An Artificial Night
Page 89
Oh, root and branch. She helped me before the Ride; she stayed behind to talk to her daughter when the Ride was broken. Blind Michael must have seen her. These were his lands, and he was obviously stronger than she was. The loss of the children would have weakened him. He’d need someone—anyone—to make an example of. Acacia was no innocent, but she wasn’t guilty either; not this time.
I pulled the sword off my shoulder and started to unsheathe it, unwilling to cross the plains without a weapon in my hands. My palms slipped on the pommel, and I looked down. Blood covered my right hand, flowing from a thin cut that had opened, painlessly, across my wrist. There were no signs of clotting; it just kept bleeding.
“The Blood Road,” I said, understanding. There would be more cuts, and more still, until I bled to death where I stood. It wasn’t what I’d expected, but it wasn’t a surprise, either; I was on a time limit. I knew that already. I’d never had forever—forever isn’t something changelings get—and now time was running out. Blind Michael still had to die.
Time was short, the night was long, and everything was on his side. Everything but me, and the blood. Blood had shown me the way when it was mixed with wax and bound into a candle; why wouldn’t it help me when it was pure? “How many miles to Babylon?” I whispered, rubbing blood across my lips before I took off for the forest’s edge, running through the trees and into the mist-shrouded night. The blood knew the way, and so I trusted the blood, not questioning my steps as I ran into the gray. Before I’d run very far, I could see the distant glow of the fire burning in the clearing of Blind Michael’s village. The Riders were gathering again. Good. That meant that he’d be there for me to find.
At least the realm wasn’t actively hindering me. I stumbled on a few rocks, but that was only to be expected; I was running over ground I couldn’t see, and if I hadn’t tripped, I’d have thought that I was running into a trap.
I really need to learn to think more.
I could hear the Riders shouting when I was barely halfway across the plains. They sounded pissed, and I couldn’t blame them; from their perspective, the Luidaeg and company had interfered with their big holiday parade. Of course, their big holiday parade consisted of kidnapping and brainwashing, but what’s a little horrific torture between friends? There was nothing left to distract me and no one left to save. It was almost a relief; sometimes it’s nice to get back to basics. I’d kill Blind Michael or die trying. Kill or be killed. Live or die.
A cut had opened on my forehead, and blood ran into my eyes as I ran through the village, heading for the light. No one stopped me, not even when I burst into the clearing, screaming, “Michael!”
The whole Court was there, gathered for whatever celebration I was interrupting. It was too much at once. I stumbled, surprised, and two Riders stepped out of the crowd to grab me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Fight me, you bastard!” I kicked wildly, trying to free myself. They just laughed.
Blind Michael was sitting where I’d known he’d be, high on his throne—the small part of me that wished I’d finished the Ride always knew where he was. For that traitorous part of me, he was still my god.
He must have seen that tiny part of my heart shining in my eyes, because he laughed, saying, “So the prodigal returns, as I knew she would. I had enough time to work on her. Let her come to me.”
The Riders let go of my arms and fell into line with the others, forming a wide circle around their lord. Probably wise. If I lost, they’d be right there to get the body; if I won, they’d be close enough to take me down. Pessimism really doesn’t improve most situations.
I glared at them, spitting blood onto the ground as I walked toward Blind Michael. He was wearing the armor he’d donned for the Ride, but the mirrored sheen was gone, buried under dust and smears of dried blood. His supernatural composure was gone as well, replaced by an expression of angry irritation.
He only held my attention for a moment. Then it was drawn to the chair next to him, where Acacia sat, yellow eyes wide and empty. Her hair was woven into the chair’s wicker back, locking her in place.
“What have you done to her?” I demanded.
Blind Michael frowned, brows knitting over ice-white eyes. “Don’t speak to me that way.” His words held the weight of commandments. I felt another cut open on the inside of my left arm, adding its silent trickle of blood to the rest. “Never speak to me that way.”
It was hard to move with him staring down at me like that, but I managed to raise one hand to my mouth, licking fresh blood from my fingers. The pressure of his words and gaze subsided, fading to an annoying buzz at the back of my mind. My power has always come mostly from the blood. Not even he could touch me while I had it.
“I’ll speak to you however I like,” I said. “Now get down here and fight me.”
“Why?” He narrowed his eyes. My vision fragmented, coming from every direction at once as he forced me to look through the eyes of the Hunt. “You’re mine. Why should I fight what belongs to me?”
“I’m not yours!” I shouted. There was a brief, stabbing pain as my sight returned to normal. I couldn’t trust it to stay that way; he was too close to me.
“You Rode. You’re mine.”
“I stopped before the end.”
“It doesn’t matter; you belong to me. Everything here belongs to me.” He turned and ran his hand down Acacia’s cheek, almost tenderly. There was love there once, before he twisted it out of shape. “How should I scar her this time? Last time she betrayed me, it was her face. What should it be now? She’s suffering for you. You have some say in her pain.”
“Let her go, Michael.”
He turned back toward me, smiling. “Why should I?”
“Because if you do it on your own, I won’t have to force you.”
He actually laughed. “Oh, little changeling, Amandine’s bastard daughter. What makes you think you can make me do anything? Perhaps if you’d taken my kindly offer and become my lovely bride, you might have held some sway, but you turned that offer aside. My sister’s protections aren’t on you now. She can’t save you.”
“Then I’ll save myself.” I glared at him, spitting out another mouthful of blood. “I didn’t come here for her.”
I pulled the sword off my shoulder and started to unsheathe it, unwilling to cross the plains without a weapon in my hands. My palms slipped on the pommel, and I looked down. Blood covered my right hand, flowing from a thin cut that had opened, painlessly, across my wrist. There were no signs of clotting; it just kept bleeding.
“The Blood Road,” I said, understanding. There would be more cuts, and more still, until I bled to death where I stood. It wasn’t what I’d expected, but it wasn’t a surprise, either; I was on a time limit. I knew that already. I’d never had forever—forever isn’t something changelings get—and now time was running out. Blind Michael still had to die.
Time was short, the night was long, and everything was on his side. Everything but me, and the blood. Blood had shown me the way when it was mixed with wax and bound into a candle; why wouldn’t it help me when it was pure? “How many miles to Babylon?” I whispered, rubbing blood across my lips before I took off for the forest’s edge, running through the trees and into the mist-shrouded night. The blood knew the way, and so I trusted the blood, not questioning my steps as I ran into the gray. Before I’d run very far, I could see the distant glow of the fire burning in the clearing of Blind Michael’s village. The Riders were gathering again. Good. That meant that he’d be there for me to find.
At least the realm wasn’t actively hindering me. I stumbled on a few rocks, but that was only to be expected; I was running over ground I couldn’t see, and if I hadn’t tripped, I’d have thought that I was running into a trap.
I really need to learn to think more.
I could hear the Riders shouting when I was barely halfway across the plains. They sounded pissed, and I couldn’t blame them; from their perspective, the Luidaeg and company had interfered with their big holiday parade. Of course, their big holiday parade consisted of kidnapping and brainwashing, but what’s a little horrific torture between friends? There was nothing left to distract me and no one left to save. It was almost a relief; sometimes it’s nice to get back to basics. I’d kill Blind Michael or die trying. Kill or be killed. Live or die.
A cut had opened on my forehead, and blood ran into my eyes as I ran through the village, heading for the light. No one stopped me, not even when I burst into the clearing, screaming, “Michael!”
The whole Court was there, gathered for whatever celebration I was interrupting. It was too much at once. I stumbled, surprised, and two Riders stepped out of the crowd to grab me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Fight me, you bastard!” I kicked wildly, trying to free myself. They just laughed.
Blind Michael was sitting where I’d known he’d be, high on his throne—the small part of me that wished I’d finished the Ride always knew where he was. For that traitorous part of me, he was still my god.
He must have seen that tiny part of my heart shining in my eyes, because he laughed, saying, “So the prodigal returns, as I knew she would. I had enough time to work on her. Let her come to me.”
The Riders let go of my arms and fell into line with the others, forming a wide circle around their lord. Probably wise. If I lost, they’d be right there to get the body; if I won, they’d be close enough to take me down. Pessimism really doesn’t improve most situations.
I glared at them, spitting blood onto the ground as I walked toward Blind Michael. He was wearing the armor he’d donned for the Ride, but the mirrored sheen was gone, buried under dust and smears of dried blood. His supernatural composure was gone as well, replaced by an expression of angry irritation.
He only held my attention for a moment. Then it was drawn to the chair next to him, where Acacia sat, yellow eyes wide and empty. Her hair was woven into the chair’s wicker back, locking her in place.
“What have you done to her?” I demanded.
Blind Michael frowned, brows knitting over ice-white eyes. “Don’t speak to me that way.” His words held the weight of commandments. I felt another cut open on the inside of my left arm, adding its silent trickle of blood to the rest. “Never speak to me that way.”
It was hard to move with him staring down at me like that, but I managed to raise one hand to my mouth, licking fresh blood from my fingers. The pressure of his words and gaze subsided, fading to an annoying buzz at the back of my mind. My power has always come mostly from the blood. Not even he could touch me while I had it.
“I’ll speak to you however I like,” I said. “Now get down here and fight me.”
“Why?” He narrowed his eyes. My vision fragmented, coming from every direction at once as he forced me to look through the eyes of the Hunt. “You’re mine. Why should I fight what belongs to me?”
“I’m not yours!” I shouted. There was a brief, stabbing pain as my sight returned to normal. I couldn’t trust it to stay that way; he was too close to me.
“You Rode. You’re mine.”
“I stopped before the end.”
“It doesn’t matter; you belong to me. Everything here belongs to me.” He turned and ran his hand down Acacia’s cheek, almost tenderly. There was love there once, before he twisted it out of shape. “How should I scar her this time? Last time she betrayed me, it was her face. What should it be now? She’s suffering for you. You have some say in her pain.”
“Let her go, Michael.”
He turned back toward me, smiling. “Why should I?”
“Because if you do it on your own, I won’t have to force you.”
He actually laughed. “Oh, little changeling, Amandine’s bastard daughter. What makes you think you can make me do anything? Perhaps if you’d taken my kindly offer and become my lovely bride, you might have held some sway, but you turned that offer aside. My sister’s protections aren’t on you now. She can’t save you.”
“Then I’ll save myself.” I glared at him, spitting out another mouthful of blood. “I didn’t come here for her.”
