A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 2

  “ ‘I’ve decided to give you fair warning: I am preparing an onslaught to bring your Order to its knees. I will show you horror, my dear Imperator. I will give you the very taste of fear. And you know that I am a man of my word.’ ”

  I scoffed at that; R’hlem was hardly a man.

  Whitechurch continued, “ ‘There is one measure that you may take to spare yourself, your queen, and your loyal sorcerers from this coming apocalypse. Give me what I ask, and I shall perhaps not crush you beneath my boot. Be assured that if you refuse me, nothing can prevent your destruction.’ ”

  Without thinking, I rested my hand on top of Blackwood’s. He slipped his fingers through mine for an instant.

  Whitechurch glanced out at the room. “ ‘I asked my servant to leave behind my demand.’ ”

  With that, Whitechurch spun his stave and swept up the water from the elemental pit into a ball. He flattened it out into a thin, shimmering square and touched his stave to it. The surface rippled, and an image appeared. Agrippa had shown us this once—a way of looking into other locations, like a scrying mirror.

  Again, I wished Agrippa were here now.

  The image settled upon the queen’s room. I could see the foot of her canopied bed. A great splattering of blood covered the floor and sprayed up onto the pale walls, still fresh enough to be dripping. I imagined a shadowy demon slicing the poor footman’s throat, the servant’s life bleeding away. Monster.

  Whitechurch expanded the image. Above the mess, the Familiar had used the gore to write a few crude words:

  Give me Henrietta Howel

  When I was a very little girl, my aunt Agnes took me to the seaside. I raced through the waves, my head filled with the pounding surf. It was like that now as I looked on the horrible words. Were people talking? Arguing? Shouting? I’d no idea. All I heard was the pulse of blood in my ears.

  Why? Why did he want me?

  Several months ago, R’hlem had wished to take me for one of his personal Familiars, to “train me for great power.” But he couldn’t want that now, not when I’d destroyed Korozoth. His intentions had to be grisly. Had to be punishment.

  I found my feet. As I rose, the hubbub around me died.

  “Did he say why?” My voice sounded surprisingly clear, considering I was about to burst into flame. Sparks trailed from my fingertips; embers glinted at the bottom of my sleeves. I could feel Dee and Blackwood inch away.

  The Imperator shook his head. “He did not.”

  “We won’t do it!” Dee shouted, standing beside me. To my shock, many sorcerers surged to their feet in agreement, applauding Dee.

  “We don’t negotiate with demons!” someone cried.

  “Perhaps R’hlem knows,” one lone voice called out. The cheering quieted as a sorcerer stood. He was a short young man with hooded blue eyes and an imperious sort of air.

  “Wonderful, it’s Valens,” I muttered.

  Of course it would be him. Valens was the captain of my squadron. All newly commended sorcerers were formed into squadrons to be overseen and trained for battle, unless they went to the navy or the Speakers’ priory. Valens had never made any secret about disliking me. Not only was I a liar, a magician, and not the chosen one, but I’d been involved in Master Palehook’s death. Though Valens had joined the Order in speaking out against the horrible things Palehook had done to keep our ward up—killing innocent people and draining their souls didn’t sit well with sorcerers—he’d still been one of Palehook’s old Incumbents. He probably felt a deep loyalty to his Master, the way I felt for Agrippa. While I could understand that, Valens thought the Imperator showed favoritism by not punishing me.

  So he’d decided he’d punish me for the Imperator. Whenever we ran drills at the barracks yard, he searched for any flaw of mine. Was I even slightly out of step when forming a waterspout? Do it fifteen more times. He would force everyone to join in another set if I made even one mistake, which made me very unpopular.

  It didn’t surprise me at all that he was speaking out now.

  Valens stared me down from across the room. “Perhaps he knows that Howel is not truly one of us.”

  “I was commended, the same as you,” I said. Perhaps it wasn’t ladylike, but I refused to let him run roughshod over me. “I can use a stave, just the same as you. And unlike you, I helped to destroy Korozoth.”

  “Yes, that again.” Valens sighed. That again, like I’d insisted on showing everyone my embroidery for the eighth time. “We never fail to hear of that particular exploit. But it’s been months since your commendation, Howel. What have you done since?”

  I’ve stopped myself from blasting you in the face with a fireball.

  “Everyone, be seated,” Whitechurch boomed. I sat, and Blackwood nudged me with his elbow. To support or to chastise me, I couldn’t tell. “It shocks me that any of our members would attempt to sow discord at a time like this.” He stared at both Valens and me, respectively.

  The two of us kept silent, though Valens threw angry glances at me across the room. Glances that I returned, happily. Bother being demure.

  “Where were the queen’s guards?” Blackwood asked, frowning. “Our soldiers know better than to leave a room unattended, and Mab’s court was supposed to help guard Her Majesty’s chambers.”

  Indeed. The dark Fae had agreed to send more arms and soldiers now that the ward had fallen. They’d also set up an enchanted ring around the city, adding to the sorcerers’ barrier. The faerie knights and our own sorcerer elite should have been at the chamber door.

  Whitechurch sighed. “There seems to have been an error with the changing of the guard.” If the naturally unorganized Fae were helping to run things, that didn’t surprise me. “I wished to share this news before proceeding with the meeting. We must discuss strengthening the barriers. Now, our warders—”

  It was my first meeting, and I should have been paying attention. I should have hung on the Imperator’s every word, riveted. But all I could think of was R’hlem ordering his creature to write those words in some poor servant’s blood. That person had died for a stupid message targeted at me. My temples throbbed; my fault. It had been my fault.

  What would R’hlem do if he got me? Tear me apart piece by piece? That was one of the kinder things he could do.

  When the meeting was over, I rose with Blackwood and Dee. We started to file down the steps, but Whitechurch called, “Howel. Blackwood. Meet me in my chambers.” With that, he turned and walked through a small door directly behind his throne.

  “Best of luck,” Dee murmured. Gritting my teeth, I marched down the stairs, Blackwood behind me.

  I’d expected the Imperator’s rooms to look as grand and austere as the obsidian palace outside. I’d imagined a stone chamber with Grecian pillars and scowling busts of Homer. Instead, Whitechurch’s private office was rather homey. The Turkish rug was worn and threadbare, with bright reds and yellows that had faded over time. Two green-striped and overstuffed chairs slouched before the fire, their cushions frayed at the edges. A brown-spotted porcelain bulldog sat on a table, and Whitechurch absently touched its head as he took a seat.

  “So,” he said to me, as if starting a normal conversation. “How do you feel?”

  I didn’t expect the lord of all the magic in England to care about my feelings.

  “Guilty.” I cast my eyes to the carpet, noticing some crumbs sprinkled near the Imperator’s chair. “I don’t understand what he wants.”

  “You wounded R’hlem’s pride as well as his army when you killed Korozoth,” Whitechurch said. “He wants to punish you and hurt us.”

  “Should I go to him?” All I could picture was that poor servant, dead on the floor. “Perhaps he won’t hurt me. Perhaps we could set up some sort of operation where I spy on him, or he…” My voice trailed away. My breath wasn’t coming right; perhaps my corset was too tightly strung. I pressed my hands to my stomach, and when my hands trembled, I forced them to stop.

  “Agrippa tol
d me about this quality of yours,” Whitechurch said. His gravelly voice gentled a bit. “You couldn’t bear to feel useless, he said. I saw his pride even before you…mastered your abilities.”

  Whitechurch knew I’d lied to him about my magician birth. When the queen had first commended me, it was no secret that he disliked me. At first, he’d been cold whenever we met or spoke. But it had changed these past few weeks, as I kept pace with my squadron—despite Valens’s best efforts—and patrolled the barrier with the others.

  “I don’t want anyone else to suffer on my behalf,” I mumbled. I was not going to cry.

  “Which is why you must not think of going to him.” Whitechurch cracked his knuckles. “He believes you are our greatest asset. He probably wants to show the public that we are so weak we could not protect the person we’ve raised up as our salvation.”

  That was smart. As far as the people of England knew, the sorcerers had found their prophesied one. When we walked through the rubble-filled streets of the city or in the shantytowns near the barrier, I could see how people’s faces brightened when I passed. Sometimes little girls would run up with a gift of a flower or a bit of ribbon. While it made me happy to see them so happy, that nagging guilt would return at once. I was not their savior, but I pretended to be. And now that I had R’hlem’s attention, I put every person around me in greater danger, danger that I couldn’t bloody protect them from.

  I had to shut my eyes tight and will myself back under control.

  “What should we do?” Blackwood asked.

  “We must keep our chosen one safe,” Whitechurch said. There was no mockery in his voice. “Blackwood, as you are Howel’s guardian, we should discuss.”

  I bristled at that. Blackwood was my age, and not that much more skilled at magic than I. But he had to assume “responsibility” for me, since I was an unmarried girl running around wild.

  “Heavens, imagine what a lost lamb I would be without a strong young man guiding me,” I muttered.

  “I always pictured you as more of a kid goat,” Blackwood said. “Always butting heads.” Despite everything going on, I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Enough.” Whitechurch picked up an amber glass of whiskey from beside his bulldog and sipped. “Besides Howel’s security, fortifying our defenses is our first priority now that R’hlem has breached the barrier.”

  Defenses again. We’d come out from under a ward after more than a decade of hiding, and now Whitechurch wanted to go right back under it. Meanwhile, the war raged outside London. R’hlem savaged the land, and his army of Familiars grew. I thought of Brimthorn, my old school, lying open to attack. I imagined little bodies in simple gray dress laid out on the grass, unnaturally still while the school behind them burned.

  No. I had to shake those images, or I wouldn’t get anything done.

  “We shouldn’t talk about defense, sir,” I said. “We can’t afford to wait for R’hlem to make good on his promise to destroy us.”

  “What exactly are you proposing, Howel?” Whitechurch asked.

  I hadn’t even considered the words until they were flying from my mouth. But as soon as I spoke them, I knew they were right.

  “We must destroy R’hlem before he can come after us,” I said.

  The room was quiet. I slid into the chair opposite Whitechurch as neatly as I could. His white eyebrows had shot up into his hairline.

  “Of course we should destroy R’hlem,” Blackwood said slowly, as if tasting the words. “How else are we to win this war?”

  “Forgive me. I meant that I should do it,” I said. This time, both of them gaped as if I’d sprouted a second head. “There might be something, er, outside our sorcerer magic that could help.” I folded my hands in my lap. When in doubt, appear very prim.

  “What resources do you have?” Whitechurch asked. His expression went stony. “The magicians.” He did not sound pleased.

  “There could be books,” I said, trying to speak lightly. “Books never hurt anyone.”

  “You are no longer a magician, Howel.” That calmness was a sure sign danger lurked ahead. “You swore to it at Her Majesty’s commendation.”

  I had to be careful now. “Her Majesty told me that I could use what I needed from my past in order to help.” I watched how each word landed. Whitechurch didn’t hurl me across the room, which I took as a good sign. “Magicians have a strange ability, don’t they? Perhaps there is something in their teachings?” I kept saying they and their. Hopefully, distancing myself would keep Whitechurch on my side.

  “We don’t know much about R’hlem,” Blackwood admitted, coming to stand behind my chair.

  “You agree with Howel?” Whitechurch’s disapproving gaze made me feel like we were children being scolded.

  “We’re running out of time,” Blackwood said. “Howel has a point.”

  I didn’t love the idea of having Blackwood as my guardian, but as my ally he was doing quite well.

  “I know that you want to help,” Whitechurch finally said to me. He was using that smooth tone of his again, which meant the answer was no. “But you must do your part and nothing more. Train with Valens, and fight when we need you.”

  “We should make certain Valens doesn’t hand me over himself,” I grumbled.

  “He knows what he may do,” Whitechurch said, standing. “And so do you, Howel.”

  I didn’t argue. He was the Imperator, after all. I would train, and I would fight. But no one could stop what I read in my spare time. And if I happened to find something useful? Well, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.

  Making trouble was becoming a regular habit, it seemed.

  As a servant took my gloves, I had to marvel at how in charge I felt in Blackwood’s house. At Agrippa’s, I’d been his ward and Incumbent, and while he’d been a generous host, I’d always known who was master. But here, Blackwood and Eliza and I were given supreme authority.

  Lady Blackwood, their mother, was a reclusive woman who lived upstairs in her suite of rooms; I’d never actually met her. The door to her chambers was permanently closed, the scent of camphor and dried rose petals faintly emanating from it when I walked past. Though I was technically here as her ward—it would have been unseemly otherwise—we lived as though she did not exist. If I wanted a fire lit in any particular room, I gave the order; no need to check with Blackwood. If I wanted to go out, I could. Blackwood mightn’t approve, but I didn’t need his permission. Freedom was as intoxicating as strong drink, and I sometimes felt that the Blackwood siblings and I were playing an elaborate game of house.

  As soon as we entered, Blackwood went to go find his sister. I gave the footman my gloves, bonnet, and robe, and then a smile. He accepted the first three and bowed swiftly to the last before leaving. The house ran like clockwork, organized but impersonal.

  “You’d a rather busy night, I take it.” Rook stepped out of a shadowy doorway and into the light, his brilliant yellow hair glowing like the sun in the dark Blackwood house.

  “Too busy, really.” I sighed.

  Rook came to me, his eyes shining with ease. I felt myself relax. Despite everything that had happened tonight, the moment I saw him I felt as though I’d truly come home. He was warmth to me, and safety.

  He also had one hand behind his back, his mouth quirked in a smile. “What do you suppose I’ve got here?”

  “Twenty gold doubloons? The elixir of life?” I sighed again. “Really, don’t I have enough of those already?”

  Rook tossed me a shiny red apple. Good lord, this might have been even more valuable. I marveled at the fruit’s glossy shine. Apples were more precious than gold these days.

  “Working in a stable will give you the most fantastic riches.” Crossing his arms, he nodded. “Go on, then. Take a bite.”

  “No, not yet. I want to savor it a little.” I brought it to my lips and inhaled, enjoying the heavenly scent. “Few things are sweeter than anticipation.”

  As soon as I’d said it, I felt m
y cheeks warm. These past months, since Rook had survived Korozoth’s attack, I’d kept hoping we would…well, that we would become closer than before. I thought he wanted to—I knew I wanted to—but the moment hadn’t arrived. At this point, I was afraid one or both of us had lost our nerve completely.

  Rook closed the distance between us. My breath lodged in my throat.

  “When we were little and got that bowl of pudding at Christmas, I’d gobble it down and you’d make every bite last.” His smile was easy. “You don’t change, Net—Henrietta.”

  I loved hearing him say my full and proper name. Rolling the apple between my palms, I murmured, “Maybe I’ll share it with Lilly. I know she loves apples, too.” Then I felt myself flush even more. But Rook only laughed.

  “That’s a good idea.” He took one of my hands. “Are you worried about the Skinless Man?” He grew serious in an instant.

  “How did you know?” I asked with a start.

  “Lady Eliza had a letter from one of her friends. She told me what that monster did.” His voice held a low current of anger. He sounded as if he might simply go out there and challenge R’hlem himself. I looked down at our joined hands. His sleeves were buttoned, hiding the circular scars that still dotted his left arm.

  “Well, I’ve some work to do regarding our skinless friend.”

  “Then I’ll let you work.” He pressed his lips politely to my hand. God, I wanted him to be not quite so polite. “Eat your apple.” With a wink, he vanished down the hall. My body screamed to follow him, while my brain reminded me that was a frightening, uncertain prospect, and I needed to start my work anyway.

  Blast. To business, then.

  I went up the stairs to my room and dragged Mickelmas’s trunk out from under my bed. To the untrained eye, it looked like a perfectly serviceable wooden box with a rounded lid. A bit splintered and battered, perhaps, but good for storing linens. As with all things, though, appearances could be deceiving.