a
noz over his mouth.
“Poor Cousin Kit,” he said through the mask. “You
and your lover might be impervious to magic, but you’re
still obliged to breathe, now, aren’t you?”
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LYNN VIEHL
Chapter Seven
Th e next hour came to me in blurry fl ashes as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I glimpsed Dredmore’s body
being dragged past me and dropped onto the dirty boards
of a cart, and snow falling into my eyes. Th e cold roused
me even as it chilled my limbs; the fl ashes grew closer
together until they merge into a veil of snowy lace above
my head. By the time my wits were restored they had
moved us to another place and put me on a bed. Beside
me Dredmore lay unmoving, but I shifted my arm to
press against his side, and felt his ribs expanding and
contracting.
Lucien still breathed. Th ey hadn’t killed him.
Men’s voices spoke in low, ugly tones all about
us; I could hear Lord Walsh, his diseased son, and
someone with a faint Talian accent. Th ey were arguing
over something. Montrose spoke insistently, his father
responded harshly, and the Talian seemed to be trying to
placate both of them.
Th e voices came closer, and I played dead. Th rough
my lashes I could see Lord Walsh taking polished stones
from a pouch, which he rolled in his hand like coins he
was reluctant to part with, until he held them out and a
black-gloved hand chose one. More words were spoken,
none of which I understood, and the glove lowered a
white stone to Dredmore’s face.
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Disench anted & Co., Part 1
I felt a movement of air over me, terrible and cold,
which rushed at Dredmore. When I saw a wide, red
streak of light shoot past my face, and felt Dredmore’s
body jerk, I almost screamed. Although I held my tongue
I must have moved, for someone grabbed my hair and
lifted my head, giving it a shake.
“She’s come to,” Montrose said, and my head dropped
onto the pillow again. “Can I have her, Dad?”
“No.” Th at was the Talian. “He took great trouble to
protect her. She must know something of value to us.”
“I’ll get it out of her,” Montrose off ered. “Come on,
Dad. I did everything you asked. I haven’t had a fi ghter
in ages.”
“Shut up, Monty.” Walsh came to stand over me, his
cologne fi lling my nostrils, and then he slapped me, hard.
Th rough the ringing in my ears I heard him say, “Enough
stage play, Miss Kittredge.”
I surged up and drove my elbow into his diaphragm.
As Walsh doubled over, I shoved him aside and ran. A
short man with oily dark hair and a very sharp-looking
dagger pointed at my belly brought me to a stop.
“Dredmore,” I said, never taking my eyes off the blade,
“Now would be a very good time to demonstrate your
deathmage magic.”
“I would be delighted, Charmian,” Dredmore’s voice
rasped, “if you would fi rst remove this boulder from my
brow.”
“Can’t get to you just now.” I regarded the oily-headed
one. “I don’t suppose you’d oblige him.”
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LYNN VIEHL
“No, miss,” he told me in a Talian-accented voice, and
glanced down. “Master?”
“Kill the stupid bitch, Celestino,” Walsh groaned
from the fl oor.
“We will let her choose.” Th e Talian gestured, and
Montrose appeared with a length of rope. “I can do as his
lordship wishes, miss, and cut your throat. Or you can sit
down and hold out your wrists. How will it be?”
I backed up against the bed. “Screaming and running
away not an option? How disappointing.” As the villains
converged on me, I jumped up on the bed, tumbling
backward across Dredmore’s form and in the process
knocking away the small white stone they had placed in
the center of his forehead. Montrose uttered some vile
words, while the Talian dove at the bed. Dredmore came
out of his paralyzed state,
noz over his mouth.
“Poor Cousin Kit,” he said through the mask. “You
and your lover might be impervious to magic, but you’re
still obliged to breathe, now, aren’t you?”
93
Viehl_DisenchantedP2_EG.indd 93
7/15/13 10:25 AM
LYNN VIEHL
Chapter Seven
Th e next hour came to me in blurry fl ashes as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I glimpsed Dredmore’s body
being dragged past me and dropped onto the dirty boards
of a cart, and snow falling into my eyes. Th e cold roused
me even as it chilled my limbs; the fl ashes grew closer
together until they merge into a veil of snowy lace above
my head. By the time my wits were restored they had
moved us to another place and put me on a bed. Beside
me Dredmore lay unmoving, but I shifted my arm to
press against his side, and felt his ribs expanding and
contracting.
Lucien still breathed. Th ey hadn’t killed him.
Men’s voices spoke in low, ugly tones all about
us; I could hear Lord Walsh, his diseased son, and
someone with a faint Talian accent. Th ey were arguing
over something. Montrose spoke insistently, his father
responded harshly, and the Talian seemed to be trying to
placate both of them.
Th e voices came closer, and I played dead. Th rough
my lashes I could see Lord Walsh taking polished stones
from a pouch, which he rolled in his hand like coins he
was reluctant to part with, until he held them out and a
black-gloved hand chose one. More words were spoken,
none of which I understood, and the glove lowered a
white stone to Dredmore’s face.
94
Viehl_DisenchantedP2_EG.indd 94
7/15/13 10:25 AM
Disench anted & Co., Part 1
I felt a movement of air over me, terrible and cold,
which rushed at Dredmore. When I saw a wide, red
streak of light shoot past my face, and felt Dredmore’s
body jerk, I almost screamed. Although I held my tongue
I must have moved, for someone grabbed my hair and
lifted my head, giving it a shake.
“She’s come to,” Montrose said, and my head dropped
onto the pillow again. “Can I have her, Dad?”
“No.” Th at was the Talian. “He took great trouble to
protect her. She must know something of value to us.”
“I’ll get it out of her,” Montrose off ered. “Come on,
Dad. I did everything you asked. I haven’t had a fi ghter
in ages.”
“Shut up, Monty.” Walsh came to stand over me, his
cologne fi lling my nostrils, and then he slapped me, hard.
Th rough the ringing in my ears I heard him say, “Enough
stage play, Miss Kittredge.”
I surged up and drove my elbow into his diaphragm.
As Walsh doubled over, I shoved him aside and ran. A
short man with oily dark hair and a very sharp-looking
dagger pointed at my belly brought me to a stop.
“Dredmore,” I said, never taking my eyes off the blade,
“Now would be a very good time to demonstrate your
deathmage magic.”
“I would be delighted, Charmian,” Dredmore’s voice
rasped, “if you would fi rst remove this boulder from my
brow.”
“Can’t get to you just now.” I regarded the oily-headed
one. “I don’t suppose you’d oblige him.”
95
Viehl_DisenchantedP2_EG.indd 95
7/15/13 10:25 AM
LYNN VIEHL
“No, miss,” he told me in a Talian-accented voice, and
glanced down. “Master?”
“Kill the stupid bitch, Celestino,” Walsh groaned
from the fl oor.
“We will let her choose.” Th e Talian gestured, and
Montrose appeared with a length of rope. “I can do as his
lordship wishes, miss, and cut your throat. Or you can sit
down and hold out your wrists. How will it be?”
I backed up against the bed. “Screaming and running
away not an option? How disappointing.” As the villains
converged on me, I jumped up on the bed, tumbling
backward across Dredmore’s form and in the process
knocking away the small white stone they had placed in
the center of his forehead. Montrose uttered some vile
words, while the Talian dove at the bed. Dredmore came
out of his paralyzed state,
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