38. Leah
Leah
My limbs are lead. I stare at them, urging them to move, but they just lay there—useless. Thoughts are coming a little slower than usual too, but I haven’t lost consciousness, at least. Whatever Roseingrave put in my drink has only paralyzed me.
Only. Hardly a comforting thought right now as she looms over me like a cat with a canary.
She reminds me of Syrus’s deadly mountain cat Triya on the hunt.
But there’s a rage in her expression that’s unique to her as she lowers the metal cylinder to my arm and rolls the sharp edge of it against my skin until it raises a thin, half-moon cut which quickly beads with red droplets.
I’m frozen still, but definitely not numb, and the sharpness makes me cry out internally even as my lips stay unmoving.
Lady Roseingrave looks at my arms thoughtfully. She taps one of my palms, letting her long nail dig into my flesh. “I was there the night that demon scum tried to slaughter us all using your hands. But the Order of Sycorax is strong. It would take more than that to break us.”
She presses the cylinder against the cut. From this angle, I can see there’s holes in the end of it, collecting my blood as it dribbles down my arm.
“I might feel bad about this if you were loyal to humanity,” she says lightly.
“But you’ve chosen to get into bed with the wingers—fighting for them, fucking them—so you only have yourself to blame.
I suppose one good thing to come out of all this is now you’ll be even more useful.
” She smiles at me, her painted lips stretching.
“We heard about the clever trick you used on the plains. It will be interesting to see what else you can do once we’ve got you under control. ”
I watch my blood trickle into the cylinder, feeling like I’m back in a cold chamber surrounded by sorcerers, watching them slice me open and paint me with runes.
Not again.
Anger tightens around my chest like a set of armor, bolstering me. I was helpless and terrified last time. But now I have real power at my fingertips: unique magic that makes me capable of things others can only dream of. And I’m not just going to lie here and accept this. I will fight.
I can’t move, but my magic doesn’t need me to. It’s running through my veins already, that prickling, buzzing sensation that tells me both my ephilium blood and demonic gifts are working in tandem. I try to picture them coalescing in my hands, blooming like they did on the battlefield.
Instead—unbidden and forceful—I see an image in my mind’s eye.
A glittering cloak, swirling in the air, and a set of ancient runes.
I don’t know their meaning exactly, but I can feel them, the shapes carving something into my thoughts.
It feels like opening something, or peeling it back, pushing aside an obstacle to move beyond it.
I’m staring up at Roseingrave as she steps back from me, satisfied with how much she’s taken.
My hands are empty, neither shadow nor lightning materializing in my palms. But what she hasn’t noticed yet is that the air between us is shimmering slightly, vibrating like a mirage.
It’s thinning, becoming flimsy and malleable.
I know I’m doing it, but I don’t know how or why. And then Roseingrave is looking up, her eyes widening.
“What is that?” She takes a frightened step backward, staring at the spot between us where reality seems to be wavering. “Stop it now!”
The order has barely left her lips when the parlor door slams open, and a storm of shadow and power bursts into the room.
Syrus
Strickland is trying to ask me about the demon lords when I notice it. Her absence. It sends a cool gust of discomfort through me.
“Would you excuse me?” I say to the chief assemblyman. He seems reluctant to have our conversation cut short, but he lets me step away.
She’s not in any of the other rooms where guests are mingling.
It’s possible she’s just stepped outside for some air, but another notable absence stops me in my footsteps.
Our host isn’t anywhere to be found, either.
Lady Roseingrave, the kind of glittering peacock who should be the center of attention in any room, is missing from her own soiree.
Leah wouldn’t leave the party without telling me. And Roseingrave wouldn’t leave her party unless she had something else very important to attend to. I often poke fun at Leah and her gut instincts, but right now, mine is rioting inside my stomach, ringing a very loud alarm: something is wrong.
I try to turn down a corridor that leads deeper into the house, but a footman steps into my way. He seems to regret it the moment he lays eyes on me, paling as he cranes his neck to look up at my face.
“I’m afraid the rest of the house isn’t open to guests, sir,” he says, though it comes out as a squeak.
I don’t even bother with a reply, shouldering past him to turn a corner. Darkness, this would all be so much easier if I could still just reach out and slip into Leah’s mind.
The footman doesn’t try to stop me, but before I can take another step, a wave of charged energy rolls down the corridor, putting me on the alert.
The sensation makes my muscles tense and my skin itch.
Someone’s conjuring powerful magic nearby—so strong it makes my own magic twitch in my veins, eager to respond.
Except that no one should be conjuring magic like that at a human’s party.
I start running, following the throb of power to a room on my right. My shadows are already in my hands as I hear Roseingrave’s voice behind the door.
I throw it open, sending dark tendrils curling in ahead of me. For a moment, my heart stops when I see Leah lying on the couch, still as a corpse.
No. Please. Darkness, no—
Then I see the glass lying spilled by her feet and the way her eyes shift frantically as the air shimmers between her and Roseingrave.
My shadows swarm the dark-haired woman, wrapping around her throat. She starts to scream, but my magic chokes the sound off, squeezing just shy of tight enough to strangle. I’ll save the execution for a moment I can savor it.
As Roseingrave’s hands fly uselessly to her throat, she drops a metal cylinder onto the plush carpet.
I only need to glance at the runes and red stains on it to understand this is more cursed blood magic.
I crush the cylinder under my boot, snapping it in two with a swift stomp as I throw myself down by Leah’s side.
Whatever power was making the air shimmer has slipped away now as I bend over my love.
She’s so pale and still that it feels as if all the air’s been squeezed out of my lungs. I lay a hand over her forehead.
“It’s okay, Leah, I’m here now.”
I grab the glass off the floor and sniff it. There’s something bitter hiding beneath the red wine, though I don’t know enough about Stratan poisons to recognize it. I spin around to Lady Roseingrave, who’s bent over, gasping for what little air she can get.
“What did you give her?” I growl, my magic making my voice roll through the room and rattle books on shelves. I loosen the shadows a touch, allowing her enough breath to answer.
“Go back to the putrid hell you came from—” A gurgle rises from her as I cut her off with my shadows again. I don’t have time to torture the answer out of her, so instead, I move to the door to bellow down the corridor.
“I need a healer!”
Many footsteps answer, but a crowd of nosy partygoers won’t do me any good now. I duck out into the corridor, scanning for Strickland.
“Strickland, I need your wardens now. And a heal—”
A man with white hair and bushy eyebrows steps forward. “I’m a physician, sir. What’s wrong?”
I cast my gaze at Strickland, who immediately vouches for the man.
“Mr. Folkestone is one of Pax’s most eminent healers, Lord Syrus.”
I nod. “Then come this way.”
I lead him into the parlor along with the chief assemblyman and his usual entourage of wardens. I release Roseingrave from my shadows as Folkestone kneels beside Leah, smelling the contents of the glass as I did and examining her pupils.
“Thadeus,” Lady Roseingrave gasps, sinking to the ground as she pulls in desperate lungfuls of air. “The demon attacked me—”
“I caught her trying to cast a blood spell on Leah after she poisoned her,” I say, kicking the broken metal cylinder away from Roseingrave. The pieces roll across the carpet, leaving a noticeable red smear.
“Not poisoned,” Folkestone says. “Drugged with a paralytic—a temporary one. Depending on when she drank it, it should wear off in the next half hour.”
My shoulders sag with relief, and I drop back down beside Leah, stroking the hair back from her face. Behind me, I’m vaguely aware of the wardens surrounding Roseingrave.
“Mr. Folkestone, would you mind examining Lady Roseingrave too?” Strickland says, eyeing her where she’s still kneeling.
I whip my head around and release a low growl. “Let her suffer,” I snap. “Or did you not hear me say she’s a dangerous sorceress?”
“That may be, Lord Syrus,” Strickland replies stiffly. “But if she’s going to be arrested, we should make sure you didn’t do any permanent damage which could impede the course of justice.”
“Thadeus,” Roseingrave croaks, her throat raw. “You can’t do this to me. You’d really pick a demon over your friend?”
“My friends don’t attack my allies and indulge in the black arts, Orealia,” Strickland says, his voice so cold it sends a shiver down even my spine.
Leah stirs, and I immediately lean over her again, massaging her limbs as some movement returns to them. She murmurs something, and Strickland and I both lean in close to catch it.
“The Order of Sycorax,” she mutters.
I look to Strickland. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“It rings a bell,” says Strickland. “There have always been rumors of dark magic users in Pax. I may have heard the name from one of those.”
Leah coughs and tries again. “She said her order…the ones who made the bond…were the Order of Sycorax.”
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered it the moment I saw Roseingrave with the cylinder, but hearing it confirmed that she was part of that group changes things. Somehow, my rage takes on an even sharper edge, and I feel Strickland tense beside me, watching me carefully.
“Roseingrave and her sorcerer friends have tried to kill Leah before. This order of hers was involved in an attempt at human sacrifice at Hathwell Reed’s house six months ago.”
Leah nods weakly, and Strickland straightens, crossing the room to address his wardens.
“Take Lady Roseingrave into custody, please, under suspicion of practicing prohibited sorcery. And launch an investigation into this Order of Sycorax.”
Folkestone has completed his examination of Lady Roseingrave’s bruised neck and confirms she’ll live. It seems she’s done protesting, her head hanging low as the wardens haul her up, still in all her finery.
“Take her out the back,” Strickland orders. “I don’t want news of this traveling through all of Pax before we have more answers.”
He adjusts his jacket and turns to the door, where we can still hear the hubbub of curious guests outside. I feel a pang of sympathy for him—a leader’s work is truly never done.
“Now,” Strickland says with a tired sigh, “I have to tell everyone the party is officially over.”