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“Yes.”
“Be quick.”
“I know.”
“On three. One. Two. Three.”
Phelan yanked. Valek jerked awake, gasping in pain. Fisk thrust the glass super messenger into Valek’s hands while Phelan staunched the wound.
It was a gamble. A long shot. If Valek wasn’t conscious enough to tap into the magic stored inside... I hovered nearby, completely useless.
Fisk pressed Valek’s hands to the glass. Valek’s head dropped back onto the mattress. His eyes drifted shut.
23
VALEK
A hot poker of pain speared him with unbelievable agony. His eyes watered, and sweet oblivion beckoned as his body shut down to protect against the onslaught.
“No, you don’t!” Yelena yelled. Her voice was distant, but the panic and fear were clear. “Come on, Valek. Use your magic.”
Magic? He’d tried. Before. It worked. For a while. But...not strong enough.
“Come on, you bastard.”
The bastard was the guy who’d stabbed him in the back. Except he couldn’t remember which of the five did the deed.
“Heal yourself. Use the super messenger.”
Messenger? His hands tingled and pulsed with magic. But he couldn’t see his injury. It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. It hurt.
As if reading his mind, Yelena said, “Reach inside. Like when you reach out with your magic, but this time, reach inside instead.”
Black-and-white spots swirled as energy drained from his limbs.
“Do it now. That’s an order!”
Conditioned to following orders, Valek gathered the magic and concentrated on the pulsing fury of pain in his chest, projecting his awareness into his body, sensing the injury. His heart struggled to beat as blood spurted from an inch-long tear. Fear gripped him. The injury was too severe to repair.
“Valek, do it for your child.”
The memory of the baby’s movements caressed his mind as gently as the baby inside her had caressed his fingers. Using the magic in the messenger to strengthen him, Valek pulled a thread of power and stitched the tear in his heart.
Lightheaded with the effort, he drew in a deep breath. He wasn’t done. Blood had pooled in his chest. Too much. He guided it back through the cut arteries in his back before working on repairing the muscles and tissues, looping tiny, neat stitches. He rested for a moment. Yelena’s voice roused him again, goading him into action.
Feeling a bit stronger, he drew more power from the blanket, since a part of him knew to avoid draining the messenger. By the time he finished knitting the skin together, he shook with fatigue. The temptation to pull in more power throbbed.
Resisting the lure of unlimited energy, Valek let go. He hoped he’d done enough to quiet that insistent voice, so he could rest in peace.
* * *
He woke in snatches. Faces came and went. Fisk. Phelan. Yelena. Valek reached for his wife, but she wouldn’t touch his skin. Liquids burned down his throat, and he shivered under a thousand pounds of blankets until fire raced over his skin and he flung them off. Pulling in a breath became a struggle. Oblivion was far easier.
But the voice returned. “You missed something. Look again,” it ordered. He tried ignoring that voice. It demanded too much. However, it refused to give up and it sawed into his mind, cleaving its way into his core. “Fight or die,” it challenged him.
And that voice saved him. Again. He’d never backed down from a fight. Valek connected to the blanket of power and sought the injury with his awareness, seeking what he’d missed. A sliver of metal was lodged in his rib. Red inflammation and green pus hovered around it. A hole in his right lung leaked air. Sewing the hole was second nature. Once completed, his breathing returned to normal.
The shard, however, would have to be removed. He needed help and another pair of hands. When he built up enough strength, he asked for a volunteer who wouldn’t faint at the sight of blood. And who would allow Valek to invade his or her mind.
Fisk volunteered. Yelena’s strained face softened with surprise. Valek wondered why, until he encountered the damage in Fisk’s thoughts. Another had invaded, and she had a heavy touch. Like a bully, she had taken what she wanted and left a mess behind.
Valek kept a light connection with Fisk, being a mindful guest. He showed the young man what Valek needed him to do.
Fisk cursed. “I’ve gotten some strange requests from clients before, but this one beats them all.” He glanced at Yelena. “He wants me to cut into his back.”
“Why?”
“Metal shard left behind.”
“Oh. No need, Valek. Push it from your body. It will cut through muscles and skin, but you can repair the tears as it travels. That will cause much less damage.” She frowned at him. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”
He gave her an apologetic smile. “Baby brain.”
She relaxed. “No. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to you being...” Yelena drew in a breath. “Let me do the thinking for you until you’re recovered. Okay?”
“Yes, love.” He rolled onto his stomach and worked on evicting the unwelcome visitor. Pain once again sliced through his back, but he managed to wiggle it out. Blood and pus poured from the new wound. He let the pus drain before stitching up the cut. Yelena wiped the fluids up with a towel, being careful not to touch his skin with her own.
Too exhausted to move, Valek closed his eyes, but he vowed to get better just so he could hold his wife again.
* * *
The days passed in blurs of activity. Waking, eating, talking and sleeping. He explained to Yelena and Fisk how he’d drawn the bulk of the guards away from the gate. A smile at the memory. Janco would be proud of the taunt he’d used to goad them into action. Valek had led them on a merry chase throughout the Citadel and well away from the distraction at the Council Hall.
Then the smile faded. They’d been harder to shake than expected. A magician had accompanied them, and she’d tracked him with her magic. By the time he looped back to the gate, the soldiers had recovered from their surprise. And behind him, the Council Hall guards had arrived, charging toward the exit, trapping him between the two.
He’d faced ten. Nothing left to do but surrender. Fear was a pale shadow compared to the regret that pulsed in his heart for failing to rejoin Yelena. Except Onora had appeared from nowhere. She ambushed a couple guards, and Valek couldn’t let her have all the fun.
He ignored Yelena’s squawk of protest and continued the story. It hadn’t taken long to realize five armed opponents exceeded his fighting skills. “A blow to my ego.”
When the knife had sliced into his back, he’d yanked power, flinging his magic away from him in a blind panic and flattening the guards to the ground.
“A mini flameout?” Yelena asked him.
“No idea, love. By the time I came to my senses, Onora was gone. I clutched magic to my chest and ran until I couldn’t.” He reached for her. And since he no longer relied on his magic to heal, she laced her fingers through his. “Then the nagging started.”
She huffed and tried to yank her hand from his grip.
He tightened his hold. “It saved my life. Thank you.” Valek kissed her knuckles.
Fisk laughed. “Power nagging. I love it.” He paused. “Don’t tell my mother.”
“Where’s Onora?” Valek asked. “I need to thank her, too.”
Both Yelena and Fisk sobered. He braced for bad news, but Fisk’s report wasn’t all doom.
“She’s quite capable of avoiding capture,” Valek said.
“What if she tries to assassinate Bruns?” Yelena asked.
“She’ll probably succeed. Why are you upset? It would derail the Cartel’s plans.”
Yelena sat on the edge of his bed. “I’m worr
ied about her soul.” She looked down at their clasped hands. “Killing another changes a person.”
He squeezed her fingers. “I know. Onora will have to decide what to do. If she kills Bruns and manages to escape, then it’s a good thing most of her friends understand exactly what she sacrificed in order to save others.”
Yelena’s expression grew thoughtful. He wondered what she mulled over. Before he could ask, she released his hand and stood.
“You need to rest.” Yelena pulled the blankets up to his chest. “You have to regain your strength.”
“I sleep better when you’re with me, love.” He patted the bed beside him.
“And that’s my signal to go.” Fisk paused in the threshold. “My kids are bored and want to help. What should I tell them?”
Valek exchanged a glance with Yelena. She nodded.
“Send them to the three northern garrisons. When the Theobroma starts to wear off, they’ll be in position to help spread the word,” Valek said.
“Spread the word about what?”
“To listen to the Master Magicians and follow their orders.”
“What will be their orders?”
Valek tried to shrug, but it still hurt too much. “I don’t know. We haven’t figured that out yet. Let me know if you have any ideas.”
Fisk just muttered as he left.
“Can you contact the Masters?” Yelena asked.
He touched the super messenger. It sat on the bedside table, just in case he needed it. Magic hummed inside, but how much was left? “I hope so.” Valek considered. “Bruns told Zitora that all these had been destroyed, but we know he’s been using them—and he has Quinn, who can recharge them.”
“You want to steal one?”
“Or two or three or—”
“I get it.” She perched on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots. “We can see if there are any in the Greenblade garrison when we free the Councilors.”
