, even if it hurts.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “I’m more worried about Mother and the servants than I am my blasted injury. Since the ward’s gone down, I’ve wanted to get them out of the city.”

  “Where would they go?”

  He shrugged. “That’s the problem. The only p
laces safer than London right now are Sorrow-Fell and the Dombrey Priory. And they’re both so far north, getting everyone there safely would take an army.”

  “Maybe they could use the Faerie roads?” I recalled what Mab had said about Whitechurch’s request. “If Mab would agree—”

  “I don’t want my mother anywhere near Mab.” His expression hardened, and he paced back behind the tree. Why on earth had I brought her up? I could be such a fool sometimes.

  “You never told me what she took from you,” I said. Magnus came back around and leaned his shoulder against the trunk.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?” He laughed bitterly. “I don’t remember. Though maybe it’s a blessing. Happy memories only serve to torment you later.” That didn’t sound like him at all.

  “Does your mother know the truth about…?” I couldn’t finish the sentence, but he understood. What Mab had done. Being bitten by a Familiar and nearly dying. Magnus shuddered.

  “No. She’d tell me she wants to know, but I can’t put those thoughts into her head.” He sighed and picked up a leaf that was turning bright red on the edges. “That’s a moment, isn’t it? When you start protecting your parents, not the other way around?” He let the leaf flutter to the ground. “Perhaps that’s the moment you become a man.”

  “Do you feel like one?”

  “Will I ever?” he asked. I knew what he meant. I’d been sure that commendation would bring all the answers, but I found myself still uncertain and scared. Perhaps Whitechurch and the older men went home at night with their stomachs in knots, too, questioning everything they did. What a terrifying thought.

  Blackwood came over. “We should be on our way. Eliza will wonder what’s happened,” he said. And Rook. I wanted to see him.

  I tied on my cloak in the foyer while Blackwood and Dee collected their coats and hats. Polly gaped while we gathered the swords and scythes from beside the hat rack. I wandered back toward the parlor, adjusting my bonnet, and heard Magnus speaking with his mother.

  “I told you, we don’t need more—” Fanny said, but Magnus interrupted.