Redemption (The Alexa Montgomery Saga) (11 page)

We have to kill the Queen,
Warrior, and her sister. And we have to do it now. They are planning to tell
the revolutionaries that Nelly is the true Savior. They plan to throw her into
a battle where the price of victory is her life. If ever there was a time where
she needed us most, this is it. We have to keep her from this fate. It is our
greatest purpose, always has been and always will be. It was what we were born
and raised for. Those two plotting bitches
have to die.
The day grows as
we speak.

“I know, I know, I know. You
don’t think I
know
that, for shit’s sake? But the people are already
jumping onto one side or the other. Some of them already don’t trust us. How,
oh genius Monster, are we supposed to kill them and not have that come back bad
for Nelly?”

Good question.

“No shit.”

“Warrior,” Kayden said, taking my
hand and pulling me from my thoughts. His golden eyes regarded me carefully. He
leaned in close and spoke so only I could hear him. “Are you thinking about
murder?”

I gritted my teeth in an effort
to control the tone of my voice. “Are my eyes glowing wolf-gold?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Then what the hell do you
think?” I snapped. Then I forced myself to take a deep, seemingly useless
breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you, but
since you asked,” I looked around, making sure we were alone, “yes, I am
thinking about murder. I’m thinking about murder very much right now. Are you
surprised?”

Kayden shook his head. “Not at
all. But
I’m
thinking that you know as well as I do that you cannot just
kill Silvia and Camillia.”

“And why is that?” I asked,
though I knew damn well the answer.

Kayden crossed his arms over his
chest and gave me an exasperated look. “Let’s see. One, because in the Outlands
if violence occurs between those who were allowed admittance, the magic that
keeps the bad things out would fade and be broken.” He tilted his head to the
side, and I found that I want to slap him upside it for being so right. My
hands clenched into fists at my sides. “And, two,” he continued, “because there
are too many that would like to see your sister’s head on spike just for
being
what she is.
You honestly think you can help her by killing her hosts?” He
paused. “Is that enough reasons, or shall I continue?”

“I love you,” I said. “But I
seriously want to punch you in the face right now. Sorry about that, but I do.
So, by all means, my love, continue at your own discretion.”

Kayden said nothing, only stared
at me knowing that his point was taken.

I cursed once under my breath.
“What am I supposed to do then? Just let them talk her into leading a war that
ends with her dead. You have to know that I can’t do that, Kayden. So, what,
please tell me, what am I supposed to do?”

I didn’t really expect much of an
answer, just a “we will figure it out” or something, but a look flashed behind
his eyes that told me that he did have an answer, not just an answer, but a
solution.
And my heart simultaneously jumped in my chest and broke as I saw that it
pained him to have to give it to me. We both knew what it meant if I took
Nelly’s place.

But, Kayden loved me. Really, and
truly and unselfishly
loved
me, and he would give me my answer. “Arrol,”
he said.

My brow furrowed. “What about
him?”

Kayden came forward and took my
shoulders into his large hands. His lion’s eyes glowed with a devotion that
made my belly ache, and he said, “We have to take him up on the Seer’s offer.
We have to send Nelly into the White World.”

Nelly

“How does this work?” I asked.

Surah was leaning over the round
table by the windows, daylight streaming in and shimmering off her black cloak.
The stars that had been hidden there in folds of black velvet were revealed,
and they rippled gently as her gloved hands set about their tasks. She rolled
up the sleeves of her black shirt to reveal her forearms, covered haphazardly
with crude, painful-looking black tattoos shaped like individual slash marks.
The tattoos seemed so out of place on her delicate, creamy arms, just as alien
as Alexa’s silver lilies. My sister had mistaken my sympathy for the Sorceress
girl as trust. I did not trust Surah. At this point, I didn’t truly trust
anyone other than Alexa.

Surah’s voice was soft and
feminine, and she didn’t look up from the objects she arranged on the small
table. “I am going to combine two spells, neither of them simple, so I am going
to need your silence when I actually get going.” She paused then and sighed, as
if she didn’t want to share the next part with me. “The first spell will be a
Tracker, so that I can find the location of your King at this moment. When I
find him, I will attempt the second spell–a Prospect–which, if I am able, will
allow me to see through the eyes of those nearest your King right now.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to jump
into
his
head?” I asked. “What will the eyes of others tell us? It’s not
like he is going to have
I know what happened to the Sorcerer
stamped on
his head.”

Surah spun around on her heels,
her long cloak fluttering silently. Her deceivingly gentle face was as
unreadable as ever, but her purple eyes glowed with anger. I didn’t take a step
back, just stood there staring at her, but I could tell that Tommy, who was
standing beside me, was tense.

“Because,” she said, “I am not
you.
I can’t just reach into people’s heads and pluck out information like I was
searching through a file cabinet. And you would be surprised how much you can
learn from looking at someone the way everyone else perceives them.” She placed
a gloved hand on her hip. “I’m trying to work with you here, Puppet Master.
Nothing will stop me from finding out what happened to my brother and, if he is
indeed dead, then killing his murderer. You say your King is responsible for
his disappearance,” she smiled, “and I am pretty good at knowing when someone
is lying, maybe not as adeptly as you, but pretty good. I did not have the
pleasure of speaking directly to your King about my brother. My father did, so
I didn’t get the chance to gauge his words. And really, you should consider
this a favor. You’re at war, correct? I’m going to show you what your King is
up to.”

I nodded once. Surah spun around
again and resumed moving about her vials and little bowls and poultices.
“Sorceress,” I said, and Surah’s shoulders tightened a fraction as she glanced
back at me. I met her gaze head-on. “He is not
my
King.”

A small smile tilted the side of
her mouth that was visible, and then she turned back to her work. “No,” she
said. “I suppose he is not.” She examined the objects, as if double-checking
her preparation. “I am ready now. Silence.”

Tommy took my hand and guided me
to a seated position on the bed. Then he sat down beside me. I squeezed his
hand as I waited for whatever was going to happen next to happen. I wasn’t sure
what I expected, but it sure as salt wasn’t what I got next.

Surah raised her hands in front
of her, rippling her black cloak and making it shimmer like drops of water in a
silver stream of a dark sky. Her next words were the only she spoke for the
entire duration of the spell, and the toneless, almost dead way that she
delivered them made a chill walk up my spine.

She said, “Don’t be afraid.”

The room seemed to fill up with
the presence of something that I had never known before. It was as if the air
had become a tangible thing–if I reached my fingers out to stroke it that it
would ripple like the surface of a lake. There was an unseen heat that pressed
against the exposed skin of my arms and neck and face. Time seemed suspended in
a warped zone, where even my heart ceased to beat in my chest, but my eyes
widened in wonder as I took in the spectacle that was before me, by far the
most enthralling of all the sensory shifts.

Out of Surah’s hands a blue mist
rose, shot through with white flashes like tiny lightning bolts. It rose with
all the wonder and terribleness of a mega-storm, like watching miniature
thunderheads build before me. I shut my eyes then, trying to slow the harsh
breaths that were pushing in and out of me. Something as bright as sunbeams lit
the inside of my eyelids an unnatural pink, and I opened my eyes slowly, willing
myself to watch Surah’s magic. It felt very much like peeking into a coffin–a
helplessly morbid curiosity. By the end of the spell, I would come to the
conclusion that it was
exactly
like that; like staring into an
unexpected grave.

The room seemed to fill to the
top with the images, like hundreds of movie screens suspended in the air and
playing different portions of the same story. One was the image of a woman
sitting at what seemed to be her dining room table, a cup of untouched steaming
liquid set in front of her. Her hair and clothing were disheveled. Her brown
eyes dull and staring at nothing, and there seemed to be an invisible weight on
her shoulders, like someone who is about to crumble under the weight of the
world.

To my left was a man staring up
at something, a bowler hat clutched against his fine suit jacket over his
heart. No tears fell from his eyes, but the hurt behind them made it clear that
this was only because of enormous self-control. I looked to the place where
those tired, broken eyes were directed, and at first could not comprehend what
they were seeing. Then it dawned on me in a wave of horror as I saw what it
was. A row of tall wooden spikes back-dropped by a wide river, each with a
fresh severed head speared at the top like spoiled hors d’oeuvres. 

I tore my eyes away only to have
them settle on another image, this one of King William himself. He looked to be
sitting in a car, the scene outside of his window passing by quickly. His old
face was set like stone, his cold gray eyes indifferent to the world around
him. A profound sense of hate filled me at the image of his bejeweled clothing
and jewelry and comfort. Never in my life, not even when the Accursed half of
me had taken over, had I wanted so badly to kill someone.

Another image–this one just a
piece of paper, a flier printed black on white and stamped with the King’s
seal. I read the words as quickly as my brain could process them, and an
involuntary moan escaped my throat. More images, more unseen heat against my
skin, more sick and sad faces, more death and devastation. I started sucking in
air like a new-born and squeezed my eyes shut once more. My hand gripped
Tommy’s like a vice. I wanted to tell him to take me out of here, out of this
room filled with dreadful things, but found that I could not speak. If the
spell didn’t end soon, I may well just pass right out. The presence that had
entered here, the one that had filled me with wonder, had bloomed into a
booming, ugly thing, and I wanted out.

And then it was gone. All of it.
The heat, the presence, the sick feeling in my stomach. It disappeared the way
worry evaporates when you see that a loved one you’d been fretting over is
safe. I peeled my eyes open slowly, afraid that my other senses were playing a
trick on me, and that the floating images would still be there. But they were
not. The room had returned to its former state, the blue cloud of magic gone,
only strengthening sunlight left in its place.

First I looked over at Tommy,
whose normally perfect complexion had gone a little gray, fine beads of sweat
broken out across his brow. I looked over at Surah, who was now leaning back
against the table where she had performed her work, controlling her harsh
breathing with some effort. She stared back at me, her purple eyes having lost
the hatred as though it had never been, and replaced it with a double order of
sorrow.

The Sorceress did not speak the
thought, nor did I reach into her mind to retrieve it, but it seemed to hang in
the air between our gazes. She had read the flier as surely as I had, had read
the words
the Sorcerer has been stopped, so you needn’t fear him
, and
she knew as well as I did that her brother was dead.

What’s more, a good portion of an
entire city had been slaughtered.

Heads on spikes, and King William
was blaming me. And Alexa. Who just happened to be returning from the walk I’d
sent her on, opening the door to the small room to find us sitting there with
I-don’t-know-what kinds of looks on our faces.

And an equally messed-up look on
her own.

Alexa

“What happened?” I asked,
stepping into the room and leaving Kayden to shut the door behind us.

It was Surah who answered me, and
I was surprised to hear that there was no malice underlining her soft tone. “I
will be going now,” she said. “I hope you understand that this matter was not
personal.”

She moved toward the door, and I
stepped in front of her. “Wait, what? Where are you going?” I glanced at Nelly
over the Sorceress’s cloaked shoulder. “What happened?” I repeated.

Surah regarded me with forced
patience. “Your sister can explain,” she said, stepping around me.

I moved to block her again, and a
warning look flashed behind her eyes. “Get out of my way, Sun Warrior.”

I narrowed my eyes, my own
patience wearing thin. “Like hell,” I said. “You storm in here accusing us of
murder and now you think you can just up and leave? What happened to your
vendetta? You all of a sudden have somewhere better to be?”

The Sorceress tilted her head.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I have a King to kill.”

My brow furrowed and I looked
over at Nelly again–her face so drawn and pale–wondering how she had convinced
Surah of our innocence and the King’s guilt in under an hour. Nelly’s voice was
small when she spoke. “Then we want the same thing, Surah,” she said. “Stay. We
can help each other.”