by R. K. Thorne
She groaned inwardly. Couldn’t they have started her on a kidnapping mission a little easier than this? By the gods. What were they thinking? This was a suicide mission. If the hold didn’t open its doors for months at a time—and had no windows—there was nothing she could possibly transform herself into that could sneak into cracks that weren’t there. Would she have to become a groundhog and dig her way in?
Estun also has a tiny mountaintop garden terrace that is only accessible from inside the hold. Using this garden, servants can grow winter vegetables. The terrace is highly inaccessible, with steep ascents on all sides. The innovation in the addition of this terrace lifts Estun to one of the finest Akarian holds, and its independence serves the greatness of our king.
Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, now this was something. She skimmed frantically for more details, but that was the only mention of this terrace. It was enough. A servant’s entrance was an excellent target for her to get inside. Highly inaccessible meant fewer guards. Or possibly no guards!
Except that it was accessible… if one could fly.
She breathed a deep sigh of relief. Finally, some semblance of a plan. Exhaustion hit her, and she blew out her bedside candles. Had it been her own worry driving her or the compulsion? Perhaps it didn’t matter. This one clue eased her mind enough. She lay down and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 2
A Way In, A Way Out
“You wanted to speak privately again—well, here we are. This is as private as it’s going to get.”
Aven had strolled around idly with Evana for some twenty or thirty minutes this morning, struggling to make conversation and analyzing the tension in her jaw, before she’d finally requested they retire to somewhere less public. Privacy had obviously been her aim all along, but had she seemed to think her façade was worth it. Perhaps she’d hoped the delay would make him uncomfortable. They had finally retired to her room, Fayton the head steward in tow.
The door was barely shut before she began. “I am afraid I must take my leave of you.”
Nervous tension shot through him. “Have I failed your tests already, milady? I’m sorry to hear that.” He gave her his most charming smile, and it did seem to have some effect, as she opened her mouth to say something else but stopped and only stared for a moment, looking conflicted.
“No… well, yes.” She seemed to wrestle with her thoughts for a moment more, then resolve herself to some decision. She set her face into a hard, deliberate glare. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”
He cocked his head quizzically, even as his hearted start to pound. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Would you have married me without telling me?”
“Without telling you what?” He frowned, pretending to search for what she could possibly be talking about.
She folded her arms. “Do you really think me that much a fool?”
He shook his head. “You are no fool, Princess. Of that, I am sure. But I am fool enough to not understand your meaning—”
“You are a mage,” she spat at him. Her eyes darted to the head steward, then back to him.
Aven feigned shock, although he could feel himself failing. “Where would you get such an idea? What would possibly make you think such a thing?”
She swept toward him, skirt swirling, stabbing her finger inches from his face. “Do not mock my intelligence. I saw what you did. I saw. I am trained to look for such things.”
Should he keep up the lie—or give in? What did she mean, “trained”? “What are you…” he whispered. His hesitation was a choice. Their eyes locked, and they both knew she had discovered his secret.
“I saw the air come alive. I saw you move the fire to protect yourself during battle. And you’ve been avoiding me ever since. You knew right away that I had seen what you’d done. How you’ve kept this secret for this long is beyond me—it is as plain to me as the surprise on your face.”
Could he charm her into keeping his secret? Why did she seem so angry, as though she felt betrayed? How could she be so sure of herself? Her confidence made him wonder—how many of the servants knew and happily averted their eyes? Did more people already know than he thought?
“Evana,” he whispered, “please don’t feel deceived. I’ve known you for a single day. How could I trust you with my deepest secrets in such little time?” As he spoke softly, his face inches from hers, he took a risk and raised a hand to gently stroke her cheek.
For a moment, she watched his hand, a mixture of sadness and longing in her eyes—and then suddenly she broke herself away and stepped back. “So you do not deny it, then.”
“Well, I would not call myself a mage, as I know nothing about magic.”
She clenched her jaw, chin jutting upward.
“But I do have the gift, much as I might try to suppress it.”
“And your family—your people—allow this? A mage to someday be king?”
“Yes, of course. There are no laws against being a mage in Akaria.” Perhaps acting confidently would dispel the situation.
“I am well aware of this—a truly wild place, indeed.”
“Why are you so aware of this? And what did you mean, you are trained?” His turn for some answers.
“I told you, I must take my leave of you. Now.”
“Before even dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Answer me—what do you mean, you are trained?”
The intensity of the cold glare in her eyes was surprising, but the expression seemed at home on her face. He was finally seeing the real her, not the mask she wore for courts and dignitaries.
She strode closer to him again and whispered, “You live by your code? Well, I am also a knight, and we have our own code. We are sworn to rid the world of aberrations like you.”
He said nothing for a moment, and there was only the sound of their breaths.
“I kill mages like you. That is what the bow is for.”
“You’re a Knight of the Devoted,” said Fayton. “Is that what you are?”
She scowled at him. “Did a noble ask you to speak?”
“Answer him,” Aven demanded grimly.
“Yes, I am a Devoted Knight, and my code requires me to report back to my order. I must leave at once.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said gently, his last attempt at wooing her, if only to delay her actions. “We hardly got to know each other.”
“I know all I need to,” she replied. “Be glad your nobility protects you. For now. Or you’d already be dead.”
She turned and strode past him toward the door, cutting a regal profile as always.
“Why kill mages? Why any of this? You don’t have to—”
She stopped. “Yes, I do,” she whispered. “It is my life’s purpose to purge the world of deviants like you. You’re unnatural. An insult to the gods—one that I shall remedy. We will meet again.” And then, without looking back, she was gone, her black gown swinging broadly as she turned into the hallway.
“What do you need me to do, sir?” He spun to Fayton. His head steward regarded him calmly, no differently than he ever had. The man could have been asking his preference for coffee or brandy.
“You already knew,” Aven realized aloud.
Fayton nodded. “It is my job as your steward to know this household, my lord. All of its workings, politics, risks, and intricacies, as well as its mechanical workings.”
“Who else?”
“It would be indiscreet to speak of such things, sir. I have, of course, never spoken of it to anyone.” But from his tone, the man knew more than he was saying.
“Tell me.”
“I believe the kitchen steward knows as well. Lord Dyon suspects but is always searching for more confirmation. The laundress Mada is very perceptive, and Master of Arms Devol has had plenty of opportunity. If he knows, he hides it well, but I can’t imagine him missing some of the things I’ve seen you do in his presence. There are likely others. As I said, I wouldn�
��t speak of it if at all possible.”
Of course. Of course some of them knew. And yet they acted as though they didn’t. Out of loyalty? Waiting for some moment to take advantage? Perhaps a little of both. Aven paused for a moment, thinking.
“Go to my mother. Come up with an excuse that she is needed privately, and tell her what’s been said and that Evana is leaving. We need to figure out what the princess has told to whom. Do the Takarans know as well? Can we trust our spies to find out? Also, we must decide if we wish to… prevent the princess from leaving. I can’t imagine we would, but it is a choice we must consider. Go, and make haste.”
Fayton nodded and strode to the door.
“Oh, and Steward?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Thank you.”
He frowned. “For what, sir?”
“You knew all these years. And never said a thing.”
“What is there to say? She is a zealot, and a fool at that. I know you will make a good king. Which will make for a good kingdom and a good place for my daughter to find her own family. I don’t see what magic has to do with it any more than the color of your eyes.”
“Still. Thank you.”
Fayton gave a quick bow in reply and hurried out.
Aven shared the news of Evana’s discovery with his mother and father in the king’s private chambers. The dinner chimes would ring soon, and they needed to know.
“Well, that didn’t take very long,” his father laughed.
“She has not taken to her carriage yet, but her things have been packed,” his mother reported. “From what we’ve been able to surmise in the brief time that’s passed, she does not seem to have told the Takarans, although it’s impossible to be certain. They, for their part, are not acting any differently and continue to show no signs of leaving.”
“Has she spoken to them or given any reason for leaving?” his father asked.
“An urgent duty has called her home.”
His father snorted. “To think she was one of the Devoted all along. How could we have suspected?”
“We should ban them from Akaria,” she said.
“That just calls attention to the matter. They are not common, nor are mages practicing openly enough to be found easily. Akaria is not a good hunting ground, so to speak. If we ban the Devoted, they will wonder why. It may even increase their numbers.”
“Will they act, do you think?” Aven asked.
His father shrugged and then rubbed his short beard. “I don’t know every detail of their code, especially what they advise when a mage is not a defenseless peasant. They may seek to turn diplomacy against us, or assassination. Or they may do nothing. We will have to trust our field men to go and find more about them. We just don’t know.”
“If we had an air mage—if we knew where they were headquartered—” his mother started.
“Now, now, Elise. The danger of the world knowing of Aven’s magic is not so certain yet as to begin hiring mages into our employ. Do you know the protests I’d receive? Lord Alikar is a priest of Nefrana of his own account, and Lord Sven is born of Isolte, married into his lands here. And that’s just what I know right now; the subject of magic rarely comes up for me to truly understand the politics of the matter.”
“I’m sure Lord Dyon would have some protest to be made,” Aven added in spite of Fayton’s earlier words. Could Dyon really suspect? If so, was that the cause of his animosity?
“No, no. You know he’s a reasonable man, Aven. If a mage would be the best tool, he’d be all for it.”
“How can you be so sure? Will he be reasonable if he knows of my magic?”
His father smiled at him. “Lord Dyon loves you, my boy.”
“He has an odd way of showing it,” Aven grumbled.
“His wife feels the same way. At any rate. We can figure out how to gather more knowledge of the Devoted and their knights later, but we must act now.”
They all knew what they needed to decide, but none of them wanted to say it. They could detain the princess and stop this matter before it started. It was possible word would still reach her order, but they would still have more information and leverage if she were in their possession. On the other hand, she had done nothing wrong. They all hesitated. The silence stretched on.
“There are no laws against knowing the truth,” Aven said finally.
“Just as there are no laws against being a mage,” his mother added.
“We must let her go.” Aven crossed his arms across his chest. He didn’t like it, but it was the right thing to do.
His father picked up his pipe and chewed on it for a moment, a nervous habit. “Indeed. Let the rule of law be upheld. We will not imprison her for our personal gain.”
They all nodded.
“We will need to figure out how to deal with the effects of this incident. Even if she tells no one, we should have already realized that this could happen and had a plan in place.”
“The days slip by so quickly,” his mother muttered, “and suddenly your little boy is a man.”
His father nodded, looking down at his desk. “A man who will be king! And possibly a mage besides.”
“She may not tell anyone,” Aven said. “It’s possible she intends only to tell her order.”
“Yes, but if she could discover this, so could someone else. Your magic isn’t going away, much as we’d like it to,” his mother said.
His father put down the pipe and clapped him on the shoulder. “I might have wished for an easier road for you, my son, but as you said… it is the truth. Perhaps it is time people knew it.”
“And accepted it,” his mother added.
“We shall all see about that, won’t we?” said the king. “Dearest, why don’t you send our departing princess a basket to take on her way?” She stared at him, incredulous, as his smile slowly spread to a grin. “What? Surely, she’s expecting us to try and stop her. Let’s send her on her way with a dollop of guilt, shall we?”
Aven couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter, and even his mother grinned. “She probably won’t eat it, you know. What if we’ve poisoned it?”
“Now there’s an idea!” his father laughed.
“No, no, you’re right. I will get the kitchen to put something together.”
“But more seriously. Put on your sweetest, kindest demeanor. I want to give her a few things to remember later when she plans the murder of our son.”
His mother shuddered.
“It’s all right,” Aven whispered, putting his arm around her and taking his father’s hand. “Estun is extremely safe. She can plan all she wants, but I’m not waiting helplessly.”
She smiled at him and nodded. “She’ll be off soon, I had better go. You two continue your planning.” Before her words were complete, the bell rang for the dinner banquet. “Or… not.”
“And miss another dinner with Teron?” his father laughed. “Have you gone mad?”
“Well, it will be an excellent opportunity for you both to see if they treat Aven any differently. I’ll meet you there as soon as I am done sweet-talking our dearest enemy.”
“Enjoy yourself, darling!” his father joked and put his arm around Aven to head to dinner, pipe in hand.
Miara had spent most of the day checking over her maps with Sorin, and now as the sun set, she packed up her things to hopefully catch her father before he slept. She had some explaining to do.
“So they’re sending you to Akaria this time, eh? Excited?” Sorin asked. She shrugged. “Have you been to Akaria?”
“No.”
“You will like it, I assure you. If only because it’s not here, and if you’d been born there, you’d be free. An outcast, perhaps, but free.”
She shrugged again. “I haven’t thought much about it. It will be a challenge.”
“What do they want you to do?”
“Kidnap a prince.”
He stood up in surprise. “Kidnap a prince?”
“That’s how I reacted.”
“But why would they send you?”
She blinked. Of course, she felt the same way. But it was hardly polite. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she grumbled.
“Well. I didn’t mean—”
She rolled her eyes. He had no experience as a spy. The lanky blond mage had only been to Akaria to fetch the herbs he could find with his farsight.
“How do you plan to contain him?” he demanded, quickly changing the subject.
She hesitated. “Well… transformation won’t work. He’ll go mad. I have a spell, but I’ve had no way to practice it.”
“Sounds risky.”
“Can I try it out on you?”
“Certainly, love.” He sounded far from enthusiastic in spite of his words, but she could get her revenge for him doubting her. She closed her eyes. It was a difficult and draining spell, pushing the limits of what a creature mage could do. Creature mages worked with life energies, so creating entirely new things was limited to what she could bring forth from existing life forces. She could grow a plant to bind wrists, but that would be too obvious. She could grow a python if she wanted to use a massive amount of energy. But instead, she sought to make restraints from his own life energy.
“What the—”
He could feel it, though he wasn’t sure what she was doing. She plucked a tendril of his power here, a wisp of it there, and wove them together deftly, like braiding a plait around each wrist, and then—snap!
