Page 42 of Sword & Sacrifice

“You will … not … leave before … you have broken this curse,” the lord panted. Then he slumped back onto his pillows.

Valerian held his breath, wondering if Lord Endre’s rage had been the death of him. Then he saw the slight rise and fall of the man’s chest and realized he had only exhausted himself. Valerian slipped out of the room and found Chesna waiting in the hall. “He’s knocked himself out,” he explained, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. He didn’t care how callous the words sounded.

He also didn’t give a damn about the lord’s orders. Lord Endre wasn’t the worst nobleman out there, but he certainly wasn’t the best either. If someone cursed him, they probably had good reason. Valerian wouldn’t make an enemy of them by undoing their hard work. In fact, this curse might help him escape Lord Endre’s grasp.

“I have to get some supplies,” he lied to Mrs. Rutter, then strode off before she could ask for any details.

The same voice in his head spoke again, this time with more urgency: faster, faster, get out of there now!

He made it to the front door, his hand on the knob, when someone grabbed him from behind.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Maksim whispered near his ear.

One of Valerian’s eyes peeled open. The other was gummed up, sealed shut. He tried to take in his surroundings, but he couldn’t move his head. All he could see from that angle was white threads. His fingers twitched as he tried to move his hand to no avail. He was stuck fast.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t turn to see it.

His vision grew fuzzy around the edges, slowly fading to black.

Chapter Nineteen

Penn had been to Swallow’s Nest twice, both times seeking Valerian’s assistance. The town was small but lively, busy enough to keep a mage well supplied with customers. His shop had no name, only a small ‘closed’ sign to indicate it was a business at all. It’d been over a month since its owner inhabited it. The cloudy windows obscured the inside, not that there was anything to see. Valerian had packed up all his scrolls, ingredients, and enchanted items when he’d left with Penn to fight Alistair.

And every bit of it had burned to ash in a fire they still had no explanation for.

Penn’s brow furrowed as he guided the carriage past the shop. While he searched for somewhere to leave the carriage, his mind wandered to the night of the fire. At the time, Valerian had listed a few possibilities, including a curse from another mage targeting them, or one of their linked communication books catching fire. Without the books or Valerian’s supplies, they couldn’t contact Archer and Silas to see if they were also affected.

The carriage barely fit through a narrow alley and around the back of the shop. Penn let it roll gently to a stop, then hopped down to take care of the horses. The simple, monotonous task allowed his mind to focus on the fire.

The two most likely culprits were with Penn now. Understanding the source wouldn’t change Penn’s current situation—those magical items were already destroyed—but it might give him some news of his distant friends.

Approaching the subject required subtlety. If he simply blurted out ‘Set any fires recently?’ he’d never get any answers.

Niall exited the carriage with the grace of a drunken goose—stumbling around and honking in annoyance. He grabbed the side of the building to steady himself, then stared at the shop, lip curled. “Is this your poor attempt at a trap?”

Penn arched an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“You were supposed to guide us to the mage’s residence, not a secluded back alley—”

“The shop is behind you.”

Niall narrowed his eyes, then tried to look over his shoulder while keeping Penn in view. “We are not seeking some charlatan’s shack. Valerian Sommers was not only a respected mage, he was an expensive one.”

Penn flinched at Niall’s repeated use of the past tense. In the short time they’d known each other, Valerian hadn’t shown any inclination toward excess. He wore simple clothing and only the one ring as an adornment, and that had been enchanted. He seemed as comfortable spending the night in an inn with a hot bath and good food as he was in a tent with cold rations. His biggest vice was his carnal hunger, and how much he was willing to spend on Penn for another taste. “He values substance over appearances. Why spend money on a large, extravagant house when he could spend it on his research instead?”

“Well, he’d better have some damn good supplies inside,” Niall muttered.

How would he react when he discovered the shop was empty?

Valistair stood by the back door, his expression blank and gaze distant.

Is Val fighting back? Penn stepped up beside the mage, scanning his face for any physical signs of distress—blood, disorientation, fatigue.

“Someone came here before us,” the mage murmured, outstretched hand curled to mimic claws. “A desperate animal scratching at the door.”

“What? Who? Did they break in?” Niall demanded, head swiveling as he looked back and forth between his master and the door.

“No, the wards stand firm.” A faint rainbow light glittered in the mage’s mismatched eyes. He traced an invisible symbol in the air. “However, their tampering means it will take longer to break them.”