The Living God, page 11
Keleir ripped the dagger from Yarin’s wound, messy and quick, and threw it across the great hall where the king could not reach it. Saran withered on the floor, heaving as pain splintered through her.
Rowe cradled her and pressed his wide hand against the hole to try to stop the bleeding. It poured over his fingers and dripped to the stone under them. “It’s all right,” the Lightning Mage soothed, staring down into Saran’s alarmed eyes.
Sweat beaded on the king’s forehead. “Finish the ceremony.”
Keleir loomed angrily over the crazed old man. “Why is this so important to you?”
“When the Three are devoured by their darkness …” the king began before Keleir’s hands wrapped around his throat, silencing him. Behind the Fire Mage, the princess choked.
“Keleir!” Rowe roared. “She can’t breathe. Stop it!”
Keleir’s eyes grew black as pitch. “What does it matter to you if I am king? Why is this so important to you? Answer the question, and I’ll release you.”
Rowe watched with horror as color left Saran’s face and her eyes pleaded with him for air, as if he were the one choking her. Her hands wrapped around her throat and clawed at an invisible grasp she could not reach. Rowe roared. “You’re killing her!”
Yarin grinned. He struggled to lift his chin, and with a single breath he hissed, “You are long awaited, Vel d’Ekaru.”
Keleir released his grip on the king and let the old man fall back, coughing, into his throne. He backed down the steps and across the floor until he stood near Saran and Rowe, letting his gaze slip to the woman he loved, gasping on the floor in his brother’s arms. The Lightning Mage’s face turned a ghostly sheet of white, and the black in Keleir’s eyes seeped away like a passing storm.
“Finish it,” Yarin said. “And no harm will come to her or your brother.”
“She needs a healer,” Rowe whispered, brushing the curls from her face. Saran pressed her cheek into his chest and closed her eyes wearily. The Lightning Mage turned his angry gaze to his brother. “I told you to stop.”
Keleir nodded. “I’m sorry … I …”
The king straightened in his chair. Blood stained his robes and dripped down his leg to pool beneath his boot. He required a healer as badly as his daughter, and Keleir wondered if the man would sooner sit there and bleed to death than relinquish control of the moment.
“Finish,” said the king with the sort of finality that proved the Fire Mage’s thoughts correct. He would not escape this without someone he loved being hurt or worse.
Keleir nodded and knelt next to Saran. “Quickly,” he said to the priest as he took the princess’s left hand in his. The priest pulled from his pocket a second gold rope and tied it around their hands. The Fire Mage tried to ignore the weary look on Saran’s face or how the color of her lips slowly returned to their normal shade of rose.
“You swear an oath this day to wed the other. To be faithful. To never waver or turn from one another. To be tied as one for the rest of your living days, and endure pain if you ever knowingly break the oath that Binds you.” The Priest turned four shades of green as his eyes fell on the blood collecting around Saran’s legs. “As a priest of the Vel d’Ekaru, by my authority as a representative of His will, I wed you. Man to woman. Mage to Mage. Eternal and everlasting.” The priest took a small knife from his belt and turned Keleir’s hand over, cutting across the palm. He then pressed the hand to Saran’s already bleeding leg. “Blood to blood.”
After a minute the priest released his grip on the Fire Mage with a disappointed frown. “Usually there is more fanfare, but the Bind is probably keeping the spell from completing. It will need to be removed in order to finish. You will also have to consummate.”
“The Bind will remain,” Yarin snapped. “The spell will complete when it is removed, and it will only be removed when I die naturally or when I have decided to remove it. Either way, at that moment, it will be time for you to be king and inherit all that is required to ascend to your proper place.”
Keleir nodded, as passive as a beaten dog, and did not lift his gaze to the old man. “Let us go, then, if all that is required of us is finished. Your daughter needs stitching.”
Yarin threw his hand toward the door. “Go then.”
Keleir moved to gather Saran in his arms, but Rowe took her swiftly and stood. “I’ll carry her. I think you’ve done enough for now.”
They took Saran to the medical ward on the south side of the palace and let the healers tend to the wound, stitching and bandaging it. They tucked her safely into the medical cot, drugged with herbs and tea, and then Rowe motioned for Keleir to follow him out to the hall. Once the door closed, the Lightning Mage struck his brother soundly across the jaw.
Keleir skidded sideways into the wall, and his head cracked against the stone. He cupped his jaw with one hand and wiped blood from his lip with the other. He did not feel anger at his brother for the hit. In fact, he wanted it to hurt more. He needed it to hurt more. “You told me to hit you if you ever willingly hurt her,” Rowe seethed. “I kept my promise.”
The Fire Mage leaned into the wall, wanting more than ever to be sucked into it. He stared across at his jealous and angry brother. “Are you sure you aren’t hitting me for other reasons?”
“Those reasons don’t matter. She couldn’t breathe, and you ignored me. Vengeance meant more to you than her. You’re slipping. Anger is getting the better of you.”
Keleir cast his eyes to the floor. “I know.”
“What do you plan to do about it?”
“I don’t know, Rowe.”
“You look awful.”
The Fire Mage curled his fingers in his white hair and closed his eyes. “The inside of my mind is like a shattered wall, crumbling ever so slightly with each pull and tug the Oruke makes. I can feel the pieces falling right now. It’s a constant scratching pain. A … headache that isn’t quite there. I don’t only see him in my dreams, but now sometimes while I’m awake. It’s as if the moment Saran was Bound, the wall she built to protect me formed a huge crack, and it’s been growing ever since.”
“If she were free, do you think it would save you?”
“I don’t know. I could be too far gone. She said she couldn’t do it again, and I believe her. It nearly killed her once. She might die the next time she tries.” Keleir sunk to the floor, stretching his long legs out before him. “I don’t want to tell her. Gods, I shouldn’t have done this! She’s trapped to me.”
“And you to her,” Rowe reminded. “Though, not yet. You’ve got to finish the ritual. Remove the Bind and consummate the marriage.”
Keleir gave a low, dark chuckle. “I’m pretty sure we’ve consummated.”
“Does that even count?”
Keleir shook his head, tears in his eyes. “No idea.”
“Saran has had the shit kicked out of her the last few days. She’s not fit to fight if Darshan leads his assault on the capital, and we don’t know how long it will be before she is. There’s also the risk she’ll die if one of his bloodthirsty men puts a sword through Yarin. One of us needs to go to him and let him know what’s happened.”
Keleir lifted his red gaze to his brother. “What if we leave them to bloody each other and we use the Gate Maker in the cellar to go somewhere else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Saran and I discussed it, though we agreed to wait until after Salara. We want to go to the Third. There isn’t any magic there. It may stop the progression of the Oruke. What if we don’t wait until after Salara? We could go tonight. Let those that revel in war fight their battles. I’m tired. I’m so tired, Rowe. I want peace, both of mind and body. I need sanctuary.”
Rowe hesitated. “I’ll speak to Darshan. You stay with Saran. When I get back, we can talk more about going to the Third. But I’m in agreement for waiting until after Salara.”
Keleir’s lips parted, but he clamped his mouth shut and stood. “The two of you are very loyal to a man who would happily have me beheaded.”
“We are loyal to freedom for thousands of people, Keleir, not to Darshan. You are my brother, and if going to the Third saves you, then I will go. But I need to finish what I started with Saran. Please respect that.”
Keleir frowned. Even though he felt part of their little group, he had never truly been part of their alliance with Darshan. It had begun before his merger with them as a man, not as the Oruke. Rowe had always possessed a blind devotion, a desperate need for atonement that led him to do irresponsible and selfish things.
The Fire Mage shook his head and went to the door to Saran’s room. “I’m turning into a monster who may very well slaughter all of you for the sheer joy of it. Perhaps you should respect that more.”
THIRTEEN
SARAN EYED HER new husband as he sat on the edge of her bed, staring at his shoes. The small, narrow room had a single straw cot, a small table with a candle, and a cabinet of medical supplies tucked into the corner. The tiny light from the withering flame next to her reflected the terrible mood rippling off the Fire Mage. Even without their connection, she could feel it in the air. A black cloud hung around him, and a heavy weight had settled on his shoulders.
“I’ve not been this unlucky since we were stuck in the Ebon caves fighting off cavern dwellers.” She sighed, tilting her head back into the pillow.
Saran could count on one hand the number of times she’d been this damaged and unable to quickly resolve it with magic. One of those included the night she faced off against the Oruke to bring Keleir back from the darkness. It had taken seven healers two weeks to mend her body. By all accounts, she should have died.
The Ebon caves came in a close second as far as damage, and though it had been filled with pain, it was a happy memory for her. It was on that trip that she realized she had fallen for the Fire Mage. He’d protected her, helped her walk, nursed her sickness from the infection. They’d been trapped for days, lost in the caves and fighting off locals who didn’t appreciate trespassers, until they wormed their way out of a hole in the caverns and landed on Adrid soil. When their powers returned, Saran mended herself. Keleir, thankfully, had endured the experience without losing himself to the Oruke. In fact, he had said he didn’t hear the creature at all.
He referred to that story as proof that going to the Third or running away to Mavahan would save him from the Oruke. Of course she knew the truth. He wouldn’t last much longer than they had in the caves.
Her limbs were fuzzy-numb from the herbal tea, and her eyes heavy with sleep. For the moment, her father’s damage caused only a slight ache. “At least then I only had a few cracked ribs, a broken leg, and a really infected bite, and that all cleared up right after we got out of Mavahan and I could use my element again.”
Keleir’s hand tightened into a fist. “In the course of three days you have had your hand broken, your face pummeled, your neck burned, your leg stabbed, and I nearly choked the life out of you. This is more than a little unlucky, Saran.” He rubbed his temple, stiffening as her left hand brushed along his back. She curled on her side and dragged her short nails over him soothingly. “I am sorry I was too angry to hear Rowe. I wish I could go back. I wish I could manipulate time as you do and fix all the wrongs I’ve done.”
Saran swallowed the knot in her throat. She needed her power. She missed having the ability to make everything better, to control fate, and to rewrite the history around her. She used it as a shield from all the wrongs in the world, and that shield had been stripped from her. She’d never had a life without magic, and now she had nothing. Not even the strength of her own body. She’d never been this frail, this vulnerable, and she couldn’t afford to be any of these things, not with Keleir in such a bad state. Not when she knew him to be so vulnerable himself.
If her powers weren’t returned to her soon …
“It’s fine. Listen, the only reason all of this seems so bad is because I usually heal very quickly. What is the beauty of manipulating time if you can’t reverse the damage or speed up the recovery? When I get hurt, I get right back up as if nothing happened. You’re not used to seeing me like this, that’s all. Honestly I’m not used to being like this. You know how much I hate being the damsel.”
“You are hardly a damsel …”
Saran smiled, curling her fingers in his tunic. “Look here.”
He hesitated but finally turned to look at her. Even in shadows and looking as if he’d not slept in days, he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Most would find his appearance unsettling, and yet she’d grown to love it.
“Husband.” The word felt odd as it rolled out of her mouth and into the air, where it hung heavy around them. She laughed. “I thought it would sound more natural.”
“It is new,” he admitted. “It may sound more natural over time.”
“I’m sure. Do you want to say it?”
“Husband?”
She laughed again. “No.”
Keleir swallowed, reaching out for her good hand. He curled his fingers around it tightly, as if he needed to draw strength in order to speak. “Wife.”
The word quivered on his tongue, half-restrained as it forced its way from his throat. His eyes watered as he looked down at her fingers curled around his hand. He blinked and wiped his hands across his cheek to banish the sign of emotion. “I told Rowe that I would sit with you and keep you company, but I have something I need to know. I have to leave you for a little while. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Saran tightened her hold on him. “Where are you going?”
The Fire Mage gave a weak smile. He bent and kissed her lips. “To church.”
FOURTEEN
ROWE WAITED PATIENTLY for Darshan in the circular tower-tent. Warm sunlight filtered in through the tall stained glass windows, painting colors across the floor. The colors moved, shifted, twinkled with each slight rustle of the illusionary trees outside. He stared at the floor with a painfully tight grasp on the arms of his chair, watching the colors as they moved.
“Lord Blackwell,” Darshan greeted with a smile, falling weary into a chair that materialized behind him.
Rowe jerked from his thoughts, blue eyes flashing up from the floor to meet the rebel leader’s curious gaze.
“What brings you here?” the Water Mage continued.
“I’ve come on behalf of Saran.”
“Ah, yes. She did say she would send word on her punishment …” Darshan slid to the edge of his chair, resting his arms across his knees. “And?”
“It’s complicated. We may not be able to win this war without …” Rowe swallowed. “The king has placed a Bind on her. She cannot use her power. The Bind is also connected to his life. If he is hurt, she is hurt. If he is killed, she is killed. The only means of avoiding hurting her is if he dies naturally. We haven’t located a key to free her. That is my next goal once I’m through here.”
Darshan frowned, settling back in the old wooden chair. “I see …”
“If you raid the castle and kill the king, Saran will die with him. Neither I nor Keleir will allow you to kill him if it means losing her. You understand this, don’t you?”
“I understand.”
Rowe tilted his head. “And your thoughts?”
Darshan pursed his lips together and stared at the floor. Then he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes. “I loved her mother. Her mother loved me. We couldn’t be together because of her forced marriage to Yarin and the rules that come with those rituals. But we loved each other … It would sadden my heart greatly to lose Saran, but war often involves collateral damage.” His eyes flashed to Rowe’s and held them. “We must strike and rid ourselves of Yarin, no matter the cost.”
“Then imprison him,” Rowe said quietly. “Until he dies of old age or diseases or until we rid her of the Bind. You cannot afford to lose Saran. She is not a casualty of war. Not when there is so much at stake.”
“Are you saying this because you love her?”
“No,” Rowe groaned. “I’m saying it because I love my brother and he loves her. I’m saying it because my brother is losing the war with the Oruke and he needs Saran to keep him stable. If you take Saran away, the Oruke will consume him, and there will be no one to keep the creature in check. She is his Equitas. I know this to be true. You stand to lose quite a bit if you take her out of the game.”
“Game?”
“You know what I mean, Darshan.”
Darshan’s gaze turned piercing, and his face pinched with a frown.
“Have you had any visions?”
“No. The Prophetess has been quiet. No dreams either.”
The Water Mage tapped his fingers against the chair thoughtfully. Rowe fixated on the sound, as if he could decipher what the old man thought based on the rhythm he set. “Your brother is slipping. What is your opinion on the matter?”
“You know what my view of the matter is. I care a great deal for him. I will do anything to keep him. That includes going someplace I do not want to go. He speaks of travel to the Third as a means of hindering the Oruke. He thinks that a world without magic will stop the Oruke’s advances and save his sanity. He wants to go immediately, but I want to hold off until after Salara.”
Darshan nodded. “How do you know the Oruke hasn’t taken control of your brother already? You said he is slipping? What if he already slipped and the glimpses you are seeing now are merely the Oruke slipping up in his act? Of course he doesn’t want you to help with Salara. Ridding the king of the throne and his access to it would hinder his plans. He wants the rebellion to fail. It will ensure his succession.”
“It has already been ensured. Saran and Keleir were married today. He will be king once Yarin is gone.”
Darshan’s lips curled with a cruel smile. “How convenient.”
“Keleir doesn’t want to be king. He didn’t want to marry Saran. He only married her because Yarin tortured her. It was mercy.”
