Where were the others?
I flew toward Callax. Swinging the whip over my head, I struck the Child Eater’s face. He bellowed as a gash appeared on his forehead and blood poured from the wound. I’d got him, even a little. Magnus attacked again but still couldn’t break the beast’s skin. I tried the whip once more but missed, my wrist twisting at the wrong angle. Falling to the earth, I cursed as I struggled to catch breath.
We hadn’t been in the fight that long, and already I could feel myself growing sluggish. Dee had stopped playing, and my vision was dangerously close to tilting. No. We can’t be ill. We’re not finished yet.
“Dee, give me the flute!” I cried. He began to hand it over, but we were too slow and dropped it. When it struck the ground, it emitted another ear-rattling shriek. The bright bubbles of the ward vanished as the warders dropped their defenses, shocked by the noise. Callax snarled. With him this close to the barrier, there wouldn’t be enough time to get the shields back up.
I pulled the whistle out of my collar, not sure what the hell I expected, and blew. Again, no noise.
But Callax halted. His broad, terrible arms fell limp at his sides. His expression slackened, his pupils dilated. His face was blank with astonishment.
What the devil? I tried to “play” a tune, touching the holes along the instrument. Callax winced at some of my playing, then grew calm again at other notes. He took one step, then another toward me.
The beast was following me like a pet.
Magnus took the opportunity and stabbed his sword into the monster. This time Callax bled, droplets running down the creature’s side and raining onto the ground. Callax howled in pain but didn’t try to fight back. He watched me, still captivated by the bone whistle’s music.
“Keep playing!” Blackwood raced forward with one of the daggers in his hand, and with a cry, stabbed upward into Callax’s hide. The beast fell to his knees, bellowing in pain.
If he hadn’t been responsible for so many deaths, I would have felt sorry for the creature.
Sorcerers began to arrive at our side, leaping over the barrier and forming a colossal tunnel of wind. My skirts whipped about, and my hair was ripped from its chignon. Callax flattened himself further as Magnus and Blackwood took turns sticking him, blood staining their sleeves up to the elbow.
It didn’t seem right, somehow.
Blackwood moved faster than the others. He was absorbed in the task, his expression mixing rage and delight. Droplets of blood spattered his face and ran down his chin. Still blowing on the whistle with my right hand, I approached the monster as well, a ball of fire held aloft in my left hand.
Callax looked up at me. His huge eyes were filled with pain, and he whimpered like an animal brought low in a snare.
Horrified, I stopped blowing the whistle.
“What are you doing?” Blackwood shouted. “Keep playing!”
But I’d already given Callax the time he needed, and the Ancient rose to his feet, black blood gushing in rivulets down his body. He stared down at the sorcerers as they attacked. Nets of fire sizzled his wounded flesh. Shards of ice sliced him. Wild bursts of wind and rain battered him. Keening, Callax lurched forward and ran.
He fled from us.
We chased him until he picked up speed and moved beyond our range. Two squadrons pursued, though I doubted they’d bring him down today. If only I’d hung on longer with my whistle, we could have finished another Ancient. I’d been foolish to show mercy, especially as he’d have shown me none.
Still, Strangewayes’s weapons had shortened the fight. They had—no, we had kept it from being a massacre. We’d kept R’hlem from a great victory indeed.
Blackwood picked up a stone and threw it after the giant’s retreating form, such a boyish gesture, and so unusual for him. He came to me, wild with delight. “Did you see it? I wounded a bloody, blasted Ancient!” He held out his hands, stained with the giant’s blood.
Magnus and Dee whooped, shoving each other in the particular way of men who’ve done a good job. And Blackwood rushed to join in, crashing into the others. For the first time since I’d known him, he’d shoved the invisible cloak of responsibility off his shoulders. The boys welcomed him, pounding him on the shoulder as he yelled in triumph. Rain began to rinse the blood from his skin.
He looked young and happy.
Even if we ended up in the Tower, it was a sight worth witnessing.
Whitechurch rested his long, blue-veined hands on the alabaster handle of his cane, twirling it steadily. He was seated in a chair by the fireplace. I stood before him, in the center of the rug.
“You disobeyed a direct order.” Whitechurch had come to Blackwood’s house to have this talk with me, and he’d banished Blackwood from the parlor. I’d scrubbed my face and changed into a rose-colored gown with lace at the sleeves—Lilly had been helpful in choosing it.
“The more ladylike you look, the harder it’ll be for the Imperator to punish you,” she’d said sagely. Still, I wished I’d kept the dirt and the blood. Perhaps it would have made my case more compelling.
“I didn’t think it made sense to forget the weapons before they could be proven in a fight.” Hopefully, that sounded respectful as well as bold. “Sir,” I added.
The corners of the Imperator’s mouth tightened, though whether he was suppressing a smile I couldn’t say. “How did you come to make them work?”
“We practiced with Strangewayes’s book whenever we’d a spare moment.” I didn’t lie. I simply left out Mickelmas’s help. But I could swear that Whitechurch glimpsed the truth.
“When you were an Incumbent, your lessons improved miraculously overnight.” Slowly, Whitechurch stood. “You had help in that.” I stayed still beneath his scrutinizing gaze. “But Dee and Magnus and Blackwood have all corroborated that you worked together. Alone. Blackwood in particular was adamant about it,” he said.
I nearly gasped. Of all the boys, he valued the Imperator the most.
“If you did not have their support, I would suspect you of being in league with the magicians.” Whitechurch’s tone made me wonder if he had entirely got over that suspicion. “But the Child Eater ran today. Korozoth was destroyed in a single night. In nearly twelve years of war, we could not do what you have managed in recent months.”
He sounded…pleased.
“Then may we continue using the weapons?” I asked.
“I would be the greatest fool alive to forbid it.” The footman opened the door, and we passed into the hall. “But you must pay for your disobedience to your commanding officer. I’m removing you from Valens’s squadron. For the next month, you are relegated to dawn patrol.”
I’d be out of bed at four in the morning every single day. I wanted to groan just thinking of it, but I’d do it. And if Whitechurch thought that not being under Valens’s thumb any longer was a punishment, I’d gladly take a second round.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, curtsying to him at the door. Whitechurch paused, his sharp black eyes considering.
“Cornelius would be proud of you,” he said, and walked to his carriage.
A lump formed in my throat, as it always did at the mention of Agrippa. Before the door closed, Magnus came barreling up the walk. He’d on a sky-blue coat, looking nothing so much like a drop of pure color on the gray London streets. He bowed quickly to the Imperator. Behind him, Dee and Wolff were carrying bottles of what appeared to be champagne—where the devil had they got it?
Magnus burst through the doorway, snatching me by the waist and whirling me around. “Music!” he cried, before setting me down and rushing along Blackwood’s cavernous halls.
Bottles clinking, Dee and Wolff grinned as they ducked inside. Wolff’s coat collar was upturned, the tips of his ears bright red from the cold. Dee knocked beads of rain from his hat, clumsy as he juggled the champagne.
“Should we leave?” Dee asked me, almost dropping one of the bottles. I caught it just in time.