Sons of Liberty

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Flames exploded in front of her, burning her skin. She yelped in pain - she’d forgotten the Blazer - and threw a fireball back at him, aiming right for his exposed head. The Blazer caught fire and exploded, his entire body bursting into a towering inferno. Gwen stared, surprised. She’d seen Blazers die before, but none of them had gone up in flames ...

  A force grabbed onto her, picked her up and slammed her into the ground. Gwen barely had the time to shield herself before a second force started to crawl over her body, holding her firmly in place. Her magic seemed drained, somehow; it took all she had to keep the Movers from crushing her to death. They walked forward, their eyes fixed on her. Behind them, their comrades brought up the rear.

  Gwen opened her mouth, hoping to Charm them, but she could barely breathe. Her power seemed to have deserted her ... it had been an ambush, she realised. The French had been so scared of her that they’d set a trap and she’d walked right into it. She tried to look submissive, but she knew it was futile. Keeping her prisoner would be difficult, perhaps impossible, and the French had to know it.

  “Kill her,” one said.

  I’m sorry, Gwen thought, unsure just who she was addressing. Colonel Jackson? Lord Mycroft. Her parents? I ...

  “No,” a new voice said. A fireball struck one of the Frenchmen, burning through his clothes and incinerating his body. “You will not kill her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Gwen stared.

  The rogue was standing there, wearing a mask that covered the upper half of his face and a black cloak that shimmered around his body. He seemed completely composed, even though he was facing at least two magicians who’d hammered Gwen into the ground and two more Frenchmen who might have powers of their own. Flames danced over his hands, showing off his power. Gwen wasn't sure if she should admire his nerve or point out the dangers of accidentally setting his clothes on fire.

  “Kill him,” one of the Frenchmen finally snarled. “I ...”

  The rogue lifted his hands, throwing a wave of force at the Frenchmen, Gwen felt the power holding her down snap out of existence as the Movers hastily moved to defend themselves; she stumbled to her feet, trying to get out of the line of fire. She had no idea why the rogue - she was sure it was the same magician - had moved to defend her, but she knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least the French would be equally confused.

  She cursed under her breath as one of the other Frenchmen revealed himself to be another Blazer, shooting a hail of fireballs at the rogue. The rogue responded by tearing up the ground and throwing it at the Blazer, then hurrying over to shield Gwen as the Movers pushed back hard. He caught Gwen’s arm ... and she felt a sudden surge of energy, as if she was drawing a little from him. His eyes were so blue ...

  He smiled back at her, just before a force punch slammed into his protections. The Movers looked furious at being denied their prize, Gwen saw; they were hammering at the rogue’s protections as if they were determined to crush both magicians. Her power surged within her and she lashed out, throwing both of them into the air. The rogue laughed and joined her, their magic blurring together into a single unbeatable wave.

  “Stop,” the final Frenchman said. Charm echoed on the air, powerful enough to make almost anyone stop in their tracks. Gwen and the rogue laughed at him. “Stop fighting and ...”

  Gwen wasn't sure who took the lead, but their powers reached out and ripped the Charmer’s head off his shoulders. His body hit the ground, blood pooling in the mud, as they hurled his head at the Movers. The Frenchmen ignored it, concentrating on hammering away at their joint protections while the Blazer threw fireball after fireball, but they might as well have been trying to tear an iron wall apart with their bare hands. Gwen was no longer certain where she ended and the rogue began, but it hardly mattered. United, they were so much greater than the sum of their parts.

  Power surged within them, slapping the two Frenchmen apart. The Blazer’s eyes widened with fear as he realised he was in deep trouble, but he kept fighting even as the air hardened around him. His body disintegrated as they crushed it into a bloody pulp, snuffing his life out once and for all. Gwen almost giggled, despite a voice at the back of her head telling her she should be careful. The power was so strong that it sucked at her thoughts, making it harder to think clearly. Why hadn't she known this was possible? She’d never felt such a strong connection with Jack or Master Thomas ...

  Why, her own thoughts answered her. You never saw either of them as equals.

  The Frenchmen broke and ran. Gwen and the rogue reached out, caught hold and pulled them back. A Frenchman tore at the nearby trees, yanking them out of the ground and hurling the shattered fragments of wood towards the two Masters, but it was pointless; the trees disintegrated into dust as soon as they slammed into the joint shield. One of the Movers ran forward, shaping his power into a needle ...

  ... But it was suddenly the easiest thing in the world to hold the shield. Gwen felt the Mover’s power break on hers - theirs - just before the rogue lashed out. The Mover stopped dead, then crumpled to the ground, blood leaking from his ears. They’d torn his brain apart from the inside. The final Frenchman threw himself up into the air in a desperate attempt to escape, one he had to know would be futile. They tore his power apart and watched him fall to the ground, then caught him a second before the impact would have killed him.

  “Tell us who sent you,” they said together. Gwen wasn’t sure which of them wanted to know, but it didn’t matter. “And why?”

  The Mover knelt, his hands twitching uselessly. “Kill the sorceress bitch,” he said. His voice was completely flat, as if his free will had collapsed completely. “Kill her before ...”

  He fell to the side.

  “Dead,” the rogue said. Gwen suddenly realised he hadn't let go of her hand, but she made no move to pull free. “He couldn't tell it.”

  He turned to look at her. Gwen felt a sudden surge of passion and desire, far more than she’d felt before, even when Sir Charles had kissed her for the very first time. She wanted him ... and knew he felt the same way too. Their joined powers were pulling them together ... it was suddenly the easiest thing in the world to take a step forward and kiss him, their lips melding together until they were practically one. He wrapped her arms around him as the kiss deepened, running down the small of her back until he was stroking the top of her buttocks, every touch inflaming her still further.

  She knew, at the back of her mind, that she should push him away, but she didn't want to push him away. The growing desire within her wouldn't let her stop. His hands were slipping into her trousers, pushing them down to her knees; her hands, guided by ... something ... were undoing his belt, removing his trousers. She glanced down as she stepped out of her own trousers, then let him push her gently to the ground. Their magic billowed around them as his hands stroked her breasts; she gasped in surprise as she felt his maleness pressing against her legs. There was a sudden stab of pain as he entered her, followed by a tidal wave of pleasure. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper into her as they rolled over and over. The same thought - the warning that she was going too far - resurfaced, but she ignored it. She couldn't stop. They were alive!

  His maleness started to buckle inside her, triggering off a surge of pleasure that had her throwing caution to the winds and crying out in delight. She hadn't known - she’d never known - just how wonderful it could be. If she’d known ... she kissed him as he spent himself, her hands reaching up to cup his head and tear at the mask. It came off, revealing ...

  She stared, shocked again. “Bruce?”

  The Viceroy’s son stared back at her, pulling back instinctively. It dawned on Gwen just what they’d been doing. They’d made love. No, worse than that. She’d given up her maidenhood to him! And he was ... he was the rogue. She was suddenly very aware that she was lying on the dirty ground, her bare bottom pressed into the mud and a man, naked from the waist down, ly
ing on top of her. And he was ...

  “You’re the rogue,” she said, numbly. In hindsight, the clues had been right in front of her ... and she’d dismissed them, without bothering to seriously consider the matter. Bruce had been nearby, when she’d first seen the rogue, and he’d come with her to Amherst, along with the rogue. “You’re a Son.”

  “Quite literally,” Bruce said. He gave her a goofy grin. “I ...”

  Gwen bucked her legs, torn between embarrassment, anger and horror. She’d slept with the enemy! Worse than that, she’d run the very real risk of getting pregnant. Bruce rolled off her, allowing her to sit up. There was a tiny trace of blood between her legs, as Lucy had warned her would happen when she surrendered her maidenhead. Her womanhood felt ... odd, humming with contentment and, at the same time, warning her that she should not do it again for a while. She needed time to grow accustomed to what she’d done.

  And she wanted to do it again. God help her, she wanted to do it again.

  “You were there when we talked about the rogue,” she accused. Anger was better than shame or humiliation. She looked around for her trousers and underpants, then swore as she realised they were over by the dead bodies. “You must have been laughing your head off at us.”

  “You accused me of wanting to kill my father,” Bruce pointed out. He didn't seem bothered by being naked. “Do you think that pleased me?”

  It took Gwen a moment to recall what she’d said. “It’s a testament to the power of your aristocratic idiot act,” she said, finally. “I never suspected you for a second.”

  Bruce preened. “What now?”

  Gwen fought down the urge to smack him. Instead, she crossed her legs, concealing her secrets as best as she could. It was futile - he’d just been inside her - but no one had seen her naked since she’d been a child. Even the maids had barely dared to enter her room, knowing that she was cursed with magic. No doubt they’d expected her to turn them into toads if they disturbed her sleep.

  She met his eyes. “Why did you save my life?”

  Bruce said nothing for a long moment. “Do you believe the French will betray us?”

  “I think it’s very likely,” Gwen said, tartly. She gestured in the direction of the dead bodies, the soldiers and the settlers. “Do you think they’ll go to war just to give you their freedom?”

  Her mouth dropped open as a thought struck her. “Raechel. You knew. You knew all along!”

  Bruce held up his hands, placating. “Your friend is in no real danger,” he assured her. “I just thought it might be better to have a spy we knew about, rather than one we didn't.”

  Gwen shook her head in disbelief. She’d nearly been killed, then she’d been saved by a presumed enemy, then she’d lost her maidenhead ... and then she’d discovered that the Sons had been one step ahead of them all along. Bruce ... she’d never suspected him, standing right beside the most powerful man in the colonies. No wonder the Sons had been so confident that they could come and go as they pleased, even taking the risk of liberating Raechel from Irene. They'd known about every raid that might have exposed their secrets.

  She swallowed, hard. No matter what they’d done together, they were still enemies. And she was in no state for a fight. She thought he would be just as drained, but it was impossible to be sure.

  “Bruce,” she said, quietly. “Why are you doing this?”

  She half-expected a flippant answer, but Bruce did her the honour of taking the question seriously. “My mother was American,” he said. “Her family were New York gentry, but they were very definitely American. Many of them ... many of them had made their peace with the Crown after the revolution failed; others chafed under the rules and regulations imposed by the government. There was no true freedom in New York. Many others ...”

  He sucked in a breath. “The aristocrats who coddled up to my father were not true men,” he added. “They would have dismissed my father in a heartbeat if they’d felt they could get away with it. The ... they thought of themselves as clever, but all they were doing was fighting over a diminishing pie. They weren't allowing anyone to compete with them on even terms. The same was true of the women - they might have been aristocrats, but they were trapped in gilded cages. And they were bringing more and more slaves and indentured servants to the colonies ...

  “It took me far too long to realise that eventually they’d destroy themselves.”

  “Like the aristocracy in Britain nearly did,” Gwen said.

  “Exactly,” Bruce said. “We want representation, the right to choose our own governments and officials. It isn't much, but ...”

  “But you didn't get it,” Gwen finished. “And now you’ve built an army, an army that will tear the colonies apart, only to run the risk of handing them to the French instead.”

  “We want to build a new world,” Bruce said. He waved a hand in the air. “There can be something new and better here, Gwen. Aren’t you tempted?”

  “Tempted?”

  “You only have power in Britain because you have powerful magic,” Bruce pointed out. “I think you know it. But here, you could be a power in your own right.”

  Gwen shifted uncomfortably. Raechel had been tempted ... and, if she were forced to be honest, she’d have to admit that she was tempted too. God alone knew how many bright young women had been forced into becoming dull little dolls by their parents, while their brothers were given ranks and positions they were unsuited to. And Irene was one of the smartest people Gwen had met, but she was forever held down by factors beyond her control.

  She met his eyes. “Do you expect me to betray my oaths?”

  “No,” Bruce said. “But I think you do have to ask yourself just what is likely to happen if the current situation continues.”

  Gwen hesitated. “There is something you need to know,” she said. “And I’m going to drop my shields to allow you to read my emotions, just so you know I’m telling the truth.”

  Bruce’s eyebrows crawled upwards, but he said nothing. Gwen carefully dismantled her shields, suddenly feeling naked - again - in front of him. She’d never needed to pretend to be something she wasn't, unlike Irene and Raechel. No one would be surprised if she had the power to shield her thoughts. But now she needed him to believe every word.

  She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then began. “Whitehall knows the current situation is unsustainable,” she said. “They are prepared to cede most of your demands, in exchange for your wholehearted support for the war. You could have your own united parliament as soon as next year, if you worked for it. There would be no need to overthrow the government and set up your own, while fighting a civil war!”

  Bruce stared at her. It crossed her mind, suddenly, that he might not have very good control over some of his talents. God knew she didn't and she had a feeling she’d actually been playing with her magic for longer than him. Maybe he couldn't read her emotions, let alone her thoughts. How much did he know about his talents?

  “I see,” Bruce said, finally. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” Gwen said. “Bruce, I can ask your father to implement the contingency plan now!”

  “I’d have to speak to the others,” Bruce said. “Not all of them would believe you.”

  Gwen took a breath. “You have to know that time is running out,” she said. “The French are approaching Amherst. If the Sons rise up against the redcoats, they’re going to be branded traitors once and for all. There will be no hope of establishing a peaceful ... readjustment of power. Either the Crown crushes you as traitors or you take power by force, only to lose it to the French. Time is not on your side.”

  She hesitated, then rose and stalked towards the remains of her trousers. Her legs felt wobbly, but she refused to let herself fall over. Her trousers were caked in mud and her underclothes were torn; gritting her teeth, she pulled them back on and did her best to remove the mud. God alone knew what she was going to tell Jackson, when she finally made it ba
ck to Amherst. If she told him half the truth, he’d have a fit ...

  And if I told him what we did together, she thought, he’d have a heart attack.

  The horses were dead, she discovered; she wasn't really surprised. Lieutenant Roscoe and his men looked to have been torn apart, too. She wanted to bury them, but there was no time to waste. The only thing she could do was make her way back to Amherst and hope Jackson could send out a burial party before it was too late. She forced herself to check Lieutenant Roscoe’s body for anything that might help the French, then took his pistol and remaining ammunition. It might be useful on the trek back to the city.

  “I will have to speak to the others,” Bruce said. He held out a hand. “But for what it’s worth, I will help you get back before I go on to find them.”

  Gwen nodded. She doubted anyone in Amherst knew that Bruce had slipped out of City Hall, let alone shadowed Gwen and Lieutenant Roscoe to their fateful meeting. Did he even have a cover story for his servants, if he failed to return?