A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(97)

With a sigh, Rook closed his eyes and collapsed on the stone. The shadows dissipated, revealing Palehook, swatting wildly at the air. He shrieked before realizing that he was out of the darkness. Stumbling twice, he got to his feet. His breathing was erratic.



“Do you yield?” I asked. But Palehook was staring at Rook.

“The darkness is alive,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It speaks to you. It tells you the most horrific things.”

Magnus made a sound of recognition. But he otherwise kept silent.

“Do you yield?” I said again, growing increasingly nervous. Palehook’s eyes flickered to me. He grew eerily calm.

“He’s a monster,” he whispered. “He must be destroyed.”

“Yield now, or I’ll—”

Palehook whipped his stave, knocking me aside with a sudden blast of wind. My head struck the floor, and the world spun. There was no time to stop the sorcerer as he raised his blade, aiming for Rook.

Something sliced through the gate and into Palehook, knocking him against the wall and to the floor. He didn’t get up. Slowly, my head still ringing, I crawled over to him. He was dead, an iron spike lodged deep inside his neck. Blood spurted from the wound as his sightless eyes gazed at the ceiling. Through the gate, I saw Mickelmas propped up on his elbows, his arm still outstretched from sending the spike. He nodded.

“What,” he gasped, “the bloody hell was that shadow business?” He collapsed.

Rook coughed. I forgot everything else and went to touch his face, smooth his hair. He smiled.



“You came,” he said.

“I couldn’t do otherwise.” I laid my head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. “You took control.”

“I had something to protect,” he whispered. His voice was not strong, his breathing thin. Damn. I helped him sit up, and we faced our audience. The boys regarded us blankly. Oh God.

They all knew.

“Is it,” Lambe said, patting his chest by way of illustration, “because of the scars?”

“Yes,” Rook said. His voice was so weak.

“The Order must be told,” Blackwood said. Trembling, I clutched Rook against me. He was dodging in and out of consciousness.

“He’s been getting better. He controlled the darkness this time,” I said.

“How often has this happened?” Dee asked. Magnus caught my eye and shook his head. He wouldn’t tell them.

“Not often,” I said. My voice was shaking. “He’s going to master it. They’ll kill him. Please.” I buried my face in Rook’s hair. “Say nothing. It’s the greatest favor I’ll ever ask.”

If Rook lives. If any of us survives the night.

No one moved or spoke until Magnus stepped into the tomb with me. He saw what this meant to me, what Rook meant to me. His nostrils flared, and he drew his stave. He was going to finish what Palehook had started.

“No,” I gasped, but Magnus nodded and presented his stave. A sorcerer’s bow.



“I swear to keep it secret.” He motioned to the others. One by one, they bowed in agreement. Blackwood was the last one. He pressed his mouth in a thin line, but he finally nodded as well.

“For your sake,” he said.

I could have cried in relief.

There was a great boom. For a moment it seemed as if everywhere was illuminated with hot white light. My ears popped. When the light cleared, there was an instant of silence, which gave way to shouting in the streets outside. “What happened?” I said, pressing a hand to my ear.

“The ward has fallen.” Blackwood sounded grim as he looked to the ceiling. “We have to go. Korozoth will be heading for the heart of the city.”

Feeling sick, I helped Rook off the obsidian slab. As he left it, the slab trembled and, with a great splitting crack, broke in half down the middle.

“Huh,” Lambe said, smiling. “It did break.”

“What?” Wolff said. His confusion gave way to delight. “Oh! The slab.”

“I suppose I’ll be staying in London,” Lambe said. He ran with Wolff, Blackwood, and Dee up the stairs. Magnus helped Rook stay on his feet while I knelt beside Mickelmas.

“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Magnus said. “Howel, we have to get you away from here.”

I grasped the magician’s cold hand. His dark skin had taken on a sallow, grayish hue, and sweat beaded at his temples.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” I said.



“Now? That’s impossible, silly creature. Besides, Palehook is dead. That’s enough for me.” He shivered. “God, I’m cold.”

“They wrapped me in a blanket to keep me from struggling,” Rook murmured. He moved to get it but fell back to his knees. Magnus set him down gently and ran to the tomb. He returned with something crumpled in a ball. I unfurled it and wrapped it about Mickelmas. It was garish, red and orange and purple—

“Your cloak!”

Mickelmas buried himself in the thing. “That’s one accounted for, at least.” He slid his arms into the sleeves and wrapped himself up tight. “Time to seek out a safe place for healing.” He was silent for a moment and then nodded. “It’ll take a tick, what with my weakened state. Oh, blast!” He grabbed me. “There’s the thing I wanted to tell you. No time, no time, I’m such a fool.”