The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  “We went back to Estun—where the royal family had been living. Had to tell them all what had happened.”

  “And…?” Luha said, grinning.

  “And what?”

  Her father glanced at Luha. “Like pulling teeth, isn’t it?”

  Miara snatched a hunk of cheese and took a huge bite, saving herself from responding immediately. What was he getting at?

  Swallowing, Luha sobered, set down her roll, and leaned closer to the table. “Miara, is it true you’re going to be queen?”

  Miara nearly choked on the overly ambitious bite as she tried to swallow too soon. She groped for her tea.

  “I know you said he fell in love with you,” her father mused. “But I had no idea… I mean. Well, if you’re not going to come out and tell us, is it true you’re going to be married?”

  Miara flushed further now, but a grin threatened. She had never anticipated having this conversation with her family at all. Ever. But if she had, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have dreamed this up. She took a steadying breath, letting her grin break free.

  “Yes, it’s true. He’s asked me to marry him.”

  “That’s wonderful!” her father exclaimed.

  “And you accepted. Didn’t you?” Luha demanded, as if concerned Miara might have done something terribly stupid.

  Miara smiled and folded her arms across her chest at her sister. “And if I didn’t? You going to go beat down his door and make him ask me again?”

  Luha narrowed her eyes and frowned playfully. “Don’t tease me!”

  “Yes, I accepted. Yes, it means I am to become queen.” This time, to her surprise, the phrase came out more naturally, without faltering.

  Luha clapped her hands together in delight, eyes shining. “Can you believe it?”

  “Honestly, no.” She shook her head. But I’m working on believing it, she thought to herself. It was hard work, too.

  “When will you marry?” her father asked.

  Miara frowned. “I am not sure exactly. Our plan was to go soon after this vote was completed, but with war so close on the horizon, it will likely have to wait. We thought there’d be more time before… everything fell apart. But can we really celebrate while we should be fighting?” She shrugged. “I don’t know that I’d enjoy it as much, with so many trapped back at home. No, not home. At Mage Hall.”

  Her father nodded. “Looks like we’ll be making a new home. Perhaps here?”

  “Here or Estun. I have no idea, really. Wherever he wants to go is fine with me. What is one city versus another? I haven’t seen any of them or grown roots here, so…” She shrugged. “What about you two? I know you said there wasn’t much to tell, but perhaps that was just because there were too many people around.”

  Her father shook his head. “No. We were locked in our rooms nearly the whole time, until the Dark Master—”

  “Daes,” Miara cut in harshly.

  “Daes?”

  “His name is Daes.” She was surprised at the edge of force in her words. Surprising or not, it felt damn good. “He’s not your master anymore, Father.”

  His expression faded from surprise to a new amusement. “I suppose you’re right. Eventually Daes took us with him to Trenedum. They were bringing new slaves there for some reason. The dungeons at Mage Hall were full, but they weren’t bringing them out to the dormitories. Just keeping them in there. Strange, no?”

  Miara’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh—we never mentioned.” She lowered her voice, but Teulan had wandered from the room. Hopefully she could speak quietly enough so that no one else would hear. “When Jaena escaped, she managed to steal the brand and bring it with her. They can’t bring them out to the dormitories, because they can’t brand them. Although we do believe they are trying to make a new one.”

  “Aven said something like that during our rescue. But I thought it must be a bluff.”

  She shook her head. “No. No bluff. It’s real. We have to figure out how to destroy it. More easily said than done, I’m afraid. But let’s not speak of it anymore.” She forced herself to select a sausage from the plate and take a bite. She was talking too much; she’d sit here and forget to eat again before something else came up.

  Her father shook his head, staring down at his plate. “We’ll keep mum about it. Right, Luha? But if they can’t make mages… The Devoted were bringing them in greater numbers than I’ve ever seen. That can’t be good.”

  “Why?”

  “How can they be keeping so many in dungeons? Air mages, maybe—but how are they keeping them all from transforming or breaking out? Surely some are unaware of their abilities, but not all.”

  Miara frowned. She hadn’t considered that before. “Drugs? That’d be the only way for them to be sure. Keep them unconscious.”

  Her father nodded curtly. “And that’s dangerous. And possibly deadly.”

  “If the Devoted are bringing them there instead of killing them, they must want them alive. As slaves. Or otherwise why bring them?” She took a ragged breath. “They couldn’t just…”

  “I’m sure they want them alive. I’m just not sure they’re all going to stay that way. We have to keep helping them.”

  “Agreed. We’ve quite had our hands full, but I haven’t forgotten.”

  He leaned forward and ran his hand over hers. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to diminish your victory. This is astonishing, meesha. Can you believe all this?”

  “No, no, don’t be sorry. It’s important we think through these things.” She shrugged. “It is more than I could have ever hoped for. And yet, less than we need.”

  “Was anyone else freed?”

  “Yes, you’ll be delighted to hear we did break the enchantment on Brother Sefim, Menaha, and a young man named Kae, although it is unclear if any of them have actually escaped from Mage Hall. The reins tightened considerably once the brand disappeared.”

  “I’ll die a happy man if I can see Sefim alive and free on this side of the border.” He smiled.

  Miara returned his smile. “I hope we all live to see that. But hopefully you have a few other reasons to live happily. And wait a long time for any death to come knocking.”

  “Like a daughter’s betrothal? And marriage? And grandchildren?” He grinned wider now.

  Miara froze, her mouth open, but she had no idea how to respond. Before she could even form words, a knock at the door saved her. Her father nodded to Teulan’s inquisitive glance.

  “My lady Miara,” said Perik, stepping inside and bowing deeply. “Our lord the king requests your presence in the planning room to review the next set of maps.”

  “Guess we’ll have to talk about that later, Da!” She jumped from her chair and cheerfully pushed it back under the table.

  He chuckled, then looked at Luha. “When did she turn into such a secretive creature?”

  “What? Don’t criticize. She’s clearly good at it. One of her strengths.” Luha popped another bite of bread into her mouth.

  Her father clucked his tongue, shaking his head at her, but his eyes were playful.

  “Since my secrecy has made you potential relations of a king, I don’t think you should be complaining.” Miara gave him an impish scowl.

  He let out a bark of laughter. “You’ve got me there, meesha. Congratulations again.”

  Through a combination of determined questioning, wandering, and pure luck, Jaena found the kitchens in the far lower levels of Ranok and convinced the head cook to part with enough breakfast for the two of them and a tray to carry it all.

  As her feet carried her back to the library, she pondered their options for the brand. How could they destroy it so that it could never be stolen back, so that it could never harm anyone ever again? If they had a smithy, would that be a start?

  She slipped back into the library, and Tharomar glanced up at her with a smile. Many of the characters must have been translatable without starlight, because he refocused quickly, caught up in his work. She set the tray down on a nearby
cabinet but away from the map. They had enough problems. They didn’t need to add spilling tea on ancient artifacts to the list.

  His strong hands looked like they would snap the quill he held so carefully. Perpetually a little dirty where the earth rubbed into roughened calluses and cuts, his fingers held more gentleness and dexterity than one might initially assume. A flush crept into her cheeks at the thought. Then again, smiths bragged that their craft was not just about power, but accuracy. Precision and control. Power coupled with accuracy was a far greater achievement, and necessary for quality work. That was not so at odds with the precision of scratching tiny symbols on vellum. One bathed in fire, the other in ink, but were they really so different?

  Absently, she poured herself some tea before he could catch her staring.

  A moment or two later, he scribbled something down, set down his quill, and stood up, stretching his arms to the sky and groaning mightily.

  “I want to melt it down,” she said, now that she had his attention.

  Tharomar straightened, dropped his arms, and stared for a second, blinking bleary eyes. “What now?”

  “If I can find us a smithy, can we melt it down? You know.” She tilted her head toward the knapsack.

  “Oh. Maybe. Depends on the smithy. We might need a smelter. A castle like this ought to have both somewhere. But what are you going to do with it once it’s melted?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What are you going to recast it into?”

  “I’d rather not recast it into anything.”

  “I wish it were that simple. But if you melt it, then you’ll have liquid iron.” He shrugged. “At the very least, it’ll harden and cool into a lump. We can’t just leave it in their smelter. We could pour a new ingot. No one would know what the ingot once was. Or we could heat it up in the hearth and hammer it into something else entirely. Or both.”

  She rubbed her chin. She didn’t want it just turned into a slightly different shape. She wanted it obliterated. Gone. Up in smoke. Nonexistent. “Hmm. Let me think about it.”

  “You found breakfast, I see.”

  She nodded and extended a teacup. He dragged the knapsack over and sank onto a new stool beside her. “Nice to provide you with something for a change. Even if it’s just living off our host’s hospitality.” She smiled up at him.

  “We’re doing valuable work for the Akarians. I’m sure they won’t begrudge us tea. Or whatever this is.” He pointed at a small, impressively fragile-looking white bowl full of doughy lumps.

  “Some kind of dumpling? Let’s find out.”

  He took a bite and frowned. “Is that apple?”

  “I think so. It’s not that I think they’d begrudge us anything, but you know, I’d like to pull my own weight. You’re doing the work, not me.”

  “Perhaps I’m doing it for both of us?” He raised an eyebrow, smiling.

  She ignored the sudden flush of heat at those words. “Hmm, well, I’m not planning to live off their hospitality forever.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear that. But you certainly have earned some rewards for your past deeds, I think.” He tilted his head at the knapsack.

  She waved it off. “Hence my obsession with melting things today.”

  “Ah.” He took a long swallow of tea.

  “You’re all doing things, fighting battles. I’m just sitting around and napping.”

  “You’re recuperating from battles barely two days ago. That stone monstrosity didn’t make itself.”

  “Well, I’ve recuperated. Now I need a job.”

  “We’ve barely had a few hours to spare.”

  “I believe we slept—and did—other things—for more than a few hours.”

  He chuckled. “Those were also quite necessary, I assure you. Seriously, Jae, there’s plenty of time. Relax.”

  She stared at him, trying hard not to make some kind of swooning, moon-eyed expression. It was difficult, but he thankfully stayed focused on his dumplings. Still, a nickname, even a simple one… Her mother had often called her that. A man who was planning to run off and never talk to her again wouldn’t be inventing nicknames, right?

  “I have high expectations for myself, I guess,” she managed finally. “Every minute is another we risk losing this damn thing without so much as denting it.”

  “I should be finished with the daylight portions of this by the end of the day. I’ll have more to do at night, which should be nice and awkward. Writing in the dark and all. I may need your help.”

  “Of course, whatever you need.”

  “But after that…” He hesitated, stroking his beard for a moment.

  Why? Why was he hesitating? Because after that he’d be riding back to Evrical?

  “Think you can find a smelter today? And a smithy?”

  “I probably can. If I can get the king’s help, I’m sure I can figure something out.”

  “Then we could probably try some metal arts tomorrow morning, if you’re so inclined.” He smiled at her, leaning closer, like he hoped it would please her. Oh, he knew it did.

  She leaned over too and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. Before she could lean back, though, his arm caught her shoulders, and his lips snatched her back for more. Smothering laughter, she gave in to him as his other hand ran softly along the line of her jaw and curled around her neck. There was a warmth to this, a joy, a freedom that seemed even more precious than before. She had kissed him in desperation, in passion, in the solemnity of the dark of night. But this was something more.

  It struck her as odd that a casual, spontaneous kiss would seem so meaningful, like such a pinnacle. But the others had been stolen, in limited supply, her last chance. Possibly her only chance.

  This morning, in spite of the note, his lips promised many, many more, days and weeks and years of them, and for the first time in a long time, her heart was free to make that promise back.

  Chapter 4

  Fire

  Every one of the candles in the war room had burned low before they were finally done. Or as close to done as they were going to get. Feet aching, eyes blurry, and just about asleep on his feet, Aven finally called the meeting to a close.

  “Hungry?” he asked Miara as he rubbed a hand over his face.

  She leaned an elbow on the map table as the last of the wardens filed out. “Most definitely.”

  “C’mon,” he said, ushering her after him.

  They fell in step, her hand taking his elbow. They walked arm in arm more easily than he’d have expected. Like they’d been walking like this together for years. Like his parents always seemed to. He slipped his hand over her cold fingers and frowned.

  While Miara had been with her family, he’d been checking on his. While Samul showed no real change, his mother looked more fatigued every time he saw her. She insisted she wasn’t healing Samul or trying anything, but Aven didn’t believe that. There was no other reason he could think of for her to be getting paler every time he saw her.

  As they neared the main, and much warmer, part of the fortress, he flagged down a servant and ordered food to be sent up to his rooms. A meal was a glad excuse for some time alone, or as alone as they could be, and he needed it right about now. Hours of quieting his instincts and acting the calm and collected leader had left him dog-tired.

  Because his instincts said they were screwed. Of course, even if they were screwed, this was still the right thing to do. The war, freeing the mages, admitting his magic, all of it. But he was suddenly in need of a small reminder.

  Instead of sharing any of that darkness, he asked, “Did your father have anything to say?”

  “We talked about the status of Mage Hall, but you know most of that,” said Miara. “He thought maybe they were keeping the new mages drugged so they couldn’t escape, since they can’t brand them. But mostly I just answered his questions. They’re still finding this all a bit hard to believe.”

  “Are you?” he said softly.

  “Less and
less.”

  “But still a little.”

  She shrugged, then shook her head at him. “If I think too hard about it, I dread waking up from the dream. If I think about all the work we have to do—and how uncertain victory is, and how many mages are still enslaved—I just want to get started.”

  He squeezed her hand beneath his. “Let’s focus on all the things we need to do then, shall we?”

  They walked for a while in silence, but she was frowning now. He waited to see if she’d say what she was thinking, but she didn’t, only frowned down at her feet. They made it all the way up the stairs and into his rooms in silence.

  “What is it? What’s bothering you?” he said, flopping down on the couch and feeling more glad than he should that she immediately settled beside him. Of course, the food that was arriving alongside them might have helped. Telidar ran a speedy hold.

  “I think there’s even more we need to do than what we talked about today. More we’re forgetting.” She continued to frown, into the hearth fire now. Along with the food, someone had built up the fire into a pleasant, crackling blaze.

  “More? Like what?” He tried to sound enthusiastic, but his voice must have betrayed his exhaustion.

  “We can talk about it later.” She met his eyes and forced a smile.

  “No, you thought we needed to talk about it now. What is it?”

  “Do you ever think about Galen?”

  Whatever he’d thought she might say, he hadn’t expected that. He blinked, the image springing to mind very clearly. “The boy we saved? In Regin’s camp?”

  She nodded.

  “I hadn’t in a while, no.”

  “Or Emie?”

  He smiled. “Not since we got back to Estun. We’ve had so much going on. Why do you ask?”

  “I see now why you were so eager to get away. It’s easy to get caught up and shut off. And out of touch. And not help people.”

  He winced. “And not help anyone but yourself, even.” Wasn’t that what they’d been doing? He was completely focused on his father, his brother, his war. This war felt far more personal now than he’d ever thought a war could. In training exercises and lessons as a boy, he’d been through these situations in low stakes, in miniature. But those had felt like puzzles to solve. This felt much more like a wolf at the door.