“I am not concerned with Storr and his ambitions,” Orwin says. “In this, he and I are agreed. We are determined to eradicate this wild magic from our land once and for all. Only then can we live in peace, knowing our children, our wives, are safe.”
“What about those who never do harm? Who want to live in peace as well? There are innocents among them.”
Orwin grits his teeth, refusing to hear. “But they still possess a power that no shield can block, no sword cut down.”
“Pistols can’t be stopped with a shield or armor either. Yet we allow them.”
“Those weapons can be taken away. These cannot.”
“Yes, but we don’t take them away until they’ve been used for harm. Not before.”
Orwin answers with a glare, done with words.
Hale looks away, shaking his head reluctantly in defeat. When he raises his gaze, Orwin feels a pressure building in his temple. It’s foreign, alien, an outside force, like the power of a mage spell.
“I’m sorry, my king,” Hale says, and his voice seems to be inside Orwin’s head. “I can’t let this happen. Please forgive me. I would never force your will if there were any other choice.”
“What do you—”
Hale raises his hand and touches Orwin’s forehead. Pain explodes inside Orwin’s skull, and he screams, feeling ripped asunder.
Hale stumbles backward, and his expression turns fearful. He gapes in horror. “What magic is this?”
Orwin doesn’t answer. Stooped over, he cradles his aching skull. Hands touch his shoulders, pushing him upright.
Hale grabs for the king’s neck, and his fingers close around the glowing stone at Orwin’s throat. “Where did you get this?”
Orwin doesn’t answer. He has no memory of the stone or its purpose.
Cursing, Hale yanks the stone free of Orwin’s neck. But he grips it too hard, breaking the stone. The magic oozes out from it in a gray, oily mist. It slithers upward, sliding into Orwin’s nose, his mouth, his ears. Hale cries out, trying to stop it, but such formless power can’t be stopped.
Orwin feels the magic inside him, writhing like something alive. It’s in his head, the pressure building. He claws at the sides of his face now. But then his mind shatters, his vision fragmented, like staring into a broken mirror.
“My king, my king,” Hale says, trying in vain to help. “What have I done? I didn’t know. I didn’t. I would—”
Senseless and no longer in control, a murderous rage explodes inside Orwin. Screaming, he lunges for the dagger at Hale’s side. Pulling it free, Orwin moves to strike, but Hale raises his hands in time to stop the blow. The two men struggle. A small part of Orwin understands what’s happening—that he’s no longer in control of himself. Something has pushed him aside and taken over. He can’t stop it, even though he wants to. The rest of him is determined to kill the man before him.
But Hale has always been stronger. He gains control of the dagger, but Orwin is frantic with the rage pulsing inside him. The dagger shifts, the blade turning downward. And then it plunges, sinking deep into Orwin’s thigh.
“Oh gods, Orwin,” Hale says.
Orwin screams again just as the door opens and Corwin rushes inside. “Father!” . . .
Without warning, the memory broke and Kate was hurled from Orwin’s mind back into her own. Gasping, she bent over and grabbed her head, the inside of her skull aching with the memory of what Orwin had suffered. What he suffered still.
“Kate? Are you all right? What happened?” Corwin’s hands slid around her shoulders, warm and steadying.
“Magic,” she said. “The magestone around his neck. It was a trap.” She looked up at Corwin, the truth expanding in her mind like clouds parting to reveal the sky. “Someone knew what my father was going to try, only the magic went wrong. It infected your father and—” She broke off, her gaze flicking to the magestone King Orwin wore. She remembered the alarm she’d sensed when she first touched his mind. She turned back to Corwin. “We’ve got to get out—”
The door across from them burst open, and three people rushed inside—Maestra Vikas, Prince Edwin, and Grand Master Storr.
“You!” Kate screamed, the king’s memory fresh in her mind. Storr had planted the idea in Orwin’s head, nurtured it. He was the most powerful magist in the kingdom. “You did this. You killed my father.” He might not have wielded the ax, but he’d set the trap.
“What’s going on here?” Edwin demanded, his gaze flashing from Kate to Master Storr, then to Corwin.
“Wilder!” Maestra Vikas cried. “Just like I said.”
The maestra raised her mace toward Kate, a magestone starting to glow. The spell erupted out from it, soared through the air, and struck Kate with the force of a battering ram. It lifted her off her feet and threw her down. Her head cracked against the floor and a starburst lit her vision, blinding her. Then darkness set in, absolute and inescapable.
Part Three
The Rising
32
Corwin
“KATE!” CORWIN CRIED, RUSHING TO where she’d fallen. He glared over at Maestra Vikas. “What did you do?”
“Step away from her, your highness,” Vikas replied coolly. “She is a wilder, I’m certain of it.”
It was true, Corwin knew it beyond doubt, and yet this woman was head of the gold order. He couldn’t just hand Kate over to her. “What are you talking about? This is madness.”
“Is it?” Vikas approached and reached toward Kate. Corwin tried to push her away, but the maestra moved as quickly as a snake striking. She pulled on the leather cord Kate had been wearing about her neck, revealing the glowing diamond that had been hidden beneath her shirt.
Vikas stood and held up the magestone necklace for all to see. “Then how do you explain this?”
“It’s a magestone,” Corwin said, scowling. “Made with mage magic, not a wilder’s.”
Ignoring him, Vikas turned to Storr. “This is what I warned you about, grand master. It’s a spell designed to hide wilder magic.”
Storr stared at it, frowning. Corwin remembered Kate’s shouted accusation that the grand master had killed her father. Someone set a trap, she’d also said. Someone had known Hale would try to use his sway to change King Orwin’s mind about the Inquisition—and Storr had been behind it from the beginning. But would he go so far as to manipulate my father?
Yes. A hundred times yes.
And yet Corwin couldn’t understand it. What did the grand master gain by the Inquisition? There had to be something. Corwin had never seen Storr do anything that wasn’t politically motivated.
“I’ve never seen a spell like this,” Storr said, taking the magestone from Vikas and examining it. He sounded genuinely puzzled—vexed even. He glanced at Corwin, then turned to Edwin, his expression now grave. “It’s treason to harbor a wilder, your highness.”
Corwin drew a sharp breath. Treason. The notion was absurd, ridiculous—and yet true, according to the law.
Edwin stared at the grand master, his expression torn. His eyes flicked to Kate, then up to Corwin. “Did you know it, brother? What she is?”
A chill crept down Corwin’s spine at the disbelief in Edwin’s voice and the betrayal already rising in his expression. “Kate isn’t a criminal, Edwin. No matter what they say.”
Anger steadied Edwin’s voice. “I didn’t ask if she is a criminal but if she is a wilder. And if you knew.”
“She’s not a wilder,” Corwin said, embracing the lie to protect Kate from the hatred he sensed in Edwin. One that had been there since the day their mother died. “She is innocent.”
“You’re lying, Corwin. You forget how well I know you. You can’t lie to me.” Edwin cut his eyes to Master Storr. “What happens now?”
“Knowingly harboring a wilder is treason, as I said.”
Corwin’s hands clenched into fists. “You can’t be serious. I’m the high prince and nothing happened here.” He gestured to his father, who had remained as still and silent as ever.