by R. K. Thorne
He swallowed. A fair criticism. It had never felt like much of a choice, though. The day when he’d realized he had magic—and that that was a bad thing—had been so long ago that he could hardly remember it, let alone choosing to try to stifle it. And he’d never denied he had magic either. But he’d known and had certainly never divulged it, although he knew people would have wanted to know.
Well, he was divulging it now.
He looked down for a moment, then back at Toyl’s dark gaze. What would she think if she knew about the other secret that he hadn’t quite shared yet? Would it confirm her concerns about him? “I value honesty myself. I never set out to deceive anyone. I didn’t want magic or seek to practice it; magic hoisted itself on me. I only sought to make it go away.”
She took a deep breath. “It does help to hear you say that. But of course, anyone can say such things. I need to know, my lord, if I’m going to support you. Are there other secrets you’re hiding from us? Any other snakes under rocks that will come back to bite me if I throw my lot in with you?” She arched an eyebrow.
No snakes under rocks. But there was Miara. But he couldn’t just go against his father’s wishes—or commands, really—and simply tell her. Could he? Damn it, this was exactly why hiding their relationship was a bad idea. People’s trust had been broken, and he was not going to earn it back by failing to come completely clean.
“If? Is your support truly so tenuous?” Aven dodged her question with a smile, although his stomach knotted.
Lady Toyl smiled back, but mischief tinted the look as if to say, perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t. “I believe you are telling the truth about the nature of the Kavanarian threat. I believe you intended to tell us without any threat from Lord Alikar. I also believe that it’s possible to learn things about men that make you realize you didn’t know them after all.”
Aven crossed his arms across his chest. “Rulers will always have secrets, Toyl. You should know that as well as I do.” All governments held secrets, in different groups and from different parts, for better or for worse—but he hoped it was for the better. At the very minimum, to protect the realm, it did not make sense to tell anyone and everyone the location of every soldier, fortification, or armament. If the king’s secret escape routes from Estun weren’t secret, that could easily be used against him in an attack, like the one earlier that day. Keeping some secrets was simply required for being safe. More likely, it was not that Toyl did not want him to have secrets. She just wanted to be privy to more of them, as she was part of the government, after all.
Even if it didn’t make sense for governments to control the flow of information, he would still never explain to Toyl that he’d found a map that would allow him—and only him right now—to enslave anyone and everyone in the land. Wasn’t that a cheery thought? How quick would she be to trust Aven then? To support him? And who might he mention such a power to who might seek to abuse it? Such a “truth” could only come across as a threat, and Aven strove to avoid such intimidation tactics.
He sensed Toyl was only growing more suspicious in the growing silence. Aven needed some way to offer a token of trust, a symbol of his goodwill. “Listen. I understand your concerns, and I appreciate your honesty. But some amount of secrecy is part of keeping our kingdom safe. As a token of my trust, though, I can tell you something more, but only if you can keep it in confidence.”
His father was going to kill him.
Lady Toyl narrowed her eyes at him. “I ask you not to keep secrets and tell lies, and in response, you ask me to do the very same thing?”
Aven glared right back. “If you think any kingdom operates without some secrets, you are a fool. Or, more likely, trying to manipulate me.”
Toyl scowled, but muttered, “Fine. Your words will not leave this room, at least until you share them yourself.” Well, perhaps his father wouldn’t kill him if she kept her promise. But he knew he couldn’t completely trust that. No matter, he would rather her know the truth anyway, and this was the only information he had to try to earn her trust.
“Good. I will take you at your word. Do you recall the mage I brought back with me?”
“The intense one who stabbed herself and nearly bled all over us this morning?”
Inwardly, he winced. Was that a good or a bad way for Toyl to remember Miara? “Yes, that one.”
“What about her? That demonstration was informative, as promised. I am concerned the resulting cave-in was related, though.”
“It was not. We don’t even have any trained earth mages. She and the others you saw simply can’t do that with their magic.”
“Why do you mention her?”
Well after those comments, he no longer felt good about telling her this. But he was already too far down this path. “I intend to marry her,” he said with as much blunt confidence as he could muster. As Toyl fit the pieces together, understanding spread across her face.
“I should have known, the way you two were clutching each other back there. I saw you watching her at the banquet, but I thought you were simply curious about the new mages. But why the secret? Why the lies?”
“I have never lied to you, Toyl.”
Toyl pursed her lips, unconvinced. “You didn’t send that lovely dvora away either.”
“It’s a secret, not a lie. I haven’t promised to marry the dvora, that would be a lie,” he said.
“A secret is a lie you haven’t told yet, a lie by implication if you let it stand.”
“Not true, at least not always. The king suggested that sharing the news at the same time as news of my magic might be a bit much for people to accept. Especially as she’s a foreigner and a commoner.”
“And a spy, don’t forget,” she said.
“Past experience that I believe is an excellent virtue in a future ruler. She’s stealthy, can defend herself. Not exactly a warrior, but no stranger to fighting either.”
“No stranger to fighting? She damn near disemboweled herself without even wincing.” Toyl’s eyes were wide.
He stifled a smile. What was that, pride? “A true warrior then. Just the sort who would do well at all levels of Akarian society.”
“Maybe so. But I’ve heard rumors. Rumors that she didn’t rescue you, but kidnapped you,” she said.
“Both true, technically,” he replied.
“How—”
“She was a slave. Kavanarians commanded her to kidnap me. She did—quite a feat, if you hadn’t noticed. I freed her, and she freed me the very moment she was able to. The king has pardoned her from any wrongdoing for saving my life.”
“How do you know this isn’t some sort of enchantment?” Toyl said.
Because magic doesn’t work like that, he wanted to say. But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? There was dark magic that could enslave and enchant, but right now, only he knew it. If anyone were enchanting anybody, it would be him, not her. But he really didn’t want to explain that to Lady Toyl just now. “She doesn’t have the power to do that. And this kind of concern is exactly why the king and queen advised we wait to tell anyone, and I’ve gone along with it so far,” he replied, running a hand over his face in frustration.
“So far?”
“Well, I just told you. Let’s just say, your frustration with not knowing what’s going on is not falling on deaf ears.”
“Truly, though, my lord—can you be sure it’s not a spell of some kind that binds you to her?” She sounded sincerely concerned.
“Yes, yes. I can be sure. As a creature mage, she cannot do it. But obviously I can’t convince you of any such thing, because I suppose you can always wonder if I might have been enchanted to say so. Let me ask you this: am I acting any differently than I ever did in the past?”
Toyl frowned and straightened a little. “Well—yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“In many ways, no. You are much the same as I remember you, not that we know each other well,” she said.
Aven heaved a sigh
of relief at that.
“But I can see you’ve grown,” she continued. “I see darkness in your eyes, like those who have seen and felt real pain, deep suffering. Those who have begun to understand that things do not necessarily always turn out well. You seem different now. Older.”
Aven straightened. Was that a compliment? He liked the words, in spite of himself.
“You have a mission now.”
He nodded. “I do. A noble one, I’d like to think.”
“Protecting and serving your land could be construed as simply self-preservation.”
Aven smiled wryly. “Are you always so contrary?”
She relented with a small smile. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I didn’t get where I am by being too agreeable.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “Freeing slaves, though, I suppose could be considered universally noble.”
“So, do I have your support?”
“We’ll see.”
“We’ll see?”
“If I vote for you—”
“If? I’ve earned none of your support in the course of this conversation?”
“—I expect you and your future queen to keep the secrets to a minimum. At least from the Assembly. From me. Your Highness.”
You and your future queen. He liked the sound of that. As much as she withheld the promise of an allegiance, she hinted at it in those words. “We will do our best, I’m sure, out of our eternal gratitude. If we have your vote.”
Toyl’s smile revealed nothing. “See you in Panar, my lord. May you have a safe and easy journey. You’ll find out my stance when you get there.”
“You have a safe journey as well, my lady.” Whatever she meant by all that, Aven did not like the sound of it.
As Toyl left and Fayton with her, Aven sat down at the desk and surveyed the piles and piles of remaining work to be done. This morning had been one rush of fear after another, with close brushes with death sprinkled in for good measure. Not all had escaped either, he thought, wincing at the thought of the guards who might not have made it out. He shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted.
He should probably head back out and help orchestrate—whatever needed to be orchestrated to reopen the main gate to the outside world. His delayed work, piled up here, would probably have to wait another day or more yet again.
And yet. He had a moment or two to rest. No one was rushing in, demanding his support. Many others were quite capable of figuring out what the hell to do next. To figure out who had survived and who had fallen.
But he didn’t want to think of those losses now, that tragedy. He had to try to process what Toyl had said. Did he have Toyl’s support? Hard to say. He’d certainly felt optimistic at first, but then why hadn’t she just come out and given her opinion? If Aven did have Toyl’s support, why hadn’t she simply said so? If Toyl did not want to support him, what reason did she have to hide that? Why not tell him to his face? Did she fear Aven might try something while she was still inside Estun? Perhaps. Was that why she was so eager to leave?
Certainly Toyl knew Aven and his father better than that. Didn’t she?
Some of those Assembly members tried to keep a semblance of neutrality, of separateness from the king and by extension Aven and his brothers. Especially those that were chosen through votes among the richest families, like Toyl. They seemed driven to demonstrate that they represented those who had put them in power.
The soft sound of a pebble tumbling off a ledge and hitting the stone floor to Aven’s right cut through his thoughts. Quiet enough that he almost missed it, but loud enough that he realized something horrible.
There was someone else in the room. Hiding in the shadows.
Slowly, pretending he hadn’t noticed but fearing he’d already betrayed himself with his tightened shoulders and tensed posture, Aven opened the drawer of the desk to his right on the pretense of putting a folded parchment inside.
The dagger that usually rested in that drawer was gone.
Who had been in here last? When he and Lord Dyon had been working, had the dagger been there? Was it long gone—or was its removal more recent?
He placed the folded sheet inside and slid it shut as casually as he could. Meanwhile, he tried to scan his peripheral vision, straining his ears for anything, any clue that would help him in whatever was about to happen.
The attack launched from behind with little warning. How had they gotten fully behind him? He’d only heard the final step as they jumped. He tilted his chair to one side and dove as the figure collided with the wood of the chair and the desk. He rolled and scrambled hastily to his feet, back to the wall, and saw—
“Miara?”
Crouched behind the desk, wielding a short sword and small hand ax, was a form whose face looked just like Miara’s. Except, it wasn’t. It held an expression altogether foreign to him—a curved snarl to her lips, a vicious anger in her eyes. She had all the expression of someone intent on his death.
Not Miara. It couldn’t be. Could it?
Aven glanced at the wall over his head, then to his left and right. Usually, some old weapons hung here between candelabras on this wall, although they were more for honoring some distant past battle than any practical use. But the weapons were gone—and the candelabras too. They would have made a decent weapon, now that he thought about it. No matter now. Someone had cleaned it all out.
He thought of the missing guards in front of the room. That hadn’t seemed so strange in light of the cave-in at the time. And it had been his plan to be in this room today with Lord Dyon, one of his most likely supporters.
Or was he? Could it have been Dyon who set this trap?
Miara—or whoever his attacker was—launched over the desk in three strides. The figure headed straight for him. He waited till the last second and spun out of the way and toward the hearth fire. He danced back a few steps, grabbing a fireplace poker mostly without removing his eyes from Not-Miara as she poised for another strike.
After his altercation with Daes, a fireplace poker was not a weapon he wanted to use against anyone, let alone her. He shivered at the thought.
No—bad idea. Don’t think about that shit now. Focus.
“Miara, what’s going on?” It couldn’t be her. Unless—had some kind of spell been cast on her? Could she have been re-enslaved somehow?
Like a prowling animal, she’d sunk into a bent crouch and was stalking to his right, toward the desk again, as if planning something. Her form moved differently, crouched differently. His attacker’s proportions did not quite match Miara’s, at times too slight, too gaunt, too gangly.
“Miara, you don’t have to do this. Is that even you?”
Suddenly, grumbling sounded from the other side of the door. Oh, gods, let that not be reinforcements for this assassin.
“Where the hell—should be three—”
The door opened, and Devol of all people puttered in. Oh, the gods were indeed on his side today.
“Devol—” Aven started, but before he could issue any warning, a dagger hit the doorframe post behind the master at arms, narrowly missing the side of his head.
Devol swore and ducked, diving toward the desk. Aven took a risk and snatched the dagger from the doorframe, accidentally knocking into the door and causing it to slam shut again. But he’d found what he needed to know. It was the dagger from the desk drawer. Which meant it was unlikely the attacker had more of them.
He backed into his corner and looked to Devol, who was crouched on the closer side of the desk and eyeing a far dark corner. What was the attacker behind the desk waiting for? And what was Dev looking at? Dev glanced at him and then jutted his bearded chin at the darkened corner. He held up two fingers.
Two of them. Aven barely had time to catch sight of another impossibly familiar face before the first attacker launched herself again over the desk and at Aven.
Poker as sword in one hand, dagger in the other, he blocked her this time, parried, and engaged. Neither of
them could be Miara. They were impersonating her to hide their identities. And fairly cleverly too, he had to say.
“Dev, it’s creature magic,” he said between breaths, dodging another blow. “They can disguise themselves. Very well, apparently.”
Dev drew his long sword from his belt and charged at the one in the corner with a vicious shout. Damn, it had been ages since he’d seen Dev really fight. He hadn’t risen through the ranks for nothing.
Aven put up a fairly good fight, but the ax as a secondary weapon was a lot of trouble, and his weapons were not well suited to blocking anything, let alone axes, especially since fireplace pokers didn’t come with handguards. Or at least, this one didn’t.
I should really get back into the habit of actually wearing a weapon, he thought. He hadn’t done it in ages, since he’d begun officer school. But perhaps he had been ignoring some practical realities. Estun had always seemed so safe.
The other mage did not appear to be fighting Devol, or at least not with weapons. No clangs came from that corner, and although he feared the worst, he could not tear his eyes away.
Finally, finally, he gained one slight opening and jammed the dagger toward the attacker’s kidney.
It was stupid, but he flinched. He could not stand to see Miara’s face twisted in pain he had caused. He did not need the memory of injuring or killing her. Certainly he wasn’t killing this mage. If they were creature mages, they could heal themselves. But if they were creature mages, why wasn’t this one using any creature magic at all? Was the disguise that demanding?
Or perhaps one was the mage, the other an assassin?
Before he could unpack this further, his attacker spun off the blade and toward the door. Devol swore as Aven realized his partner, too, had made for the door, now with a hood drawn. The hooded one flew out into the hallway, the injured one after her, clutching her side.
He and Devol raced to the door and out after them. Just as Aven came round the corner, he heard the kathunk of a crossbow firing and veered erratically to one side.
