Obsidian Flame

But this sense of peace was not a new sensation. He had felt this recently while lying in bed with his arms around Marguerite, feeling her hair tickle his chin, putting his hand between her breasts to feel her heart beating, or yes, taking her, then taking her blood. In all those moments, he had felt peace, a mountain of it, he just hadn’t seen it before.

She’d given him peace for a century but he’d dismissed the sensation as negligible. Yet here he was hanging between life and death, and understanding that there was nothing small about what she’d brought to his life.

She’d brought the tremendous force of all that she was, nothing held back. She’d kept him sane. Why had he believed that was nothing? Why had he always thought of her as just his Convent lay? In a century of sharing her bed, even for half an hour at the most each time, what was there she didn’t know about him? Sure, they’d done their gymnastics and it had been great, but when all that was pared down, when he would finish inside her then look into her eyes, how many times had he thought: I trust this woman.

She had his back.

She’d proven herself over and over.

She’d doubted her ability to love but anyone willing to lay down her life knew a helluva lot about love.

She had laid her life down over and over.

She’d done it for him. And for Grace. And for a dozen Convent devotiates.

As he contemplated her, something else arose: that the love he felt for her had nothing to do with the breh-hedden.

He loved her.

Now she was dying and she needed him.

But how was he supposed to get back where he needed to be, as in back in his goddamn body, when he was all but dead?

He began to claw his way back, but it was like pushing against clouds. There was no resistance, no way to gain traction, not even a direction to find.

There was only one avenue that held the smallest bit of hope. He reached deep into his mind and flew toward the speck of light he’d come to know as his obsidian flame power. But even that source of light was dull. When he reached it, however, he dove within and felt a faint pulsing sensation. Maybe it was all he needed.

But what the hell was he supposed to do now?

Another question surfaced. Why had he failed in this situation?

For such a long time, he’d believed the war was on his shoulders, his alone. But in the past year what had happened? Alison had become Endelle’s executive assistant and had calmed the scorpion queen down a lot. Havily’s darkening ability had given Endelle more sleep, which in turn had eased Thorne because Her Supremeness was quiet in his head for a few hours every night. Marcus had taken over administrative duties and kept dozens of High Administrators from defecting. Medichi and Parisa together had an amazing power to end a battle with the use of royle wings. Even Jean-Pierre was increasing the powers of the Militia Warriors through his own emerging ability.

No, he wasn’t alone in this responsibility.

Then there was the untapped obsidian flame triad power. Who the hell knew what gift the three women together would bring to the table.

On some cosmic level, therefore, he finally saw that he wasn’t alone in this. He was surrounded by gifted ascenders, each with a job to do. And he wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone.

And this wasn’t just on him.

So what was on him, especially here, in this cage with his breh dying?

Simple. He needed to make sure that she lived.

After that, whatever role he would need to play in the future, he would embrace fully, but not as one who acted alone and bore the sufferings of the world on his shoulders alone.

Which meant …

He sent a very soft mental call to Marguerite: Get Fiona.

* * *

From deep with her mind, Marguerite heard the words, Get Fiona, but she couldn’t make sense of them. Had she fallen asleep? Something smelled so funny, like blood and animal. She opened her eyes. Oh, yeah, dead tiger.

Get Fiona, came once more, stronger this time and … it sounded like Thorne.

Thorne was dying. Maybe dead already. She was close. She was so damn cold.

Fiona. The gold variety of obsidian flame. Fiona, who could channel things.

She’d made a connection with Fiona a few weeks ago and in her way she’d helped Fiona and Endelle rescue twenty thousand people from Dark Spectacle.

The connection was special.

She dove once more within her obsidian flame power and this time sent a message to Fiona. As before the power seemed to dwindle to a weak stream. She couldn’t do this alone. Greaves had blocked their power.

Thorne, she sent.

She waited.

After a moment, very faint, I’m here, sweetheart.

The sound of his gravelly voice, deep within her mind, strengthened her. We have to combine power to reach Fiona. I’m coming to you, okay?

Another long pause. Too long.

Yes.

Despite how weak he sounded, she pushed into his mind and at first was startled at how cold and empty it was. But she could feel some warmth and headed in the direction of what she knew to be his obsiddy power.

She arrived, shocked at how faint the light was, when before he’d been a ball of fire. Regardless, she pushed through the membrane.

The moment she did, it was as though she’d lit a match.

Thorne groaned. Oh, God, you feel so damn good.

So there’s a little life left in you after all. But she sent him her love and she heard him draw in a strong breath and let it out.

You love me?

I do, more than I’ve understood, fool that I am. And that was the truth. Hard-core obsidian truth.

He sent, So what have you got in mind, here?

We’ll do this together. My instincts tell me it will make a difference.

Do it, Marguerite, and no matter what happens, know that I’ll love you forever.

She moved her power straight into his. She felt a deep kind of rumbling within herself, within her mind. She had felt this before, with Fiona.

And this was the truth about obsidian power: that it was all about connection, about joining forces, and about trust.

Call her now, Thorne sent.

She shot the message in a powerful thrust, wanting to make the most of it. Greaves seemed to have control of what happened inside the cage; she had no idea if they’d get more than one chance at making contact.

To be chosen, no matter how great or small the task,

Is to curry the favor of the gods.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 22

Fiona dropped to her knees on one of the zebra rugs in Endelle’s office and covered her ears.

“Chérie, what is it?” Jean-Pierre sank beside her and tried to pull her hands away from her ears, but she wouldn’t let him.

And now her ears were bleeding.

“Hold on,” she said to Jean-Pierre. “It’s Thorne and Marguerite, I think.”

She heard murmurs and gasps flow through the office. All the warriors and their women had gathered to find out what happened when Thorne, with Marguerite on his coattails, folded to what Leto had said was one of the white tiger cages in Greaves’s spectacle parade.

Endelle, sitting at her desk but in a strangely weakened state, murmured, “Thank the Creator.”

Fiona had heard Thorne’s voice in her head, yet not his voice. More like Marguerite’s, yet not hers, either … more like theirs.

She closed her eyes and focused on her obsidian flame power. When she dipped deep within her mind, following the dark channel that led to her power, she saw that the center of it was pulsing with light and heat. Whatever was going on, this was new.

She approached carefully and sent, Marguerite and Thorne, if that’s you, please not so loud. My eardrums burst again. Jean-Pierre was now wiping at her face and neck with a damp cloth.

You’re there, Marguerite cried.

She winced and she knew tears had popped form her eyes. Gently. Quietly. Please.

Sorry. This from Thorne.

You’re both alive. Thank God. Where are you? What can I do? Leto let everyone know you were trying to rescue Grace. We’re so worried.

We’re in bad shape, Marguerite sent. Thorne fought a tiger bare-handed and we’re cut up. Greaves made it impossible to use most of our powers. Thorne is near death. I’m not far behind.

We need Endelle, Fiona said. Hold on. We’re going to do what we did at Dark Spectacle and Greaves can just eat shit on this one.

Jean-Pierre helped Fiona rise to her feet. She approached Endelle’s desk and relayed the situation, then added, “Shall we go get them?”

Endelle nodded, but she remained seated. For this, Fiona’s body would do the heavy lifting, but inside, it would be all Endelle.

Let’s do this thing, Endelle sent. Ramp up my power, Fiona, then I’ll take possession.

Fiona nodded.

The power flowed.

* * *

Endelle stared at Fiona. Her power began to merge with Fiona’s incredible obsidian power. Her mind worked at lightning speed.

Now all she needed to do was possess the woman, and they’d get through anything together.

Hang tough, she said to Fiona.

She felt the woman step aside mentally. I’m all yours, Endelle. Let’s bring them home.

Endelle leaned back in her chair and relaxed. She mentally took possession of Fiona and felt her powers expand exponentially.

She now looked through Fiona’s eyes. She glanced around her office. All the warriors and their women were present. They all waited for her orders.

To Marcus, she said, “Get Horace here.” He nodded.

She turned to Luken. “You’re coming with. I want you to carry Thorne out.”

He dipped his chin. “Let’s go.”

Endelle focused now on Fiona’s connection with Marguerite. She could feel the woman’s power fading, but she got a fix on her location. She moved to Luken and touched his shoulder. She thought the fucking brilliant thought.

Within the space of two heartbeats she touched down right next to the maw of a very dead, torn-up tiger. Luken turned, saw Thorne, then crossed in two long strides and picked him up in his arms.

Endelle did the same with Marguerite.

At the same time, she felt Greaves coming, a tornado of rage. She could feel the power-block he’d put over the cage. No wonder her second-in-command had all but lost this battle.