What if it was already too late?
Chapter Seven
She should have taken a hood, a cloak, something from the farmhouse so she could cover her vibrant hair. Having violet hair and an equally unnatural stare was, to say the least, a unique experience. One that, frankly, Lena could do without in this situation. In the College, she hardly drew attention to herself, even with strangely-colored locks. But outside of it? She was a walking, talking freak show everyone had to stop and stare at.
She walked the stone streets, blending in with the crowds as best she could, avoiding the stares of the city guards. She turned where she had to to reach the College’s gates. A few hundred feet from it, her legs halted. The anti-magical, shimmering metal gate that separated the College from the rest of the city was still down, hunkered into the stone below. It was closed. That meant…it could mean only two things.
One: the College was still under investigation.
Two: the King had already approved the slaughtering of the mages within.
Whispers echoed around her, and Lena glanced at the pedestrians. Their eyes were accusatory, their expressions a collective sneer. That was when she realized her mistake. Her awful, awful mistake. And she didn’t mean her hair.
She still wore the College’s robes. Yellow robes, as dirty as they were, and yellow was the color of initiates. It was more than clear to anyone who knew even a little about the College she shouldn’t be outside it, especially while the gate was down.
Shit.
Grasping the Noresh tome to her belly, she spun on her heel and started walking away. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to—of course. There was one place she could hide away, one man whom she could beg for another favor. Harry.
She scurried to the road where his inn was nestled, thankful the front door was unlocked, even though it was hours too early for anyone to want to drink. The moment she stepped inside, she pressed her back against the door, trying to get her breathing under control. If the early risers of Rivaini knew she was from the College…her odds were not good. The guards had seen her. She had to find clothes and change.
This was a stupid idea of hers, wasn’t it? Foolish and pointlessly self-sacrificing. Lena regretted her decision the moment she saw the College’s gate.
Footsteps echoed in the wooden space, stopping only when a robust, semi-greasy man stepped out of the hallway, rubbing his face and blinking as though he’d been asleep. Lena glanced up. The door to the inn was attached to a string that traveled along the outer wall, disappearing behind the front counter’s back wall. A device that would wake him anytime someone came or went.
The poor man. Did he ever get any sleep?
The moment Harry saw her, his expression brightened—but only for a moment. His dark gaze flicked to the counter as he hurried to it. He bent over for something, saying, “Ingrid gave me something to give to you. She wasn’t sure if…if you were still alive.”
Lena felt her heart leap. “You’ve spoken to Ingrid? What’s going on in the College? Why are the gates still down?” She watched as the innkeeper walked over to her, extending his chubby palm to reveal just what had been so important Ingrid had either escaped the College or used one of her projection potions for.
A small vial. A potion flask. The liquid sloshing around inside was a bright, fiery red.
Her heart plummeted. To change her hair color. Which was Ingrid’s way of telling her not to return to the College. Lena’s fingers folded over the flask. “Did you see her, or was it just a projection?” she asked.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. I never was able to tell. Ingrid’s good at what she does. I’m sure she’s safe, even if she is still locked up in that College.” Harry shook his head. “Rumor has it the King is looking to clean it out, but he wants his investigation done first. Ingrid knew you’d come back and try to stop it.” He went and locked the door behind her, moving a metal bolt over and sliding it into place.
“They’re innocent,” she said. “It was Gregain.”
“Now I don’t know who that is, but I do know I promised Ingrid I’d help you.” Harry turned and started walking away, around the counter and down the hall he’d appeared out of a few minutes ago. Not knowing what else to do, she followed him. “I have some clothes you can change into. They might be a little big on you, but at least you won’t be wearing that robe no more.”
Lena stood in the hall, refusing to turn and step foot in the man’s bedroom. He opened an armoire full of drawers and yanked out a dark blue dress. Definitely too long for her; she’d drown in the height of the fabric. “Why do you have women’s clothes?” she asked quietly.
“My wife, Besse, she…she caught the plague a few years back. The King had her taken before she even…” Harry shook his head, his normally boisterous voice soft and hollow. “I never got to say goodbye to her. Don’t even know where she’s at, so I can’t visit her.”
“Harry, I’m…” Her pathetic sympathy was drowned out by loud banging on the front door. They were here for her already. It didn’t matter if she changed or—
“There’s no time,” Harry said. “Drink the potion, change as fast as you can, and then run. There’s a window at the edge of the hall. It lets out into the alley between here and the tailor’s. Run, Lena. Don’t look back. I’ll hold them off for as long as I have to.” He started toward the bar area, stopping in the hall only when she called out to him.
“Why are you helping me?”
Harry’s dark eyes—which she thought at their first meeting were beady and two sizes too small—were full of kindness and a generosity she didn’t understand. “It ain’t right what they do to you mage folks. And I told Ingrid I’d help you. I may not have much, but I am a man of my word. Now get to it.” He said nothing more before he disappeared from her view.
Heaving a sigh, Lena popped the cork on the top of the glass vial, downing its contents quickly. It was a warm liquid, tingling as it went down. She could taste the hint of firedrake and the essence of fire itself. Some people in Rivaini had red hair naturally, though she supposed their hue was more an orange than a red. Close enough, and a lot better than purple.
Her skin tingled as she set the Noresh text down and reached for the dress. Her vision flashed red for only a moment, similar to how it had weeks ago when Ingrid made her test the violet potion, and then it was gone, her vision back to normal. Her fingers ran over the rough fabric of the dress. The College’s robes felt smooth and velvety, even while dirty, compared to the dress.
A loud crash erupted from the front of the inn, and Lena knew it was too late. She couldn’t outrun the guards, and if she tried to, they’d know Harry helped her. Any civilian who was caught aiding and abetting a mage who partook in illegal magics was dealt with severely. She wouldn’t let Harry take the fall.
Lena immediately dropped the dress and picked up the heavy tome. Her legs drew her through the hall, stopping when she came out into the wide, open space of the inn. Numerous tables were flipped over, five guards with their swords and spears drawn stood around Harry, yelling at him, threatening him if he refused to tell them where she was.
It was now or never.
She held her head up high, her nose slightly upturned—an expression she never wore, because she never thought she was better than anyone else. She knew she was worse, with the things she’d done…and yet here she was, putting herself into danger to save a man she only met recently.
“I’m right here,” she said, holding the tome in plain view for all the guardsmen to see. Beneath their grimy, dirty metal helmets, their eyes flicked to her, their weapons moving to point at her.
The man in the front of the group shouted in a voice that was entirely too loud, given the fact that she stood not even ten feet from him, “Put down the book, now!”
As if the book held all the power. These guards had no idea a true mage could summon, cast, and hex without a spell book by their side.
“I’ll go willingly, as long as this man is unharmed.” L
ena thought her one condition was an easy one, but it took a few moments for the guard in charge to give her a short nod. Once she was sure they wouldn’t harm him, she set the Noresh text on the nearby counter. As one of the guards hesitantly stepped around her, she said, “I need to see the King.” She winced as the guard to her back started tying up her hands, a bit too tight.
The head guardsman laughed. It was a laugh that churned her stomach, a laugh that told her her wishes were useless. “Rogue mages don’t see the King. They see the inside of a jail cell.” He leaned closer to her, his eyes sparkling beneath his helmet. “And that’s all they see, until they meet the block.”
A sharp, sudden pain erupted in the back of her skull, sending her into utter and absolute blackness.
A dull ache in her head was all Lena felt when she came to. She was on a cold floor, she discovered as the feeling crept back into her nerves. Her eyes, which she supposed were now a reddish orange color, if the glimpses of the tips of her hair were any indication, struggled to open.
She was alone in a room of stone. No windows, and only the metal bars of the door to break up the monotony. She sat up, feeling the back of her head. Definitely bruised. A moan escaped her before she could stop it, and as she tried to clamp a hand over her mouth, she found she was chained to the stone wall behind her. The chains glimmered, even though there was hardly any light. They were made of the same metal the College’s guards wore, the same metal that held properties similar to the runes on Bastian’s neck. This metal was both strong and anti-magical. Enchanters from the College had imbued these chains with magical properties that went against everything that was natural.
But…if magic came from nature, it had to be natural, right?
No. If one were to use that argument, one could also say blood magic was natural. Necromancy was natural. Lena should know enough by now that simply because something came from nature did not make it natural.
Regardless, she would not be able to cast any spells in here. She was as helpless as they came, like a non-magical townsperson.
She exhaled loudly, collapsing back onto her butt. With the length of the enchanted chains, she could stand, make it to the little bucket in the corner of the cell, and not do much else. A line was drawn on the stone before her, and she realized it was the line she could not cross, the line anyone could come into her cell and speak with her without fear of her reaching them, as long as they stood behind it.
Lena was trapped. Trapped and in the castle’s dungeons, probably. She shouldn’t have any hope of living through this.
But, the odd thing was, she wasn’t frightened. Wasn’t scared. Not even a little. Lena was kingdoms more frightened when she woke to see Gregain, when she realized just how much of a monster the man was. Why wasn’t she scared more now? Why did she feel at peace being chained up?
Perhaps it was her subconscious, telling her she deserved this, earned whatever fate would come. She did kill her own parents, after all. What kind of child did it make her? She’d been living on borrowed time since; it was only a matter of time before her actions caught up with her. She had been foolish to think she could move on and live. Stupid to hope for a future with Bastian, Tamlen, and Vale.
As her head hung low, she heard the sounds of footsteps bouncing down the hall, and when the sound of metal sliding filled her ears, Lena looked up to see that she had a visitor. An older man, a man she’d never before seen, but a man she knew was important by the way he held himself and the fancy clothes he wore.
Rather tall and skinny, mostly balding; he was not an attractive older man. And he did not have a gut enough to be the King. However, the way he held his hands behind his back, the way the jail guard bowed to him as he entered her cell, standing a few inches behind the line on the stone floor, she knew he was close to King Philip. He might be the only visitor she’d get. She had to make the most of it.
She slowly stood, as close to his level as she could get. She stared at him hard, trying to figure out who he was. He was not the King, nor was he the Prince. The Prince was much younger than him, and she doubted the young royal highness ever stepped foot in the dungeon.
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice a whisper. She had the strange, irrational fear that if she spoke any louder, the man would vanish.
“I suppose you should be aware of who I am, so you can comprehend the magnitude of the situation you have found yourself in,” he spoke. Clearly, he was a very verbose person. Not her favorite kind of man. “I am the Seneschal to the King. You may call me Henrik, for as long as you are able to. I handle every matter the King gives to me. You are one of them, Celena Locke.”
Locke. She’d almost forgotten her surname. It meant they knew who she was, they’d looked into her past. It didn’t bode well for her.
And of course she heard the as long as you are able to part of his spiel. He didn’t expect her to live long. Why would she? She was a mage caught outside the College after the College had been locked down. She was Gregain’s favorite student. Some might think he’d favored her, coddled her.
She was screwed, and not in a good way.
Lena stared at Henrik. A man of about fifty, he was mostly greying. His face was clean-shaven, and he wore an air of superiority. If the King trusted him with things like this, she supposed his haughty attitude was somewhat warranted.
There were a thousand things she could ask him, and she chose her first question carefully, “What’s happening in the College?”
“Yes, indeed. What is happening in the College? You would wonder that, wouldn’t you, given the small fact you are not inside its walls. Your College has been under lockdown since undead were spotted in the hills just outside the city. The only two mages unaccounted for are you and Gregain. That does not bode well for you, does it, Celena?”
She did not like hearing her full name on his lips. She added quietly, “Lena. And no, it doesn’t.”
“And let us not forget there is a guard missing as well. Does the name Kyler ring any bells in that head of yours?”
Lena wasn’t sure whether she should admit it or not.
Henrik frowned, an ugly expression. “I shall give you some time to think it over. Perhaps when you feel the deep pangs of hunger that go hand in hand with starvation, you’ll realize it’s better to admit the truth sooner rather than later.” He started walking to the metal door. “For all our sakes.”
She called out to him, “Am I to die?”
He paused, turning to stare at her as the guard slid the door closed and locked it with a large, heavy key. “You are a mage, Lena. You should know better than to hope otherwise.” With that, he walked away, trailed shortly by the guard.
“Wait!” she shouted. “What did you do with the book?”
No one and nothing answered her. She was met with silence. It was as if she had the entire wing of the dungeon to herself. Lena was unsure whether or not it was a good thing, having it to herself. It meant no other mages were caught, but it also might mean the King thought they were beyond hope. If that was the case, why bother to hold her here? Why bother interrogating her? If the decision was already made and the King wanted to wipe out every mage in the College, what was the point of this?
Lena sat there for what felt like forever. Hours ticked by, could’ve been days. She lost track of time as she memorized the small cracks and chinks in the stone walls and floor. She watched the chains holding her wrists shimmer with each movement. She was scared, but as the time wore on, that fright turned into boredness.
She was so utterly bored. No one ever told her how boring it was being held in a dungeon. What she would give to be back with her men, in their arms, their bed, to feel them on top of her, touching her in every single way…
Okay, she should stop thinking about it this very moment, otherwise she’d feel a yearning burn in a certain place she wouldn’t be able to satisfy.
As she sat there, letting time pass her by, for she had little else to do, she wondered if it would’ve been
better to leave the Noresh tome with her men. Then, at least, the King wouldn’t have his hands on it. It was only evidence he could use to justify putting her to the block, evidence against the mages in the College.
Shit. She royally messed this one up.
Bastian opened his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the window of the bedroom, illuminating the bed and its inhabitants…which did not include Celena. He jerked to a sitting position, waking the others. Tamlen and Vale groaned, each holding their heads as if they’d drunk too much the night before. Odd, for his mind felt a bit hazy as well. As if he didn’t want to get up and out of this bed.
Almost like a necromancer had forbidden them to.
Celena wouldn’t.
He doubted the thought the moment it popped into his head.
Celena would, if she thought it meant she could save her friends in the College. She would do anything for them, even though she hated magic and its use. She might not view herself as a kind woman, but she was. Deep down, she cared for others more than she cared for herself, and it was why Bastian found himself getting to his feet with a frown.
The moment the soles of his feet hit the wooden floor, he just knew. Bastian knew Celena was not in the farmhouse. He stood there, shoulders slumped, naked as Vale and Tamlen slowly got on their clothes. They mumbled to each other, not fully aware of the circumstance.
“How could she crawl out of bed and not wake any of us?” Tamlen mused, mostly to himself. The man liked to talk; he was especially fond of his own use of sarcasm. Bastian found him slightly annoying, but he’d learn to make do for Celena’s sake.
Vale shrugged as he slipped his arms through his shirt sleeves. The man’s chest was covered in runes that were much thicker than the small, intricate dots on the back of Bastian’s neck. Thicker, like scars. As if someone had carved them into his skin. Sumer had come a long way from the runes of old, hadn’t they?
Blood and Sorcery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 2) Page 12
