by R. K. Thorne
“It was helped by Kavanarian mages,” said Beneral.
The guard frowned harder now.
“Alikar and Niat? Isn’t that the luck,” she said as she shifted, leaning a little closer to Aven in a quiet gesture of support.
“Yes,” Beneral grunted. “Not a fortunate group of companions—the only two who voted against the king.”
Aven gritted his teeth. “If anything happens to him, Alikar will personally pay for this.”
“What terms are you on with them, then?” she asked. “Did I hear some mention of treason? Also, did they know Thel is a mage?”
“I don’t know if they know he’s a mage,” said Aven, “but I doubt it. Alikar has been charged with treason because he tried to bribe others for their votes with Kavanarian money, among other things. Lord Sven and his daughter, Niat, as his proxy haven’t exactly done anything wrong, at least not that we know about yet. But they’re more likely to be allied with Alikar than not. Given all that, if you were them, what kind of mood would you be in?”
Miara pursed her lips. “A vengeful one.” She eyed the men, then added to Aven with her mind, But I wouldn’t commit treason in the first place.
Just another of the things I admire about you. When people are asking me why I’ve chosen you as the next queen, I’ll be sure to put “promises she won’t commit treason” high on the list of your virtues.
Gods, I hope you have a few others beyond that. How can you joke at a time like this?
How can I not? Otherwise I’ll go mad with worry. He smiled at her, before realizing how odd that would look since no one else was privy to their conversation. He wiped the expression off his face even as the corners of her mouth threatened to tilt up as well.
“Agreed,” Beneral had muttered while they were silently speaking. He’d leaned away, taking advantage of Aven’s focus on Miara, and lowered his voice so Aven could barely hear him. “Did you check the rubble?”
Aven tensed. How much rubble? Enough to crush one man at least, or he wouldn’t be asking. “How many were lost?” he said, drawing the soldier and Beneral back in.
The soldier nodded, responding quietly and reluctantly in turn. “Six dead, sir, crushed by the rubble. That we’ve found so far. But not the prince, nor Priestess Niat. All servants of Alikar’s, we believe. And there was one spot where it looked like someone had dug their way out.”
Like an earth mage perhaps? Miara pointed out silently.
Don’t give me false reason to hope.
I would never. But he’s been studying, hasn’t he? And you were casting spells before you’d learned anything. It’s possible.
Beneral nodded sharply. “All right. Head to the third barracks,” he said. “There should be plenty of men available there for further searches. But don’t start with the houses. Spread out beyond the city gates and work your way in. I want every gate stopping people and searching for him. Search any who enter or leave, all wagons, everything. I want Prince Thel found.”
A sinking feeling in Aven’s stomach told him that this was not going to be so easy. How long had it been? Forever had passed since the vote, it seemed. They’d ridden out to retrieve Miara and his father, they’d stopped the catapults, and his father had made his grand gestures before slipping into unconsciousness. Time had a way of stretching at moments like these, but the sun outside told him it wasn’t quite midday. It’d only been a few hours.
Long enough for Thel to be swept out of the city and on his way to who knew where.
A wave of exhaustion hit him. The thought of searching the entirety of Kavanar and Akaria for Thel was overwhelming. He slumped against the wall.
“You all right?” Miara said quickly.
He nodded. “Those catapults, and all this… Perhaps it took more out of me than I realized.”
“You should rest, sire,” Beneral said. “It will be time before the men can complete their search. The catapults are in our control now. This is the time to rest.”
“What if there are more attacks?” If there were, they were sure to come during daylight.
“Wunik has checked for oncoming troops farther out. There are none before the Numaren-Kavanar border, a good day and a half’s ride. They’ll be reaching the southern stronghold soon, but Panar is safe for now. This morning’s siege force must have been purely targeted at hitting the vote this morning and nothing else. This is as good a time for rest as any we’ll get, I fear.”
“He’s right, Aven,” Miara added. “I mean, sire. You’ve drained a lot of energy, both physical and magical, without any rest too.”
“All right, all right,” Aven relented. “Have Derk help Wunik. And will you ask Wunik to tell us if he finds any sign of my brother?”
“Of course,” said Beneral, just as Miara spoke the same words into his mind.
Aven nodded and wanted to smile but couldn’t bring himself to. “Thank you. Come, Miara—let’s head back to Ranok.” He offered her his arm and was grateful when she took it. Her warmth was solid, rejuvenating by his side. He shook his head; he’d been through half as much as she had. Miara waved to her father, her sister, Ro, and Jaena, and they gathered just outside.
They hadn’t been out long before a bird’s loud screech split the air, and nearly everyone scattered back toward the wall, familiar with magic or no.
Everyone except Miara. And since Aven had been arm in arm with her, he’d stayed put too. He’d really had enough magical attacks for one day, but the king probably shouldn’t flinch away if his queen didn’t. His future queen, anyway.
He braced himself for incoming pain, reassuring himself that much could be healed, but then he noticed Miara was smiling.
A falcon fluttered a few feet forward, stopping at her feet and cocking its head. Feeling Aven’s eyes on her, she met his gaze.
“I owe someone a meal or two for their aid. Can he come along?”
“I thought fleeing for your life and protecting the king would have kept you from having time to find a pet.”
The bird leapt up toward Miara’s shoulder, and as it landed, she winced, its talons digging into her. The leather was some protection, but not enough for that.
“And another injury to heal,” she sighed. “I’m not so sure that I’ve taken him as a pet as much as he’s taken me.”
Shaking his head, he looked at the bird. “Come along, then. We’re already practically a parade. Why not some animals?”
Beneral fired off a string of orders for a guard to form up around them as escort, but Aven stopped them at fetching horses. It was only a few blocks. He’d rather them use the horses to find Thel. Truth be told, he’d rather use the men for that too, but kings did not go strolling around cities without an escort, if not a sprawling entourage.
Although… she could transform them and they could sneak out and explore the city alone. Like they had on their first ill-fated journey, but with less death at the end. He could see what Panar was really like.
Maybe tomorrow. Or when the war was over. Or at least after a rest and a hot meal. Perhaps he should wait until Thel and his father were both safe and sound and healthy before he went exploring the alleys of the White City.
If they were ever safe, sound, and healthy again. War was coming, after all, with winter on its heels. A long battle lay in store if peace were to reign once again.
JAENA STARTED from sleep with a knock on the door. She glanced at the window. Night had nearly fallen. That made sense since she no longer felt dead on her feet. But she wasn’t quite ready to be disturbed yet by any visitor, well meaning or otherwise.
She peered down at Ro’s face, barely containing a grin. He was asleep on her shoulder—and drooling slightly. Her right arm was completely numb, but she could just barely feel his dark hair tangled in her fingers. She let out a deep, contented sigh.
The knock sounded again, and his eyebrows rose a little. She thought he might wake, but his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her harder against him. He nuzzled his face further in
to her neck, beard stubble scraping softly against her skin, and stilled again.
Numb arm or no, she wasn’t moving just yet.
The intrepid knocker tried once more, and then footsteps moved away down the hall. She supposed they were here at the king’s grace, and perhaps she should take the summons more seriously. But it had been a long night. A long week.
A long five years.
She wasn’t quite ready for this brief moment of respite to end.
Moving slowly and hoping not to wake him, she ran her left hand—the one that could still move—gently over his hair, down his braid, down his neck and broad shoulder and burly arm. To think someone who could inflict such violence on iron could also be so gentle. But that was who he was.
A fierce sense of possessiveness swelled in her, and she tightened her arms around him as best she could. This was all still a pleasant surprise, to know that someone like him wanted to be hers. At least for now.
How long would this last? Dare she hope anything beyond the present? Dare she hope—
No. It was best not to hope. Hope would only get her hurt. He had a smithy and his order. Obligations. Possessions. A life of his own that she was only a slight part of.
Perhaps when the brand was destroyed, or the winter over, or the Masters utterly defeated—if such a thing was possible—she could return to him there. But certainly he would be on his way tomorrow, if not the next day. There would be many more mages to free from Mage Hall who could use his help getting out of Kavanar. The placement of his smithy was a valuable asset. She shouldn’t try to keep him all to herself. It wasn’t right.
Although, as a mage, it wasn’t safe to return either. Especially if the Devoted knew how the order’s pendants worked, that there was a way to slip by their mage-detecting stones. But even so, his temple would have some other duty for him. Again she squeezed him against her, not wanting to think of losing him too but knowing it was coming nonetheless.
A while later, the footsteps returned, and after one more failed attempt at knocking, a note whispered under the door. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to forever wonder what the knocker had wanted.
Her stomach gurgled, as if conspiring to get her out of bed, and this time Ro stirred. His hand slid smoothly from her hip to her belly to feel her stomach gurgle again. He raised his head, blinking blearily and looking faintly amused. Blood rushed into her upper arm, sending pins and needles through her weak limb.
He glanced at the window, then back to her with half-lidded eyes. She thought he might say something, possibly about the fact that her stomach was making enough noise to wake a statue, but he never did. He pressed her into the bed with a feverish kiss instead.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she laughed as his mouth trailed down her jawline to her neck. “It’s night already. Who knows where and when they have food around here?”
“Only for you,” he murmured softly against her shoulder.
That stole away any thoughts of food for quite some time.
Eventually she rolled out of the bed, beyond famished, and picked up the note.
Mage Jaena Eliar,
The king requests the pleasure of your and Tharomar’s company in his suite at your leisure.
It was unsigned. Well, at least they weren’t late for anything. Ro swung around to sit beside her and gave her an inquisitive look. She handed him the note. The king must need something from them.
Ro looked up with a smile. “Well, now we know where to find food. Or ask for some. Shall we?”
She smiled back, nodding. “Let’s. But first I have to figure out where you threw my vest.”
“Ah, clothing. A tedious chore when you’re around.”
A silly grin slid over her face. “I don’t think King Aven would appreciate otherwise, though.”
“Oh, you never know. You’re very lovely.”
She swatted at him playfully. “You’re welcome to test that theory. I, however, will wear pants.”
“You’re right. Pants it is. I wouldn’t want to endanger our shelter for the night.”
“Good thinking. I look forward to returning to it.”
“I’ll save the pants experiments for tomorrow.”
YET ANOTHER BUMP on the road sent a fresh cascade of pain through Niat’s already sore frame. She’d lost so much weight in the past few months that bones protruded in all the wrong places. Every jarring thud was a painful reminder of the danger looming on the horizon. Thankfully, no fever had yet taken her during these last few hours, but she didn’t expect her luck to hold out forever.
The prison cell of the carriage carried her relentlessly forward. All day they’d traveled without stopping, straight toward her own personal hell. The transport even came complete with a cursed companion to escort her. Not that she had expected the ride to be comfortable, but it had been hours. She was lucky to be maintaining bladder control at this point.
She glanced at the mage. The prince, whoever he was. It didn’t matter now. He wouldn’t be a prince much longer. Those her father colluded with weren’t far from their goals, she could tell. She had never succeeded in resisting Sven. Not for long anyway, aside from those few spare months of freedom in the temple. Oh, how high her hopes had been for life there. A life new, and bright, and free, with people who sought to serve the gods, not desecrate them.
How naïve she had been. How naïve she still was, that the hope still burned even though it’d been dashed. Even though it was doomed.
And now here she was trapped again.
Husband. That’s what that guard had said. Would it be Alikar or someone else he took her to? Unsurprising that her father had finally found someone with whom to strike a deal. He’d been trying even before Peluna had gotten her into the temple. She had hoped, perhaps, that men would lose interest when word about her visions began to spread, or the fact that she’d become a priestess at all. But it was no shock that they hadn’t. Her father had always negotiated well and was probably offering a very generous deal. For everyone but Niat, of course. She shuddered.
She eyed the mage again. Evil at every turn these days, it seemed. Although he hadn’t shown any particularly nasty tendencies. He’d mostly been polite. Helpful, even, damn him. Part of her was tempted to let her guard down, but no. Letting her guard down never worked. No point in needlessly opening herself up to anything, even the casual betrayal of a stranger. They were both doomed, and sooner or later, his own fate would be weighed against hers, and he’d make the selfish choice. They always did.
Although…
Her visions had been slow to emerge in the early days at the temple, and many still held a hazy quality, like in a dream where she could almost but never quite see a face. The books said it should fade with time. But a blond man did sometimes feature in the flashes accosting her of late, a man that made hope flicker in her chest at the sight of him. Although why, she still didn’t know. That man was tall and thin, like this mage. Could they be the same man?
She pressed her eyes shut. Dare she ask? Dare she actually call them upon her? If a fever took her here, what would the mage do? Would he help or thrust her to the other side of the carriage with his boot?
Weakening herself was a risk, but she also longed to know. For once, could her curse have some practical application that might actually help her?
Fine. She’d been sick and alone before. It often passed without terrible trauma. Most of the time. And she was likely headed for trauma anyway, in Alikar’s hands.
She would try. And deal with the consequences.
Centering herself, she fell still, breathed slowly, and, when her mind found a semblance of peace, reached out for that sweet, holy connection. Up into the sky, out across the plains, deep into the stillness. So good while it lasted, so awful the moment it was gone.
Tell me, ancestors, gods, whoever you are. The priestesses insisted visions came from Nefrana, and so Niat played along, but she was not convinced they came from anyone. Tell me. Is this man with me the one you’ve
shown me?
A vision slammed into her mind with the force of a brick to the head, pain radiating from her temple.
A vision she’d seen before—the city aflame. Not a city she recognized, but likely where they were going. Smoke curled up in tall columns above the city. A sense of horror, or a mistake having occurred, always flooded her at the sight. Something had gone awfully wrong.
But now there was more than just the city. She could see more clearly around her now. She stood on a cliff, looking down over the chaos. Catapults and trebuchets thudded in the distance, some still firing on the city, some toppling suddenly out of nowhere and going over the edge.
A few feet in front of her on the cliff sat a man with straw-colored hair down to his chin. He faced the city, his back to her covered in a gray cloak. His hands were in the mud on either side of him, actually in the wet earth. Why?
She reached forward, maybe to tap him on the shoulder. Maybe she didn’t have a plan.
As if he sensed her, he turned and met her gaze, his expression grim but different than the one she was used to. It was the mage who rode in the carriage with her, the blue of his eyes clear as the open sky, bright like a shining topaz.
“Well, you can give up,” he said, “but I’ll be damned if I do. I’m an Akarian. We don’t give up. Go on, go down to them if you want. I’ll think you’re wrong, I’ll regret you went, but I won’t stop you.”
He turned away.
Regret. The vision seized on the word as if it held great meaning to her, his voice echoing in her mind, but the moment in time spun around her, out of control, dizzying. Here was where the sweetness ended. Here was when the nausea came.
Here was where she paid her price.
The holy connection severed in a snap, and disappointment washed over her, both that it had been so brief and also so vague. Well, whatever or whoever lay on the other side of that connection had answered her question—this mage was the blond-haired man—but they hadn’t given her much else.
