The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,122
Kiran’s mouth, and he couldn’t even spit it out.
“I should be angry with you, Kiran,” Ruslan said, coming to stand behind the anchor stone. “After all my warnings, still you disobeyed, and not just once, but repeatedly and often.” He ignored Alisa, his eyes locked on Kiran’s face. “But in the end, your foolishness was a boon. I needed the lives of thirty men for Mikail, but for you, I only need this single one. Love and betrayal will give her blood a hundred times the power of another’s.” He smiled, beatifically, and raised the silver knife.
Kiran tried to scream, tried harder to call power; but he was bound by the channeled magic around him, helpless to do anything but watch as the knife sliced Alisa’s flesh and she shrieked in agony. Ruslan took his time, using the knife expertly. Fear and terror and pain added their fuel to the spell, magic beating in Kiran’s head with the force of a sledgehammer. Alisa screamed for a long time, first pleas for Kiran to save her, for him to make it stop. Later, her cries turned wordless as the black stone ran red with her blood and the power built, channels flaring into life.
The horror was so great Kiran’s mind buckled under the weight of it. Darkness danced around the edges of his vision, but he refused to faint. He wouldn’t shut his eyes or look away. Alisa deserved a witness.
He watched with burning eyes as her life ran out under Ruslan’s knife, and weathered the shock when she finally died and channels blazed with sudden power. I know what you are now, he thought at Ruslan. And I will never forget it.
Ruslan raised his head, looking directly into Kiran’s eyes. He extended his gore-streaked hands to grip the sharp edges of the anchor stone. Blood from his palms ran into the channels to mix with Alisa’s. “With this power, I name you, Kiran ai Ruslanov. I mark and bind you, your soul to mine, forever.”
Ruslan shut his eyes in concentration, strain etching deep lines on his face. The channels nearest the anchor stone exploded into searing white. Power raced toward Kiran along the spiraling paths. And beneath, the slow roil of the confluence shifted, realigned, echoing the pattern and infusing it with energy a thousand fold greater than before.
The block on Kiran’s voice released as it hit. He screamed as the power slammed into him, ecstasy and agony all at once, ripping him apart and remaking him, sweeping away his attempt to block it as easily as a man flicking away an ant, blasting his consciousness into darkness...
Kiran struggled upright, fighting free of the hands gripping his wrists, and threw up over the side of the bed. He hung there, shuddering and retching, bile searing his throat.
“How melodramatic. I should have known.”
Kiran raised his head, glaring at Simon through sweat-soaked tangles of hair.
Simon shook his head. “Honestly, you and Ruslan are more alike than I realized. All this nonsense about love.” His contempt shifted into frank appraisal. “Although I see you share his depth of talent along with his weakness. You nearly cost me a good servant.”
Iannis lay in a huddled knot at Simon’s feet. Her back was to Kiran, but from the quivering of her shoulders, she still breathed. Relief pierced the miasma of lingering horror. At least his surrender hadn’t been in vain. But if Simon realized he could force Kiran’s compliance by threatening the lives of nathahlen, Kiran would lose all hope of opposing him.
“Nearly? She looks at death’s threshold, to me.” Kiran hoped he’d achieved the right tone of petty, vindictive triumph, despite the unsteadiness of his voice.
“Oh, she’ll be useful still, with a little assistance.” Simon bent and gripped Iannis’s shoulder. His eyes shut, and his lips moved.
Iannis jerked. Gasping, she tottered to her feet. Though her formerly steady hands now trembled and her breath wheezed, her expression remained inscrutable as ever. Kiran wondered if she were in shock.
“There, you see?” Simon smiled at Kiran, gently. “Your resistance, while admirable in strength, has cost me nothing. And now I have what I need, rest assured that soon you’ll be mine to command as wholly as this nathahlen.” He turned to Iannis, and stabbed a finger at the puddle of vomit on the floor. “Clean that up.”
Iannis bobbed her head. As Simon strode for the door, her gaze followed him, her black eyes hard as obsidian.
The moment the door shut, Kiran spoke in a rush. “I’m