Chapter Fifty-One
Samara
Thrall Raphael.
“Demos will need to be compelled too,” Thea pointed out.
There was something about her that was different.
I’d never seen Thea truly panic. Even now, she kept an even face, the same way she never flinched no matter what way the bones went in Round Toss.
But I could hear the beatbeatbeat of her heart, the same way I could see her eyes darted from the door to my bedroom.
“And if I don’t agree?” Demos directed this at me.
I’d been such a stickler for consent with the donors when practicing. Julian had been a different matter—he would have killed me in the moment.
“You’ll agree. You won’t try to resist. That’s an order from your king, Iademos,” Raphael warned.
“Fine,” he bit off. “Do it. If Thea’s right, we have only minutes.”
“If.” Thea huffed, sounding like herself for a moment before she grabbed me, making me face her.
“You need to tell each of them to forget every moment involved with you being the necromancer, or any moment that might have led to that conclusion. Compel them to forget the last half hour once we’re gone from this room, and not to look for us until I send word. ”
She didn’t release me until I nodded. She then turned from the sitting room back toward the sleeping area. I fingered the chain at my neck, nervous. I hadn’t taken it off since I’d slipped it on two nights ago. After years of not wearing it, it was now becoming almost a nervous habit.
“Me first,” Demos said. I knew how little he trusted me now, so this wasn’t for me, but to give his king the chance to reconsider. Fine. The general stood at attention, hair pulled back. Thea may have roused him from sleep, but he was in uniform.
I’d realized when I used my necromancy on Julian that it wasn’t exactly the same as the vampire thrall.
As a vampire, I had to focus, to slowly meld my intent with the person’s.
As a necromancer, my magic was more abrupt.
Like it was kept chained inside me and eager to be unleashed.
Now, I knew what it felt like to consciously use it.
As bleak as the circumstances were, it felt good.
“Iademos, you’re going to erase anything related to me being the necromancer in your memories.
You won’t be convinced of my true identity while gone, either.
Once Thea and I leave, you’ll forget the last half hour in this room, and you won’t look for us until you get word to. ” I prayed it would be soon.
Demos’s eyes grew slightly dazed as I spoke. I didn’t need to ask if the magic had taken hold. This time, I could feel it.
Now, I had to do Raphael.
His eyes were on me, and for once I saw him not as a confident king but a scared man. A tendril of the open bond slipped out—the one we’d both loosened our grip on. Icy fear drenched my spine, but it wasn’t fear for himself. No, this cold dread was all for me.
He held out his hands. I slipped my palms in his, savoring the contact. When would I get to touch him like this again?
It wasn’t just touch. If he’d known I was the necromancer for so long, what kind of ripple effect would this erasure have on every one of our interactions? It might well wipe out most of the last two days, but he’d known for so long.
And if something went wrong—what if he never got these memories back? What if I couldn’t restore them?
I looked at our hands together, eyes catching on the rune I’d had inked into my skin. Survivor. I was a survivor, and I would do everything in my power to make sure this man survived too.
“You’re going to forget me.” Maybe not all of me, but so much of what was between us.
I didn’t want to be forgotten. Not when I’d given Raphael more of myself than I ever had to someone in the past. I had to thrall him, but my voice died in my throat.
I didn’t want this. I wanted him to know every part of me and love me, and even magic, which I’d thought so powerful, couldn’t give me that. “I…”
“You have to do it now, viper.” His voice was a soft warning. The nickname a reminder to be ruthless when it came to survival.
He’d be killed if I didn’t. That meant I couldn’t be selfish with my feelings.
How nice it had been to have his acceptance, his affection, of every part of me. I should’ve known it was a gift I didn’t get to keep. Once, I’d almost made peace with being forgotten by everyone who had known me. Once, I’d been content with nothing but survival.
But I’d had more, and giving it up felt like carving my undead heart from my chest.
“Raphael.” I breathed his name, feeling my magic wrap around us.
He made no attempt to resist. He was trusting me to do this.
“For your own protection and mine, you’re going to forget everything about me being the necromancer.
” He’d known for so long. The words left my mouth in a tremble.
What would be left of last night, when we’d shared our feelings?
What about every time before, how it had shaped our interactions without me knowing?
Would the magic carve out entire memories?
“When Thea and I go, you’ll forget the last half hour in this room, too, so you can be safe when questioned.
You won’t figure out what’s happened, either.
” He was clever enough that he might realize his memories were tampered with by the only witch with that power, which would ruin his ability to evade questions from the monarchs.
“You won’t look for us, or have anyone else look for us, until we send word. You’ll trust we’re safe.”
A slightly confused look came over his eyes, as if his mind was working to catch up. I readied to turn away, but he caught my face in his hands and crushed his lips against mine in a startling, passionate kiss.
“I love you, Samara Koisemi. And I will not forget that.”
We pulled away, and before I could catch my breath, Thea flew into the room, skirts flaring behind her. “We have to go, now.”
She tossed a cloak my way, which Raphael fastened around me, raising the hood. Right—still daylight. That would help block the burning.
“How do we get out?” I asked.
“Through here.” She dragged me to the window. I couldn’t help but look back at Raphael.
“Be safe,” I pleaded. Don’t forget too much of me.
“Soon,” he vowed.
Thea tugged at me more impatiently. In her other hand was a deck, which she thumbed through expectantly. But I recognized the cards—they were the ones I’d pilfered from Ferro and left in the drawer of the bedside table. How had she even known they were there? Her magic?
She reached the transport card and slipped it between two fingers, not letting go of my wrist.
“Hold tight,” she ordered.
“Thea, wait! We don’t know where that card is keyed to—”
She activated the card, and any further words were lost as the wind of the transport card swirled around us.
Frantic, I looked back at Raphael, but the magic had already engulfed us, pulling us out the window and with that, from their minds.
My stomach lurched. I hadn’t taken a transport card since I was a child, and never over hundreds of miles.
I couldn’t see beneath the swirl. Magic like this operated almost between dimensions, pulling us into the darkness.
The ground beneath disappeared, nothing around us but the swirl of magic.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t find words, couldn’t think.
When the magic finally spat us out, it was on lush, patterned carpet.
I fell on my knees, Thea a few feet away, but all I could do was stare at the carpet pattern. My throat burned with ash.
No, no, no…
“You’ve brought the girl.” A hint of surprise colored the imperious voice.
I could barely hear it over the ringing in my ears.
My fingers shook in front of me as I tried to find some way to center myself.
There was no scent of cedar. Any breath I took to balance myself came out too shallow, too fast.
Thea had recovered from our graceless landing. Now, she knelt with one knee raised, her forearm braced against it. A position of fealty I’d never seen her make toward Raphael.
“Yes, my king.”
No. Not Thea. Not my friend.
My friend who had brought me tea and biscuits and hugged me and put cosmetics on my face and taught me how to do it on my own. My friend I’d sparred with, laughed with, cried with.
My friend who I’d confided in about my magic.
My friend who had agreed neither of us should tell Raphael.
How could she do this? Nothing made sense. How had she known the card would lead here? I curled my fingers into the carpet, trying to quiet the pounding in my head. This was planned. Thea wasn’t surprised. Her voice didn’t wobble.
She was exactly where she intended to be.
“I’m impressed. I confess, after this winter, I had my doubts. You will be rewarded for your loyalty.” His voice was level, any surprise gone, and in its place, lethal boredom.
I finally lifted my gaze. First to the copper throne, polished so brightly it was nearly blinding.
Then to the man who reigned from it. He couldn’t be called old.
Old made one think of feeble, and King Vaughn the Storm-blooded was nothing less than a force of nature.
He’d allowed himself only the slightest bit of gray around his trimmed beard to show age, disguise magic no doubt hiding anything as undignified as wrinkles.
He looked down at me with contempt, lip curled back with distaste.
I swallowed sharply, a million questions and accusations on my tongue.
But what came out wasn’t a question or even a scream. It was, perhaps, the most damning accusation of all.
“Hello, Father.”
Thank you for reading A Magic So Deadly!