The Stone Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 3)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  “There!” Kevlin shouted, pointing at the table where Ovrun and Lott sat.

  Both men cursed and leapt from their seats. Lott dashed toward the bar, Ovrun following. Lott circled around the bar. Ovrun was about to do the same when a server turned away from a table, stepping right into his path. He collided with her, and they crashed to the floor, along with the empty mugs she was carrying.

  “Stop!” someone shouted as Ovrun pushed himself to his feet. A hand grabbed his arm. He tried to twist away.

  “I’ll shoot!” the man holding him shouted.

  The hard muzzle of a gun pressed into Ovrun’s side. He froze.

  Another soldier grabbed him. In seconds, Ovrun was on the floor, pinned down by harsh hands and knees. Someone locked shackles on his wrist. Another person frisked him, quickly disarming him.

  Ovrun drew in breaths as deep as he could manage, alert to any opportunity to escape. But the men holding him gave him no chance to budge, much less run.

  After a couple of minutes, a woman reported, “The other guy is gone. We’ll take this one to the general. I’m sure the king will want to see him.”

  Ovrun roared in frustration as bruising hands pulled him to his feet and dragged him into the street. Panic squeezed his lungs. If the king controlled him, the army would descend on Joli’s farm. How long would it take Sharai and Hatlin to find out what had happened to Ovrun? Would they be able to get back to the farm to warn everyone in time?

  I can’t let him control me.

  In the street, a soldier tripped Ovrun, sending him crashing into the dirt. Ovrun’s arm landed in a puddle of what, based on its stench, had to be more than just mud.

  “Sorry,” an unapologetic voice muttered. The soldiers yanked Ovrun to his feet again, dragged him a few more mets, and threw him into the back of an enclosed wagon. Four soldiers sat with him. The final soldier locked them in from the outside, leaving them in a stuffy space that was dark as the stone.

  “Don’t try anything,” a female soldier said. “We’re all locked in here together. You attack one of us, and Niso here’ll sit on you the rest of the way to the palace.”

  A male soldier snorted a laugh.

  The vehicle started moving. It bounced along the dirt streets, jostling its occupants. Boisterous voices from the street penetrated the wagon’s wooden walls. Squeaky wheels and orsa hooves added to the clamor. Ovrun couldn’t have been more thankful for the rough ride and the noise. The more distraction, the better. He had to get to the bag of finely milled shield fuel he’d been carrying in his pocket. He didn’t think they’d gotten it when they disarmed him, but his shackled hands would have trouble reaching it.

  The soldiers’ voices filled the wagon’s dark interior. Ovrun shifted forward in his seat as quietly as he could. A big bump nearly sent him flying across the wagon into the soldier across from him. He drew in a deep breath, stabilizing himself. Then he twisted, maneuvering his hands to his right front pocket.

  Ovrun was a big guy. But his exercises kept him limber too. Or he thought they did. He started questioning that supposition as his muscles stretched beyond what they were accustomed to. Suppressing a deep groan, he kept twisting.

  The left side of his body—arm, shoulder, upper back, chest—screamed at him. Both shackles dug painfully into his wrists. His fingers were right there, so close to the entrance to his pocket.

  He twisted farther. The pain ratcheted up, shooting through his side, his wrists. Another simmet of movement, and blood ran down his left hand. A scream begged to be let out. He held it in.

  His fingers dipped in his pocket. A little more . . . a little more. Damn it, this hurts!

  The tips of his fingers grasped the rough fabric of the shield-fuel bag. Mouth twisting into a strained grin, he pinched the fabric as tight as he could and pulled. The bag wouldn’t come out, not with him seated like this. Praying for smooth roads, he lifted into a half-standing position.

  The bag popped out of his pocket. Ovrun held it tight behind his back, the thrill of victory giving him temporary reprieve from his pain.

  “What are you doing, moving around so much?” a gruff voice asked. “Be still.”

  “Sorry. Bumpy ride.”

  He had the bag. But there was no way to get his hands up to his mouth. He cursed silently, mind racing.

  Ovrun scooted forward and dropped the bag on the bench. After a quick stand, he sat again, shackled hands pressed against the planks behind him. The bag of shield fuel was now between his legs. He shimmied, moving the bag down his thighs, closer to his knees. Then he lifted his right foot and nudged the thing onto the top of his opposite thigh. More wriggling, and somehow he got it between his knees, where he squeezed it tight. Now for the hardest part.

  Damn it, this would be a lot easier if I could see.

  And if I wasn’t shackled.

  And if I’d never gotten arrested in the first place.

  Ovrun lifted his feet up to the seat, drawing his knees as close to his chest as he could get them. Then, ignoring the gruff soldier who told him to stop moving, he leaned forward and brought his open mouth to the bag.

  He drew the opening into his mouth like it was meat and he was a starving man. His tongue searched for the twine holding the bag closed. When he found it, he followed it to where it was tied. His teeth found one of the ends and pulled.

  Sarza was being held captive and tortured.

  Well, not captive, exactly. She could’ve left the bedroom at any point. But the torture was real. Nora, Zeisha, and Kebi were chatting. About relationships. And they kept trying to include her in the conversation.

  She held out hope that at some point, her roommates would get tired. But they’d all slept late that morning, taking full advantage of the weekend’s slower schedule. Electric light blazed in the little room.

  “Did you see it, Sarza?” Nora asked.

  She yawned before asking, “See what?”

  “Zeisha and Kebi. Did you guess they were together before we left Deroga?”

  “Uh, no.” Did they really think she cared about this?

  Zeisha and Kebi smiled at each other. They were sitting in bed, hand in hand, pillows between their backs and the headboard. Nora was in an armchair, cross-legged, sipping from a glass of water. Sarza had the other bed to herself for now, not that it mattered when she couldn’t sleep.

  “Enough about Kebi and me,” Zeisha said. “How have you been, Nora?”

  The princess shifted in her seat. “I—” She swallowed and schooled her face into an emotionless mask. “I’m fine.”

  “Breakups are never easy,” Zeisha prodded.

  “I’ll have to do a lot of difficult things as a queen. I might as well get used to it now.”

  Sarza squinted. When they’d first met, Nora had been open and overly emotional. But recently, she’d waffled between normal socialization and the coldness she was displaying now.

  “You know you can trust us, right?” Zeisha said.

  Nora drew in a deep breath. “I’m okay. I can’t wallow right now. There’s no time for that.”

  “I wasn’t asking you to wallow.”

  Nora aimed a bright, fake smile at Sarza. “What about you? Do you have anyone at home waiting for you?”

  Now that was a loaded question. Sarza’s family was doubtless waiting for her to return home from the army to bring them some money. Unless they’d gotten word about her deserting, in which case, they were probably telling everyone how ashamed they were of her. But that wasn’t what Nora was asking. She was prodding into Sarza’s romantic life.

  “Nope,” Sarza said.

  “You’ll find someone.” Kebi said.

  Sarza snorted. “I don’t want to find anyone.”

  “I’m with you,” Nora said. “I’m ready to give up on romance for a while.”

  “I’ve never wanted romance, and I never will.”

  The room went quiet. Sarza looked down at her hands. Why had she said that aloud?

  “You’ve nev
er had a crush on a boy?” Nora asked, sitting up straighter. Her mouth gaped, like it was the strangest thing she’d ever heard.

  “Never,” Sarza confirmed. Her breaths started coming faster. How long would this interrogation last?

  “Or a girl?” Kebi asked.

  “No.” More words insisted on flowing from Sarza’s mouth. “Not only was I the insane kid who had ‘fainting spells,’ I was also the one person who never giggled about kissing or crushes. I don’t want to see it, I don’t want to talk about it, and I definitely don’t want to experience it. So if you’ve ever wondered why I suck at friendship, there you go. I stick out like a sore thumb in any group I’m part of.”

  Her voice had gotten louder as she’d spoken. Worse, her emotions had built to the point that she was about to cry. She’d already made a fool of herself. Weeping was the last thing she needed to do in front of these girls. Sarza stood and rushed from the room, then out of the house, not stopping until she was sitting on the damp lawn under the stars.

  She was panting, more from emotional exertion than physical. Refusing to give in to tears, she lowered her head, pressing her hands hard against her closed eyes. Why did I tell them that?

  She cursed when she heard the front door open. Of course someone had followed her out here. These people didn’t understand boundaries. She lifted her head. A light was now on in the dining room, and brightness streamed from two windows. Zeisha approached and sat, facing the same direction as Sarza, leaving plenty of space between them.

  Eyes fixed on the dark fields in the distance, Zeisha said, “My oldest brother has always said he’d rather have friends than a lover or a spouse.”

  “So he’s as broken as I am?” Sarza tried to keep her voice hard, but it cracked a bit.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Zeisha’s head turn toward her. “Why do you think you’re broken?”

  Sarza laughed harshly. “Sex literally keeps our species alive. It seems pretty clear there’s something wrong with someone who doesn’t want it.”

  “Krey was raised by two aunts who are married to each other,” Zeisha said, her voice gentle as ever. “They can’t have biological children. Are they broken?”

  Sarza didn’t answer.

  “I’m attracted to both men and women. One day, I may marry Kebi. Am I broken? Should I go back to Krey just so we can keep the species going?”

  There was a hint of humor in Zeisha’s voice, but Sarza didn’t smile. “Of course not.”

  “What about husbands and wives who don’t have kids for one reason or another? Are they broken?”

  Sarza pressed her lips together.

  Zeisha continued, “Think about an insect, compared to a dragon. They’re both animals, but they’re so different. Plants too—we’ve got huge trees and tiny berries and even poisonous bushes. There’s so much diversity out there. So why shouldn’t humans all be different too? Do you really think your worth comes from whether or not you want romance? Or children? You’re completely unique. Don’t you think that’s enough to make you valuable?”

  Sarza finally turned to face Zeisha. “I’ve always been weird. It’s never been a good thing.”

  “Well, I like you as you are. I’m pretty sure the other people in this house do too. We’re all weird in our own ways. You fit with us just fine.”

  The simple statement—You fit with us just fine—traveled to Sarza’s throat and stuck there. She swallowed past it and blinked, looking away.

  “Nora wanted me to give you something.” Zeisha set a leather-wrapped package in front of Sarza. “She said it’s a loan, not a gift. It belongs to the trogs.”

  Sarza took it and ran her finger under the twine holding it together. “Why didn’t she bring it to me?”

  Zeisha’s forehead furrowed. “She’s . . . pulling away. From all of us. I don’t know why.” She shook her head, then smiled. “Go ahead. Open it.”

  Sarza used her fingernails to undo the knot in the twine. Beneath the leather wrapping was yet more leather—the binding of a book that looked terribly old.

  “What does it say?” Zeisha asked.

  “It’s too dark to tell.” Thank the stone, she added silently. If Zeisha saw her struggling with the words, that would be one humiliation too many.

  “Let’s go in!” Zeisha said, standing.

  In the brightly lit dining room, Sarza ran her fingers over the letters on the front of the book. To her relief, the words were all familiar. “The History of Seers.”

  Zeisha grinned. “You’ll finally learn about your gift!”

  Sarza nodded. The book was thick, heavy, and intimidating. It would take her months to read it, if not years. But her pulse sped up, anticipation making her whole body buzz. Maybe her experiences would finally make sense.

  She held the book to her chest as she walked with Zeisha back to the room. “Thank you for the book,” Sarza told the princess as they entered.

  “It’s no big deal.”

  Sarza sat on the bed again. Nora stayed pretty quiet, but the other girls didn’t seem inclined to stop chatting. The discussion turned to safe topics—their work on the farm and the militia members who’d arrived at nearby farms the last couple of days. Sarza found herself joining in and even laughing a few times. An odd energy banished her sleepiness. Maybe this is what it feels like to be part of a group.

  Kebi had just suggested they go to sleep when they heard Sharai’s voice in the hallway. “Wake up! Everyone, wake up!”

  Sarza rushed to the door and opened it.

  Sharai’s eyes were bright and panicked. Sweat glistened on her temples. “Come to the living room!” she urged. Sarza looked down the hall and saw that the guys had their door open too.

  They rushed to the living room. Hatlin was just entering, followed by Joli and her parents.

  “Where’s Ovrun?” Nora demanded.

  “He was arrested,” Sharai said. She continued speaking over the others’ gasps. “If the king controls him . . .”

  Tiam straightened, every trace of grogginess gone from his eyes. “Everyone pack what you brought with you. We’ll take you to one of the other farms that volunteered to host militia members. Thank the sky Ovrun doesn’t know which farmers are helping us.”

  “I’m going with them,” Joli said. Her face reddened when everyone looked her way, but she didn’t back down. “I’m part of their coalition. The farm will be okay without me for a while.”

  Her father nodded, pride in his gaze.

  “What about you and Varia?” Nora asked. “You can’t stay here. If the army finds you and brings you to the king, he might learn where we are.”

  “I’d like Varia to go with you. But I’ll stay. I’ll keep shield fuel in my system at all times. If I get captured and the king tries to control me, I’ll misdirect him.”

  “It may not fool him,” Krey said. “He can feel when his mind connects with someone. He’ll know something’s different if it doesn’t work.”

  Tiam’s smile disappeared. “Are you sure?”

  The muscles in Krey’s jaw tightened as he nodded, not explaining where he got his inside information. “It’ll be the same for Ovrun, if he manages to ingest the fuel he brought with him.”

  Sharai said, “If Ulmin knows his magic isn’t working, he’ll interrogate Ovrun in more traditional ways.”

  Nora stiffened. “My father wouldn’t . . .” She trailed off, then cleared her throat, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know what he’ll do.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “We have to hope Ovrun stays strong.”

  Joli let out a short, horrified cry.

  “Maybe you should leave too,” Varia told Tiam, “at least for a few days.”

  “I agree,” Tiam said. “Everyone pack quickly. I’ll tell my foreman. He’ll keep things running as long as he needs to.”

  Ovrun’s gut clenched as King Ulmin Abrios entered the palace’s security office, not halting until he stood in front of the bars of one of the two cells behind the desk.

/>   “Ovrun Kensin,” Ulmin said, a little smile drawing up the corners of his lips.

  Ovrun bowed his head. “Your Majesty.” He couldn’t perform the arm part of the bow; his hands were still shackled. A met-long chain now connected him to the wall of his cell.

  “Look at me,” the king demanded.

  Ovrun obeyed. The last time he’d seen the king was five months ago, on the night Krey had eaten shimshim brains and broken into the palace. Ulmin seemed to have aged twenty years since then. His skin was sallow and wrinkled. Bloodshot eyes with dark bags under them signaled his exhaustion.

  “Where’s my daughter?” Ulmin asked.

  “I haven’t seen her in over two months.”

  The king’s lip twitched up. “Nice try. Step as close as you can to the bars, please.”

  Ovrun obeyed. The king reached into the cell. Thick burn scars on his palm were visible for a moment before he grabbed his prisoner’s wrist, where the shackle had cut it on the ride over.

  Despite the pain, Ovrun rejoiced silently. The fuel he’d consumed in the wagon was doing its job; his mind remained clear. He let his face slacken and his eyes glaze over.

  The king’s brows drew together. His eyes flicked to the royal guard at the desk, who’d been still since the king’s entrance. Ulmin was probably controlling the guy right now. The king’s gaze returned to Ovrun, his brows furrowing further.

  It’s like he can tell he’s not controlling me.

  Ulmin’s fingers tightened painfully. “Where is my daughter?” he asked again, his voice low and dangerous.

  Ovrun had planned this out. One lie for before the king tried to control him. Another for when he was pretending to be under the king’s influence. In a monotone, he replied, “She flew off on her dragon a week ago. I don’t know where she went.”

  Eyes narrowing, the king asked, “Why are you trying to gather rebels to make my daughter queen if you don’t know where she is?”

  Okay, so that Kevlin guy wasn’t just an asshole who wanted to ingratiate himself with the army by getting Ovrun arrested. He’d also disclosed Ovrun’s plans. Great. Keeping his face neutral, Ovrun replied, “She’ll find us when she’s ready.”