by R. K. Thorne
“There,” she said. “Did it work?”
He shook his head. “Nothing happened.”
“Swing your arms around. Do something.”
Doubtful, he threw his arms out, and after a few inches, his wrists hit the shackles and caught. He gazed down in horror.
“It did work!” she exclaimed.
He circled his arms around, looking for some way to free himself, but it was no use. “All right, that’s enough. Undo it.”
“I never said anything about knowing how—”
“Now,” he growled, stepping menacingly toward her.
“It’s done, it’s done.” She tried not to glare, but she could feel the iron tension in her shoulders. She had many times thought of Sorin as a friend, and he often flirted with her. Or at least, she thought he did. But there was another side to him.
“All right,” he grunted. “We’ve all had plenty of extra enslavement for one day, love. Don’t do that again.”
“You gave me your permission.”
“How is it you can do that, against the binding?” he demanded, unapologetic. “You did what the Masters do.”
“No. It’s a physical bond, not a mental one. And I can only do it on their behalf.” She paused, hating the thought. “Convenient for them, no?”
He nodded brusquely. “Well. Good luck on your mission, then,” and he was gone before she finished gathering her books.
She trotted home, heavy books and maps in tow in her bag. She was still shutting the door when she heard her father’s voice.
“So, are you going to tell me about your mission before you leave, meesha?”
She turned, grinning. Meesha was her father’s pet name for her, a holdover from when she was small. “My plan was to tell you now. How did you know?”
“You weren’t at the stables. You should be proud of Luha, though, she didn’t budge to tell me anything.” He winked at her. “Have you had anything to eat?”
His casual act was a façade. She knew how much he hated her missions, but he strove valiantly to pretend he didn’t. It did make it easier, so she did her best to play along. “Damn. No, I forgot to eat again. Have you?”
“Ah, the bond will do that to you. As will an intelligent mind hard at work. Do you want to tell me of your next trial as we get something to eat?”
She nodded. He donned his cloak, and she hadn’t yet removed hers. They headed out in the cold to the mess hall.
“You won’t like this one. I’ve clearly been doing too good of a job. I’ve drawn the notice of the Dark Master himself, it seems. They are stepping up the challenge.”
“Is this because of Dekana?” he asked.
“I don’t know. The Mistress wouldn’t say much, but I suspect her death had to do with something else. The Mistress insisted it was not related to my task, but, well, who knows how much we can trust that.” She would not mention it to him, but she knew the Mistress would shed no tears if she ended up as dead as Dekana. How could the Masters even hope for her to succeed on this mission? A chill ran through her as another idea occurred to her. Was it possible they had no need for her to succeed? Perhaps it was all just some kind of trap, a way to be rid of her. Simply a way to anger the Akarians. But why? She shoved those thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. She would succeed and return to her life. Their motives were irrelevant.
“And what is this new task of yours?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. “A kidnapping.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Well, then! You have been doing too good a job!”
“Not that I can choose to do anything else.”
“Indeed.”
“Steal too many trinkets, and they think you can steal a man.”
“Or they don’t think very well,” his father said, grinning through a slight twist of pain in his shoulder brand.
“Well, I won’t dispute that,” she said, feeling a burn in hers as well. Sometimes the pain felt nearly good when you were hurting alongside a comrade in rebellion. “To make matters worse, the man they want me to kidnap is a prince.”
“Of course! Why start small?”
She laughed. “I have a good plan, Father. I think I can do it, actually. I’m ready. I have everything packed to leave in the morning.”
“So soon?”
“Please. Promise me you won’t worry.”
“Ah, meesha, you know I would never lie to you, so I can’t promise that.”
“Well, then promise you will pray for me and try not to think too hard about it.”
“Aye, that I will. Now, let’s eat, and you can tell me the details of your devious plans, or I can tell you of the evil schemes the Fat Master has me executing in the bulb gardens for the spring.”
Chapter 3
The Balcony of the Sky Kings
The first day’s ride was more than she could have hoped for. Sorin had been right, although she hated to admit it. An entire day spent alone on the road was surprisingly uplifting, and the landscape was awe-inspiring, whether it was the rolling cornfields of Kavanar or the colorful autumn forests that awaited her in Akaria. The first night, she slept in a small, quiet inn just inside the Akarian border. She marked it on the map as a place to return to. It was the sort of town where people went about their own business and didn’t want to be bothered—perfect for her purposes.
The second night she spent in a larger town with cobblestoned streets and two-story shops and inns. In the market she checked the price of horses—nearly the same as in Kavanar, thank goodness.
She and Kres rode into the third day in a driving rain, and her cloak could not keep out the bone-shivering wind and spray. By dinnertime, she was soaked through and hadn’t looked at the maps the entire day. Though she risked missing something, it was so wet that she didn’t want to take them out and ruin them after the days and days it had taken her to study the originals and make careful copies for herself. Then, using Sorin’s farseeing, the two of them had followed the roads from the sky, checking the accuracy of the maps and updating them along the way. At this point, she knew them by heart anyway.
Where was an air mage when you needed one to quell this damn rain? Or even an inn? She hadn’t seen civilization in several hours.
Go ahead and find some dinner, she told Kres, and he ambled away to find something to munch. She set about making some sort of temporary shelter. She needed to rest, eat, and examine the maps to see if she’d taken a wrong turn, and tying her oiled tarp to a tree trunk and a nearby branch would have to do. She settled another thick burlap from her pack over a pile of damp, dead leaves. Under her makeshift refuge, at least there was a break from the pattering of the rain on her head. Hell, how could summer be over so quickly?
She swigged some water from her skin and wished again she had the fiery powers that Sorin had. He could remedy this situation so easily—spark them a fire, make them a blanket of thick air above, push the rain itself away if he wished. But what could she do as a creature mage? Sometimes she loved it the most, and other times, she cursed herself for her foolish, impractical magic. What could she do against the cold—grow fur, grow a tree for shelter? If an inn didn’t turn up, she might just have to try it. It was one thing to use magic to start a lovely fire, it was quite another to have to turn yourself into a bear. Actual shelter would be better.
She took some rations from her pack—soft bread and vegetables that wouldn’t last the whole journey, a little smoked meat. Tired, she let her head fall back against the tree and looked out at the mountains.
On this ride, admiring the mountains had been her favorite pastime so far. As she’d ridden north, they had grown grander and grander to her left. At Mage Hall, they weren’t very visible, just small peaks in the distance, but the road she followed veered closer and closer to the mountains. She couldn’t help but feel her heart leap a little at their majesty. The mountains were dressed in rich reds and fiery oranges at their base, leading up to towering pines, bare stone, and snow-capped peaks. To the north she could see
the mountains where Estun lay nestled—strong, snowy, and grand.
Sorin was right, it was a lovely land. Not boring and flat and a dull green-yellow, like Kavanar. Broad rivers ran with an elegant blue darkness, and the plants had a variety to them that made her feel excited and alive, with so many different and diverse energies swirling around her.
Enough resting. Her shoulder twitched at her—continue, continue, let’s move on… She unbuttoned and unfolded her pack, careful to not let any water inside, and took out her maps.
Kres munched on some grass nearby. Not all the birds had flown south yet, and some sang sweetly. The light wasn’t very good under the tarp, and it took some experimentation to actually see the map without endangering it.
Damn. She’d apparently made good time, and the town she’d planned to stay the night in looked like it might have been the one she had passed a few hours back. It was more run-down and poor than she’d expected, and there had been no marker with the town’s name. The next town was the village nearest Estun, but it was several more hours. She could ride into the darkness and arrive dubiously in the dead of night, or she could turn back. Or she could simply camp here.
They could sleep out in the open, but the rain made a fire difficult, as everything had been soaked through for hours. She had some tricks up her sleeve, but this journey could have many more days… She didn’t want to pull them out just yet.
She shook her head and folded the map back up in disgust. She didn’t want to go back to the sad little town, but it was better to be more rested. She would need every ounce of energy she could muster; an inn would let her keep more.
She closed the pack up tightly and folded the tarps. Time to head back.
Darkness had fallen as she neared the town, and she stopped on the road before it, considering. Should she transform to keep any unwelcome attentions away? She didn’t look rich, but she didn’t look poor, either, and while she had no delusions of beauty, she wasn’t repulsive. Maybe she should be.
Quieting her thoughts, she calmed herself, centering, concentrating. She reached out through every little hair and fingernail and inch of her skin, feeling her body pulse with life, with blood coursing energy through her veins. She pictured a woman, older but not frail, with weathered skin, a gigantic misshapen nose that had been broken a few times, heavy eyebrows, thin, judgmental lips…
She could see the change first, then feel it swell within her. Useful as air mages were, let’s see them do this. When she opened her eyes again, unfamiliar eyebrows weighed her expression down. Her hands were appropriately wrinkly and callused. She couldn’t see her face, but she ran a hand over her it to check her work. Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth—nothing missing. Unfamiliar. Close enough for her.
She rode into town and found the inn, the only building with a light still burning. She tied up Kres outside—not because he needed it but because people would expect it—and she strode inside.
As the door shut behind her, all eyes in the inn’s main room turned toward her. Not exactly the mind-your-own-business type of place? Great.
She turned her fresh, ugly face toward the innkeeper near the door and scowled at him. “A room,” she demanded. “How much?” She had a lovely, gravelly voice to match, too, she discovered.
“Thirty silver,” he said, eyeing her suspiciously. The room was awkwardly quiet, as if half the drunken townsfolk were listening, and only a few were actually having conversations of their own.
“Twenty,” she shot back, cold as ice. “You’d rather your rooms stay empty?”
“Twenty-seven. You’d rather sleep in the rain?”
She turned on a heel and headed for the door, bluffing.
“Fine, fine, twenty-six silver!”
She stopped as if considering.
“Twenty-four,” she replied. He glared at her, but gave a sharp nod. She produced the necessary coin, a fair price. She only haggled because she knew he’d have believed her a fool if she hadn’t. He took the coin, led her to her room, lit a candle with his own, and handed her the key.
“The girl will be up to light the fire shortly, so leave the door open till then.”
“Do you have a stable for my horse?” she asked.
“If you stable it yourself.” She nodded. “Around the back.” And he was gone. She headed back down the stairs to find Kres and get him a warm, dry place of his own to sleep.
She led him around the back of the inn, softening the sound of their steps to near silence, and listened hard for any kind of foul play. She could feel no one in the vicinity, not even a stable boy. Must be a small town if they didn’t even guard their horses.
And for someone in need of a horse, this was an excellent opportunity.
She opened the broad door heading into the stable, and the smell of dirty horses and manure hit her like a punch in the mouth. She groaned. “This won’t be the most luxurious night, but it’s better than the rain,” she told him.
He huffed. We’ll see about that, he retorted. She laughed to herself. Hearing the thoughts of all creatures was one of the conveniences of her type of magic, although she tended to avoid it. She did not want to hear the thoughts of most people most of the time, and to dip in while a person was unaware tempted madness at the roiling layers of thought. But she was close with Kres. She knew when he might have something to say and when he wanted her to listen by the flick of his ears and the way he swung his head at her.
She led him inside to a stall on the far side of the stable. The smell was less strong here, and the stall was fresh and unused, so at least it was clean. She took some grain from her pack for him, found some stable brushes, and got to grooming.
Exhausted as she felt, soaked from the rain, she loved grooming him. She loved caring for horses, but she could always feel Kres’s satisfaction and pleasure more clearly. She took off his saddle; she would take that to the room to lock it up. She took off the saddle blankets, shook them out, and laid them over the stall wall to dry, at least a little. Then she cleaned each hoof and began her brushing. Kres’s ears twitched, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, enjoying her attention.
Eventually, she left him to eat his grains while she explored the stable. There were five horses, saddles next to three of them. The other two must be the innkeeper’s. She sent a tendril of her magic toward them, sensing their temperament and intelligence.
A gray one caught her eye. She was a wildish mare and lacking in grooming. Miara took the brushes and headed toward her.
The mare stomped and snorted in excitement, and Miara went to work on this new horse as well. The lovely mount desperately needed it, and as Miara worked, she listened to the horse as closely as she could. The girl was happy to have some attention, pleasant, willing.
What’s your name? she whispered to her.
Cora, the horse whispered back, timid.
Would you like to come with me, Cora? Would you like to go on an adventure?
The mare shifted back and forth and stomped a foot, and Miara grinned.
After four days, Aven felt quite sure that if the Takarans knew anything about his magic, they were remarkably coordinated at hiding it. That, or they didn’t know.
Several Takarans, his mother, and both his brothers had taken to playing a game of cards in the parlor. His father had retired for the evening, and so Aven remained, attending to the conversation absently.
“No, Dom—you can’t play that now,” Jerrin was saying after a card went down. Aven’s youngest brother was still learning to play. Or so he claimed. Aven suspected Dom might just be toying with the head ambassador.
“This one? No? What about this one?”
“Dom!” Thel snapped, after his youngest brother had shown nearly all his remaining cards to the group.
“Sorry!” Dom laughed.
The game did not seem to be going terribly well.
“Prince Aven,” Teron said, “your mother mentioned you are quite a fan of the stars.” Teron was Jerrin’s second, one of t
he highest ranked in the group, below only Jerrin. What exactly any of them were in charge of, Aven could never seem to get them to say. His skin was darker than Jerrin’s, sporting the usual brown of Takar and then some, and he had a friendly smile.
“Well, yes. I’ve studied them very much. A hobby of mine,” Aven said, pleased to talk about something interesting.
“Shame you see them so rarely, then!”
“Truer words have not been said.” Aven chuckled.
“I have dabbled a bit as well; the sky in Takar is mostly the same as here. What are your favorite stars? Surely you have some.” As it came to Teron’s turn, he laid down a card, but his attention was focused on Aven.
“Well, in a sea of beauty there is a lot of competition, but I do have a few. It’s hard not to appreciate the glitter of Neka, so bright and low in the sky. The clusters of the Muses and Erepha have such lovely, strange shapes.”
“Arts and sciences—good stars to guide your life by. Indeed, it’s hard to find fault with any of them,” Teron said, grinning. “Anefin is a favorite of mine, the star of prosperity.”
“Ah, yes, the stories behind them all can make some better and some worse. The story of Anefin being coaxed into the sky is one of the best! But Casel, to the south—it has a certain strange twinkle that I quite like. That might be my favorite. Yes, I think so.”
“Casel! Excellent choice. Yes, I know the strange twinkle you mean, like it’s winking at you. The star of deliverance, of liberation. A mighty star.” Teron gave him a broad, genuine smile. “That one makes sense for you, my lord. Your guiding star, I’m sure of it.”
An odd comment indeed. “What makes you say that?”
“Ah, just a gut feeling, I suppose,” said Teron. Aven felt distinctly sure there was some subtext, some hidden message Teron was trying to communicate that Aven wasn’t catching.
Could they know? But what did stars have to do with any of it?
“And what is your guiding star, Teron?” Jerrin asked.
