Chapter Sixteen
Before Penn even finished telling Valerian that they could find a way to permanently remove Alistair from his mind, he collapsed a second time.
“Val?” Penn’s voice broke on the single syllable as he stared at the mage’s face. Blood spilled from the closed eyes like tears, staining Penn’s hands. Then it trickled from Val’s nose, his ears, from between his slightly parted lips.
If Penn didn’t find a way to wake him soon, Valerian might bleed to death. I’d rather Alistair take control again than lose him forever.
Penn had to find a healer or medic. If Adelaide was here …
he didn’t regret ensuring her freedom, but he wished they’d had time to form a better plan.
He wished he wasn’t fucking alone—his head jerked up as he looked upstream.
The river had carried them far enough away that he couldn’t see Niall, but it wouldn’t be hard to find him.
Penn ran a few steps forward only to choke as something closed around his throat and yanked him back. Coughing, he scrabbled at his skin, searching for the noose. His hand only found the gold chain the mage had given him, still hanging loose around his neck.
Anger surged through him as he realized it was Alistair’s leash pulling taut. Penn would have to bring the mage with him.
Returning to Valerian’s side, Penn wrapped his arms around Valerian’s upper body and dragged him backwards along the riverbank.
The icy river had made his skin cold and clammy, and water sloshed uncomfortably in Penn’s boots.
Every step took great effort, and he had to pause repeatedly to check that Val was still breathing. That it wasn’t too late.
Penn had been so focused on dragging Val that he didn’t realize he’d reached his destination until the sharp point of a dagger pressed into his back.
“Drop him.”
Penn carefully lowered Valerian to the ground. Hands out in front of him, he didn’t risk turning to look at Niall as he explained, “He needs help.”
“He needs to get away from you,” Niall hissed, digging the blade into Penn’s skin.
Sharp pain twinged through his back. He winced, but remained crouched, hands up. “Please, Niall, I don’t have time to fight with you. He’s dying.”
Niall shifted to look over Penn’s shoulder, then swore under his breath. “You move one muscle, and I will slit your belly open and feed you to the fish, Alistair’s orders be damned.” He only removed the pressure of the dagger after Penn nodded.
Kneeling next to Valerian, Niall peeled one of his eyes open, then the other. “Damn mercenary is fighting back. They’re in too deep.”
“How do we pull him out?” Penn carefully avoided using Valerian’s name.
“How should I know?” Niall snapped. “This isn’t my area of magic.”
“Well, do you have a potion that can fix him?” At Niall’s hesitation, Penn couldn’t suppress his anger anymore. “You’re a mage, dammit, do something!”
Niall scowled at him and straightened. “I’ve had enough of your attitude.” He clasped the dagger in front of himself and ran straight for Penn.
The people around Penn usually saw the charmer, the flirt, the messenger. An affable young man whose tongue got him into as much trouble as it got him out of. They never stopped to look deeper, to understand what else he was capable of.
Penn grabbed Niall’s wrist to keep the dagger away from himself and rammed his shoulder into the mage’s belly, forcing the air out of him in a harsh gasp. Grabbing Niall behind his knees, Penn shifted his stance, tossing the mage over his shoulder.
Already out of breath, Niall landed in the dirt with a strangled gurgle. His eyes bulged out of his head as he struggled on the ground, rolling like a beetle trapped on its back.
“You—” Niall sputtered.
Penn kicked him in the head, sending the other man reeling once again. “You’ve had enough of my attitude? You’re a flaccid blob of flesh clinging like snot to men of power. If you can’t even fix him, then you’re worthless.”
The dagger, tipped in Penn’s own blood, had fallen to the ground. He picked it up, grabbed a handful of Niall’s hair, and yanked his head backwards. Penn thrust the dagger forward.
The blade connected with an invisible shield, shattering in Penn’s hand. His fingers reflexively opened, dropping the broken handle and exposing the places where metal shards dug into his skin.
Niall tumbled backwards and his head slammed against the ground. His eyelashes fluttered in a valiant attempt to cling to consciousness before he lost the battle. His head lolled to the side.
Cradling his injured hand, Penn stepped forward, intending to crush the mage’s neck beneath his boot.
If it hadn’t been for Niall, Valerian could have kept Alistair at bay until they reached Adelaide’s cottage, where they could fight him together.
Give Valerian a chance to win. Though Niall seemed incompetent, his schemes succeeded too often to allow him to live.
A groan sounded behind Penn and he whipped around.
Valerian stirred, reaching for his head, but his hand fell back to his side.
Penn abandoned Niall and ran toward Valerian, falling to his knees beside him. “Val? Val, c’mon, wake up.” He stroked Valerian’s cheek, smearing blood over his golden skin. “Please look at me.”
The mage’s lashes fluttered open, and he looked directly into Penn’s eyes.
“You left so quickly,” Alistair said. His usually smooth voice as jagged as broken glass, revealing his discomposure. “We never finished our discussion.”
“Fuck you,” Valerian spat. Hanging upside down in a spider’s web, the spittle landed with a satisfying splat against Alistair’s cheek.
His nose crinkled and he wiped it away with the corner of his sleeve.
“You’re a disgusting, foul creature. I’m surprised your mind is as well-maintained as it is.
” He walked toward one of the trees, hand hovering over the bark.
“So many memories to sample from. You chose a particularly interesting one to visit. Did you hope I would take the place of the mage whose mind you destroyed?”
Valerian ignored him, focusing on the sticky web holding him captive. Didn’t I have a dream like this? A diviner would have seethed in jealousy at how accurately his subconscious mind predicted the future.
Ice crystals decorated the web, sparkling in the dim forest light. At the edges, where the web connected to branches in the canopy, multiple eyes gleamed at Valerian from the shadows. The spider clicked its pincers in anticipation of a fine feast.
“I admit, your mental shields gave even me pause when I first saw them. If you hadn’t opened yourself to me, I’m not sure I would have found a way around them.”
Valerian’s fingers twitched as slowly one curled in, then the next, until he formed a weak fist. Somehow, Alistair could conjure daggers, ice, and other magic without needing to find inspiration from one of the memories.
If he could do it, Valerian could too. He squeezed his fist until heat built under his skin.
Closing his eyes, he pictured the warm glow of embers, a spark, a flame licking at the spiderweb until the fire consumed the whole thing.
“Look at me when I speak to you!” Alistair ordered, his voice shaking the webs.
Val ignored him, breathing in deeply through his nose, catching a phantom whiff of smoke and burning wood. On his next exhale, he whispered one word: “Burn.”
Orange flickered bright enough to see even with his eyes closed.
Warmth touched his cheek, the pleasant caress of the spring sun, melting away the ice of Alistair’s winter.
After a few seconds, the warmth increased, burning Valerian’s hand and the right side of his face.
His eyes snapped open in time to see the flames consume the web.
Then he was falling.
Alistair scrambled out of the way, dignity forgotten in his urgency. His pristine clothes were sullied with dirt and blood. He steadied himself against one of the tree trunks, panting as he looked at the burning web. “What are you doing?”
Valerian pushed himself to his feet. The palm of his hand, red hot with the ember of his magic, smoldered when it touched the ground.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a root slither toward him, trying to catch him unawares.
Instead of avoiding it, he grabbed it, pressing the fire directly against it.
It writhed in his burning grasp, trying to escape.
A headache bloomed behind his right eye.
The root was part of his mind, hurting it meant hurting himself.
Still, he tightened his grip until it blackened, charred, and turned to ash.
“You’ll burn this whole place down!” Alistair shouted. He’d formed a protective barrier of ice around himself. It was already dripping with condensation, unable to withstand Valerian’s heat.
“And you’ll burn with me.” Valerian lurched forward, flaming hand extended. It melted straight through the barrier, singeing the front of Alistair’s clothes.
The ice closed the gap as fast as Valerian melted it, keeping his wrist pinned in place. Roots wrapped around his legs. The more he burned them, the stronger the headache grew, until his vision went red.
Through his clouded vision, he watched blood stream down Alistair’s face, dying his hair and pale skin pink. The other man desperately threw every ounce of his magic at Valerian, until they came to a stalemate.
If Valerian could have trapped him like that forever, that would be its own kind of victory. But Alistair was older and stronger, and he understood mental magic better than Valerian ever would.
And he wouldn’t have to destroy his own mind to defeat his enemy.
Valerian’s vision darkened from blood red to pitch black. The flames he controlled flickered and snuffed out. He felt himself fall forward into a pair of ice-cold arms, then nothing as the world faded away.