Destined Page 18

  “You were just doing your job,” Yuki whispered. “When David put me in that circle, I was so mad . . . I should have just done what I was going to. Cooperated with you. Even after I was in the circle, I could have talked to you. But I didn’t, because I was angry.”

  “You had every right,” Tamani said. “I knew you were falling in love with me, and I used that against you. It’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Shh,” Yuki said, pressing a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to hear your apologies.” It seemed like her voice was getting softer by the minute, and Tamani wondered if she was trying to conserve her energy or if this was all she had left. “I just want to lie here and pretend that I did everything right the first time. That I trusted you, and came over to your side before all of this happened. I want to imagine that hundreds of faeries didn’t die because I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to Klea. That . . . that you and I had a chance.”

  Tamani smothered his protests as he smoothed Yuki’s dark, lustrous hair. Even with Yuki in his arms, it was Laurel in his mind. He wondered if he would ever see her again – if they would kiss and caress like they had that day in the cabin. But no – even if he lived until she returned, he would never touch her again.

  He hadn’t realised he was humming until Yuki pulled back and spoke. “What’s that?”

  “What? Oh, it’s a . . . lullaby. My mother used to sing it to me; it was her favourite.”

  “A faerie lullaby?”

  “I used to think so,” Tamani said, smiling sadly.

  “Sing it for me,” Yuki said, folding herself into his arms.

  In the darkness of the night, David, Klea, and her soldiers seemed to fade away as Tamani sang, softly, haltingly, a song of Camelot he’d learned at his mother’s knee. He knew the words by heart, but as he sang them, he felt like he was hearing them for the first time.

  “And by the moon the reaper weary,

  Piling sheaves in uplands airy,

  Listening, whispers, ‘Tis the faerie

  Lady of Shalott.’”

  He met Yuki’s light green eyes, filled with tears again, her chin quivering against the pain of both the poison and regret. Tamani knew exactly how she felt. He wished the song really would put her to sleep – that her life would drain away while she was dreaming, some place the pain couldn’t touch her. He was no stranger to death, but though he had watched friends die – more often than he cared to remember – he had never held someone as the life drained from their eyes. It frightened him to do so now.

  But he wouldn’t abandon her to suffer it alone.

  ‘But Lancelot mused a little space

  He said, ‘She has a lovely face;

  Goddess, prithee, lend her grace,

  The Lady of Shalott.’”

  “Alfred, Lord Tennyson,” Klea said when Tamani finished singing, and Tamani’s head shot up as if she had broken a spell. Even David had paused his digging to listen and he cast Klea an ugly look before turning back to his moat. “Bowdlerised by some Sparkler hack, no doubt,” she finished, her voice flat.

  If Yuki heard Klea’s acid commentary, she made no sign. Her eyes were closed, fingers relaxed on Tamani’s arm.

  “Tam?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there any way this will end well?”

  “There’s always a chance,” he forced himself to say. But he didn’t see how either he or Yuki would live to see another sunrise. The poison was just too strong.

  Yuki smiled wanly, then glanced over at Klea, who had returned to her silent stargazing. Tamani could feel the fear that still filled Yuki at the sight of her mentor. “I don’t want her to win any more. And I can make sure she never does.”

  “You can’t kill Klea,” Tamani said, though he was sorely tempted to let Yuki do just that. But he forced himself to trust Laurel, to let her make this decision.

  But Yuki was already shaking her head. “Her plan can’t work unless she controls the Winter faeries. When I die she’ll kill the others and everyone will be stuck in here with her. And even if Laurel finds a way . . . You’ll always be dependent on them. It isn’t fair. I – I should have done something . . . before. But maybe this will make up for it.” Her eyes seemed to focus on some distant point, then snapped back into focus as she looked up at Tamani. “Do you have anything . . . metal?”

  “Metal?” he asked, confused.

  “It has to match,” she said, as if that cleared everything up.

  “Um . . . maybe?” Pulling her against him with one hand, he pulled up the cuff of his trousers and drew a small throwing knife from the sheath on his leg. “How’s this?”

  Yuki took the knife from his hand. “Perfect.” Her breathing was shallow, rapid; tears were coursing down her cheeks and her voice quivered as she spoke. “This is going to take a lot of power from me. I . . . I don’t know that I’ll last much longer when it’s done.”

  “Don’t talk that way,” Tamani whispered.

  “No, I know. I can feel it.” Her body shook as she clenched her teeth against her sobs. “Please don’t leave me. Hold me till I’m gone.”

  “What are you—”

  “Shokuzai,” Yuki said, closing her hands over the small blade. “Atonement.” A warm glow began to shine from between her fingers and Tamani glanced at Klea, who was studying them with narrowed eyes. Tamani was pretty sure his body was angled enough to block her view, but he cupped his hand over Yuki’s anyway, completely shutting out the strange light.

  Yuki inhaled sharply and Tamani pressed his forehead to her temple as her brows knit and she pressed her hands together even tighter. Tamani felt like he was in the upper rooms of the palace again, so tangible was the power that pulsed from Yuki. His gut response was to leap to his feet and flee, but he made himself hold on until the feeling began to ebb, the light dimming until it was outshone by the starlight.

  Tamani pulled back and looked at Yuki; her eyes were closed and her face was ashen. He was afraid she was already gone, but slowly – laboriously – her lashes rose. “Give me your hands.”

  Tamani obeyed her tiny whisper, and though he managed not to tremble, inside he was shaking with fear. What had she done?

  She laid something warm on his palm – whatever it was, it was no longer a knife. Tamani peered down, careful to keep it concealed from Klea. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeing. “I don’t understand.”

  With soft fingers on his cheek Yuki pulled his head closer, whispering directions on how to use the object she’d just made. When the extent of the possibilities dawned on him he gasped and closed his fingers back over the infinitely precious gift.

  Then despair washed over him and he shook his head. “I won’t be able to use it,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be dead within the hour.”

  But Yuki shook her head. “Laurel will save you,” she said firmly through her tears. “I’m the one who’s out of time.”

  “Hang on,” Tamani said, holding her tighter, wishing he could believe in his own future as much as she did.

  “No,” Yuki said, a sad smile crossing her face. “I have nothing left to live for. You do.”

  “Don’t . . .” Don’t what? Tamani didn’t even know how to end the sentence; understanding for the first time how words could be so wholly inadequate.

  “Aishiteru,” she sighed, the words slipping from her as her chest fell, and then was still.

  “Yuki. Yuki!”

  But Yuki gave no response.

  With a stab of fear Tamani looked up at Klea and the captive soldiers, watching for their bonds to unravel now that Yuki wasn’t controlling them. But they didn’t. Yuki had done . . . something . . . to make sure that even after her death, Tamani would be safe. He was beginning to think she was as calculating as Klea, in her own way.

  He let her body slide down his chest until her head rested on his lap. There was no reason to move her further. He had nowhere to go, nothing to do until Laurel came back. Assuming he lasted that lo
ng.

  Could he last that long? He had to try.

  Had the toxin killed Yuki, in the end? Or had it been her final act as a Winter faerie – the creation of a masterwork to rival the golden gates that Oberon had sacrificed his life to forge? Either way, Tamani knew his time was short. He had always assumed his life would end in a battle – at the tip of an enemy’s weapon. Or, if he lasted that long, by joining his father in the World Tree. Not sitting idly on the grass, waiting for death to steal over him.

  But there he sat beneath the slivered moon, Yuki’s limp form draped across his lap, idly stroking her hair as he watched David, almost halfway done digging the trench that would encircle all the poisoned faeries.

  Carefully – without attracting any attention – Tamani reached his hand into his pocket and pushed Yuki’s gift as far down as he could. He couldn’t lose it; couldn’t tell anyone else what it was.

  Because there was no artifact, no single item in all of Avalon – including the sword that David was digging with – as dangerous as the one Yuki had just given him.

  The windows of the Winter Palace were as dark as the night sky, and as Laurel approached she closed her eyes, desperately hoping her plan had worked.

  “Laurel!” Chelsea’s whisper sounded from a cluster of honeysuckle.

  “I knew you would figure it out,” Laurel said, throwing her arms around her friend as she stepped from her cover.

  “What are you doing? You’re not really going to do what Klea said, are you?”

  “Not if I can help it,” Laurel said grimly.

  “What can I do?”

  “I need you to go to the Winter Palace. Tell the sentries that Marion and Yasmine are still in danger and that they are not to let them come out until you personally tell them it’s OK. Klea can’t see them.”

  “But—”

  “Even their Winter powers can’t do anything because we need Klea alive and cooperative. We need what’s in her head.”

  “Can’t Jamison, like, read her mind?” Chelsea asked. “If he’s OK, I mean,” she added when a flash of fear went across Laurel’s face.

  “Maybe,” Laurel said, pushing her dismal thoughts away. “But I don’t think so. It took Yuki a long time to just get the location of the gate from me. Besides, even if he could just pluck a recipe from her brain, it’s not enough.” Laurel hesitated. It had taken her a long time to understand what Yeardley had meant when he taught her about the mixing process: The most essential ingredient in any mixing is you.

  “It’s hard to explain, but that’s how Mixing works. I think Marion might kill her on principle, and we can’t let that happen – just in case. After that I need you to run back to the Academy and tell Yeardley everything Klea said about her poisons, especially the red smoke. We may need to go back into the Academy, so they’ll want to know the poison neutralised itself. Tell him I’m trying to find a solution, and tell him . . . tell him to be ready.”

  “Ready for what? What are you going to do?”

  Laurel sighed. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “But I guarantee I’m going to need help.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Laurel looked to the top of a far-off hill. “To the only place left to turn,” she said.

  Chelsea nodded, then took off like a shot, following the back wall towards the crumbling archway they had crossed through earlier that day. It felt like an eternity ago. Laurel watched her for a few moments before turning and beginning her own journey.

  Would Tamani last another hour? Could she do this in time? Laurel’s energy was already sapped, but she pushed herself to run faster, even as breathing grew painful and she reached the bottom of the valley between her and her destination.

  One more hill to climb. The thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes as exhaustion threatened to crumple her to her knees. The night air was chilled but her legs burned as she climbed.

  When she crested the hill she allowed herself a moment to catch her breath before stepping under the expansive canopy of the World Tree.

  She hadn’t been here since Tamani had brought her almost a year and a half ago. She’d contemplated a visit this past summer, back when she didn’t know where Tamani was or whether she’d see him again, but the memory of that day had been too painful to face. Now she bowed her head reverently as the power of the tree washed over her.

  The time had come to ask her question.

  Tamani had told her the tree was made of faeries – the Silent Ones. His own father had joined them not long ago. Their combined wisdom was available to any faerie with the patience to receive it, but getting an answer from the tree could take hours, even days, depending on the questioner. She didn’t have that kind of time.

  She thought back to when Tamani had kissed her after biting into his tongue – the sensations that overwhelmed her, the ideas that had flooded her consciousness. It hadn’t worked the way she’d hoped, and instead of figuring out how to test Yuki’s powers, Laurel had learned Klea’s secret: that potions could be made from faeries the same as any other plant. But Yeardley had taught her that she could do more than merely bend components to her will. That she could unlock their potential if she could feel their core.

  Picturing Tamani in her mind, the black lines snaking out from his wound, the look on his face that told her he had resigned himself to death, Laurel steeled herself against the sacrilege she was about to commit. She walked up to the trunk of the tree and placed her hand on the rough bark, feeling the current of life that surged through the tree.

  “This is gonna hurt me a lot more than it’s gonna hurt you,” she muttered under her breath. Then after a moment she added, “I’m sorry.” She raised her knife and hacked at the trunk of the ancient, gnarled tree until a bit of green wick showed through. Even as she looked at the beads of sap beginning to ooze from the wounded trunk, Laurel knew it wasn’t enough. You give, I give, she thought. Placing the knife’s edge to her open palm, she gritted her teeth as she sliced her own skin.

  Laurel pressed her self-inflicted wound to the exposed green treeflesh.

  It was like stepping beneath an avalanche of voices, every second a thousand hailstones of whispered knowledge bouncing sharply off her head, drumming on her shoulders, threatening to carry her into the abyss and bury her alive. She staggered beneath the weight of the assault, refusing to be swept away.

  Forcing herself to submit her consciousness to the tree, the avalanche became a waterfall, and then a torrent, and then a part of her, running gently through her mind, rifling through her life and her memories. She almost pulled away at the intrusion, but tried to breathe evenly and focus on what she needed to know.

  She pictured Tamani, relived the scene that had led to his poisoning. She recalled Klea’s explanation and the impossible choice she had put before Laurel. Into the flow of thought she released Klea’s final threat – that the toxin would destroy all of Avalon, the World Tree included.

  Again the river of life became a storm of souls, but this time Laurel was standing in the calm, enveloped in the silence. Warmth spread up her arms and filled her from head to toe.

  And then, the tree spoke. Laurel felt, rather than heard, a single voice cut through the numberless, formless silence.

  If you can think like the Huntress, you can do as she has done.

  What does that mean? Laurel pleaded, even as she committed the words to memory. But the warmth was already receding from her head, gathering in her chest, slipping down her arms.

  “No!” Laurel yelled, her voice sounding sharp in the silence. “I don’t know what that means! Please help. I have no one else to turn to!”

  The strange presence was draining from her hands and the roar of life beneath her fingers was picking up again, softer now that it wasn’t inside her head. As her fingertips tingled and grew cold, there was a final pulse from the storm, and one almost-familiar whisper somehow made itself heard above the others.

  Save my son.

  Then the warmth was gon
e. The whispers were gone.

  “No. No, no, no!” Laurel pressed her hand harder against the tree, pain shooting across her palm, but she knew it was pointless. The World Tree had spoken.

  Laurel dropped to her knees, scraping them against the rough bark of the tree’s sprawling roots and let the tears come. She had gambled everything, and she had lost. The World Tree – her one last hope – had not worked. Avalon was going to die. Whether from Klea’s toxin or under her rule, it scarcely mattered.

  If only Laurel had taken more interest in the viridefaeco potion! One of her classmates had been working on it obsessively for years; why hadn’t Laurel studied with her? She didn’t know where to start now! Couldn’t even remember that faerie’s name.

  Klea knew. It was maddening to have the knowledge so close, and yet completely inaccessible. Another dead end. How could she possibly think like Klea? The very idea was revolting; Klea was a murderer. A manipulator. A malicious, sneaky, poisonous . . .

  Poisonous. The word drifted through Laurel’s head as her tears traced lines down her face.

  It’s only by becoming familiar with poisons that you can make the best antidotes. Klea’s words less than an hour before.

  But that was a dead end; Mara, the Academy’s expert on poisons, had been forbidden from studying them further. And what could she teach Laurel in such a short time, even if she would?

  Laurel leaned against the World Tree, wondering if there was any point in returning to Klea. To watch Tamani die? She wanted nothing more than to hold him in her arms right now, even if it was for the last time. She wasn’t sure it mattered if the toxin infected her. Was her life worth living without Tamani? Was the risk worth one last kiss? One final embrace? Of course, then she would die alone, poisoned and untouchable. But—

  It’s only by becoming familiar with poisons that you can make the best antidotes.

  An idea began to form in Laurel’s head. She tried to envision a young, enthusiastic Klea – Callista – working by herself in the classroom, in secret. She would have needed test subjects for her poisons as well as her remedies.