Sovereign of the Seven Isles 7: Reishi Adept (11 page)

“Your injuries … they’re almost gone.”

Wren tenderly touched her face. “They don’t feel gone.”

“Believe me, you’re in a lot better shape than you were last night,” Lacy said. “Isabel healed you.”

“I t
hought you couldn’t do that anymore,” Wren said.

“I found a way to get it back, for now anyway,” Isabel said.

“Then the beating I took was worth it.”

Isabel shook her head slowly. “Not to me. Phane was right. If he makes me kill you, I’ll lose myself to the darkness.”

“Then we should kill him first,” Wren said.

“Easier said than done
. Although, it seems more possible today than it did yesterday.”

“What do you have in mind?” Lacy said.

“I have a spell that might get through his defenses,” Isabel said. “If it works, he won’t be able to use his magic.”

“For how long?” Lacy asked.

“I’m not sure, but probably less than a minute. I’ve never cast it on someone like him before.”

“
Assuming it works, then what?” Lacy asked.

“We’ll need weapons
. If we all come at him at once, one of us is likely to get a blade into him. We’ll only get one chance at this. If we don’t take him down, he might just kill us all.”

“
But we have to do something,” Wren said.

“Maybe there’s something else I can do,” Isabel said.

“How can we help?” Lacy asked.

“Take care of Wren while I meditate
. When Dierdra brings food, see if you can steal a knife.”

Lacy nodded as Isabel got up and stretched. She put a pillow out on the balcony and sat cross-legged, closing her eyes and clearing her mind. She found the portal to the realm of light within her mind easily and quickly, just as she had before she’d been infected by the Wraith Queen’s taint, but the spark of light she’d found the night before was elusive. She could sense that it was there, but for some reason she couldn’t find it. The harder she tried
, the more distant it became.

After nearly an hour
, she opened her eyes in frustration and returned to her friends and a platter of food. The sight of it made her stomach rumble. She piled cheese, bread, fruit, and slices of ham onto a plate and sat with Wren and Lacy while she ate.

“Any luck?” Lacy asked.

Isabel shook her head, swallowing hard before answering.

“Last night, I found a place of stillness within myself. It was so calm and centered, like all of the turmoil in the world had no power to change it. When I focused on it, the Wraith Queen fled from my mind, but I couldn’t find it again. The harder I tried
, the farther away it got.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” Wren said.

Isabel nodded, considering the possibility.

“What did it fee
l like last night?” Lacy asked. “I mean, when you found this place, did it feel different?”

Isabel smiled around a mouthful of fruit, nodding.

“It did. I think I know what I’ve been doing wrong,” she said, taking one more big bite before returning to the balcony and her meditation pillow.

This time she didn’t try to find it, she just tried to feel the calm, knowing, all
-accepting love that had radiated from the light within. She didn’t push or force or expect, she simply felt. For what seemed like a long time, nothing happened. But bit by bit, her mind grew quieter and her soul grew calmer, more accepting, less expecting, until it happened.

Light from within seemed to
flow through her, filling her with love and acceptance. In that place, everything seemed right, as if all events were unfolding according to a plan that was much greater and more complex than she could comprehend. Despite all she’d been through, she couldn’t help but believe that everything was going to be all right.

With that simple belief came enormous power, not the kind of power that could wage war, not even the kind of power that she could direct to her purpose. It gave her something else, something she hadn’t had in a long time: Hope. It washed away her doubt and filled her with purpose
. Her resolve became something altogether more than it had ever been before.

She was no longer just fighting for her life, her family
, and her principles. She was now an agent of the light. She was an instrument of something far greater than herself. Outwardly, her goals hadn’t changed … her enemies were the same as they’d always been, and just as formidable. But inwardly, everything had changed. Just a subtle shift in her perspective, a slight alteration in how she saw the world, made all the difference.

She may be defeated, she may even die. But she would
never serve the darkness. Somewhere in the distance, she heard Azugorath shrieking in fury.

“Let go,”
Isabel commanded.

“Never!” cried the Wraith Queen.

Isabel responded not with force, but with unconditional love, freely given and without expectation. The demon tapped into the darkness within Isabel, bringing forth images of such horror and depravity that a part of Isabel wanted to flee, to cower, to escape, but she didn’t. She held fast to the light, offering it to the demon even as her soul was battered by the evil spewing forth from the netherworld.

She didn’t flinch. The stillness of that ancient, timeless power gave her the strength to withstand all that the Wraith Queen could call forth from the depth
s of the darkness. All of that hate and rage fled her mind like shadow flees the sun.

“Stop!” Issa said.

Isabel ignored him, continuing to revel in the light.

He slapped her, knocking her from her pillow and disrupting her focus, bu
t not entirely detaching her from the light within. She knew, even as she rolled to her feet, that nothing would ever separate her from that power, not even death.

Issa was bleeding again, from the same wound she’d seen the night before. She smiled, raising her hand and casting her Maker’s light spell. He looked at her with disdain, as if he’d faced other such attacks in the past and survived, as if he expected to survive this attack as well.

Her spell fired, brilliant light piercing into his chest, passing straight through him, but without causing even a hint of injury. His eyes went wide and his face went white as a number of grievous wounds opened all over his body, blood spilling freely as he slumped to his knees, a look of shock and disbelief distorting his visage as Isabel snatched up a dinner knife and drove it into the top of his skull before he could regain enough sense to blink out of the world of time and substance.

Azugorath
wailed and fled deeper into the depths of Isabel’s psyche until she could no longer hear her whimpering and mewling.

“I didn’t think they could be killed,” Lacy said, standing well behind Issa’s corpse, holding a knife.

“We don’t have much time,” Isabel said. “Phane will take steps to ensure this doesn’t happen again.”

As if on cue,
Phane stepped into the room through an invisible doorway.

“Indeed I will,” he said.

Isabel didn’t hesitate. She cast her Maker’s light again.

Phane
looked at her with impatience, allowing her to finish her spell. As it passed through his shield and through him, his expression changed—guilt, remorse, despair, fear all vying for dominance as he struggled with the revealing effects of the light flooding into his broken soul. He stood stunned, as if he couldn’t process all of the unfamiliar feelings tumbling through his mind.

“Now!” Isabel shouted, charging toward him.

To her credit, Lacy didn’t hesitate. What she lacked in training and experience, she made up for with courage and conviction. The two women closed the distance to Phane in seconds. Isabel thought of Wren’s injuries and shifted her emotion from love to rage. It happened quickly, more quickly than she would have thought possible. Her force-push came swiftly and powerfully, crashing into Phane’s shield, shoving him back.

His expression registered confusion.

Isabel stopped at a distance of only a few feet and poured all of the fury she could muster into her light-lance. It flashed bright and hot, burning into Phane’s shield with an intensity that required his attention to defend against, attention he couldn’t give in his current state of mind.

The shield
broke, popping like a bubble.

A second later an unopened bottle of dark red wine smashed into his head, breaking and showering him in crimson.
He staggered from the blow. Wren picked up a goblet to throw next but stopped when Lacy crashed into him, plunging her knife into his belly, crashing into the wall with him and going to her knees as he slumped to the floor. She pulled the knife out to stab him again when he snapped back to the present moment, gasping in pain.

With a
single gesture, he hurled them all across the room. Isabel fell hard. She struggled to get a breath but couldn’t. Rolling to her side, she saw the bloodstain spreading out across Phane’s robe. He wore a look of fury and surprise, as if he still couldn’t process what had just happened. Isabel glanced over at Lacy crumpled on the floor twenty feet away. The princess wasn’t moving. Wren was staggering to her feet.

“You may be more trouble than you’re worth,”
Phane said, opening his Wizard’s Den and crawling inside.

Isabel closed her eyes and focused on regaining her breath. After
a few minutes, she went to Lacy and found her unconscious with a nasty bump on the head. Isabel laid her hands on the wound and directed her healing light into the princess, then she lay down beside her.

Some time later, how long she didn’t know, Wren gently shook her
awake.

“Are you all right?”

Isabel nodded, closing her eyes tightly from a sudden jab of pain. “Lacy?” she asked.

“She’s asleep but breathing normally.”

“Good, I’m just going to lie here for a while longer,” Isabel mumbled. She felt a blanket settle over her before she drifted back to sleep.

She woke to a sharp pain in her r
ibs. One of Phane’s female soldiers was standing over her. Several more were arrayed around the room, all armed with crossbows.

“Get up,”
the soldier commanded.

Isabel rolled
onto her belly and pushed herself up to her knees. Phane stood near the door, scowling at her. His robes were still stained with blood and he looked like he was in pain, though not nearly enough for Isabel’s taste. She staggered to her feet, wincing involuntarily.

Another soldier dum
ped a pitcher of water on Lacy. She sputtered and coughed, spasming in pain before rolling to her side and curling into a ball.

“Bring her,” Phane said, point
ing to Lacy.

“What
are you doing?” Isabel demanded.

“Whatever I want,” Phane said, turning his back on her
, moving stiffly. Two soldiers dragged Lacy from the room while four more motioned for Isabel to stand clear.

“Oh, Dear Maker, what have I done?” she whispered.

“You made him bleed,” Wren said. “Lacy knew the risks and she accepted them.”

“And it might have just cost her everything,” Isabel said, gingerly sitting
down at the table. “At least your injuries are healing nicely.”

“Whatever you did really helped a lot. I can barely feel any pain.”

Isabel examined Wren’s face, grimacing at the sickly yellow discoloration. “Looks like you’re going to have a scar on your cheek.”

Wren shrugged. “The Sky Knights
wear their scars like a badge of honor. Maybe they’ll take me more seriously now.”

“I can just about guarantee it,” Isabel sa
id, giving her hand a squeeze.

Chapter
8

It took several minutes before Lacy’s senses came back to her. She was being carried by two women, one holding each arm. The cool spring breeze on her face told her she was outside, but she couldn’t be sure where. For some reason she didn’t seem to have the strength to lift her head. It lolled forward, offering her a view of her toes dragging on the flagstones and the feet of the two soldiers carrying her through the streets.

She let herself remain limp, conserving her strength. Her head hurt. The pain spiked with each step, throbbing
with a sickeningly predictable rhythm. All at once she became nauseous and vomited. The soldiers ignored her distress, dragging her through the bile.

By the time
they reached the black tower at the center of the city, she was starting to feel well enough to stand on her own. But she let them continue to carry her despite the pain of their rough grip on her upper arms and the tingling in her fingertips. They took her inside, following Phane along a path of corridors and stairs until they came to a large bare stone room. The soldiers sat her on a hard wooden chair in front of a rough-cut table and left without a word.

She looked up weakly, surveying her surroundings. The room was dimly lit by lanterns spaced eve
nly along the walls. There was a door on the opposite wall. Two magic circles were cut into the floor and inlaid in gold and silver. A space of only a few feet separated them.

Phane sat across from her
, regarding her intently. When she didn’t react, he sighed wearily.

“You can’t win,” he said, leaning forward and holding her eyes deliberately. “You. Can’t. Win.”

She held up her bloodstained hand. “You bleed just like any other man.”

He sat back and smiled like the sunrise, his demeanor shifting to good humor in an instant—a response that Lacy found altogether unsettling.

“I must say, you have surprised me. I thought you were weak and helpless, a child caught up in events far bigger than you. I was wrong.” He stopped to laugh gently, as if sharing a joke with an old friend. “You should know that precious few people have ever heard me utter those words. But I’m big enough to admit my mistakes.”

Lacy wanted to laugh in his face, but thought better of it. She wanted to say that his very existence was wrong, that every breath he took was a crime, that he could only do right by the world if he killed himself.

“I suspect that spending time with Isabel has given direction to your courage, but that would only be possible if you had courage in the first place.”

He set
the box she’d carried for so long on the table.

“You know what I want. All you hav
e to do is name your price. I’ll pay it.”

“Die,” Lacy said.

Phane’s smile brightened. “Such defiance. A quality to be admired in a princess … though not overly so.”

“I’m not going to open that box, not ever.”

“Not even for your dear brother? Would you like to see him? I can show you his plight.”

He gestured to the door and it opened as if on some magical cue. Two soldiers escorted a middle
-aged man into the room. He looked stricken with fear. Phane smiled, magically lifting him from the ground and binding him in the air within one of the circles, shackles of red-tinged magical force encircling his wrists and ankles.

“
Isabel made all of this necessary when she broke my mirror. If I permit you to see her again, I hope you’ll pass along stories of the suffering she’s caused.”

“Please,” the man said
, “I’m just a shopkeeper. I obey the laws. I don’t hurt anyone. Why are you doing this?”

“Hush,” Phane said
gently, almost tenderly. “You’re not being punished. You’re being used. I need a soul to give to my Master in exchange for information, so I’m going to sacrifice you to get what I want.”

“I don’t deserve this. Please don’t do this. I have a family. They need me.”

“Of course you don’t deserve this. If you did, my Master wouldn’t accept your soul in trade.”

The man’s eyes widened, full understanding of his fate settling onto him like a curse.

“Don’t do this, Phane,” Lacy said, a hint of horror in her voice.

“You can stop this anytime you like. Open the box and this man is free to go.”

Lacy froze, looking at the box and then at the man, who was suspended helplessly by magic, awaiting a fate worse than death.

“You know I won’t do that,” Lacy said.

“It’s up to you,” Phane said in a good-natured tone. “His life is in your hands.”

“Please, give him what he wants,” the man begged, tears flowing freely down his face. “I have two children. They need me.”

Lacy closed her eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you help me? I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“His questions are valid, Lacy,” Phane said. “You have the power to save him. It would be such a simple thing.”

“Please
…” the man said.

Lacy looked up with
tears streaming down her cheeks and met his eyes—gentle eyes, kind eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t get to be sorry,” he said, his fear turning to anger. “This is wrong. Just open the box. Please don’t let him kill me.”

Lacy looked down at the table, trying to harness the rage building in her gut.

“So be it,” Phane said. “Shall we begin?”

He began chanting in an angry, guttural language until d
arkness seeped out of the floor, collecting under the man’s feet. All at once it flowed into him. He wailed, helpless and terrified as his body desiccated in a matter of seconds, all hint of life draining out of him, leaving the dry husk of a corpse hanging in the air.

“Show me Prince Torin,” Phane commanded.

The air before the dead man became silvery, abruptly displaying a table inside a large tent. Torin sat beside King Abel. Behind them stood two of the most hideous creatures that Lacy had ever seen. Both were grotesquely deformed, ugly beyond words, and yet the men in the room seemed completely enchanted by them. Torin looked at the one beside him with loving eyes, as if he were looking at his soul mate.

Lacy’s stomach squirmed. She looked at the
box, but dismissed the thought in the same moment. She heard her father’s voice in her head: Nobility is about doing what’s right, especially when it’s difficult.

“The witches must be truly hideous to your eyes,” Phane said. “Even with all of my magic protecting me, they stil
l look sublimely beautiful. Of course, I know better. Those are the last two of the Sin’Rath, but they have a plan to reconstitute their coven.”

He turned away from Lacy and back to the corpse hanging within the magic circle.

“Show me their uninitiated sisters,” he said. The scene changed, shifting to the inside of a cave, where three equally deformed and monstrous creatures sat around a fire, eating the remains of what looked like a man.

“These three are offspring
of other Sin’Rath,” Phane said. “Each is almost old enough to take a wizard’s link for themselves. Sometime within the year, these three creatures will kill the most powerful wizards under the Sin’Rath’s spell, consume their link to the firmament and become witches in their own right.

“
The other two are pregnant as well. Fortunately, their young take many years to mature, much like a human child. Be thankful that your brother isn’t a wizard.”

“What will they do to him?” Lacy asked, unable to help herself.

“They’ll use him to control Fellenden, as much as they can anyway. Without help, he’s lost. Of course, I could provide that help … for a price.”

Lacy slowly shook her head,
in spite of the feeling that something vital within her was breaking. “I know what you are, and I will never give you dominion over the Seven Isles.”

Phane nodded to himself and turned back to the corpse.

“Show me Zuhl’s horde,” he commanded.

The scene shifted, displaying an army so vast that Lacy couldn’t even imagine how they could be defeated.

“Would you give him dominion?” Phane asked. “Because that’s what you’re doing when you deny me the power that I need to defeat him. There aren’t enough soldiers in all the world to stand against his army. Without the Nether Gate, nothing can stop him.

“Do you think Zuhl will allow you to rule your people? You’ve seen firsthand how barbaric his army is. He will enslave your people and work them to death, but that won’t matter much to you and your brother because he’ll kill you long before that.

“Without my help, you would have fallen under his power months ago. I saved you, Lacy. You owe me. Open the box!”

“No!” Lacy said, standing to face him.

With a gesture, the images vanished and the dead man crashed to the ground, his body breaking into hundreds of pieces.

“You try my patience,” Phane said, taking a small pouch from within his robes. “I doubt this will
circumvent the box’s defenses, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

“What’
s that?” Lacy asked, warily.

“Henbane,” he said, pouring a small pile of powder into his hand and blowing it into her face.

Lacy felt disoriented for a moment before everything went black.