The Source of Magic: A Fantasy Romance

by Rowan, Cate

  He stared at her. “Do you hear me? We can’t keep the portal open for long.” Frowning, he turned his palm down. She felt a powerful tug as if an unseen rope wound around her, but her legs resisted his command.

  He whirled to his right as if something had startled him—then with one last vivid glance into her eyes, he vanished. The shimmer of his outline was all that remained, and then that too was gone. Her gaze shot to the place he’d seemed to look, but she saw nothing unusual.

  Her knees buckled beneath her. She landed on the floor with a solid thwack, hands splayed against the wooden boards, rapid-fire gasps almost choking her.

  She concentrated on bringing her breathing and her heart back to a normal tempo. “Just a dream,” she muttered. Because she was either dreaming…or going crazy. And that was not a pleasant thought. No, nope, can’t happen. She wanted to laugh, but didn’t have the breath. Instead she took another gulp of air and stared at the floor.

  To her horror, the circle of light reappeared there, and then the man. He shimmered as before. As his gaze touched hers, panic seared her nerves.

  His breathing grew labored. Again he held his hand out to her, but she didn’t move. The part of her that had the power to answer him did not. Would not!

  His expressive face hardened in frustration. He drew the sign of a circle in the air, then stretched his hands toward her.

  A raw force tugged at the center of her body. This time she felt herself move in spite of her fear. She screamed aloud—or thought she did—but heard nothing except the thunder of her pulse.

  The mist reappeared, spinning ever faster like a chaotic whirlpool until her mind lost track. She floated up and toward him. She willed her legs to move, to find the floor—back away, run away!—but they couldn’t.

  When he had her body clasped in his arms, he locked his intense gaze on hers. “I do what I must, for Teganne to survive.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  For a moment there was quiet, and peace. Jilian couldn’t hear or move, but she could see Alvarr’s eyes, gray and deep. Then, with a tremendous roar and a jolt through every nerve, the world reappeared.

  Cries of struggle buffeted her ears. She twisted toward them and Alvarr set her down, but kept her corralled in his arms, her back to his chest.

  They stood in a round room of mortared stone and blazing torches, and they weren’t alone. Two men and a woman in sapphire-blue cloaks battled soldiers in black tunics slashed with red belts. Three soldiers attacked each person in blue. The blues fought awkwardly, as if unused to combat.

  Jilian jerked back, knocking her spine against Alvarr’s solid form. Where am I?

  The heat of his broad chest seeped through her nightgown. He leaned down to be heard above the clamor, his lips brushing her ear. “Please, send me your kyrra!”

  Kyrra? Her brain scrambled for a meaning.

  His left hand gripped her ribcage and he reached for her right hand.

  “What are you DOING?” No, this is only a bad dream. And I’ll end it. Just as she was preparing to ram her elbow into Alvarr’s ribs and wake up in her mother’s study, a soldier hurtled toward them swinging a wooden quarterstaff.

  She recoiled, slamming against Alvarr.

  “Takerran!” Alvarr shouted. Green fire streaked from his raised palm to his opponent’s chest. The soldier sank in a heap and his staff clattered to the ground.

  The world thinned and condensed into the soldier’s murderous sneer, frozen at the moment of the fire’s impact. The glare in his eyes iced her gut.

  A dream! Wake up!

  But his cruel gaze was too real—as were the frantic shouts, the acrid burn of torch-lit air, and the strong hand on her hip.

  A familiar ring of light encircled their feet, and from it Alvarr yanked up a crackling wall of jade fire. It surrounded them and he twisted to his right, hauling her with him. “Rokad, look out!” he yelled to one of the cloaked men.

  Jilian shoved against Alvarr’s grip, unable to budge even one powerful finger. She saw the dark-haired Rokad vault to the side, panic flooding his face. A glinting spear whistled through the air but caught only the edge of his cloak. He spun and lobbed a green fireball at his attacker, who crumpled to the ground. But he didn’t escape the second soldier, or the rope in the enemy’s hands that cut off his breath.

  “Rokad!” Alvarr started toward him, dragging Jilian with him once more. The wall of fire flickered erratically.

  “No, the FireRing—keep her safe!” Rokad gasped, clawing at the rope around his throat.

  Jilian flinched as the butt of a sword crashed into Rokad’s temple.

  Alvarr grabbed her hands. “The kyrra—hurry, send me your power!”

  WHAT power? A scream pounded on her tongue, but the consequences it might bring clamped her teeth.

  Within seconds, the soldiers knocked out the three figures in cloaks and the sapphire mantles pooled on the stone floor. A brawny man with a red circular badge stepped forward, pulling a clear cylinder from a pouch at his waist.

  A scarlet glow flared within the cylinder and the officer aimed it at Rokad. Rokad’s body paled. Even the sapphire of his cloak faded to a dull slate gray. Alvarr’s furious breath rushed across Jilian’s cheek.

  Through the wall of fire, she stared in horror at Rokad’s ashen face.

  Out the lone door, she saw only more stone walls. Where would they lead? To more soldiers, more death?

  The officer pointed the cylinder at the other two in blue, with the same results.

  The new paleness of the woman’s face chilled Jilian’s blood.

  “Go,” the officer told his men. The soldiers slung the bodies of their fallen comrades over their shoulders and dashed out of the room.

  The officer turned to Jilian and Alvarr and grinned, his scruffy beard revealing a gleam of teeth. “Prince Alvarr sen Danyd,” he purred, with the slightest of bows.

  “Gurdan.” Alvarr’s voice was cold, nearly bored.

  Gurdan nocked an arrow to his bow and unhurriedly aimed it through the fire at Alvarr.

  DON’T MOVE, Jil. Don’t draw attention…

  Too late.

  Gurdan’s eyes slid from the prince to her. His gaze flicked down to her exposed ankles and slimed its way back up. She tensed, wishing she’d worn baggy flannels to bed instead of a thin silk nightgown.

  Alvarr’s grip tightened around her almost imperceptibly, as if reassuring her. “Gurdan,” he growled, “the longer you stay here, the shorter your life.”

  Gurdan smirked. “I doubt it. You’re in a FireRing. You’re protected from me—but so am I from you. If you drop the Ring, I’ll shoot you before you can cast.” With a malevolent sneer, he drew his fingers farther back, tightening the bowstring.

  Jilian stared at the red tip of the arrow. Arrows and magic spells! Where the hell is this place?

  Gurdan nodded at her. “She must be something special. Your friends paid a high price to shield her. I’m sure Bhruic would like to learn of your…lady, and contemplate her value to you.”

  Then he spat. The globule sputtered into nothingness as it hit the jade fire.

  Braced against Alvarr’s chest, Jilian felt his muscles tense in fury. When he spoke, his words reverberated through her body: “I have marked you. You’ll die before the sun is down.”

  A flicker of hesitation crossed Gurdan’s face. He tightened the bowstring and his eyes narrowed to slits. “Even if you kill me, what difference? Bhruic will prevail.”

  With that he pursed his lips, whistled three soaring notes…and disappeared. Jilian gaped at the empty air.

  Behind her, Alvarr held still for a moment. Then each muscle tightened further, and he howled in rage. The wall of fire vanished. Abruptly he released her and sprinted to Rokad’s motionless body.

  Her gaze darted toward the door. Run, Jilian! GO! But Gurdan’s soldiers had left that way. They might still be nearby—and what else was out there?

  Please let me wake up, oh PLEASE… She bit the inside of her che
ek and her eyes watered from the pain.

  Not a dream.

  Alvarr knelt by Rokad and touched his shoulder, then tipped his head back in evident relief. He checked the other two cloaked people, muttering, “Emptied, wounded, but alive,” and then turned to her.

  “You,” he said, low and bitter, rising to his feet. “You saw. Why didn’t you send your kyrra?” Scowling, he closed in on her.

  She glared back, prepared to lash out. “Send what?” she shouted. “And who are you?”

  His lips tightened. “You’re a Source, the power—”

  There was a small whoosh and an explosion of pain above her left breast. She caught only Alvarr’s startled expression before blackness closed around her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Jilian finally woke, she kept her eyes shut, afraid of where she might be. A woman’s nearby voice sounded muddled, as if Jilian were underwater. The burning pain above her breast returned, though milder now.

  The voice became more focused. “Here, this will help.” Gentle arms helped her sit up, then a cup was pressed to her lips. The liquid tasted sweet, until she reached the bitterness at the bottom. With a grimace she leaned back, and the voice gave a kind laugh.

  Maybe I’m home, Jilian thought. She opened one eye.

  Definitely not.

  A bay window at the foot of her bed framed a landscape of exotic beauty. Tree-covered hills rose so steeply they seemed to defy gravity, and wispy clouds crowned their summits. Flowers in the formal garden below fluttered in vivid display. Gauzy curtains flowed around the open window, and the whitewashed walls and simple wooden table and chairs reflected the sun’s cheer.

  “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” said the voice. Surprised, Jilian turned to see a smiling blonde with blue, wide-set eyes. The woman’s indigo silk gown was snugged against her graceful torso by gold laces down the sides, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Although she seemed close to Jilian’s age, she spoke with authority.

  “I’m Varene na Seryn, the Royal Healer.” She nodded at Jilian’s chest. “The healing trance worked. In a few days you’ll be as good as new.”

  Jilian looked down at the cloth bandages around her upper torso and left shoulder. The movement brought a twinge of discomfort, but not the searing pain of before. “What happened?”

  “One of Bhruic’s men shot you. Gurdan, I think it was.” Varene reached for Jilian’s mulberry blanket and tucked it in. “Thankfully, there was no curse on that arrow. They must have been in a hurry.”

  Jilian stared at the woman. It was as if Jilian knew the words of a new language, but the sentences were gobbledygook.

  “That was Gurdan’s final error.” Alvarr’s voice, unmistakable and ominously quiet, came from the arched doorway. He watched her, his jaws tight with anger.

  Staring at his angular, masculine face, she noticed the way the light seemed drawn to his dark silver eyes.

  God, he’s…gorgeous, she thought. And pissed off. Dangerous! Aware of her near-nakedness, she tugged the blankets higher.

  He stalked toward her. “Varene, would you excuse us?”

  Jilian swallowed. Please don’t leave me alone with him.

  An ambivalent expression crossed the Healer’s face. “She’s my patient, and she’s not fully recovered yet, so just behave yourself.” She headed toward the door and tossed him a warning look. “I’ll be back shortly to check on her.” Then she left.

  He slowed his pace as he approached the bed but his fierce expression didn’t waver. He pinned Jilian with a glare. “Rokad, Findar and Nenth—their magery is gone now.”

  She straightened, hauling the blanket up with her. Anger roughened her throat. “Look, tell me who you are. And where I am.”

  His nostrils flared. “I told you I’m Alvarr, and that I need your help. You don’t remember your own FriendSon?” A bitter note edged his baritone. “I may have been unborn, but you did stand for me before you left.”

  “‘FriendSon’? What’s that? And I repeat—” the words shot out of her mouth like BBs— “who are you?”

  Exhaling, he planted his hands ominously on the mattress, one on either side of her feet. The top of his green leather tunic splayed, revealing the cords of his neck. “My parents would be grieved to hear how quickly you forgot your homeworld, Sara.”

  “Homeworld?” she shouted. “What are you talking about? And I’m not…Sara…” Her voice trailed off as the name echoed in her head.

  No.

  Sara. My mother?

  What does my mother have to do with this?

  She sank against the pillows as her mind banged and heaved. Her hands began to shake, but she spoke as calmly as she could. “I’m not Sara. My name is Jilian.”

  Alvarr looked at her blankly.

  Shouldn’t she keep her mouth shut? Who was this guy, after all? Her mother’s name had to be a coincidence.

  Jilian’s uneasy gaze skimmed his fierce expression, then slowed, quieting, as she studied his dark-fringed eyes.

  Something deep within her unlocked.

  She took a ragged gulp of air. “I’m Jilian. But my mother’s name is Sara.”

  Alvarr held still. She counted his long breaths: first, second, a third… Then the bed shook as he crumpled the blanket beneath each hand. Pushing away, he turned to face the window. He stood tall, broad shoulders and back to her.

  “You’re not Sara?” His voice was quiet, hard.

  “No.”

  “And you’re not a Source?”

  “I don’t even know what a Source is,” Jilian said softly.

  The muscles in his back tightened. “Then Bhruic has skewered me, and I had my own hand on the sword.” He turned and stalked from the room.

  Black, black, black was his mood. Alvarr thundered down the hallway, barely noticing the people scurrying out of his way. When he entered the great room, his rage erupted. “Thoren!” he bellowed. “Someone find Thoren and send him to the Council Room!”

  Those in the great room abandoned their tasks and scattered like fish whose calm pond is disturbed. The sight didn’t cheer him. He entered the Council Room and slammed the door. He knew the act was childish, and that didn’t mend his mood either. He paced the stone floor.

  “I see you’ve not improved your temper.”

  Alvarr whirled around and spied Thoren’s shimmering outline. “Don’t do that,” he snapped.

  Thoren’s Image offered Alvarr a mild look. “Projection is a skill even apprentices do without thinking. No harm in such small effort, and I’m recovering well from the illness. But if it bothers you, I’ll come in.” The Image faded. A second door to the room opened, and Thoren, still gaunt after fighting off a ruthless lung infection, stepped through it.

  Alvarr dismissed the issue with a wave of his hand and sank deep into a leather chair. “It won’t matter anyway, Uncle. I brought back the wrong woman.” Groaning, he stared at the wall and raked his fingers along his scalp. “She was at the portal, both during the Sending and when I Crossed. Father had described her—raven hair, eyes the green of gemforest. I didn’t seek further.” He pounded his fist on the arm of the chair.

  Thoren sank into the adjacent seat. Several breaths elapsed before he spoke. “With Rokad and the others emptied, there isn’t enough power to get the right woman. Or to send this one home.” He glanced at Alvarr. “Have you tested the borders?”

  “Yes. My spells are weakening, and the wardweavings will fail as well. I don’t know how long—a few weeks, perhaps. Bhruic will soon break through.” And there will be no one to stop him from destroying us. How many will die enslaved—or tortured? He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “What will you do?”

  “What can I do?” Alvarr growled. “I wasted much of my power in the Crossing.” Then, quieter, “My strongest mages lost their power because they trusted me.”

  “They know you’ve done your best. It could have been worse—thank Fate they’re still alive.” Thoren dropped his gaze and sighed. “
So who is she?”

  Alvarr stared at the wall. “Sara’s daughter,” he answered in a monotone. Suddenly he shot to his feet. “Twice a fool!”

  He threw open the wooden door and raced down the stone halls. When he thundered into the healing room, Varene jumped up from Jilian’s bedside with an astonished look while Jilian clamped the covers over her breasts.

  Instantly, Alvarr recalled having his hands splayed along her side and the feel of her body pressed against him…

  He shook his head in irritation. “Varene, I need to speak with her again. Alone.”

  The Healer’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why you’re fuming, but I warn you not to take it out on her.”

  He lowered his voice. “I just want to talk.” But Varene looked unconvinced. “I promise not to turn her into a bugget or a tinder-deer. She’ll be fine.” Displaying his empty palms, he forced a reassuring smile. The Healer seemed somewhat mollified, though her patient’s green eyes grew wide.

  After Varene departed, Alvarr paced next to the bed. “Jilian, how much did your mother tell you about Teganne?”

  She eyed him warily. “Nothing.”

  “But she looks like you? Your eyes, your hair?” Without thinking, he moved closer to her and fingered a glossy lock. It shone sable against his skin.

  “When she was younger,” Jilian said, avoiding his gaze. She discreetly pulled the lock from his fingers. Mom! She had to get home to her. But which direction was home?

  Alvarr lowered his powerful frame into the chair beside the bed, all too close. Even seated, he towered over her.

  “Your mother,” he began, “was born here in Teganne. She was a potent Source—a person with deep reserves of strength and power. Kyrra. Sources are very rare, and valuable. When a Source links with a mage, the mage’s energy is magnified.” He reached out and clasped her hand.

  Jilian felt a tingle as if a fuzzy caterpillar were crawling up the nerves of her arm. The tingle reached her midline and flared into every cell of her body. She gasped and jerked her hand away.