54. Reznyk
Chapter 54
Reznyk
TOO LATE
T he dark comfort of sleep magic recedes, leaving me stranded on shoals of pain.
Every part of my body aches, from the bottom lip that Fyrris split with his fist to my ankles, where nightmare steel rubbed my skin raw. Hunger claws at the inside of my gut like a wild beast, and even the magic burns as it throws itself against the nightmare steel chains pinning me to the ground. I let my eyes close and try to find oblivion again.
But I find only flames. Did the forest really burn as I held the old god in my arms and sobbed into their silver blood, or am I remembering the fire that devoured Blackwater?
The faces of the dead rise to haunt me. My mother. Murus, my father, telling me he would raise me as his son just before I used the magic trapped in the silver chain to blow a hole through his chest. Lady Lenore with her hands bound and a gag around her mouth, yet another person who’s dead because of me. Because I thought I loved her.
Kira’s voice comes back to me, like a knife sliding between my ribs. I don’t think that’s love , she said when I told her I wanted to lay the world at Lenore’s feet. And then she showed me just how wrong I was by giving me something I never had with Lenore. Something that felt like home.
More than a lover, more than a friend. My mind tortures me with memories of her smile, her laugh, her body curled in my chair, the fire casting its soft light over her lips, one of the mugs I carved cupped between her palms. In my mind, it’s snowing in the Daggers, soft white flakes drifting past the twin windows of my cabin, blanketing the mountains in fallen clouds while Kira and I sit together by the fire, loving and being loved.
I can even hear her voice, a soft whisper threading through this new torture that’s more painful than any nightmare of flames and silver blood. She’s chanting. No, she’s muttering.
“Godsdamn it,” Kira’s voice whispers.
I frown. That’s an odd thing for a fantasy to say. There’s a sharp bite of pain in my wrist, and my eyes snap open. The darkness around me pulses, slowly resolving into shapes.
Someone is bending over my arm. There’s the soft click of metal against metal, then a low, grinding noise. Magic flares against my skin, hot as an ember, and then there’s a sharp snap.
“Fuck!” Kira growls.
Gods, she’s beautiful. Her hair is swept back, and she’s scowling at the chains holding me to the ground. For a heartbeat my body feels light, as if all the pain has vanished, and there’s a burst of clarity.
I’m dying.
This is what my mind called forth to comfort me before I leave this world for the Howling Plains. I stare at Kira as she frowns at my wrist, wanting to take it all in, to absorb every curve and shadow of this illusion. Metal clicks make a low tapping sound, followed by a slow grind. Pain shoots through my wrist again, sharper this time.
What the hells kind of vision is this?
There’s a click so loud it sounds like a crossbow bolt loosed from its track. Magic flares in the air in front of me, a blinding golden flash. Kira gasps. My arm throbs. My mind slowly reassesses the situation.
I’m not dying.
I bend my elbow, raise my hand, and flex my fingers above the bloody wrist Kira just freed from the nightmare steel cuffs. There’s a rustling sound, and a bolt of pain shoots through my leg as Kira leans over the manacles clamped around my ankles.
She’s here. This is no vision. Somehow, Kira is here, and she’s just opened the cuff on my wrist. I brace my arm against the stone and lift my head, a move that makes the room swim. There’s another soft click, then a grind, and a loud snap.
A vicious grin flashes across Kira’s face. She bends over my other ankle. Metal clicks and grinds. I stare. My breath makes clouds in the cold, heavy air as my mind struggles to acknowledge what my eyes are seeing.
Kira is not safe here.
I grunt as the third manacle falls, releasing another deep burn of pain and a flurry of golden sparks. There’s a twist to that magic I don’t like, something that sets off a great, tolling alarm bell buried deep inside my mind, but I can’t think of what it is.
Kira crawls across the stone to my chained wrist. She grabs the cuff. There’s a burn as nightmare steel rubs my raw skin, and then the deeper cut of magical energy searing my body as it flees the void of nightmare steel. Metal clicks against metal. I run my tongue over my lips.
“What—” I whisper.
Kira pauses. For the first time, she looks at me.
“What are you doing?” I say, in a sharp gasp.
She frowns, then looks down at the tiny metal pins in her hand.
“What the fuck does it look like?” she replies.
I open my mouth, then close it again. My throat feels like sandpaper. Kira turns back to my wrist. She mutters something under her breath that sounds like a string of curses. Pain sings through my arm, metal against blood, the low throb of magic and the sick, hungry tug of nightmare steel. I groan. The last manacle falls open. Another flash of magic bursts in the air, brighter and hotter than the first. It leaves spots dancing in my vision.
It means something, that burst of magic. Something I should recognize.
“Hey,” Kira whispers. “You have to do something about the door.”
I stare at her. I’m dizzy and I haven’t even moved. When was the last time I ate? Or drank?
“You—” I stammer. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Yeah?” Kira’s face folds like she’s about to cry. Then she shakes her head and glares at me. “Well, too bad. Get up. You have to do something about the wards on the door.”
Wards. Panic bursts inside my skull like fire exploding from the tip of a match.
That’s what I felt in the burst of magic when the manacles fell. It was the same feeling I got when the mirrors I used as anchors for my wards shattered.
“Wards,” I mutter dumbly, staring at the black chains curled by my side.
“Yeah. Wards,” Kira replies. Her hand clasps around my forearm. She tugs, like she’s trying to drag me upright. “Come on!”
I turn from the chains to Kira’s wide eyes.
“It’s too late,” I whisper.
The chains were warded. Hells, the wards probably broke the moment Kira touched them.
Now all the Towers know I’m free.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Kira snarls. “I didn’t come all this way to watch you die!”
Kira yanks on my arm. Somehow, I rock forward onto my knees. Magic rolls inside me, pulsing through my body in time with my blood.
“Come on,” Kira whispers. “Lenore’s waiting for you.”
I blink as the room twists around me. Why would Lenore be waiting for me? Lady Lenore is dead.
Kira grabs my hands and pulls. Magic burns inside my body. I stagger to my feet, and the floor lurches beneath me. My empty stomach rolls over itself.
Kira steps back. I stumble, then crash into her, pinning her against the wall. My forehead hits her shoulder as I collapse against her body, bracing myself on the rock behind her. She gasps. The soft heat of her breasts presses into my chest. For a moment, neither one of us moves. My cheek rests on her neck; her heartbeat flutters just beneath her skin. Her scent rises in the cold air between us, and something inside of me breaks.
She was supposed to be safe, damn it.
But she’s here, and what’s the point of any of it? What good is all the magic and power in all the worlds if I can’t protect the woman I love?
“You have to go,” I growl.
The words tumble out of my lips even as my mind howls their futility. Where could Kira go? Go to the front doors and sweet-talk her way out, at least until Fyrris realizes who must have set me free? Go through the gates and see how far she can run before the Towers catch her?
A door creaks open behind me. Kira gasps, and all the light and hope I’d managed to capture in this world bleed out of me.
It’s already too late.