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“Clare—”
“Just answer the question. Please.”
“Everyone has a spark of magic. And a Reaper can take that. But non-mages never survive a reaping.”
She had a feeling she knew what had happened to the people of El-Dennon.
“I’ll see you back at the palace.” She left, hardly able to hear the calls they made after her. No, it was Madame Aria’s voice she heard, laden with disgust, repeating in her mind.
Abomination.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to convince herself she was not.
Chapter Forty-Six
Come With Me, and You Won’t
Verol slumped in his chair. His eyes had that glassy, vacant look they’d had after Marie died. Quin should reassure him. Should tell him that he wasn’t going to lose Clare too, except he didn’t think he could fake the sincerity well enough. Not this time. Not after what they’d just seen.
Verol jerked suddenly and the glass covering his eyes shattered, replaced by a feverish light. “We have to leave. Investigate the most recent tip from Phoenix. If they’re right and we get the gatestone for them, we’ll finally have one that’s worth something.”
Marquin dragged his hand across his face, feeling wearier than ever, and knowing talking Verol out of this wasn’t going to be easy. Phoenix, the anonymous source they’d been in communication with for almost a decade, wasn’t in the habit of sending them toward the ancient magical artifacts he and Marquin hunted. The information Phoenix sent them typically skewed political. But they knew Quin and Verol looked for those items that, if enough were collected, might help them oppose Alaric, and their most recent note had said they knew where one might be found—but they would need a gatestone to reach it.
Since there hadn’t been a Gatekeeper born in over three-hundred years, the surviving gatestones were difficult to find and almost impossible to pay the price to obtain. He and Verol knew where only a single one was, and they had resolutely refused to pay its price for the last fifteen years. Even after Phoenix’s note, Verol hadn’t considered it. Until now.
He was ignoring Quin, standing and shuffling through half a dozen books, looking for Ferrian alone knew what. “During the journey we can see what might be done to draw him away from the palace without causing any actual damage.”
“Verol—”
“And it’s time to start pushing harder on the political front. Possibly with Taella first. Miriam’s always understood where we stand, and she has her own vendetta. Besides, she likes you, so even if she doesn’t agree with our methods, we can likely count on her support.”
“Verol—”
“I’d take on another apprentice if I thought it would confuse Alaric, except he’d likely see right through that and I?—”
“Verol.” The deep boom of his voice finally halted Verol’s manic energy. “She’s too strong to hide. What she did with the tree this afternoon proved that. You only felt the echoes of this Song’s power. That was nothing compared to what I felt when she spoke with it.”
Verol frowned. “I understand that. It’s why, more than ever, we must accelerate our plans and keep his attention divided across the kingdom. We have to kill him, Quin.”
Quin stepped around the desk. He removed the book in Verol’s hand and set it aside, taking his hands. “No, love. She has to kill him.”
Verol pulled back, as Quin had known he would. Just as Quin had anticipated the horrified, reproachful look he was now on the receiving end of.
“She’s barely more than twenty winters,” Verol said.
“She isn’t a child. And she isn’t your daughter.”
“Is there a point buried in those words somewhere?” So much ice, in his voice.
Quin had thought he and Verol had already passed through the crucible that might break their marriage. Now he wondered if it had only been the first. If Marie hadn’t broken them, but Clare yet might.
“The point is that she is bigger than us. The point is that we cannot kill Alaric. You know we can’t. How long have we been searching the provinces for artifacts he hasn’t already found and Reaped? How many have we located?”
Verol set his teeth and didn’t respond. He knew how unimpressive the answer was. That they’d found several lesser items, worth keeping out of Alaric’s hands, but none strong enough to offer any real threat to the king.
“If we believed we had a chance in Ferrian’s hells of defeating him, we would have tried it already. Open your eyes, Verol. She’s that chance. I don’t say that because I want to use her. I say that because she is her own best hope of survival, once he finds her out. And it’s only a matter of time before he does.
“She is untrained and volatile, she is prone to impulsive and angry outbursts, and though I don’t think she realizes it, that leash she keeps her power under is so tight it’s bound to snap.”
