Magic Unchained

by Jessica Andersen

  “You… Jesus, Carlos. Who does shit like that?”

  “A blood-bound winikin, that’s who. From day one, I was taught that the war is coming and the magi are the only ones who can save us, and that it’s up to the winikin to do whatever it takes—anything and everything, even if it means sacrificing our lives and families—to help them.”

  And he had sacrificed his family, Sven realized. Maybe not directly, but still. “Was it worth it?” The sudden twist in his gut said the answer mattered.

  “As long as you don’t let infatuation taint your powers, then yes. It was worth it.” And the damn thing was, there wasn’t an ounce of apology in the winikin’s eyes.

  Anger flared, roughening Sven’s voice. “How can you say that about your own daughter?”

  “The truth isn’t always easy. If the First Father had meant for the Nightkeepers and winikin to mix, he wouldn’t have forbidden them from mating.”

  “Did he? Seems to me that particular rule is a later addition.”

  “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? It’s easier than admitting that you’re risking your magic, sniffing around her like you’re doing.” Some of Sven’s flinch must’ve shown, because Carlos’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I noticed. Everyone has. So how about you do the right thing and stay the hell away from her?”

  The words echoed back across the years and left Sven staring. “That day. That summer… It wasn’t about her being too young. It was that you couldn’t stand the idea of a mage and a winikin together.”

  “It’s against the writs!”

  Sven didn’t bother arguing that one. “Jesus,” he said, shaking his head, “it wasn’t ever about her, was it? All along, I was the one you were trying to control. You couldn’t stand the fact that I cared about her. Still do,” he corrected. “And that’s driving you up a fucking wall.”

  “There isn’t room for sentiment when you’re fighting a war,” the winikin said darkly. “That is in the writs. Your responsibility is to the gods and ancestors, mankind, and then your king and the rest of the Nightkeepers. Lovers don’t make the list. They’re replaceable.”

  It seemed impossible that he could say that about his own daughter without blinking. “Are you really that heartless?”

  “No. I’m that scared.”

  “You’re… Wait. What?”

  “I’m scared of what’s coming. Fucking terrified. You were too young to remember anything about the massacre, and I used to thank the gods for that. But these days I’m not so sure, because I can’t help thinking you’d be taking things more seriously if you remembered what it was like…” His expression turned inward; his voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “Gods help us, it was awful. All the blood and the bodies, the screams, the children crying, running, being trampled. I… I stepped on them, ran over them carrying you, skidding in their blood and thinking that if I could just get away, we’d be safe.”

  Sven crossed the room to stand opposite the man who had rescued him that night, and who had raised him the best he knew how. That, of all of it, had never been in doubt. “I’ll never forget that you saved my life.”

  Carlos’s eyes came up, and his hand shot out and clamped on Sven’s wrist. His fingers dug in and held. “Good. Because now it’s your turn. I need you to save my life. I need you to save all of our lives, including hers. And you can’t do that if you’re letting yourself be distracted. You need to focus on what really matters.”

  And damned if he didn’t have a point, one that resonated deep inside Sven, tugging at his warrior’s magic. But at the same time, he couldn’t ignore the string of seeming coincidences that had put him and Cara together in the coyote cave, with the scene set for sex. More, he couldn’t ignore—didn’t want to ignore—the heat that flared through him at the thought of her. “What if she’s part of what really matters?”

  “She’s not.”

  “I think she is.” It was all he could say without coming up against his fealty oath, which was already buzzing at the back of his brain, warning him that he needed to get moving; the king was waiting. But that wasn’t the only thing banging around inside his head, not by a long shot. Duty was one thing, destiny another, and both were sacred to the gods.

  “Do you?” Carlos’s expression was hard, uncompromising. “Or are you looking for a sign that tells you it’s okay to do exactly what you want with no thought of the consequences?”

  Cara had asked him nearly the same thing. Hell, he had asked it of himself. “Not this time.”

  The winikin hesitated, then said slowly, “You made me a promise once. I’m going to ask you for another one.”

  “I won’t promise to stay away from her. I can’t.” It wasn’t until the words were out there that he realized just how true they were.

  “Promise me that you won’t do anything about it unless you’re absolutely certain of the gods’ plan… or if you’re not certain, that you’ll wait until after the end date.” Carlos’s lips turned up in an utterly humorless smile. “If nothing else, that’ll give you something to fight for.”

  “I won’t…” Sven began, but then trailed off, because fuck if that didn’t sound reasonable. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—make a vow he wasn’t sure he could keep, or even if he should try, because the magi rarely understood the gods’ plans except in hindsight. “I promise I’ll do my damnedest not to compromise the Nightkeepers or winikin by my actions. That’s the best I can do.” He held up a palm. “You want it in blood?”

  “No, damn it, I want you to do the right thing.”

  Sven hated this. He was pissed at Carlos, but that didn’t change the fact that he owed the older winikin for his life, and for shaping him into the man he’d become. There was love there, if not always affection. “I’m trying to do the right thing,” he grated. “We just disagree on what that means right now. And the king’s waiting for me.”

  Carlos scowled. “Then go already.”

  “Do you want me to swing by later and fill you in?”

  The peace offering got an irritable shrug. “Dez will make sure we know what he wants us to.”

  “But Cara—”

  “You said she was fine. I’ll take your word on it.”

  Anger kicked anew. “Don’t you care about her at all?”

  Carlos looked away, throat working, and his voice was rough when he said, “Of course I do, damn you. She’s all I have left of Essie.” He picked up the tray and headed for the door, shooting over his shoulder, “But if you don’t save the world, it won’t matter what I care about.”

  The door closed behind him with a definitive-sounding thunk, making that a hell of an exit line. Or it would’ve been if he hadn’t been talking about Cara.

  She deserved a father who would’ve gone for his throat at the first hint of their fooling around, and not because of bigotry; a lover who would’ve taken her old man down for being a cold bastard when it came to her; family members who would’ve banded together rather than scattering to sulk in their own corners when things got bad. She deserved… Oh, shit.

  He stood there a moment, staring at the door as he got it. He freaking got it.

  She needed someone on her side, someone with an official don’t fuck with me title and the weight of the king behind him. And he could be that guy, though not in the way he most wanted. No, he wasn’t going to be her lover.… He was going to take Dez up on his job offer. It would piss her off, granted, but it would put him in a position to protect her not only from her enemies, but from herself. And right now that had to be his first and foremost priority.… Because despite all the signs pointing to the value of a quick and painless exit, and all the complications that were bound to come from his sticking way too close to her, he wasn’t going to walk away from her this time.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When the door behind Cara opened and boots sounded on the tiled foyer of the royal suite, she gritted her teeth. First, because she had been on the cusp of getting Dez to agree to her strategy and now the moment
was lost. And second, because she knew who it was right away, not just because she, Dez, and Reese had been waiting for him, but because the air changed, sending heated currents coursing over her skin and raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

  She hesitated a moment, then turned, playing it casual and hoping to hell that the king and his mate didn’t see her flush like an idiot teen.

  Sven was wearing jeans, boots, and a battered T-shirt, and should’ve looked like the beach bum he’d been when she first tracked him down to bring him back with her to Skywatch. But the clothes were where the resemblance ended. His body was bigger, his swagger tougher, and his eyes homed in on hers immediately, locking there for a moment and gaining a silent question, as if he wanted to ask whether she was okay, or maybe how much she had told the king.

  She sent him a small nod, not even sure what she was really trying to convey other than acknowledgment. She was okay on some levels, far from it on others, and her and Dez’s conversation wasn’t really his business. She had her own relationship with the Nightkeepers’ leader, her own agenda, and neither of those things had anything to do with her and Sven.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get here,” he said to Dez and Reese as he crossed the room. “I needed a few minutes with Carlos.”

  Cara stiffened. She had tried to find her father last night and again this morning, but he hadn’t been in his quarters, the greenhouse, or any of his usual haunts. Had he been avoiding her? Ire gathered, even though by the time she had awakened from five hours of restless dozing, she had all but talked herself out of asking his advice. She knew what he would say, after all: Don’t overreach; be proud of your heritage; don’t try to be something you’re not.

  Well, screw that. She would decide what she was and wasn’t going to do, and right now, she was doing her damnedest to keep the winikin on her side in the aftermath of last night’s blowout. And Sven was interrupting.

  Deep breath, she told herself as he took a wide wingback chair opposite hers, putting the ornately carved coffee table between them. Wait it out. Dez hadn’t exactly agreed to her requests… but he hadn’t outright denied them, either. He’d seemed on board with still letting the winikin lead their own fighting teams. As for the other… well, he hadn’t turned her down yet. Once Sven’s debriefing was over and they could get back to—

  “We were just discussing what should be done with Zane and Lora,” the king said, startling her. “Your thoughts?”

  Sitting up straight, she shot a look at Sven, who didn’t seem nearly as surprised as he ought to have been. Instead, he just scowled like he’d bitten into something rotten. “Why is it even under discussion?”

  Of course he would see it that way—treason was one of the few things punishable by death under Nightkeeper law, and he’d always hated Zane. Even though she knew some of that stemmed from Sven’s wanting to protect her, irritation sparked and grew, and she snapped, “Because not all of us are so comfortable with—” She bit off the word “death,” knowing that was a too-low blow. “Sorry. Shit.”

  He ignored her apology as if it didn’t matter either way, though she had seen him flinch. “What’s your answer, then? Imprisonment? Why should we waste manpower keeping tabs on those two, not to mention running the risk of looking like we’re tossing out the writs left and right, and pretty much doing whatever we damn well please?”

  That should’ve seemed ironic, coming from him. Instead it was an indication of just how serious things had gotten all of a sudden. She could feel time slipping away from them, could feel the balance among the winikin threatening to skew too far away from center. Leaning in, she said urgently, “This isn’t about you, or even about the writs. It’s about needing the winikin to come together as a valid fighting force, and fast. Sasha managed to heal up the two who got hurt last night, but there’s already some serious rumbling going on, and lots of people pissed off, both because of what Zane and Lora did, and how their capture went down.” She didn’t blame him for that, though; there had been plenty of people involved in the plan, including her, so the failure was shared. If anything, the winikin would blame her for not seeing the Nightkeepers’ grandstanding for what it was. Gods knew she blamed herself for it. Now she needed to regain their trust as best she could. “The way I see it, my best chance for getting them to rally behind me is if I get some concessions from the king, ones that they care about, and that make them feel like they’ve got some say in their own destinies.”

  She expected Sven to argue that this wasn’t a democracy and they all had to follow the damn leader. Instead, he simmered down and nodded, if slowly. “Okay, I get that. But I don’t see how Zane and Lora play into it. Don’t tell me you want to do some sort of a trial with the winikin version of a kangaroo court?”

  His tacit acceptance probably shouldn’t have surprised her, and it definitely shouldn’t have warmed her. Because it did both, there was an edge to her tone when she said, “A trial would waste time that we don’t have, and I think it would stir up more questions than answers.” She shook her head. “No, I want to have Rabbit reprogram them and then send them home.”

  There was a beat of silence and a flash of disbelief before he said, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He stared blankly at her for a long moment, then turned to Dez and Reese. “You’re not seriously considering this, are you?”

  The king and queen, who sat together on the couch in jeans and sweatshirts with their heads tilted together, had been quietly observing the exchange. So quietly, in fact, that Cara got a sudden chill of premonition that there was something else going on here, that they hadn’t been waiting just to get Sven’s full version of what had happened during the bar fight. They seemed to be waiting to be convinced. But of what?

  Heart thumping, she put in, “Obviously, we would only do it if Rabbit thought it was safe. He’s going to be the one questioning them. He’ll know if he can block their memories strongly enough to make it work.”

  Sven shook his head, dividing his attention between her and the royal couple. “Use Rabbit to question them? Absolutely. But don’t let them go. What if the blocks fail? What if somebody recognizes their marks and tracks them back here? Hell, what if the Banol Kax find them and get inside their heads? They’ll know everything there is to know about us.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” All those possibilities and more had kept her awake long into the night, talking it through with herself because there wasn’t anybody else she could use as a sounding board. “But think about it. If Dez orders their execution, he’ll be no better than Scarred-Jaguar, at least in the eyes of the winikin.”

  “I don’t think…” But Sven trailed off. “Shit.”

  “Exactly. He’ll be worse, even, because Scarred-Jaguar never actually used the death penalty. And you said it yourself—imprisoning them would be a waste of manpower. Worse, it could give them a chance to win over other rebels and stir things up, and we don’t have the time for that.”

  “Some sort of stasis spell could work.”

  “After you dropped a dozen winikin last night?” she said pointedly, then shook her head. “Even without that reminder of how easy it would be for you guys to overpower any one of us—or, hell, all of us—a stasis spell would come across as an abuse of power.”

  “And Rabbit mind-bending them wouldn’t?”

  “It’d be different,” she asserted, as she had done fifteen minutes earlier to Dez and Reese. “He’d be stripping them of their memories and implanting a cover story that explains where they’ve been for the past year. The trads will see it as punishment for them to lose their winikin heritage like that; the rebs will think the punishment is them not knowing to defend themselves—or how—when the end comes.”

  He shook his head. “I still don’t like it.”

  “I don’t see a better answer.” She shook her head as frustrated weariness started to encroach on the bravado she’d been channeling since she got to the royal suite. “If you do, bring it on.”

&nbs
p; “Stasis. It’s neater, cleaner, and the winikin will get over it eventually.” He turned to Dez. “I’m taking the job. Which means I get a vote here.”

  Fatigue took a backseat fast. “Wait. What job?”

  Dez, though, got an ominous spark in his eyes as he zeroed in on Sven. “You’re sure? You’re really in?”

  “One hundred percent.” He turned to Cara, and there was an implacable sort of wariness in his eyes as he said, “I hope you won’t hate me for this, and that we can figure out a way to make it work so things will be easier for you, not harder. I respect the hell out of you, both as a woman and as a leader… but everything inside me says that this is the right thing to do.”

  “Okay, now you’re scaring me.” And not just a little. Her pulse thudded thickly in her ears and her stomach churned. “What are you talking about?” She turned to Dez, her voice threatening to wobble. “What’s going on here?”

  “Things within the winikin are worse than any of us thought,” the king answered. “You’ve got factions within factions and your own people are trying to kill you. Now you’re asking me to give them weapons and autonomy, and let a couple of traitors go free because it’ll make you look like a leader.” He shook his head. “That’s a tough one to swallow, Cara. A fucking tough one.”

  “If you were going to say no you would’ve done it already.” She hoped. He wasn’t just playing with her, was he, trying to make some other point she hadn’t gotten yet?

  “I’ll give you what you want, on the condition that you accept a Nightkeeper liaison, a mage who will be right beside you every step of the way, helping rather than overseeing, but with veto power over your decisions.”

  Cara’s heart stopped. Literally stopped. “A… what?”

  “A Nightkeeper liaison.” Dez shook his head in sympathy, but said, “Sorry, that’s the deal. I need to know the winikin are under control, Cara. I can’t have this blowing up in my face. Not now. Trust me; you’re going to want to take the deal.”