Betrayed: Magi Rising Book 1

by Wagner, Raye

  After only a few steps, I stumbled over a coconut, elated to have found the nourishing fruit. I searched the area and collected several others, kicking them back toward the small clearing where the panthera lay. Eyes burning and gritty with fatigue and stress, I returned to the great cat, pitching forward when I tripped over an exposed branch. The two coconuts dropped, and one cracked. Hurriedly, I picked up the broken fruit and poured the watery contents over the cat’s tongue. Then I pried it open and scooped out the meaty flesh. Repeating the process with the second one, I emptied the water, getting sprayed with the sticky fluid when the panthera shook his head.

  “Fine,” I muttered, wiping my arms and face—adding to the layer of grime I already wore. “I guess you’re done.” Exhaustion pulled at me, and I debated climbing a tree. Probably smart considering how hungry the Apex probably was, although if he wanted to climb after me, he probably could. I eyed the trunk and closed my eyes, shifting to lean up against it. “I’m all out of gumption—all gone. Going to catch some dreams,” I murmured, my words slurring.

  The weight of the animal pressed against my legs, and my fear spiked but faded rapidly with the animal’s deep purr as he settled next to me. Patting him, I added, “But I’ll catch you real food in the morning,” I promised. “As long as you don’t eat me, right?”

  * * *

  As the sun’s rays pierced the canopy, I peeled my eyes open and gasped as the memories of the previous night returned. The Apex lay next to me at the base of the tree, with his back to the trunk, and I was draped over him. I bolted upright, pushing off the wet leaf-litter to stand. He arose and stepped toward me, a low rumbling emitting from deep within. I held still—or tried to. Still purring, he brushed against me, making me stumble to the side with the force of his weight.

  “Whoa, big guy,” I said, laughing at his display of affection. I caught my balance, burying my hands into his fur as he continued to purr and rub against me. In this moment, I forgot about everything terrible, the potential horrors that could be waiting for me in Yândarî—my sister and Zîvrünê, and how Mar might be dead—and giggled with joy as my childhood dream of petting a panthera came true. I dropped to my knees, and my heart raced as the Apex turned and approached again, but as he drew near, he merely dipped his head and put it to my chest, his rumbling purr filling the space between us. When he lifted his head, he licked me, his rough tongue wetting the entire left side of my face.

  “Gross,” I said, laughing once again.

  He nudged me, and I stood. “Time to get you food.”

  The amount of dried blood near his eye sockets told me his injury was recent—such that he would need help or die—as was evident. I cut down a thick vine and set a trap—just like Mar had taught me.

  An hour later, I caught a tapir. I crashed through the foliage and whooped with excitement. Drawing my blade, I stepped forward to deliver a killing blow, squealing with shock when the black panthera lunged out from the flora. He snapped his jaws once, catching nothing but air, but the second time… Bone crunched between his teeth, and the tapir shuddered and then stilled. He killed the animal with one crushing bite.

  “Fetid rot,” I breathed, too stunned to even move.

  The predator dropped his prey and then ripped a chunk from the tapir’s side, spraying me with crimson death. My stomach turned, and I rolled to the side and onto my hands and knees, gasping, “You just… in one bite… ruined… Rot.”

  The bloody hunk of meat landed in front of me.

  “I’m good,” I gasped, scrambling away from the coppery smell. “You eat it. I’m going to find something else.”

  I stood as a rumble of thunder broke through the trees. A few seconds later, the soft patter of rain filtered through, and I smiled up at the cleansing water. I ripped a large leaf from a nearby plant, and then another, layering them on the ground to collect water for the Apex. I did my best to scrub some of the grime from my face. After a few moments where I did nothing but smear the mud more, I sighed, accepting the futility of a rain-bath. I needed a swift stream or lazy river—preferably without black caiman.

  “I’ll be back,” I promised. My stomach rumbled with hunger, and as I drew closer to the road, the sounds of magî heading into the Cesaret market tickled my ears.

  Excited to be among my own kind after weeks of being alone, I sprinted forward, the wet leaves slapping against my tunic as I rushed toward the edge of the jungle. Before I could break through, a heavy weight crashed into me from behind. My cry was cut short as I landed in the mud and muck, getting up close and personal with the pungent aroma and taste of decomposing plants. The Apex’s claws dug into my back, and he let out a vicious snarl.

  “She’ll have stopped here,” a male magî said, momentarily distracting me from my white-hot rage.

  I swung my arm at his legs, attempting to knock the panthera off. How dare he? “Is that any way to repay—”

  “What was that?” the magî asked.

  “Probably a celot,” another male magî said. “This area is well-known for cats.”

  “It sounded more like a lemur, like it was talking,” a Serîk muttered.

  Another magî snorted, closer to me, and when he spoke, he kept his voice low. “Too bad Zerôn didn’t try one of them.”

  “You mean Kümdâr Zerôn, Bren. If Bryx hears you, he’ll report you, and then you’ll be gone.”

  “Shut your mouths, you two,” a new magî said. “Bren, how do you know Zädîsa will be here?”

  I froze, and the weight of the cat’s paw lessened enough for me to lift my head. Through the underbrush, flashes of red leather appeared as the magî walked toward Cesaret. I tried to remember Bren, but if our paths had crossed two years ago when I was still in Yândarî, I didn’t remember him now.

  “Because Zädîsa is spoiled. She enjoys comfort—and good food.”

  I’m not spoiled. Although, there was no arguing about comfort or good food.

  “And I can smell her,” he said, laughing. “She came down here, a couple days ago at most. The rain is making it harder, and all the other magî…”

  Maybe I did know him. I huffed and the pressure of the cat’s paw disappeared, making me wince. I sat up, now covered in a fresh layer of mud, and rested my hands on my knees. Stupid magî. Stupid me. I glanced at the cat, the black fur of his paws and legs covered in the same filth—only his muzzle was saturated with blood.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, crawling on all fours back into the dense plants, following my blind savior… until he ran into another tree trunk. I wanted to roll my eyes at him, and then at me because I’d been so ridiculously loud that a blind cat had pounced on me.

  We returned to our clearing, and I opened two green coconuts and ate all the soft flesh. Fried pîderîne would have to wait—as would roasted pheasant and potatoes. If the Serîk were going into Cesaret, I couldn’t. At least I’d picked up one piece of information: the kümdâr was looking for me. And if he wanted me, maybe I should rethink going into Yândarî—even thought that meant not being able to help Mar. I winced at the thought. I’d brought so much pain upon them. I couldn’t let what happened in Heza happen in another post.

  “Maybe we should find somewhere else,” I said to the Apex.

  The Zîv needs you.

  I froze, mouth ajar, and stared… at nothing. I forgot all about the panthera in front of me, all about the Serîk, the kümdâr, even Mar. Zîvrünê—

  The male voice in my head was vaguely familiar, but only the kümdâr referred to his brother as the Zîv, so warning bells rang in my mind. My thoughts bounced to Zîvrünê, and my chest tightened, bounced again, and I connected knowledge to conjecture. Zerôn couldn’t speak telepathically, so it wasn’t him talking to me—but it would require a lot of strength to reach me. Therefore, the Serîk must have been really powerful. So definitely one of the kümdâr’s.

  A trap.

  Bîcav said to wrap it up, Buttercup. As in get your ass back here or the Zîv will die. There, he s
aid, his voice suddenly sharper. I told her. Now let me be or it’ll be my ass in the linoxa…

  What the actual rot? Hello? I called out mentally. Hello!?

  No response.

  My thoughts darted in a million different directions. Bîcav was Zîvrünê’s first, loyal even after Zerôn had become the kümdâr and all the way up until I’d left. The voice wasn’t Bîcav’s, but the Serîk had used Bîcav’s nickname for me. Who would he trust?

  Basvîk. Rot. I’d never thought much about Bîcav’s brother. Basvîk was quiet, withdrawn, and he’d sworn fealty to Zerôn the same time Bîcav had sworn allegiance—through a magîk bond—to Zîvrünê.

  Zîvrünê.

  A vice-like pressure forced the breath from my lungs. The pretense that I was over the former heir disappeared—evaporated in a millisecond—and I stood. I was tired, filthy, and hungry. But apparently, I wasn’t done walking. From Cesaret to Yândarî was two days, but I’d skirt around to Zîvrünê’s hut on the opposite side of the capital and set up in the oasis I loved. I looked at the Apex predator sitting on his haunches as if waiting.

  “Are you coming?” I asked.

  He stood and, as I took my first step, followed, silently padding alongside as I worked my way back out toward the Western Rê, the road that would serve as a guide to get me to Yândarî.

  At least I had company—sort of.

  9

  Three Years Ago

  Something was wrong with my sister. The first night, after Zîyanâ came back, was odd. She kept asking who I was and who she was, but every time I told her, she nodded, accepting it as truth, only to forget the conversation, sometimes only minutes later. She’d had a big fall, so a little amnesia was to be expected—or so I assumed.

  Just like normal, we’d both slept in the same bed, and the next morning she’d laughed when I asked if she was feeling okay. We had that one day where I was sure everything would be okay. But after her walk with Zerôn this morning, she returned quiet, contemplative. Maybe the change in demeanor was to be expected, given the circumstances.

  “How was your walk?” I asked after returning from the market to dice onions to add to the beans we’d have for dinner. “Are you and Zerôn finally going to end it?”

  “What?” she snapped. “Why would I end it with him?” She put her hand on her hips and stared me down.

  I held the blade still and studied my sister. “You can’t be with him and bond with Zîvrünê.”

  Zîyanâ shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And I never really liked the Zîv.”

  Inhaling with surprise, I wrestled with her statement. I knew she had a preference for Zerôn, but to say she never liked her future bondmate?

  She grabbed several blankets off our bed and then dumped them on the floor. “We’re too big to be sharing a bed. You’ll need to sleep on the floor until I leave.”

  Without another word, she strode from our home and left me gaping after her.

  I waited up all night for her to return, at first going through our normal evening routines and then sitting on the floor and pulling at the frays in my threadbare blanket. But she didn’t come home until the afternoon light of the following day filtered through the canopy. The corner of her mouth twisted up a fraction, tentative, and she offered to accompany me to the hot springs for a bath.

  “We can steal some of the Zîv’s soap, and you can pretend he’ll love you someday. Then we’ll go see the princes.”

  I said nothing, afraid to retaliate in any way, until I understood what was going on inside Zîyanâ’s head. As we headed home, both clean and full of papaya, Zîyanâ danced around me on the dirt path, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Even after going into Yândarî and being told by Bîcav that the princes couldn’t see us because of a family issue, she was still happy. So I dared to press Zîyanâ about her memories after falling off the cliff. “Do you remember what you said? When you were dead?”

  Zîyanâ stopped mid-twirl and faced me, expression twisted and nostrils flared. “That isn’t funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” I said, eyeing her from the side. Her anger made me uneasy—more uneasy—like I’d done something wrong. My heart clenched as I swallowed the lump of emotion at the back of my throat, and I turned my attention to the jungle by our home. “What’s going on? Did I do something to offend you?”

  Zîyanâ said nothing for long enough that I dared another peek, just as she shook her head.

  “Why do you feel the need to make everything about you?” she asked with a huff of frustration, throwing her golden braids over her shoulder. “Why can’t you stop clamoring for attention like a beggar, Dîsa? You were raised better than that.” She tugged the ties out of her hair and dropped them on the ground. “What a waste.”

  Ouch.

  She grunted and shook out the braids, muttering under her breath while she ruined the intricate style I’d plaited earlier. Was she implying I’d only done her hair to draw attention to me? Or that I’d made up the conversation when she was dead? Both were ridiculous. If anyone should be grouchy about the hours I’d spent doing her hair, it was me. And if she couldn’t remember our conversation from when she was dead, why was she angry now that she was alive? I couldn’t fathom why she was upset, but her angst was as obvious as an albino caiman.

  “I wasn’t trying to get anyone’s attention.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she said, pulling to a stop. Narrowing her eyes, she spit out question after question, her expression hardening with each one. “Why can’t you just be happy that Zerôn was able to heal me? Why can’t that be enough? Did Zîvrünê put you up to this? Are you trying to steal our happiness?”

  I blinked, stunned with the layers of vitriol beneath her words, and my jaw dropped. “I am happy he healed you—”

  “Don’t lie to me,” she snapped, poking her finger in the air at me. “Your pathetic magîk is to see dead animals—not necromancy. But you’re trying to say your magîk’s changed, gotten bigger, better? Why would you do that?” She didn’t wait for me to answer, putting her hands on her hips as she continued her attack. “Because you’re jealous. You’ve always been jealous of me. Zerôn was right.”

  Zerôn? I opened and closed my mouth several times, but her conclusion was so ridiculously off I couldn’t formulate a rebuttal beyond that’s rot!

  Zîyanâ sucked in a deep breath and lifted her face toward the canopy above.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said, trying to smooth things over and, at the same time, wondering what was wrong with her. Maybe she did have brain damage. “And I’ve never been—”

  “Cursed Kânkarä,” Zîyanâ exclaimed, slicing through the air with her hand. She glared at me, rage contorting her features, making her truly ugly. “Please, just stop with your fetid manipulations. Don’t try and twist this so that Zerôn is the bad guy. You and the Zîv are always saying things about Zerôn being selfish, trying to put him down.”

  I gaped in awe, confusion twisting my thoughts, tying my tongue and insides in knots. The longer Zîyanâ spoke, the less I understood. In the last five years, the only time I’d heard Zîvrünê say anything derogatory about his brother was the day she died—and he’d immediately taken it back.

  “But it doesn’t matter what you say now,” she said, her lip curling up into a sneer. “Neither of you have the power to stop Zerôn’s plans for Qralî—our plans.”

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge the muddled thoughts and rearrange my sister’s words in a way that would make sense. “Your plans?”

  How could she and Zerôn have plans for Qralî? Unless… My stomach churned. No. No, no. If Zerôn had power to implement plans, that meant… Oh. Rot.

  Her sneer morphed from superiority to annoyance. “Are you trying to pretend that you don’t know?” After a moment, she pulled back and laughed. “Oh rot, you didn’t know? How is that even possible? The news was all over the marketplace.”

 
; I closed my eyes as loathing filled me. I’d ignored all that I could so I wouldn’t have to see the souls at the open-air bazaar. Disgust pushed into every corner, every fiber, of my being, for Zerôn and Zîyanâ, even Zîvrünê, but most of all for me. How had I not seen her greed? For being powerful—Wait. It didn’t matter. There was no way Kümdâr Zêvn and Könserî Zälia would let Zerôn bond with Zîyanâ and take the rulership from Zîvrünê. When I opened my eyes, I saw my sister as she truly was. Had she always been so selfish and greedy? Had I been ignorant or willfully deceived myself?

  “How…” I studied her, disbelief spreading with each breath. The rest of the world fell away, and I saw her flinch under my scrutiny.

  “How what?” she snapped. “How could you be so stupid? I can’t even begin to understand—”

  “No,” I said. “How could you fall for Zerôn over Zîvrünê? It’s like choosing to play in excrement over water or sunshine.”

  “Har-har,” she snapped. “You’re disgusting. Why would you say… Never mind.” Rolling her eyes, she continued. “It’s like you don’t think. Zîvrünê is stupid, but then, so are you. No mind, no vision. Neither of you will ever amount to anything.”

  Exhaling, I felt the cord—our family tie, the bond of sisters—snap. In my mind’s eye, I could see it too. The edges—when had they become so frayed and worn?—hung loose and separate, and the last piece, the last thread, finally unraveled until there was nothing left. Had she severed it, or had I? I couldn’t even say, but whatever loyalty I’d instinctively had for Zîyanâ disappeared all at once. I rubbed my chest, the ache of loss—a strange emptiness beneath my breastbone—twinged, an odd discomfort, because the anguish I should’ve felt wasn’t there.