Page 89 of Fortress of Ambrose (House of Marionne #3)

Seventy-Two

Jordan

I’m shivering, watching from behind a tall headstone as Quell and the Dragunhead talk. The ice garden is quite the distance from the funeral, but the specks against the depthless white backdrop make the funeral easier to see.

Their talk is going much longer than it should.

But the Dragunhead is smooth with words.

Cold magic pulses in my bones, begging to be used.

The bastard stabbed me the last time I saw him.

An immortal. There are so many things about him that make so much sense.

His strange affections for history. He would sometimes have me spend the whole evening reading sections of texts aloud to him from tomes that he said he’d collected. From where, I always wondered.

My brother hasn’t moved, leaning against a tree a few paces away from me, watching the scene unfold in the distance.

I should apologize to him now. But I’m not sure where to start.

“This will be over soon,” I say to him. “That’s some relief, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he says without meeting my eyes. There is a hardness in him I’ve never seen before. And I’ve seen my brother stonewall Beaulah and our father many times. Does he know about Father?

“I wrote Mother,” I say. “No word back yet.”

He remains silent.

“Yag—”

Someone slips from the edge of the forest near the ice garden graveyard where we are.

A few someones. They creep along the edge of the forest, dressed in all black, shadows coiling in their palms. Darkbearers.

My pulse picks up. Yagrin notices them, too, pointing in that direction.

I keep a finger at my lips. They don’t see us.

Then a yell shreds the air.

The scene at the funeral has changed. The Dragunhead throws off the cloak. Quell stumbles. And he swipes at Nore, grabbing her by the hair. His arm is around her neck.

“The Darkbearers. Keep them back,” I say.

My brother says something, but I’m rushing toward the funeral before I hear him, pulling at the icy death rushing through my veins. Closer, I can see Quell is back on her feet trying to summon magic. I pull at the threads of cold and urge my body into pieces to cloak.

The air takes me.

I reappear beside Quell, shedding my cloak. The Dragunhead cocks his head, taking all of me in.

“This is fortuitous.”

Nore breathes heavily, his hand clamped tight over her mouth. Her gray eyes are all anger.

“Let her go,” I say.

Quell pulls my arm, shoving me back. My brother appears beside me, roiled with anger. He spews timid shadows in his hands.

“Do as he says,” Yagrin says. “Let Nore go.”

“Your father screamed as he burned, did you know?” His words chill me to the bone. “Do you want to know what your mother sounded like?”

Yagrin lunges, but I pull him back. He shoves my arm off him, but I hold on to him tighter until he backs away, fuming. He can hate me for the rest of his life, but neither his blood nor Nore’s will be spilled here.

“Our parents have nothing to do with Nore,” I say. “Let her go.”

“What is she to you, Jordan? Why do you pretend to care?”

My brother’s heart. “She is another daughter you’ve damaged. It’s all over her face.” I’ve never looked Nore in the eyes, but I’ve looked into Quell’s plenty of times. And it isn’t hard to spot the scars of a father who doesn’t care. Who treated his children like pawns on a chessboard.

To my surprise, the Dragunhead gazes down his chest at her.

“That’s not true, Nore. Don’t you listen to any of it.

I made you with your mother with all kinds of great dreams for you.

The irony of my ancestors dying to shepherd magic into this world.

And you all would stand here against me possessing what’s left of it. ”

Tears stream from Nore as she claws at his hands, scratching and scraping.

“Maybe you love your daughters in your own twisted way,” I say. “They are your legacy whether you like it or not.”

Quell startles, beside me. She digs her nails into my arm. “I know what he wants,” she whispers. “Me, remember?” But what she does next stops my heart.

“He’s right,” she says. “He’s immortal. The magic is safer in him. That is what you want, right? To make magic safe?” Quell moves closer to him, and the toushana pouring out of my body swells. “I’ll trade you Nore for magic.”

Yagrin and I share a glance, but she doesn’t hesitate. The Dragunhead’s glare narrows.

“It’s the safest plan for magic. I don’t like you, but I can’t deny that.” She pulls the diadem with the Sphere’s proper magic out of her dress and sets it on the dais between us and them. “All the Sphere’s proper magic now. And the toushana after we extract it from Jordan.”

The Dragunhead steps toward the diadem, and my pulse spikes.

“Do something,” my brother mutters.

“No,” I tell him. The world isn’t mine to fix. “I just want Nore.” That’s mine to fix. The Dragunhead picks up the diadem and works his magic over it, and the gems on the silver band glow.

“Quell,” Nore says. “Don’t do it. Yagrin, tell her!”

But my brother is still speechless.

“We have an extraction room set up and ready,” Quell says. “We can stream the Sphere’s toushana into you directly. But we will transfuse your blood with his so that he survives the procedure. His body isn’t strong enough otherwise. And as you know, if he dies, all toushana dies.”

“He has to turn over Nore first,” I say. “Now. You already have half of all magic.”

Ambition glints in the Dragunhead’s eye. Yagrin stares horrified.

“You and I could be great together, Quell. Born into an ancestral bloodline, bound to toushana, and with immortal blood in your genes. You’re unique.”

That’s what she meant. That’s what he wants—to put the magic in her. It would be stronger and greater because she is already bound to dark magic.

“Show me you can do the right thing by us for a change, and I’ll consider it,” she says.

The Dragunhead shoves Nore toward us. She lands in Yagrin’s arms, and I finally exhale.