A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(38)
“Are you all right, Howel?” he asked. He was breathing heavily. Looking down at the now-dead Familiar, he kicked it for good measure and came to help me up.
“I’ll be fine,” I grunted. The nosebleed had stopped, though dark spots wavered in my vision. I spit the taste of copper and ash out of my mouth. “We didn’t do much with the new weapons, did we?”
His pained expression gave me my answer.
Now, when the battle was practically done, sorcerers came flying over the barrier to chase the ravens and finish the slaughter. The ravens were in a tizzy, circling and cawing as they sped over the rubble and back toward the horizon. I felt we’d got stupidly lucky, catching them off guard.
We returned to the barrier. Once there, it took us two tries to fly back over the thing, where we found Valens waiting on the other side. Considering we’d failed, he appeared smugly pleased. I wanted to shake him.
“Thank you for watching while we nearly got ourselves killed,” I said, beyond respect at this point.
“I’d orders to let you display your so-called abilities.” He dusted his sleeves, as though he’d somehow been doing all the work. “I’d be surprised if you are allowed another experiment like this.”
“We need more time,” I said. Valens turned flashing eyes to me. There was anger in him, seething below a thin layer of civility. It startled me.
“Ask the people of Liverpool for more time,” he snapped. Liverpool? The four of us exchanged glances, the silent question passing among us. Huffing, Valens contained himself and said, “It’s over. Go home and rest. After tomorrow you return to my squadron.” He turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving me uneasy.
“Can’t say we didn’t try,” Dee said softly. He took the whip from his belt, slid the flute off his shoulder, and offered them to me.
“Keep them,” I said shortly. “We’re not done yet.”
Blackwood, however, accepted Dee’s weapons, then nodded to Magnus. “I’ll take yours.”
“Think I’ll hang on to mine for the time being.” Magnus saluted us as he strode away. “Souvenirs.”
Dee followed Magnus, while Blackwood and I headed home. Despite being laden down with the failed weapons, he appeared pleased. Really, he looked gleeful to have been disgraced before the entire Order. I let my annoyance boil over.
“You had nothing to say to Valens?” I snapped.
“Perhaps these weapons were always too dangerous to play with.”
“We can make them work with proper instruction,” I said. Where that proper instruction was to come from, I’d no idea.
“We were almost killed today.” Blackwood held up a hand still covered in the rider’s blood. “Please. I don’t want trouble from Whitechurch or Valens or anyone else but R’hlem.” His voice was quiet but firm. We said no more, and I turned over what Valens had said, his anger. Why had he brought up Liverpool specifically? What had happened?
When we arrived home, I walked straight into the obsidian room, taking up a bowl of water and swirling the liquid into the air. I wasn’t particularly skilled at scrying, unfortunately, and my water glass resembled a rather limp rectangle instead of the customary square. Footsteps whispered behind me. Blackwood waited in the doorway, arms crossed.
Bother him. I returned to scrying, badly. Blackwood didn’t need to be told what I was about. Edging in gracefully, he took up his stave and straightened my mirror into a perfect, glittering square.
I’d never been to Liverpool, but I tried to envision the streets, the port, the clatter of carriages and call of voices, and then—there.
It appeared before us, a smoking ruin.
Blackwood nearly dropped the water glass in shock, and I bit back a horrified cry. Buildings had been ground into rubble. Fires dotted the wreckage here and there, like hideous signatures. Pulling back further, I caught sight of a great lumbering lizard crawling across the destruction, a forked tongue the length of a carriage horse tasting the earth lazily. It looked rather like an iguana, with spikes of red and electric blue fanned out along its ridged back.
Zem, the Great Lizard, opened his mouth and spewed a stream of white-hot flame, roasting the side of a building. It collapsed, and there was movement as people—yes, they were people—fled. Zem’s gullet bulged, and he opened his mouth again….
Blackwood swore, swiping his stave at the water glass to change the scene. But I spied something and grabbed his arm. Letters had been carved into a broad avenue, scorched by fire, darkened by ash. The words read:
Give Me Henrietta Howel
Coldness planted itself in my gut as I took over the water glass, moving from Liverpool to York. We’d more sorcerers stationed there, but Familiars still carpeted the area surrounding the city. They were a sea of cloaks and talons and fangs. With so many at the gates, waiting for an opportunity to strike, the sorcerer ranks had to be exhausted. And sure enough, when I went looking at the surrounding area, I found those four ugly words sliced into a green hillside.
“Don’t,” Blackwood whispered, but I couldn’t stop. Hands shaking, I forced the mirror to show me other areas. Kent, Manchester, Surrey, Devon, and on and on. Some areas were less devastated than others. But if I searched the populous towns, I would find the words once more:
Give Me Henrietta Howel