Chapter 11

"You'd better sleep with one eye open tonight, arsehole," I muttered, stalking past Tristan on my way into the palace, feeling like my legs could give out at any minute.

The cocky bastard just grinned, tossing his cloak over his naked arse before loosening the mule's pack and dumping everything onto the front steps. "Only having a bit of fun is all. You need to toughen up, Raz. That landing was nothing."

That landing nearly made me shite my pants.

My stomach was heaving, but I managed an evil smile, one that I sincerely hoped made this bastard think twice about trying anything like that again. I stuck my finger in his face.

"One eye open, DeVayne, one eye open."

Tavion was right behind me, muttering something so foul I was glad Anaria was already inside. "I swear to the fucking gods, I'm never flying again." His face was the color of pea soup.

I lowered my voice. "I hate to tell you this, but flying's the only way in and out of here."

He glared back at Tristan. "I'd rather walk through fucking fire than go into the air with him again."

We stepped into the soaring marble entry and found Anaria shoved behind Zor, his sword digging into the chest of an interloper, who was mumbling out a breathless apology.

"Raziel. Thank the gods you're here." A very frightened Bexley tightened the blanket around himself as he flashed a watery smile. "I honestly didn't expect to see anyone ever again. Please don't kick me out. Please. I have nowhere else to go."

I rolled my eyes, because as far as Anaria was concerned, if there were ever magic words, those were them.

"The infection startedsmall a few days ago. Six days, to be exact. I was scavenging what I could from the shops when I first noticed the smell. I thought, of course, I smelled those horrid Reapers, but the stench grew stronger. Then I noticed black tendrils growing out of the Citadelle. I went to investigate, even collected a tiny piece to experiment on."

The old mage shook his head ruefully. "That was a big mistake. The rot infected my entire laboratory in a matter of hours. I was only able to save a few possessions."

His eyes shifted to the dining room door.

"I didn't know where else to go, and I had to save as much of my research as I could, so I came here." He lunged to his feet when Zor headed for the dining room. "Wait, no. Please, wait…"

Zorander flung the doors open and revealed a long table covered with open spell books and half-filled beakers and vials, something thick bubbling over the fire. But there, on the sideboard…

"Where did all this food come from?" I picked up a loaf of bread and sniffed. Fresh, like it had been baked this morning. I tore off a piece and my stomach growled as I stuffed it into my mouth.

"I made it, of course. Nobody trusts mages, you know. I've had to fend for myself for a long time." He nervously twisted the ring on his finger, a big gold monstrosity with a black stone, nodding to some baskets by the fireplace. "I picked those apples before the forest was infected. Some fox grapes and ramps I found by the river. The meat's all that's left from the butcher. I cleaned him out since I figured nobody would ever come back to the city."

The entire room overflowed with food.

Enough to last us for months.

"You can stay," I decided, chewing. "Is that going to blow us all to pieces?" I nodded at the bubbling cauldron of gods know what, steam hissing out beneath the heavy metal lid.

"That's soup, you moron," Bexley grumbled. "Don't you know the difference between a potion and food?"

Even Anaria managed a wan smile at that.

She looked like she was about to collapse, and my breath caught, the protective side of me raging at how drawn she looked. She needed sleep. Real sleep, not a few hours here or there in the dirt, leaned against a stone wall.

Real sleep in a real bed, warm and safe, between all of us.

After a long, hot bath.

"Truth be told, I'm glad to see you." Bexley wet his dry lips. "Well…as long as I can stay, I'm happy to see you." His eyes drifted to the windows. "Was that a wyvern or were my eyes playing tricks on me?"

"A wyvern," I said, taking another bite of the bread. Fuck, Bexley was a decent baker. "Word of advice, don't let him fly you anywhere unless you have a fucking death wish."

Tavion headed straight for the liquor, bypassing the food altogether. Zor left to secure the palace, while I pulled a chair over beside the fire and led Anaria to where it was warm then handed her the hunk of bread. She was pale, the shadows beneath her eyes standing out in stark relief.

She looked so young, so vulnerable, my heart clenched.

All I wanted was to scoop her into my arms and shield her from this entire world. But from the determined way her eyes steeled on Bexley, the mage would be answering some questions first. So I settled myself beside her, letting the heat of the fire sink into my frozen bones.

If this fucker so much as looked at her wrong, I'd gut him.

Anaria's smile was tired but genuine. "I never really thanked you for healing me before." She accepted a cup of water from Tavion, who took up position in the back of the room, his back braced against the wall, arms folded over his chest, gaze fixed on the mage.

"I would not be here if it was not for you." She laid her hand over her chest and inclined her head to the mage, who looked positively charmed. "Thank you for your kindness, Bexley. I never got to say goodbye, we left in such a hurry."

"It was my pleasure. Torin and I…have a long-standing agreement, you see." His face softened the longer he gazed at her. "We magical folk have to stick together, don't we?"

Anaria seemed to consider that before she asked, "Why do you think the palace isn't affected?" She nibbled on the bread. "The blight stretches north as far as I could see, and we're right in its path."

Bexley measured me and Tavion up, then took a seat a healthy distance away. "There have long been rumors about this place, ever since the palace was built. About who the Wynters really were. Where they came from. I took a chance those rumors were accurate."

"That's not an answer, Bexley," Anaria said quietly, setting down her cup.

"We do not have a lot of time, which means we cannot afford to play our usual games," she explained, not unkindly. "Normally, I wouldn't mind dancing around the truth for a few hours, but we've been traveling for days, and we have a long journey ahead of us. What do you know about the Wynters?"

"Answer her," Tavion growled from the back of the room. "She's far more patient than either of us."

"That their blood ran black." He shifted anxiously in his chair, hands clutching his robe. "That they came from a long line of witches banished to the High Barrens, but their bloodline runs further back than that, all the way to the Vanguard Conclave."

Anaria was nodding like she actually knew what the fuck the mage was talking about. "To the first organized council of witches."

I went still and couldn't stop my eyes from flicking up to Tavion's, his face schooled into a disinterested mask. The first council of witches was a bedtime story told to scare children, filled with boogeymen and dark magic powerful enough to warp time itself.

"How does that power protect this place?" Her pale eyes glowed in the firelight, picking up every flicker of the light as she stared intently at the old mage. "What qualities does witch magic possess that makes it impervious to this corrosive blight?"

"Witch magic is rooted in the earth. At its very core, this magic is elemental. Yes, such power can be corrupted and twisted and even mutated, but there is always one constant. The magic issues from the earth itself, and because it does, witch magic will always protect its source."

Some green flashed in the mage's dull brown eyes. "And that source will always protect a witch. Always."

"So the blight can't infect anything touched or created by a witch?"

"Essentially, yes."

"I have another question for you." Anaria took a bite of the bread and chewed thoughtfully. "Totally unrelated, but how long, theoretically, could a blood circle contain a powerful entity?"

Bexley considered this for a moment, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "That depends. Whose blood was it, and who drew the blood in the first place?"

"Mine, and the imprisoned entity. She cut me with a piece of obsidian."

For a moment I couldn't breathe. Couldn't see anything except red. Blood pounded in my ears, fury coursing through me. Anaria had been trapped inside the Oracle's dream…that part I knew. But that bitch had hurt her. Drew her blood.

Hurt her in a place where I couldn't reach her.

Wasn't able to protect her.

When Anaria had disappeared—because I knew no other way to describe what happened that night in the alley—I'd fought off every threat, guarded her the only way I knew how, with my body and my magic and my knives, but this revelation proved how helpless I really was.

Her hand crept around my arm, fingers digging in enough to let me know she sensed my distress.

I didn't fucking deserve her, not when I offered so little in return.

Anaria was a queen. A queen of two realms, of two people in deed and in name, and I was a fucking slave. You could put as much shine on the truth as you wanted, but there it was. A slave with no prospects, and a bastard besides.

"That certainly gives the circle more power." Bexley leaned forward eagerly, his thin neck bobbing. "How long did it take to create the circle, and under what circumstances?"

"Under duress and about five minutes, give or take."

His eyes narrowed as he made some quick calculations, then he nodded gravely. "I'd say a few days at most, then, since I am assuming this entity was…very powerful. Godlike, perhaps?"

Maybe Bexley knew what we were going up against.

Fuck knew what he'd overheard that night when Anaria had been half dead and Bexley had been our only hope. Gods knew my magic hadn't helped her a fucking bit.

"What if this entire scenario occurred inside this entity's dream?" Anaria finished off her bread while I went and sorted through the basket to find her the best apple and some grapes. "Again, this is all theoretical, of course."

"Hmmmm." Bexley was curious, no matter how disinterested he acted. "There are dream walkers, of course, but you are not one of those. Did this scenario take place in a setting of the entity's creation?"

"Yes. An entirely different realm," Anaria explained as if she was speaking of Caladrius or Solarys, not some world a universe away.

Bexley had gone a shade paler, and I couldn't blame the man. I'd nearly shite myself when she'd told me the story, and hearing it the second time wasn't sitting any better. But I was beyond curious about her line of questioning.

And how Anaria always seemed to know where to look for answers.

"Time moves differently in dreams than in the real world. Faster, slower. Days can become years; decades can whittle down to seconds. Perhaps the question you should be asking is…did time move differently in there than it did here?"

Anaria glanced up at me.

"You were gone for ten minutes, give or take."

"Time moved faster in there. An hour inside the dream was ten minutes here," she whispered, fingers clenched around the apple hard enough to dent the bright red skin.

"Then they'd remain trapped longer," Bexley agreed, curiosity sparking on his face. "I'd say…instead of a few days, you'd have months."

Relief seeped from Anaria, her tense shoulders slumping. "Good," she murmured, taking another gulp of water. "That's very good. We might have enough time to get this done."

"To get what done?" Bexley asked warily, but I ignored him.

"That's all we needed to know." Tavion prowled closer to the fire. "Which means we can afford two day's rest."

Anaria went to argue, but I swept her up into my arms and shook my head, cutting off whatever she was about to say. Every instinct told me to tuck her in bed and keep her there for the full two days. From the way Tavion's eyes glowed green from the shadows, he agreed fullheartedly.

"No argument will change my mind, because I will not yield, Anaria." I sank my teeth into her earlobe. "And neither will Tavion. Two days is all we ask. Two days to rest, to eat, to gather our strength."

For a moment, I thought she would fight me. But when she nestled deeper into my arms and laid her head against my chest, her hands curling around the back of my neck, I knew I'd won this round.

We were all bone-tired. Two days wasn't nearly enough, but I'd take whatever we could get right now.

Tavion prowled over to the sideboard and filled his arms with food and a bottle of wine. "Thank you for the food, Bexley. Tell me you have what you need to bake more bread?"

"I do, but?—"

"Good," Tavion cut him off. "We'll keep watch tonight while you sleep. I expect you've been on edge since the blight and could use the rest."

"I've been on edge since those godsdamned Reapers appeared." The mage sighed. "But thank you. Food in exchange for security is a fair trade."

"Tomorrow, we should talk." I jerked my head to the cluttered table. "About what you're working on."

"This?" Bexley shifted until he blocked our view of the gurgling beakers and handwritten notes. "This is nothing."

"You risked your life to save what's on that table, so it's not nothing. We need your help, Bexley, so get some sleep, then tomorrow we'll talk."