The Darkest Magic (A Book of Spirits and Thieves)
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Penguin.com
Copyright © 2016 Michelle Rouillard
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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-14815-4
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
MADDOX
NORTHERN MYTICA
Each step he took was torture.
It was as if a curse from a vengeful goddess had turned his flesh to fire. Still, he knew he had to be brave—to bear it as long as possible.
Maddox’s companion eyed him with curiosity as they strode along the dirt road that cut through the village of Silvereve.
“It’s the boots, isn’t it?” Barnabas said.
Maddox’s jaw stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re limping. And I’m sure I just heard you whimper.” Barnabas frowned. “You should have let me take care of stealing the boots. I would have found ones that properly fit you. But no. You wanted to do it yourself.”
Perhaps Maddox hadn’t hidden his error as well as he’d hoped. “I didn’t whimper.”
Barnabas grinned, white teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Admit you’re a terrible thief. Go on. Don’t be embarrassed.”
Maddox gritted his teeth. Perhaps he couldn’t blame every difficulty he faced on the goddess. “Very well, if that’s what you want to hear. I’m a terrible thief, and I desperately need new boots.”
“We’ll get you some tonight. Promise. A fine leather pair fit for a royal prince.” Just then, a burst of boisterous voices sounded from the center of the village, which was lit up with torches and lanterns. Barnabas turned to look. “I thought you said Silvereve was a quiet place.”
It usually was, which was why Maddox now took a long, hard look at the stone-sided shops and landmarks that made up the otherwise familiar town square to be certain they hadn’t taken a wrong turn and ended up in another world altogether. He could barely focus thanks to all the shouts and laughter, singing and hollering.
It was so loud, and he was concentrating so hard, that he didn’t notice the man with a large round belly, bright red cheeks, and ear-to-ear smile who had approached.
“Welcome, friends!” he boomed, slapping Barnabas on his back and handing him a tall green bottle. “Wine flows freely tonight. Drink up!”
Barnabas tossed a skeptical glance at the bottle in his grasp, then fixed a crooked grin on his face. “Thanks, friend. What inspires such generosity on this otherwise mundane evening?”
The man’s bloodshot eyes bugged out. “Haven’t you heard? Only today, Her Radiance announced that she has extended her anniversary celebrations from a mere season to a full year! Not only that, but in gratitude to her loyal subjects, wine touched by her magic will flow like water throughout the celebration.”
“Really now.” Barnabas’s smile faltered, and the friendly light in his eyes became cold and hard. “A full year? Well, that’s our radiant goddess for you. So generous and kind to us all.”
“She is, my good sir.” The man slapped Barnabas on his back again. “She certainly is. Praise her name: Valoria, goddess of earth and water! And wine!”
The drunk man turned away, and Barnabas tossed the bottle away from him as if it had been overflowing with maggots.
“Touched by her magic,” Maddox repeated with disgust. “The wine has been tainted by her magic, is more like it.”
A year of celebrations in honor of that creature of darkness. The thought made Maddox sick to his stomach.
“Precisely what I was thinking,” Barnabas said. “As much as I enjoy a good bottle of wine, I’ll make sure not to touch one again until next year. Come. Let’s fetch your mother and be gone from this place.”
After they found Damaris and ensured her safety, their plan was to capture and interrogate Valoria’s scribe, who’d spent the past several months by the goddess’s side.
His job, according to Barnabas’s witch friend, Camilla, was to rewrite the history of Mytica and fill it with lies that would fool generations to come. Among the dozens of historical records the scribe had already altered was the account of King Thaddeus’s truly heroic reign, as well as the very existence of the rightful heiress, a young girl named Princess Cassia, whose throne Valoria had stolen when she’d murdered the king.
Camilla was certain that this scribe would know Valoria’s weaknesses.
Everyone had a mortal weakness. Even an immortal goddess.
They continued on their route to the cottage where Maddox had been raised, the revelers in the village echoing all the way. Maddox tried to concentrate on anything other than Valoria—or his abused feet. So he decided to focus on his companion.
Barnabas was as tall as Maddox. The thief had let his dark hair grow out long and wild, and now he had it tied back from his face with a scrap of black leather. A short, thick beard covered half of his tanned face. This was a man who could skillfully play the part of the fool when circumstances called for it, but apart from the sparkle in his dark brown eyes, the man looked every bit as dangerous as Maddox knew he was.
And he had even more reasons to hate Valoria than Maddox did.
That hate grew stronger with every step he took. It gave him strength and purpose as they neared his home.
They finally arrived at the cottage to find it empty and dark, with no fire burning in the hearth.
“Don’t panic,” Barnabas said, which only made Maddox worry more—if Barnabas knew to calm him preemptively, that meant he was concerned for the safety of Damaris Corso as well.
“I’m trying my best not to.”
“Good,” Barnabas said. “Likely, she’s in the midst of the celebrations.”
Maddox shook his head. “Not likely,” he said. “She despises the goddess. Always has.”
“Ah, but these festivities give her the chance to pretend she feels the opposite. You know as well as I that right now it’s much safer to blend in with the rest of the ignorant fools in this kingdom than to call attention to your reasonable beliefs. We’ll find her, I promise we will.”
Barnabas’s assurance gave him some relief, but now they needed a plan. T
hey’d continue searching for information in the main market area and ask those they passed for help in their search.
To Maddox, every inch of this section of Silvereve was haunted with ghosts. Right now he was haunted by memories of a mother who worked hard from dawn to dusk to support her only son, to keep the dangerous secret that he could see spirits, could coax the dead from their graves without even trying. If Damaris had one fault, it was that she had been vastly overprotective, keeping Maddox at home most of the time and scaring away potential friends who were curious about the strange, pale boy with the dark, haunted eyes. There were times he’d resented it, wanting to be as normal as any of the others. But that wasn’t what he was thinking about now. Instead, he thought about how she would hold him when he had nightmares, promising that he was safe. How she’d read his favorite books to him, make crisp biscuits topped with melted sugar—his favorite—when he was scared.
She’d taught him to read and had inspired his love of books—the kinds of books that Valoria had recently banned. The goddess claimed her decision to allow only approved publications containing what she deemed to be useful, practical information—rather than fantastical tales that did nothing but rot the minds of the young and make them believe in nonsense—would improve the intelligence and overall lives of her citizens.
Thirteen years he’d lived here, rarely straying farther than a couple of miles away to visit the neighboring village of Blackthorn with his mother. But then came Livius, who had discovered Maddox’s abilities and decided to use them for his own gain, stealing him from his home and his mother with the lie that they were only going to Blackthorn for the day. Maddox hadn’t known he wouldn’t see her again for nearly a year.
“You will do exactly as I say,” Livius had hissed at Maddox after they’d left Silvereve. “Otherwise, when you next return here, you will find your mother dead. And you’ll have only yourself to blame.”
It was easy to frighten a thirteen-year-old with barely any experience in the world. He’d believed in Livius’s threats, and so he’d done exactly as Livius said: traveled with him across Northern Mytica convincing nobles that their villas were besieged by evil spirits and that only the witch-boy and his guardian could help them—for a price, of course.
Every now and then, Maddox did have to deal with a real spirit. But those encounters were rare, and he soon learned that nobles were remarkably easy to fool.
All his life, Maddox had hated this dark magic that drew these frightening, shadowy spirits to him.
But recently, all that had changed.
Because not all spirits were the same, he’d discovered. He’d come to know one that was beautiful, helpful, and kind: a spirit girl named Becca, who claimed to be from another world.
Sadly, Becca had returned to that world long before he was ready to say farewell. Now it seemed their handful of days together had been only a dream.
But she wasn’t a dream, he told himself firmly now. She was real—as real as I am. And one day I will see her again.
Maddox held on to this hope, refusing to think about how truly impossible it was.
At last they reached the crowded village square. Hundreds of men and women strode past them, laughing and drinking from bottles and flasks. Maddox and Barnabas scanned the area for any sign of Damaris but saw nothing. When Maddox tried to stop revelers and ask if they knew her, all he received were drunken shakes of heads and incoherent mumbling.
His worry over his mother’s safety grew with every moment that passed.
Maddox caught the shoulder of a man with a red face and stringy black hair. “Pardon,” he said, “but can you tell me if you know of a woman named Damaris Corso?”
“Damaris Corso, you say?” The man then let out a loud crack of a laugh. “I know her.”
“Excellent!” Maddox tried to smile, keeping his hand on the man’s shoulder to keep him and his foul-smelling breath from getting too close. “Do you happen to know where we might find her? We have an urgent matter to discuss, and she’s not at her cottage.”
“No, I don’t suppose she would be. She’s keeping everyone’s bellies full at the Serpent’s Tongue. Lovely thing, she is. Got to grab a handful of her skirt earlier this evening before she managed to slip away from me.”
“Did you?” Barnabas said low and evenly while Maddox clenched his fists at his sides, outraged by the man’s claim.
The drunken man winked. “Give me time and I’ll get all I want from that woman.”
“I’m sure.” Barnabas nodded, then slugged the man in his face. He dropped like a bag full of hammers to the ground, grunting and grabbing his nose, which was now gushing blood.
If Barnabas hadn’t hit him first, Maddox was sure he would have.
“What”—the drunk sputtered—“what was that for, you arse?”
Barnabas glowered down at him. “You insult my sister, I break your nose. It’s a fair price to pay, I think.”
Maddox blinked. Sister?
“Your sister”—the man clumsily got back to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury—“isn’t much more than a common whore.”
This time, Barnabas punched the man with enough force to knock him unconscious. Then he swept his gaze over him from head to foot.
“Nice boots.” Barnabas nodded at them. “I think they’re your size, Maddox.”
Maddox just stared at him. “Your sister?”
Barnabas’s expression turned tense. He dropped to his knees and hastily untied the boots. “Yes. Haven’t I mentioned that?”
“I think I’d remember if you did.”
“Yes, well, I have now. It’s true. Damaris is my sister, therefore one of the very few people in this world I trust—despite her unfortunate decision to hand you over to Livius.”
“She didn’t exactly hand me over.”
“Regardless, that’s a matter I’ll make sure to discuss with her.”
Maddox’s mind was still reeling. “Your sister,” he said again.
“You already said that,” Barnabas said.
This was truly unbelievable. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned something so important before now? “How many siblings do you have?” Maddox asked.
“Only two—that I’m aware of. Damaris and Cyrus.”
Maddox remembered Cyrus. He was a rebel who had found work as one of Valoria’s guards, a position that gave him access to information and sometimes allowed him to help fellow rebels who had been arrested.
“And before you chastise me for keeping secrets,” Barnabas said as he threw the pair of heavy black boots at Maddox, “know that this is simply what I must do. Out of necessity, to survive. I keep secrets. I trust very few in this world, and that’s not going to change any time soon.”
Maddox eased off of his blustering, but only by a fraction. “Don’t you trust me?”
“I do. Of course. I just—” Barnabas groaned. “I keep secrets from everyone. You’re not the only one. So,” he said, clearly trying to change the subject, “what’s the Serpent’s Tongue, anyway?”
“A tavern. It’s not far from here.”
Barnabas nodded. “Lead the way.”
The newly stolen boots fit Maddox perfectly, as if they’d been made especially for him. But Maddox wasn’t ready to gush with gratitude just yet. He was deeply annoyed that Barnabas had waited until tonight to reveal that Damaris was his sister—and that he’d only done so in reaction to the taunts of a drunken man.
It was especially tough considering that Maddox was still coming to terms with the new knowledge that the only mother he’d ever known wasn’t connected to him by blood. His birth mother had been an immortal who’d fallen in love with a mortal man.
His family tree was getting more crooked and confusing with each day that passed.
It didn’t take long for them to reach their destination. Maddox had never ventured inside the Serpent’s Tongue before, but he’d passed by it many times and would recognize its exterior anywhere. Carved above the heavy wooden front doors was
the head of a snake, its mouth open in a hiss, the points of its sharp fangs only an arm’s reach above the heads of patrons entering the dark and crowded establishment.
Tonight, at an hour when many would have otherwise already taken to their beds, the tavern was packed from wall to wall, long wooden tables loaded to capacity with both locals and visitors participating in the celebrations.
“Do you see her?” Barnabas asked.
Maddox scanned the multitude of sweaty faces, all seemingly drunk and happy. “No.”
“Let’s take a seat.”
“Where?” Maddox asked, gesturing at the completely full taproom. “They’re all taken.”
Suddenly and with little effort, Barnabas shoved two men off the wooden bench to their left. “What were you saying?” he asked as he sat down.
“Nothing useful, apparently.” Maddox continued to search the crowd. Nearby, a woman smoking a cigarillo sent a cloud of rancid smoke into Maddox’s eyes, making them start to water.
He rubbed them and kept looking, his gaze moving past face after face. Despite living here all his life, no one looked familiar. And no one looked at him as if they might recognize him.
A fat man spun a laughing woman around in a circle to the music of a fiddler standing on top of a table. Some others were clapping in time to a song that Maddox didn’t recognize. Three men pounded on their table, shaking it, to garner the attention of a barmaid.
“More wine!” they called.
The barmaid appeared, elbowing her way through the crowd. She smiled and nodded and promised that she would be back as soon as possible. One man slapped her on her bottom, and she spun around and scolded him, but she was laughing as she turned from the table and locked gazes with Maddox.
“Mother,” he whispered, his heart swelling. He raised his hand in greeting and found that his cheeks already hurt from how widely he was smiling.
Even though she looked different tonight in her tight white bodice that showed far more of her bosom than Maddox was used to, and a long black skirt that hugged her hips, he would recognize her anywhere. Her smile, her laugh, the kindness in her eyes—even when dealing with thirsty heathens, it would seem.