“It’ll keep you from bleeding to death,” he whispered as he hoisted me to my feet. I was a ghost, surely, floating over the floor and out into the courtyard. Soon we slumped against each other outside the palace doors, surveying the damage of the city streets. Smoke still shrouded the landscape.
“What happens now?” I croaked. My legs gave out, and Mickelmas gently sat with me. I pressed my face into his velvet sleeve.
“We’ll see if the Ancients follow their master. Perhaps they’ll remain and hold the city for when—if—he returns.”
If I’d silenced R’hlem’s mind forever…I didn’t know how to feel about it. I had not paused to exploit his weakness. The man in my father had given birth to the monster in me.
Mickelmas hissed in pain, clutching his hand. “The time has come for me to atone.”
“What do you mean?” The pulsing agony was abating moment by moment; his spell had done its job. Gingerly, I wiped at some of the drying blood on his face.
“I hid for years when I should have gone hunting for the answer to our problem. Now would be the time to get started.” He squeezed my good shoulder. “I’m giving you the Army of the Burning Rose. My little magicians need someone to look to for strength.” He touched my head in the manner of a blessing. “God forbid, if R’hlem survives…” Neither of us wanted to dwell on that possibility. Mickelmas sniffed. “I know you can’t forgive what I’ve done,” he muttered.
Forgive me. I would not make the same mistake as I had with Agrippa. Though I couldn’t put my arms around the magician, I patted his hand.
“Once we finish this war, I’ll have years ahead to badger you about it,” I whispered.
“You always were a smart-mouthed creature.” Mickelmas frowned. “God, that injury. Stay here—no, don’t stand up!”
But the world had gone hazy once more. The queen. I should find her, wherever she was, and make certain she was safe. But my vision split as I dragged myself to my feet, over Mickelmas’s protests.
I didn’t remember falling.
—
“WAKE UP.” A WET CLOTH SOOTHED my brow, and hands lifted my head. “Drink.”
I spluttered at the hot liquid rushing down my throat, which tasted like butter and basil and wet leaves. My eyes opened. Light stabbed me through the brain, but the blurred image of the person above me came into focus.
Maria. Her hair was plaited down her back, and the circles under her eyes indicated she’d spent a sleepless night. Sitting up, the world scattered a moment, but with a few more sips of her drink I could see clearly. My shoulder, now covered in gauze, throbbed like an impatient reminder.
We were in one of the palace’s rooms, though the fine furniture had been removed and the elegant rugs rolled up. Several pallets and cots had been laid out about the place. Paintings had been taken down, leaving obvious squares on the wall where they had been. Through the window, I caught a glimpse of two men on patrol, staves in hand.
The Order hadn’t been completely demolished, then.
“How long have I been asleep?” My voice sounded like it belonged to an old, weary woman.
“Two days, miss.” Lilly sat beside me, rinsing out a cloth in some cool water. Her strawberry-blond hair had come thoroughly undone, and her face was smudged, but her hands were steady as ever as she put the cloth to the back of my neck.
To Maria, I said, “Dee?”
“He’s survived, but I’m making him sleep.” She lowered her eyes. “He’ll need to adjust.”
Lilly made a noise as she wrung out the cloth.
“And the others?” My heart beat faster. “The queen?”
Maria counted on her fingers. “Her Majesty’s safe.” She nodded to the sorcerers by the window. “The monsters are moving out, but slowly. The Order’s had to set up shields all around the palace until they decide what to do.”
“What about the citizens? How many of them are here?” I asked. At that, Maria and Lilly shared a brief glance.
“Don’t worry about that now,” Maria said, putting her cup to my lips. “This’ll manage your pain for a bit, though we’ll have to think of something more permanent.”
“Permanent?” I didn’t understand. If this wound wouldn’t kill me…
“Rook bit you.” Maria didn’t make that a question. “He’s an Ancient now, of a sort.” Her gaze met mine, kind but honest. Always honest. “You’re Unclean.”
My thoughts went quiet. Gently, I touched the gauze, pain murmuring beneath my skin. I knew what that meant. Sneers and looks of revulsion as you passed, the world treating you as though you were invisible, or the devil himself. Absorbed by the pain until you were a mere vessel for the monster that marked you. Rook—the thing that had been Rook—was my master now.
“Does the queen know?” I finally managed.
“Aye. She knows, and so does—”
The door slammed open, and Magnus exploded into the room. God, it really was him. He was a sight, covered in dirt, his auburn hair gray with ash. His coat was gone, his shirt torn, but he looked elated as he fell beside me. A long, ugly gash snaked over his forehead, and his face was puffed and yellowed with older bruises, but he was alive. Though soot rained down upon me, I didn’t mind. I clasped his arm, noted how the dirt on his face was lined from tears.
“You bloody genius. How the devil did you manage it?” His gaze lit on my shoulder. “Does it still hurt? How badly?”
“Which question do you want answered first?” I smiled up at him.
“So, aye, this one knows.” Maria slapped at Magnus, forcing him off. “Lord Blackwood as well.”
“He’s alive? Thank God.”
“More than that,” Lilly said, but was cut short. The doors opened again, and two sorcerers outfitted in red soldier’s livery entered.
“She’s awake,” one of them said, eyeing me. I could not read his expression. “The Imperator wishes to see her.”
“She needs rest,” Maria argued, but they did not listen. Imperator? So Her Majesty had appointed one. Likely a Master, or perhaps a squadron captain.
The Imperator entered and stood before me.
It was Blackwood.
He was unharmed and surprisingly clean. Somehow in all this madness, he’d found a pristine white shirt and an unsoiled jacket. His black hair shone in the sharp square of sunlight coming through the window. The contrast between Magnus and him was incredible. In the middle of a ravaged city, Blackwood looked better, healthier, than ever before.
And he was the Imperator of all English magic? A boy of seventeen who hadn’t even had time to test for the rank of sorcerer Master?
“How?” My throat was dry, and Lilly gave me some more water.
“May we have privacy, please?” Already, he sounded in control. The others obeyed him at once, even a grumbling Magnus. After all, he could not disobey his Imperator. Moments later, we were alone, watching each other, as though calculating how to move. His gaze homed in on my bandaged shoulder.
“I’m Unclean,” I said.
“Yes.” It was a breath, so soft I nearly missed it. His lips formed a thin, tense line. “What happened?”
“I put a knife into R’hlem’s heart.” It sounded so simple that I began to giggle uncontrollably. Giggling turned to hiccuping, which in turn bordered on tears. I swallowed more water as Blackwood processed what I’d said.
“How?”
I didn’t have the strength for the whole story. “I found an opportunity. He summoned Rook, and Rook bit me.” Even mention of his name made the pain in my shoulder flare. “Then I fainted. What happened to you once—”
“Once you abandoned me?” He didn’t sound angry, though. More like he was trying to puzzle me out. “I fell in with a squadron near St. Paul’s. We had a devil of a time. Our losses have been…extensive.”
Here, he looked over the empty cots, the blank spaces on the walls where art had previously hung.
“Every man in those Fae tunnels was lost,” he said. “Half the sorcerers who remained in London are also gone.”
Most of the men I saw daily, gone within hours. My stomach felt leaden.
“How many of us are left?”
Blackwood flinched. “Able-bodied men? No more than five hundred.”