Star Mage (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 3)

by R. K. Thorne

  Aven reached out, slipped his arm around her waist, and pulled her close. “It sure is, my love. It sure is.”

  WHEN THEY RODE over the crest of the last mountain pass, Niat caught her breath, slowing her horse. It had been a long, slow ride—she wasn’t used to riding horses, and her companions hadn’t pushed her. She was as eager to arrive at their destination as anyone, except maybe Thel.

  But as the pale stone bridge stretched out before her, her memory swirled, and she found herself dismounting.

  “Niat?” The clink of metal and leather told her he was dismounting too, as of course he would. He already had. She already knew he would. “Is everything all right?”

  She took a few stiff steps forward. The gray fortress was nestled into the mountain before her, a fearsome combination of sternness and safety, and the broad doors were just slowly heaving open. The watch towers had signaled their arrival.

  Something in her stirred, danced, laughed, a whirlpool of visions twisting just below the surface of her mind. Much waited for her here. And whoever or whatever granted her the visions didn’t quite want to spoil it. For now, the future didn’t intrude.

  He stepped up beside her, and she turned, smiling radiantly. “Everything is fine.”

  Thel smiled back, a little uneasily, his eyes searching her face. Then he held out a palm. “Estun. My home.”

  A home that was nothing like a temple, that was a lifetime away from the sea. A home where rock and earth surrounded all. There would be books, too, that he wanted to show her, and roaring fires and long talks and swords and brandy and laughter and children and—

  The whirlpool swelled almost to overflowing—giddy, almost drunk. She fought the future and leapt into the present, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his.

  She was still smiling when the kiss faded, and the whirlpool with it.

  “And now my home as well,” she said, turning to face it.

  The horses shifted impatiently behind them. He slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed her briefly against him. “I hope you like it as much as you think you will.”

  Fat snowflakes started to fall, dancing and swirling around them as she surveyed the bridge, the fortress, the glorious mountains around them, and the few cheery blue patches of sky. All things she had seen before in her mind, now before her for real this time. Things she hoped to see many, many times.

  “I’m quite positive I’ll be happy here.” She slipped her arm around his waist too.

  “I’m told it’s a little… cold. Drafty.”

  She squeezed him back, just as he had. “With you around? I’m not worried.”

  WARM WIND CARESSED Jaena’s cheeks. It meandered across her neck, swept her collarbone, cooled her in the hot southern sun. She forced a breath. In her nose, out her mouth, in her nose, out her mouth. The water lapped against the side of the boat, deceptively peaceful, stirred by the persistent dipping and dragging of the oars in Ro’s hands.

  “Almost there,” he said gently.

  Maybe she’d get through the rest of the trip without throwing up. Or, maybe only one more time. Gods help her.

  The glorious crystal blue of the water sparkled more brightly as they went over a particularly high wave, and she squinted her eyes shut, glad he wasn’t as seasick as she was. Or perhaps it wasn’t just the motion, maybe the earth was just too far away. She reached down for it, so very far down, almost dizzyingly beyond reach.

  But that was just why they’d picked this very spot.

  Keeping her eyes closed and breathing carefully through her nose, she tried to focus on the fortifying heat of the sun. “This is worth it,” she told herself. “This is worth it.”

  He laughed softly. “This is probably far enough. Feel how deep it is?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Think this is good?” He’d stopped rowing, not that that stabilized the small rowboat much.

  She nodded. “You know, if the wrong wave comes by, we’re done for out here.” The rowboat was much too small for how far they were from shore. But they couldn’t have operated anything else alone. Neither of them were seafarers. She risked a glance at the beauty of the coastline beyond, her eyes widening at how distant it appeared to be.

  “We have ways of protecting ourselves,” he said with a knowing smile. “Don’t we?”

  She nodded. She might be too panicked if such “ways” were needed, but she doubted he would be. He brushed a hand over his hair, tucking back a stray strand of white that had escaped, and he smiled at her.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  He twisted and reached behind him, pulling open the pack, opening the pack inside that, and unhooking the case inside that one.

  And then there it was. The long, nondescript metal pole, so seemingly banal, even harmless. Any passing ship would have thought them insane to stare at it with such consequence. And on her part, such hate.

  He raised it up. “You do the honors.”

  She reached out and took it by its middle. She wasn’t anyone who would wield this as a weapon by the handle, and she damn sure wasn’t touching the circular knot at the end that had so welted and scarred her, inside and out. Her and hundreds of others. Maybe thousands, over the years. Maybe even that wasn’t enough.

  “For you, Dekana,” she said, raising her face up to the few clouds ambling through the perfect blue sky. “I’d rather have you back, but this is the best I can do.”

  Lifting it from his hands, she cast the evil thing into the water, throwing it like a harpoon, wanting it away from her as quickly as her muscles would allow.

  The ocean swallowed it with an insignificant splash. She followed the metal as it drifted down, traced it with her mind. Ro’s eyes closed, working, following it too.

  As it neared the sand, she parted the earth, aching at the disturbance as she sensed creatures flitting away from inside the wet ocean floor. But they would find other homes. And hopefully, the brand wouldn’t.

  She parted the sand further and further until she found deeper earth, shoving wet soil aside and hitting rock and shearing a crack straight through that too.

  Into it the brand tumbled, and then it settled, quiet and still in the dark, gentle water.

  As fitting a tomb as she could devise.

  Together, they filled the rock and earth and sand back in, burying it as deeply as they could manage. And then, realizing she’d closed her eyes, she opened them and met Ro’s gaze.

  “It’s over,” he said, his eyes warm and intent on her.

  “I hope so,” she said warily. “At least for now.”

  “Either way, we’ve done our best. And that’s all we ever can do.”

  She smiled grudgingly. “You’re right.”

  “Dekana would be proud of you.”

  Now her smile grew truer, more sincere if tinged with sadness. “I hope so.”

  “So, want to take this little boat back to Evrical? I’ve heard it’s a scenic journey along the cost.” He grinned.

  She snorted. “Get me out of here, will you? Haven’t you seen me throw up enough?”

  He chuckled as he took up the oars again. “As I intend to stick around for a lifetime, I’m pretty sure this is a small fraction of what I plan to endure.”

  She ducked her head, hiding her pleasure at his words. It felt dangerous, too optimistic to be effervescently happy at a moment like this, even though the feeling was stubbornly bubbling up inside her. “Ugh, damn you and your clever quips, you don’t have to come up with clever comebacks while nauseated.”

  “That depends on what we eat tonight. You might get lucky and get your revenge.”

  She caught his eyes with a look of concern that melted to shaking her head. “I’ve had enough revenge for one lifetime, Tharomar. All I want to do now is fall asleep on the beach with you.”

  “That, my dear wife, can be arranged.”

  She flushed at the term, still fresh and strange in her ears. “And maybe have s
ome shrimp later.”

  “I believe we can make that happen.”

  “And see if we can peddle any of our wares to those friendly villagers. Or that trader with the cart we saw by the road. Or—”

  He laughed. “You will never be satisfied, my love. Don’t forget we’ve already acquired enough vanilla to drown an army—and to fulfill our promises to our great queen and king.”

  “But I’m still looking for these fabled sugared violets. Someone has to have some.”

  “We can go into the city tomorrow, now that this work is done. Maybe they’ll even have sugared rose petals or lilies.”

  “Hey, my merchant empire has to start somewhere.”

  “It already has, my dear, it already has.”

  THE TREES STOOD like pillars of a cathedral, tall and black and reaching their graceful arms up into a blue sky already streaked with purple and orange. Miara hugged her arms around her, gripping her shoulders tightly and raising her face into the late-day sunlight. The cloak was smooth under her fingers, silk lined, with layers upon layers that left her warm in spite of the crisp chill in the air.

  A thin snow blanketed the earth, hiding just for one day all the imperfections of the world. It reached out like an interminable plane, dotted only with the tall trees, until it reached the water’s edge.

  Lake Senokin.

  They’d finally made it.

  The water looked dark, almost black from here, and she could see no one. Indeed, who would be here this time of year, save people as crazy as them? The priestess’s small hut huddled near the water’s edge and puffed warm, welcoming smoke from its chimney. Had it been another day, she’d have longed to head inside. Take shelter. Drink some warm wine, close her eyes, sleep the day away. She could do that, now that she wasn’t a slave. She didn’t, but technically she could. No amount of sleep seemed enough just yet, though, after the days in her crystal prison. Someday she’d get her fill. Might not be anytime soon.

  Winter wind danced the hair across her face and up toward the sky as it sent small ripples along the water. She smiled at its caress. It was not just the wind of the gods that swirled across her skin. It was him. Beckoning her.

  It was time.

  She followed the path the priestess had shown her the day before. Her feet were the first to trod across this snow, leaving fresh tracks that her cloak swirled and dusted into a wide trail behind her. The trail was marked by stones, now only small white rises by a tree trunk or two, but she didn’t miss them. She remembered the way. She might never forget it.

  The cave awaited her at the end, the pool inside a strangely vivid blue, the air humid and wet and close all of a sudden. A slight crack in the cavern roof let in dying sunlight, but she took the flint and steel waiting and lit the torches solemnly placed there the day before.

  She removed the cloak, removed the robe underneath. Removed everything and shivered in the frigid air, slipping quickly into the water. Warmth enveloped her, seeping slowly into her very core, and steam rose in a foggy mist around her face. She leaned against the far wall of the pool and closed her eyes.

  It was time to wait now, for the sun to dip its final path below the horizon.

  Akarians and their strange customs. Kalan—who it turned out had been hiding in the Ranok kitchens and then her home for quite some time in the chaos—had wanted to attend her, but Miara had held true to the most traditional path of coming alone. They were her customs now too, weren’t they? To some degree. There had been a day they were so foreign to her, when she’d dipped into Aven’s mind and seen them for the first time, from his perspective, over the awkward jolting of that wagon. The memory brought a flush to her cheeks even now.

  It’d seemed like they’d never make it out of there. How much more had they endured, overcome, since then?

  She let the quiet of the forest smooth her thoughts, let the heat of the water permeate her body, to every strained muscle, to her bloodied hands, to bruises that were gone but not forgotten, to the ache of seeing so much of Panar crushed to dust by Daes’s hand.

  They’d stopped him, though. They’d stopped it all. It was over.

  Mage Hall had been torn apart, first by the arriving Akarians and next by the unbranded slaves freed from the dungeons, from the drugs, from even a nearby mine. Teron had been lucky to find his mother in the chaos. Seulka—the Mistress—had been caught by some of the unbranded slaves, who’d been close to killing her before Akarian soldiers had intervened and thrown her in Mage Hall’s own dungeons. The Fat Master, once they’d broken through his many locks and separated him from a hideous mound of gold coin and brass trinkets, had joined her there. Now Dom was overseeing bringing them back to Panar to face their crimes.

  Seeing Mage Hall crumble made her sad in some small way. It had been a horrible place, but the place of her childhood too. Where her father had tucked her in at night. Where she’d taught Luha to ride a horse. Was Kres roaming free in the Kavanarian countryside, since the stables had been burned to ashes and torn asunder?

  But most of her was simply relieved. Like smoke vanishing into the blue sky above, its mark upon the world was over now. The mages it’d held were free, or they soon would be. Aven, Derk, and Wunik had been nearly killing themselves undoing it all, bathing that one dark corner of Kavanar in starlight.

  And thank the gods for that. For all of it.

  Sometime later, she opened her eyes. Was that the splash of the priestess in the water? Darkness had nearly fallen, and Miara jumped to alert, her heart racing faster, those almost-relaxed muscles tensing once again.

  But from the other side of the pool, she just barely made out the priestess’s dark hair, her bronze skin, the white ghost of her robe swirling like a wildflower in the waters and clinging to her wet shoulders.

  “Miara?” she called in a rich, low voice. Miara thought the priestess might have been Takaran once upon a time. How funny that she hailed from a people who loved such large weddings but now officiated over the quietest, smallest way in the world for two people to become husband and wife.

  “I’m here,” she responded, moving toward the voice. Away from the torches. Further into the darkness.

  The rumble of the small waterfall grew louder as she followed the priestess through the waters. Here these pools tumbled into the lake, fog rising up on all sides, hiding anything but the barest glimpse of the form ahead of her as she slipped out of the water that’d grown almost too hot now. She followed the priestess quietly down the stone steps, no different at the moment than the day she was born.

  She heard rather than saw the priestess splash into the lake, and then she was at the last step, the cold waters of Senokin lapping at her feet.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped out, and cold water swallowed her, slid across her skin, not nearly as frigid as she’d expected but instead almost refreshing. Exciting. Invigorating. Her body felt intensely and desperately alive.

  “This way, Miara,” called the priestess.

  She swam toward the sound of her voice, leaving the cave and emerging into the night. She paused, staring up at the canopy of the heavens overhead. The sun had given up its fight, and the moon rose now, high and glorious in the sky.

  Stars sparkled above her, exquisite and delicate as diamonds in a gown, bitterly powerful for all their winking and twinkling against the darkness.

  When she lowered her eyes, she could see him now, a dozen yards off, the priestess waiting patiently by his side. She had waited for this moment. Longed for it. And she would have waited a thousand lifetimes more. But she was glad it had finally come.

  Heart pounding, she swam toward them. For no reason she could discern, her stomach twisted, anxious, nervous, tense.

  But not afraid.

  She reached out, and his hand found hers under the frigid water, rough calluses from long days and hard fights scraping her skin, making her feel alive. As he always did.

  They turned to face the priestess together, side by side in the silver light, his arm
brushing hers with warmth and reassurance.

  It was all over now, and something else—something better—was just beginning.

  AFTERWORD

  Thank you so much for reading the Enslaved Chronicles. I hope you had a great time joining me on this adventure. If you’d like, I’d be honored if you left a review. Honest reviews help others like you discover books they may love for themselves, and I appreciate hearing from readers and honest feedback.

  Check out my website for upcoming book news and occasional free bonuses. I am planning a short prequel and possibly some free bonus deleted scenes. I’m also considering some companion novels if there’s interest.

  I have a romantic sci-fi adventure cooking and in the works for early 2018. More honorable heroes falling for each other in stressful situations… just with laser guns this time! Join my mailing list to get updates on those and more.

  And thank you again for joining me on this adventure!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  R. K. Thorne is an independent fantasy author whose addiction to notebooks, role-playing games, coffee, and red wine have resulted in this series.

  She has read speculative fiction since before she was probably much too young to be doing so and encourages you to do the same.

  She lives in the green hills of Pennsylvania with her family and two gray cats. They may or may not pull her chariot in their spare time.

  For more information:

  rkthorne.com

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Maps

  1. Searching

  2. Hope

  3. Maps and Messages

  4. Fire

  5. Control

  6. Cracks

  7. Translations

  8. Making Plans

  9. Farewell

  10. Betrayal

  11. Snakes

  12. Calm

  13. Duty

  14. Cliffs