Flamecaster (Shattered Realms #1)(122)

Keep him talking, buy some time to think. “Maybe it’s time to make your peace with the Maker,” Ash said. “To take a close look at your life so far, and—”

“Do not dare to defile the Maker’s name!” Gerard thundered. “You are not worthy!”

. . . but don’t rile him up enough so he ends it now.

Ash hung there silently, as if chastened.

“I was forced to dispose of my beloved Estelle,” Montaigne said, back to icy calm. “I loved her, but once I realized that she had been corrupted, she had to be sacrificed.” He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.

Ash had left most of his arsenal of poisons with the discarded collar. But not everything. Keeping a tight hold on the gargoyle with one hand, he slid the other into the pocket of his cloak, groping until he found what he was looking for—the sting in its leather sheath. Using his teeth, he pulled the sheath away.

“But that is nothing, nothing next to these recent calamities. The thanes were already mutinous, always whining about paying for this holy war against northern witchery. Then Delphi falls to a mob of coal miners, ships explode in the harbor, and a dragon attacks the castle itself. That’s when I knew.”

“That’s when you knew what?” Ash said.

“That’s when I knew that you were responsible.”

“Well,” Ash said, “much as I’d like to take credit for all of that, I can’t see how you think I’m to blame.” Well, maybe for those last two things, but he wasn’t going to bring that up.

“Your name is not Adam Freeman,” Montaigne said, triumphantly, “is it?”

Ash looked up at him. Suddenly, he was eager to face the king of Arden in no other skin than his own. “No,” he said, “it’s not.”

“How long did you think you could fool me?”

“Long enough to kill you, I hoped.”

“It should have been obvious.” Montaigne shook his head. “I can only think that the Breaker clouded my eyes. That first night, when you came walking out of the flames and raised the baker from the dead, I should have known. That was unnatural. Then you insinuated yourself into the healing service so that you could get to the girl with the magemark.”

“You were the one who asked me to treat her,” Ash said.

“I was blinded by sorcery. Otherwise, I would have known. But tonight, I will do what I should have done in the first place.” He paused, as if to build suspense. “I will kill you.”

Fragmented thoughts swirled through Ash’s mind. This doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he try to keep me alive and hold me hostage? Or break my mother’s heart by torturing me to death?

Maybe he’ll send the pieces home in a box, the way he did with Hana.

“You are going to lose,” Ash said. “I don’t care how many of us you kill, we will never surrender. You will pay for murdering my father, and my sister, and you will pay for Jenna. You never should have picked a fight with the Gray Wolf queens.”

But the king didn’t seem to hear him. “Behold your redemption, demon!” The king thrust a stoneware jar into Ash’s face.

That was the opening he needed. Ash jabbed the sting into the king’s forearm. Gerard didn’t even notice.

Ash withdrew the needle and let it fall. He released a long, shuddering sigh. There. It was done. Finally.

“Behold your redemption, demon!” the king repeated, apparently miffed at the lack of response.

“What’s that?” Ash asked.

The king rocked the jar. It sloshed. “This is oil.” He smiled. “The only way to kill a demon is by burning.”

Ash couldn’t help wishing the poison he’d used was faster acting.

If wishes were horses, even beggars would ride.

Montaigne was mumbling to himself. “I should have known. But I didn’t, not at first.” He refocused on Ash. “You see, I thought your kind had red hair.”

Ash blinked at him, confused. He was the only one in his family with truly red hair. “What do you mean, ‘your kind’?”

“Demons.”

“Demons?” Ash stared at Montaigne. “Hang on—you think I’m an actual demon?”

“It’s my fault, for agreeing to use mages in the war, and so violating the Maker’s laws,” Montaigne said. “I had become convinced that one has to use witchery against witchery in order to win. But now I know that all I did was open the door to sin and depravity. That’s the thing about demons—you have to invite them in. I should have listened to Father Fosnaught and burned you that first night. From tonight forward, everything changes. I will send the Hand into every corner of the empire and cleanse it of every tainted person. It begins with you.”

Raising the jar, he dumped it over Ash’s head, managing to splatter it all over himself as well. He tossed the jar over, then stalked to the inside wall and yanked a torch from its bracket.

He returned to the edge, his face monstrous in the light from the flames. “By the great saint!” he said, raising the torch with both hands. “Die, demon!”

But the torch never came down. Instead, someone grabbed the king’s torch arm and jammed it down so the burning head ignited his clothing. Montaigne screamed and stumbled forward, his arms and legs pinwheeling wildly as he toppled over the edge. Ash flattened himself against the tower wall to avoid being struck as the king screamed past him like a falling star. The screaming ended abruptly when he hit bottom.