by R. K. Thorne
Aven nodded and wanted to smile but couldn’t bring himself to. “Thank you. Come, Miara—let’s head back to Ranok.” He offered her his arm and was grateful when she took it. Her warmth was solid, rejuvenating by his side. He shook his head; he’d been through half as much as she had. Miara waved to her father, her sister, Ro, and Jaena, and they gathered just outside.
They hadn’t been out long before a bird’s loud screech split the air, and nearly everyone scattered back toward the wall, familiar with magic or no.
Everyone except Miara. And since Aven had been arm in arm with her, he’d stayed put too. He’d really had enough magical attacks for one day, but the king probably shouldn’t flinch away if his queen didn’t. His future queen, anyway.
He braced himself for incoming pain, reassuring himself that much could be healed, but then he noticed Miara was smiling.
A falcon fluttered a few feet forward, stopping at her feet and cocking its head. Feeling Aven’s eyes on her, she met his gaze.
“I owe someone a meal or two for their aid. Can he come along?”
“I thought fleeing for your life and protecting the king would have kept you from having time to find a pet.”
The bird leapt up toward Miara’s shoulder, and as it landed, she winced, its talons digging into her. The leather was some protection, but not enough for that.
“And another injury to heal,” she sighed. “I’m not so sure that I’ve taken him as a pet as much as he’s taken me.”
Shaking his head, he looked at the bird. “Come along, then. We’re already practically a parade. Why not some animals?”
Beneral fired off a string of orders for a guard to form up around them as escort, but Aven stopped them at fetching horses. It was only a few blocks. He’d rather them use the horses to find Thel. Truth be told, he’d rather use the men for that too, but kings did not go strolling around cities without an escort, if not a sprawling entourage.
Although… she could transform them and they could sneak out and explore the city alone. Like they had on their first ill-fated journey, but with less death at the end. He could see what Panar was really like.
Maybe tomorrow. Or when the war was over. Or at least after a rest and a hot meal. Perhaps he should wait until Thel and his father were both safe and sound and healthy before he went exploring the alleys of the White City.
If they were ever safe, sound, and healthy again. War was coming, after all, with winter on its heels. A long battle lay in store if peace were to reign once again.
Jaena started from sleep with a knock on the door. She glanced at the window. Night had nearly fallen. That made sense since she no longer felt dead on her feet. But she wasn’t quite ready to be disturbed yet by any visitor, well meaning or otherwise.
She peered down at Ro’s face, barely containing a grin. He was asleep on her shoulder—and drooling slightly. Her right arm was completely numb, but she could just barely feel his dark hair tangled in her fingers. She let out a deep, contented sigh.
The knock sounded again, and his eyebrows rose a little. She thought he might wake, but his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her harder against him. He nuzzled his face further into her neck, beard stubble scraping softly against her skin, and stilled again.
Numb arm or no, she wasn’t moving just yet.
The intrepid knocker tried once more, and then footsteps moved away down the hall. She supposed they were here at the king’s grace, and perhaps she should take the summons more seriously. But it had been a long night. A long week.
A long five years.
She wasn’t quite ready for this brief moment of respite to end.
Moving slowly and hoping not to wake him, she ran her left hand—the one that could still move—gently over his hair, down his braid, down his neck and broad shoulder and burly arm. To think someone who could inflict such violence on iron could also be so gentle. But that was who he was.
A fierce sense of possessiveness swelled in her, and she tightened her arms around him as best she could. This was all still a pleasant surprise, to know that someone like him wanted to be hers. At least for now.
How long would this last? Dare she hope anything beyond the present? Dare she hope—
No. It was best not to hope. Hope would only get her hurt. He had a smithy and his order. Obligations. Possessions. A life of his own that she was only a slight part of.
Perhaps when the brand was destroyed, or the winter over, or the Masters utterly defeated—if such a thing was possible—she could return to him there. But certainly he would be on his way tomorrow, if not the next day. There would be many more mages to free from Mage Hall who could use his help getting out of Kavanar. The placement of his smithy was a valuable asset. She shouldn’t try to keep him all to herself. It wasn’t right.
Although, as a mage, it wasn’t safe to return either. Especially if the Devoted knew how the order’s pendants worked, that there was a way to slip by their mage-detecting stones. But even so, his temple would have some other duty for him. Again she squeezed him against her, not wanting to think of losing him too but knowing it was coming nonetheless.
A while later, the footsteps returned, and after one more failed attempt at knocking, a note whispered under the door. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to forever wonder what the knocker had wanted.
Her stomach gurgled, as if conspiring to get her out of bed, and this time Ro stirred. His hand slid smoothly from her hip to her belly to feel her stomach gurgle again. He raised his head, blinking blearily and looking faintly amused. Blood rushed into her upper arm, sending pins and needles through her weak limb.
He glanced at the window, then back to her with half-lidded eyes. She thought he might say something, possibly about the fact that her stomach was making enough noise to wake a statue, but he never did. He pressed her into the bed with a feverish kiss instead.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she laughed as his mouth trailed down her jawline to her neck. “It’s night already. Who knows where and when they have food around here?”
“Only for you,” he murmured softly against her shoulder.
That stole away any thoughts of food for quite some time.
Eventually she rolled out of the bed, beyond famished, and picked up the note.
Mage Jaena Eliar,
The king requests the pleasure of your and Tharomar’s company in his suite at your leisure.
It was unsigned. Well, at least they weren’t late for anything. Ro swung around to sit beside her and gave her an inquisitive look. She handed him the note. The king must need something from them.
Ro looked up with a smile. “Well, now we know where to find food. Or ask for some. Shall we?”
She smiled back, nodding. “Let’s. But first I have to figure out where you threw my vest.”
“Ah, clothing. A tedious chore when you’re around.”
A silly grin slid over her face. “I don’t think King Aven would appreciate otherwise, though.”
“Oh, you never know. You’re very lovely.”
She swatted at him playfully. “You’re welcome to test that theory. I, however, will wear pants.”
“You’re right. Pants it is. I wouldn’t want to endanger our shelter for the night.”
“Good thinking. I look forward to returning to it.”
“I’ll save the pants experiments for tomorrow.”
Yet another bump on the road sent a fresh cascade of pain through Niat’s already sore frame. She’d lost so much weight in the past few months that bones protruded in all the wrong places. Every jarring thud was a painful reminder of the danger looming on the horizon. Thankfully, no fever had yet taken her during these last few hours, but she didn’t expect her luck to hold out forever.
The prison cell of the carriage carried her relentlessly forward. All day they’d traveled without stopping, straight toward her own personal hell. The transport even came complete with a cursed companion to escort her. Not that she had expected the ride to be
comfortable, but it had been hours. She was lucky to be maintaining bladder control at this point.
She glanced at the mage. The prince, whoever he was. It didn’t matter now. He wouldn’t be a prince much longer. Those her father colluded with weren’t far from their goals, she could tell. She had never succeeded in resisting Sven. Not for long anyway, aside from those few spare months of freedom in the temple. Oh, how high her hopes had been for life there. A life new, and bright, and free, with people who sought to serve the gods, not desecrate them.
How naïve she had been. How naïve she still was, that the hope still burned even though it’d been dashed. Even though it was doomed.
And now here she was trapped again.
Husband. That’s what that guard had said. Would it be Alikar or someone else he took her to? Unsurprising that her father had finally found someone with whom to strike a deal. He’d been trying even before Peluna had gotten her into the temple. She had hoped, perhaps, that men would lose interest when word about her visions began to spread, or the fact that she’d become a priestess at all. But it was no shock that they hadn’t. Her father had always negotiated well and was probably offering a very generous deal. For everyone but Niat, of course. She shuddered.
She eyed the mage again. Evil at every turn these days, it seemed. Although he hadn’t shown any particularly nasty tendencies. He’d mostly been polite. Helpful, even, damn him. Part of her was tempted to let her guard down, but no. Letting her guard down never worked. No point in needlessly opening herself up to anything, even the casual betrayal of a stranger. They were both doomed, and sooner or later, his own fate would be weighed against hers, and he’d make the selfish choice. They always did.
Although…
Her visions had been slow to emerge in the early days at the temple, and many still held a hazy quality, like in a dream where she could almost but never quite see a face. The books said it should fade with time. But a blond man did sometimes feature in the flashes accosting her of late, a man that made hope flicker in her chest at the sight of him. Although why, she still didn’t know. That man was tall and thin, like this mage. Could they be the same man?
She pressed her eyes shut. Dare she ask? Dare she actually call them upon her? If a fever took her here, what would the mage do? Would he help or thrust her to the other side of the carriage with his boot?
Weakening herself was a risk, but she also longed to know. For once, could her curse have some practical application that might actually help her?
Fine. She’d been sick and alone before. It often passed without terrible trauma. Most of the time. And she was likely headed for trauma anyway, in Alikar’s hands.
She would try. And deal with the consequences.
Centering herself, she fell still, breathed slowly, and, when her mind found a semblance of peace, reached out for that sweet, holy connection. Up into the sky, out across the plains, deep into the stillness. So good while it lasted, so awful the moment it was gone.
Tell me, ancestors, gods, whoever you are. The priestesses insisted visions came from Nefrana, and so Niat played along, but she was not convinced they came from anyone. Tell me. Is this man with me the one you’ve shown me?
A vision slammed into her mind with the force of a brick to the head, pain radiating from her temple.
A vision she’d seen before—the city aflame. Not a city she recognized, but likely where they were going. Smoke curled up in tall columns above the city. A sense of horror, or a mistake having occurred, always flooded her at the sight. Something had gone awfully wrong.
But now there was more than just the city. She could see more clearly around her now. She stood on a cliff, looking down over the chaos. Catapults and trebuchets thudded in the distance, some still firing on the city, some toppling suddenly out of nowhere and going over the edge.
A few feet in front of her on the cliff sat a man with straw-colored hair down to his chin. He faced the city, his back to her covered in a gray cloak. His hands were in the mud on either side of him, actually in the wet earth. Why?
She reached forward, maybe to tap him on the shoulder. Maybe she didn’t have a plan.
As if he sensed her, he turned and met her gaze, his expression grim but different than the one she was used to. It was the mage who rode in the carriage with her, the blue of his eyes clear as the open sky, bright like a shining topaz.
“Well, you can give up,” he said, “but I’ll be damned if I do. I’m an Akarian. We don’t give up. Go on, go down to them if you want. I’ll think you’re wrong, I’ll regret you went, but I won’t stop you.”
He turned away.
Regret. The vision seized on the word as if it held great meaning to her, his voice echoing in her mind, but the moment in time spun around her, out of control, dizzying. Here was where the sweetness ended. Here was when the nausea came.
Here was where she paid her price.
The holy connection severed in a snap, and disappointment washed over her, both that it had been so brief and also so vague. Well, whatever or whoever lay on the other side of that connection had answered her question—this mage was the blond-haired man—but they hadn’t given her much else.
Perhaps it was better this way. She’d often heard it was better not to know, that the visions would only drive her mad, that she would lose herself in space and time. Now that word of her visions had spread, it was amazing how many people went out of their way to assure her they did not envy her.
She groaned as her head spun, a wave of nausea rising. She dropped her head into her hands.
“It has been getting rougher,” he said softly.
Bah, as if he cared how she felt. She said nothing.
“Do you think they’ll stop soon?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m going to be sick.” Sweat was starting to prick her forehead. The fever rising.
“Well, that might get them to stop. Or not. They haven’t showed any signs of being hospitable captors so far. Where do you think they are taking us?”
She shook her head in her hands bleakly.
“Anonil, perhaps.” He had a nice voice, soft and sort of gentle, with an educated air to it, like all the syllables of all the words were worth saying and mattered to him.
But Anonil. “From what I’ve seen, I hope not,” she muttered. She suspected the city in the visions was Anonil because it was the largest Gilaren city and one she’d never seen.
“Why?”
She only groaned. “Leave me alone.”
“What have you seen?”
“If I vomit on you, will that get you to shut up?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “You know, this is hardly civil discourse. I don’t see how I’ve done anything to warrant your vociferous glares all day.”
“You’re a mage. That’s enough.” An annoyingly uppity and proper mage, too. And too thin and scrawny and crooked-nosed. And a witness to her terrible moment of weakness. Several moments now, actually. That, she held against him most of all.
“Hmph. I should have left you in that hole.”
“You couldn’t free yourself without freeing me.” Thankfully.
“A shame, really.” He tried to look off into the distance, as much as you could in a tiny, dark carriage lit only by the light of his magic in the Devoted stone.
Of course, just before the boulder hit and the tower exploded, she’d seen a terrifying flash that had told her to dive behind him. Otherwise, she would have ended up just another pool of blood. He had saved her life, albeit without exactly trying, and helped her get across that gaping hole in the stair too. She was being unfair, but she felt too nauseous to muster an apology.
“How do you even know if mages are evil?” he said, apparently not content with staring into space. “How can you be so sure? Have you ever even known any?”
Her father had owned a few mage slaves in her day, repulsive as that had been. But she’d known little about them, except for Detrax, who had guarded her for a time. She s
huddered. He was as evil as mages came. It had only taken a single glimpse of that evil before Peluna had gotten her father to send him away. Soon after, Peluna had given her the Devoted stone, a way to detect the danger of mages wherever they might spring up. “In the Dark Days—”
He waved her off. “Answer the question.”
She glared, then, “No, I haven’t known any very well personally, but I don’t—”
“Then what proof do you have?”
“Proof?” She was thrown enough by his line of reasoning to risk raising her head to stare.
“Yes, proof. Actual facts you can verify with your own five senses. Your personal experience. You know, science. Observation.”
“The Dark Days are recorded in great detail.”
“That’s history, not science. And they’re recorded from only a handful of sources that could easily have been prejudiced by time. Or knives at their throats. Other sources from barely two years earlier talk of mage priests. Every source you have could be lies. What actual proof, from your own experiences, do you have that mages are evil?”
She frowned, thinking of Detrax’s sneer, then pushing the memory away. This mage’s face in the vision. Did that count? No, it told her nothing morally, positive or negative. Was the vision an image of the future? A message from the gods? A hallucination caused by some further betrayal of her father’s? What did ‘real’ even mean anymore?
Her senses were liars. She hung her head again. She was too unstuck in time and place to be considered entirely sane. “I’m not sure my five senses or my mind are any more trustworthy than those books.”
She could feel the weight of his perplexed stare. “Oh, that’s right, I see. You probably don’t need proof. You have faith, right? The goddess tells you what to believe.”
She just shook her head in her hands. If only. That would be so much easier.
“Or… do you have proof of that? What the goddess tells you?”
She met his eyes again, then gave up and dropped her gaze. She didn’t want to vomit while looking straight into his face. “There’s no point in arguing this.”
