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With Hearts of Flame

Page 2

by Briar Boleyn

“’Course we do,” the young man said, still sounding bored. “That’s why we chose you, isn’t it? The power of blood.”

“And my servants?” The man’s voice broke. “Their children? What power did their blood serve?”

“Children’s blood is much more powerful than an adult’s.” The young woman called Catherine spoke for the first time.

“You attended the academy, didn’t you, Charles?” the young man teased cruelly. “Didn’t you study your sanguimancy? Your necromancy? Not much of a scholar, eh?”

“Lord O’Rourke is House Avari, Marcus,” the woman reminded him, smiling faintly. Lunaya knew Marcus’s childish sense of humor bored Catherine, though she shared his streak of cruelty. None of them would be there now if she didn’t. “He took … other classes.”

Marcus nodded. “Fine. Well, it’s their innocence, you see. Makes their blood more potent. At least, that’s Catherine’s theory. Blight-born children’s blood is good.” His mouth cracked wider. “High-blood children’s blood is better.”

“You have quite a flock of children here, do you not, Lord O’Rourke?” Catherine observed. “Quite a large number of your own offspring.”

“Ten children.” Marcus whistled. “Charles has been busy. Of course, he lost his poor Kiernan.”

Lord O’Rourke blanched at the name of his eldest son but stayed silent.

“Not to mention the many wards you keep,” Catherine went on. She stepped away from her chair and began to pace the edge of the room, her gloved fingers brushing over the furniture as she passed.

O’Rourke rallied at this, some color seeping back into his face as his expression turned angry. “I keep those wards for Lord Drak-harrow. They are his guests, not mine. I am an ardent supporter of your uncle. Surely you know this. Contact him. He will tell you. If he knew you were here—”

“He knows we’re here,” Marcus interrupted. “Surely you don’t think any of this would be done without the approval of the most powerful highblood in the realm.”

He glanced across at Catherine who smiled back reassuringly—as if to say most powerful—for now.

“That’s impossible,” Charles whispered. “He’d never …”

Marcus’s laugh was harsh and grating. “There are few things my uncle would never, I promise you that. Killing a few children? Slaughtering a few lords?” He shook his head. “No hard feelings, O’Rourke. It’s not a matter of loyalty. Simply … proximity.”

“Proximity to what?” Charles demanded hoarsely. “You’ve gutted my household for weeks. You’ve bled my lands dry. It will take years to recover from what you’ve done. What are you really looking for?”

Marcus’s grin widened.

Catherine tilted her head, studying the highblood. “You really don’t know? I’d assumed someone with your lineage would have been told.”

The lord licked his lips. “The Bonewood is close by, yes. The Veil stands at its edges—more visible now than ever. My family has watched over the woods for generations. But …”

Marcus gave a grating laugh. “He’s heard the name. But does he understand?”

“You’ve been picking off blightborn in the village for months,” the bleeding man said bitterly. “Of course I knew you were there.”

“But when it was blightborn, you didn’t give a shit, did you?” Marcus cackled. “You only care now that it’s you in the chair.”

“It doesn’t have to be me,” Lord O’Rourke said, his voice suddenly more controlled. “As you’ve said, children’s blood is more powerful.”

“You’d rather we kill one of your snotty little sons or daughters, would you?” Catherine looked interested. “How very macabre of you.”

“Not one of mine,” O’Rourke snapped. “One of the wards—there are many. Hostages from more than twenty houses. Surely their blood—”

“But only a few O’Rourkes among them. And only one the rightful lord and master of this manor,” Catherine pointed out.

O’Rourke’s breath hitched as the pull of the thrallweave took hold.

Catherine snapped her fingers. “Aha! There it is.” She looked at Marcus, and they smiled at one another.

“Just what do you think you have found?” O’Rourke asked weakly.

Catherine turned back to him. “Why, the doorway, of course. The one buried beneath this estate. The threshold your ancestors built over and then pretended did not exist.”