A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(100)
“May I bring magicians to Sorrow-Fell?” I would simply come out and say it. He blinked. “Mickelmas has gone away and left me his army.” Blackwood’s bewildered expression deepened into concern. Sensing his disapproval, I added, “My father may try to court their favor the way he did with the Fae.”
Blackwood wasn’t a fool.
“If we find them,” he murmured, “you may take them on.” He traced my cheek with the tip of a finger. “Let it be a wedding gift.” In one small moment, Blackwood had maneuvered me perfectly. He might not even have known he’d done it, but it was his way, as surely as it was a spider’s nature to spin a web. Passing the back of his hand down my cheek, he whispered, “Despite everything—your lies, your wounds, I cannot help but love you. I’m helpless against it. Be my wife.”
“If I said no, would you force me?” As the Imperator, he could. And there was a shine in his eyes, something that came alive with the word force.
“I wouldn’t,” he said at last, “but no position will be safer for you than the seat at my side.” Then came the most unexpected thing of all from him: the threat of tears. “My responsibilities frighten me. I frighten myself,” he whispered. “Help me. Save me.”
Save him, indeed, as he’d offered to save me. It was even more than that, really. There was the matter of our fathers, of that odd trick of fate that had bound us together. Our staves bore matched ivy insignias, and I could imagine those tendrils knitting us snugly together. Destiny lay in his touch as he cupped a cool hand under my chin. Something dark that slept inside me stirred, opened one eye. It was as though a secret part of my soul had been designed for his.
Yet he frightened me, too, with the way he wanted.
Still, perhaps this was where my path had always been meant to lead. Perhaps the monster I concealed within myself could only be governed by him, and vice versa. And I had my magicians, wherever they might be, along with the non-magical folk shut out from sorcerer protection. They would need someone to speak for them. So, taking a breath, I nodded.
“Yes?” Blackwood sounded amazed.
“Yes, I will marry you,” I said. He kissed me.
His lips were soft, but that was the only gentle thing about his embrace. There was no heated teasing as there had been with Magnus, no sense of homecoming as with Rook. His hand gripped in my hair, he claimed my mouth again and again until he was satisfied. When I moaned in shock, he ran a trembling hand down my body. The sleeping thing inside me awoke and unfurled itself, responding to his call. Despite my pain, I also found my lips parting with an unexpected flush of pleasure. Only when I was returning his kiss did he let me go, to make me crave more.
He took me to my feet, his eyes glowing in triumph. At last he’d got what he wanted.
It was both thrilling and frightening to see.
“We will be happy together,” he whispered, tipping my chin and catching my lips until I pulled away.
“Above all,” I said, “we will be strong.”
We left London the next morning, our carts and carriages banging over the rubble-strewn streets. The sorcerer army assumed the rough shape of an arrow, with Blackwood and his most reliable Masters at the front, and the uninjured men fanning out behind them. This allowed Her Majesty, the provision wagons, and the wounded to be protected on all sides. As we passed out of the city, a sense of gloom permeated the air.
For the first time since the Norman Conquest, there would be no sorcerers in London.
I should have ridden with Blackwood but instead lay shuttered inside his carriage, wincing at every sharp movement. Maria was trying to keep me asleep as much as possible to ease my pain, but even she could not stop the dreams.
My nightmares had teeth, and they dogged my heels. In sleep, I glimpsed yellow eyeballs and curved talons, heard whispers in a language that should not exist. When I resurfaced from another fevered rest, shaking and sweating, Maria would feed me some broth or another potion. When I couldn’t drink any more, she’d sit with me.
Had it been this way for Rook? The feeling that, day by day, the dark washed over him with the relentlessness of waves on a beach?
The first day, we covered a lot of ground. When we finally rested in the evening, I pulled up the carriage’s blind to look at the camp. A perimeter of sorcerers circled us, hands on staves, ready for battle. They stayed that way throughout the night, only moving for the changing of the guard. Already, Blackwood was running his Order like an army.
The next day, I woke up feeling slightly better, which meant I wasn’t in mind-breaking pain. Though Maria seemed unsure, when we stopped for a rest, I left the confines of the carriage and walked in the sunlight. Had it always been so painfully bright? Shielding my eyes with my hand, I spotted the cluster of wagons used for transporting the wounded men and searched for Dee.
He was lying upon plush cushions so fine they must have been stolen from the palace. We were like bandits, ransacking the best bits of London and making off with them. He stirred when my shadow fell across him, and he opened his one good eye. Weakly, he smiled.
“Glad to see you, Howel,” he croaked.
He tried shoving himself up to sit properly, but it was hard with only one good arm. The stump below his left elbow had been expertly wrapped in white bandages, while his right leg had been splinted—Maria had saved it, after all. That was something, at least. A cloth mask draped the right side of his face, as cover for his blind eye. The swelling had gone down, but ridged lines of scars still crisscrossed over his cheeks and jaw.