12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

"Xian—no, we need him to—" Rafael finally found his voice, too late to do any good.

"No, we don't," Xian assured him, stepping over to Mina and kneeling beside her. Her skin had gone gray, her eyes had rolled back into her skull, and she was trembling unstoppably. "If we were to try and bring her out with hypnosis, yes, but we aren't. There's a simple spell that can break this, if there's enough power behind it." Taking up his athame, he sliced a thin line over the back of his hand. "Give me the quill from his desk."

Rafael handed the plume over and watched raptly as his master dipped the pointed nib into his blood, then raised it to Mina's face. He drew dark lines beneath her eyes and across her temples, a thin one down the length of her nose and over her lips, and after another dip he drew a circle on her forehead, thick and heavy. "Get out the blood."

Erran's blood. Rafael hated to touch it, but he withdrew the vial from where it was secured. Xian handed him the quill. "Put one drop on the end of this, then put it away. Carefully, pet."

Rafael worked the edge of the stopper up, prying at the lead until there was a small hole. The scent of immortality filled the room: celestial flowers, warmth, love, and the sharp acridity of suffering. Rafael touched the edge of the nib to the vial and watched a drop of silver liquid adhere to it. He handed it hurriedly to Xian, then folded the lead down again, securing the precious liquid before returning it to the pocket beneath his tunic.

Xian took the quill and dropped the dot of Erran's blood in the center of the circle on Mina's forehead, then placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her, whispering something into her mouth. The marks glowed brightly for a moment, illuminating both their faces with a pale radiance before dying out. As the light disappeared, so did the blood itself, until all that was left was Mina, lifting her head and looking at them in confusion.

"What… Rafael?" She made as though to lift a hand toward him, then looked down where her wrists were still tied. "What happened?"

Xian cut the ropes holding her down and Rafael helped her up, bringing her quickly into an embrace. "You were taken by an enemy, but you're fine now," he told her. "We have to get you back to Feysal."

"If we want to avoid another conflict with Myrtea, we'll have to go fast," Xian said, glancing down through the open window. "She's nearly finished with Daeva."

"I thought he was dead already!"

"Just broken after that fall, and not even that would keep him from her at this point. He has to respond. She built that fail-safe into him years ago. Myrtea has always had a talent for planning ahead." He turned back to Rafael. "You keep the girl safe, and I'll cut us a path out of here. We'll go out the back, I think. There are fewer High Ones that way, and the last thing we need right now is to be mobbed by falling stars."

"Falling stars?"

"The glowing ones, pet. They've overdosed on Erran's blood; it makes them incredibly powerful but incapable of much thought beyond a simple directive. Be ready to move fast."

"All right." Rafael felt entirely out of his depth now. He hadn't known his master could do magic, had thought in fact that Xian disliked having anything to do with it outside necessary uses for his craft. It was another illustration of just how much Rafael didn't know about Xian, and it didn't help his confidence any.

Xian came close to him and kissed him briefly, almost chastely. "I'll explain everything when we're safe, pet. I promise." Then he turned and unbolted the door, and Rafael followed him, keeping Mina close.

Fighting had broken inside, and there were already bodies to step around as they made their way down the stairs, but it was the work of moments for Xian to clear a way to the front door. They stepped into the courtyard, darkly drenched with blood and bile and vomit, and Rafael saw that Jill was right. There were High Ones there that glowed, the silver of their hair and the whiteness of their eyes startlingly luminescent. They fought like demons, nearly mindless, taking ridiculous damage that healed almost instantly as they hacked and hewed. There was madness in every movement, and when one of them lunged at Xian, Rafael wondered if he'd be able to respond in time.

He should have known better. Xian blocked with his athame, swung his saber up, and with one rending blow the falling star was separated from his head. Not even the incredible amounts of magic he'd ingested to make him so bright and unstoppable could bring him back from decapitation. Then Xian was moving again, and Rafael pulled Mina with him and followed.

They made their way toward the closest exit, a small, dark portal that led into a drainage ditch. Xian killed anyone who tried to bar their path, normal human or High One, and Rafael focused on keeping Mina safely out of harm's way. He glanced back once, just once, and saw for a moment Myrtea standing by the larger entrance, her skin repaired, her expression bland as she drew Daeva's trampled body to her breast, holding him as if he were a child. His broken arms wrapped around her as best they were able to, but Rafael could see his face, and it was a mask of pure terror.

"Rafael." Xian's voice drew him out of his transfixion, and Rafael turned and handed Mina down the drop into the vile ditch below the slaughterhouse, then followed.

Getting back to Feysal was difficult, but only because there was a mob of people trying to move around. Mina was exhausted from an ordeal she didn't remember and couldn't have handled going to the rooftops, and so they fought their way through the crowd, Xian using force when he had to but thankfully not needing to kill, and finally they made their way back to Little Heaven.

Feysal was outside waiting for them, dressed and armed and clearly prepared to do his own mad dash through the city after his daughter. When he saw Mina the relief that spread over his face was beautiful, and when he had her in his arms and was hugging the breath out of her, Rafael let himself share in a little of that relief. He hadn't completely failed… Feysal had his daughter back. That was something good, even if Rafael hadn't been the one to save her in the end.

"Thank you," Feysal choked out, his hands petting his daughter's hair over and over again as he kissed her head.

"Are you prepared to leave?" Xian asked, ignoring the thanks.

"There's no way for us to get out right now, the boats are all full," Feysal said, collecting himself enough to look at Xian. He did a double take when Xian removed his hood, curiosity warring with urgency, but urgency won out. "Even if we could find a way out of Clare tonight, everything we own…all our money, all our goods are tied into my business."

"There is a boat reserving two places for you at the docks," Xian replied, handing over a rolled packet of papers. "There are tickets in there, for the Swansong . The captain won't leave until you arrive. As for goods, once you reach the mainland, make your way to the city of Tarsam. It isn't far, less than two days by foot. In the pleasure district there is a large house in your name. The deed is in the packet." Feysal's eyes went dazedly to the papers he held. "There is a factor named Carson Kevali in the same district; anyone can direct you to him. He has the keys and will be able to help you get settled. As for money"—now Xian handed over one of his pouches of coins—"there is enough in there to get you comfortably started on a new life."

"How could you possibly…"

"I plan ahead. You're Rafael's family, which makes you precious to me." Xian's voice was soft. "Thank you for all that you've done for him. Now, I suggest say your goodbyes quickly, then make your way to the docks. The Swansong is moored at the far eastern end."

It was an abrupt way to dismiss the man who had been Rafael's rock for half a decade. Feysal had been teacher, healer, and lover to him as well as family, and Rafael was reluctant to part from him. He took both of them in a hug so that Feysal didn't have to let go of Mina and murmured, "I know where you'll be, that's something. Go and be safe. Watch out for pickpockets."

"You always have a home with us," Feysal replied. "We love you. I love you, Rafael."

"Thank you," he said almost soundlessly. Rafael pulled back, adding his own kiss to Mina's forehead and feeling a faint residual tingle there from the magic that had freed her mind. That, he reminded himself firmly, was one of many reasons it was better that they be apart. Rafael was dangerous because of his association with the High Ones, and besides, there was no way he could leave Xian now.

Feysal looked one last time at him, as if measuring his determination, before nodding. He sheltered his daughter beneath his arm as they made their way out onto the main street, toward the docks and the boat that would take them to a new life. Rafael wanted to follow and make sure that they made it all right, but Xian's hand touched his sleeve lightly before he could do more than shift his weight.

"They'll be fine," Xian said. "And we have our own boat to catch."

"We could have accompanied them to the docks—"

"This boat isn't at the docks, pet." He jerked his head upward. "Let's move out of the crowd, shall we? I'll explain it as we go."

The two of them made their way back up onto the rooftops. They weren't the only ones using them anymore, but no one bothered them. Xian set off at a fast pace toward the Upper City, making for an area where some of the walls were still standing.

"Where are we going?" Rafael asked, taking his foot off a loose shingle before he could dislodge it.

"Myrtea will eventually try to track us with magic, and it's going to be better for everyone involved if we're alone," Xian replied, striding along with the ease of a man who had no worries despite his troubling words. "It will be better if she's not able to track us at all, so I've gotten us passage on a boat that will mask our presence. It carries magical waste to a dump site on the mainland."

"How long have you had all this planned?" Rafael asked, completely mystified and more than a little taken aback at his master's perspicacity.

"I told you earlier, pet, I was waiting for the right circumstances, the right person, to come along. The plan itself has been building for a long time." He glanced back at Rafael and smiled. "And now you're here, so all my plans are paying off."

Xian was silent after that, and Rafael couldn't think of anything else to say, so he followed behind him as they worked back to the crumbling Upper Half. The closer they got to the fire the more it drew Rafael's eye, not only for the heat and the smoke but for the changing colors of it. This was no ordinary fire in familiar shades of orange, red, and yellow. It wasn't even the bright white fire that Xian worked with. Deep within this fire the flames burned in colors like gems—topaz, amethyst, and jade. The colors came from the magic, Rafael supposed, and only after that heady fuel was used up did the flames diminish to a more standard inferno.

They didn't enter the Upper Half, instead following what remained of the walls to the outskirts of the city until cobblestones turned to rough rock and smooth walls became cliff face. They climbed around and across the cliff carefully, Xian leading and Rafael following, feeling quietly glad that the moon was bright tonight. Occasionally the crash of a nearby building would send sparks flying down the rocks, but by the time the fire's detritus reached them it was almost always nothing but ash. At one point a section of the wall fell, tumbling down the cliff only a few yards from Xian before crashing into the sea. They moved faster after that.

Once they were within easy distance of the water, Xian reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a small, disc-shaped flare. With a snap of his fingers he sent it winging across the water, spitting diamond-like sparks as it flew.

"Our signal," he said. "The boat will be here soon." Xian hung easily on the rocks, the terrible wounds he'd sustained throughout the day and all the exhaustion of fighting and fleeing seemingly forgotten. Rafael wasn't nearly so sanguine, and after a few minutes of hanging from the cliff, sprayed intermittently by the cold lake water and constantly checking overhead for an impending rock fall, the fatigue seemed overwhelming.

"Just a little longer, pet," Xian promised, moving closer to Rafael until their sides touched. His master was warm, and Rafael turned his head and rested it against Xian's outstretched arm, just breathing and soaking in the warmth until the splashing wap-wap of oars hitting rough water woke him up. A low barge was coming up beneath them, its oarsmen swathed in oilcloth to keep the water out. They pulled as close to the rocks as they could, and the man at the tiller waved a hand.

"We have to jump it."

Rafael gauged the distance. It was no more than five feet in length, and perhaps another eight or nine down, but his limbs were quivering and untrustworthy.

"On three, with me," Xian said. "One, two, three." He leaped and pulled Rafael with him, and they landed hard on the foredeck, Rafael going down onto a knee with the impact. He shook his head dazedly then looked around and shook it again, wondering why he was seeing double.

"It's not you," Xian commented when he saw Rafael's expression. "This boat carries the dregs of a thousand different spells. It can change your very reality after prolonged exposure. We won't be here long, though." He signaled to the pilot, and the rowers began to pull away from the cliffs and the crumbling city of Clare.

It took a little over an hour to reach to reach the far shore, and Rafael was wet through by the time they arrived. He stumbled off the boat, thankful he hadn't eaten anything in recent memory, and watched blearily as Xian exchanged something with the pilot. None of the rowers had said anything on the trip over, and when Rafael caught sight of the mutilated, three-fingered hand that reached out to take Xian's offering, he wondered if it was because they didn't have tongues.

Then the boat was pulling away, Xian was standing beside him and they both were watching the far shore, the flames that shot into the air and, very distantly, the lights of other boats fleeing the conflagration. The wind ripped through Rafael's wet clothes and he shivered.

"It isn't right."