She glared, opened her mouth, closed it, tried again, failed, started with, “That’s,” closed her mouth with a snap, and glared harder.

  “And the thing is,” Heser the Cheg offered her the bridle once more, “Evanne hasn’t told you to do anything. The vampire, though? He will make you do things until you’re bled dry. Perhaps now is the moment to do something right, even if it chafes, so you can do the rest on your own terms.”

  And here you are, telling me what to do. She could have screamed or laughed at the irony of it. Instead, she snatched the bridle from him. “Give it here.”

  Ed struggled with the bridle. The horse reared, but she’d expected that. Always a bit iffy, this one. A champer and a tramper, her father would have said.

  Just the way she liked it. A horse without spirit was like a body without a soul.

  She placed a hand on the roan’s neck. The beast was having none of that, all tossing mane and wild eyes. Eden smiled without teeth, loosening the bridle. “Maybe tomorrow, hey?”

  Morgan sagged, the bridle turning toffee-like in her hands, then the leather parted like cobwebs. She leaned into Heser the Cheg before she realised where she was and didn’t remember she was supposed to mind his arm about her. “Rest,” he said.

  She offered a weak smile, croaking, “Still trying to coddle me?”

  “My queen,” he started, then fell into silence.

  “I’m no queen. Not anymore.”

  “Perhaps next week, then.” She heard the warmth in his voice. “When we’ve put this vampire lord to rest, there will be time enough to rebuild.”

  “Give me the next one.” The Raven Queen stood, back straight as a shaft of light. “Give me all of them.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  When the horde arrived, Evanne wasn’t surprised. Tarragon’s face said we’re deeply fucked, and Quinton paled like new parchment, but she held strong for both of them. The people who Lord Gyles bound about his fist like a halter surged against the farmstead’s walls. The walls creaked, dust silting from the rafters.

  Evanne shifted on her stool. She found the Trick of pitching her voice just right, to let it carry above the cacophony, to be heard by all. “This the best you’ve got?”

  The cloak about Lord Gyles swirled like smoke. His eyes took on a reddish tinge, embers at their heart as he hungered. She felt his need for the blood inside her, ignored it, and settled the guitar across her knee. She plucked a string.

  Gyles lunged for her, the creature surging forward as the note left her guitar. She raised her chin, unflinching, the everliving’s hands reaching for her, all smoke, shadow, and hate. The note twisted about her, found its level, and with it, brought strength.

  With a song and fiery chant so bold,

  Turn this sword from steel to molten gold.

  Cophine’s fury, let it rise in fame,

  As I command, burst into blazing flame!

  Quinton’s blade crossed her vision, the sailor bringing the weapon to guard her. Its silver-bright edge was a Trick itself, the old sword borrowing starlight from above, and a little of Tarragon’s glimmer to rim the edge. The vampire reared back, hissing as smoke billowed from his cape, shadow seeping about Evanne’s feet.

  Evanne plucked another string, the note finding the shutters, a way outside, and to the waiting people beyond. “So, that’s a yes, then?”

  “A what?” Gyles’ eyes locked on the glimmering edge of Quinton’s blade.

  “Them. They’re the best you’ve got.” Evanne teased more notes from the guitar.

  “This is but one man.” The vampire drew himself upright, more of his form seeping into shadow. “I’ve killed many like him.”

  “Hmm.” Evanne continued to strum. “Do you know the Trick of a man’s heart? I do. You sat above us in your throne room surrounded by your trinkets and planned my murder. You wanted me gone and the Raven for your own. But you tried to take by force what could have been given freely.”

  “The strong, take. The weak, bargain.” Gyles stalked around Quinton. The sailor turned to follow him, blade held cross guard, edge curling with rimfire as Evanne stroked new life from old steel with her music. “The victim, submits. You’re young. It’s understandable you don’t know the way of the world.”

  “Aye, that’s common enough wisdom many follow.” Evanne lowered her voice, conspiratorial. “But a thing with the young? We can make our own path. We don’t need hand-holding, and not from the likes of you. You’re missing the big Trick here, my lord Gyles. You’re missing a really big one.”

  He lunged forward, and Quinton swept the blade once, twice, and the vampire dodged back. “I miss nothing. I see a girl barely weaned from the teat, out of her depth, and without allies.”

  “You see, but you don’t hear.” Evanne dropped another handful of notes on the floor, cocking her head. “Listen.”

  “I hear nothing.” His face creased with a frown, the leathery skin showing the marks of time beyond reason.

  “Exactly. What of your horde? What of the people in thrall? They should be here clamouring for my blood.”

  The vampire screamed, lunging forward. Quinton fought like a dervish, but he was just a man, and a sailor rather than soldier. The blade in his hand was half moonbeams and lies, time-worn metal well cold from the forge that birthed it. The vampire’s hands sparked against the steel. The metal screeched, then cracked.

  Steel tinkled as it fell.

  The creature seized Quinton, sinking fangs into the man’s throat. Tarragon leaped from Evanne’s shoulder, burning incandescent, smashing into the vampire’s face. The creature roared as he staggered back, head aflame, then swatted the fairy from the air.

  Evanne felt her guitar tremble. She wanted to toss the instrument aside, to run and help. She almost got up, but a glimmer from her right stopped her. Tarragon took wing again, screaming like a tiny banshee, flying with starlight-tinted fury at the monster. Her heart thudded in her chest when she saw the fairy fly aside, hitting the wall, her glimmer gone. I must play. I can’t stop. All will be lost. She pressed fingers against strings, locking the tune to the fretboard, fingers coaxing life from the instrument.

  Giving another life away as she sang.

  Gather 'round, brave hearts, stand strong and tall,

  Heed the call to help, lest evil's shadow fall.

  In unity we'll conquer, our spirits ignite,

  Join the fray, together we'll win this fight!

  Gyles tossed Quinton to the floor like a used washcloth. He stalked toward Evanne, bloody drool dripping from his chin, eyes molten. “I will drain you right to the point of death, then leave you to heal. Then do it all over again. This will be your lot until the end of time, your screams unheard by any except⁠—”

  A chunk sound sliced through his diatribe. He fell over, a crossbow bolt stuck in his head, which looked to Evanne a very uncomfortable thing. The vampire surged upright, his cloak of smoke swirling. At the door stood the guardswoman Ed, crossbow already falling to the floor, sword in hand.

  Behind her, four others. Through the door and beyond them, Evanne saw the crowd. The people she’d freed. Nay, see it clearly: Morgan did the freeing. I just gave them a little strength. It was difficult to kill a vampire lord. They were fast, strong, and cunning. But this one had come into a room with no exits. And Evanne brought her own cunning, and the strength of a hundred people who’d been locked in thrall, families lost, friends dead, time lost.

  In the hearts of those with courage and might,

  Enchant these weapons with a radiant Light.

  Magic's glow, with each swing and thrust,

  Turns these arms to weapons we can trust.

  She carefully, very carefully, stood. Music continued to drip from the guitar. Evanne backed to the wall, watching as Ed’s sword glimmered, the heavy-set man behind her lifting a hammer with a glowing head. The woman to his left holding naught but a pitchfork, but the tines gleamed ember.

  The people howled forward.

  Evanne waited by the stake. She still held her guitar and hadn’t stopped playing the entire time.

  Quinton is dead.

  The refrain kept rolling through her mind. Quinton is dead. She gazed at the stars, her guitar weeping enough for the both of them. Quinton is dead. Evanne brought her eyes back to the monster.

  The stake was a big affair. It had the look of a fulcrum used for moving hay bales from storage to cart. The top was a fire-charred ruin, a victim of whatever had killed the farm, but the stake itself was still strong. Evanne had called it a stake because that’s what you burned people at.

  Tied to the stake: the vampire lord. Gyles hissed and snapped, his teeth long, but thankfully bloodless now. Quinton is dead. The crowd had beaten the monster, held him down, smashed him to the floor over and over. Others had died, because a vampire lord is a monster of power, but enough lived to drag the fiend out here.

  Quinton is dead.

  Evanne played the whole time Gyles was being subdued. The guitar was hurt, angry, and sad. But mostly angry, like her. The music was a timeless loop she played over and over, chords used to bind like rope, the guitar’s strings like a tether. Lord Gyles, stuck fast, unable to move to his smoke form.

  “Stop playing,” the monster hissed. “I can’t hear myself think.”

  “No.” Evanne kept her fingers on the strings, ignoring how much they hurt. Don’t look. They’ll be bloody, but Quinton is dead. Keep playing, because Quinton is dead. “Do you know last night I played this song for your people? I played it for you, too. I made sure I bound you from the first. I’m not a good bard, so I needed time. And time you gave me.” Quinton is dead. “Hubris. You thought yourself too strong, and us too weak. And here we are.”

  “You are weak,” said Gyles. “You are an insect to me.”

  “I’m not the one tied to a stake.” Evanne glanced to her right, her eye catching movement. Around the side of the old barn came a man and woman. It was too dark for her human eyes to make out detail, but her Vhemin eyes saw their blood’s heat well enough. She didn’t need light to know who they were. Their walk, aye, that was familiar. But how they walked together told her who they were. “Just in time.”

  The vampire craned to see. “The ritualist and her paper soldier.”

  Morgan and Heser the Cheg drew near the stake. The Raven put hands on hips and looked at the vampire lord. “So much fuss for such a small man.”

  “My queen, step away.” Heser the Cheg almost put his hand on her elbow. Almost.

  Quinton is dead. “I killed Quinton,” Evanne blurted.

  Morgan turned, giving her a long stare, then shook her head. “The sailor? I remember him.” She looked down. “He had a ship that loved to race. The Dancer.”

  “It’s not too late to take my side,” Lord Gyles said. “Cut me down, and we shall rule all.”

  Morgan’s lips turned in the slightest hint of a smile. “You know me as a ritualist. All these years, I didn’t. Perhaps I lived too close to people, or among too many. My power was hidden by another.” The vampire looked doubtful but said nothing. “I don’t need you to make me a lord. I was queen.” Her voice lowered to a mutter. Evanne thought she heard Princess and Dragon.

  Lord Gyles stretched against his ropes. “Speak up, woman.”

  Morgan snapped, “I am the Raven Queen of Or’sen, little man, and you shouldn’t forget it. You were brought low by⁠—”

  “Oh, aye, by moonbeams and magic,” the vampire snorted.

  “No. By a woman who believed in us more than we believed in ourselves.” Morgan glanced at Evanne, her gaze falling to the bard’s fingers. “And hurt herself for us too.”

  Evanne sighed. “It’s almost time.”

  “Am I late?” Pakhet curled at Evanne’s side. She had not been there moments before. Tarragon fluttered to perch atop the cat’s head. The fairy was battered, one wing bent, but she had a little glimmer back. The bard felt her lips quirk in the ghost of a smile. “I hate being late.”

  “Did you find her? Did she bring them?”

  “Of course. She is almost back.”

  As if on cue, Ed strode from the barn’s lee. Behind her was a gaggle of people. Her guards, or whatever they were before Morgan freed them. Evanne raised her chin in acknowledgement, but kept playing, lifting her eyes to the sky. The horizon behind Gyles held a tint of purple.

  “Late for what?” the monster asked, because he couldn’t see what was coming.

  Ed drew near. Her nose looked swollen and painful from earlier, but her eyes were bright and hard. She stopped before Evanne. “I hear we owe you thanks.”

  “Not yet.” Evanne kept playing. “Soon, perhaps. Is this everyone?”

  “It is.” The guard captain looked uncomfortable. “All that lived.”

  That punched Evanne hard. I killed Quinton. The thing she’d done was monstrous, worse than the creature tied to the stake, and it needed to come out. “It’s my fault. I killed Quinton.”

  She saw how Tarragon’s face fell. The sprite buzzed to Evanne, her crooked wing fouling her flight. She landed against Evanne’s shoulder rather than on it, scrabbled for purchase, found a rust lock, swung, and hauled herself up. “No, love. Not that. Not ever. There’s only one here who killed the sailor boy.”

  “Come closer and I’ll kill the rest of you.” The vampire gnashed, too-thin face and too-bright eyes ever hungry.

  Ed stormed toward him. “I will knock you the fuck down.”

  “I like her,” Tarragon murmured.

  “Aye, I do too.” Evanne felt her fingers stumble a little, saw the creature strain, and held her song steady. “Come away, Ed. He can’t be trusted.”

  The guard captain looked over her shoulder. “You hold him in thrall well enough.”

  “She struggles,” Gyles confided. “She holds me in a lock of song so thin it may as well be prayer.” He lifted his chin toward Pakhet. “That’s the only creature here that could hurt me, but even I can see something’s wrong with it.”

  “I am curious about this.” Pakhet took a step forward, thought better of it, and sat. “I am curious from a distance.”

  “A construct of those you call ancient. People of my kind, and my time.” He shrugged, but the movement didn’t get far. “Think of what will be lost when you lock me away.”

  “Lock?” Eden laughed. “It’s the gallows for you.”

  “Construct?”

  “What does that make me?” Tarragon’s glitter dimmed.

  Gyles snorted, ignoring the cat and fairy. “I can’t be killed with a rope. Ask the necromancer.”

  Ed followed the direction of his glance over her shoulder, landed on Evanne, did a double take, and laughed again. “She’s no necromancer.”

  “I am.” Evanne didn’t want to play anymore, but the guitar held her hand for a few bars. “I have a spectre as my companion. I see the dead.”

  “You don’t see the dead,” Ed said. “You see souls. I met a necromancer once, and you’re nothing like him.” She turned back to Gyles. “If she were a necromancer, she would have you wrapped around her fist like a sock puppet.” She glanced about. “This here is an everliving husk trying to remember what it was like to be a person. It is undead, and a necromancer would own it totally.”

  Evanne wanted to believe, but she felt the thing inside her that yearned for the songs of those long dead, that hung up on the ghosts following her about, and of Hitch, ever her companion, since the day she was born. “It is nice of you to say, but,” and that’s where her guitar gave up.

  It might have been the abuse she’d given it. In hindsight, using the instrument like a weapon was a bad call. Dragging it through the muck and rain and Three knows what else was definitely a no-no. And she’d used it to draw the dead near, to bind their power, and hold a monster prisoner.

  A string snapped. The song died.

  Gyles was free fast as you please, the ropes about him snapping like twine. Before Evanne could process the fraying string under her fingers, he made it to Eden, put an arm around her neck, and held her close, teeth wide.

  Tarragon flared, making to speed forward, so Evanne grabbed her on the wing, a mixture of Vhemin speed and human heart. No, love, you’ll die. She was burning hot in Evanne’s hand, which made the bard grit her teeth, but she held on anyway.

  Pakhet vanished. People screamed. Morgan stood tall, perhaps thinking a ritual might save the day, but Evanne knew these things took time. She stood, kicked back her stool, felt for her bag of Tricks, and called, “Hold! By the Three, hold!” Gyles stopped, which probably surprised him more than Evanne. She put Tarragon back on her shoulder, ignoring her scalded palm, and leaned the guitar against her stool. “My lord Gyles, this is not the way.”

  “What are you doing?” Tarragon hissed.

  “I am curious too.” Gyles took his teeth away from Ed’s neck. “Your instrument is broken, your power with it. I can do as I please.”

  “He makes a fair point, and puissantly so.” Morgan strode to Evanne’s side. “Count me among the curious.”

  Perfect. Evanne knew Gyles would see dissent among them, not that they stood united against him. The Raven Queen knows politics. A point to remember for another time. If there was another time. “Lord Gyles, you spoke of what would be lost if you were to be locked up.”

  “Kill him,” Ed hissed. “Don’t listen⁠—”

  Gyles shook her by the neck, tightening his grip. Her face turned red. “Aye. I know this world. I know it now, and I know it from before.”

  Don’t look at the horizon. Evanne kept her tone light, her gaze on Gyles. “We have no immediate quarrel with you. We’re here because you wanted me dead and the Raven in a cell, and⁠—”