Chapter 25
Marchant proddedher down a path toward a wooden building set away from the others and Viviane kept her body upright and moved faster so he wouldn’t touch her as often.
She had known this was coming.
He’d already told them he would have to work out where most of their magic was coming from, and she’d guessed that wasn’t going to happen in the prison cells.
He said he could see magic in people, but obviously not easily, or he would know just by looking at them.
But she’d been thinking of a way to fool him, and after he’d burst in, checking to see they were still in the cells, and then disappeared again, she’d begun to braid her hair.
Her actions had gone virtually unnoticed by the others as they spoke quietly about ways to escape.
She’d woven a spell into the braid that would hopefully hide her magic. Her mother had taught her how to braid protection into her hair before, but she had never tried to make her magic invisible. She had never considered anyone could see the magic in her.
She had learned from her mother how to weave or stitch invisibility into cloth. If she could make herself invisible, maybe she could do the same to her magic.
When she was done, she’d offered to braid Genevieve’s hair, and had done the same to her.
There was no braiding the boys’ hair. They wore their hair short, like her father.
He had set the trend amongst his soldiers, although he made no rules about how they should wear it.
Because of their close alliance with the Venyatux, who wore their hair in long, complex braids, man or woman, any style went in the Kassia and Cervantes military. But most, especially the new recruits, modeled their look on her father, who wore his hair short, so no one could get a handhold on it.
It was a pity, but there was nothing she could do and the boys were not as magical as she was. Or, she didn’t think so.
Even though she was being taken somewhere on her own, she enjoyed stretching her legs after days of being chained to a wall, but the gravel was rough on her bare feet, and she winced as Marchant gave her another little shove to hurry her along.
“In,” he said when they reached the door, and then gave her a little push over the threshold.
She stepped in and he locked the door behind them.
They were instantly plunged into darkness and she stopped dead.
Just before he’d closed them in, she’d caught a glimpse of a table, what she thought might be more chains on the wall, and some other equipment she hadn’t the time to identify.
She heard the scrape of a match, and light bloomed behind her.
The chains were very real. And it made her chest tighten so much, she could barely breathe.
Marchant skirted around her, still holding the chain he’d set around her wrists when he’d unlocked her from the shackles she shared with Gen, and when she saw he was not carrying a light, she realized he must have lit a small sconce on the wall by the door.
She stood still, trying to make out everything she could through the gloom, but the chain stretched out to its full length and he jerked her forward.
Her standing still jerked him a little, as well, and it must have hurt him, or caused him pain where he was injured.
He turned on her, face feral with rage. “Move.”
She moved, walking toward him, still gauging her surroundings, and when she got within reach of him, he slapped her. Hard.
She stopped again, astonished. Her cheek throbbed at the hit, and she knew her mouth had fallen open.
“You will listen, or you will be punished, understood?”
She gave a nod, fighting back the tears that stung her eyes.
He stared at her. “I had a feeling you were the main contributor to the glow that night I found you, but your individual light is weak, now I can see you again in the darkness. What can you do?”
“I can fight,” she said, trying to keep the relief that her braid spell had worked from her voice. “All Cervantes can.”
He started to shake his head, and then went still. “I have seen a glow from the Kassia and Cervantes soldiers, some stronger than others, but I always put that down to the shirts.”
The shirts.
Viviane tried not to look sick. Her mother’s shirts had been out in the world for more than fifteen years. Of course this creature had come across people wearing them.
“The shirts are a special gift for entering the army,” she said. “I hope to earn one, one day.”
“But some of the soldiers are Kassian, aren’t they? And others are Cervantes.” Marchant began to circle her, muttering to himself. “Maybe the stronger ones are just Cervantes in the shirt. A natural magical talent for fighting, added to the shirt’s protective magic. That’s why some glow brighter.” Suddenly he stopped, as if remembering something. “Your cloak.”
She had almost forgotten about her cloak. “Yes?”
“It was full of spell work. Protection of every kind.”
“My aunt gave me that coat for my birthday,” she said.
“And who is your aunt?” He looked disbelieving.
“She is Massi of North Grimwalt. The wife of Duncan, Keeper of the North.” She hoped this did not come back in a bad way to Aunt Massi. She knew her favorite of her parents’ friends would hug her and tell her, whoever was causing her to make up stories to protect herself should be worried nothing bad came back on them. And then she would notch an arrow in her bow.
“Massi of the North.” He stopped cold, staring at her in astonishment.
“My father and her are family,” Vivi said, and although they really weren’t blood siblings, they had forged a bond in the Chosen camps that made them brother and sister in all but blood. And they would probably say enough of their blood had spilled and mingled to make that part true, too.
“I wonder where she got it,” he said, walking over to a table covered by a tarpaulin. He drew it back, stepping away a little as if seeing something she could not.
Finally, in the weak light, she recognized that it was a pile made up of their clothing, that he’d stolen from them.
He stepped back to the table, sorted through the pile, and lifted up her cloak. “It’s a work of art.”
“I see you’re a thief,” she said. She couldn’t help it.
He stopped, turned and looked at her speculatively. “I am. A very good one. Of people and magical things.” He touched the shirt he was wearing beneath his coat. “I’m wearing a Kassia and Cervantes’ soldier’s shirt right now. I take them whenever I can.” He fingered the collar. “Not that it helped me the other day.”
He had been injured and the shirt hadn’t protected him.
“Spell work only lasts so long,” she said. “And those shirts are for soldiers in the army. Not the thieves who take them.”
He studied her for a beat. “Maybe. Spell work is tricky like that. That’s why I prefer to deal in people, not things. The magic inside them lasts for their lifetime.”
Having it said so starkly, knowing how well-oiled his system of feeding and confining his prisoners was, brought it home to her that this man had taken a lot of people in his time.
It was a horrifying thought.
Even in the dim light her face must have shown that horror, because he stared at her, watching her with a passive, almost curious expression.
“You find me revolting.” He said it matter-of-factly.
She didn’t even bother to answer.
He suddenly gripped her coat tightly to him, hugging it close. “At least this cloak makes the whole exercise not a complete loss. I will have to find some way to dump you and those soldiers, now that my usual method has been destroyed.”
Whatever had been destroyed she guessed was down to Uncle Theo. Had to be.
Vivi kept her face still, but she was doing a little dance inside.
“Of course, unless most of the glow I saw was from the cloak, one of your little friends might still be magical enough to be interesting to me. Let’s go.” He walked past her and opened the door, and she followed dutifully behind. Her cheek still throbbed from earlier.
Marchant gave a yank of the chain, and she stumbled a little to catch up, keeping her mouth closed in a thin, tight line.
She wanted her mother and her father. She wanted this to end.
If Theo had come after them, then logically Uncle Rafe had gone for help. Her parents would be racing to the rescue, with a full cohort in tow.
She knew that. She knew everything that could be done to find them was being done.
She just wanted it to be done now.