by Amy Hopkins
Grit pressing into her flesh suggested she was on a dirty floor, but wasn’t grainy enough to be outside. No light seeped in between her eyelids, so it was dark. Carefully, in case she was being watched, she cracked an eye open.
A small barred window above her let streaks of flickering light in to bounce off the heavy stone walls. Wincing as she turned her head, she noted she was in a tiny room—more of a cell, really—and someone was leaning against the wall beside her.
“Marcus?" she whispered.
He jumped and bent down to examine her. “Are you ok? Thank the Bastard, Jules!” He helped her to sit up and held her steady as her stomach turned from the movement.
“Where are we?" she asked.
“In the bowels of the lord’s manor. It’s a proper dungeon down here.” He kept his voice low, suggesting someone was close enough to hear them.
Julianne narrowed her eyes, trying to force past the throb in her head to summon magic. Marcus shook his head. “The guy that slammed the door on us said we’re being guarded by Dawners. No tricks, or he’ll send one in to thump us.”
“You believe him?” Julianne whispered.
He shrugged. “Probably best not to test his theory until you’re ready to go full mind-fuck on them.”
She gave a soft snort at his description of her powers.
“I’m serious, Jules. When you’re up to it, no half measures. You get in their heads, and you fuck them up. We can’t risk calling any more people down here than you can handle.”
Julianne nodded, then winced as it made her head pound harder.
Marcus noticed. “How’s your head?”
“Nothing broken. It’ll hurt for a few days, I’ll bet.”
She stopped talking when footsteps clomped down the hallway. The metal doorway clicked and a small hatch opened at the bottom. Someone slid a plate of food through, then a water flask before it slammed shut. It clicked again. There’s a lock on the outside, Julianne realized.
Marcus watched her as the boots stomped away. He didn’t ask if she had managed to harness her magic—her clear eyes suggested she hadn’t. Without letting his disappointment show, Marcus passed her the water.
“Drink. It’ll make you feel better.”
She took a small sip of water, rolling it around her mouth. Then, she took a long swallow. “That does feel a bit better,” she said.
Picking up a roll of bread, Marcus let his eyes drift towards the small grate in the door. He had spent an hour calling out for help when they had first locked him in here. When Julianne's comatose body was tossed in later, he’d stopped. Clearly, there would be no fair trial and no audience with the city lord.
A bite of the bread made him screw up his face. When I get out of here, he thought, I’m going to kill whoever decided to feed us cold stew and stale bread. He let the roll drop back to the plate, then offered Julianne some.
She nibbled at the bread, dampening his fear about her head injury. It’s the first place he would attack a mystic—addle their brains and reduce their spellcasting, it was just common sense—but he wouldn’t forgive whoever had caused that injury.
“You’ve blood on your face,” he said. Marcus dampened a corner of his shirt with water, and used it to clean Julianne’s face.
“How long have we been in here?" she asked, her face close enough to tickle his eyebrow with her breath.
“You missed breakfast.” He finished and moved back. “You’re lucky. The cooks here couldn’t hold a candle to Annie. Hell, even Danil can make better food than this lot.”
Julianne shuddered and Marcus could imagine what she was thinking. The one time they had let Danil cook, they had all decided to go hungry rather than eat the mucousy slop that landed in their bowls, or the bread rolls that thunked on the table like stones.
“So, lunch time, at least,” she murmured.
“Maybe. It’s too dark in here to really judge, but I’d swear that was dinner they just fed us, not lunch.” He rubbed his stomach, wondering if maybe he was hungry enough to risk that congealed stew after all.
“I suppose a few herbs for an aching head is too much to ask.” She slumped back against the wall. “Marcus, what the bloody hell are we going to do?”
“Nothing we can do,” he replied, settling back next to her as comfortably as he could. Against cold, knobby stone that wasn’t very comfortable at all, but he was used to roughing it.
“Bullshit.” She gave him a halfhearted slap. “We can plan. Tell me exactly what happened.”
Marcus had been accosted in the street outside the inn. He had scouted the town, chatted to some lowlifes who had told him which of the guards could be bribed. Of course, that information itself had cost him a few coins.
He hadn’t found out much more than they already knew—the local soldiers had escalated from being generally well-respected peace-keepers to roughneck dictators, using violence to control the citizens of Muir. Of course, most of that behavior was directed at the lower end of town.
That the nobles hadn’t yet been targeted rankled Marcus. Back in Arcadia, he had seen what could happen when the class divide had stretched too far. Lord George had, so far, ruled Muir fairly. Marcus’s quick jaunt through the slums showed them to be in pretty fair condition.
They were clean, for slums, and not as crowded as he had expected. Fresh water pumps were plentiful in the streets and, though closed so late at night, more than one market stall was erected in the area, showing that the locals had access to trade.
Satisfied with the information he had collected, Marcus decided to head back to a warm pillow to try and catch an hour or two’s sleep before morning. He had just rounded the final corner when some thugs jumped him, slipping a sack over his head and tossing him in a carriage.
They had left him bagged and bound for the journey, only untying him after he was safe in the prison cell. They hadn’t spoken much, but Marcus had easily recognized the blue robes of the New Dawn on two of the five.
“Five? They sent five men to take you down?” Julianne didn’t sound entirely skeptical, but Marcus saw one of her eyebrows climb a little higher than usual.
He puffed out his chest. “They must have heard the rumors.”
“Which one?" she asked casually. “Was it the story of how you dissolve into a quivering mess every time a sex worker strolls past? Or the one about the lady who almost had your pants around your ankles before you shook her off outside the inn?”
He glared, and she couldn’t contain her laughter any longer.
“The rumors about my superb fighting skills, smartass,” he said. “You know, for someone with so much responsibility, you don’t act like it sometimes.”
Julianne’s giggles softened into a sigh. She leaned against him. “I’m just lucky enough to have friends who remind me what life is really about.”
“What’s that?" he asked.
“Fun. Everyone deserves to have fun and to laugh. Even the poor and the downtrodden. That’s why I fight for them, Marcus. Because they deserve to laugh, too.”
“These bloody Dawners don’t agree,” Marcus reminded her.
“And that’s why I’ll wipe them from the face of the planet.” Though her words were harsh, she spoke softly, snuggling into him. The knock to the head and the long night had caught up with her. Minutes later, she was asleep against him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
By the next morning, Danil’s nerves had begun to set in. It had been too long, he was certain Julianne would have sent a message by now. He loaded some bread with fried onions and dumped it on his plate, then poured some water.
“Garrett, what’s the chance of putting a few scouts on the outer perimeters? If that army comes knocking, I want as much notice as possible.”
The rearick looked up, pulled from his deep thoughts. At least, Danil thought he had been thinking. He might have just been scowling for fun. Never can tell with a rearick, he admitted.
“Easily done, Danil,” Garrett said. “There were a
couple of guard trainees that dinna quite make the cut. Brave enough, and quick enough, but not quite smart enough to figure out which end of the spear had the point, if ye know what I mean.” Garrett stroked his beard, thinking.
“Don’t send fools. We want them to send back messages, not get killed.” Danil shoved another bite of ham steak in his mouth and chewed it quickly. “And I want extra men on those walls. It won’t take long for those bastards to breach them if we aren’t protecting them.”
“Aye, I sorted that last night. Bette suggested we move training ta the front gates. Means if something happens, our main forces will all be there together.”
Danil nodded appreciatively. “Good idea. Francis back in training yet?”
“Nah, he’s obsessed with these bloody defenses. The man treats Juliane’s word like an instruction from the Queen Bitch herself.” Garrett eyed the last hunk of bread in the middle of the table.
Danil nodded towards it. “You can have that, I gotta run. And don’t talk shit about Francis. You know if Julianne said jump, you’d be on the roof in a hot second.”
Garrett laughed. “Aye, it wasn’t an insult. Francis is doing a damn good job on that wall. I can’t believe how fast the lad’s done it!”
“He had help,” Danil reminded him.
“Aye.” Garrett fell silent again and Danil couldn’t help himself.
“You’re thinking so hard you’re at risk of an injury, rearick. What is it?” Danil swallowed and stood, waiting impatiently.
Garrett ignored him.
“Fine, you hairy little prick. Go fry your brain while I slave away in the classroom.”
“Go fuck yerself,” Garrett responded good-naturedly. “When yer done, can ye send young Bastian down ta have a natter?”
“Will do.” Danil grabbed his hat and his long walking cane. He took it everywhere now. The villagers and his friends were all so busy, he was often caught walking about town on his own with no one nearby to mind-read to see where he was going.
“Don’t walk into any walls, ye hear?” Garrett called out as the door swung shut behind Danil.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “It was only that one time.”
The walk to town was a slow one, and the sun didn’t quite manage to warm him before he got there. He threw open the classroom door and gave a dramatic shiver. “Brr! It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there.” Bastian, Rhea, and Lilly all looked up
“Forget your coat?” Bastian asked mildly. “Sorry, Lilly. Go on.”
Danil shrugged an apology to the young girl and gestured for her to continue whatever she had been doing when he barreled in.
“So, if they start getting cranky at you, just think of the nest and let the magic go, or they’ll come and peck your eyes out.” Lilly’s own eyes glowed green with a mischievous sparkle as she said this and a moment later, Rhea almost fell off her seat when a raven tapped briskly on the back window.
“Lilly,” Bastian said sternly.
She had the grace to look at least a little ashamed. “Sorry, Bastian. Sorry, Rhea.”
“It’s ok, Lilly,” Rhea said when she had regained her composure. “Thank you for taking the time to teach me.”
“Are we finished?” Lilly asked, looking at Bastian enquiringly.
“Next batch of eager students will be here shortly,” Danil confirmed.
“You may go now, Lilly. And thank you!” Bastian called after her as she darted out the door. He shook his head in wonder. “The way she runs out like that, you’d think she didn’t want to be here.”
“Are you even sure she does?” Rhea asked.
Bastian smiled gently. “Positive. She enjoys showing off her skills, and she really does want you to learn, Rhea. She just isn’t used to this kind of structure.”
“She’s also a kid and thoroughly enjoying having one over on the grown-ups,” Danil added. “She might be a little odd, but she’s still a pretty typical nine-year-old in a lot of ways.”
“And now I’m odd, just like her,” Rhea said with a frown. She caught Danil’s disapproving look.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Lilly is delightful, and everyone in town loves her. It’s different though, you know? She’s a child, she’s supposed to be vague and flighty, so having magic doesn’t seem like a big deal.”
“And that’s precisely why magic is so bloody hard to come by in this region!” Danil griped. “It’s an esteemed profession, or it should be. People should feel encouraged to embrace their gifts, not shunned for it.”
Irritably, he shuffled Bastian’s papers off the tiny desk and shoved them in the drawer while pulling out his own. He set them down with a thump before continuing his tirade.
“Do you really think the New Dawn would have had such an easy time of it if this town was full of fire-throwers and mystics? Or if you’d all learned to shield as children, or had an army of wild animals fighting on your side?”
He slammed his hand down on a table in frustration, then looked up to see Rhea’s startled face. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just wish we’d sent people here earlier. To teach you and to start changing some of the attitudes that exist in small towns like this. Maybe then you’d have it a bit easier.”
It was Danil’s turn to feel startled as Rhea slid her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you,” she said.
“What for?" he asked. Before he had time to find out, she was gone.
“Women,” Danil muttered as Bastian stood.
“Nice speech. Does that mean you’re staying when all this is over?” Bastian had shared his grand idea with Danil already—a magic school, one for all talents unlike the segregated teaching centers back in Arcadia. He wanted to create a place where children and adults could come and explore the possibilities magic offered, and lean to accept and rejoice in their gifts.
“Perhaps.” Daniel’s roving mind picked up two men approaching. “Hey, my students are here. Garrett wanted to talk to you, though.”
“What about?” Bastian asked hesitantly.
“Not a clue.”
“Still holding fast to that promise not to read his mind?” Bastian asked. “If he wants to ask me for relationship advice, I’m running for the hills.”
Danil laughed. “I hope it is. I don’t want to be the only person knee-deep in rearick love.”
Rolling his eyes, Bastian grabbed his robe. “I’ll be back after lunch. Try not to set anymore hearts on fire, aye?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
August finally slipped the narrow peephole in the cell door open. Both prisoners shot to their feet, looking far too energetic after two days in a dungeon with only the worst slops to eat.
He had listened to them complain about the food, almost caught himself laughing at their description of it smelling like ‘moldy goat dick’, then banter with each other about how one would know what that smelled like.
Now, August pressed against their shields, letting a small smile touch his lips as both of them scrambled to reinforce their mental defenses. His own shield was impenetrable, reinforced by looping his magic through two other magicians.
He let the mystic girl batter his own shield for a moment, then opened the cell, gesturing for two of his bodyguards to enter first. They, too, were cordoned off from any attacks, protected by another trio of mind-linked magicians.
The entire party was safe from this girl, despite the overinflated rumors of her strength.
August stepped over to the boy and chuckled at his defiant growl. “You think you can defend against me?" he asked.
Slamming into the soldier’s shield, August was surprised at the resistance he faced. Distracted by the effort, he didn’t notice the girl move closer. In a flash, her fist whipped out.
August jumped back and his guards grabbed her, but not before the boy crumpled to the floor. The foolish girl had just knocked out her companion. “Come now, I’d think the leader of that so-called Temple would realize a little knock to the head won’t stop me?”
“Oh? Try getting in his head,” she said with a smirk. Her eyes were bright white, showing she was using some kind of magic other than a simple shield.
Cautiously, August did. Instead of a solid shield, he waded into a murky sludge that coated the young soldier’s mind. He recognized it immediately. It was a spell that pulled the victim into a coma, usually used for surgeries or to ease the suffering of a painful death. He wouldn’t be using the boy’s mind now, not as long as she stayed connected to him.
Unworried, August shrugged. As long as her attention was there, she wouldn’t be using her magic for anything else. “A soldier will stay with him. Your magic won’t protect him from a slit throat. However, if you co-operate, neither of you will be harmed.”
Julianne nodded with all the composure August expected from someone in her position. He walked off, leaving his soldiers to drag her behind him.
When he pushed open the doors to the formal chambers, he did so with a grin. His dear Master, Rogan, would be so proud of his work. August had sent the men to capture Marcus and Julianne, and had been the one to find them and bring them here.
These thorns in his master’s side would now be pawns in his game. “Master, I bring you a gift!” The joy that filled August when he saw Rogan smiled was unequalled. “This is the girl that Donna failed to bring to you.”
“You think she’d be here if not for me?” the red-haired witch spat.
August sneered at her. “I think that if I’d gone to the Heights, Tahn would still be ours.”
“And who was in control of Tahn when it was lost?" she asked sweetly.
“SHUT UP! Your squalling bores me.” Rogan lounged in the oversized, wooden chair, one leg hanging over the arm. He ran his eyes over Julianne appraisingly. “Girl, do you know who I am?”
Julianne nodded calmly. “You’re the ass maggot who lost Tahn.”
Rogan sat up straighter, his ice-blue eyes flashing. He didn’t slip into a trance, though. Instead he laughed. “Finally, someone who has a backbone.”
