by R. K. Thorne
Helping him.
Another gust of wind swept through the air behind him, and he heard bone hit marble with a sickening crack. By now he could see the guards—and neither Tian nor Pekar were there. Of course. Just his luck. Maybe he should try anyway—or just turn around and give himself up or—
He turned and raced toward the king’s smithy.
Sprinting inside the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Even though he was sure the air mages had taken out two of them, there were now five men racing after him.
He slammed the door shut and barred it to slow them down. He looked around frantically. The smithy was empty except for one apprentice pumping the bellows at the fire, who looked at him in shock.
“You better get out of here, kid,” he grunted. He didn’t have time to see if the apprentice heeded his words as he veered further into the smithy.
The hearth wasn’t working hot quite yet, but it was getting close. A barrel of tools sat on the far side of the hearth, and he bolted past the anvil and shoved the knapsack down into the barrel, hastily shifting some tools over it. Then he pivoted and glanced around frantically.
In addition to the usual hammers on the table nearby, a sledgehammer leaned against the anvil. He grabbed it and lifted it over his shoulder.
And just in time. The first two soldiers burst through the door and pointed. Ro sank to a hasty crouch. They weren’t wearing Akarian colors and weren’t any of the guards he knew. Mercenaries? “You don’t have to do this,” he called out in warning.
It took them a few seconds to spot him, but they lunged blindly in his direction.
It was a slaughter.
He lunged to his feet and brought the hammer down with practiced force. He aimed for the man’s shoulder, but the sellsword tripped on a floor bracing, and the sledge hit him in the head with a sickening crunch as the man’s eyes went blank and glassy.
Ro didn’t have time to draw the hammer back again as the second assailant slashed at him with his drawn sword. Taking a split second to aim—and to dodge the flashing silver blade—Ro brought the hammer’s head up and slammed it into the man’s chin. His head snapped back with unnatural speed, and Ro knew he didn’t need to worry about the second merc any longer. He hadn’t fully dodged the blade though, he realized, as hot, wet blood was oozing down the left side of his face.
Three remained, and they surged toward him all as one. He got the sledgehammer back up over his shoulder but not before a sharp icicle of pain stabbed into his left side just below his ribs.
This next blow had to count.
Swinging down and at an angle, he managed to hit two: the one that had stabbed him and another to the right. No time for a full swing, he hastily switched directions, raising the hammer again.
Blood was soaking his tunic and the hip of his trousers. Another sharp pain carved along the skin of his left shoulder even as he ducked, the blade slicing off fabric and skin besides.
At the last minute, instead of raising the hammer fully, he settled for stopping it at waist height and thrusting it forward, slamming the head of the hammer into the last merc’s gut and sending him flying.
He collapsed on the ground at the apprentice’s feet, and the boy held out a shaky sword at the man’s throat.
“How do you know I’m on your side?” Tharomar croaked as he lurched toward the barrel and grabbed the sack and the cursed brand inside. His vision swam as he collapsed against the side of the barrel, his blood-wet hip against the wood and metal bands.
“You know your way around a smithy,” the apprentice said. “And can lift a hammer. That’s my side, if you ask me.”
Yellow splotches danced before his eyes. Then black ones. “Thanks for your help, but…” He struggled for breath, to make out where the apprentice even was between the splotches. He slid down the barrel to a seat, leaning against it, his strength deserting him. “I think those broken ribs will keep him… Can you… can you get my friends?”
His head fell back against the wood, black splotches covering his vision like bats closing in. He shut his eyes, but they didn’t go away. He opened them again, but the room barely came into focus. He couldn’t tell if the boy was still there, was talking to him, or if he’d gone for help. He couldn’t tell anything.
My life for Nefrana, he thought. And for Jae. In some way, in his heart, they were one and the same, as one had brought him the other.
He shut his eyes, knowing at least he’d done all he could. He let go and fell into the darkness.
EVANA SWEPT into her cold prison chamber, and Miara stifled her shivering. The midday sun was barely enough to warm this place, and nearly every part of her body screeched in agony. No position was relief from the pain.
But she’d show no weakness to this woman.
“I have a very special someone we’ve recaptured you might like to meet.” Evana stopped against the wall and folded her arms over her chest. From the doorway that seemed to be the only entry into the room, a man’s form appeared.
She gasped. “Aven!”
“Miara.” His voice… it sounded like him. But no, no, it couldn’t be. How could he have been captured? Then again how had she been captured? She reached out for his mind automatically, but of course nothing happened. Like trying to move her arm, but the arm wasn’t there. Damn it. Damn Evana. “I thought you were dead,” he said. “I came looking, hoping you weren’t—”
“Why?” she whispered. “The war—”
“Doesn’t matter. I needed to know you were safe. I guess now I do.”
“I am far from safe. Are you all right?” Miara winced. What kind of inane question was that?
“Not exactly. They got through my defenses.”
Miara’s stomach dropped to her feet. No. It couldn’t be. “The brand?”
Evana folded her arms. “I told you we made another. Go on. You can have a few words.”
Aven strode cautiously up to the cage, his eyes warily trained on Evana. Like he feared some correction from her. Stopping just in front of the bars, he turned toward Miara.
“Did you tell them anything?” he whispered.
“About the brand? No. Did you?”
“No, of course not. But… I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out,” he whispered. “I already lost it once.”
Miara frowned harder now. What were they doing to him? She couldn’t imagine much—or really anything—that Aven wouldn’t strive to endure to keep information from them. She inspected him quickly but didn’t see any wounds; what could they possibly be doing that he thought he was soon to break? She reached out and put her hand over his shackled one. “Hold on,” she said softly. “I know you can do it. It can’t be much longer, right? I’m sure help is coming.” She paused, smiling nervously, because she was very far from sure of that right now. “I… well…” She glanced at Evana awkwardly.
He squeezed her hand, leaning forward. “What is it?”
“I’m sorry we fought. That I didn’t get to say goodbye. They’d grabbed me. I just want you to know… I love you, Aven,” she whispered. She squeezed his hand harder.
He stared back, blinking, almost as if he didn’t understand. As if he didn’t want to hear those words from her just now. Her heart froze in her chest. “You too,” he muttered.
Evana approached and grabbed the chain.
“You had your chance.” She smiled wickedly, pulling Aven away and out of sight. “He’s mine now. And when I’m done with him, maybe you’ll reconsider my request. Or this can continue for as long as I desire.”
Miara scowled after them at the empty air, then shifted again in her pained spot. What could continue? What was she going to do? What horrors would Miara now have to listen to?
Whatever she had expected, it was not what transpired next. The sounds that filled her ears made her blood run colder than she’d thought possible, icy with bitter shock. First there were commands, then gasps, then grunts. Her body shook, and she slammed her fists against the bars, her forearms, every
thing, blind and futile in her rage.
Those were sounds only the throes of passion could evoke.
Miara gripped the bars of her cage, determined to bend them apart by sheer force of will. No, no, no, after all they’d waited for, after all that they’d struggled to overcome. This couldn’t be happening. Where was the Balance? What did the Way matter if this was the reward? What kind of world left her in this hellish, brittle prison while the man she loved lost everything he honored to a knight who despised him? No, it just couldn’t be.
Was this what was breaking him? It certainly felt in danger of breaking her.
Weakening, Miara collapsed against the bars, stifling a sob. She would not let Evana see her suffer. She would not let any of them know of the ache exploding in her chest, or how it threatened to shatter her soul. She crushed her hands over her ears and screamed at her brain to think. She had to find a way out of here. Now.
She just had to.
Jaena had never run so fast in her life, certainly not down stairs or with a staff in her hand.
Gods, she should have never mentioned the brand. She knew better. She knew better. And now Ro was determined to pay the price.
She pounded out into the courtyard, looking both ways. A shout came from the right, and she sprinted toward it, just as a young man came blinking out of the smithy. His leather apron told her he belonged in there in some capacity.
“Are you his—” the young smith started, faltering. “I think he needs a healer. Fast.”
“Tall man, white streak in his hair?” she shouted.
“Yes. Hurry, I—”
Jaena whirled, turning back without waiting for another word. She discovered that Devol of all people had raced behind her, and seeing her turn didn’t slow him down. He headed on toward the smithy.
Many of the others were crowded at the bottom of the stairs, although Derk was running in the opposite direction. He hadn’t heard the shout.
“Derk! The smithy!” Even as she shouted in his direction, her eyes searched the crowd for Elise. Finally—there she was, at the back, two actual royal guards in midnight blue flanking her. Jaena dove into the crowd, her friends scattering. “Elise! We need a healer—hurry, please. The smithy. I’ll lead the way.”
Where was Telidar? Was it true? Was she a traitor?
Thankfully, Elise didn’t hesitate. She ran alongside Jaena just as fast, in spite of her pallor, her cheeks far more sunken now than when Jaena had first met her. She wasn’t sure the queen was eating, but she’d need to after this.
Jaena was first to the smithy only by a hair. She flung open the door and raced toward the young smith, who was crouched by a barrel. He backed away just enough to allow Jaena to see he’d gotten a filthy rag and pressed it to a wound in Ro’s side. The rag was already soaked through, wet and shining with blood.
Jaena stopped short, frozen. Fortunately Elise made it past her, pushing her out of the way, stepping over bodies, and crouching on Ro’s other side.
His eyes were closed, his head fallen back against the barrel he’d sunken down against. He wasn’t moving. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Elise was muttering, mostly to herself. “I—gods, I don’t know—”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jaena’s voice sounded hysterical, nothing like her own.
“You’re helping me with this.” Elise’s voice was hard, all business, which helped.
She nodded numbly and felt the energy start to drain from her almost immediately.
“They got lucky, hit a main artery.” Elise was shaking her head, ripping fabric apart and handing it to the young man to add to the wound. She adjusted his hand, then turned and looked Jaena in the eye for a moment. “I’ll do my best.”
It was what she didn’t say that sent Jaena staggering back against the far wall of the smithy. Fortunately she couldn’t think on that, because Elise turned and went to work, and the energy drained out faster now.
Jaena reached out savagely and ripped power from the earth beneath her feet, the tools, the walls, everything, funneling it up and holding it on a platter for Elise to take. Anything, anything, she’d shatter this entire smithy, sacrifice every stone of Ranok if it was enough power to save him.
Because what Elise hadn’t said with her words, but had said with her eyes, was that he might already be dead.
The energy flew out of her, and she tore more from the world around her, bending it to her will, begging for its aid. A pair of tongs to her left shattered into dust, followed by an anvil on the right, and she refocused her efforts on the abundance of the earth itself.
Not a sound came from Ro. There was no scream, no nothing.
Healing was incredibly painful. If you were alive.
She fell to her knees, and a prayer welled forth, shocking even her. Gods, please, gods, not him, why, gods, he doesn’t deserve this, damn you, damn you why must you take everything from me—everything that I’ve ever held dear—he adored you and you abandon him—how dare you how dare you—
Her eyes squeezed shut, her body starting to ache from the power flowing from the rock and into Jaena and then into Elise. And then, even though her eyes were shut, she thought she could see it again.
The statue with the kind, sad eyes.
Oh, don’t you give me that. She wanted to scream, to rail, to tear it all down—what was the point of any of it, if it all ended in suffering, what was the—
The statue was gone. She could hear herself sobbing, as if from a distance, feel the hard dirt-packed floor of the smithy pressed against her side, but also as if it were someone else. Had she collapsed? Should she open her eyes? She could hear nothing but sobbing.
The massive drain of energy had stopped.
Ro.
Her heart ached, like it had broken in two. Or maybe a thousand. Heart dust. Nothing was left of her. Let Kavanar come, she’d be lying here.
She should have gotten him to that temple right away. She should have gotten over it and married the man. She should have told him she’d have been happy to fill a garden with tall, black-haired children that looked just like him but with skin the color of the forest.
Why? Why must everything she ever loved be destroyed?
Then again, would she have had it another way? She sucked in a ragged breath. Nothing could have ever justified losing her sister, being ripped from her parents, but… what if she had snuck away from Ro’s home in the night and tried to make it on her own? Before she’d known of his mission, before she’d trusted him, before she’d admitted to herself she’d fallen in love with him? Then he’d still be alive. And she wouldn’t be sobbing.
No, she thought. She’d take twice the pain to have known him. Three times. Although, perhaps that was still coming. She couldn’t imagine having walked away and never known everything that had grown between them.
She sat up and opened her eyes, solidly back in her body now. Her chest still heaved like she was sobbing, but almost no sound was coming out. The apprentice was looking from Ro to Elise and back frantically. Elise’s eyes were closed.
Gods, she’d passed out.
Jaena scrambled on all fours over a body, not caring what she crushed with hand or knee, and knelt beside Elise, shaking her shoulders gently.
“Elise!” she said desperately. “My lady. My lady! Are you all right?” She was shouting now.
Elise’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked around, disoriented for a moment. Another great bout of energy left Jaena, and a chill kindled in her core. She reached out desperately again, down deeper to the warm center of the world. If Elise needed power, Jaena had it.
A soft exhale caught Jaena’s ears. The young smith? She leaned over Elise, looking at Ro, holding her ear up near his mouth and nose.
A slow, weak breath caressed her skin. Never had a sensation been more welcome, more holy, more beautiful.
“How is he?” said Elise, her voice breaking.
“Alive,” Jaen
a replied, embarrassed at the incredulity in her voice. But hadn’t even Elise doubted she could do it?
“For now,” Elise said gently. “The wound is healed. But he lost a lot of blood. I need to get inside—rest, eat—and so does he.”
“What…” said the young smith softly. “What just happened, Your Highness?”
She looked at the teen as if seeing him for the first time, then smiled gracefully, all benevolence and kindness. How she could muster that expression at a moment like this, Jaena had no idea. Probably a lifetime of practice. “I saved his life, son. With magic.”
“Is he… did I help the right person?” the young smith managed, glancing at the bodies.
“Yes, son. Yes, you did. This man has helped Akaria greatly, and hopefully thanks to your help, he’ll live to do it again. Now, we’re very tired from healing him. Can you go get our friends who are waiting on the nearest steps to Ranok?”
The teen nodded, stood, and wiped the blood off his hands on another rag that only seemed to replace the red with black. Eh, probably suited him better anyway.
As he left, Devol suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Your Highness,” he said, with a stark air of formality.
“Yes, Dev?” she asked.
“I… I regret to say your steward appears to have been part of the treachery. Or more accurately, your steward may have been murdered and replaced. I watched her change into another person entirely. A man, in fact.”
“Did you catch her?”
“Killed her. Him. I couldn’t risk him escaping.”
“We could have used the information.”
“I’m sorry, my lady. There may be some in her belongings.”
“Yes. Have the captain of the guard search Telidar’s things. Or should we be looking for Telidar? You with him, please. Take charge of this one.” Dev nodded and bowed, taking off at a jog. Elise glanced at Jaena. “Who can you trust, anymore?”
Jaena couldn’t respond to that and only glanced back at Ro breathing shallowly against the barrel. The knapsack was in his hand. She took it from his fingers tenderly and slung it over her back. No need for the loyal guards to wonder what it was and if it belonged in the smithy or on him. Or why so many men had chased someone carrying this bag.
