“How will you stall him?” Gavin said, paying no attention to Nate. “By yelling at him? His guards will move you aside like a doll, Elly.”
Elly’s smile was cold. “You underestimate me, too.”
Gavin turned his head. Although Nate didn’t think he knew it, he was facing the tower.
“You know you want to go,” Elly said softly. “So go.”
He turned back to her. Nate, impatient, didn’t know what he was thinking and didn’t care. All that mattered was that Gavin did what Nate needed him to do, and in the end, he did. With a curt nod to Elly, he pushed past Nate and out of the parlor.
Nate followed him. Elban’s heir would make it up the stairs. The tower would make sure of it.
* * *
Every ripped stitch hurt more. Was it the anticipation of how bad it would be that made it worse, or was the tower holding on more tightly to what remained? She could feel the stifling weight of it around her, could feel it reaching into her, trying to pull her back down into torpor. She had managed to drag herself to standing when the door opened; the sight of the magus filled her with hatred and pity as she stood swaying.
But then he stepped through the door and behind him, she saw Gavin. Somehow, impossibly; too thin, but so essentially himself that she felt him like a heat source. He pushed the magus aside, came straight to her, and threw his arms around her. She met them gladly.
“I’m here,” he said. “I came for you.”
Behind him, she could see the magus kneeling on the floor, rummaging through his satchel. He didn’t seem to be paying them any attention, but Judah knew better. She felt the hot prickle of tears in her eyes. “It’s not that simple.”
“No,” the magus said, standing up. “It’s not.” He’d rolled up his sleeves. On one of his arms, he wore the tooled leather cuff Judah had seen in Caterina’s memory, a bloody blade protruding from it; on the other, he’d opened a long gash. In the hand of the bleeding arm he held a small bottle, just like the one Theron’s antidote had come in. As Judah watched, he switched it to the knife hand, and poured whatever was inside over his wound. The new liquid was blood-colored, too, but it was darker and seemed to flow unevenly. With a practiced flick of his wrist, the bloody knife blade disappeared back into the cuff. He tossed the vial aside.
Then he began to draw on his own arm. This was wrong. The surface needed to shine, he’d told her. It was all a crutch, an empty ritual, but he believed in the rules.
Gavin made a small strangling sound and fell to his knees next to her. His eyes were wide and panicked, his lips parted. She could see the tip of his tongue poised to speak. No part of him moved. He didn’t even blink.
“There,” the magus said, sounding tired but satisfied. He dropped down onto the small sofa, as if his legs wouldn’t hold him.
Judah looked back and forth between his limp, exhausted form and Gavin’s unmoving one. “What did you do?”
“He’s fine. He just can’t move,” the magus said. “I’ve been practicing. But I’m not strong enough to hold him for very long. We have to hurry.”
* * *
How will you stall him, Elly?
It was a valid question. Eleanor stood in the parlor and considered it.
She didn’t know exactly what was happening, why the Seneschal was coming for Judah or how the magus planned to stop him after he and Gavin retrieved Judah. And why hadn’t he passed along her notes? And why had Gavin been awake all night in agony, and where was Theron? She hated not knowing. She was used to feeling like a pawn, and that was bad enough, but now she no longer felt like she understood the game, and that infuriated her.
But she wanted all of them together, where they belonged. Gavin and Judah were together; Eleanor wanted Theron. Gavin and Judah could put up a fight, and they had the magus. Theron had nobody. Theron was a lost kitten. Theron may or may not even notice that another person was in the room. She was not going to leave him at the mercy of the Seneschal’s guards, and maybe he could help stall the Seneschal, and how was she going to stall the Seneschal, anyway?