He isn’t just a prince; he’s a twenty-year-old man who’s preparing to be king. When his mother died six years ago, he became the heir. Queen Onna seems healthy, but nothing in life is certain. He has to be ready to rule at any moment.
I’m still not sure whether I want to be a queen. But after riding through the country with Ulmin today, I can tell you one thing: I’d trust my nation to his hands. He’s a good, capable man. Whether or not I marry him, I’m glad to have met him.
-Letter from Ambrel Kaulder to Dani Kaulder
Dated Centa 17, 180 PD
Sarza clipped the last wet garment to the clothesline. She returned the empty laundry basket to the workers rinsing clothes nearby and left without a word.
For over two months, ever since the battle for Deroga, she’d worked at the Star Clan’s laundry house. She’d gladly taken on the job of hanging clothes out to dry. It was a solitary position, unlike washing or rinsing. Those workers kept up an annoying chatter all day.
Hanging clothes was boring, but it sure beat sitting in a high-rise building, watching the mundane lives of trogs below. That was what Sarza had done as a Cellerinian Army spy. Her superiors had left her in Deroga to gather information, never guessing she’d switch sides and defend the trogs.
Sarza had always been the solitary sort, but being truly alone, not speaking to another human for months, had nearly driven her mad. Working quietly all day, then joining others for dinner and conversation, was the perfect balance.
The problem was, her new routine was keeping her visions away. Her gift—or curse, or whatever it was—tended to be most active when life was unpredictable or stressful. Nora and the others needed Sarza’s visions to resume. It had been nearly two weeks since Hatlin announced they should move to Cellerin City. They still had no idea how to safely relocate to a city that was occupied by the king’s army. For the last few days, Sarza had limited her sleep, hoping exhaustion would bring on some visions. It hadn’t worked. She was in a prophetic drought.
Yawning, Sarza entered the small dining room used by those the trogs called new-city folk: Nora and her friends, the former magical militia, and now, Sarza and Hatlin. He and Zeisha were already sitting at a table. Sarza picked up a plate of food from the small kitchen and joined them.
“It’s our resident seer!” Hatlin said with a wide smile.
Sarza flushed. Hatlin had a knack for making her feel like the whole world was looking at her.
Zeisha patted a paper-wrapped parcel she’d set on the table. “I got birthday bread for Nora. Ovrun’s picking up some juice. You’re staying to celebrate, right?”
“Sure,” Sarza mumbled as she dug into her food. She still wasn’t used to being treated like she was part of a group.
“Good. Wait ‘til you see the bread. It’s not a normal loaf.”
Sarza swallowed, then cleared her throat. “I’ve seen it before, just not close up. I was here during your birthday party.” She pointed at a stack of furniture in the corner of the room. “I was hiding back there. Spying on you.” Her even voice didn’t reflect the anxious twist in her gut. She hated reminding these people she’d watched their private moments. But she refused to lie about it. Let them reject her; she’d survive like she always had.
Zeisha let out a rueful laugh. “That was a very emotional day for me. I’m sorry you had to witness it.”
Sarza stared at her. “Doesn’t it piss you off? Knowing I spied on you?”
Zeisha’s smile faded. “We’ve all done things we regret. All that matters is who we are now.”
Zeisha was probably thinking about her time in the magical militia. Unable to form a response, Sarza focused on her food.
Hatlin stood. “Happy eighteenth birthday, Nora Abrios!” he boomed.
Every militia member in the room cheered as Nora, Krey, and Ovrun sat at the table, carrying full plates. Ovrun placed a jug of juice next to the birthday bread.
“Thanks so very much for announcing it to all of Deroga, Hatlin,” Nora said, but she was smiling.
He spoke past a big bite of food. “Any time, Your Highness.”
“Sorry we’re late,” Ovrun said. “I had to pick up these two intellectuals from the library. They lose all sense of time down there.” He gave Nora an adoring look, which she returned.
When Hatlin finished eating, he propped his elbows on the table and addressed Krey and Nora. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in that library. You learning anything useful?”
Krey’s eyes flicked briefly to Ovrun and Nora, then dropped to his food. “We haven’t spent that much time there.”
“Twenty-plus hours a week reading sounds like a lot of time to me!” Hatlin said. Eira had given Nora and Krey permission to work part time in their normal trog positions so they could research the rest of the week. “I’d be bored after the first fifteen minutes!”
Nora sighed. “I love being down there, but it’s getting frustrating. Most of the information isn’t applicable. The books were all written when Anyari’s population was large and technologically advanced. The Cellerinian Army is nothing like the forces they had in the past. And then there’s us.” She gestured around the room. “Even if the militia members help us take down my father, we can’t exactly call ourselves an army. Not to mention how different weapons were back then.”
Krey looked up from his food. “We need to get to the capital. Then at least we can assess what’s happening and come up with a plan.” He turned to Sarza.
She spoke before he could. “No, I haven’t had any visions today. I’m too . . . happy.” She spoke the word with a sneer. “I’m pretty sure the best seers are tortured ones. Having the same routine every day doesn’t help either.”
“You need to shake things up,” Ovrun said. “Why don’t you switch jobs each day? You can hunt with me one day, then work in the butcher shop or the bakery, then work with Zeisha in a garden or take a lookout shift with Krey.”
Sarza nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea. Well, all but the bakery. I can’t work around stoves; I might fall into one if I have a vision.” She let out a little laugh.
“That would be tragic,” Nora said. “You might smash all the bread.”
The table lit up with laughter, and Sarza even heard herself chuckle.
When they’d eaten, Zeisha unwrapped the birthday bread, and Nora’s party began. Sarza ate her fair share and downed a cup of the weak wine trogs called juice.
They were the only ones left in the room when a crash of thunder interrupted their conversation. Seconds later, rain began hammering the roof. They all rushed to close the shutters.
“Guess we’ll have to extend the party until we can walk back to our dorms,” Krey said when they were back at the table. “We might be here all night.”
Ovrun snorted. “You’d stay stuck inside because of a storm? C’mon, man, a little rain, a little mud . . . it’s good for us! Connects us to nature.”
Hatlin laughed loudly. “I’m guessing the princess disagrees.”
Nora took Ovrun’s hand and pulled his arm around her shoulders. “You can take Ovrun out of the outdoors, but you can’t take the outdoors out of Ovrun.” She grinned, though it looked a little strained. “As for me, I’d rather not have soggy shoes for the next two days, thank you very much.”
“Better get used to being stuck inside, Ovrun!” Hatlin said, still chuckling. “One of these days, you might find yourself spending all your time in the palace, doing whatever kings do.”
Silence fell over the table. Sarza’s gaze found Ovrun, whose face had taken on a reddish tinge. Next to him, Nora was looking off to the side, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth.
“Uh . . . sorry,” Hatlin said. “I thought you two . . . seems I spoke too soon.”
“It’s okay. Anyone want more juice?” Eyes fixed on the pitcher, Nora poured the rest of the juice. Conversation resumed. Before long, the group’s laughter drowned out the rain.
Sarza sat back, again sensing she wasn’t truly
part of this group. They knew each other too well. Even Hatlin, a newcomer who was way older than the others, seemed to jump right back into things after a blunder that would’ve made Sarza want to crawl into a hole and die.
When they all drank a toast to Nora’s official adulthood, Ovrun pulled the princess in for a kiss. Sarza’s cheeks warmed. Her eyes found Krey, who was watching Zeisha with sad eyes.
The romantic drama was yet another way she didn’t fit in. She didn’t want any of that in her life. Not now, not ever.
Sarza stood and excused herself, muttering that she needed to pee. The others warned her she’d get wet outside, but she waved them off and walked into the storm.
In seconds, she was soaked. A block down the street, she stopped, raising her face to the pelting rain, hoping it would wash away her confusion. She would never have anything in common with the people in there. Why did they keep including her?
Because I have visions. The answer was obvious, and Sarza didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. They were probably just putting up with her. What they needed was her gift, not her company. They’d keep her around as long as she was useful.
She squared her shoulders. At least they valued something about her. That was more than she’d gotten from anyone else. It would have to be enough.
Tomorrow, she’d talk to Eira about switching up her work schedule. And every night at dinner, she’d do her best to sit with her new group of peers and try not to consider them friends.
Flickering, amber light illuminated a few dozen faces of trogs and new-city folk. Despite the warm night, they were sitting around a campfire on a deserted Derogan street. Not a bad way to spend an evening, Sarza thought.
Conversations filled the air, but she wasn’t listening to any of them. She was too busy thinking about how she’d spent her day. She’d hopped from job to job for a week. Today, she’d worked with one of the Star Clan’s tailors, an old man who used few words to guide her as she assisted him.
And she’d loved it.
Sarza had done plenty of sewing, having grown up in an overflowing household where no one ever had enough clothes, and the ones they did have constantly needed mending. She’d always been on the lookout for better ways to cut a sleeve or sew a button.
When the trog tailor had seen her expert mending skills, he’d handed her a bolt of woven fabric and asked if she could create a shirt. She’d spent most of the day on the project, needle flying. Tomorrow, she’d finish it. Staring into the fire, Sarza pondered how she might improve on the trogs’ basic clothing patterns.
All at once, pressure filled her brain. She barely had time to announce, “I’m about to—” before her head flopped forward, and a vision began.
She saw herself in Deroga, working with the tailor, a stack of completed pieces on a table behind her. The scene faded gradually into another. She, Nora, Ovrun, and Krey walked down a snowy Derogan street.
That scene ended abruptly. Another began, just as suddenly. In the new vision, it was still summer. Sarza, Nora, Ovrun, Krey, and Hatlin stood atop a stark, stony hill, dawn light casting a peach haze over the land. A river, crossed by a bridge, flowed at the bottom of the hill. Straight irrigation canals fed water from the river to many clommets of farms, their fields covering the land as far as she could see.
The image faded, and Sarza jolted back to reality. Everyone from the last vision, plus Zeisha, had gathered around her.
“What did you see?” Nora asked eagerly.
“I saw two options,” Sarza said slowly. “We can stay in Deroga, living peacefully for months on end.”
“Or?” Krey pressed.
“Or . . . we can travel to an area of farmland outside Cellerin City.” Sarza let her gaze wander to the flames again, drawing in a deep breath. Sometimes visions didn’t tell her everything, but she usually got an urge afterward to help her make sense of it all.
“Farmland?” Nora asked.
“Don’t say anything,” Sarza said curtly, holding her hand up and closing her eyes. She rubbed her sore temples. A minute or two passed before she again looked at the group. “I believe we can safely stay at one of the farms.”
Krey’s mouth widened in a big smile. “That gets us a whole lot closer to the palace than we are now. It’ll be much easier to act from there. When should we go?”
“In the vision, we all had hair about the same length as it is now, and it was still summer. So I’d say we should leave soon.”
“You saw all of us?” Krey asked, leaning forward.
“All but Zeisha.”
Zeisha nodded, like she’d known that would be the answer. Krey sat back, his expression indecipherable.
“Where exactly is this farm you’re talking about?” Nora asked.
Sarza shrugged. “Somewhere near Cellerin City . . . but I’m not sure where. We’ll need to travel at night. I saw us standing on a hill at dawn, overlooking more farms than I could count. Once we leave, I’m sure my urges can get us there. Hopefully I’ll know more once we’re on the hill.”
Hatlin spoke for the first time since Sarza had pulled out of her vision. “I got one question.”
“Yeah?”
“Do I have to ride a dragon there?”
Nora laughed aloud.
Sarza smirked. “A dragon would get us there faster . . . but I don’t think we can all fit. I suppose you and Krey could fly on your own power.”
“Thank the stone,” Krey and Hatlin said in unison.
The Stone Eater: 3
Ulmin leaned back in the cushioned seat of the open-top steamcar, letting the morning breeze cool his skin. Sky above, it felt good to get out of the constant heat of the stone dome. His hair, which had grown shaggy, blew into his mouth. He spit it out and laughed aloud, turning to the guard who sat on the back seat next to him. “Feels great, doesn’t it?”
The guard’s expression was serene. Controlled. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The car sputtered a bit as it drove into Cellerin City. Ulmin made a mental note to bring in a mechanic to get it running smoothly again. He kept the car stored for months on end; perhaps he should take it out more often.
Sitting up straighter, Ulmin tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Stop the car.”
The driver obeyed. The royal guards surrounding the car brought their orsas to a halt.
Ulmin turned to the ranking guard. “I see soldiers on the street, but no people. Why is that? It’s mid-morning; the city should be alive!”
The guard had the same peaceful, vacant expression as his colleague. “I don’t know, Your Majesty.”
“Bring a soldier here to talk to me.”
The guard trotted off, returning quickly with a foot soldier. The woman bowed. Ulmin briefly considered controlling her, but he’d regretted doing so with the captain who visited his office. His palace staff had a healthy respect for him; they’d never disclose his mind magic. He couldn’t trust a random soldier to have the same sense of loyalty.
“Thank you for your service,” he told the woman.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
He gave her a friendly smile. “I’d expect to see citizens in the streets at this time of day. Where are they?”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and swallowed before croaking, “They—uh—they’re afraid. Of the soldiers. We—we’re not violent without cause, Your Majesty, we—”
He interrupted with a laugh. “A bit of fear is a healthy thing, don’t you think? However, it’s a glorious day! We’re going to the Fern Street Chapel for this morning’s service. Gather your fellow soldiers. Knock on doors. Bring the citizens of Cellerin City into the streets along our route. I want to see my people!”
The soldier saluted again, then ran off down the street.
Ulmin instructed his driver to wait. He took a moment to refuel, eating a tiny brain he’d stashed in his pocket. Several minutes later, citizens lined the street ahead. The steamcar rumbled forward, more slowly than before. As it approached the small crowd, ch
eers erupted. Ulmin stood, holding the seat in front of him, and waved at his people.
The rest of the drive was full of cheers and goodwill. By the time they reached the chapel, Ulmin’s heart was lighter than it had been in months. The car came to a halt. Ulmin waited for his guards to dismount their orsas before stepping out. Surrounded by mind-controlled men and women who would die for him without a second thought, he confidently strode up the steps and into the chapel. Three Cellerinian soldiers standing at the back came to attention as soon as they saw him.
The clergyman at the front was reading a passage from the Sacrex, the Rimorian book of scripture. When he raised his eyes and saw the small group at the back of the chapel, he stopped talking mid-sentence.
Ulmin laid a hand on the back of one of the guards in front of him. “Announce me, then let me see my people.”
“His Majesty Ulmin Abrios, King of Cellerin!” the guard called. He stepped to the side, allowing the beaming king to view the attendees.
Ulmin’s smile almost faltered when he counted only four families scattered through the large space. Shaking off his disappointment, he spoke. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to greet Cellerin City’s most faithful. Please, continue the service.”
The clergyman wrapped up in two minutes. Ulmin invited the service’s attendees to come speak with him.
All was well until a man with three children, the smallest perhaps four years old, approached. The little boy looked up at his father through wide, thick-lashed eyes. “Daddy, will these soldiers hurt us?”
The father, who was lowering his hands after bowing, stiffened. “No, son, these are royal guards. The man in the middle is King Ulmin.”
The boy met Ulmin’s eyes, then turned back to his father and spoke in an audible whisper. “He looks like a bad man.”
Had the words come from an adult or even an older child, Ulmin’s vengeance would have been swift. More than ever these days, he understood the importance of enforcing unity in his land. But this was a little boy who knew no better. He simply needed to be taught.
The Stone Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 3) Page 7
