Chapter 31
Nathaniel opened his eyes and found that he lay--still in the form of a Hound--at the bottom of Josiah's bed. He raised his head, scenting the air for Amalea or anyone else, but Josiah was the only other person in the room.
"She came in a moment ago," Josiah whispered without opening his eyes. "She said she would be right back."
Nathaniel shifted shape and sat up, only wincing when the movement pulled the wound in his side. "She said that before as well," he said. "How do you feel?"
Josiah's eyes were clear now, the shadows around them faded. "Better." He hesitated and glanced at the windows, where the sun's light had moved on to dusk. "But I want to go home."
There was an empty plate beside him--empty, save for crumbs. Nathaniel's stomach growled at the thought of food. "Did Amalea bring more food?"
"She brought some meat and cheese and bread," Josiah said. "I had a sandwich. There's more over there on the table if you want some." He stared at the blood on Nathaniel's shirt. "Amalea told me what you did."
"I did nothing," Nathaniel said, trying to rub away the dried blood that clung to his skin.
"She said you saved her life." Josiah waited a moment, then slid out of bed. Before Nathaniel could stop him, or comment on the fact that he was actually walking, he tottered over to the table and quickly made two sandwiches.
"Should you be out of bed?" Nathaniel asked.
"I'm fine," Josiah said, but when he turned with the plate in his hand, he swayed just enough for alarm. Nathaniel rescued the plate and his dignity by giving Josiah an arm to lean on, and joined him back on the bed for an impromptu picnic.
He only wished that the sandwich tasted like food instead of fear and worry.
Just as he finished the last of his sandwich, Amalea returned, her face brightening when she saw him awake.
"I have our carriage ready to leave," she said. "Are you well enough to walk down a flight of stairs?"
"Our carriage?" Josiah asked. "Where are we going?"
"To your back door," Amalea replied. "I had to get permission, of course, but the trees will move out of the way, and there are spells to make a path. You needn't worry. I will get you home."
"And your brother?" Nathaniel had to ask.
Amalea's face darkened. "When he awoke, he tried to kill himself. Magdalen's hooks run deep." She sighed. "He is with our healers now." And then, "Those same healers who refused to treat a Hound. I am sorry about that. They are not of the same--vocation, I guess, as your Sennet."
"If the carriage is a problem, we can share a horse," Nathaniel said, despite the fact that he barely remembered how to ride one.
Amalea shook her head. "It is no problem. My parents are happy to see you leave."
"I am surprised they allowed you to come with us," Josiah said. "Since they are so happy to see us leave." He slipped out of bed again, and gathered up his empty plate. "Do you want these somewhere?"
"No--leave them," Amalea said, and Nathaniel thought that she had tears in her eyes. "Leave them. They are no matter. I am glad you're feeling well enough to walk."
The trip through the castle was memorable only in the fact that they saw no one--not a single soul. It did not seem that Amalea took them on a roundabout trip, either; they walked down one short flight of stairs, across a hallway, and then down another. By the time they had walked down another flight of stairs--to what had once been stables, Nathaniel thought, the wound in his side was throbbing steadily, and even Josiah, with his newfound strength, seemed close to collapse.
The carriage was a simple thing, nondescript and plain, with two pale horses that shied away from the scent of Hounds.
There were no reins, and no place for a coachman to sit. After Josiah climbed inside and Nathaniel climbed in after him, Amalea took the third seat and the carriage jerked into motion.
"It is a spell?" Josiah asked, showing interest in its workings for the first time.
"A location spell, but a permanent one," Amalea said. "It will take us directly to your home. The pathway it creates will fade after a while, but it will last long enough for me to return to the castle."
"You weren't supposed to come with us, were you?" Nathaniel guessed.
Amalea bit her lip. "No. But I feel responsible for your safety. And I have failed once already, with Kyren. I do not wish to fail again."
"Our Master may not allow you inside," Josiah said. "You realize that?"
"He doesn't have to," Amalea said. "I only wish to see you safely home. You can explain what happened--I trust you will tell him the truth. And if he wishes to contact me later, that is fine."
"I will tell him that," Nathaniel said, and wondered how his Master would reply.
They rode in silence for a little while, and Nathaniel stared out the window at the passing trees, He had failed Seth, but found Josiah. Disobeyed, but had not died. Was Malachi still alive?
The carriage stopped. At first, Nathaniel assumed they had reached their destination, but Amalea frowned and murmured something under her breath.
Nothing happened.
"Can this spell be blocked?" Josiah asked, and made some sort of movement with his fingers, as if flicking away an invisible bug.
Again, nothing happened.
Amalea did not have a chance to try again. The carriage lurched--a horse screamed--and something outside growled. A Hound? Or something worse?
"Stay here," Nathaniel said, and opened the door. He shifted shape long before he emerged from the carriage, just in time to dodge a set of snapping jaws.
It wasn't a Hound. Not a Hound of the Wild Hunt, at least--this Hound was black, intent on death and nothing more. But there was only one of them--and despite the wound in his side, Nathaniel knew he could handle one--albeit barely. But then Josiah appeared, in the form of a Hound, his eyes blazing, his teeth bared.
When Amalea appeared--still inside the carriage, but with a sparkling ball of fire in one hand--the black Hound retreated. It did not flee, but it backed away, wary now, and outnumbered.
"That is one of Stefan's Hounds," Amalea said. "If that house is Magdalen's stronghold, then it probably followed us from there."
Stefan. Malachi's Stefan. That meant Malachi's wounds had probably been caused by Stefan's Hounds. With Josiah at his side, he watched the black Hound and waited for it to attack. He wanted to attack first, to avenge Malachi's pain, but he dared not leave Josiah or Amalea alone.
No one thought that there might be another until Amalea vanished with a startled yell--and the black Hound took advantage of that distraction to attack.
It truly never had a chance. With some desperate strength, Josiah had the Hound pinned almost before Nathaniel realized what had happened. He had no choice but to kill it, but he took no pride in its death.
Inside the carriage, the struggle had ceased. Nathaniel turned, half-expecting to find Amalea dead, as Josiah shifted into human form and vomited bits of blood and fur at the edge of the path.
I saved Malachi's life! The Hound inside the carriage had not harmed Amalea. In fact, it seemed that she--yes, she--had only startled her--but Amalea had a sword in her hand now, and it did not waver from the black Hound's throat.
"What do you want me to do with it?" she asked.
"Wait!" Josiah appeared, wiping the blood from his lips. Despite his impressive kill, he had obviously used up most of his strength. He sagged against the side of the carriage and would have fallen if Nathaniel hadn't shifted shape to hold him up. "She said--she said she saved Malachi's life."
Gabriel's conversation with Malachi had not been blocked. Nathaniel had heard most of it, as had the others. But he had been more relieved to hear Malachi talking, and he could not remember exactly what he had said.
"One of Stefan's Hounds did save Malachi's life," he said. "Perhaps it was this one. Perhaps not."
None of the others can speak to you this way, the Hound said. Please--Malachi said he would teach me to shift shape.
"No. He said he would try," Nathaniel said, speaking aloud for Amalea's benefit. "But our Master could just as well--"
The Hound trembled. No! Not your Master!
"He will not kill you," Josiah said. "If that's what you're afraid of."
No.
"Your name is Brenna," Nathaniel said, remembering now. "You are Stefan's daughter. And you were once a Hound, like us."
"When was this?" Amalea asked, sheathing her sword, since the danger seemed to have passed.
"Before the binding," Josiah said. "It is old news."
Amalea's lips twitched. "Not to me."
"Stefan was once a Hound," Nathaniel said. "He was also once a member of the Council. He volunteered to become a Hound to save his daughter--"
To serve himself, Brenna cut in.
"He was not a nice person, even as a Hound," Josiah said. "Can we go now?"
"And what shall we do with your prisoner?" Amalea asked. "Is she coming with us?"
Nathaniel wished the bond had returned so that he could communicate with Josiah--away from Brenna's hearing. But Josiah nodded, even before he asked.
"I think she should, if she saved Malachi's life." He glanced at Nathaniel. "What do you think?"
"I think--" Nathaniel glanced at Brenna, who was trembling now, her eyes wide, as if she did not believe they would allow her to come. Or--Was her Master calling her? "Does your Hunt have a bond like we do?" What if Stefan saw through her eyes and realized that there were two Hounds for the taking?
He cannot--see what I see, Brenna's thoughts were full of fear. He can--He can order me to come--Please-- She closed her eyes, still trembling. I don't want to go back.
"He will know that one of his Hounds are dead," Josiah whispered.
"And call the survivor?" Amalea asked. "I can place a spell around this carriage, but it will block your bond as well, if it returns."
"That is no matter," Nathaniel said. "We will be home soon."
When Amalea cast her spell, Brenna sat up straight for the first time, and shook all over, as if casting out Stefan's touch inside her mind. Thank you.
"She says thank you," Josiah translated.
"You are welcome," Amalea replied, and waited until Nathaniel had helped Josiah into the carriage. "Let's go, then, and hope we finish our journey without any other interruptions."
Nathaniel clilmbed inside and sat beside Josiah. Brenna had curled up under the seat, pressing herself in the smallest space possible.
Despite his misgivings, Nathaniel felt a bit sorry for her. What do you know about Magdalen? he asked.
Brenna shuddered and whined. She is--She is determined.
"Leave her be," Josiah whispered. "There is plenty of time for questions once we arrive."
You heard me? Was the bond slowly returning?
It has not returned. Had Josiah read his mind? But I can hear you.
Is it a good idea to bring one of Stefan's Hounds home with us? Nathaniel asked the question that he'd wanted to ask before.
Probably not, Josiah replied. But you said she did save Malachi's life. If she did not return with us, Stefan would punish her.
Which was true, like as not. And despite the fact that Nathaniel dreaded his Master's reaction to his return, he knew he would not likely be punished. No, Gabriel would be too shocked at Josiah's reappearance to punish anyone.
What would happen at their return? Had Malachi survived the breaking of the bond? The carriage plodded along, far too slow for Nathaniel's impatience. He wanted to run home, with Josiah at his side, of course, with no thought for carriages and agreements and platitudes.
But instead, he had to wait.
With a sigh, he settled back against the carriage seat and watched the trees move out of its way as they inched through the forest.
They were almost home.
Chapter 32
When Kyren opened his eyes and found that he was still alive, he almost went back to sleep in the hope that he would never awaken. Magdalen had made her point with her display of power--it was obvious that he would truly never make it out of the house alive.
So why bother to keep him alive, then?
Dully, he stared around the basement, trying not to remember the human boy's fear or the sound of snapping teeth and tearing claws.
Or the fact that he had witnessed a terrible murder.
He shivered, which awoke the pain from his fall, but he doubted anything was broken. The pains he felt were nothing compared to what had happened to Gabriel's Hound, which meant that he would not die from his wounds.
To die, then, he would have to find a way to kill himself, or let Magdalen have her way with him. Neither choice sounded very promising.
But what could he do, bound hand and foot, with a spell preventing him from screaming and no way out of the basement? What could he do, lying here, with only his mind free?
He managed to roll over--lurching across the floor like a turtle on its back, and lay there panting, staring up at the cobwebby ceiling. His legs were numb, no doubt from the ropes, but his arms still had some feeling. His arms were crisscrossed with welts and bruises, but his fingers moved when he asked them to.
He tried not to flinch when he traced the path of Magdalen's nails across his face.
Traced? With his fingers?
He froze, then, and stared at his hands. The rope--He spotted it a moment later, hanging from a nail halfway up the stairs.
Snapped. Cleanly in two, which meant that he could free himself now, however good that may be.
He sat up, his arms barely supporting the weight of his body, and leaned back against the nearest piece of furniture. It moved, almost pitching him down again, but he caught himself and hissed a curse under his breath as pain jolted up his arms. The ropes had cut off his circulation for far too long.
It took a long time to unwind the ropes. Longer still for him to massage a bit of feeling into his legs. When he finally thought to make the attempt to stand, the sky outside the tiny basement windows was as black as Magdalen's heart.
He hesitated before tearing off the spell that blocked his voice, fearful that she would notice, but nothing happened when it burned into ash.
Now that he was free, something niggled at the back of his mind about the Daulton House's basement. A tunnel out of the house would be nice, but Kyren knew of no tunnels. However, Jacob Daulton had been a wizard. Surely there was something in his basement workspace that Kyren could use.
He limped towards the bookcases and stared at the hodgepodge of bottles and jars. Some seemed empty, others were full of strange, unlabeled herbs and spices, dusty and unused.
How far back had Magdalen brought the house? Had all of these supplies burned in the human world? Did this house truly sit in Faerie alone, or had Magdalen done something even worse to break it off from the usual aspect of things?
He turned away from the bookcases in disgust. Unlabeled bottles would not help him. He could break one, yes, and use the shards to cut his wrists, but strangely, the urge to kill himself had passed, at least for the moment.
In a small room adjoining the larger main room, Kyren found a circle inscribed on the floor--an intact circle--its symbols and spells burned into the stone as if from a very detailed beam. A laser, perhaps, not that he knew anything about lasers. It was a circle that could not be broken, unless the very stone itself cracked.
What had Jacob Daulton used it for?
And, on the tail end of that thought: If Magdalen had pulled the house back in time, was Beth still alive somewhere in the house?
When he saw the door set in the wall, he remembered what he had forgotten. There was a passageway--more than one, in truth, but this one led to Beth's bedroom so her father would not be seen. She'd described his midnight visits on more than one occasion. Sickened, Kyren had assured her that she would never have to go back to such horror.
He had lied, of course. Or been totally naive. She had returned, pregnant with his child, and he had murdered her father. The shock of his death had driven her mad.
Kyren bowed his head, mourning the girl he had known and the woman who had died many years later. Mourning their remaining child--the other twin had died--and his mistakes both before and after Jacob Daulton's death.
Was there still time to redeem himself? And if so, then how?
Kyren stepped away from the door--and into water. At first, he did not realize what had happened--he stared at the rising water that poured across the floor and tried to figure out where it had come from. Was this, too, from the past?
The water deepened, covering his boots, then creeping up to his knees as he stood there. Much quicker than any mundane flood could have risen. It carried debris now--and the stench of decay. The basement walls turned black with mold and rot. The bookcases charred before Kyren's eyes.
No. This was not from the past, but the present. The Veil fought against Magdalen's constraints and struggled to bring the house back into the real world--or whatever the real world truly was, if the house was not entirely in Faerie.
Shadowy shapes appeared--and stars overhead as the ceiling vanished--Kyren bumped into a floating and charred table as he backed away.
And then, everything shifted, and the basement returned to normal in an instant, leaving Kyren standing on dry ground, his pants soaked almost to his hips. But still he stood there, staring, because he had found a weakness in Magdalen's spell.
Magdalen's power was not absolute. And perhaps, if he had tried to escape when the spell had faltered, if he had whistled a tune to transport himself away from the house--perhaps it would have worked.
And he would have been free, at least until she realized he was gone and sent Stefan and his Hounds to find him.
Kyren sat down on the edge of a low table. He could wait until the spell slipped again and try to escape. He could then--what? Had Amalea found the Healer and brought her back to the castle? Should he abandon all hope of surviving and find the Hunt's lair to warn Gabriel of Magdalen's intentions?
And then, almost as an afterthought, he remembered the human boy. Remembered the fear in his gaze and how he had seemed so helpless, so lost.
And he knew, in good conscience, that he could not escape without trying to free the boy as well. This boy was just as alone as Josiah had been for the past decade, and Kyren had failed him.
He would not fail the boy as well.
With a heavy heart, he found the door again, and opened it. The darkened stairway loomed in front of him, leading upwards, to Beth's room and the second floor of the house.
Althea had dragged the boy down the stairs. He remembered that much of it. It was almost too much to ask to think that his prison would be the closet, or even Beth's room, but it was a plausible place to hold him.
But first-- Kyren left the door open and looked for a weapon this time, not something to end his life, but something to prolong it. If he encountered one of Stefan's Hounds, or Stefan himself, then he would need to fight.
He had no doubts that he would lose, but he would still need to fight.
He found a length of iron--a fireplace poker--propped between two bookcases, and he wondered if Jacob Daulton himself had forgotten it down here or if someone else had left it for Kyren to find. Either way, and despite the fact that the iron stung his skin, he had a weapon now. And a plan, however thin it may be.
At least, if he died and the truth reached Amalea's ears, she would not believe that he died a coward. He could console himself with that.
(Next Update: October 10th)
House St. Clair Home
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