Chapter 49

B aron acted on instinct. When Sarah looked upward at the sound of shattering glass, he drew his sword. Too late, she saw the movement and grabbed for him, but he had the longer reach of a weapon. He flicked his wrist, a quick, deceptively easy movement that had won him a hundred duels, slashing across her arm.

The point of his sword came away marked by a streak of blood that he brought to his fingers, his ears already ringing with magic.

He halted her blood flow, and Sarah collapsed to the floor. It twisted everything inside him to hurt her, and he held the Cast for only the precious few moments it took to leap over her fallen body and onto the stairs. Then he allowed the blood flow to resume. If she quickly recovered and gave chase, so be it.

He ran for the ballroom, following a flood of noise—the shrieking of crows and people alike. The Casters haunting the wide doorway were not prepared for someone attacking from behind, but Weston, who had hung at the back of the group, caught a glimpse of Baron's approach. Turning with a shout, he drew his own sword.

Baron used the force of his charge to knock the weapon aside, but Weston had enough skill to keep ahold of his weapon and grab with his other hand, forcing Baron to shy back from his Casting.

"Stand down, Weston," Baron panted. "We're friends."

Though Weston was five years older than Baron, he'd not activated his Fluid Casting until after his first Casting test. Baron had taught him how to make wine.

Weston fell into a defensive stance, jaw clenched.

Then a lion roared, shaking the very walls.

Though they both staggered, Baron recovered first, darting forward. Weston parried his slash but reacted too slowly to the follow-up lunge, and Baron's blade slid right past his to pierce the man's shoulder. Weston cried out, and Baron shoved his forearm into his friend's chest, pushing hard until he pinned Weston against the wall and opened a path. Then he spun out of reach, drawing his sword free, throwing himself past the other stunned Casters and into the ballroom.

Just in time to see Widow Morton shove Aria through an open window.

" No !" Baron screamed. If he'd dealt with Sarah faster, if he'd—

His shout drew the lion Affiliate's attention, and in a flash of white, Leon transformed, already flying in a leap. His fierce yowl was nothing like the heart-stopping roar of his counterpart, but it was enough. He slashed his own claws through the lion's fleshy nose, drawing blood, and the giant lion poofed into a scrawny yellow housecat.

"Start running, whiskers," Leon snarled.

Once transformed by Leon's magic, the lion Affiliate fell subject to his commands like any other housecat. A battle of Affiliates was all about who landed the first strike.

Under Leon's command, the yellow cat skittered around before darting out of the ballroom. It would be a race to see which would happen first, Leon's magic wearing off or the cat dropping of exhaustion.

Corvin moaned, curling around his injured leg. He was already pale and shivering. Even with both hands pressed to his thigh, blood continued to flow past his already-slick fingers, pooling on the floor beneath him.

Baron had been frozen—staring at the broken window where Aria had disappeared, his heart pounding out that repeated denial no, no, no —but seeing Corvin's pain, he lurched forward at last.

From behind, he heard Sarah's anguished voice. "What have you done ? Those are my sons!"

While she held the other Casters at bay, Baron used his blade to shred his vest, then, nudging the boy's hands aside, he wrapped Corvin's leg as tightly as he could. In the back of his mind, he saw his father. Heard the swirling echoes.

Now he could see Aria as well. One more person he'd failed. One more love he'd lost.

Not Corvin too.

"It hurts," Corvin whimpered.

"I know." Baron touched the boy's cheek, leaving a red thumbprint. "Deep breaths, Corvin. You'll be fine."

He tried to believe it, but he felt the danger in the keening song of Corvin's blood on his hands. Even with the gashes bound, blood soaked the wrapping. Something was wrong. The injury was too deep, or in a bad place.

"Baron, do something!" Leon begged, his voice high and frightened.

He'd said the same thing while Father had been dying.

What had Baron done then?

There's nothing I can do, my lord, I'm sorry. There's nothing anyone can do.

Baron's magic shied back from the blood, curling within him like a child huddled after a nightmare. It was happening again. It was happening again.

Nothing anyone can do.

"Am I dying?" The thought seemed to have just occurred to Corvin as tears spilled down his cheeks.

Sarah rushed over, falling to her knees beside the boy, her blonde hair frazzled. She glanced at the wound, then clutched Corvin's face with both hands. "Baby, it will be all right. Shh. It will be all right."

Her voice cracked with panic. Baron could see the strain in her expression, but there was no glow to meet it. Nothing her magic could do to fix her son.

Watching her effort transported him directly back to his father's room. He could picture himself seated beside his father on the bed, clutching his hand with that same desperate strain as his father thrashed, keeping hold long after it fell limp. He'd tried .

He hadn't failed his father. He couldn't control the outcome; he could only control the effort, and he'd given everything he had.

If nothing could be done, Baron would fight a battle across the three realms of heaven to be sure. And after that much struggle, after knowing he'd given everything he could, he would grant himself enough mercy to accept the result.

"Hold still, Corvin," he whispered. He pressed one hand to the bandaged wound and gripped Corvin's in the other. He closed his eyes.

Everything vanished but the rhythm of his brother's heart, panicked and erratic. Baron eased it, like a conductor slowing the tempo of an orchestra to let each note sing with greater distinction. The song of blood took on color in the dark, a faint glimmer of red outlining the network of branching rivers that made up Corvin's life. Baron sensed the one veering off course, torn by violence, and he reached in the darkness to soothe it, guiding it back into place. It reared at his touch like an abused animal, rejecting his influence.

The rivers grew thinner, the red color fading. The song skipped notes. He was running out of time.

Baron clenched his teeth, then injected more force to his Casting, abandoning requests in favor of commands. A sharp ache pounded at the back of his skull, but he pushed it away, returning to the red song.

Finding the path again in the dark, he caught and held.

The song screeched, fighting the rhythm, fighting him , but he held.

Slowly, slowly, the pressure against his mind eased.

The rivers ran straight in the darkness.

The song calmed.

For one horrifying, terror-filled moment, Baron thought he'd lost Corvin. That the effort hadn't been enough. But then he felt the boy squeeze his hand, and he opened his eyes to find his brother blinking lethargically, cradled in Sarah's arms. A faint golden glow faded from Corvin's leg.

Corvin looked down at his wound. "It still hurts," he said nervously, "but ..."

"But not like before?"

He shook his head.

With a great sigh of relief, Baron sat back, releasing his hand. The weight of the almost-loss mixed with the triumph of success left a strange, bittersweet taste in his mouth.

"It isn't healed," he said. "I've just dammed the bleeding, but it will last a few hours, long enough to get a surgeon for the rest."

Corvin gave a shaky smile. At least until Leon whacked him on the shoulder.

"Next time, don't get skewered, you skinny chicken. Don't you know cats eat birds?"

"I'll peck your eyes out, cat ."

For once, Baron was relieved to hear the bickering. Then Widow Morton approached, and he tensed.

The widow had taken a beating in the form of sharp talons, and trails of blood marked her bare arm where she'd lost a sleeve. A gust of winter air blew in from the gaping windows behind her, swirling with a trail of snowflakes.

Sarah gave Corvin a squeeze, then stood to meet Widow Morton. She drew the other woman off a few paces, and their hushed argument couldn't be heard until Sarah's voice rose.

"—to keep my sons safe ! That was the point of everything , Clarissa!"

Widow Morton shot back, "Then you should have warned them not to align with the princess!"

Baron looked at the broken windows leading to a black night. Aria hadn't even screamed as she fell, her face reflecting only sudden shock. He felt that same shock within, still frozen in the loss, not yet processing the deep pain that was to come.

"Don't worry, Baron." Corvin poked his knee, drawing his focus. Though still horribly pale, the boy managed a mischievous smile. "She's wearing my comb."