Chapter Thirteen
Warm arms embraced Penn, his favorite way to wake up.
His lips quirked in a small smile, and he traced one of the arms from elbow to hand, then twined his fingers with theirs.
The steady heartbeat under his ear told him his partner was still asleep.
He started to drift back to sleep … only for his bed to jostle sharply beneath him.
Suddenly alert, Penn jumped up, one hand raised in defense, the other searching his hip for a weapon that wasn’t there. With sleep still clinging to him, it took him a moment to register his surroundings. The interior of an expensive, lordly carriage. A dangerous mage acting as his pillow.
Valistair awoke with less violence. He simply opened his eyes, glanced around, and settled against the back of his seat, unconcerned.
The carriage hit another bump in the road and Niall cursed from the driver’s seat.
Penn shifted to the other side so he could look out the window. At some point, they’d left the main road. The side path they traveled was meant for sturdy work carts, not fancy carriages. If Niall wasn’t careful, they’d break a wheel and be stranded.
On the one hand, the more incompetence Niall showed, the easier it would be to turn master against student. On the other hand, Penn didn’t relish the idea of walking the rest of the way to Swallow’s Nest.
The carriage eventually slowed to a stop. It jostled one more time, then Niall knocked on the door. “Alistair, we’ve arrived at the river.”
Valistair opened the door and stepped outside.
The midmorning sun warmed the mage’s golden hair and skin, a stark contrast to Alistair’s ice.
If it weren’t for the single blue eye and the chill of arrogance clinging to him, Penn could have fooled himself into believing Valerian had wrested back control.
Penn joined both men at the river. Remnants of a bridge, long rotted away, clung stubbornly to the bank.
Does this damn river have any bridges left?
Months ago, he had to cross a section down river that had also lost its bridge.
He and his horse, Scout, had waded across it with no issues.
When Archer and the others crossed a day later, Silas had almost drowned.
Though that was more due to the mage standing at Penn’s side. He hadn’t been there to see it, but he’d heard about the ice creature dragging Silas beneath the water. Penn pictured the same frozen hands capturing him and drowning him in the depths of Alistair’s wicked plots.
“Did you destroy the bridges?” Penn asked.
Valistair glanced at him from the corner of his ice blue eye. “You didn’t expect me to simply let you run off with the boy, did you?”
“It cleared the way for you to take the crown.”
“Do you think it is that easy? The king disappears, and I simply step into his role?”
“Isn’t that exactly what you did? You had a glamour to look like him.”
The mage reached out a hand to stroke Penn’s dark gray hair. “Even the best glamours fade in time.”
“Still, you didn’t have to try to kill Silas. If you hadn’t sent the soldiers after him, he might have stayed away for years.”
“With years, he would have grown strong enough to take his kingdom back. I didn’t want the kingdom for a few years—I wanted it forever.”
A shiver ran down Penn’s spine at the calm admission. According to Valerian, Alistair was at least a hundred years old, yet he’d barely shown signs of old age. How long did ‘forever’ mean to him?
“Well, it looks like your own plotting has fucked you in the ass,” Penn said. His vulgar phrasing earned a scoff of disgust from Niall, but Valistair only arched a single blond eyebrow. “You can’t drive a carriage through a river, so I hope you know how to swim.”
Valistair’s lips quirked in challenge. “It always fascinates me when those untrained in magic can’t see it as a solution.” He focused on the river and stretched out his hand.
The current slowed and the surface of the water took on a glassy sheen as it began to freeze. Water from upstream splashed against the forming dam, adding to its height. As the water flowed and froze, the dam turned into a bridge.
Penn eyed the structure warily. One misplaced step and he’d fall into the river. He was a fair swimmer, but he didn’t know how Valistair’s magic affected the rest of the water. Would he freeze to death before he drowned?
“If you’re nervous”—Valistair lowered his hand and slipped it around Penn’s waist—“I can help you cross.”
Niall’s lip curled as he observed them. “Why are you coddling the boy? He isn’t even useful as a servant. Whatever information he has, surely there are better ways to take it from him.”
It would be so easy to shove him off the bridge. Penn smiled at Niall. “Are you afraid he only needs one of us?”
Niall narrowed his eyes. “I have been at Alistair’s side for years. I know him better than you know yourself. I am the reason he has a new body. You are nothing but a guide and a hostage, should we choose to use you as such. Don’t mistake your importance, boy.”
“Niall,” Valistair chided. “This isn’t a competition—I need you both.” There was a dark undertone to the words, a warning that Niall’s presence would only be tolerated as long as he proved useful.
“Yes, someone still needs to drive the carriage,” Penn replied, grinning at Niall.
Niall’s face suddenly relaxed. “You’re right.”
I am? Penn kept his expression neutral, hiding his surprise. He wasn’t sure why Niall had changed his tune.
“I will drive the carriage across first, then you and Alistair can follow.”
Penn watched him warily as he returned to the driver’s seat. Why is he willing to test the bridge? Is he trying to prove that he has faith in Alistair’s abilities? That he’s confident his own magic will save him if the bridge fails?
The horses weren’t as eager to cross as Niall was. He whipped them until they finally stepped onto the ice, and Penn flinched with every lash, his jaw clenching. He wanted to snatch the whip out of Niall’s hand and toss it into the water.
Once Niall was halfway across and the bridge held firm, Penn stepped onto the ice.
Instead of being slick, the surface was so cold that it stuck to his boots.
The air above the river was several degrees cooler than at the bank, and he shivered in response.
He looked ahead, trying to judge the distance to the other side.
It didn’t seem far until he took a second step and realized how much painstaking effort each one required.
Valistair stepped up behind him, close enough to grab Penn if he started to fall.
Taking a deep breath, Penn began his slow trek across the ice.
Chitin sizzled and smoked as Valerian twisted his blade through another spider’s thorax.
After half a dozen, he’d started to see a pattern in their movements.
Alistair’s minions avoided the happy or mild memories.
Light flirtations, magical milestones, successful missions—none of these tempted the creepy-crawly spies.
They sought the darkest corners of Valerian’s mind, squeezed themselves into the cracks and crevices of his psyche.
He could think of two reasons behind this pattern: Alistair was gathering information he planned to use to destroy Valerian’s hold on his own mind, or he was trying to lead Valerian into the depths of despair.
Every time Valerian fought one of the spiders, he risked falling into his own memories.
And in every memory, he risked being unable to pull himself back out.
He could be trapped, reliving his worst moments again and again, never aware that life improved beyond that point.
It would drive anyone mad.
The one good thing about this pattern was that it made the spiders easier to hunt.
While they searched and examined the available offerings like food at a feast, Valerian already knew how to find the choicest morsels.
He no longer needed to stalk them through the trees—he waited for them to come to him.
Another spider crawled from the canopy down the trunk of a nearby tree.
Since Valerian had killed its companion before it could watch the memory, Alistair still needed the information found within.
Either the spider didn’t see Valerian, or it didn’t view him as a threat, because it didn’t react to his approach.
Valerian drove the dagger straight into its abdomen and dragged the blade up, grinning maniacally as viscera splattered over his face and chest. The spider’s many legs thrashed wildly, trying to escape or turn and face its attacker. Pinned to the tree, it could do neither.
“Enough,” someone snarled behind Valerian.
He froze, the deranged smile stretching his lips until they ached, and slowly looked over his shoulder. “I finally got your attention.”
Alistair’s white hair and pale skin glowed in the grimy, shadowed forest. Valerian wanted to smear his filthy hands all over the pristine mage until his appearance matched his foul mind.
“You’re stronger than I expected,” Alistair said, eyeing Valerian warily. “This is an … inopportune time for your interference. I shouldn’t have allowed this to continue for so long.”
Roots slithered toward Valerian. Alistair had used this trick before, capturing Valerian and trapping him in old memories when he first took control of Valerian’s body.
Valerian gritted his teeth and glared down at the roots. This is my mind, dammit. You’ll obey me, not some intruder!
The closest root stopped an inch from his boot, quivering as if in fear. Slowly, so fucking slowly Valerian thought he might grind through his teeth before he succeeded, the root drew back and reversed toward a new target.
Alistair’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before narrowing in cold fury. The root stopped again, and ice crystals formed over it, holding it in place.
More roots struggled between the two mages, sometimes inching toward Valerian, other times crawling toward Alistair, each one eventually frozen in place.
A single drop of blood dripped down Alistair’s nose and splashed onto his pristine white robes.
The tiny sign of victory filled Valerian with adrenaline. “You know what I think?” he taunted, pushing harder on the roots. The ice cracked around one of them, but it didn’t budge. “I think you didn’t allow me to continue anything. I think you can’t stop me. You aren’t powerful enough.”
A branch snapped above them and crashed to the ground. Valerian danced aside in time but almost tripped over a root in the process. He swore and hopped around until he landed on safe, solid ground again.
“I’ve been distracted,” Alistair admitted, his tone sleek and triumphant in a way Valerian couldn’t pin down. “With your body, I’ve made a new friend.”
Penn’s face flashed in Valerian’s mind, with the same naughty grin he’d worn during their last night together. Valerian’s teeth clenched and he snarled, “If you’ve hurt him—”
“Why would I hurt him?” Alistair asked. He tried to step forward, but one of the roots twitched toward him, and he put his foot back down. They remained at a standstill. “He’s been such delightful company.”
Does Penn even know that Alistair has taken over?
Dread crawled up Valerian’s throat. He’d known Alistair could do quite a bit of damage while wearing his face, Valerian just hadn’t considered how close to home it might be.
He shook the thoughts away. Penn was too smart to be fooled by appearance alone.
Too inquisitive. He would notice the behavior change, and he was clever enough to not let Alistair know.
In his distraction, one of the roots almost reached him.
Valerian stopped it with a thought and eyed Alistair, trying to form another plan.
They were too evenly matched. Outside his own body, Alistair had lost some of his strength, but he kept his skills and knowledge from years of mental magic.
They could face off against each other for days, neither of them gaining any real ground, until one of them succumbed to exhaustion.
Valerian wasn’t confident he could win the fight like this.
Before he could talk himself out of the stupid plan, he ran toward Alistair. The mage had been preparing for another mental attack, not a physical one. He didn’t even raise his hands to shield himself.
Valerian collided with Alistair and shoved the mage to the ground. Immediately, roots thrust up from the dirt and wrapped around them, tying them together. “Let’s see how you like it.”
The dirt swallowed Alistair’s reply as they were dragged below the surface and into one of Valerian’s memories.