The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

“On the ride, on the last night. After the fight with Sorin. He didn’t really knock me out.”

  “I should have known. Weak, foolish—”

  “I took it as an excuse so neither of you would notice if I lost so much energy and passed out, like we did with the boy. It was toward the middle of the night. The moon was up. The stars were right there to guide me.”

  She remembered suddenly the temperature fluctuations, how she’d felt so cold, then so warm, and the feeling in her wound that last night. “I think I remember. I brushed it off, but I did feel something. That’s amazing, Aven. But that means—” She stopped suddenly.

  “What? What is it?”

  “That means I was free when I gave you over to them.” Her face fell.

  “You didn’t know that. Even I didn’t know that. I thought I had failed.”

  “But I didn’t even try, I didn’t even attempt to resist. Maybe it all could have been avoided—”

  “Don’t think like that. You got me out of there in the end, so what does it matter?” She scowled, unconvinced. “Besides, if you hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t know that it’s possible to resist the branding. Now that we know, I can teach others.”

  She looked up at him quickly, eyes wide. “You’re serious.”

  “Well, yes. Why?”

  “But I thought… I thought you needed to hide your magic. To be king.”

  “There’s been a change of plans.”

  “Aven, it’s not worth giving up everything for—”

  “Isn’t it?” he said. She only stared into his eyes. “Besides, those bastards were not just keeping you around as pets. They’ve been building an army, a very powerful one, and they’re waiting for the right time. And I think they think this is it. You’re the scouting party. The rest will come. And how are we going to battle them? With swords and spears? With cannon fire?”

  She swallowed, probably even more aware than he was of the futility of such weapons against fifty mages, let alone five hundred or even more.

  “If Akaria is going to survive, we’re going to have to change. Learn new ways to fight. If the enemy changes, so must we. And that’s going to require magic. I’m going to make sure my father and his advisors see it.”

  She just listened to him for a moment in awe. She had often sensed the kingliness about him but had never really seen him in action. She could see the smallest glimpse of it now.

  “Well, you’re going to need my help,” she said, trying to shake off her awkward stare. “I’m going to need some sort of gainful occupation in Akaria. I know all their tricks and how Kavanar will approach combat. I know about fighting as a mage, what is taught, even who teaches it—”

  He laughed. “I would be honored to have you at my side. Indeed, I think I may need you to prove a point or two to convince skeptics that mages are a real threat. Perhaps more than a point or two. It was already my plan. I hadn’t even considered tackling this problem without you.”

  “I am beyond indebted to you for my freedom. It is something I will never be able to repay you for in all of my days. I will gladly serve you in any way I can.”

  “Is that so? Because I had a bit of a different role in mind for you than servant.”

  “What?” she asked. “Healer? I have the most experience at that, but—”

  “Not a healer,” he said, laughing.

  “An instructor for the mages? You will need a lot of them to make up for lost—”

  “Not that, either.”

  “Well, what then?”

  “Queen.”

  She gasped, involuntarily jumping back a bit. He didn’t let that stop him. He leaned forward, grabbed the back of her neck with one hand, and kissed her.

  For a moment again, she was stunned motionless. Fear stirred—did he really know what he was getting into? Would he tire of her or find her inconvenient later? Because she couldn’t really be a good match for someone like him.

  Could she?

  All the more reason she should kiss him while she could!

  And with that, she felt truly free. She reached for him as well, ran her fingers through his hair, down his back, suddenly starving. In the back of her mind, she heard a snippet of gypsy music on the wind and far-off laughter, as she leaned closer into his arms.

  It was a long while before their lips parted long enough to speak. Their arms still circled round each other, his hands gently caressing her back, but now she looked into his eyes, hiding a little less of herself as she did. How much truth could she bare before she died of fright?

  “I always loved you, you know. Not from first sight or anything, and I don’t know when it started. But once I knew you… And you made sure I knew you, because you just wouldn’t shut up, would you?”

  “Silence has never been my strong suit. But if that’s true, you are a very convincing actress. You sure had me fooled.”

  “Then why did you just kiss me?”

  “Well, why did you save me from certain death, putting your brand-new freedom in peril?”

  The words stuck in her throat. “I—it was—the right thing to do.”

  He smiled, looking dubious. “That was all?”

  “Oh, don’t make me confess what you already know.” She scowled and playfully punched his shoulder. “It killed me to say no to you. I acted like I didn’t want you, because I wanted you so much. You saw what it was like there, at least a taste of it. You felt the brand, the way it worms into you?”

  He nodded more solemnly now.

  “If you love someone, you’ve got to do everything in your power to keep them away from that. To be the vehicle of your enslavement—that stung worse than a thousand brands in my skin.”

  He ran his hand over her hair, looking deep into her eyes. “You were also the vehicle of my freedom.”

  “And you were, for me.”

  “Miara, if you had failed, I wouldn’t know how much danger Akaria is in. I wouldn’t be able to do anything, and a few months or years from now, we’d be fighting fire with cornstalks. And then all of Akaria would end up enslaved to the Masters, instead of just me.”

  She felt a stirring inside her, the feeling of pieces fitting together suddenly. If only her father were here. When would she ever see him again? But beneath that fresh new pain kindled a brand-new hope. Perhaps there was a Balance after all. That was the feeling that swelled now in her chest, and it was like no other feeling she had ever experienced. All of that pain—there was a chance it really had been in service of a greater good. There was a chance at justice. A chance was good enough for her.

  “Instead,” he whispered, “we know how they work. We know how to fight them. And we will. We’ll set things right and end their slavery of mages. The Balance is on our side. Are you with me?”

  In answer, she kissed him again.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my editor, Elizabeth Nover of Razor Sharp Editing, for helping me to see (and write) this book more clearly.

  Thanks to my beta readers, Vanessa Kristoff and Jeff Hoskinson, whose valuable feedback gave me courage while also making this book far better.

  And last but not least, thanks so much to my mom and dad for telling me I could do anything I put my mind to so many times. I listened. To all my family and friends, I appreciate your unwavering stability and support.

  About Mage Strike

  The fight for freedom begins.

  The hard part should have been over. Former slave Miara and Crown Prince Aven have escaped with their freedom and their lives. From kidnapper and captive, they’ve grown into a powerful partnership. And they’ve returned triumphant to the mountain fortress of Estun to warn his people of the rising menace just across their border.

  But escape was only the first step. War looms. Hundreds of mages still live in slavery. Neither the king nor the queen believes the people will support a foreign spy as crown princess, no matter how loyal Miara truly is. And enemy agents plot to keep Aven from the throne by any means necessary, be
they mundane—or murderous.

  On top of it all, the Dark Master has plans of his own: to enslave a vast mage army bound to his will alone. To obliterate all knowledge of the forbidden star magic, no matter the cost. And to get a little revenge too, while he’s at it.

  Powerful new enemies, tenacious new allies, and earth-shaking magic join Aven and Miara in this second volume of the Enslaved Chronicles.

  For DG, another lost too soon. Thank you for all those memories of playing mage as children. And thanks for reminding me of the limits of time and the transcendence of love. You are missed.

  Chapter 1

  Assembly

  “It’s going to be fine. I’m sure everyone will listen to reason,” Aven said. He and Miara had crested the ridge, and the long, narrow bridge to Estun stretched out before them. That expanse of stone was all that stood between them and his home.

  If only he could be sure it would be a cheerful homecoming. He’d practiced confessing he was a mage and tried to figure the chances of being exiled on the spot but had given up without drawing any conclusions. The only thing he knew for sure was that no one would want to hear his news.

  “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” She gave him a crooked smile.

  “You know me too well.”

  “You know people rarely listen to reason.”

  Aven hung his head as they rode forward, knowing it was true. He owed his people the details of their journey and all that had transpired. Everything they thought about mages needed to change, lest they face war woefully underprepared. Knowing he needed to tell them this didn’t stop him from dreading it, however.

  “If reason doesn’t work, there’s always appealing to their hearts. Or bribery. Or threats,” she said.

  He snorted.

  “That seems to work well for King Demikin.”

  Aven shook his head at the Kavanarian king. Of course, neither of them wanted to mimic that fool’s methods.

  “You also have a veteran kidnapper on your side now,” she continued. “That has to count for something.”

  “You’re joking, right? To help me relax?” They’d taken an extra day as he’d tried to gather his thoughts. They could have flown back, had it been urgent. Instead, they’d lingered as long as he’d dared.

  She smiled mischievously, eyes intent on the bridge before them.

  “Right?”

  “Don’t forget your ability to set them on fire or strike them with lightning. If they won’t listen to anything else, maybe that will get through to them.”

  “I can’t even do that yet.” He laughed.

  “They don’t know that.” She flashed a broader grin and then returned her eyes to the approaching fortress. The pale stone bridge crossed a deep valley and offered a promenade wide enough for two wagons to pass side by side, a marvel of construction. Estun itself sat pewter gray and regal on the side of the mountain. Towers flew the same midnight and steel flags as the watchtowers they’d passed, the symbol of sword and shield adorning each. Eyes from those heights tracked their approach. He hoped he was recognizable enough to avoid any arrows nocked in his direction. Miara had sent word ahead via a bird and a scroll that Aven had penned, sharing the news that they’d escaped and were returning. These tower guards should be expecting them.

  The great oak doors stood open, splitting the wooden inlay of a roaring bear, another of Akaria’s royal symbols. Through the gatehouse and its three portcullises, the courtyard and stables lay beyond, its cobblestones as welcoming as flat, gray stones could be.

  His mother swept into the courtyard and spotted them. She waved, the wind snapping the sapphire-blue fabric of her gown.

  The weak winter sun sank toward the tops of the peaks. Midday had passed, but dinner was not yet near. Aven and Miara dismounted and handed off their horses to a stable girl. His mother attacked him with a fierce hug before he could even take a step into Estun.

  “It’s good to see you again too,” he murmured in her ear. “Think everyone will be happy to see me?”

  She pulled away, pressing her lips together in annoyance. “Your father asked the Assembly members to meet here when we received your missive. Lord Alikar has just arrived—even though he came the shortest distance, mind you. He’s causing trouble already.”

  “No rest for the weary, eh?”

  “Apparently. But no matter.” His mother turned toward Miara now. “I believe we haven’t yet been formally introduced.”

  Miara had been hovering behind his shoulder, and now she blushed. Huh, that wasn’t an expression he’d seen before. He stepped aside so the two could face each other.

  “Mother, Miara Floren. Miara, Elise Lanuken, queen of Akaria.”

  The two exchanged slight bows, Miara’s appropriately deeper than his mother’s.

  “It is… good to actually meet you,” his mother said. The awkwardness in the air around them was far greater than Aven had expected. Perhaps it was odd to have only met someone via magic before. Especially when, at the time, they happened to be kidnapping your son.

  “Let’s head in,” Aven said to break the tension. “Might as well get this over with.” The women nodded, and they headed inside.

  The sounds of shouts and tense voices rose, followed by the angered murmurs of a large group. A quarrel was apparently already well underway. Aven and Miara hurried after his mother down the beautifully arched corridor that led to his father’s meeting chamber. Ah, familiar sights. It was good to be home. Mostly.

  “Even the thought of a mage as king is an outrage—”

  Well, that boded well.

  “Last I heard, we don’t make a habit of upending the realm over a rumor or two.” Lord Dyon’s voice, ever the skeptic.

  “I have it on very good authority. Word arrived earlier today by bird from Kavanar—”

  “Very good authority? Our direst enemies, those who have constantly battled your people for generations, and you—”

  “Piety does not know national borders.”

  “Well, I promise you those Kavanarian bastards do, and they want your land.”

  Aven cleared his throat from the stone archway that led into the chambers. The room fell silent. His mother stood at his side, looking regal and irritated, and Miara on the other, still in her old riding leathers and newly acquired daggers, which were strapped to her thighs. The two of them together cut a formidable image; he was lucky to have them at his side. He wore peasant clothes—brown leather pants and a plain, dirt-colored linen tunic that had lost its sleeves. A freezing and impractical piece of clothing without his cloak, and perhaps even with it, but he rather liked it. He’d wanted to lose any clothing from Mage Hall. And the lack of sleeves showed off his battle scars—the wounds on each shoulder from when the Masters had tried to enslave him.

  Tried, he reminded himself. Tried and failed. If I can get out of that mess, I can figure this out too. Open rebellion was nothing on potential enslavement and murder, right? If he could escape that hellhole alive, avoiding civil war should be a stroll in the garden.

  “Glad to hear you missed me, my lords,” Aven said.

  The group parted as he approached and took his place standing at the table. He forced himself to relax and act comfortable in the tense silence. He tucked his thumbs in his belt and regarded the first voice with a sardonic smile. Lord Alikar. The young, black-haired lord met his easy smile with a glare over an ostentatious bristling of white fox fur around the shoulders of his brown cloak. Alikar was the most junior member of the Assembly, elected for the shortest term, only three years. Born the heir to a wealthy silver mine, Alikar currently presided over the western territory of Gilaren, which shared its border with Kavanar. That was much of the land that Miara and Aven had traveled through, and it occurred to him now that Alikar was also a novice priest of Nefrana, although he hadn’t finished his training and still spent most of his time ruling his territory. Aven hadn’t thought to connect Alikar’s supposed devotion with the number of Devoted squads and bigots
they’d encountered. At least, not until now. But seeing Alikar’s glare, he couldn’t help but wonder. Could the bastard even be welcoming Devoted into his lands?

  “Your Highness,” Alikar started after a moment, “I’ve received some news which troubles me greatly. I’ve heard—”

  “It’s true.” Aven tried to keep his face straight as Alikar stiffened. It was all he could do to keep from grinning in defiance. “But I do believe I can serve our kingdom even more effectively as a result. We face an unprecedented threat.”

  “But my lord—”

  “What’s true?” Devol growled from the back. “I can never hear anything back here.” Devol was not an elected or born noble, but he was a hell of a soldier. Their master of arms always worried he was being left out of things, perhaps because he’d worked his way to a high position through heroism and skill in battle rather than birth. Or perhaps it was because he was simply nosy. And, Aven suspected, it didn’t help that he was shorter than nearly everyone in the room and still often ended up stuck in the back.

  “I’m a mage, Dev,” Aven called.

  Murmurs swept the room, but many strove to contain their reactions. Either they were all great diplomats, or they all already knew. Or perhaps both.

  Alikar looked to the king. “Nefrana condemns this. We will not abide by this. You must do something.”

  “Is that so? Aven is the same well-trained strategist and accomplished swordsman he was a fortnight ago. I don’t see how this changes anything.” Samul folded his arms across his chest.

  “This cannot stand. Thel must replace him. If you will not name a new heir, I will call a meeting of the Assembly. This must be stopped.”

  Samul scowled at him. Dev piped in from the back. “Looks like you’ve already got an Assembly here, don’t you?”

  “Lord Sven did not trouble himself to answer my summons,” Samul growled. “So, no. We cannot vote formally without him. But an Assembly is not necessary.”