Holes in the Veil Read online

  BETH OVERMYER

  Holes in the Veil

  Book II in The Goblets Immortal series

  FLAME TREE PRESS

  London & New York

  •

  Know what is to be; everything, you see:

  Drink from the Goblet of Seeing.

  Lighter than air, float without care:

  Drink from the Goblet of Drifting.

  Strength and survival, no beast is your rival:

  Drink from the Goblet of Enduring.

  Strategic and cunning, to war shall be running:

  Drink from the Goblet of Warring.

  Take what you can, banish at hand:

  Drink from the Goblet of Summoning.

  Luck is your friend, all others must bend:

  Drink from the Goblet of Questing.

  Immortality to he who drinks from one and the rest –

  And a curse for the soul who was born as a Blest.

  Prologue

  Meraude

  Rage was today’s companion.

  The Circle had been extinct for nigh thirty years, yet the mage queen found herself looking over her shoulder, wondering when the awful men, the Elders, would come for her. Perhaps it was insanity that drove her to take the measures she had in order to prevent the impossible or the inevitable, or perhaps it was genius. Armed women flanked her night and day, and they were paid well to do so. These sisters-at-arms were rotated six times a day, and spies, women spies, brought whispers of schemes and plans, which were immediately and mercilessly dealt with.

  All doors bore six locks and six bolts, and the keys were kept by one trusted adviser and the mage queen herself. Every lock, every bolt, every window was checked six times a day by six sets of six trusted women, who were rotated. No one, however, was allowed inside the mage queen’s chambers – not to clean, not to bring food or counsel or whatever might be required. The mage queen alone held the keys, three of which she wore around her neck on a silver chain. The keys were heavy and cumbersome inside her blouse and jerkin, perhaps, but she hid the bulk with her mane of black hair, which her adviser had begun to suggest she might wish to cut, for security reasons.

  The two children were moving south, out of her sight but not out of her mind. Pawns on a board, that’s what they were. They would find the Summoner, free him from the nymphs, and send him on his way. Or they could betray me, she thought, her hands shaking inside her sleeves. So much could go wrong. The children could betray her, the Summoner could be smarter than she had anticipated and take the Questing Goblet for himself, and Lord Dewhurst might decide to work for himself as well. She would kill the four of them when they had played their part in her plan. But how long must she wait?

  She soaked a slice of bread in her lentil soup, watching as the firm loaf became soggy and red. Her cupbearer had tested the food in her presence moments before, but the girl had been acting strangely as of late. Perhaps she has been corrupted. The mage queen would have her questioned and executed later. The thought of one of her sisters-at-arms betraying her caused the mage to lose focus and break the bowl into shards in her lily-white hands. She cursed and sent the remains scattering across the floor. Her lovely linen trousers were ruined.

  Calm yourself, she thought, before taking a few deep gulps of air. If she did not maintain control of her emotions, the Circle would win. It seemed as though they had been winning a lot lately. Men had been sighted outside of the breeding grounds, naked yet armed. They had been swiftly dealt with by the sisters and volunteer mothers.

  The mage queen moved to the window and recited the only words that could comfort her inner turmoil: “They all will burn.” Again she said it, her promise. “Every last one.”

  Chapter One

  Aidan

  Before he and Slaíne even reached the front gate of his former estate, Aidan felt the repulsion of a great amount of iron. That metal always had proven impossible for him to manipulate, though he possessed the ability to control almost any other material due to the power the Summoning Goblet had given him. He looked over to see if the iron’s presence was affecting Slaíne as well. The young woman’s shoulders were hunched as if against a chill wind, and she gave an almighty shudder. “I’ll bury the bodies a ways in,” he reassured her. His shoulder prickled with cold, but he said nothing on the score of that weeks-old wound.

  Soon enough they were clear of the rusting gates overgrown with ivy and piles of yesteryear’s leaves. It would have been sad, seeing the old mansion at the top of the hill falling into disrepair, if it didn’t hold the memories it did.

  Aidan quickened his pace. The repulsion he felt from the gates eased, and he thought it wise to reach out to see if he could sense any other humans nearby. It only took him a moment’s concentration to determine that they were quite alone on the premises, but for some wild game that had wandered onto the estate.

  He sensed Slaíne’s Pull – the invisible, attracting sense he had of every human and object – move next to him. “How deep, sir?”

  “You can stop calling me ‘sir’; we’re friends now. And we’ll dig just a few inches,” Aidan said with a grunt. He did not want to say the word ‘grave’. So cold. So final. Aidan felt a hand on his shoulder, but ignored it and kept at his work.

  “Inches?”

  “Yes,” he said, not bothering to explain what he meant to do.

  Mercifully, the girl did not ask if he kept a shovel in the land between the mortal realm and the land of the magical dead, nor did she complain as she got to her hands and knees and worked by his side in silence. The tools that he did have in Nothingness were useless for this task. “They were kind,” he said to no one but himself. Something ought to be said about his parents. “I just wish – I wish they would have told me.”

  Slaíne made a noise between a grunt and a sigh.

  The work was not easy, not after what he had endured for the last two weeks: near-starvation and bleedings. He was weak, but his anger was not, so he poured that into his toiling. “Mother and Father could have told me about my abilities.” Dig. Just dig. He thrust his hands into the soil and continued to work like a dog. “They could have told me about the Circle.” He struck the ground. “Warned me about Meraude, if they knew.” The heat went out of his anger. Lord and Lady Clement Ingledark might not have known anything about the woman partially responsible for their own murders. Aidan needed to be fair.

  Not for the first time since the night previous, Aidan felt the strong presence of the strange man at the back of his mind. The one he’d begun to think of as his inner friend. The being stirred, perhaps wanting to say something, but Aidan shrugged him aside and returned to his work in silent vigor.

  Once he was satisfied with the two inches they had cleared in a six-by-fourteen-feet rectangle, Aidan closed his eyes, concentrated down as deep as he could, held on to the Pulls and Dismissed a few hundred pounds of dirt. Then, quick so he would not have to see or smell the decaying corpses of his parents again, Aidan Summoned the bodies into the open ground before him and Summoned the dirt to cover them. And with that, the deed was done.

  Perhaps the strange man’s presence had been to blame. Or maybe Slaíne’s ridiculously strong Pull was at fault. But it was at that moment, all but too late, that Aidan felt a familiar presence enter the estate’s grounds.

  “Who goes there?” said the familiar voice, which made Slaíne whip around, her face paling.

  Her hand shot out to catch Aidan. “Shouldn’t we hide, sir?”

  But Aidan shrugged her off. “No.” This was the last person he wanted to see, but now that the man who had betrayed him to Dewhurst was here, Aidan
was ready for a taste of vengeance. Without further hesitation, he used up his remaining stores of energy to approach Tristram, whose face had just come into view.

  “Aidan?”

  Aidan did not break stride. Pulse ticking in his forehead, he was only somewhat aware that Slaíne was gaining on him.

  Tristram let out a laugh of relief and closed the distance between them. “Thank heavens! I was so worried that—” He got no further, for Aidan threw a punch at his jaw. Dazed, apparently, the fool fell onto his bottom and sat there bleeding from his lip. “Aidan, I can expla—” He was not given a chance to explain; instead, he was lifted to his feet and punched again.

  You want me to kill him? asked a faint voice in the back of Aidan’s mind.

  With a start, Aidan let his fist drop. “You again?”

  Don’t say it out loud. I can comprehend your thoughts perfectly, friend. The voice belonged to the same stranger who had helped him escape Dewhurst’s manor with Slaíne.

  “Am I possessed?” he said, shaking his head.

  “Is it that thing again?” Slaíne asked, touching his shoulder.

  Tristram joined the chorus. “What thing? Who are you? And why is he talking to himself like he’s insane?”

  “He ain’t insane. He’s possessed.”

  “Quiet, both of you.” Aidan clenched his jaw and concentrated. To the being inside his mind, he said, What are you, exactly? Am I possessed? In his mind’s eye, he beheld the same dark-haired man whom he had spied before, standing in the middle of the old Ingledark Estate as if he belonged there.

  The man laughed. I don’t think you’re ready to hear all of the details yet, Aidan. But no, you’re not crazy and you’re not quite possessed.

  “Oh, that’s comforting.” He ignored the stares he was getting from his traveling companion and his former friend.

  Cheer up and answer my question: do you want to kill Tristram or let the matter go? Because I’ve heard some of your thoughts about him just now, and I can’t believe he betrayed you like that.

  Aidan felt his wrath double, though half of it was not his own, he realized. His fists clenched and it was not he who clenched them, and they began to swing out with such power that he could have knocked Tristram’s head clean off. “Stop.” Aidan felt the being’s disappointment and disapproval, but the man obeyed him and faded out of his mind’s eye, and only an echo of his power remained.

  Shaking from the sudden loss of strength, Aidan nearly collapsed, but Tristram had risen and was trying to support his weight. “Get off,” said Aidan.

  “Who is he?” Slaíne took Aidan’s other arm and helped Tristram pull him toward the house.

  “Who am I?” Tristram scoffed. “Who are you?”

  Aidan tried to stop the two from helping him, but he was too weak to resist. “Tris, I swear – if you don’t let go of me, I’m going to strangle you.”

  “Ha,” said Tris. “You can barely stand. What happened?”

  Slaíne had stopped and pulled Aidan closer, as if she meant to play tug-of-war. “Is this the same Tris that sold you out to Dewhurst?”

  Aidan had told her all about how Tristram had lured him into his home and attempted to turn him over to the now-deceased lord. Said lord was the reason Aidan was still a wanted man, having blamed Aidan for murders he did not commit.

  She did not wait for a response, but let Aidan go and attacked Tristram herself.

  “Slaíne,” he said as she knocked his former best friend off his feet and began pummeling him. He hadn’t known Slaíne long, having stolen her from the hideous elves she once called masters a mere month or more ago. And even though they’d been through so much together, her loyalty to him was proving greater than he had first realized. Much to Aidan’s satisfaction and embarrassment, Tris began to scream at a pitch more suitable to a woman than a man. Aidan had been on the receiving end of one of Slaíne’s attacks; this was far more brutal. “Enough.”

  She seemed to notice what she had done, her fists ruddy with her victim’s blood. As one bemused, Slaíne pushed up off Tris and stood staring at Aidan. “I….”

  Of all things, Aidan found himself reassuring her. “It’s all right.” He held out his hand. “Next time, though, leave the punching to me.”

  With a nod, she backed away.

  Tristram sat up, his mouth working furiously, but no sound came out until, “You’re comforting the witch? She nearly killed me.”

  Aidan gave him a pointed look. “Speaking of one person almost killing another….”

  Tristram had the decency to look pained, though it could have been due to the split lip and bleeding nose. “Ah, that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  For a moment, Aidan thought Tristram would come up with some excuse and then crawl back to his house. Instead, he staggered to his feet and held out a hand for Aidan. “You look dreadful. Do you have any water?” He studied Aidan more closely. “Or something stronger, perhaps?”

  Aidan was about to tell him where he could stuff his water and liquor, but he was too tired and weak. Maybe if he and Slaíne rested for a while, the going might be easier…. What was he thinking? No, Tristram was not to be trusted. They must leave at once.

  Perhaps sensing Aidan’s inner turmoil, Tris held up his hands in surrender and said, “Easy, my dear fellow. There are reasons for what happened. But first….” He paused. “I need to talk to you. It’s about Dewhurst.”

  Aidan sank down into the grass. “What of him?”

  Tris’s shoulders heaved and he shook his head. “His manor burned down last night.” He lowered himself back down, wincing as he looked over at Slaíne.

  Aidan laughed without humor. “That is old news, my friend.”

  Tris gave him an odd look and said, “I guess he burned to death with his horrible wife. The rest of the household made it out all right, though.”

  Next to him, Aidan could hear Slaíne’s sigh of relief. “I hoped as much.”

  “But you seem to have heard all of this. How—” He looked more closely at Aidan, his face paling. “I thought you had got away. There’s been no news of you since…. Well, since I last saw you.”

  “Then how did you know I was back in town? You are obviously not surprised to see me,” Aidan countered.

  Tris had the decency to blush. “I might’ve paid a few urchins to be watchful, in the event you should turn up again to murder me, which I can’t say I wouldn’t have deserved. One of those young messengers came running to the estate this morning with the news about Dewhurst. Then he mentioned seeing a man of your description entering the nearby…woods. Blimey, the two pieces of news are connected, aren’t they?”

  Aidan made no comment.

  Of all things, Tristram laughed. “You burned down Dewhurst’s manor?” He began to laugh in earnest, and Aidan might have joined him, if he had more energy and less anger bubbling in his veins. “How did you manage it?” Tris swore. “I wish I could have been there.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Aidan, and he meant it.

  The look on Tris’s face spoke a dozen apologies, none of which he voiced. Maybe Aidan would have hated him even more, had Tristram made an excuse and pleaded for forgiveness and mercy. It might have been satisfying to Aidan’s pride, but it would have been a hollow victory. Something in his chest prickled, and he swallowed down the emotions that threatened to take over his better senses.

  Again Tristram spoke. “What happened? Why were you there in the first place?”

  Aidan and Slaíne exchanged a dark look. “He don’t need to know,” she said. “He’s as good as done it to you himself.” Perhaps that was the truth…or was close enough to the truth.

  “I do know Dewhurst wanted you for some reason.”

  “Right,” said Slaíne. “He wanted him for his blood, if’n you nay knew already.”

  “Slaíne,” Aidan
warned, uncertain how much information he could trust Tris with. But his traveling companion kept talking.

  “The devil half starved him and bled him for more than a week. We only just escaped with our lives. And you’ve the nerve to call Mr. Aidan your friend still? I can nay abide to look at ya.”

  Tristram jabbed his finger at the girl, his expression one of disbelief. “See here, witch. You have no right to tell me off.” He looked at Aidan, as if expecting help in the matter, but on receiving none, he opened his mouth again and was interrupted.

  “You are not to call her a witch,” Aidan said, the deadly calm in his voice surprising even himself.

  The silence that followed stretched an uncomfortable two minutes at least. The one to finally break it was Tristram, who asked, “Why are you here exactly?” Absently he dabbed at his bleeding nose with a monogrammed handkerchief that he pulled from his sleeve.

  “To bury my parents. And before you ask, your friend Dewhurst is at least partially responsible for their deaths.” He made a slight pause to collect himself. “I found their bodies last night in his stables.” After a short moment, he Summoned a water bladder from his cache in Nothingness into his waiting hand and took a gulp before handing it over to Slaíne, who also partook. Making the object materialize in the mortal plane, Existence, took a slight toll on Aidan, and he had to stop a moment to clear his thoughts. “I buried them not ten yards from here. I hope you don’t mind.” His tone was caustic, but his friend only looked confused.

  “That doesn’t sound possible.” He, too, stood. “And why are you asking me if it’s all right?”

  Aidan snorted. “Don’t be stupid. I no longer own this land. I sold it.”

  “You sold it to Dewhurst, yes.” Tristram blinked. “I suppose he’s not able to complain now.”

  Now it was Aidan’s turn to be confused. “I meant to you. You bought the estate from me as a trap.” He Dismissed the bladder and began limping away from the view of the house. No matter that Dewhurst was now deceased, and by his own hand, not in the blaze as Tristram assumed; Aidan still was a wanted man. It had been foolishness telling Tris as much as he had.