The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to have something to think about. And it couldn’t be their current situation or where they were going. She needed to think about another place, another time.

  Cautiously, she reached toward his mind again. His thoughts were wild and unguarded, of course, which made it harder to communicate. His mind felt more like that of an animal than most mages she’d brushed thoughts with. Mages were trained to keep things orderly and efficient when speaking with other mages. It was better for everyone’s sanity that way, as one never knew who was stark-raving mad under that shell.

  He might have been asleep. Images were whirling through his mind in odd, fractured sequences. The snow on the ground, Emie sitting by the fire, laughing. A clash of swords, a shield in his face, and the lick of flames at his back. A dark pool of water in the moonlight, a woman wading out into the water, naked. Lips against the soft skin of a woman’s neck, red hair smooth against his fingers, brushed softly to one side…

  She felt her face flush with heat and reeled her mind away from him suddenly—what had that been! Had he been thinking about… her? Or had that been an errant daydream of her own? Were the close quarters twisting her mind to even deeper depths of foolishness? Of course, he did feel good against her, warm and strong and solid. But that didn’t mean— She hadn’t been thinking of—

  Or had she? It did sound like a terribly good idea.

  Now firmly back in her own mind, she remembered that moment in the inn, pulling aside the neck of her tunic to show him the scar. Could he possibly see her as attractive in spite of the horrifying parasite in her shoulder? Would any man run his lips across her shoulders like that, with that burned hole in her soul so close by? Could he really imagine himself kissing her neck, nipping at her earlobe?

  She blushed even harder at the thought. She hoped his eyes weren’t open.

  He was a prince. She was probably an idiot.

  Back in Mage Hall, she had never allowed herself to entertain such ideas. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Everything seemed so dark and low. She tried to find joy, but joy like that—love or affection—it was too much. It was too powerful. It was just one more thing the Masters would use as leverage. Just one more thing to twist an arm farther behind her back. And they would do it, too. Nothing was beneath them. But did that mean she should really deny herself such pleasures? The Masters had ruined enough things in the world for her, she shouldn’t give them control of anything she didn’t have to.

  She opened her eyes for a moment, breath quickening. Thankfully, his eyes remained closed. He did seem to be sleeping. She studied him carefully. Somewhere in the attack, the charms on their disguises had weakened, but not completely faded. His transformation had loosened but wasn’t gone. He looked like a very tired, very worn version of himself. His strong jaw had returned. She could still see that kingliness that she’d noticed the other day. He was terribly handsome even with her best attempts to make him not look quite so much that way.

  Could he really long to do what she’d caught in that glimpse of a thought? Had it been her daydream or his? Would a prince ever lower himself enough to brush his lips against the skin of a slave?

  For a moment her mind went on a wild flight of fancy. Perhaps they really only did mean to enslave him as a mage as well, to keep the world safe from all unchecked magical powers. With his lack of control, he could’ve gotten their attention that way. Even if it had been at the king’s bidding, perhaps really nothing would come of that—as did plenty of missions the king demanded she be sent on and then promptly forgot about. She’d even heard the Mistress rant at his fickleness. Perhaps Aven would end up just like her, another slave imprisoned within Mage Hall but, within its confines, free to do as he pleased. Perhaps she was not really taking him to his doom. Certainly, it was a lesser existence, but perhaps, if they could be together there, would it be a wholly undesirable one?

  If he really desired her, if it wasn’t all a figment of her imagination, if someone outside this wagon didn’t kill them first…

  But her optimism didn’t last long. Even if all that were true, the Akarians still knew a mage had captured him, and there was yet time for these new captors to figure that out.

  But to hell with reality. For a moment, she let herself fall into the last remnant of the thought, and she could almost feel warm hands on her back, soft breath against her neck, tender lips grazing her shoulders.

  She wasn’t blushing anymore.

  Aven felt Mara rouse him from a light doze with a question placed gently in his mind like a smooth pebble onto a satin pillow.

  What was Estun like?

  Groggy, it took him a moment to formulate an answer, and it wasn’t so much words as memories and images at first. He thought of the library at night, the huge fire raging in the massive hearth casting ominous shadows across the leather spines. He thought of his father presiding at the head of the banquet for the harvest feast last year—so strong and handsome and proud. The stone halls of Estun had been filled with laughter and the smell of beer and wine and roasts cooking. He thought of the darkness of his room, the darkness of the kitchens, the dark, heavy stone pressing in around him. He thought of the way his magic would whip little currents of air through the dank, black hallways, torture the blazes and the flames in the candle sticks, tease at women’s hair and men’s beards—searching, restless, looking for more. He thought of how small it all felt, and yet how vast and empty.

  He thought of the glorious sun of the balcony, the many days he’d spent reading there or helping to tend the plants when he was younger. He thought of picking cherries and eating them right off the tree in the summer with his mother. He thought of the first time he’d seen Mara there and the striking beauty of her face that day.

  He stopped abruptly, scared. How much had he revealed?

  His eyes snapped open, and hers did a second later.

  You think my face is beautiful?

  Her voice was not in its usual slow pace, with carefully timed words. It was just—plain, surprised. He swallowed hard, horrified at his own impoliteness and indiscretion. Well, certainly, you must know how beautiful you are, he tried to tell her. Why else do you disguise yourself? He closed his eyes, embarrassed, unable to stand simply staring any longer.

  Only so I am not recognized later. I… No, I have never… No one’s told me that before. Perhaps in Estun there are not many women to compare me to.

  Her voice had the same jingling, shaking laughter to it that told him she was teasing. But he couldn’t help but respond seriously. Well, I haven’t traveled the world like you, but I don’t think the number of faces I’ve seen has anything to do with judging a good one from the rest. I don’t need to have seen all the gems in the world to know the ones in my father’s staff sparkle with a certain zest. Just because no one’s told you that doesn’t make it untrue.

  She said nothing back to him for a long while. Then, eventually, she could only say, I haven’t traveled the world, either. The darkness was killing you, wasn’t it? I know you said as much, but I didn’t imagine it could feel like that.

  He might be a Lanuken, but he didn’t think he was much of a mountain king. He didn’t know how to respond.

  I’m sorry I keep disturbing you. It’s just that this rocking and waiting is maddening. I can’t sleep, and I don’t want to think about… what’s to come.

  He sensed her dread, deeper and more real now than before, even though he still didn’t understand it. It sent a chill down his spine. What are you afraid of?

  She either didn’t hear him or refused to answer. Let’s try to rest more. The sun seems to have passed overhead now and be lowering again. They have to stop eventually.

  He hoped so. His stomach gurgled angrily, and damn did he have to pee.

  By the time they finally stopped, the sun had begun to set. The inside of the wagon had grown dark, and only dim shafts of light drifted in from outside. When the damn thing finally rolled to a slow stop, Aven thought his
arm and leg might never wake up from the sleep they’d sunk into.

  He listened intently in the growing silence, hoping for a clue of some kind, but he heard nothing but the sounds of men making camp. They barely spoke. Someone was making a fire.

  Gods, do they plan to leave us in here all night? Bastards! Miara must be as uncomfortable as he was.

  How long do we wait before we do something? he tried to ask.

  She paused to consider. At least till the sun is fully set. If they’ve still left us lying here, we can try to make a break for it. Feel like mouse or rat tonight?

  Not again! He groaned inwardly. Well, as long as I’m not being dangled thousands of feet above a mountain, I guess either will do.

  No promises. We might get away faster as birds. Think you can fly? Or perhaps—

  But before he could exclaim how unlikely that was, a figure cast a shadow over them, blocking what little light fell into the wagon. It reached in for them, starting with Mara first and yanking her to her feet. He was surprised at the sudden surge of rage that shot through him at their hands on her.

  He was next. They dragged and bounced him harshly off the bottom ledge of the wagon as they hauled him unceremoniously out and gave him a push. His numb leg nearly gave out; Mara had fallen to her knees and was struggling to stand up. If he’d thought riding a horse all day made him tired and achy, it was nothing compared to this form of transportation.

  Someone behind him was roughly removing the gag while another untied his hands. He tried to swing his head around to see better but regretted the pain immediately. At least five dark hoods circled them. Large faceted stones hung on chains around their necks. His hands were retied in front of him. Then they grabbed him by one arm—the numb one, of course—and led him toward a tent.

  He couldn’t see Mara. He didn’t hear her following behind him.

  He turned to one side to try to see her, but they pushed him harder toward the fire. He jerked his whole body and twisted then instead, turning at least part way toward where she’d fallen. To his relief, she was on her feet and being led behind him.

  “Eh, she’s right behind you, mage—now quit your trouble and get on with it before I break your arm,” the one who’d lost control of him grunted.

  Devoted Knights, she whispered. They hunt mages.

  God, how many Devoted Knights were there in Akaria? Not this again.

  The stones around their necks resist magic. Spells will be much more costly in their presence, if not impossible. Wait—again?

  But before he could even try to figure out how to answer, they had arrived at the large tent. The door swung open, and they were pushed inside, the knights entering behind them.

  It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness and the few candles. He blinked. The tent was sparsely furnished with a cot to one side, several chests that acted as both tables and seats, a regal chair facing the entryway, and a brazier of warm coals in the center for heat.

  As his eyes adjusted, he gradually saw the figure in the chair more clearly. A woman, also in dark robes. No, a black dress. A bow crusted with jewels leaned against the chair’s back.

  Evana.

  “Well, well,” she said. “We meet again.”

  Miara tried to hide her gasp as she realized the woman in the tent knew Aven. It was not just her greeting but also his face. The look there was strange indeed.

  You know her? You know a Devoted Knight?

  It’s… complicated. That was the clearest response she could pull from the swirling vortex of his thoughts.

  “I trust my mother’s provisions helped on your unplanned journey, Princess,” he said in a voice smooth as silk. A prince’s voice—a king’s. Not the one he typically used with her. It gave her a strange thrill.

  “Yes, the horses dined well, thank you. I’m no fool.”

  “But the horses are still in good health, I’ll wager. So perhaps you are.” Again, Miara caught her breath. That was quick to insults.

  “And to think I didn’t kill you the moment I learned of your magic,” she said. “And disrespect is how you repay me?”

  “You would have done it, if not for your code. You said so yourself. Does it also permit deceit? I’d wager it does.”

  She glared at him.

  “What does your code say now? Your elders?”

  Her chin jutted out, indignant. “I travel to Kavanar on a different mission. But I eagerly await their reply.”

  He grinned, looking amused. What in the world was going on? “Is that so?”

  She glowered at him. “I may just have to make an exception this time. In your case, any repercussions may be worth it.” She turned now to Miara. “Now let’s see. What is this pretty thing traveling with you? Did your parents think it best you take a turn out of the public eye for a bit after all the turmoil? My only regret is that I didn’t stay long enough to see what the Takarans had to say to you after I told them.”

  “They didn’t say much, so it was good you didn’t put yourself out by waiting for it. And what are you doing in these parts? I thought you’d be headed to your order to write my death warrant yourself.”

  “I have other allies to the west I had hoped might assist me in your demise. But perhaps I may not need them now.”

  What had happened? The knight stood and strode to Miara, inspecting her. Then she turned to face Aven. He said nothing, his face sober now. Miara could see the knight’s hand moving slowly toward the belt of her dress—did Aven see it? Miara wasn’t likely to be able to dodge well at this range in the tiny tent, with half her body still tingling back to life and all of it aching. The resistance from the stones around their necks pressed at her from all sides. How much harder would it be to work magic in their presence? Was it even worth attempting?

  “I said who is she?” the knight said more insistently.

  “Just a friend I met on the road,” Aven replied. He was a bad liar. She regretted not giving him a story that would work in this situation. What could he say, even if he wanted to say the truth?

  “You may be a diplomat, but clearly deceit is not one of your fortes. You should really avoid it. Did you save all your skill for hiding your magic? Or perhaps if you were truly a talented liar, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. But no matter. Once my order sends me their decision, you won’t have much more time to lie to people anyway. Now. Back to the nature of your companion.”

  The nature of the situation hit Miara. The knight had discovered he was a mage but also knew he was a prince. Their code must make exceptions in that case, for royalty or important political figures, but it still put Aven in a very bad situation.

  “She’s a cousin,” he said, “that I decided to visit for a few days.”

  The woman let out a bark of laughter. “Which would conveniently protect her from me slicing her throat. Please. Try again, with the truth this time. I thought you promised to be nothing but frank with me.”

  “It is a promise I strive to keep to this day, Princess.”

  “Well, then? Quit stalling.”

  “She kidnapped me, and I don’t know where she’s taking me.”

  Now, the knight laughed outright, but the laughter faded to pure irritation. “A girl like this kidnapped a warrior like you? You’re just trying to make me angry now.”

  Aven hesitated. Miara struggled to hide the laughter in her eyes, and she thought she could see him doing it, too. What could he possibly tell this woman that would appease her when the truth was so outrageous? He paused for a long time. Was he thinking, or was it just for dramatic effect?

  “My mistress,” he said, voice so soft it was almost lost in the wind.

  Miara gasped involuntarily but didn’t regret it. It gave a ring of truth to his words.

  “Your mistress?” The anger in the knight’s words made Miara wonder if the choice had been a mistake. What right did she have to be angry? “You had a mistress—”

  Had they been involved? It seemed in line with Aven’s l
uck that he might have fallen for one such as this, but the knight’s anger only seemed to grow as he struggled to figure out what to say.

  “Perhaps you are better at deceit than I’m giving you credit for because it doesn’t seem there’s an area you haven’t lied about.” She turned to the Devoted who’d escorted them in. “Go. She’s a mage. That’s all we need. Concubines are not protected. Are you ready?”

  One of the dark hoods nodded.

  “Burn her.”

  “Evana—” Aven started.

  “My lady, there is no need, we can simply—” started the hooded knight.

  Evana turned and slapped Aven across the face. Then she turned to the man who had questioned her.

  “Do it, or I shall burn you with her.”

  And just like that, they were dragging her out of the tent and toward the fire.

  Aven struggled to get a count of them, desperate for some plan of action to leap into his mind. The black robes and hoods made them all blend together. There could have been twenty—or thirty, he wasn’t sure. Either way, it was too many. He scrambled for some kind of plan, anything. He drew a blank.

  “It needs to be built up more, milady. The fire is too small as of yet,” said the hooded knight who’d taken Mara by the arm. It was a large cooking fire, four or five feet across. Did they really know just how large a fire they needed to burn someone? Had they done this before? How many times? By the gods. He had to stop them, but how?

  Evana strode forward from the back of the group. Knights parted to make way for her. She wrenched Mara out of the lesser knight’s grip and, without even the slightest pause, shoved her into the fire.

  Aven’s heart leapt into his throat, and he lunged forward without thinking, breaking free of the knights that held him and landing on his hands and knees before the fire. Evana stopped him with a boot to the shoulder that sent him reeling to the side as he looked up at her in horror.