The Stone Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 3)

by Carol Beth Anderson

Krey stood. “I guess Ovrun and I should get to work.”

  “Hatlin,” Joli said, “I can show you around since you weren’t here earlier.”

  The four of them headed out. Joli and Hatlin went one direction, Krey and Ovrun the other. As soon as Joli was gone, Ovrun released a sigh, his body shedding its tension.

  “Tell me about Joli,” Krey said.

  Ovrun held up his hands and shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “Whatever you want to share.”

  “We met when I helped with their harvest one year. She liked me; I liked her; our parents approved. It was my first real relationship. Lasted a couple of years. I ended up working for them full time when I was done with school.” A smile took over his mouth. “Sometimes we’d take the orsas out on a Sunday, telling our parents we were going to explore around Cellerin Mountain. Instead, we’d go to the Derogan suburbs.”

  Krey laughed. “Yeah, I remember the blankets you left behind. I’m sure Nora remembers that too.”

  Ovrun groaned. “What did I do to deserve being locked up in a house with my old ex and my new ex?”

  Krey gestured at the fields they were walking through. “You’re not exactly locked up.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Why did you and Joli break up?”

  “I have no idea.” Ovrun took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. “That’s why things are still so weird between us. She just ended things one day. Told me she never wanted to see me again. At least Nora gave me a reason, even if it was a bad one.”

  Krey shook his head. “Sorry, man.”

  They soon separated, Krey heading toward a group of grazing animals and their keeper, Ovrun toward the field workers. His broad shoulders drooped, even as he walked through the fields he loved.

  Nora settled in a chair next to the unlit fireplace in her room, staring at Sharai, who sat opposite her. The grief of yesterday’s breakup had kept her up most of the night. Today, she was sleepy and achy, sadness and uncertainty weighing her down.

  “You seem to have done well leading this little group,” Sharai said, “but you’re not a child anymore. It’s time to act like an adult and a royal.”

  Ironically, Sharai’s words and tone made Nora feel like a little kid. She shifted in her seat. “What do you mean?”

  “First of all, when someone bows and calls you Your Highness, accept it.”

  Nora didn’t respond.

  Sharai continued, “You want to take the crown. Yet you’ve allied with a small-town boy, some girl whose opinion you seem to care about far too much, and a royal guard. How are they supposed to support you? Within your little group, Hatlin’s your only useful ally. He’s not very smart, but he has life experience, and between him and me, we may be able to bring the rest of the New Therroans onto your team. As for the others . . . if they can fight, great. If they can’t, why are they your allies?”

  Nora wasn’t ready to disclose Sarza’s ability, but she could certainly tell Sharai about Krey’s head for strategy and Ovrun’s strength and loyalty. Apparently her subconscious had a different idea, because she heard herself say, “They’re my friends.”

  One of Sharai’s brows lifted. “Rulers don’t have friends. They have subjects.”

  The words were harsh. They also confirmed everything Nora had been thinking.

  “I know it’s not what you want to hear,” Sharai said, “but the farther I moved up the ladder of power, the more I realized I was the only person I could depend on. Your father learned that a long time ago.”

  Nora shook her head. “I used to watch him interact with his staff and ministers, including you. He treated you as friends.”

  “On the surface, yes. But did he ever hesitate to fire someone if there was a mere whiff of disloyalty?”

  Nora didn’t answer, but she recalled staff who’d been there one day and gone the next, often with no explanation.

  “Until recently,” Sharai said, “he was skilled at making tough choices. That’s because he kept his relationships with his subjects shallow. Becoming attached to those beneath him would’ve made it too difficult to do what was right for his kingdom.”

  Nora’s mind was so terribly fuzzy after the day and night she’d suffered through. Staring at a knot on the wood floor, she tried to untangle the flurry of thoughts Sharai’s words had brought to her mind. She’d always thought her father was simply hiding the toll that difficult decisions took on him. But had there ever truly been a toll? Maybe his friendliness had been nothing more than a way to engender loyalty.

  And if his relationships with underlings had been fake, how had he truly seen his family? Nora was too weary to mull over her own fraught relationship with him, but his devotion to one person had been unquestionable. She met Sharai’s gaze again and stated, “He loved my mother.”

  Sharai nodded slowly. “Perhaps. But that’s not why he married her. Onna chose Ambrel as the future queen because she had money and magic. It’s possible that your father and mother fell in love eventually. If so, they were lucky. Whatever their feelings for one another, however, he was always the heir. While your mother held the title of queen, she was his subordinate. I’m certain they were both constantly aware of that fact.”

  Nora’s stomach twisted as she remembered public events at which her mother had bowed to her own husband. How must that have felt, bowing to the person she’d pledged her heart to?

  “Nora.” A smile that was genuinely kind came over Sharai’s narrow face. “My desire isn’t to be cruel. I only want to temper your expectations. Powerful people can’t indulge in relationships like normal people can. But that doesn’t mean you have to be alone. Surround yourself with loyal allies who understand what it means to rule. People who will use their own power to support you.”

  “People like you?”

  “I hope so. And you can still utilize these friends of yours in the best ways possible, but remember—you’ll be the only one wearing a crown. Do you know who you should trust the most?”

  “Who?”

  “Those who have something to gain from your victory. No one truly fights for others. We all fight for ourselves.”

  Nora felt she’d lost control of this conversation—if she’d ever had it. Sharai could be a powerful ally, but Nora wouldn’t allow herself to be a puppet. She lifted her chin and hardened her voice. “What do you have to gain by helping me, Sharai?”

  Eyes sharp, Sharai replied, “A position of power when you are queen.”

  The forthrightness of the request felt surprisingly comforting. Safe. Sharai wasn’t here to make her feel good. She was offering a business transaction. With all the unwelcome emotions coloring Nora’s other relationships, maybe an honest, straightforward alliance was just what she needed. Sharai didn’t have to be likable to be loyal.

  Nora took a deep breath. “If you support me in my quest for the crown, I’ll give you a significant role in my government.”

  Sharai smiled. “I won’t claim to be your friend, Your Highness. Instead, I’ll swear this to you: I will do everything in my power to ensure you become queen.” She held out her hand for Nora to shake.

  Nora almost took it. But there was an intensity in Sharai’s eyes. This was a test. Nora stared pointedly at the proffered hand, then brought her derisive gaze up to Sharai’s face.

  Sharai laughed. “Well done, Your Highness.” She held out her hands and bowed, keeping her head down.

  “You may go.” They were the words of a monarch. Maybe one day such phrases would feel natural.

  When Sharai was gone, Nora flopped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. Sharai’s viewpoint was cynical and harshly pragmatic. It was also realistic. The former minister wanted justice for her niece and power for herself. Nora wanted Sharai’s experience. They could help each other get where they needed to be. It wasn’t pretty, but at least Nora knew what to expect from the relationship.

  Months ago, she’d been desperate for friends. Ovrun and Krey had filled that
need. Later, Zeisha, then Sarza, had come into her life. It had been nice, feeling like she could finally relate to a group of peers. But at some level, hadn’t she always known none of it would last? Even when she’d dreamed of Ovrun wearing a crown at her side, something deep inside had warned her it would never happen.

  By the stone, she missed him. They’d only broken up yesterday, but the distance already yawned like a canyon between them. She hadn’t yet indulged in a good, long cry.

  And I can’t. I need to move on, not wallow.

  A leader had to be strong. There was a reason the most powerful people often lived lives of relational solitude, even when they were surrounded by others. How could a king or queen have a true, equal relationship with anyone? In the future—the near future, Nora hoped—everyone in Cellerin would be her subject. Even her husband, once she had one.

  “I’d better get used to it now,” Nora murmured. Her throat tightened, but she refused to let tears form.

  The Stone Eater: 4

  Ulmin strolled across the palace lawn. Not that it could really be called a lawn anymore; it was nothing but dirt and dead grass. The dome’s small vents let in a bit of sunshine, but it wasn’t enough to keep vegetation alive. Electric lampposts scattered through the property illuminated sick and rotting plants. Mold and other fungi proliferated everywhere, giving the grounds a cloying, sickly odor.

  He circled wide around the pond in the middle of the property, unwilling to get too close. The stagnant water smelled terrible these days. A guard had taken all the dackas off the pond weeks ago and released them outside the dome. The poor birds, who’d lived on that pond for decades, had been wasting away to nothing.

  It’s all worth it, Ulmin reminded himself as he looked directly above him. The electric lamps throughout the property didn’t provide enough light for him to see the stone overhead. But he sensed its solid, comforting weight. Yes, he was sweating through his third set of clothes today, but he was safe. Who could put a price on that?

  The walk to the palace chapel, which sat close to the property’s entrance, felt three times as long as usual. He looked forward to wintering within the dome’s warmth, but right now, summer seemed interminable. The heat made him terribly weary. His hand slipped in his pocket, emerging with three small shimshim brains. A minute later, they were in his belly. A smile tugged at his lips. This place was still sweltering, but his strength had returned.

  When he stopped at the chapel door and ran his fingers along the eight-pointed metal Rimstar adorning it, deep serenity filled his heart. He entered and walked down a dark hallway toward the chapel’s main room. Before he reached the door, it opened.

  “Oh, Your Majesty!” The room’s light illuminated Emissary Loryn’s tight, gray curls as she bowed. Ulmin had been a teenager when she’d taken this assignment, and he continually marveled that she was still so spry. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.

  “Care to join me in the chapel?”

  “Of course.” They entered the small chapel, which was lit by twenty electric bulbs. This was Ulmin’s favorite place; it had to be perfect. Light was an important element in the design of every Rimorian chapel. The sun no longer shone through the expansive skylights, but electric lights were a decent substitute.

  They sat in adjacent chairs in the chapel’s front row. Before Ulmin had created his dome, the chapel would’ve been full of tourists at this time of day. He smiled at the emissary. “It’s lovely being able to worship alone any time of day.”

  “I know you enjoy that,” she murmured. “But . . . Your Majesty . . . I’m an emissary. There are only twenty of us throughout the world. Pardon my frankness, but I should be serving more of the faithful, rather than just you.”

  Ulmin only controlled Emissary Loryn’s mind often enough to ensure she remained loyal to him. Perhaps he’d given her too much free rein. Keeping his voice level, he said, “You serve the other members of the palace staff as well.”

  “I do, the few who choose to worship here. But the stone . . .” She hesitated, gesturing to the small stage. Atop a wide pedestal was a thick, glass case enclosing the deep-black, broken stone that had caused Anyari’s apocalypse and brought magic into the world. Every interior facet of the stone glowed with a luminous, orange light. It had broken apart along those seams after archeologists unearthed it two hundred years ago. The emissary took a deep breath and continued, “The stone belongs to the entire world, does it not?”

  “In a spiritual sense, yes,” Ulmin said. “But in a physical sense, it belongs to Cellerin.” To me, he added silently.

  The emissary looked troubled, but she didn’t protest any further.

  Ulmin smiled. “Let’s talk. Really talk.”

  Hesitation tightened the muscles of her face. She knew about her king’s faculty; everyone here did. It was pointless to resist.

  Ulmin established a mental connection. “Emissary Loryn, will you ever stop obeying me?”

  “No,” she said, her face and tone free of guile.

  Ulmin beamed. Controlled minds were incomparably beautiful. “I have shared confidences with you. Have you ever spoken of them to anyone?”

  “No.”

  He let go of her mind, and his eyes rose to the stone. “I would like to worship.”

  Her shoulders drooped just a bit. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  10

  Ulmin dined with us tonight. He was an hour late, and he apologized profusely. He’d gotten stuck in a meeting with the Board of Ministers. Throughout dinner, he was clearly distracted.

  After dessert, he and I escaped to the back porch. We discussed his meeting. I learned that, while the queen has the final say in all major decisions, she’s committed to following her ministers’ guidance as much as possible. It’s a good policy, but it results in some long, intense debates.

  As we talked, Ulmin became more and more relaxed. Within half an hour, he was almost carefree. Before he left, he whispered, “You’re good for me, Ambrel.”

  Still no kiss. But I’m savoring his words.

  -Letter from Ambrel Kaulder to Dani Kaulder

  Dated Centa 27, 180 PD

  Nora lifted and lowered the pump handle over the tub. She and Sarza shared this bathroom with Krey and Ovrun. And Hatlin, she reminded herself. He’d given his room to Sharai.

  Growing up, Nora had enjoyed water—hot or cold—at the turn of a tap. A year ago, she would’ve whined if she’d been forced to tire her arm out with a pump every time she wanted to bathe.

  Deroga had changed all that. There, she’d cringed each time she used a community bathhouse or outhouse. A hand-operated water pump was a huge step up. Not to mention the house’s electric lights, powered by windmills.

  She finished pumping and sank into the lukewarm water, basking in the glow of the amber bulb overhead. Nothing felt better than a bath after a day of hard work.

  She’d spent time with orsas all her life. Never before had she realized what a chore it was to care for them. They were big, muscular, grain-eating animals. While they could travel long distances without sustenance, they expected astonishing quantities of food and water while stabled. Nora had been glad to see a bin of grain in the stable, but halfway through the day, she had to refill it from the stores in the barn. Thankfully, the pump in the stable provided easy access to water . . . which was used not only for the drinking troughs, but for cleaning the stinky stalls too. And then there were the grooming tasks. It had been a busy day.

  At least she hadn’t worked alone. A hired hand taught her the ropes in the morning, and Sharai worked with her all day. The former minister had wrinkled her nose at the idea of mucking out stalls, but she’d done her part.

  Nora had hoped that, between the hard work and the company, she’d have plenty to distract her from her constant memories of Ovrun. It had worked, sort of. Her weary sadness remained, but she’d managed to shove it down. Over and over.

  Now, as she washed grime from her body and hair, unshed tears pressed at her t
hroat and seemed to weigh down her limbs and chest. After her exhausting day, she no longer had the strength to suppress them. Her chest shuddered with sobs, and she buried her face in her hands. All too aware of the bedrooms on either side of the bathroom, she tried to remain silent. Nonetheless, a few low cries forced themselves from her mouth, muffled by her wet palms.

  Nora’s mind insisted on dredging up memory after memory—of Ovrun’s laughter, his adoring words, the way he’d taught her to hunt and skin shimshims. She relived their few fights and many kisses. At last, her tears stopped flowing.

  Her body was even wearier than before, but it felt lighter, emptied of the emotions she’d been holding back. She sat up and quickly finished washing. Others were waiting for the bathroom.

  Too tired to keep torturing herself with thoughts of Ovrun, she made a purposeful shift, reflecting on her conversations with Sharai throughout the day. They’d gotten along surprisingly well. The woman’s experience with governing gave Nora a perspective none of her friends had.

  In all the topics they covered, Sharai kept coming back to one point: “Utilize your companions and their skills.”

  The wording of it made Nora squirm. Utilize sounded remarkably like use. “I don’t want to use my friends. Or future subjects. Or whatever they are,” she’d replied.

  “They’re with you for a reason,” Sharai had said. “They believe in your cause. You’re not using them if they want to help you.”

  Nora had nodded, as she was doing now, remembering the words. She continued to mull them over as she dried off and put on a set of loose trog clothes.

  She knocked on the door that led to the guys’ room. Ovrun opened it. His eyes took in her wet hair, then the rest of her, before darting away.

  She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she missed his hungry gaze. “Tub’s all yours,” she said quietly.