The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  Miara nodded. “Got it. Guess it’s time to go work my magic?” She grinned.

  To her surprise, he leaned forward and gave her a chaste peck on the cheek and then returned her grin. “Happy growing.”

  She flushed and glanced at her attendants. “Fetch my father, please.”

  The youngest nodded and ducked out. Gods, she hoped she wouldn’t regret this whole wildly ambitious, quite possibly ill-advised scheme.

  Tomorrow would tell, and until then, she had work to do.

  “Princess Evana Paranelin has arrived. She says she is here to see you, Lord Consort,” the guard announced.

  Daes sat forward in his armchair, setting the map of southern Akaria aside. Had Marielle stiffened in her seat next to him, or was it his imagination? They were alone in the sitting room of the royal chamber. The richly appointed room had far too much red velvet and brown leather for his taste, but it radiated warmth. And more importantly, it was to Marielle’s taste, and that made him like it more than he would have guessed. After barely five days at her side, the room was already starting to feel like home. He certainly didn’t miss Seulka or competing and sniping with the other Masters in Mage Hall. Although he should return there soon and make sure they weren’t screwing up everything he’d worked so hard to build. And that Seulka wasn’t up to something.

  “I’ll receive her here,” Daes told the guard. No reason Marielle should not hear anything they had to discuss.

  The queen rose as he sank back in his chair. “Give me a moment. I should freshen up.”

  He certainly saw no need for that, but he wasn’t going to complain either. His eyes followed her swaying hips from the room.

  Evana arrived moments later, her usual full, black skirts cutting a broad and swirling path. She greeted Daes with a raised eyebrow and more of an amused smile on her face than ever. Her mouth barely curved upward in both corners, but given the light in her eyes, she was mightily entertained at the recent turns of events.

  “So what do you I call you now? Lord Daes? Your Majesty King Daes? Great Lord of the Rolling Hills and Red Skies—” She swept out an arm grandly.

  He rose and waved her off, then bowed sarcastically. “Law doesn’t permit that quite yet. Royal Consort Daes will have to do. You may address me as Lord Consort. But you know,” he flashed her a quick grin, “I’m working on it.”

  “I should have known you’d figure out something like this.”

  He shrugged. “More luck than conniving. This time.”

  “Of course. It couldn’t be the careful machinations that you’re so famous for.” She didn’t look like she believed him in the slightest.

  “I’m not famous for anything. And it serves the king right for leaving a beautiful and intelligent woman so unattended,” he said brusquely, irritated for no reason he could discern.

  Both her eyebrows rose now. “My, I’m almost persuaded you actually feel something for her.”

  “I believe that’s exactly what the title of Royal Consort is supposed to mean.”

  “Hmm. Or perhaps it means you’re simply the most convincing at that act. Please, Daes. As if you even had a heart to give.”

  He glared, speechlessness surprising himself again.

  “At any rate, we have business to discuss.”

  He winced inwardly. He would much rather dwell on these recent victories than the complete picture at the moment. While his partnership with Marielle was a boon, the news was not so good on other fronts.

  “Please, have a seat.” He held out a hand toward the seat across from him, careful she not take Marielle’s place.

  “The brand,” Evana demanded. “Have you made progress in replacing it?”

  “Queen Marielle,” an attendant behind them announced.

  Marielle swept back into the room, looking the same to him. Ah, no. The front portion of her hair was swept up and pinned back under the softly glimmering three-ruby crown. Did she feel the need to assert her rank because of Evana’s nobility? Whatever necessitated the choice, he would ask her of it later. Perhaps there was something more here he did not yet understand. Her assertion seemed random, but he trusted her judgment enough to know there would be good reason behind it.

  Evana rose and curtsied, and Marielle returned a regal nod before both women sank simultaneously back into their seats with the perfect poise of two cobras eying each other.

  “I apologize for interrupting, my lord,” Marielle said only to him.

  “Not at all, Your Majesty. The princess here was simply inquiring as to our progress in replacing the mage brand. Unfortunately, the news is grim. Our mages have found nothing yet.” He scowled down at the elaborately woven red carpet. He would not mention the disappearance of one of the three mages who had been doing the research; he couldn’t afford to fly into a rage at this particular moment, and it boiled in him at even the thought of that talkative, out-of-turn fool.

  “Should we slow our efforts to capture more mages?” said Evana, all business. “Do you even have anywhere to put them now?”

  “No. And no. But we’ll figure something out.”

  “Would you care for some tea?” Marielle asked politely.

  Evana leveled a cold stare at her, somewhere between resentment and condescension. “No, thank you, my lady. I plan to return to the road soon. Perhaps immediately.”

  He squirmed inwardly at the strange tension between them. He owed much to Marielle, but even with his newfound power, Evana’s alliance had always been one of the few that had actually borne fruit. What was this sudden frigidity between them? “The good news is, now that I am consort, we shall be able to do much more to get the original brand back in the first place.”

  “Such as?” Evana retrained her icy gaze on him, which was strangely relieving. He was used to her glaring at him.

  “We must determine where the brand is, first. I expect this shall not be particularly difficult, since the Akarians have been easily and repeatedly infiltrated.” And since he had plenty of high-ranking spies also in Panar, although none of them had been able to find anything yet. As far as he could tell, the prince—king—and his pet creature mage didn’t seem to have the brand. But someone had to. “Once we know the brand’s location, we will simply attack there with the full force of our army. Eight of our best should have reached our encampment in Gilaren by now. General Vusamon is simply overjoyed at actually having something to do.” While Marielle had been keeping her eyes trained on Evana, her gaze flicked to him now.

  “Easily and repeatedly infiltrated?” Evana repeated. “So your spies have been successful, then?”

  Of course she’d ignore the bit about an army at their back. “Well, yes and no. Of course, if the prince were dead, that would have been the first thing I’d have told you.”

  “What, then?”

  “Infiltrating their inner circle has not been difficult, especially with the use of creature magic. But the actions our mages and assassins attempted beyond that have been less successful. We did do serious damage to parts of Estun.”

  “Parts. I see. Larger parts than the pieces of Trenedum Palace that have gone mysteriously missing?”

  He cleared his throat. “Let’s call it even. But we know much more about their inner circle than before.”

  “And yet, the prince lives.”

  Daes pursed his lips. “Indeed. Slippery little snake. Unfortunately, our spies are better at sneaking than swordplay, and they’re not facing inept warriors, as you well know. And, well…” He hesitated. “The news worsens. It appears he is no longer just prince, but king. At least for some period.”

  Evana’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared with barely contained rage. “King? Tell me you’re joking.”

  “We received word this morning. It is both a victory and a defeat. We succeeded in driving them from Estun. My mages ambushed the Akarian caravan going from Estun to Panar according to plan. They attempted to strike the prince, but he managed to survive. The king, however, was gravely injured
and briefly captive.”

  “Briefly? Gods, someone needs a lashing.” Evana looked as if she wished to administer the punishment herself, and he didn’t doubt it.

  Marielle’s eyebrows rose.

  He cleared his throat again. “They would if they had survived the mission. Only one has yet to report back. The other two were killed when the Akarians mounted a valiant attack to rescue their king.”

  “Why was it so brief? What kind of valiant attack?”

  Daes gritted his teeth. She knew how to scent out the details he didn’t really want to tell her, didn’t she? “That damned escaped creature mage rescued him.”

  Evana scowled. “Akarians, eh? Hmm.” She took a deep breath, thinking. “She has been a thorn in our side indeed.” He was glad to hear her say our. He’d started to wonder if he’d stacked up enough failures to make her question their allegiance. Then again, what other allies did she have?

  He sensed Marielle watching him again, and he met her gaze. Her eyes were closed off, though, unreadable. Strange, they weren’t normally like that. He frowned.

  Enough admitting defeats. He didn’t want Marielle or Evana considering their cause lost. At the very least, he needed to distract them from the situation, and now.

  “One piece of news our spies reported might be of particular interest to you. We have it on good authority that the creature mage is actually now betrothed to the prince.” It hadn’t come as a surprise to him, as he’d seen how she’d fought to free the prince. There’d been something between them, something dangerous he had not counted on. But he didn’t think Evana had taken it seriously, if she had noticed. Nobility mattered to her sort; Daes knew how arbitrary it really was. He kept his expression as casual as he could, studying her eyes.

  Evana almost did not react, except in that she sat perfectly, unnaturally still. Did he detect a twitch of her eyelid, her lip, her fingers, or was it his imagination? Although she was fighting to contain it, her frozen stiffness told him the woman was on the knife-edge of rage.

  He cleared his throat. “I mean—she is indeed a thorn. Perhaps we can use her as leverage against the prince somehow.” He had not meant to goad Evana on, or insult her, or bring up past wounds. No, of course, he wouldn’t do that. He smiled with satisfaction as she relaxed at his words. At the smile, Marielle shifted in her seat, something she normally didn’t do.

  Her eyes flicked from him to the queen and back. “Hmm. Leverage. You are good at gaining leverage on people, Daes. Getting them to do what you want.”

  He didn’t know that he’d done anything to earn that impression, so he simply shrugged.

  “I do have some news from my elders.”

  “Oh?”

  “Although they denied my request to assassinate the prince a long time ago, they did recently send word of some help. I found it… intriguing. They’ve located another Great Stone, split in two halves, similar to the one in Estun but smaller. It is only the height of one man, but it is complete enough for a person to fit inside. It’s in their control in the monastery in Faeren territory in Akaria.”

  “Oh. Uh, interesting.” He had no idea why. “But how did they imagine this would help us?”

  “It can be used as a prison. For mages. Especially the creature and earth ones, who can escape conventional imprisonment.”

  Seulka would be jealous. He raised his eyebrows. “A prison for whom?”

  At this, she smiled broadly, her lip curling in wolfish, predatory glee. It was an expression that cooled even Daes to his very core, and Marielle leaned back ever so slightly in her chair.

  “Perhaps it is time we put that renegade creature mage of yours back under our control.”

  Miara stroked the neck of her lovely horse as she fed energy into the nearest fallow pot. The mare’s hair was so silken and snowy Miara couldn’t keep her glove on. Her dramatic black mane hung over the graceful white arch of her neck, three braids intermixed with the free-flowing strands. Her name was Ataeralia, a surprisingly elaborate name for a horse who didn’t appear to have a specific owner to care for her aside from Ranok collectively, and Miara couldn’t help wondering who’d bothered to braid her hair.

  She was surprised they hadn’t given her Lukor, the horse that had carried her from Estun with Samul, but she hadn’t requested him either, figuring he deserved a break after all that work. Ata, as Miara was hoping to call her for short, wasn’t terribly talkative, but her presence beneath Miara was strong and reassuring as Miara’s group lumbered through the streets of the White City, greenery curling up in their wake. A brisk wind blew in off the ocean cliffs, tasting of the salty sea and late-evening meals cooking over smoky hearth fires.

  The falcon that seemed to have adopted her soared overhead too. He hadn’t taken much interest in coming inside her rooms, but when she went outside, he always visited. And hoped for some duck. As if sensing her thoughts of duck, he swooped down and perched on her shoulder briefly, today’s thick cloak protecting her for once.

  Life burst from the soil where Miara had been focusing. Beanstalks twisted up, twining to the trellis that leaned against the gray stone of the wall behind the pot. Beans had grown here this year, and they’d grow again in the spring. Miara was just adding another harvest, hopefully one that someone would pay attention to.

  “Did you ever name that bird you’ve picked up, Miara?” her father asked.

  She shook her head. The falcon took back to the sky, letting out a loud screech that spooked Ata—but only slightly.

  “You should call him Scri—that’s the sound he makes,” said Luha, smiling. “And it’s the Melbaric rune for bird.”

  “Well, aren’t you learning your foreign languages,” Miara laughed. “Scri it is.” Not that she suspected he cared about having a name.

  Ata strode on, confident and certain in her continuous pace whether Miara was quite done or not, matching the pace of the soldier’s mount in front of her. She could guess why the stable master had selected the fine creature. Ata had a presence to go along with her fancy name, a confidence verging on arrogance. The horse deserved more of an honorific than Miara did. A royal horse, at least in manners. A queenly one.

  Miara spotted an apple tree that had lost its leaves up ahead and smiled. Before she’d even neared it, she sent out energy to the short, broad tree, a joyful outpouring of life. Flowers burst into bloom along the branches.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Siliana murmured from behind her. The mage was hardly prone to niceties and compliments, which was probably a long-ingrained habit from spending most of her time with Derk. Miara smiled a little wider.

  Her father also looked pleased, breathing in the air deeply. A contented peace radiated off of him like the sun’s heat in spring, and that warmed her heart more than any hearth could have. In truth, it was far from spring. Clouds blanketed the darkening sky with a fluffy layer that blocked what was left of the sun for the day. Everyone was bundled in scarves and gloves and cloaks, except for her one hand entwined in Ata’s mane, and there was a feeling in the air an air mage might have been able to tell her meant snow.

  In the end, Siliana and Jaena had joined Miara, her father, Luha, and the four guards Aven had ended up ordering with them. Jaena and Luha—and Siliana to some extent—had mostly just wanted to see the city, and Miara was glad for the company. Guards were nice, if she knew she could trust them. Which she didn’t. These mages were her people.

  If no one had noticed the beans just yet, the apple tree was a different story. Miara had focused on it because she’d thought Ata would appreciate an apple—and perhaps the other horses too—but the glory of spring blooms amid the desolateness of late fall was hard for anyone to ignore.

  Men and women opened their doors, gaping, and a few people stumbled out of a local tavern, looking both amazed and then concerned they’d drunk more than they’d thought they had.

  Miara took a deep breath. Time to make an impression. Hopefully it’d be a good one.

  She pressed Ata forwar
d, using her mind rather than heel or rein, and circled around the guards to ride up to the tree alone. She stopped short in front of it.

  One of the sharper-eyed guards caught up with her quickly, looking irritated, but his expression softened when she gave him a thankful nod. She needed a way for people to know this was her doing. Someone’s doing, and not the gods’, except as they acted through her hands.

  Feeling a bit ridiculous, she raised her arms up as if embracing the tree. Of course, she needed no such ridiculous gestures. She could bring the tree to fruit without even looking at it from around the block, if she was close enough. But then no one would understand that magic had been the cause. And that she had been the cause.

  Magic could be something beautiful. And useful. And she was going to prove it to them.

  The flowers were so beautiful, it was sad to push past them into the leaves of summer, but it’d hurt the tree to leave it so unbalanced. She had to take it nearly this far into the cycle, perhaps to its state a month ago, so that its thinnest branches would be ready for the coming snow. She could feel a strain in the tree, a tiredness—it was old and had grown there for many years.

  Jaena, can you take a look at the soil? she asked silently. Seems worn out of something.

  Not my specialty, but I’ll do my best. Jaena’s horse rode up to join them, and the mage dismounted, approaching the tree, taking her staff with her from its strap on the horse’s side. They’d had to press the stable master for that, but Miara didn’t blame her. Neither of them had been free long enough to take that freedom for granted. Miara dropped her hands and paused to take a breath and regain some small amount of energy. Jaena’s tall, dark form paced around the tree, bending down to brush the soil that escaped above the cobblestones near the center. She closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them again, nodding.