This . . . Catheline began, entering the room on unsteady feet. This is just how I remember them . . .
They’re dead, Clay pointed out. You remember your parents as dead folk?
They were very dull people. She let out a short shrill laugh, her wide eyes fixed on the face of her mother. So very very dull.
Clay moved closer to the bodies, peering into their eyes and finding the whites threaded with a dense mesh of burst veins. It was something he had seen before. How’d you learn that trick? he wondered, shaking his head. Only ever knew one Blood-blessed who could do it.
I did nothing, she whispered, her voice taking on an accusatory tone. You did this. This is all just theatre of your making.
No. Clay retreated from the corpses, turning to face her. I didn’t. You did it. You broke out of the madhouse and you came here.
No. No, I . . .
You killed all the servants and then you sat your parents down . . .
No . . .
And you used Black to squeeze the vessels in their brain so they died in agony, but they couldn’t scream. Just had to sit there whilst their own daughter tortured them . . .
NO!
A rumble of thunder came from outside as Catheline collapsed to her knees, folding in on herself, tears streaming from her tight-closed eyes. My parents loved me, she sobbed. They wanted to keep me safe. I would never hurt them, never, never . . .
Clay watched her subside into her grief, face veiled by her hair as she shuddered on the floor. I guess that’s true, he told her, turning back to the corpses of the late Mr. and Mrs. Dewsmine. They tried to keep you safe but there was one thing they couldn’t hide you from. He crouched at her side, speaking softly. It ain’t too late. You still got a chance to put this right. End this war.
The thunder sounded again, the room growing dark as the clouds thickened in the sky.
Yes, he heard her say in a small, scared voice. Yes. We will end it.
The loud echoing thud of colliding metal snapped Clay’s gaze to the door, finding oak-wood had been replaced by iron and, instead of standing open with a shattered lock, the door was now firmly closed. Also, he couldn’t see any sign of a lock. More metallic thuds echoed around the room, Clay turning in time to see iron shutters slamming closed on the windows, leaving the room in darkness apart from the blaze that had suddenly appeared in the fire. Clay reeled back as the fire-place blasted out a brief torrent of flame, some of it catching the sleeve of his duster. As he beat the flames out he noted that the fire-place now resembled the mouth of a large drake.
The thunder came again, far louder now, persisting until it slowly revealed itself as a growl. One Clay had heard before. It shook the room, dislodging the pictures from atop the mantelpiece. Catheline was still sobbing behind the veil of her hair, except the sobs had taken on a higher pitch. As her hair parted the glow from the fire played on a smiling face and he realised she wasn’t sobbing at all.
Did you think I was alone here? she asked, getting to her feet. That I was alone when I did this? She cast a dismissive hand at her dead parents. He has been with me for every step and the journey has been glorious.
He watched her enjoy the shock on his face, blinking her pale blue eyes as they slowly transformed back into red-black orbs. What lengths you have gone to, Catheline observed, raising her hands to the surrounding room, now rapidly transforming into a cube of bare iron walls. All those miles travelled and battles fought, just to place your mind in a prison.
Clay raised his revolver, aim swift and true, the sights centred on her forehead. She moved as he fired, blurring with speed. A hard, jarring impact to his chest and he found himself slammed into the iron wall. Pain was often muted in the trance, the mental shields creating a barrier against a mostly physical sensation, but not here. Clay shouted with the shock of his spine shattering against the wall, the revolver flying from his grasp as he slid to the floor.
It isn’t too late, Catheline told him, eyebrows raised in sympathy as she crouched at his side. You still have a chance to put this right. She lifted a finger. You can get in here. But I can’t get in there. She pushed the finger hard into the side of his head. Let me in and I won’t make you watch when I cut your friends open.
Guh . . . Clay coughed, jerking with pain. Guh fuh . . .
I do beg your pardon, Catheline inched closer, cocking her head. Didn’t quite catch that.
Clay dragged in a slow ragged breath, speaking very deliberately. Go . . . fuck . . . yourself.
Catheline rolled her eyes at him. Well, that’s charming. She glanced over her shoulder at what had been the fire-place but was now the widening maw of the White. He just wants to eat you, in body and in mind. He doesn’t really have an imagination, you see? She extended a hand, flattening it out as the fingers grew, her nails becoming claws which she slowly pressed into his chest, provoking another shout of pain. But then, he has me for that . . .
She stopped talking, all emotion draining from her face, which had taken on an aspect of shocked surprise. No, she breathed in a voice laden with genuine fear. The claws withdrew from Clay’s chest and she whirled away, blinking out of existence to leave him alone and crippled in his prison.
CHAPTER 51
Sirus
He’s here! Sirus could feel Catheline’s hungry exultation as she shared the image of the man riding on the back of a Black drake. Her excitement was mirrored by the White, the beast letting out a long, rumbling growl that seemed to shake the ground. Sirus watched in dismay as the great flock of Reds began to abandon their attack on the enemy fleet, rising and wheeling away towards the approaching drake and rider.
“Their mission is not complete . . .” he began, abruptly falling silent as his jaw clamped shut at a glance from Catheline.
“Their mission is what I say it is, dear General,” she said. “The second line of trenches is about to fall. Concentrate your efforts there.”
Sirus withdrew as much of his mind from hers as he could, worried his sudden rage might lead her to some unfortunate conclusions. Turning his attention to the assault on the trenches, he took some satisfaction from the fact that the fighting had progressed beyond the second trench line. The defending humans once again clustered around their Blood-blessed, loosing off volleys of rifle fire as the encroaching Greens and Spoiled attempted to fight their way past invisible walls of Black and scorching waves of Red. He searched for a point of weakness, somewhere to concentrate his reserve battalions, but this time the defenders appeared to be equally resolute all along their line, even pushing back in some places thanks to the Blood-blessed.