Bartley gasped and yanked a knife out from under his coat.
With a wave of my hand, I summoned more blue mist around me as Bartley tossed his blade at my head. My enchanted shield shattered his weapon before it got anywhere near. Metal shards burst in the air and fell in a glittering cascade to the forest floor. Necromancers weren’t supposed to show emotion, but I allowed myself a small smile.
Four more thieves leapt out of the forest, a mixture of men and women in raggedy dress. While howling in unison, they all rushed toward me. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t counted on my skeletons. It was a common enough mistake. Most conjured skeletons were clumsy things that lumbered toward their enemies. Not mine. All my castings were whip-fast and deadly. The moment my skeletons saw I was under attack, they wrapped their bony arms around the thieves’ throats, snapping their necks in quick succession. All except one.
Bartley gasped. “Who are you?”
“Someone who deserves answers.” I rubbed my palms together. For extra effect, I allowed a small puff of blue mist to whirl about my hands. “Let’s try again. What do you know about the Vicomte Gaspard?”
He lifted his chin. “Nothing. I swear.”
“I see.” This one wouldn’t be easy to intimidate into talking. He must be hiding something really important.
I waved my left arm, and two more skeletons wiggled out of the ground. This time, I cast them to look extra frightening. Both were eight feet tall with opal-black bones and pointed teeth. Blue light shone about their bony hands, which meant they could not only fight, but cast spells as well. The pair loomed over Bartley, their jaws clacking with silent laughter. A wet spot appeared on his pants. Excellent.
“Tell me what you know, Bartley. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to ask them to cast a truth spell. You’ve heard about those? The skeletons squeeze information from your head. I’m told it’s very painful.”
“I can’t tell you nothing.” Little bits of spittle flew from Bartley’s mouth as he spoke. “The Vicomte—”
“He’s not here and I am.” I snapped my fingers, and the two dark skeletons went to work. One held Bartley’s head still while the other pointed its bony finger right above his eyeball. “Perhaps we’ll work up to a truth spell. There are other ways to injure your skull, you know.”
“No!” Bartley stared cross-eyed at the skeletal hand. “He’s got Necromancers hidden away.”
“Where?”
“On Royal lands.”
“I’ve checked every inch of that man’s estate.” Or cast spells on his servants to do it for me. “My Sisters aren’t there.”
“I said Royal lands, didn’t I? It’s one of the nobility that has them.”
My heart sank. I was afraid of that. There were hundreds of noble families. Searching all their lands could take years, even if I dared to use magick. “Which noble is hiding the Necromancers?”
“I don’t know.” Bartley was visibly shaking now. I believed he was telling the truth—the man didn’t know anything more about where my people were being held. Still, I needed other kinds of information. “There’s a machine that drains magick from my kind. Have you seen it?”
“I can’t tell you ‘bout that. He’ll find out. He’ll kill me.”
“He might kill you.” I snapped my fingers, and the skeleton twisted its wrist, bringing the pointed bone of its fingertip even closer to Bartley’s eye. “But I definitely will.”
Bartley howled with fright. “He’s got a device. A small thing, no bigger than a skipping stone. I never got to see it close up, but it’s made of metal. Them Fantomes put it on the prisoners. That’s what drains ‘em till they’re dead.”
I pictured little Ada, six years old and subjected to some kind of evil contraption. The thought made me ill. “Who made this device? How does it work?”
Tears streamed down his dirty cheeks. “I don’t know. I swear.”
I thought back to the single clue I had from Veronique, one of my Sisters from the Midnight Cloister. As she was dragged away, Veronique spoke the name of a Royal. I’d been searching for that girl ever since. “What do you know of a Royal named Amelia?”
“You mean the Lady Amelia Masson?”
My pulse sped. I was hoping that Veronique was referring to the Lady Amelia Masson. Mostly because I’d already checked another dozen Lady Amelias already and had come up empty. “What do you know of Amelia Masson?”
“Lady Amelia lives near here. She’s crazy. Locked herself up for years.”
Worry weighed on my shoulders. I hadn’t considered that one of the Amelias wouldn’t be sane enough to answer my questions. “And that’s all you know about her?”
“Bandits broke into her mansion a few months back. Took some silver and ran for the forest. After that, they all disappeared. No one knows what happened to them, but I’m guessing it wasn’t good.”