Chapter 107
“Finn,” I whispered, awe filling my voice as the city lights flared back to the life and the horror was closed away. “Do you see that?”
In the blocks around us, the streetlights, the traffic lights, and all the building lights glowed so brightly the night looked like dawn.
The horror’s grip and all the fear it had coated the street with was cleansed.
There was a buoyant, glowing feeling of lightness sweeping through the city blocks.
A breeze rushed through, blowing away the last of the stagnant, bitter scented fear.
It chased away the burning, suffocating heat and rushed at the bulky black clouds.
The clouds broke apart, and their ominous darkness evaporated.
They puffed away on a cool gust of wind.
“I see it,” Finn said, but he wasn’t looking at the lights lighting the city like stars. Instead, he was looking down at me.
“I mean the light,” I said.
He smiled. “You can’t see light—you can only see what it lights up.”
Then he reached over and took my hand, threading his fingers with mine.
The feel of his hand in mine was so familiar.
How his hand was so much larger he could cup mine easily in his.
How the calluses on his fingers and his palms felt when he squeezed mine.
How, when our hands joined, I felt the threads that ran from our hearts through our palms wrapping together and holding us close.
The invisible rope that held us together glowed as brightly as the lights flaring around us. The lover’s knot of it held tight, pulsing, as Finn smiled, his hazel eyes warming.
“We did it,” he said, and then he added, “Remember how we said we were going to save each other and then save the world?”
The corner of my mouth inched upward. “We saved each other.”
He nodded. “We’re halfway there.”
I looked around the street. “There’s no Justice. No Griff. I don’t see Winnie.”
Finn searched the light-filled blocks. They weren’t there. His shoulders dropped. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Across the street, there was a loud snarl. We turned quickly toward the sound.
Celia Bard was lit by the glow of a hundred flickering fireflies. They danced around her as she stood protectively over Ragnor. He was on the ground, his arms and legs sprawled wide. A jackaltooth—Luvic—crouched menacingly in front of her.
“Is that—?”
“Luvic,” I said.
Finn and I sprinted toward them.
Darin beat us there. He conjured a sword and thrust it at Luvic.
Luvic swatted a giant paw and knocked the sword away. His hackles stood on end, and he snarled, his orange eyes glowing.
Darin conjured a fire sword and lunged at Luvic.
“Stop!” Celia screamed. “Stop!”
“Darin,” Finn snapped. “No.”
At Finn’s command, Darin stopped swinging. The fire sword was held aloft between him and Luvic.
A low, frightening rattle ripped from Luvic’s throat.
Celia crept forward and held out her hand. “Luvic,” she whispered, “it’s okay.”
Luvic snapped his jaws, and Celia jerked away. If she hadn’t, Luvic would’ve bitten off her hand.
Celia’s face paled, and she stumbled back.
Luvic twisted his head, shaking it back and forth. It seemed as if he were fighting an internal battle. Man warring against animal instinct.
“Did you say Luvic?” Darin asked, staring at the jackaltooth.
Celia stepped forward again, and Luvic snarled. He swiped at Celia, and she jumped back. Behind her, Ragnor groaned and tried to push himself upright.
“He’s lost himself,” he said, his mournful voice scraping. “Lia. He’s lost. Can’t you tell? It’s better to end him now, before he hurts someone. It would be a mercy. He would want that.”
Celia swung on her brother, her face a mixture of relief that he was sitting upright and fury that he’d suggested killing Luvic. “He would not!”
Behind us, a dozen Smiths began to circle, creeping close with weapons drawn.
Luvic snarled threateningly.
“He would,” Ragnor said with steady conviction.
I ignored them both and untwining my hand from Finn’s, inched forward. “Luvic,” I whispered. “Luvic. Listen to me. You are a man.”
He glanced at me and lifted the edge of his lip. An eerie, pained jackaltooth rumble ripped from his throat. It was a warning.
Finn swore as the Smiths advanced. “Stay back,” he commanded. Then, turning to Luvic, he held out his hand. Was he going to conjure? I didn’t think so, but Luvic must have.
He launched at Finn, his jaws snapping.
Finn ducked, and Luvic soared over him.
He slammed to the ground twenty feet away and raced past the Smiths. One tried to stop him, and he knocked him aside with a violent roar. In less than three seconds, he was gone. A vicious, eerie howl echoed through the streets.
Celia stared after him, her face pale.
“Oh, Luvic,” she whispered, and in those words, I heard the acknowledgment of what her brother had said.
“He’s gone,” Ragnor said.
She nodded and then dropped her head, hiding her expression.
I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t. I’d seen Luvic as a jackaltooth before. He’d always come back. At least, he had if I’d helped him.
I frowned. Something in the bent of Celia’s downturned face told me it wouldn’t be so easy this time.
“He’ll be okay,” I said, urging myself to believe it.
Celia clenched her fist. “What do you care? What do you know?”
Darin stepped forward and smiled at me. It was his big-brother, humor-filled, happy-to-see-you smile. He glanced between Finn and me, and his smile grew.
“Hey, Mari. Nice to see you. Sorry I tried to kill you. Twice.” He scratched his chin. “Three times. No. Four. Hmm.” He shrugged. “Do you think we could be friends again?”
He laughed at the look on my face.
“When was the fourth time?” I asked.
He blinked and then looked away innocently, as if I hadn’t asked the question.
“Darin,” I said.
Finn bent down and held out a hand to help Ragnor up. He steadied him and murmured, “You’re all right?”
When Ragnor nodded, Darin said, “You two will join us. Obviously. We saw you fighting the Bard. You’ll give your loyalty to the Smith.”
Finn glanced at his brother, and Darin nodded, confident.
Celia shook her head, her right hand pressed against her stomach. “No. We bow to no one. We’re loyal to ourselves.”
Ragnor moved next to her. He smiled, but there was a threat in his eyes. “That’s right.”
“You’re claiming to be neutral? Like the Ward?” Finn asked. “But in the end, he wasn’t. He and I—”
“Finn,” I said. The hole in my chest where Jacob’s rope had been ached at the mention of him.
Finn looked over at me, and I asked, “Where’s Jacob?”
Everyone looked at Finn.
A slow, frightened crawling sensation dragged up my spine.
“I sent him to the fortress to find Darin. He . . . he didn’t come back?”
While Finn spoke, Darin stiffened. I watched the hardening of his jaw and the subtle shift in his stance.
“What did you do?” I asked.
Darin looked at Finn. “He said you’d made a truce.”
“We did.”
Darin scoffed. “Don’t you realize that was just another Ward lie? He came to you to find out what you were thinking, what you were doing—to exploit your weaknesses and then to twist your mind. Wards lie. Wards—”
“What did you do?” I said again, my voice low and horrible.
Darin glanced at me and then said, “He’s dead.”
“You killed him,” I said, the knowledge filling me. “You killed—”
Celia gasped and stumbled. Ragnor caught her arm. Inside her shirt, the small white dog whimpered when she wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
“Finn,” I whispered, grief overwhelming me.
“I protected you,” Darin said to Finn. “I protected you when you were too blind to realize you needed protecting.”
Finn shook his head. “No. You killed him because Philoneas killed our father.”
There it was. The truth.
“Fine. Yes,” Darin said, his expression tightening in agreement. “I killed him because Philoneas killed Dad. I made an oath, and I fulfilled it.”
Finn closed his eyes, looking wearier than I’d ever seen him. When he opened his eyes again, he looked like his father.
Celia stepped forward, her face terrible and cold.
She stared at Finn and spoke in a quiet, lethal voice.
“I, Celia Bard, demand retribution for the death of Jacob Ward. I demand punishment. I invoke section three, article one. In the event of a conjurer murdered outside of combat, duel, or justice, retribution may be demanded by an immediate family member. As Jacob’s wife,”—she swallowed and lifted her chin—“as his widow, I demand equal punishment.”
His wife? His . . .? Jacob and Celia had married?
“Lia?” Ragnor paled and reached for her.
She pushed him aside and threatened Finn with her gaze.
“I demand it, Smith. As the head of your family, you must deliver justice. Or I will.” At her words, her eyes bled with dark shadows, and a strange not-illusion feeling swarmed around her.
My breath caught.
Darin looked between Celia and Finn, and his expression flickered between a hundred emotions as he realized exactly what Celia’s demand meant.
It was commonly known. If a conjurer murdered outside of duel, combat, or cause of justice, punishment could be demanded and delivered.
Even a blood oath didn’t always protect conjurers from section three, article one.
When invoked, the murderer’s principal had to bow to the law. Retribution. Equal punishment.
There was nothing Finn could do. Darin had murdered my brother, and Celia was demanding his death as retribution.
“Finn—” Darin stepped forward, holding out his hand, beseeching.
Finn shook his head, his expression flattening. “I warned you what would happen,” he said quietly.
Darin nodded. “You did.”
“Did he fight you?” Finn asked, hope warring in him. “Did he attack you? If he attacked—”
“No,” Darin said, “he did not. He didn’t raise a hand against me.”
“And you’re certain he’s dead?” Finn asked, still hoping to prevent what Celia had demanded.
I reached over and touched the back of his hand. “He is,” I whispered.