The Wandering Isles

by C. L. Schneider

  Sienn was my blind spot.

  I held my breath as she regarded Malaq. Her gaze never left him. It was like I didn’t exist. Her indifference disturbed me, but so did her magic-scars. She was using the knowledge they contained even now, making the dark designs move across her body in a beautiful dance. They shifted and traveled, over and under her skin, the way they once did mine. I remembered vividly how it felt, to be capable of setting right all the wrongs done—not merely to you or to all Shinree, but to the entire world. It was a notion of invincibility and omnipotence that nourished hopes and dreams, inflating purpose and hardening resolve; an intoxicating sense of power that made the price appear far less than it was. And Sienn paid it dearly.

  Gods, why am I still here?

  Surely, enough fear was coursing through me to satisfy the islanders.

  I wanted to cast, to end the moment. But even if it were a guarantee, I’d lost my sense of the shard. Sienn’s glut of magic was blocking mine. As Empress, no other would channel unless she allowed it. Her command of the moment must be absolute and without question.

  Just like my father.

  Their similarities were chilling.

  The guard removed Malaq’s cloak. The pallid look of his skin struck me. Blood colored his goatee and one side of his neck. His once fine clothes were ripped and stained.

  Sienn lifted a hand. As it neared him, Malaq jerked away. His head turned in my direction. They’d removed his eyepatch, leaving the empty socket for all to see. His other eye, locked on mine, conveyed so many things.

  For an instant, my heart warmed.

  Anxiety swallowed the sentiment, as Sienn left him and came to me.

  Our eyes met. Questions churned in my head. I couldn’t spit out a single one. But did I need to? The answers were obvious. Sienn succeeded where Jem failed. She seized control of the realms, subjugated all races, and appointed herself ruler of all Mirra’kelan.

  I left, and she undid everything.

  I was close to saying as much, but it would have no impact. Not with the palpable sense of pride fortifying her jaw. Apathy exuded from her rigid pose. Malevolence swirled with the magic in her eyes. I wanted to hate her for what she’d done. I wanted to see Sienn as the enemy. But underneath it all, she was still the woman who, for one brief moment, felt like home.

  “Sienn.” Forcing the tremble from my voice, I added a somber, “I’m sorry.”

  She blinked in surprise. “For what?”

  “If I had any idea the library would harm you like this, I would never—”

  “Oh, Ian.” My heart raced as my name crossed her lips. Her distinctive, breathy voice never failed to undo me. “You have it all wrong,” she went on. “Each and every mark is an honor to bear. You would know the glory, as I do, if you had ever truly let it in. But you were never comfortable with the power. You saw its manifestation on your flesh as disfigurement. Something negative to hide or fear. You were wrong. Magic isn’t a dirty word, Ian. It’s the most beautiful thing in all creation.”

  “And the most dangerous.”

  “Where you see danger, I see potential. Then again, I was never ashamed of being Shinree. I never ran from my own blood. It was natural to put my trust in Fate and surrender to her will. All the knowledge, the splendor of our past, an entire archive of who we are. I accepted every detail, every spell you threw away—”

  “I didn’t throw it away. I gave it to you to help our people. You were supposed to teach them, heal them.”

  “And I have. I’ve helped them understand the strength of their magic. I taught them our abilities have no boundaries. I healed their shattered pride and battered confidence. With me as Empress, they’ve regained something, as equally important as the magic you returned to them.” Raising her arms, she cried out “Dignity! Finally, we have reclaimed what a thousand years of oppression stripped away! Our worth, our power, our place in history—is ours once more! And it will never be taken from us again!”

  My ears rang as the crowd exploded in excitement. Feet stomped. Banners waved. The applause was feverish. Sienn basked in their adoration for several minutes, before ordering silence with a swift drop of her arms.

  She pivoted back to me. “I have one question for you.”

  “Don’t bother. Nothing you say will convince me to join y—”

  Sienn quieted me with a touch. Running a finger down the slope of my cheek and across my jaw, she cupped my face with a wistful smile. The magic riding beneath her skin washed away the world for a few brief moments.

  It rushed back as she let me go. “You presume too much, Ian. I have no need of you or your magic. My question is…do you prefer to die first or last?”

  Chapter Eleven

  The tongue in my mouth tasted of ale. The body riding mine was energetic and slick with sweat. Bent low, full breasts pressed against me, she broke off the kiss with an urgent growl, buried her face in my neck, and clung to me. I couldn’t see a damn thing. Strands of dirty-blonde hair hung in my face, wet and long. I coiled them around my hand as she bounced harder.

  My first thought was to push the woman away. The transition was more than a little startling, seeing as I was just on my knees with a blade biting into my neck. I knew Isuara’s tricks now, though. It only felt like seconds ago. But the last thing I remembered was pain and the rush of blood. Then I was here, with my blood still rushing—on the inside, this time.

  Thankfully, my moment of shock went unnoticed. It took only four of her hot, rapid breaths in my ear for me to decide against ending our encounter prematurely. Even if I wanted to reject the first moment of pure physical pleasure I’d experienced since leaving Mirra’kelan, I was desperate for anything to erase the echo of Sienn’s voice in my mind.

  I didn’t think my bedmate would take kindly to the interruption, either. The woman’s strong legs clenched mine like a vice. Each rough stroke and caress, each bounce, came with a clear message of dominance. Aggression oozed through every touch, every kiss. Her teeth grazed my neck, as she demanded I match her pace with an urgent moan. “Come on…”

  She preferred being in charge, and I was happy to oblige. Even if I wasn’t sure if what we were engaged in was sex or combat.

  I wrapped my arms around her lean back, lifted my hips, and thrust up; deep and hard. Her rhythm faltered with a husky, trembling gasp. The sound was equal parts shock and approval. I’d caught her off guard—and myself; throbbing inside her, as I surrendered entirely to the moment.

  Need coursing through me equal to her own now, I held tighter and plunged in faster. Pleasure swelled where our bodies joined, and we tumbled into a swift, urgent tempo.

  Fingers burrowing into my flesh, her moan evolved, becoming an anxious growl. Nails dug in, drawing blood, but I was more focused on the tiny pulses of her release wrapping around me. It was more than enough to spur my own.

  Gradually, her muscles relaxed. Mine followed, and I slowly eased my grip. It took a moment for her to do the same. Her body was limp, but she wasn’t moving. I didn’t mind her lingering. Lathered in sweat, breathless, muscles shaking; I was certainly in no hurry to move. A rare, pleasant exhaustion had come over me. One that left no energy to spare for the dark thoughts I’d been drowning in since reaching the Isles.

  When the itch of her hair in my face grew uncomfortable, I dropped my arms onto the bed. She took the hint, released a languid sigh, and peeled her chest off mine. Sitting up, with a practiced toss of her head, her tousled mane flipped back over her shoulders.

  Regret threatened my satisfaction the second I saw her face. “You?”

  Lips twisting in amusement, she raised a brow, waiting. “Yes…?”

  Wordless, I shook my head.

  I wasn’t sure who I was expecting to see, but it wasn’t her. Still, it should have occurred to me I might know the woman I was with. And, if I was paying closer attention, there were subtle clues. Yet, in my defense, our single kiss (while admittedly enjoyable) was years ago. I had no reason, nor desire, to comm
it the encounter to memory. I’d been too preoccupied with escaping the rope around my wrists. Now, all I could think about was the last time I touched Taren Roe—when I lifted her newly severed head from the mud and placed it in my traveling bag.

  Clearly, there was no limit to how low the islanders would sink to get under my skin. Putting me in bed with a former bounty, whose body was decomposing at the bottom of a bog, certainly did that.

  “What’s the matter, lover?” Taren teased. “Did I leave you speechless? I’d apologize but…I wouldn’t mean it.” Biting her lip, she raked a single nail through the sweat on my chest. I eyed the garnet ring around her finger. It was the same one I threatened to cut off if she didn’t hand it over. I remembered the magic inside the stone, how sweetly it caressed my skin. It was then, in that moment, as I held the ring, when I first saw the pieces. Yet, they wouldn’t connect for a long time after. Standing in the swamp that day, demanding answers from Taren, I had no idea how many parts there were to my father’s puzzle.

  Abruptly, Taren bent and kissed me. It was hasty and fierce. Her tongue was in and out of my mouth before I could decide how to respond. Just as quickly, she crawled off the bed and stood. Her toned, naked frame walked away with the same stride I remembered: long and confident. Then, she was traipsing through the swamp, covered in muck, deep under my father’s spell. It was a little more enthralling this time.

  Stopping at a table against the wall, Taren glanced back. “Lay there a while longer, if you like, but remember who’ll take the blame if we keep him waiting. Jem’s not my daddy. And the leniency and protection I get by fucking his son is not as reliable as I hoped.”

  Unsure how to respond, I said nothing, and a fleeting, uncharacteristic emotion darkened Taren’s gaze. Turning away, she buried the sentiment, but not fast enough. What was that? Doubt? Apprehension? The Taren I knew would never allow such a clear vulnerability to show.

  This one did. And the aim, as well as the inference, was obvious.

  She walked a line with me, with her attitude and banter, and my silence spooked her. She was afraid she’d taken it too far. Taren was frightened of me. Why? Who am I here? If a simple quiet moment could make a hardened criminal worry about displeasing me?

  Apparently, I’m no one good.

  I sat up, stifling my reaction as I caught sight of myself. Magic-scars still marred my skin, but mixed in among the slender, sweeping designs were wider swathes of discoloration. The scattered patches were unnervingly similar in color and texture to what Jem earned early in his transformation, when he first began playing with things he shouldn’t. Apparently, here, I was equally rash and ignorant, dabbling in hornblende and channeling the Crown of Stones with regularity and little understanding. I was arrogantly casting, tempting Fate’s will. Just as he did. And with the same outcome.

  Here, I contracted the affliction that altered my father. I was on the cusp of becoming a beast, of becoming like him. Wonderful.

  If that was what Isuara had in store for me, I might as well get it over with.

  I rolled over to stand, and my vision tilted. A desert moved into my throat. I tried to clear the dryness, but it wouldn’t ease. My head pounded. My stomach was… Not good. What the hell…? I lowered myself back down. Sliding to the edge of the bed, I found the culprit.

  A staggering number of empty bottles and mugs cluttered the room. Most were strewn across the chipped wooden floor. Others were crowded on a small table near the door. Even for me, it was a lot. But maybe not this me.

  This me had quite a party last night—with Taren Roe.

  I groaned at the unsettling notion. Yet, her subtle movements drew my eye—the curve of her back, the sway of her bare ass. Temptation urged me to pull her back onto the bed. She was attractive, willing. Fabricated. Except, more sex would only delay whatever horrors awaited me. Weathering them was the only means of ending my current predicament and getting another shot at my captors. I had a way to hurt them, now. I had hope. If they didn’t confiscate the sword.

  If they did, I connected once to the island’s magic, I could do it again.

  Running fingers through her hair, raking out the tangles, Taren turned, granting me an accidental glimpse of her bare chest. She bent. Her breasts rocked slightly, heavy and alluring.

  Teeth clenched on a growl; I tore my eyes away. She was too distracting.

  I need to get her out of here.

  “If you aren’t happy with the arrangements,” I said, “you’re welcome to leave.”

  In the midst of lifting a clay pitcher off the table, Taren froze. Tension ran through her body. She laughed it off. “Relax, Shinree. I never said I was unhappy.”

  “And I’ve never known Taren Roe to do anything without payment.”

  “There are many different forms of compensation.” Pouring a measure of water into the basin, Taren splashed her neck and chest, washing away the sweat. “Clean clothes. Nice weapons. A place to sleep. Food I don’t have to steal. No asshole bounty hunters on my tail.” She tossed me a wink. Retrieving my breeches off the floor, she threw them at me with a sensual, “A strong, warm body when I need it. So you see,” she smiled, refocusing, “it’s less about coin, and more about what perks I can glean from being in bed with the heir to the Empire.”

  Heir… Officially, that’s what I was, in all realities. It didn’t mean I enjoyed hearing it. And that was the point. The islanders were committed to exposing my fears. The idea that I would cave and wholly embrace my father, that I would become him, was at the top of the list.

  I was here to be appalled at my decision, to imagine all the terrible possibilities and be undone by the shock of who I’d become. And if I lashed out in anger, if I resisted, a spell would fan the flames, boosting my adrenaline and exaggerating emotions. Keeping me riled up and on track, perpetually feeding my fears for their enjoyment. It was the perfect storm.

  And yet… The panic and distress of being immersed in a world where I’d forsaken everything I believed in, wasn’t there. I was disturbed and uneasy, yes, but not overly so. Not even close to how I was in Ru Jaar’leth or any of the scenarios I’d experienced so far. Even my anger was subdued, like I was too damn tired for my own temper.

  Maybe it was sex with Taren, or the extremely convincing, fake effects of too much alcohol. Maybe the islanders had simply, finally, beaten the fight out of me. Whatever the cause, I was drained, both physically and emotionally. There were so many turns to this damn game, and I had zero energy to invest in this one.

  It was strange, being so inordinately sedate, but a nice respite. It was a welcome change after being bounced from one emotional upheaval to the next. Too bad it won’t last.

  But what if it did? If I managed to stay calm and ride out the situation in my current, unruffled frame of mind, would it make a difference? If I kept my head cool and my thoughts even, the islanders’ emotion-heightening spell would have nothing to heighten—in theory. Though, maintaining my present state under increasing pressure could prove difficult.

  On the other side of the argument: what did I have to lose? Attempting to walk away, outside the hornblende wall, didn’t help. I had to keep trying, keep experimenting with my surroundings, until I found what did.

  I could take it a step further, take an active role instead of a passive one.

  Maybe, I thought, rolling out the plan in my head, if I accept this nightmare instead of fighting it… If I embrace this darker version of me and play the part…

  What would happen if I played him instead of fearing him? Refusing to give my fears power was refusing to give Isuara what she wanted. Such a blatant defiance might lure her out for another conversation. She liked engaging with me. At least, until I struck Taalman down. But the real world was where I needed to be.

  Here, I was impotent. There, I had a chance of getting free.

  If I can stay calm long enough to pull it off.

  It was risky. Poking the bear rarely yielded good results. Isuara might react by keeping me h
ere, imprisoned in this fantasy, until I submit. How do I know she hasn’t? I might have already attempted this plan over and over, for days or years, and not remember—which was more of a reason to try.

  To pull it off, to become what Isuara wanted me to fear, I needed to learn more about this version of me, including how far over the edge he’d gone. Taren was a good place to start. Yet, implementing my plan would be easier without her watching me. But she’s perfect for a test.

  Moving slowly, this time, I stood and stepped into my breeches. The sharp odor of last night’s wine drifted up from the floor. Grimacing, I kicked the nearest bottle, sending it spinning, and tried to sound like the asshole I obviously was. “Are they all empty?”

  Gathering her clothes off the floor, Taren paused. “You dropped the last one.” Her gaze drifted. I followed it to a pile of broken glass and a dried, crimson puddle. “You don’t remember?” I said nothing, and she sighed. “I’m not surprised. I practically had to carry you out of that rat-infested hovel last night.”

  “Hmmm…Which rat infested hovel would that be?”

  “The Wounded Owl.” Shimmying into a pair of leather leggings, Taren shook her head. “What a mess you made. All that blood and ale splattered about. Everyone pissing on the floor, thinking they were next,” she laughed, shoving arms into her bodice. “It was goddamn beautiful.” Pivoting to face me, Taren gave the laces a purposeful yank, cinching her breasts tight.

  I replied with a yawn. She stood, studying me, fretting over my disinterest. I ignored her in favor of staring at my empty palm. It didn’t surprise me the runes were gone. In this life, I left the swamp with Taren and everything after was different. I never performed a spell tying me to a young, Kabrinian messenger. If I met Malaq at all, it likely wasn’t on good terms. I never fought for Kabri, never battled to save the realms. I turned my back on them instead and became heir to the future Shinree Empire. I became the son my father always wanted. Heat flushed my skin with a single, frightening thought. What else did I become?