The Stone Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 3)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  “Not tonight,” Krey said.

  Nora’s eyes fell on Sarza, who drew back, her chair seeming to swallow her thin frame. She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t dance.”

  “We’ll change that by the end of the night.”

  “You’re underestimating how much of a fool I’d make of myself out there.”

  “You’re underestimating how determined I am.” Without waiting for a response, Nora took Ovrun’s hand and headed for the dance floor.

  Summer had officially arrived eight days earlier. The weather outside was beautiful, but sticky, sweaty people crowded the dance floor, the heat of their moving bodies pervading the space.

  Nora couldn’t get enough of it. She needed the distraction. Lately, countless questions about the future had jostled for attention in her brain. Her father had lost his mind and his ability to make rational decisions. Nora had to take his crown . . . but how? She couldn’t figure it out on her own, and nobody was prepared to guide her. Not Hatlin, who was busy trying to get the army out of his hometown. Not Sarza, the seer, whose visions since the battle hadn’t been useful at all. Not Zeisha, the new Anya, who had no idea what was next for Cellerin.

  Such uncertainty didn’t bother Zeisha, who seemed content where she was, free of worries about the future. Nora was determined to follow in her footsteps, if only for one night. Tomorrow’s problems could wait. During fast songs, she danced until her heart threatened to gallop across the room. The band’s music slowed, and Nora pressed closer to Ovrun, resting her head on his upper chest. His fingers trailed lightly across her back. The touch made her shiver, despite the heat. She felt his chest vibrate with a laugh.

  When the song ended and a faster one began, Nora shouted over the noise, “I need a drink!”

  Ovrun nodded and led her back to their table, where their mugs waited. Someone had brought over a pitcher of water. Nora sat, filled her cup, and greedily drank.

  A couple of former militia members passed their table. “Come dance!” one of them called.

  Nora smiled at Krey and Sarza. “It’s great dancing music. You two should join us.”

  Krey’s eyes were locked on the dance floor. “I’m not . . . ready for that.”

  She followed his gaze. Zeisha was swaying to the music along with Kebi and other trogs. “Maybe it’s time to make some new memories.”

  He pulled his gaze back to Nora. “Not yet. But next time there’s a chance to dance, I’ll do it.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Satisfied, she turned to Sarza, ready to use her most persuasive arguments to get the girl on the dance floor. But Sarza was slumped in her chair, chin resting on her chest, clearly having a vision.

  Several seconds later, her head righted itself, her torso straightened, and her arms flailed like someone had woken her from a nightmare. Her hand caught the clay water pitcher, sending it tumbling off the table, spilling its contents along the way. When it struck the hard floor, it shattered.

  “Damn it!” Sarza blurted, rushing to pick up the broken pieces.

  Ovrun, Krey, and Nora all stood to help her. “I got it,” Nora said, gesturing for Ovrun and Krey to sit. She joined Sarza on the floor. As they retrieved the sharp clay shards, Nora kept her voice light, saying, “Must’ve been some vision.”

  Sarza shrugged, her gaze still on the floor. “I saw that we’ll have a rainstorm soon. Sometimes I do weird things at the end of a vision, even if I didn’t see anything disturbing.” She let out a harsh chuckle. “Every once in a while my visions look like seizures. I’m sure you can imagine how that went over in the middle of a chapel service one time.” When Nora didn’t respond, Sarza looked up, the muscles around her mouth tightening. “Just laugh; I know it’s funny.”

  Nora blinked. She’d had over a month to get to know Sarza, who sat with Nora and her friends at meals and sometimes even hung out with them at night around bonfires or in rooftop gardens. But she didn’t often join in their conversations and rarely opened up about her life as a seer. Nora kept her voice low. “It sounds painful. Not funny.” Planning to reach out and touch Sarza’s shoulder, she set the clay pieces on the table. When she saw the seer’s dark eyes, full of challenge, she kept her hands to herself. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

  The other girl’s narrow shoulders loosened a bit.

  With a small smile, Nora said, “I should rephrase that. You’re my friend now, so I will laugh when you’re being funny. But not when you’re in pain.”

  She didn’t realize Krey had squatted next to them until he spoke. “Don’t listen to her, Sarza. She cracked up when I broke my ankle during the battle.”

  “That was because I was injured too, and I was hysterical.” Nora pushed Krey’s arm. His balance wavered, and he fell on his backside. A giggle erupted from her mouth. “That’s the kind of thing we all laugh at,” she told Sarza. “Not real pain.”

  Sarza stared at her, blinking rapidly. By the sky, was she going to cry? Again, Nora almost reached out, but Sarza jumped up, tossing her clay shards on an empty plate. She added Nora’s to the mix and rushed off with it.

  Nora raised her eyebrows. Krey shrugged. They both resumed their seats at the table with Ovrun.

  When Sarza returned with another pitcher of water, her hard expression was back in place. She pulled out her chair and plopped down, not looking at anyone. The table’s occupants were silent, though music and chatter saturated the air around them. Eyes locked on the table’s surface, Sarza finally spoke. Nora had to lean forward to be sure she heard the girl’s words.

  “I don’t expect you to call me a friend. Any of you. I’ve been different since the day I had my first vision. I’ve made peace with it. You don’t have to coddle me or try not to laugh or pretend you care about me. You don’t have to drag me to parties like this. You don’t owe me anything for the visions I had during the battle.” Her gaze met Nora’s. “Being alone is part of being different. I’m good at being alone.”

  Nora was about to respond, but Ovrun spoke first. “To be honest, Sarza, I don’t fit in either. I’m no magic eater, but for months, I’ve been living in a bunkhouse with a magical militia. Hell, I’ve been hanging out with royalty”—he gestured at Nora—“even though I’m a poor kid who never dreamed of anything bigger than owning a farm.”

  Ovrun’s words clawed at Nora’s heart. He was right, the two of them had deep differences. She didn’t care that he hadn’t grown up privileged. It wasn’t his past that concerned her. It was his future.

  As her feelings for him grew dangerously close to something she’d call love, Nora found herself more and more fixated on whether Ovrun could truly be happy with her. Surely there were trog women who’d jump at the chance to leave Deroga and farm the land with a gorgeous Cellerinian. Or maybe he should take a look at Zeisha. They’d be the most good-natured couple on the planet. He could even go back to that girl Joli he’d dated before meeting Nora, or to any of the other girls in Cellerin City who were probably still nursing crushes on him.

  Sensing that she was spiraling into the type of anxious contemplation that could ruin a party, Nora made a resolution. For the rest of the night, she wouldn’t think about anything deeper than the absolute beauty of Ovrun’s cream-colored trog shirt stretching across his shoulders. Tonight was all about having fun. All that other stuff could wait.

  Ovrun was still talking to Sarza. “Being different doesn’t mean you have to be alone. Nobody should have to be alone.” His voice wasn’t loud, but its firmness made it carry across the table. The words sat there, waiting for a challenge.

  Sarza pressed her lips together, arms folded across her narrow ribcage.

  “We’re pretty nice people,” Nora said. “Most of the time.”

  Krey laughed at that, but Sarza’s stance didn’t soften.

  This girl needed friends, something Nora certainly understood. There had to be a way to break through the seer’s hard exterior. “Dance with us,” she blurted. �
��Everyone’s too hot and sweaty to care if you know how.”

  “I’ve—” Sarza unfolded her arms and ran her fingers through her short, shaggy hair. “I don’t know how to dance. I’ve never tried.”

  Nora’s jaw dropped.

  “Never?” Krey asked.

  Sarza’s shrug was full of defensive pain.

  “I’ve seen you drill with a knife,” Nora said. “You’re rhythmic and graceful. Just bring that skill onto the dance floor.” She gestured to the landing where over fifty musicians were now playing. “This song’s slow. You’ve got this.”

  Several seconds passed before Sarza said, “Fine.” She stood, walking toward the dance floor by herself.

  Nora let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re supposed to dance with us, not alone!” She and Ovrun rushed to catch up with the seer.

  When they reached the dance floor, Sarza stopped at the edge of the slowly moving mass of bodies, a tree beside swaying grasses.

  “Just move,” Nora said, demonstrating. “Think of your knife drills. Close your eyes if that makes it easier.”

  Sarza squeezed her eyes shut. Then she took Nora’s advice literally, moving her arms in a series of thrusts and parries, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She spun and ducked, reached her arms wide then crossed them, completing drills she’d done countless times.

  As the song continued, something changed. Sarza found the rhythm of the music. She slowed, each shift of her arms and legs smoother than the last. Her moves lost their harsh violence, transitioning into graceful, curving sweeps, as if she were slicing the air rather than stabbing it. She’d begun with her right hand fisted, holding an imaginary knife, but soon, she released her fingers, letting them glide through the air like the feathers of a bird. Her straight hair, which had grown into a shaggy bob, seemed to float around her head as she moved.

  Sarza was no longer drilling. She was dancing.

  And she was good.

  Nora and Ovrun stood frozen, mouths gaping. A few trogs had stopped too, drawn away from their own dances by the closed-eyed seer’s nimble moves.

  If Sarza opened her eyes to find an audience, she might never dance again. Nora waved her arms at the people around her, mouthing, “Dance!” She put her own arms around Ovrun’s neck, and everyone started moving just as the song came to a sweet, slow close.

  Sarza’s eyes shot open, and her limbs stiffened again as she looked around her, as if expecting a public critique. When nothing of the sort happened, she relaxed a bit.

  Nora pulled away from Ovrun and approached the seer with a smile she hoped wasn’t too enthusiastic. “That was amazing.” She gave Sarza an impulsive hug and rejoiced to feel the young woman’s skinny arms squeezing her back.

  When they separated, Sarza said, “It wasn’t so bad.” Her surprised smile revealed how much she’d enjoyed it.

  “This song is a fast one,” Nora said. “Should we join the mob?” She gestured to the undulating crowd.

  “Okay.”

  Sarza let loose in a way Nora wouldn’t have thought her capable of. Zeisha and Kebi found them, and Kebi taught them all some trog moves. Ovrun never seemed to tire as he danced with Nora, spinning her wildly during some songs, holding her close during others.

  At last, the party wound down. Nora, Zeisha, Krey, Ovrun, and Sarza walked through Deroga’s dark streets, letting the breeze cool their sweaty bodies. Sarza chatted easily with the others, only acting uncomfortable when they complimented her dancing.

  As Nora listened to the conversation, something strange squeezed at her heart. She was trying to identify it when Ovrun murmured quietly, “Seems like our seer is really fitting in.”

  “She is.” Nora smiled, though she felt a little sick. What’s wrong with me?

  Then it struck her. Tomorrow, Sarza would be exactly who she was tonight: the seer who was at last finding her place in this group.

  Nora, on the other hand, would again be Cellerin’s princess and heir, expected to steal her father’s crown.

  A break from reality was a good thing. She’d needed this party. But it changed nothing. Sure, she had friends. She could depend on them for support and laughter, and, in Ovrun’s case, a little heat to keep things interesting.

  But none of that’s what I need these days, is it? She needed direction, assurance, someone to take her hand and tell her how to bring her father down so she could save her country. Nobody here could provide that for her. Nobody anywhere could. Sure, they’d brainstorm with her and support her and fight alongside her. But she was the one who’d eventually lead her country. The responsibility for getting this right fell on her shoulders alone.

  She chewed on that bitter word—alone—as they walked through the dark streets.

  2

  I met a neighbor girl today. Reymi is seventeen, and we became fast friends. Her family drove me in their carriage to Cellerin Mountain. We hiked for over an hour until we reached a lookout—nowhere near the top, of course, but high enough to see a lot of the land between the mountain and the capital.

  I stood there for a few minutes, quietly enjoying the view, before it hit me that everything I was looking at might one day be mine to rule.

  I’m not sure if that thought is terrible or wonderful.

  -Letter from Ambrel Kaulder to Dani Kaulder

  Dated Centa 13, 180 PD

  Nora squinted into the pale-orange sky, which held no sign of the flying reptid she was seeking.

  “Do you think he’ll come?” Ovrun asked. His voice echoed off the buildings on either side of the deserted Derogan street.

  “Yeah. I’m sure his timing is just off. I told him to come halfway between dawn and noon. That’s kind of vague.”

  But she wasn’t as sure as she wanted to be. These days, Osmius didn’t always answer when she called him. He’d faithfully taken her to see Hatlin last night and on other Fridays before that. But when she’d canceled last week’s meeting so she could attend the party, she’d sensed the great dragon’s relief.

  Osmius wanted to lie in his cave and mourn his mate over the coming months . . . or years . . . or forever. He’d agreed to take Nora and Ovrun on an aerial tour of Cellerin, but he’d have to drag himself out of the darkness and into the sunlight. Could he manage it?

  Nora slipped her arm around Ovrun’s waist. When he tugged her into his side, her floppy, fabric hat smashed against his chest. All the trogs wore these hats to protect against the summer sun. She let out a short giggle and pulled away, trying to straighten the brim.

  Ovrun grinned. “That’s the least fashionable thing I’ve ever seen you wear.”

  “I carry it off way better than you do.”

  When he laughed, his identical hat quivered.

  Less than a minute later, Nora pointed into the distance. When it became clear that the approaching creature was a dragon, not a bird, she and Ovrun tightened their chin straps while they waited for Osmius.

  As the dragon landed, he pulled in his broad, golden wings, creating a gust of wind that blew Nora’s thin shirt against her. This, too, was part of the trogs’ summer uniform: a loose, woven shirt with long sleeves, paired with drawstring pants. Her outfit was light tan, while Ovrun had an off-white shirt and brown pants. As comfortable as her new wardrobe was, Nora missed her tailored clothes.

  Hello, Osmius.

  Nora-human.

  She climbed up his iridescent-gray, basket-weave scales, in front of his left wing, then scooted forward to hang onto the dragon’s neck. Ovrun mounted behind her.

  You wish to show your mate the land? Osmius asked, curving his neck to gaze at her through his golden, faceted eyes.

  Nora didn’t bother to correct him. He knew Ovrun wasn’t her mate in any sense of the word, but he insisted on teasing her with the term. It struck her that it was the first time he’d done so since Taima had died six weeks ago. Holding back an influx of emotion, she replied, I want him to know more about Cellerin. And I need to see how things are going.

 
; He responded by lifting into the air. Nora held onto his scales with her fingers and the toes of her boots as they gently rose into the sky over Deroga.

  What do you wish to see? The dragon’s voice sounded tired.

  As much as you can show us. We brought food and water in our packs, so if you’re up for an all-day tour, we are too. Maybe we could start with your mountains?

  Osmius veered south, toward the range where he lived. After a long, silent trip over Deroga and many clommets of open land, they at last reached the mountains. Osmius flew over some of the shorter peaks. Ice and snow still covered the tallest ones. Yesterday, the dragon had brought Nora some of that ice to renew the fuel stash for her and other ice lysters in Deroga.

  “It’s beautiful!” Ovrun shouted over the brisk wind.

  Nora smiled. “Just you wait; there’s so much more to see!” She reached out to Osmius. We could go to the desert after this.

  If you wish. However, we cannot visit the pond.

  Nora’s heart dropped. She’d hoped to take Ovrun to the places Osmius had shown her nearly four months ago, where planet magic—the force she now knew as the Well—was active. She’d drunk water from a pond that had given her incredible energy and enhanced her senses. Why not?

  I call him your mate because I like to see your cheeks redden, Osmius said, his serious tone contrasting with his words. Yet you have not committed your life to him. You know how closely the Well’s truths are guarded. If you choose Ovrun as the next king of this land, we shall show him its wonders.

  Nora nodded. When she’d met the man known as the Anya in the nation of Cruine, she’d immediately pegged him as the secretive sort. He’d lived in a cabin as a hermit, for the sky’s sake. He could activate the power of the Well anywhere on the planet, yet he’d rarely done so.

  When he and Zeisha had used the Well to defeat Nora’s father in Deroga, they’d done their best to shroud their actions in secrecy. But nobody who’d been there would ever forget the great spouts of lava that had shot into the air. Rumors were running rampant around Deroga, and doubtless throughout Cellerin, since the king’s army had seen the same magic.