The Whitefire Crossing (46 page)

Kiran pointed at the lines on the floor with a shaking hand. “If Simon had detected Lizaveta’s binding and broken it—or if I hadn’t realized how to enhance her pattern
—
this spell would have worked. Simon would have destroyed you, and Mikail with you. You wouldn’t take such a risk.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

A predatory gleam lit Ruslan’s eyes. “I counted on Simon believing just that.” He laughed. “Poor Simon, always so cautious, so meticulous...he never understood that to win the long game, a man must sometimes gamble everything on a single throw.”

Doubtless it didn’t disturb him a whit that he’d gambled the lives of everyone in Ninavel along with his own. I didn’t think Sechaveh would be so sanguine about the risk of the city falling under Simon’s control. If I survived this night, I’d make sure Sechaveh found out the full tale of Ruslan’s game.

Ruslan’s expression softened again, into fond pride. “As for the chance you’d fail to grasp the heart-binding’s possibilities—that was no risk at all. You forget,
akhelysh
, I know your abilities to the last ember. I knew you would not fail me.”

Kiran jerked as if struck, his eyes full of new horror.

“Is that why you killed Alisa? To drive me to Simon?” His fists were clenched at his sides, his entire body rigid.

Ruslan’s eyes narrowed. “I used her life for your
akhelashva
ritual because it was necessary to show you that disobedience will not be tolerated. It was only afterward, when Lizaveta came to me and told me she feared you would do something foolish if we did not prevent it, that I thought to turn the situation to our advantage.”

I flashed on the pain I’d glimpsed in Kiran when Cara had asked him about a lover, and the sick look on his face when he’d talked of the ritual. If Ruslan had tortured his lover to death in front of him, no wonder he’d run.

“Lizaveta came to you...” Kiran’s mouth twisted. “I thought she cared. I should have known she’d be just as soulless as you.”

“Lizaveta came to me out of love for you,” Ruslan said sternly, that condescending look back on his face. He stood and spread his hands. “Kiran, the time for games has ended. Now you will come home.”

Khalmet’s bloodsoaked hand, he said it with the same casual unconcern as a handler calling his Tainters in from a successful job. Kiran echoed my incredulity.

“Come home, just like that? After what you’ve done?” His laugh was a terrible sound, grating and broken. “You don’t even see what a monster you are.”

“Enough of this foolishness.” Ruslan took a step forward. “Would you prefer to be the plaything of an
akheli
like Simon?”

Kiran flinched. Ruslan nodded in satisfaction. “Oh yes, I know how Simon treated his so-called apprentices. Pitiful brain-burned creatures...killing them was a mercy. Whereas I raised you, trained you, offered you power and protection, and made you
akheli,
the greatest gift it is possible to give. How, then, am I the monster?”

Gods, he really thought himself reasonable. But then, all the truly sick bastards did. Red Dal, Tavian, Ruslan...the scale might be different, but the type was the same.

Kiran stared at Ruslan, his eyes dark. “I loved Alisa, and you killed her. No, more than killed her—you stole not only her life from her, but her pain, her tears, her blood...” His breathing went ragged, his fists trembling. I winced, thinking of the crushing weight of my fear for Cara when I’d realized Ruslan was a blood mage. She’d survived Ruslan’s visit, but if she hadn’t, the pain would’ve torn me raw.

Ruslan made an angry, dismissive noise. “What must I do to make you understand? She was nothing. The
nathahlen
are as far below us as animals.”

And this was the man Pello had wanted to save. Ruslan and Simon were two of a kind, far as I could see. How Sechaveh slept at night, I didn’t know.

“She wasn’t nothing! She was beautiful, and kind, and good, and giving!” Kiran’s voice spiraled out of control. “All you do is take, and manipulate, and kill!” His face was anguished. “I’ll destroy myself and my magic before I’ll live as you do!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ruslan’s voice was cold. “My patience, long though it has been, is now at an end. If you act as a spoiled child, you force me to treat you like one.” He drew himself up, his face going intent.

Kiran flinched and put a hand to his temple. My fingers dug futile furrows over stone. Shaikar take Ruslan and his cursed magic! I hated being so fucking helpless.

Kiran’s hand dropped. He laughed wildly, his fingers going to the sigil on his chest. “All that backlash...the mark-binding link hasn’t restabilized yet. You can’t control me...”

Run
, I willed him. Khalmet’s hand, what was he waiting for?

Ruslan’s face darkened. “Do not provoke me.” He raised a hand sheathed in red fire.

Kiran raised his own hands. The air before him burst into azure flame, just as a crackling, seething web of light arrowed from Ruslan’s hand. Blue and crimson sparks cascaded to the ground, and Kiran staggered backward. He clawed a hand through the air. Dimly glowing lines blazed into furious life, spitting arcs at Ruslan. Ruslan’s mouth twisted in a snarl as he blocked them with a shield of his own, sending more sparks sizzling through the air.

Kiran turned and ran, disappearing into the meadow. Ruslan followed. A bright flash threw sharp shadows across the scarred cave floor, and a crashing boom made me flinch. Overhead came the ominous grind of rocks shifting. Dust sifted down in front of my nose.

“Shit,” I said in a heartfelt whisper. If they kept at it, the entire rock face would collapse and crush me into jelly. Of course, my other option was to crawl out and get blasted by Ruslan. Just great. Another explosion followed by a louder, crunching noise overhead made my decision for me. I scooted out of the crevice, praying Ruslan was too busy with Kiran to notice me, and that the amulet around my neck still worked.

Cautiously, I poked my head around the rockpile. Kiran and Ruslan stood facing each other in the meadow, just past the crumpled body of Simon’s guardsman. Wild coronas of light flared and arced into each other, sparks showering everywhere. Patches of grass were already ablaze. Thank Khalmet it wasn’t midsummer, or else the whole meadow would’ve gone up like a tinderbox. As it was, I thought it high time to be leaving before I got burned to a crisp. I hesitated, looking at the despairing fury on Kiran’s face, but there was nothing I could do for him now.

Ruslan’s back was to me. If I moved fast, I might make it to the trees unnoticed. I eased forward, ready to run—and a hand gripped my shoulder for the second time that night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

(Dev)

I
whipped around with a choked shout, convinced I’d see Simon.

“Quiet!” It wasn’t Simon this time, either. My captor was a sandy-haired guy around my own age with a broad, serious face and slanted gray eyes. He held up a hand haloed in green magelight. “If you run, I will stop you.” He had the same faint accent as Kiran.

“Oh, for Khalmet’s sake,” I snarled. “How many of you
are
there, stomping around the Whitefires?”

His head tilted, magefire reflected in his pale eyes. “Just me, my master—and Kiran. You want to help him, don’t you? I saw it on your face.”

“You must be Mikail.” Kiran hadn’t said much about him, but at least he hadn’t spoken of Mikail with the same dread as he had Ruslan.

Mikail nodded. A bright flash tinted his flat features blue, and his jaw tightened. “Kiran never knows when to quit,” he muttered. And then, louder, “He’s more like Ruslan than you realize.”

My disbelief must’ve shown, because he huffed a short, ironic laugh. “Did he tell you Ruslan and I were monsters, and he the innocent, helpless victim?”

“I don’t have to take his word for it,” I said sharply. “Ruslan’s doing a great job of proving him right.” Why was he talking to me instead of killing me, or binding me with magic the way Simon had?

“And if Kiran weren’t equally as obsessive, stubborn, and slow to forgive as Ruslan, none of this would be happening.” Mikail sounded weary. He pressed a thick, ornate silver charm-band into my hand. “I found this in Simon’s cabin—if you want Kiran’s freedom, put it on.”

“What does it do? And wait—why would you want Kiran free?” I wasn’t about to trust anyone who called Ruslan master.

Mikail gave a one-sided shrug. “Ruslan will push Kiran too far. Look at him.” Out in the meadow, Kiran staggered and fell to one knee, bracing his hands on the earth. The writhing spirals of light around him faded, then blazed up with renewed force.

“Ruslan seeks to block Kiran’s access to the confluence power here, thinking that will force surrender, but I know my mage-brother. With the mark-binding yet unstable and Lizaveta’s heart-binding broken, Kiran will spend his entire life force rather than give in,” Mikail said, his voice low and unhappy.

“Then help him! You’re a mage!”

“Go against Ruslan, directly?” Mikail eyed me as if I were a slow-witted child. “That, he would not forgive—and I am not Kiran.” He gripped my shoulder. “Make no mistake, I think Kiran is being a fool. But I prefer him a live fool to a dead one, so I give the choice to you—help him, or watch him die and then face Ruslan yourself.”

Not much of a choice. I stared at the charm in my hand. “What will this thing do?”

Mikail smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Provide a weapon only a
nathahlen
can use.”

If I’d ever seen a fool’s game, this was it...but I’d been ready to die at Simon’s hands on the slim chance I’d save Kiran. This wasn’t far different.

Before I could change my mind, I slipped the charm onto a wrist. Mikail laid a hand over it and mumbled something under his breath. The charm flashed green. Prickling heat raced up my arm.

And then—oh, and then—shock stopped my breath, as deep in my mind something unfolded I’d thought I’d lost forever.

The Taint! Stunned, unbelieving exultation near choked me. Could it really be true? My gaze lit on a rock shard lying at Mikail’s feet. In an agony of anticipation, I reached out with my mind.

The old familiar twisting sensation sent an ecstatic thrill chasing down my spine. The rock shard sprang into the air and hung there, slowly revolving.

Even as I did it, a deep, vicious cramp stabbed my stomach. I didn’t care. Joy bubbled up to fill the dark void I’d carried in my soul since the day I’d Changed. All these years, so dead inside, and now alive again—

A booming explosion shook me free of revelry. I bared my teeth at Mikail. He inclined his head to me, and moved aside.

The rock plummeted to the ground as I shifted my attention to Ruslan. “See how you like this, you arrogant bastard,” I growled, and
shoved
at him, hard as I could.

***

(Kiran)

Sheets of flame crashed upon Kiran, battering his body with raw power while subtle, sneaking tendrils pried at his mind. And all the while, vicious gusts of magic whittled away his connection to the meadow confluence as inexorably as a sandstorm eroding adobe.

Ruslan was so
strong.
How could he attack on so many fronts at once? Every time Kiran tried to stave off the dissolution of his confluence link, his defenses threatened to collapse under Ruslan’s other onslaughts. Despair crept through Kiran, whispering of surrender. He fought all the harder, pouring all of his rage and hatred and guilt into his magic, fashioning every scrap of power he possessed into a howling black tornado hurled straight at Ruslan.

The bright blaze of Ruslan’s defensive magic shone undimmed under the assault. Kiran groaned, struggling to shore up weakened defenses. His supply of confluence energy dwindled to a mere trickle. Kiran spent his own
ikilhia
instead, abandoning all caution. Sweat dripped into his eyes; his heart raced and then faltered.

Ruslan’s attacks doubled in force. Kiran’s shield wavered, his inner defenses crumbling. Desperate, he reached deep within himself for more, preparing a counterattack he knew would fail.

Without warning, Ruslan flew sideways as if smacked aside by a giant, invisible hand, and slammed into a cinnabar trunk. His outer shield flickered and failed, right as Kiran’s counterstrike hit. A brilliant flash seared the air. Ruslan collapsed.

Confluence energy surged into Kiran unimpeded. The shock sent him sprawling, his shield flaring with overflow. Even as he fell, he snatched at power and cast another raw blast of magic at Ruslan.

Crimson light outlined Ruslan’s unconscious body, and Kiran’s strike sheeted harmlessly away to dissipate in scattered, guttering fires. Kiran grimaced. Ruslan’s barriers had snapped up before the strike reached him, and now his
ikilhia
pulsed in a sullen knot behind protective magic dense and impenetrable as stone. Any further brute force assault would be futile.

Kiran pushed warily to his feet. Ruslan’s focus had been shattered by the physical impact with the tree, allowing Kiran’s initial counterstrike to reach him before his barriers formed, but what had sent him flying in the first place?

“Hey! Don’t just stand there, blast him again!”

Dizzily, Kiran turned to see Dev running toward him. Dirt and blood streaked Dev’s skin, his clothes scorched and torn, but his face shone with a fierce, dark glee.

“Dev? But...the backlash, and the rockfall...how...?” Kiran felt caught in some odd, fantastical dream. First the abrupt halt to his fight with Ruslan, and now Dev, alive...he’d been certain Dev was dead, another soul added to the black weight on his conscience.

Dev shrugged, then winced and pressed a hand to his side. “I got beat up pretty good, but it takes more than that to fell an outrider.” He cast a sharp glance over his shoulder. Kiran followed his gaze, but saw nothing more than the silent, empty cave. Dev stabbed a finger at Ruslan’s silent form, and spoke in a low, urgent voice. “Hurry up and kill him! Unless...he’s already dead?” He sounded half-hopeful, half-skeptical.

“No. He’s unconscious. But his barriers are up, and they’re far too strong for me to breach without a channeled spell.”

“Let me have another try, then.” Dev’s brow furrowed, his breath hissing between his teeth. Above Ruslan, the massive cinnabar tree shook as if lashed by a strong wind—yet Kiran sensed no magic, just as when Ruslan had been knocked aside...a sudden, vivid image of Mero’s intent frown as pebbles rattled across the courtyard sprang into his head.