Seven Stones to Stand or Fall (Outlander)(65)

The comte swung toward first one and then the other. He looked…crazed. Joan swallowed and nudged Michael, urging him toward the chamber’s door, only then noticing the penknife in his hand.

“What were ye going to do wi’ that?” she whispered. “Shave him?”

“Let the air out of him,” Michael muttered. He lowered his hand but didn’t put the knife away and kept his eyes on the two men.

“Your daughter,” the comte said hoarsely to the man who called himself Master Raymond. “You were looking for a lost daughter. I’ve found her for you.”

Raymond’s brows shot up, and he glanced at Joan.

“Mine?” he said, astonished. “She isn’t one of mine. Can’t you tell?”

The comte drew a breath so deep it cracked in his throat.

“Tell? But—”

The frog looked impatient.

“Can you not see auras? The electrical fluid that surrounds people,” he elucidated, waving a hand around his own head.

The comte rubbed a hand hard over his face. “I can’t—”

“For goodness sake, come in here!” Raymond stepped to the edge of the star, reached across, and seized the comte’s hand.



RAKOCZY STIFFENED AT the touch. Blue light exploded from their linked hands, and he gasped, feeling a surge of energy such as he had never before experienced. Raymond pulled hard, and Rakoczy stepped across the line into the pentagram.

Silence. The buzzing had stopped. He nearly wept with the relief of it.

“I—you—” he stammered, looking at the linked hands.

“You didn’t know?” Raymond looked surprised.

“That you were a—” He waved at the pentagram. “I thought you might be.”

“Not that,” Raymond said, almost gently. “That you were one of mine.”

“Yours?” Rakoczy looked down again; the blue light was pulsing gently now, surrounding their fingers.

“Everyone has an aura of some kind,” Raymond said. “But only my…people…have this.”

In the blessed silence, it was possible to think again. And the first thing that came to mind was the Star Chamber, the king looking on as they had faced each other over a poisoned cup. And now he knew why the frog hadn’t killed him.



HIS MIND BUBBLED with questions. La Dame Blanche, blue light, Mélisande, and Madeleine…Thought of Madeleine and what grew in her womb nearly stopped him, but the urge to find out, to know at last, was too strong.

“Can you—can we—go forward?”

Raymond hesitated a moment, then nodded.

“Yes. But it’s not safe. Not safe at all.”

“Will you show me?”

“I mean it.” The frog’s grip tightened on his. “It’s not a safe thing to know, let alone to do.”

Rakoczy laughed, feeling all at once exhilarated, full of joy. Why should he fear knowledge? Perhaps the passage would kill him—but he had a pocket full of gems, and, besides, what was the point of waiting to die slowly?

“Tell me!” he said, squeezing the other’s hand. “For the sake of our shared blood!”



JOAN STOOD STOCK-STILL, amazed. Michael’s arm was still around her, but she scarcely noticed.

“He is!” she whispered. “He truly is! They both are!”

“Are what?” Michael gaped at her.

“Auld Folk! Faeries!”

He looked wildly back at the scene before them. The two men stood face-to-face, hands locked together, their mouths moving in animated conversation—in total silence. It was like watching mimes but even less interesting.

“I dinna care what they are. Loons, criminals, demons, angels…Come on!” He dropped his arm and seized her hand, but she was planted solid as an oak sapling, her eyes growing wide and wider.

She gripped his hand hard enough to grind the bones and shrieked at the top of her lungs, “Don’t do it!!”

He whirled round just in time to see them vanish.



THEY STUMBLED TOGETHER down the long, pale passages, bathed in the flickering light of dying torches, red, yellow, blue, green, a ghastly purple that made Joan’s face look drowned.

“Des feux d’artifice,” Michael said. His voice sounded queer, echoing in the empty tunnels. “A conjurer’s trick.”

“What?” Joan looked drugged, her eyes black with shock.

“The fires. The…colors. Have ye never heard of fireworks?”

“No.”

“Oh.” It seemed too much a struggle to explain, and they went on in silence, hurrying as much as they could, to reach the shaft before the light died entirely.

At the bottom, he paused to let her go first, thinking too late that he should have gone first—she’d think he meant to look up her dress….He turned hastily away, face burning.

“D’ye think he was? That they were?” She was hanging on to the ladder, a few feet above him. Beyond her, he could see the stars, serene in a velvet sky.

“Were what?” He looked at her face, so as not to risk her modesty. She was looking better now but very serious.

“Were they Auld Folk? Faeries?”

“I suppose they must ha’ been.” His mind was moving very slowly; he didn’t want to have to try to think. He motioned to her to climb and followed her up, his eyes tightly shut. If they were Auld Ones, then likely so was Auntie Claire. He truly didn’t want to think about that.