Betrayed: Magi Rising Book 1

by Wagner, Raye

  I blushed, thinking of possible intimate memories that ten- or twelve-year-old Rünê might’ve seen. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  He sighed and released my hand, lying back on the rock and staring up at the darkness. “Reasonable request, right? I was six at the time, and even though I understood why, their request hurt my feelings. I told Zerôn when we were ten; it took him four years to notice that our mother and father never touched me—at least not my skin.”

  Zîvrünê rested his hand on my back, and I flinched.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, pulling back.

  The physical wounds of Zerôn’s latest abusive lashing were gone—healed by the magî who’d inflicted them. “I’m fine,” I said. “You can scratch my back; it would feel nice.”

  He chuckled and then traced patterns absently through the fabric of my tunic as we both stared into the dark jungle. The silence between us stretched, and the noises of the jungle rushed in to fill the gap.

  The longer Rünê caressed me, the more I relaxed, relishing his touch. The idea that someone wouldn’t want it was so strange—even knowing the consequences of it. He’d never tried to deceive me either. I remembered when he’d explained what would happen when I was five—oh! “Zerôn told you to stop touching him when he was ten?”

  “Yes. When I was younger, it was more challenging to control the magîk. I could fall into someone’s memory with the slightest contact. Brushing against your arm might be a single image, but with prolonged contact, I can see a lot. So, I started training to avoid accidental contact, and I’m very conscientious about it.”

  I’d never thought about asking him to stop, never even considered it an option, even when he explained it all those years ago. His magîk was a part of him. I thought of all the times he’d rushed to my side; he was always the first, always willing to give me a hand—for years—and then he stopped coming by—after Zîyanâ became a zeta. I shifted, turning so I could see his face, and he dropped his hand to his side on the rock.

  He lay still. With eyes closed, his dark lashes contrasted against his skin, pale in the moonlight. He forced a swallow.

  “I d-didn’t ask you to stop,” I said, my voice hoarse with shock.

  He sat up and scooted away from me. Not off the rock, but far enough that there was no way for him to brush against me. Like he didn’t want to touch me, not even accidentally. Carving my heart out might’ve hurt less.

  Keeping his gaze averted, he said, “I should’ve given you more of a choice. I was greedy—”

  “Not greedy,” I said, unable to hear him destroy the joy he’d given me. “And you did give me a choice,” I protested. “Every time you extended your hand, you gave me an option. I never had to take it. You never forced contact. Not once.”

  He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. “But what I wanted…”

  I waited, dying to know what he wanted. Was it the same thing I wanted? Because, ever since I was seven, it had been him—always him. Only him.

  Clearing his throat, Zîvrünê stood so suddenly I flinched. The muscles of his arms tensed all the way up his shoulders and across his back as he clenched his fists.

  “You’re too young, and it was wrong of me to touch you.” He squared his shoulders and, in a voice thick with emotion, added, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  Without looking back, he strode away.

  And almost completely out of my life.

  12

  Two years ago

  After a year of awkward touring with my sister and her bondmate, Kümdâr Zerôn, my relief in being back in Yândarî was exceedingly short-lived. What I’d hoped for—freedom from obligation and discomfiture—never materialized. As soon as we were back at the capital, I returned to the home I’d been living in. Minutes later, a Serîk knocked at the doorway and informed me that my rooms in the treetop castle would be ready by nightfall.

  I grunted in acknowledgment of the message, but I had no intention of living there—or even visiting—if I could avoid it. Zîvrünê’s silent treatment was sporadic but consistent enough to sting, almost as awful as watching Zerôn and Zîyanâ fawn over and paw at each other. But the worst was Zerôn’s vicious temper.

  I’d only gotten through the last six months because of Bîcav. Despite Zîvrünê’s declaration, his guard found ways of bringing us together, and he endured the former-heir’s verbal chastisement repeatedly. But the haunted look in Zîvrünê’s eyes worsened with each interaction, and even though he’d talk with me, he kept his promise and his distance: no contact. The awkwardness grew, and I’d taken to avoiding everyone the last month of the trip.

  As for the new kümdâr and his bondmate, something about the way Zerôn and Zîyanâ interacted was too much. And maybe I’d imagined it, but there were times my sister’s eyes seemed wide with panic when she darted a glance at her partner. Not that she would ever confide in me. Whenever she saw me coming, my sister changed course and avoided my path, and if I was unavoidable, she’d avert her gaze as she stormed past, making it clear I was invisible to her—or dead.

  “What time shall I tell them to expect you? Supper will be served at twilight.”

  I grunted again but kept my gaze on the new hole in our roof. “I’m not coming.”

  The silence stretched long enough that I would’ve thought the Serîk gone, except I hadn’t heard him leave. I sighed and met his gaze.

  The male magî wore fitted leather pants and a sleeveless jerkin—an outfit that should be terribly uncomfortable in the heat of the jungle. But he wasn’t sweating at all, so there must have been magîk involved. His golden-blond hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and he had two bands of crimson on each bicep. He glared at me. “Do you need me to rephrase the invitation to be clearer?” he asked, his expression hardening. “The kümdâr has issued a command. If you refuse to commit to a time later, I’ll escort you into their presence now.”

  I glared at the guard, and my simmering anger boiled. Was this a joke? “You’re telling me I don’t have a choice where I live now? I didn’t marry Zerôn. Why would I want to live near him?”

  He had the decency to fake-smile, like he was embarrassed. “I’m merely responsible for bringing you to him. I can either take you now or later. What happens when you get there is between the two of you.”

  Which meant Zerôn had probably threatened the guard too.

  “I’ll meet you at the edge of the market at the end of the day, plenty of time to get to supper.”

  He nodded but didn’t budge, and when I let the curtain fall, he snorted.

  I wrinkled my nose at the moldering contents of the home. There was scat on the ground, and as I drew close to the bed, I noticed several holes in the fabric. The vanity was gone, as was the chair, taken by my sister or some other magî after we’d left—I didn’t know nor did I care.

  With a sigh, I turned my back on my former home and stepped outside. I didn’t really want to live here anymore, too many memories with Zîyanâ. Which meant I’d need to find another, preferably before I went to the castle. There was no way I’d be living there with my sister and Zerôn. Perhaps Zîvrünê was staying at the castle; then the hut by the waterfall clearing, my favorite place in all of Yândarî, would be vacant. And if the hut wasn’t available, maybe he had another hidden-by-magîk cabin somewhere in Qralî. Totally worth asking—begging even.

  The guard continued to follow me all the way into Yândarî. As soon as we got to the market, I decided to play dodge-the-Serîk. By the time I arrived at the entrance to the clearing, I was not only sweaty but dirty from crawling between the vendor booths.

  I knew where I was going—I’d been here hundreds of times—only… I couldn’t find it. I walked into the jungle from the head of the path, clearly visible and just as I remembered, but after weaving through aleph ears and palm fronds, I exited only a few feet from where I’d entered. What the rot? Was I walking in circles? After the third time, with my chest tight and heart slamming against
my ribs, I marched back into the lower canopy, livid. Because if I couldn’t get to the clearing, that meant—

  “Bîcav!” I shouted. Only he wouldn’t have made the enchantment; he likely didn’t have enough power to create such a powerful ward. And if he didn’t create it, he wouldn’t be able to let me in anyway, not without permission. “Zîvrünê! If you’ve magîked the way so I can’t get in, I’ll never forgive you!”

  I waited a few minutes, my frustration mounting because, if he had created a magîkal barrier, it was within his right as a prince—even if he wasn’t heir. Zîyanâ and Zerôn likely had several hideaways; they’d probably made them while we traveled. But I didn’t even have a home anymore. What did I have? Absolutely nothing. Weak and useless magîk, a sister who hated me, and my best friend not only shut me out, but, of all the places Zîvrünê could’ve picked, he’d stolen my favorite.

  Well, he couldn’t have it.

  I fixed the clearing in my mind: the path opening up into the small meadow which faded into mud and smooth river rocks surrounding Cewi falls and its small crystalline lake. Behind the falls was a cave, lit by bioluminescent moss, and a hot spring of water. I didn’t even want the hut, as long as I could be near the water—the only pool of water where I’d never seen a caiman or conda. That was my destination.

  I mentally walked the pathway there, keeping my eyes closed. I pictured the fallen coconut tree to the left of the trail way past the huge banyan, its massive trunk mostly hidden amongst the foliage. I inhaled the verdant growth all around me and imagined the crystal-blue lake as well as the crisp, clean moisture from the waterfall. I clung to the memory of making soap with Zîvrünê, with the scents of sandalwood and ylang ylang, and then stacking it near the hot springs in the cave. No one was going to keep me from my favorite spot—not even him.

  I opened my eyes and stomped into the jungle, following the path with raging determination. I knew my way through here, so I kept my attention fixed forward. Spotting the banyan tree, I march ahead, unwavering. A vice gripped my chest, and I struggled with my next breath. The magîk tugged me to the left, and as I took another step, it yanked with such force I stumbled.

  “Nice try,” I muttered with my gaze still fixed on the banyan. “You are not going to steal the best place in Yândarî and keep it for yourself, selfish ass.” I trudged on another step and then another. “Not you”—step, step, breath—“or Zerôn”—step, breath, step—“or Zîyanâ.” I couldn’t catch my breath, and my legs were filled with stones. “I don’t… care if… you’re… all… zetas,” I gasped, pushing forward as my vision tunneled. “I… won’t… let… you… have… it.”

  I lumbered past the banyan tree and then fell to my knees as the vice tightened. I sucked short gasps of air as I crawled. Blinking, I spotted the leaning trunk of the coconut tree ahead. I could get that far. I inched my way along the path, the need to turn around roiling through me, churning my stomach. But my head and heart were in agreement—against the instinct of my body.

  Stubborn? Absolutely. I was not going to have my life dictated to me, not by Zerôn or Zîvrünê. The gap between me and the fallen tree shrunk, and I felt something wet under my nose a moment before the coppery taste of blood slid down my throat.

  Ass.

  I scrabbled over the tree, exhausted. The amount of effort to get thirty yards felt more like a thousand miles straight up one of the upper canopy trees. My vision tunneled, the blackness creeping through me faster than I could crawl through the remainder of the barrier. As unconsciousness slid up to greet me, I thought if I died, I’d need to find a way to get revenge on Zîvrünê.

  “What the rot?” Zîvrünê snapped from somewhere outside the darkness of my mind. “What are you doing, Dîsa?”

  That was rich coming from him. I could ask the same. Well, I would, if I could. But my mouth refused to spit out the words—or any words. My eyes fluttered open for a brief moment before closing again. Being alert was far too much effort.

  The ground swayed, and then Zîvrünê’s muttered complaints rumbled through me. His words didn’t register, and I ignored his frustration. I was plenty frustrated, too. Or I would be, right after I finished my nap.

  The crashing water sounded like victory, and with my next breath the smell of sunbaked stones mixed with the scents of ylang ylang and sandalwood. I peeled open my eyes to confirm my triumph. One glance at the clear-blue water, and then I grinned up at Zîvrünê.

  The worry in his vibrant-blue eyes turned into relief. “What were you think—”

  “You can’t steal my happy-place,” I rasped, smacking him on the chest. Although my strike was more of a pat. I gave up on exacting my revenge until I could put more weight behind it. Instead, I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder, relaxing into the surety of safety, and said, “It’s my favorite place.”

  He said something in reply, but I didn’t bother listening. The consequences from Zîvrünê would have to wait. My body was demanding immediate recompense.

  When I awoke, the roaring of the waterfall was muted but still there, a background sound to the shouting voices in the other room. The smell of simple pîderîne wafted back to me, rice and toasted nuts, and my stomach growled in anticipation while the last vestiges of sleep drifted away.

  “She’s not the only one who’s been here,” Bîcav yelled. “What if someone else tries… and dies?”

  There was a moment of silence, plenty of time for Bîcav to absorb the thoughts from the other magî, and for me to wake up.

  “Did you know?” Zîvrünê snapped, his voice filled with hot anger. “Did you pull those thoughts from someone’s head and not tell me?”

  Whoa. I’d never heard him accuse Bîcav of disloyalty. And what knowledge would make Rünê so upset?

  Something crashed—shattering with the force of impact—and Zîvrünê swore. I sat up, the thin fabric bedclothes dropping to my waist. I flinched at the splattering of blood on my top and skirt and the dried, crusty feeling around my nares. A pang of concern for Bîcav pushed me to roll from the bed. My knees held, barely a tremble, and I lurched my way down the hall to where the two magî argued.

  “How could you think I would keep that from you?” Bîcav asked.

  “Do you want me to believe she’s never thought about that day?” Zîvrünê snarled, sounding more animalistic than magî. “In over a year—not once?”

  I skidded to a stop, eavesdropping. They were either talking about me or Zîyanâ—and either way, I wanted to hear.

  Bîcav answered, but his voice was too quiet for me to distinguish the words.

  “Just come in here, Dîsa,” Zîvrünê said, his voice sounding as unsteady as my knees. “Now that you’re awake, you may as well answer my questions directly.”

  Bîcav had ratted me out.

  I stepped into the kitchen and smiled nervously. Zîvrünê stood at the cooking range, dishing rice into a bowl and wearing a simple sulu tied around his waist. He scooped a large dollop of creamy cheese on top of the rice and then pointed at the table. “Have a seat. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

  I slid into a seat and waited, watching as he set to peeling a mango.

  “Did you really put Zîyanâ’s soul back into her body?” he asked. He turned, handed me the bowl, and added, “After she fell… is your memory accurate?” He swallowed and held out his hand to stop me from answering. “You don’t have to tell me, and I’m sorry I took the memory without asking. It just happened when I picked you up, but if it did happen… You’ll need to be careful.”

  Of course he doubted. The idea of necromancy barely made sense to me. I felt like butterflies—no, worms—were crawling in my stomach as I started talking, but as I unfolded the truth of that day, the tension flitted away.

  Unlike Zîyanâ, he believed the memory happened exactly as I’d remembered it. I explained everything to him, relieved to be back in the same rhythm as our former relationship. He asked a few clarifying questions, but mostly he just listened
.

  “Does Zerôn know?” Zîvrünê asked.

  I shrugged. “If you’re asking if I told him, the answer is no. But maybe Zîyanâ did—”

  “He probably still doesn’t know,” Bîcav answered, his expression darkening. “His new Serîk told him Dîsa has power—a lot of power—but they don’t know what it is. I heard the guard, his fearful thoughts on the other side of your barrier. It’s why Zerôn wants her near, so he can find out what she has.”

  Fear traced my spine, leaving needle-like chills blossoming over my skin.

  “You’re okay.” But Zîvrünê’s reassuring smile was tight. “The Serîk left… a while ago.”

  “Can he get through?”

  “No,” The smile dropped from Zîvrünê’s face, and his blue eyes darkened. “And that was dangerously stupid on your part.”

  My gaze darted from Zîvrünê to Bîcav, knowing the latter would hear my unspoken questions.

  “It’s impossible to break through another magî’s magîk,” Bîcav answered plainly. “But you did. The only conclusion we’ve come up with has to do with the quantity of power.”

  I frowned, the immediate protest dying on my lips. “But that would mean…” I shook my head, staring at Zîvrünê. “That’s impossible.”

  “Your education has been grossly neglected,” Zîvrünê said. His shoulders dropped, weighted by invisible burdens. “Not that it’s your fault, but what you don’t know could kill you. Besides that, you don’t like ignorance, so let’s increase your knowledge. Bîcav can help train you too.”

  The big Serîk grunted. “Fine, but then you’ll need to explain to Zerôn why none of us are at the castle.”

  “I’ll go tell him now. Whatever project he and Zîyanâ are gearing up for has him consumed. They’ve built a linoxa off the castle, and he keeps talking to me about their legacy. I wish I could have you there, Bîcav, so I knew what he was planning.” Zîvrünê pointed at me. “Whatever happens, stay away from them. I don’t know what they’re up to—”