Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown Book 2) Read online

  Three more dropped over the edge of the bridge and arrowed toward Mo. I screamed a denial and clashed the blades together to form a cross. Power surged—one that spoke of storms, not magic, and a force that came from deep within rather than the sky—and then twin bolts of lightning shot from the ends of both blades. They peeled away the night as they arced across the canyon, cindering the three demons in an instant.

  Something hit my back, a weight that bit and tore even as it drove me into the water. I screamed again and slashed back with Vita; felt a moment of resistance and then the spurt of liquid across my neck. The weight fell away, but others leapt closer, eager to take its position. I swore and whipped the lightning around the canyon, cindering every one of the bastards. As their ash fell around me, I sucked in a deep breath and thrust fully upright again.

  Another scrape of sound … I spun around, daggers at the ready. Saw a shadow, then the gleam of a blade, and flicked the lightning toward it. Then awareness surged. I swore and recalled the bolts.

  This was no demon or dark elf.

  It was my goddamn brother.

  Chapter Two

  I sucked in a breath to steady my nerves and then said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “What the fuck do you think I’m doing? I’m certainly not here to enjoy the damn scenery.” His expression was a mix of annoyance and concern. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “Lots of bites and cuts, but I’ll survive.” I shoved the daggers back into their sheaths. “How the hell did you know we were here?”

  “How the hell do you think I knew? I met the Blackbird at what remains of our bookstore.” He paused. “How did that happen?”

  “Long story short, we were attacked by a Darkside-raised witchling with the ability to raze buildings. And Luc couldn’t have known where we were, because the last time he saw us we were flying toward King’s Island.”

  “Why were you flying there?”

  “Because we feared the maniac who’s been killing off heirs might have gone up there to draw the sword.”

  “And had he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, fuck.” Max swept a hand through his short dark hair. Unlike me, he was full De Montfort in looks. The males of our line all had black skin and hair, while females tended to be brown, but both genders had blue irises ringed by gold. Sadly, I’d been born with Mom’s Okoro coloring—though not her gifts—and had white skin, pale blonde hair, and black eyes. Strangers rarely ever guessed that Max and I were twins.

  “To put it mildly, yes,” I said. “Hence our frantic flight up here and the wall Mo’s raising.”

  His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “One that almost appears to be a mix of personal and elemental magic.”

  “It is, and that will hopefully mean it’ll take the bastard with the sword longer to break through it. And you didn’t answer the question.”

  He raised an eyebrow, though amusement lurked in his eyes. “What question?”

  “How could Luc have told you where we were when he didn’t know?”

  He gave me the look. The one that suggested I was being an idiot.

  “Put together a missing sword and the fact you two weren’t home, and it’s not hard to come up with the correct answer as to where you’d gone. He’s not dumb, Gwen, even if he is an annoying prick.” He glared at me for a second, and then added, “Why am I getting the third degree? If you don’t want my help, just say so. More than happy to fly back to the evening’s entertainment. He’s keeping a nice bottle of champers on ice for us.”

  I raised my hands. “Okay, okay, sorry. It’s just been a stressful few days.”

  Which technically wasn’t true, as I’d actually been unconscious for the last three days; it was hard to be stressed when you were oblivious to everything that was happening around you.

  “Yeah, well,” he growled, “there’s no need to take it out on me.”

  I was tempted to bite right back, but resisted. Anger wouldn’t get me anywhere; it certainly wouldn’t get me answers. I’d learned that a long time ago. I trusted my brother—I really did—but we now believed someone within our small circle was passing information on to Darkside, and Max had to be a suspect. Maybe Darkside had infiltrated his circle of friends, or maybe one of his lovers was being paid to gather information. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time they’d tried that tactic. They’d hired Tristan Chen—who’d been my first boyfriend, and someone I’d remained close to even after we’d broken up—to get information not only from me, but also from the sister of at least one heir. Of course, Tris was now dead, killed by a single shot to the head when his usefulness had ended. I didn’t want the same thing happening to my brother, however peripherally or unknowingly involved he was in this mess.

  “This man you have waiting for you … are you sure he’s okay?”

  He gave me another of those looks. “I always use condoms, Gwen.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  He rolled his eyes. “He’s not another Tris, if that’s what you’re saying.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because I am.” He glanced across the Gill. It was only then I realized Mo had finished spelling and now walked toward us. “Where the hell did you learn to create something like that, Mo? It’s not a De Montfort skill.”

  “Healing isn’t the only thing I can do, my boy, and if you stayed home longer than it takes to grab clean clothes, you might be aware of that.” Though her tone was tart, it was softened by the smile tugging at her lips. “Better yet, you might even be able to help your sister fight a demon or two.”

  His grin flashed, though that spark of annoyance gleamed once more in his eyes. “Gwen was doing perfectly fine by herself.”

  “Gwen’s barely out of her deathbed.”

  She stepped off the rock and splashed toward us. Her wall shone behind her, a haze of magic so complex and powerful it momentarily left me speechless. A couple of minor threads of magic remained tangled around her fingers, but they had a very different intent to the wall.

  When she was close enough, she cast them toward Max. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to notice.

  I resisted the temptation to follow their progress, not wanting to draw his attention to them, and kept my gaze on Mo. Her cheeks were sunken and her skin an odd gray color; she really did look like death warmed up. And though I knew she’d recover quickly enough, it nevertheless sent a chill through me. I didn’t want to lose her and, for the first time in a long time, I realized that was a definite possibility. She might have a god gene, but that didn’t make her immortal.

  “Hey,” Max retorted. “You and Gwen were the ones who told me to keep my head down and lie low. Don’t pile shit on me for obeying.”

  “I wasn’t talking about recent events,” Mo said, “but now is neither the time nor the place to be arguing—”

  “On that, at least, we agree.” He waved a hand toward her wall. “Will that be enough to protect the gateway from the sword?”

  “For a while, yes.”

  “Against all comers, no matter how powerful?”

  “Your tone suggests you believe otherwise,” I said.

  “Oh, for fucks’ sake Gwen, what’s that supposed to mean?” He motioned at the bodies surrounding us. “You think I’d choose them over my own damn family?”

  I wanted to believe he wouldn’t. I really did. But he had been in contact with Tris, and Tris had been up to his ears involved in this whole thing.

  Before I could actually say anything, Mo said, “Gwen, some of those wounds are already starting to fester, but I haven’t the strength to heal them right now—is there any holy water in your backpack?”

  “Yeah.” I waded across and pulled out several bottles. “Max, can you treat the wounds on my back?”

  He splashed over and plucked one of the bottles from my grip. His fingers briefly brushed mine, and just for an instant something felt off-kilter. Out of place. But before I could pin down the sensation, he p
ulled back and motioned with one finger for me to turn around. I hesitated and then obeyed. He poured the water over several wounds, and I gritted my teeth against a scream. Holy water on demon-caused cuts and bites reacted in much the same manner as acid did on skin, although—unlike acid—holy water at least only burned the badness away. I sucked in several breaths then repeated the process on the wounds on my stomach and thighs; thankfully, none of them looked particularly deep. After several very painful minutes, the holy water’s effect eased. I wiped the wounds dry with a clean cloth and then applied Mo’s sealing concoction. The thick green goop hardened within seconds, forming a waterproof seal that would allow the wound to heal from the inside out while protecting it from infection.

  Max applied it to the wounds on my back, then grabbed the pack from the rock and swung it over his shoulder. “You’ll tear open the bite wound if you wear it.”

  “Fine, but I need my phone.”

  He handed both it and the charger to me, then glanced at Mo. “Do you want me to call Kiri? Sunrise is hours away, and these bodies are going to stain the water downstream pretty badly in the meantime. At the very least, she can filter the demon bits and blood from the water.”

  Kiri Okoro wasn’t a relative of ours, but she’d attended the Okoro Academy at the same time as Max and now worked with him at the Department of Weather Guidance. Her skill set was the control of running water, which was extremely handy when it came to flood situations.

  “If she’s close, that would be good,” Mo said. “The last thing we need is the environmental bods coming down on us for fouling the waters and killing the fish further downstream.”

  The environmental bods would actually have a hard time pinning these deaths on us, given neither elemental nor personal magic had been involved, but I guess it was better not to take any chances.

  “I’ll ring her now,” Max said. “You heading home?”

  Mo shook her head. “I need to rest, and if Gwen flies too far with those wounds, it’ll just hasten the spread of any remaining infection. We’ll head over to Kirby Stephen and stay there for the night. You want me to book you a room?”

  “No.” He hesitated. “I only flew back to England to attend Gareth’s and Henry’s funerals tomorrow.”

  Mo frowned. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Max.”

  “Why? If the sword’s been claimed, there’s no longer any point in hiding.”

  “Unless the heir wants to ensure there’s nobody else to contest his claim.”

  Max snorted. “And how would he do that? He drew the damn sword out of the stone—the throne is his. Besides, he can just smite any challenger with the sword’s power.”

  “That depends on whether he can access it without first being crowned. There’s some conjecture that he can’t.”

  His brows furrowed. “Says who? Nothing I’ve ever read mentions that.”

  “There’s a lot of things they don’t mention in history books, my boy, in part because many were written by scholars after the event.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I went to the Okoro Academy, remember? They’ve one of the finest history archives in the country. Nothing I ever read there said anything about the crown being necessary to access the sword’s power.”

  “And yet Darkside has been searching for the crown,” I said, “and in fact stole the fake one kept in the Tower of London.”

  “That wasn’t fake—it’s the crown Layton wore when he married Elizabeth.”

  Layton Aquitaine had been the very last Witch King. Not only had his marriage to Elizabeth of York combined human and witch royalty and signaled the end of true witch rule in England, it had also handed his descendants a means of curtailing any magical attacks on human monarchs—one that was still in force today.

  Whether it would protect them from a mad Witch King and the sword of power was a question no one could currently answer.

  “True,” Mo said, “but said theory also suggests that the coronation needs to be with Uhtric’s crown, not Layton’s.”

  “Why on earth would that even matter? The crown’s just a symbol—”

  “In theory, yes. In reality?” She shrugged.

  He raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident. “I take it these theories are yours?”

  “Mine and a number of others. And you’d better pray that we’re right, otherwise this country is in deep trouble. Are you sure you don’t want us to book you a room tonight?”

  He shook his head. “Given your advice not to attend the funeral, I might as well head back and enjoy the evening’s entertainment. Will you be home tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “We’ve a builder coming at eleven for a quote on repairs.”

  He grunted. “Then I’ll meet you there and pick through the ruins. I might as well see what survived and what didn’t.”

  Mo nodded and looked at me. “Meet you at Kirby Stephen—probably The Green Lodge if they’ve rooms available.”

  As she shifted shape and flew out of the Gill, I unstrapped my daggers and lashed them together. Their blades were silver, which meant they were immune to the shifting magic that took care of everything else. “Be careful, Max. Not only might there still be demons in the area, but there’s every chance the heir will come here to test the sword.”

  He snorted. “If he had any brains, he wouldn’t. He’d wait until all the fuss died down.”

  “He might not be that cunning.” Which was unlikely. Everything so far suggested we were dealing with someone who meticulously planned each and every move. He wouldn’t have kept ahead of us otherwise, even with inside help.

  “It doesn’t take cunning to understand rushing into anything is never a good idea.” He shrugged and pulled out his phone. “I’ll make the call to Kiri now. You’d better head out, otherwise Mo will be back here telling us both off.”

  I half smiled. “Enjoy the champers and your man.”

  “Oh, I intend to. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I altered shape, grabbed my knives in my claws, and flew out of the Gill. I didn’t go far, though, landing in the long grass a short distance from the bridge to wait for Max. He appeared a few minutes later, his dark plumage merging with the night, making him harder to see. I followed at a safe distance, keeping close to the ground so there’d be less chance of him spotting me if he happened to glance over his wing.

  Thankfully, he didn’t. Once he’d reached the road, he resumed human form, made a phone call, and then climbed into his racy red Jag. Relief stirred through me. Part of me—a tiny, very distrusting part—had feared he’d be driving a silver Volkswagen Golf rather than his own car. Tris’s control—who he’d met in Ordsell and who no doubt had ordered him killed not long afterward—had been driving a Golf. I’d tried to follow him the night he and Tris had met, but a blackbird’s wings were no match for a car driven at speed. I’d given the number plate to Luc but, as yet, we hadn’t discovered the registered owner.

  I watched Max leave, then flew on to Kirby Stephen. As tempting as it was to follow Max to his destination, I couldn’t ignore the growing ache from my wounds. Shifting from one shape to another didn’t magically heal them, and whatever wounds I gained in one form, I had in the other. I guess it was just lucky the demons hadn’t done any major damage to my arms. Walking to Kirby Stephen would not have been fun.

  Although I could have asked Max to drive me—his reaction would have been interesting. Aside from the fact he was fastidious when it came to his car and certainly wouldn’t have wanted blood on the seats, he’d left the area pretty damn quickly … which was only sensible, I guess. Hell, I’d have done the same thing given the threat of more demons or the possible arrival of a mad heir. It seemed that the tiny niggles of distrust wouldn’t entirely go away, even though as yet there’d been no concrete, legitimate reason for it.

  It took me a little bit of time to find The Green Lodge, as Kirby Stephen was bigger than I’d expected. The Lodge was a two-story stone-built building with a slate tile roof and a lovely old thatched veran
da covering the main door. Warm light shone from at least half the windows, but there was only one room that had a window open and the curtains pulled aside. I swooped in and shifted shape, landing lightly in a half crouch between the two single beds. For several minutes, I didn’t move. In truth, I couldn’t move. All those cuts and bites that hadn’t seemed so major were suddenly making their presence felt, and nearly every part of my body goddamn hurt. I needed painkillers, but they were sitting in the first aid kit in my backpack, and Max now had that.

  The sound of running water told me Mo was in the shower, but she must have filled the kettle before she went in, because it boiled and then clicked off. I forced myself upright and, with a soft groan of pain, hobbled over to make myself a cup of tea. A hot cuppa always made things seem just that little bit better.

  Mo came out of the shower ten minutes later, a white towel wrapped around her body. Though her face remained gaunt, there was at least some color back in her cheeks. “So, what did your brother do when we left him?”

  A smile twitched my lips. “How did you know I was going to keep an eye on him?”

  “Because it was the sensible thing to do, and you’re an eminently sensible girl.” She waved a hand, amusement creasing the corners of her bright eyes. “That would, of course, be my genes coming out in you.”

  I laughed softly, then winced as the slight movement sent pain slithering across my back. Mo immediately frowned. “Just how bad is that bite?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t exactly see it.” And didn’t really want to, if I was at all honest.

  She tsked. “Go have a shower. You stink worse than Hades, and I can’t fix anything with demon crap all over you.”

  “You need to rest before—”

  “I’ll be fine, darling girl. Besides, with Darkside’s spotlight on us, the last thing we need right now is you getting sick.”