Chapter 22 #3
Nigel drew a careful breath. She would test the key.
Of course she would; she was going to want to know that she had gained access to Garden before she gave up her leverage.
And there was still the distinct possibility that she had no intention of giving him Luna at all.
His only advantage lay in the fact that no one here knew about his poisoning.
Every soul in that room trembled in their boots, aware of what the Grimshade Lord was capable of doing .
. . or would be capable of doing if he hadn’t breathed in a great lungful of severmist two nights previous.
Slowly, Nigel slipped the key from inside his sleeve, watching every nuanced move Calista made all the while. He could not let her test the key, not until Luna was at his side. But he could let her see it, surely. That would be the first test, and then—
Calista gasped.
Nigel, equally startled, shook his head and blinked. Then shook his head again and blinked harder, before staring at the table in front of him. At the space where, out of thin air, a polka-dot pot had suddenly appeared. Right there. Lit up by the thaumatic lantern’s glow.
Time condensed into a strange knot of confusion in his head. Nigel couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Couldn’t register what it was he saw.
Then he jolted in surprise, very nearly overtipping his chair.
Calista startled as well, leaping up and taking several steps back from the table.
All around her, sorcerers raised burning sigils, and the air suddenly stank of the Dire.
But Calista held up a warning hand. “Stand down!” she said, her voice echoing strangely.
Nigel’s gaze could not tear away from that pot. “Garden?” he whispered. The word was nearly soundless on his lips. “Garden, what are you . . . ?”
That’s when he realized.
Garden knew. It somehow saw and understood the message which had been left for Nigel on the shop floor.
It had realized what was being demanded in exchange for Luna’s life.
Garden knew. And it had uprooted itself and come here.
Intending to trade its life for Luna’s. Its semi-sentient mind wasn’t clever enough to think through all the implications, but its heart recognized that Luna was in danger.
And it loved Luna. It would do anything for Luna.
Because Nigel had poured so much of his own soul and essence into those enchanted grounds. It simply couldn’t help itself.
For Luna’s sake, it would give itself up to a pack of power-mad Dark Sorcerers.
“No!” Nigel breathed.
Calista’s gaze shot up sharply, piercing his. “What?” she demanded. “What is this?”
Heart pounding with far too many terrors, Nigel stared at that pot, feeling the simmering energy of the key hidden inside. The ensorceled key, his own working, rendered with exquisite care. He wanted to lunge forward, plunge his hand into the pot, take the key, and bolt, but . . .
He couldn’t.
Not without Luna.
He must get Luna to safety. That was all that mattered.
Even Garden understood. Luna must be safe, and then .
. . then he would do what he’d intended all along.
He would burn this whole place to the ground.
Garden would survive; its key might be here, but not Garden itself.
Yes, he must go through with the plan. He must bluff his way onward to the bitter end.
Lifting his head, Nigel looked Calista full in the face. “The key to Garden lies within,” he said. “You may look. But do not touch!”
Cautiously, Calista leaned over, peering into the pot. Then she nodded broadly enough for all the watching sorcerers to see. A few of the surging sigils faded slightly, and hands lowered.
“Now,” Nigel said, “send the girl over to me, and I’ll let you take the key. Otherwise, you put your hand in there and you lose it.”
Another bluff, but Calista looked convinced. She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking from the pot to Nigel and back again. “You fetch out the key,” she said, “and I’ll give you the girl.”
Nigel didn’t like letting her dictate even the smallest terms of how this moment would go. But the truth was, she held all the cards. Whether or not she knew it.
Slowly, Nigel reached his hand into the pot.
Across the room, he heard Luna whimpering what sounded like a sad little protest. Did she really think he would hesitate to give anything, anything at all, for her sake?
But he would not let himself look at her.
He kept his gaze focused on Calista even as he drew the key out of the pot’s depths and held it up for her inspection.
“All right, Miss Talbot,” he spoke loudly. “Come to me now.”
There was a moment of uncertainty. Then, at a nod from Calista, the cowled figures on either side of Luna released their hold on her arms. She staggered forward, weeping softly, tears running down her face and soaking into the gag.
Her terror was palpable; Nigel could almost feel it, throbbing against him like a heartbeat.
She stumbled a little, her hands bound in front of her as she walked around the table, trying to keep as much distance between herself and Calista Anguish as she could.
Her dark eyes focused on Nigel’s face, but he would not allow himself to look at her, would not allow himself to be distracted.
“Stop,” Calista said, her voice an imperious command.
Luna halted. Not five steps from where Nigel stood.
Calista held out her hand, palm up. “Give it to me,” she said.
Nigel drew a long breath. Five steps felt like an absolute eternity of distance. But he could get to her, couldn’t he? If, once he turned over the key, all the surrounding sorcerers opened fire, surely he could reach Luna and shield her.
He swallowed hard, his throat scratchy and tense.
Then, moving swiftly, he dropped the key into Calista’s waiting hand.
In the same instant, as though freed from a binding spell, Luna uttered a little moan and flung herself straight for Nigel.
And he couldn’t help it. He turned to her, opened his arms, caught her close against his heart.
Pressing her head against his shoulder as she wept, he murmured into her hair, “I’m here.
I’m here, my dear, and I’ve got you. I’ve got you now. ”
She trembled in his grasp, real and solid, and she . . . she . . .
Nigel’s brow hardened. His nose wrinkled.
She stank.
No sweet aroma of honeysuckle and vanilla filled his nostrils.
She reeked of the Dire.
Eyes flaring wide, he gripped her arms, pushed her roughly back from him a step.
Luna’s lovely eyes sought his, tears sparkling in the thaumatic lantern glow.
With an ungentle yank, Nigel dragged the gag down around her throat, and she drew a gasping breath.
He saw her sweet mouth. That mouth he knew so well.
That full upper lip, the little mole in the lower lefthand corner.
That mouth which quivered with such compelling terror as she breathed out, “Oh, Nigey! I knew you’d come for me! ”
His heart dropped.
The next instant, a bolt of pure Dire Matter hurtled across the table straight at him.