The Stone Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 3)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Ulmin released his grip, but his incisive gaze didn’t leave Ovrun’s face. “I’m going to find my daughter.” He took a breath. “I may instruct you to kill her with your own hands. What would you say to that?”

  This was a test, Ovrun knew that. “I’ll do as you ask.” His expression didn’t budge, but he felt sure the king could see his shirt fluttering with every frantic beat of his heart.

  A small, cruel smile twisted Ulmin’s mouth. He pulled up a chair. For the next several minutes, Ovrun answered the king’s questions by repeatedly saying he knew nothing about the inner workings of the rebellion.

  As the conversation came to a close, the king stood and stared at his prisoner. That uncertainty came over his face again. “Where is my daughter?”

  Ovrun’s mouth went dry. Why was the king asking this a third time? It’s another test. He tried to let go of my mind, and he doesn’t know if it worked. “I told you, I haven’t seen her in a couple of months.”

  The king laughed, loud and long. He turned to the desk and leaned close to the royal guard on duty. They held a whispered conversation, going back and forth several times. The guard looked fully engaged, and Ovrun guessed he was no longer controlled.

  As the king exited, the guard reached through the cell bars. “Give me your hand.” Without a word, he removed one of Ovrun’s shackles.

  The guard then walked through a door at the side of the room. It looked like it led to a closet of some sort. Ovrun used the brief moment of privacy to reach into his back pocket. His fingers found the little bag of ground-up shield fuel. Just touching it made him smile. After eating some in the wagon, he’d dropped the bag between his legs again, then stood and picked it up off the bench, putting it in his back pocket. He’d have to keep an eye on the security office’s front window and eat a little fuel every time he saw the king coming.

  The guard returned, holding something in his hand, partially behind his leg. What was that? His hand moved, and Ovrun identified the object.

  A hammer.

  A terrible instinct sent panic buzzing through Ovrun’s body. He felt himself backing farther into the cell. He’d been sweating since he stepped under the dome, but now he felt his skin go clammy.

  The man walked up to the bars. He stood there until Ovrun met his gaze. “Listen,” he said. “I have to do what the king says. I don’t like it. You’ll like it even less. But he’ll know if I don’t obey.” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

  Ovrun’s heart felt like it would burst from his chest. Eyes wide, he looked at the guard. The man was shorter than him, but his muscles strained at his uniform. His skin was as sun-starved as the king’s. The tight curls atop his head were matted and wild, like he hadn’t seen a barber or even a hairbrush in months. And his brown eyes—there was no cruelty there. Only dread. “What are you gonna do?” Ovrun asked.

  “Put your left hand through the bars, on the floor.” The hammer in the guard’s hand quivered. When Ovrun didn’t move, he said, “I’m not doing anything, as long as you tell the truth. I promise. But if you don’t . . .” He lifted the hammer.

  “Why would I give you my hand so you can smash it?” Ovrun asked.

  “He told me if you didn’t, I have to shoot your knee.”

  A sound came out of Ovrun, some combination of a gasp and a choked cough.

  “Just tell the truth,” the guard said. “Please.”

  Ovrun felt like he was floating. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was hyperventilating, but he couldn’t stop. On feet that felt both heavy and weightless, he shuffled to the front of the cell. He knelt and put his hand through the bar. In a burst of stubborn rage, he slammed his palm on the floor.

  The guard knelt on Ovrun’s hand, holding it in place, leaving the fingers exposed. “Where’s the princess?”

  He stuck with his first lie. “I haven’t seen her in months.”

  The hammer came down on Ovrun’s index finger. A bone snapped.

  The pain was twice as excruciating as Ovrun had imagined it would be. He refused to scream.

  “Where’s the princess?” the man asked again.

  The same answer brought the same result. This time, a deep grunt exited Ovrun’s mouth.

  “Another lie, and I have to move on to the second finger. King’s orders.” The guard was breathing hard now. He turned desperate eyes on Ovrun. “Come on, man. Where’s the princess?”

  “It’s been months since I saw her—I swear!”

  The hammer came down again.

  The cracking of bones assaulted Ovrun’s ears. Dark spots filled his vision. He smelled his own sweat, tasted the sourness of fear. And his sense of touch—he’d give up his ability to ever feel anything again if only it would save him from another swing of the hammer. Every time the metal connected with his hand, unspeakable pain shot up his arm.

  Perhaps two minutes later, three of Ovrun’s fingers were broken, two of them in two places each. The guard asked his question again, and when Ovrun opened his mouth, lie number two came out. “She flew away—she flew away—on her dragon—a week ago. Please, stop. Please!”

  “Oh, thank God,” the guard said. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the hammer sliding across the floor like he never wanted to see the thing again. “Tell the truth faster next time, and you’ll save yourself a lot of pain.”

  Ovrun drew his hand back into the cell and cradled it against his chest. He turned away, but not to hide his weeping. He didn’t care if the guard saw that. No, he was hiding a smile so wide, it caught several of his tears.

  They believed me. Oh, thank the sky, they believed me.

  14

  It snowed last night! My new friend Reymi came over this morning. Then Ulmin showed up earlier than expected. The three of us got into a snowball fight that left us cold, wet, and laughing our heads off.

  Reymi went home, leaving Ulmin and me alone. He took both my hands, and it started snowing again. The moment turned magical, like I’d drunk a potion made of laughter and ice and the touch of his hand. I wanted Ulmin in a way I hadn’t before. I saw the same desire in his eyes.

  Why hasn’t he kissed me yet? Maybe he’s trying to build up my anticipation.

  It’s working.

  -Letter from Ambrel Kaulder to Dani Kaulder

  Dated Centa 30, 180 PD

  “The farms we’re staying at are good sources of soil, stone, plant matter, and animal blood. It takes more effort to get ice and feathers, but we’re doing okay. Lately, we’ve been training with firearms, though we don’t have enough ammunition to . . .”

  Nora tuned out the female militia member. She knew how the frequent drills and trainings were going; she often took part in them.

  Since moving to a new farm four weeks ago, Nora had stood in this barn twice a week, facilitating meetings with her team of key leaders. The gatherings were training her for the many administrative tasks in her future . . . or what she privately called the boring stuff.

  Shuffling her feet, she scanned the benches before her. For a split second, she sought out Ovrun. Then her mind caught up with reality, and the anxious briars in her belly, planted there the day of his capture, dug in deeper.

  She had no doubt her father had brought Ovrun to the palace. Was he in pain? Clearly he hadn’t talked, as no one had invaded Joli’s family’s farm. Did that mean he was dead? Or was he fooling the king or enduring torture?

  Around the table at nearly every meal, Nora, Joli, and Krey tormented themselves by asking those unanswerable questions. Even Zeisha, who was usually so peaceful, sometimes joined in on their anxiety-ridden conversations. And Sarza listened to it all, her furrowed brow the only testament to her worry.

  It was now thirty-three days since Nora had ended things with Ovrun. When he’d first been arrested, she’d thought his absence would further stoke her desire for him.

  That hadn’t happened.

  In fact, she missed his companionship more than his kisses. He was the royal guard who’d always treated her as a p
erson rather than a princess. She no longer imagined him by her side as she ruled the kingdom, but she couldn’t fathom living in a world robbed of his steady goodness. Nora was coming to the conclusion that their friendship had been deeper than she’d realized, and their romance more shallow.

  Was she an awful person for slowly getting over a guy who might be currently fighting for his life? That question often dug into her mind when she tried to sleep. She missed Ovrun desperately, but not in the way she’d expected to. To make things worse, any level of missing him—romantic or not—went against her resolution to emotionally detach from her friends. But she couldn’t seem to think herself out of her misery.

  Enough of this. Nora blinked hard to shift her mind back to the meeting. The militia member was talking about lyster training she’d scheduled for the next day.

  Tuning out the report, which she’d already heard privately, Nora’s eyes returned to the group. Krey sat on the front bench. He looked engaged, but she knew his mind was spinning with strategies. The two of them had read all the books they’d brought from Deroga and were now working their way through the texts again. Too many nights lately, they’d stayed up late, discussing strategies and sometimes waking others with their loud debates.

  Next to Krey sat Sarza, whose occasional visions had proven invaluable to the group. She’d cautioned Tiam not to trust one of his neighbors, lest the man betray them to the king. Later, she’d advised Sharai and Hatlin to contact a particular New Therroan man who’d turned into a strong ally in the city.

  The third person on Krey’s bench was Joli. Despite a less-than-positive relational history with her, Ovrun had vouched for her loyalty. They’d gradually brought her into more discussions, and she’d proven to have an excellent mind for details, helping Nora and Krey think through the practicalities of their strategies. Nora’s trust in her had grown so much that last week, she’d brought Joli to live at this very farm, where all the young leaders—Nora, Krey, Sarza, Zeisha, and Kebi—were staying.

  The young woman finally wrapped up her report and returned to her seat. Nora smiled. “Thank you for that. Kebi, please update us on weapons training.”

  As she listened to Kebi’s report, Nora continued her scan of the room. Next to Joli sat her father, Tiam. With efficient confidence, he’d brought together nearby farmers to help their cause. A dozen of them now hosted people who’d joined the coalition, mostly former militia members. Tiam and Varia were back home now, since Ovrun clearly hadn’t disclosed their location to the king.

  Zeisha sat in the second row, looking as serene as ever. She was still unsure what role she’d play in taking down the king, beyond keeping everyone stocked with shield fuel. The space next to Zeisha was empty; Kebi had been sitting there before joining Nora on the stage. When she wasn’t helping in the farmhouse garden, Kebi trained their team of rebels in archery.

  Another bench held Sharai and a New Therroan from Cellerin City. As the army continued trampling on freedoms, more New Therroans in the capital had joined the cause. Most still lived at home, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. But eight of them who wanted to be more involved had moved out to the farms.

  Three talented lysters from the militia rounded out the planning team, sharing a bench in the front row.

  Just as Kebi returned to her seat and Nora opened her mouth to ask if there were any other items to discuss, a door at the side of the barn swung open, and Hatlin walked in. He’d left the previous night for Cellerin City and was just now returning.

  “Do you have a report?” Nora asked.

  He stood in front of the group, addressing the whole team. “Turns out one of my old friends joined the army. Problem is, he thinks occupying the capital is wrong. Plenty of other soldiers agree.”

  Nora’s heart beat faster. “How strongly do they agree?”

  Hatlin’s mouth widened into a smile. “Well, my friend’s dedicated enough that he wants to live out here with us. Want me to bring him in?”

  “Please do.”

  A minute later, a man in his forties with medium-brown hair and a dark goatee stood before Nora. His hands trembled as he performed a bow, and when Nora thanked him, he kept his head down.

  “You can look at me,” she said, holding back a smile.

  He swallowed as he did so. To her surprise, she didn’t have to prod him to speak. “Your Highness, what the king’s doing is wrong. I’ve been patrolling the streets of Cellerin City, and . . . the people, they’re scared of us. They’re my neighbors, and they hurry across the street when they see me coming. I’ll fight for you. Others will too. You just let us know what to do. We want our country back.”

  “Sharai,” Nora said as everyone left the meeting “I’d like you to stay.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  Krey caught her gaze on the way out, raising a cynical eyebrow. He didn’t seem to understand why Nora kept seeking the former minister’s advice.

  She’d tried to explain it to him. Over the last month, Sharai had grown on Nora. The woman’s pragmatic, matter-of-fact outlook was refreshing. She reminded Nora of Dani, someone who’d always challenged her and spoken the truth, even when it was hard to hear. Sharai carried with her the essence of the palace. Of home. Nora hadn’t realized how much she needed that.

  And the woman wasn’t without a soft side. She’d actually gotten emotional when she’d reunited with her niece in the militia. Krey said she’d faked it, but Nora swore she’d seen a real tear on Sharai’s cheek.

  “Have a seat,” Nora said.

  When they were both settled on a bench, Sharai said, “Things are looking up.”

  “I’d hoped we could bring some of the army to our side,” Nora said, “but I didn’t expect Hatlin to be the one to make it happen.”

  “I’ll admit, I’m impressed with him. In fact, I’ve been surprised by the competency of many members of your team, including your friends.” Seeing Nora flinch, Sharai drew her brows together. “What is it?”

  “You’re the one who told me, ‘Rulers don’t have friends. They have subjects.’ ”

  A smile spread across Sharai’s face. “Is that why you’ve been so uptight lately?”

  Nora bristled. “Uptight?”

  “Ever since I arrived. I’m not criticizing you; it’s simply unexpected. When I worked at the palace, you were immature, seeking fun above all else.”

  “First you call me uptight, and now you say I’m flighty?” Maybe she wasn’t so fond of Sharai after all.

  “Used to be flighty.” Sharai’s eyes locked onto Nora, demanding honesty. “Do you disagree with my assessment?”

  Nora opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Princess.” Sharai sighed. “When I told you rulers don’t have friends, I was making a point. A queen must make hard decisions. She can’t be too close to the people she rules, or she’ll lose her objectivity. I never expected you to be all business, all the time.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Guard your emotions, always. Don’t forget who you are. But let your people see that you’re human. Have a little fun. Fake it, if necessary.”

  Nora stared at Sharai, the last person she’d have expected to give such advice. Have fun—or at least pretend to? Every bit of her body rebelled against the idea. “I’m uptight,” she snapped, “because an important member of my team was arrested a month ago, and he may be dead.”

  Sharai’s eyes locked onto Nora’s. “I know.” She took a deep breath, clearly considering her next words. At last, she spoke. “I’m not heartless, Your Highness. I won’t tell you to simply get over it. But you’re distracted. Your preoccupation with Ovrun’s absence is doing him no favors.”

  Nora’s mouth went dry as the truth of Sharai’s words hit home. If Ovrun was alive, the surest way to find and rescue him was to take down the king. For Ovrun’s sake—and for that of everyone suffering under the leadership of Ulmin Abrios—Nora had to find a way to let go of the unknowns and focus on what she had
control over.

  Sharai leaned forward, her gaze intense. “Dozens of people at these farms are risking their lives to follow you. You must show them they’re as important to you as Ovrun is. They respect you already, but to remain loyal, these rebels need more. Convince them you want to be here with them. Make them love you.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  Sharai pressed her narrow lips together, looking off to the side thoughtfully. Then she nodded, turning back to Nora. “You need to connect with your followers, and you all need relief from the constant tension you’ve been working under. Fall will arrive next week. It’s been a good summer harvest. It’s time to throw a party.”

  Nora glanced at the clock, then gasped. “We have to go!”

  Krey looked up from his book, then stood and stretched. “Time flies when you’re planning a revolution.”

  It was true. The clock’s hands always seemed to move more quickly when they were in Krey’s room, huddled over books. Rising, Nora looked down at her clothes—loose, black pants and a shapeless, gray shirt. “I remember when I wore a new, custom-tailored outfit to every party.”

  “Do you miss that?”

  She was about to say no, because it seemed like the right answer. Then she remembered the feel of finely woven fabric hugging her skin. Longing filled her chest. “So much,” she admitted.

  Krey grinned. “Let’s go.”

  They exited the little farmhouse, then crossed to the same barn they used for leadership meetings. It was Quari 1, the first day of fall. The last big party Nora had attended was nearly three months ago, when the trogs had come together to celebrate. That party had started out fun, but Nora had been melancholy by the end of it. As soon as she walked into the barn and heard the first strains of music, she made herself a promise: tonight, she’d enjoy herself.