The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  Miara nodded. “What of the others?”

  “Alikar and Sven are sure to vote against me, both having religious objections in various ways. Beneral—well, he’s a mage. He may not be letting anyone know yet, but if he voted against me…”

  “He still could,” she reminded him.

  “Indeed. But we could out him as a mage and he could risk losing his seat, for either that or hypocrisy. But it seems unlike him anyway.”

  “Who does that leave?”

  “Lady Toyl. She’s a merchant like Beneral and primarily concerned with stability, I’d say. As many are.”

  “Hmm, but which way is more stable? Why not keep the heir you’ve always had, the one the king prefers?”

  “The heir who’s suddenly developed potentially evil magic powers and out of nowhere declares we’re in the middle of a war no one can see?”

  She snorted and put a hand on his knee casually. “And what’s the alternative—civil war?”

  “War if you do, war if you don’t, I guess.” Trying to act just as casually but feeling far from it, he slid his hand over hers, caressing the surprisingly soft skin, her knuckles, down the lines of her fingers. Gestures he hoped those bustling servants wouldn’t notice.

  Maybe. He didn’t care. They sat in silence for a while, her hand still on his knee as he gently stroked the back of her hand.

  She cleared her throat, as if her voice might be rough. “Perhaps if they think one of your brothers can take over, that seems a possible easy path to peace?”

  “There is no possible path with Kavanar knocking on the door.”

  “Yes, but how do we show them that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to wait till they knock loud enough for everyone to hear them.”

  “You’re trying to tell them. Most of them seemed to be listening.”

  “We have to show them what magic can do. As my father said, we need some kind of demonstration.”

  She nodded. “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I was going to ask you the same thing.” He smiled.

  “Me? Why me?” She pulled her hand away and placed it over her chest as if he were accusing her of something.

  He fought the urge to say whatever would get her to place her hand on his knee again. “You’re the best we have. I want you to do the demonstration.”

  “No. You’re the Akarian. They won’t trust me.”

  “They’ll trust what they see. And me being the Akarian is exactly the problem. I want them to see me for who I’ve always been, just a little improved. Standing up in front of them and shooting fire from my fingertips isn’t exactly going to help that image.”

  She snorted. “You can’t do that yet anyway.”

  “They don’t need to know that, as you so astutely pointed out. But that’s another part of the problem with me. I’m not very good.”

  “Good enough to break the spell to free me. No one in the world knows how to do that, other than you.”

  He waved it off. “That’s just being clever. You’re better. You’ll show them the real danger they face.”

  She ran a hand over her face. “I don’t want them to see me as a danger either.” She glanced at the door, likely thinking of his parents.

  “They already see you as a danger. Not sure we can change that. And magic is dangerous. That’s precisely the point.”

  “But is this how we win them over?” she said gently. “I don’t want to… keep this hidden forever.”

  His chest ached at the worry in her voice. “Well, you’re a danger, but on their side? Offering to help? A danger to Kavanar, not Akaria. Maybe we can find some way to emphasize that we’re all fighting the same enemy here. They respect strong and capable fighters, remember? Either way, I’m sure your natural charisma and beauty will easily win them over, even as you change them into rats.”

  She snorted. “One of them is already a rat, it seems.”

  “Who?”

  “Alikar, of course. Let me ask you this. How does that weasel stand to benefit by opposing you?” She frowned in thought, and he mirrored the expression. Good question, exactly the kind a queen should be asking. “He is clearly junior and less respected than the others. They seem unlikely to be cowed and simply accept direction from him, even if he is right, and he’s not. Is he so blindly devout?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Although he has some training as a priest, that always seemed like a ploy to me. Another play at power, another thing to hold over people’s heads.”

  “Could this Assembly meeting be a play for more power then as well? Or money?” she asked.

  He scratched his head. Could it? What power could he hope to gain? The Assembly had no power to choose an heir, and even if they did, they wouldn’t pick Alikar. Even if both of Aven’s brothers and the whole Lanuken family proved unacceptable, there were still dozens of possible candidates. He groaned at even the thought of such jockeying. It must be prevented. But all in all, even if Aven was out of the picture, only Samul could choose an heir. Unless…

  “Maybe he wants civil war. Maybe in the chaos he thinks he can grab more power, or… something. Seems delusional, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking such a thing.”

  “Indeed. Well then. Some of them care about trade, stability, maybe the status quo. And some care about power, and in particular—more for themselves.” She smiled. “Anything else?”

  “If I tell you, will you give me your hand back?”

  She let out a short laugh and returned her hand, palm up this time.

  He seized it. “They care about military might, of course.” He ran his fingers along the lines of her palm, soft as a feather.

  “Of course?” Was that a shiver that ran through her? He hoped it was.

  “Combined strength is what brought all the territories together. They all know that. It’s what has kept peace with Kavanar and Takar for so long. The question is to what degree they care about it. Shansaren Territory is heavily dominated by its military, and as such, strength is Warden Asten’s highest priority. Dyon too. The others… it’s hard to tell. From their perspective, our territory, Asten’s, and Dyon’s are all in the north. If we broke over that issue, it might be like splitting the country in two.”

  She sighed. “Nothing is ever easy, is it? You can’t just come back here and say, ho, I’m a mage, and expect them all to nod and carry on?”

  “Does it ease your thoughts that there’s technically nothing they can do about it?”

  “Aside from make your life miserable?”

  “Yes, aside from that.” He grinned. “And my father’s too, don’t forget.”

  She snorted. “Then, no. No, it doesn’t. I don’t know how we are going to sort out this mess.”

  “Well, you are quite formidable. I’m sure if you show them the tricks you showed me, they’ll bow down in fear.”

  “Like what, turning them into a mouse?”

  “Don’t forget their clothes this time, though.”

  She laughed. “I thought we wanted willing loyalty, not bitter fear?”

  “Oh, right. I keep forgetting. Perhaps you can charm them with rainbows and butterflies?”

  “I can do butterflies, but you’ll have to figure out the rainbows bit.”

  “Hmm. That may require some additional training from you.”

  She squeezed his hand at the thought. “I’d be happy to… train you any time, my lord.”

  He grinned at her, although he flinched inwardly at the title. “If we fail to impress the Assembly—which is quite likely, as not all seasoned soldiers and merchants are easily moved by rainbows—I do still have a few charming smiles up my sleeve.”

  She pressed her lips together, amused. “Aven, you don’t have any sleeves right now.”

  With that, he chuckled. “Perhaps no charming smiles then.”

  “I’d prefer you save your charming smiles entirely for me.” Was there a hint of jealousy to that tone? And… why did he like it? />
  “Duly noted, my lady. And another point you should not forget. While Alikar can make our lives miserable, we do have options to return the favor to him as well. Many Gilaren businesses owned by the wealthy who support him also depend on coal, ore, timber, and gems from these mountains.” He grinned. “Mountains we Lanukens control.”

  “Not out of charming smiles, clearly. You’re fully stocked, I think.”

  He squeezed her hand and glanced around. Camil was in sight, but off in the next room. Perhaps they had one moment. He leaned closer—

  A knock on the door sounded, followed rapidly by the clicking of the knob turning. They both straightened. He released her hand reluctantly. “My lady—water for your bath?” called a servant.

  She hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure of why the servants had opened the door and then not proceeded to come in.

  “They want your permission,” he whispered.

  “Ah, yes—bring it in, please. Thank you.” She shrugged helplessly at him as if to say, is this how you do these things? He waved off her concern. But then again, he was used to all this. He had no idea how much of a change this was for her.

  “Did you have baths in Mage Hall?” She pursed her lips, eyes laughing. Er, that wasn’t how he’d meant that to come out. “I mean, I know you cleaned yourselves somehow, I was just wondering—how.” Gods, that was no better.

  “Oh, really? Did I smell that poorly on the balcony that first day?”

  “I—uh—no. That came out wrong.”

  She waved it off. “We had communal baths and showers. One large one. A relaxing place—one of the few.”

  He’d been fighting off imagining her in the bath she would shortly take, but he lost the battle briefly at the mention of communal. “Communal, as in shared? Like between men and women?”

  She laughed at him. “Yes. Everyone wears towels outside of the changing areas.”

  He tried to shake off his silly line of questioning. But his brain—or perhaps some other body part—seemed intent on planning out strategies should the two of them ever happen on a communal bath that wasn’t in the worst damn place on the continent. “Well, uh, hopefully this will be a reward then. Or something.”

  “Trust me,” she said, leaning slightly into his shoulder. “Privacy is its own reward.” He leaned back against her, wishing for a whole lot more.

  Oh, yes, this should be easy. Just pretend you don’t feel anything. And don’t act on any of those feelings you do have. Sure. I can do that.

  Like hell he could. Damn Code. Damn his parents. Damn all of it.

  “I’ll let you get your bath,” he said quickly before he could do something stupid. “I should attend to one too. And a shave. Maybe some sleeves. Maybe not?”

  “Either look suits you.”

  “I’ll come back after that. We can go to the dinner reception together.“

  She nodded.

  He rose. It felt strange to just wander away with no kiss, no sign of affection whatsoever. Since the day he’d convinced her to admit she’d never really wanted to push him away, he’d felt the connection between them. Like an invisible rope connecting them, a “we” now existed where once there had been only two individuals. Something bigger than both of them. He glanced around again—one woman had headed into the bath area, while another man had just stepped out. Hoping his luck didn’t run out soon, he bent down quickly and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Her fingertips teased down the rough stubble on his jaw. Then he dashed away to the sound of her quiet laughter behind him. At least kissing wasn’t against the Code’s rules, as long as there were other people in the room.

  Thank the gods.

  Chapter 3

  Farsight

  The steward and the queen had produced a closet full of clothes by the time Miara had washed, and a young woman named Camil waited to assist her with them. Miara stared at the garments while Camil stared at her back.

  Never had she seen such an impractical, colorful collection of fabric in her life.

  “Can I help you, my lady?” Camil’s warm, quirky voice was naturally soothing, but Miara felt a bit too exposed by those savvy brown eyes set against olive skin. They saw too much.

  “I… I’m used to practical clothes, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I can help you with any of them you like, though. It’s all right.” Camil approached and peered over Miara’s arm as her hands clutched the doors of the armoire too tightly. Camil’s eager expression suggested she was more than a little excited to do so.

  “I’m… Hmm.” She picked up the hem of a gown of deep sapphire blue. The fabric was impossibly soft, flowing, with golden embroidery around the edges and an elegantly high waist. Fine as the queen herself might wear, and indeed, was that where this had come from?

  Fine as something the Mistress would wear as well, and just her preferred color. Miara shuddered.

  “Are you all right?” Camil placed her hand gently on Miara’s shoulder, of course intending to be comforting but finding just the spot of the brand. Although nearly healed, Miara still flinched away as though the touch hurt.

  “Bad memories, that’s all.” She didn’t meet Camil’s gaze.

  “Not that one then! What about this?” Camil frowned with concern but put on a chipper voice. Ducking into the wardrobe, she reached for the farthest edge of the closet and rummaged around, producing a mossy green tunic with a silvered black ribbon along the collar and trim. “Something practical, I’m sure there’s—let’s see—” Camil produced leather trousers the color of dark walnut wood, boots, and a black leather belt that was at least as wide as her head—nearly a corset in its own right.

  Miara heaved a sigh of relief. “Is this acceptable to wear to dinner?”

  Camil nodded vigorously. “Oh, of course. Lady Asten wore a similar green tunic last night after she arrived. Of course, she’s a warden.” She shrugged.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Wardens are our elite—”

  “Ah, no, I meant, does she dress differently from the other women then? Would the queen wear this?”

  Camil shook her head. “No, but Queen Elise hails from Dramsren, more of a hilly, trade-focused region. Beautiful wool and dyes come from there. I think that’s where she gets her love of gowns. But you are obviously more of a fighter. Come, this will be quite fetching.”

  Miara raised her eyebrows. Who did Camil think she would be “fetching” exactly? But… hopefully fetching was good.

  She consented to the tunic and trousers and tried to send Camil away repeatedly. What Miara had done to convince anyone that she deserved servants waiting on her, she had no idea. But Camil was as dogged and stubborn as Aven. Perhaps it was a national trait.

  Miara sat restlessly, still uneasy that Camil might not actually know if this attire was appropriate for whatever event lay in store. Was she painting herself as nothing like a queen? Would the king think her untrustworthy for dressing like a sword-wielding brigand? Gods, she didn’t want to worry about such things. How could she put any effort into considering extravagant silks and slippers and ribbons embroidered with gold when so many were still yoked under the Masters’ control? When she had no idea if her father or Luha were even safe?

  But she needed help to free them. Support. And these clothes were a tool in a way, just like her daggers. Mystifying and impractical as they might be, if she could understand them, they could also be used to help people in their own indirect way.

  Miara also resigned herself to letting Camil braid her hair—but simply, above the temple, to keep her hair out of her eyes. Her red hair fell in waves in every direction behind her, contrasting with the vibrant, grassy hue of the tunic. It was stunning and exquisitely soft. Maybe even fetching. The intricacy of the border must have been created by a master’s hand.

  Hmm, the dinner would go right through the nightly prayer, she realized. “Do you pray each night?” Miara asked as Camil was finishing the left side braid. Not that Miara was keen to partake, after
so many years.

  “Me? I say a few words to Anara before sleep. Why?”

  “In Kavanar, a bell would bid us all to pray each night.”

  “Really?” Camil seemed surprised as she surveyed her work. “Must be a Kavanarian custom. Did you enjoy it?”

  Miara almost laughed at the idea, but she thought of her father’s dedication to the practice. “Some of us did. Acting as one can be a moving experience. But I will not miss it.” She’d never thought she’d have the chance to choose to pray beside her father. Maybe someday.

  Although Aven had said he would join her, Elise arrived instead. “I’m afraid he’s been ambushed by well-wishers,” she told Miara. “But if you are ready, there’s someone who would like to meet you.”

  Miara’s stomach sank. What kind of well-wishers? Romantically inclined well-wishers of noble birth, perhaps?

  She cocked her head and followed Elise out, curious as to who would want to meet her when she knew no one. Well, there were all those in the king’s chambers during the meeting. Did she have her own ambush in store? Should she have insisted on waiting for Aven?

  Did she really know if she could trust the queen? Perhaps she was leading Miara over a cliff into the sea.

  Good thing she’d gone with the tunic. Even if a dark, watery death seemed unlikely, she was much better equipped to run.

  “Wunik, so glad to see you,” Aven’s mother said as they entered a grand hall. Miara felt the oppressive weight of the Great Stone before she saw it, heavy, like air too humid or thick to breathe easily. The glittering and majestic rock took her aback when it came into view. It filled an entire wall of the hall, just as she’d read about but more beautiful than she had imagined. It was as if the rock had been hewn in two, and jagged purple crystal jutted out of the mountain. What had happened to the other half? Miara almost missed Elise hugging the stooped old man in a bright azure-blue cloak. Where did they find the dyes? She’d known no one but the Masters with such a rich palette to choose from.