by R. K. Thorne
He knew somewhere in his mind that this could not end well. The despair in her eyes the night before when he’d tried to bargain with her—there was something cold and dark at the end of this road. But some part of him insisted on being irrational. In this moment, the sun warmed his skin, broken by streaked shadows of tree branches overhead, and the forest air smelled amazing in his lungs. A clearly smart, fierce woman rode by his side, and soon he would be learning magic from her. What did he have to complain about?
As the sun approached its zenith, they reached a small bridge shaded by tall oaks, and she decided it was time to stop. She took some bread and cheese from the saddlebags and handed it to him, and then she led the horses down to the river to drink. She didn’t watch him; he didn’t try to run. Why should he? Certainly, she could stop him easily, and beyond that, he had less reason to than ever. She offered him something he’d been searching for in Estun but could not find there. Should he run back to be a bad potential king instead? He felt a moment of guilt. Perhaps this was just an excuse to shirk his duty. But no. With no control of his magic, he was basically unfit for everything. Long overdue to change that.
Also, if he escaped, that would mean never seeing her again. And… he wasn’t ready for that just yet.
The horses were drinking. She strode uphill from the riverbank to where he sat, back against a tree trunk. Her strong, lithe frame tempted his eyes; he tried to keep them fixed on her face or the horses.
“Ready?” she said, arriving at the tree with a boyish, mischievous grin.
“For what, exactly?” Saying yes would be too easy.
“For your first lesson. I will drain some energy from you—a great deal, quickly—to give you the feeling of it, make it obvious. So. Ready?” She sat down beside him as she spoke.
He nodded.
“Close your eyes,” she said, stern but smiling. He did.
Then it was quiet. He could feel the bark against his back, the roots and dirt under him, pressing into him. A breeze floated in off the river, and the sunlight danced warmly on his skin, making some small part of him vibrate with joy.
And then, abruptly, that part of him fell out from under him, like a cave collapsing in his chest. At his center, growing outward, cold spread like snow tumbling down the mountain, growing in speed and devastation. Out from his chest to his shoulders, his arms, his toes. Like waking up in Estun in the dead of winter when the fire had burned down and only darkness wrapped around you. The top of his head tingled, and fatigue crashed over him. His whole self, every finger, was a dead weight, turned to stone like Estun itself.
He thought of the Great Stone, shining in the hall. On a smaller scale, this was the way it made him feel. That was no coincidence, was it?
“Open your eyes,” she murmured.
He struggled to. Her eyes were twinkling and locked on his.
“How does it feel?”
He grunted, barely able to keep his eyes open.
“As a mage, you want to keep yourself from getting to this point unless it’s an emergency, because as you can see, you are nearly incapacitated. Only rest or more energy from another source can restore you. Try it—try to feel the energy around you and pull it in.”
“How?”
“Well, you’ve got to pick something and send your mind toward it. Hear its song, know its whisper, understand its being, its very essence. Honor it deep in your soul. Feel its energy. Like this!” She pointed at a small mushroom growing beside him.
He tried to grope for it but felt like he was just pretending. There was nothing there, at least not to him. Maybe as a mage he wasn’t quite formed right. Maybe he couldn’t do things normal mages could do. Or maybe he was just too sleepy…
“Aven! Can you feel it?”
“No,” he said sleepily. “There’s nothing there.” Resigning himself to sleep that was soon coming, he took a deep breath of the fresh air, scented by the river, and felt the warm sun on his face. So restful. The soft, dappled light felt sweet on his skin. He could sit in this sunlight by this river forever.
“Oh! Oh! You’re doing it!” she cried.
“I am?”
“Don’t stop! Oh, of course. The mushroom isn’t there to you like it is to me. You need light. You need air.”
That made sense in his mind, but how to put it into practice? He took another deep breath, this time imagining the cold and fatigue fading away. They didn’t.
“Reach out to it,” she whispered.
As he took another breath, he felt outward from his mind. He felt nothing different. This was never going to work. Except… was that what she spoke of? A light and thin energy, ephemeral, fleeting, bright. He focused on it, and it grew and grew, ready to blind him.
Energy, he realized. Pure, raw energy. The light—the sun. It was his.
He lurched toward it mentally, dying of thirst, starving, full of greed for more.
The cold was gone, the fatigue was gone. Then after a moment there was warmth, a fire—a blaze. His body trembled with energy. He had to get up, to move. He had to do something, he had to jump, he had to run!
His eyes snapped open and locked with hers. Excitement twinkled in her dark eyes as she smiled at him. Her face in that moment was the most beautiful sight he would ever see, he was sure of it. The sun—the sky—he had never felt so alive! By the ancients! His thoughts flew by in a torrent, an engorged river rushing toward the sea. Everything of the last few days and more flew by him in an inebriated swirl. He saw Evana’s glare as she pronounced him a dead man, the drunk hitting the wall with a thud, his mother and father worrying for him, the clouds churning, the sky darkening and brightening. He saw Mara standing by the horses, the first time he spotted her. He saw himself lean toward her to kiss her, desperate to touch her, to feel as alive as he could possibly be—
When had the images changed from what had happened to what he wished to happen? And what did that mean? But he was too full of energy to make sense of it, thoughts rushing around in a whirlwind.
“Is… is this what it always feels like?” he whispered, staring into her eyes.
“Sometimes it’s even better.”
He let out a low breath. “Praise Anara!”
She chuckled. “You’re too full! You took too much. You’re drunk on it. Do something!”
“Like what?”
“Shake us down some leaves, clean the bridge off, tease the horses, something! Anything! And listen—feel—as you do it.”
He glanced around. He looked up at the sky; orange leaves still clung to the oaks. He couldn’t hesitate. He tried not to think. He just imagined the air racing through the treetops, like he would feel riding on horseback, but he was the air, powerful and fast—
A gust swayed the trees mightily, like a storm was approaching. By the gods, that was him. This was power like thunder rolling, like wind off the ocean—and he barely knew anything. Leaves swirled down from the treetops, and she smiled up at them, blinking in the flickering sunlight.
The heat in his chest had dissipated. He felt normal again. He hadn’t quite felt it fade because his thoughts had been on the wind. Perhaps that was his problem. He’d focused on the drunk, the Devoted Knight, his own annoyance at his lack of control, and he’d failed to notice the slight coldness, the fatigue.
She nodded. “Well, then, good start. For a prince, I suppose.” She winked. “You seem well rejuvenated now. Let’s go. Try to keep listening to that energy inside you. I may be tempted to steal a bit here and there to see if you notice. So you better be paying attention.” She narrowed her eyes at him playfully and shook a finger.
“And if I’m not?”
“Rocks and pebbles for dinner again.”
“I’m doomed to starvation from your horrid mistreatment.”
“You princes are soft! A mage must be hard. Rocks make warriors.” She snickered, punching him lightly on the shoulder as he rose. “Now shut up and get on the horse.”
“Missed it again.”
&nb
sp; He smacked a palm to his forehead, tugging on the opposite wrist with his chains in the process. This was the third time now she’d stolen some energy and he hadn’t noticed.
“Two out of five isn’t bad.”
“It isn’t very good, either,” she laughed. “That was a lot of it, too. Were you nodding off over there?”
“After the night we had, how can you blame me?”
She only shrugged. Her eyes darted around them every once in a while, and seriousness would temporarily cloud her face. Did she hear something, see something? He couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. She squinted hard at the road up ahead of them. In that spot, rosebushes sprang from the ground and straight into bloom, flowers red as blood.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“What makes you think I did that?”
“You were just eyeing that spot.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He snorted.
“Well, I have all your excess energy. I must do something with it.”
She really wasn’t much for lying, was she? “You could give it back.”
“How will you learn to fend for yourself then?”
“Excellent point.” He pondered for a moment. “Can anyone pull energy from anyone? Is there a way to stop it from happening?”
“You want to stop me?”
“Well, no, but it seems like it could be—”
She grinned. “It’s okay. You should want to stop me. You’ve got to be able to recognize it’s happening, first, however.”
He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Assuming I figure that out.”
“Mages can extract energy from many things, but you will pull more effectively from your element. So, since you’re a creature, I can pull energy from you more easily than, for example, you could from me. Magic is often not balanced in each small instance, but overall, it seems to even out. As you discovered, you have sources like the sun. If that isn’t abundant, I don’t know what is.”
“Unless you’re underground,” he grumbled. This explained why he always enjoyed the terrace—it hadn’t been just the monotony and the coldness in his bones. Or perhaps it was the coldness, but that had come from using his magic, not the damn stones. Fascinating. So much he didn’t know.
She shrugged. “Different mages have the advantage in different situations. It’s something to keep in mind—don’t go into situations where you will have the disadvantage. But how often is one underground?”
“I’ve lived nearly my whole life underground.” He glared.
“Oh.” She said nothing for a moment. “As an air mage, that must have… Did you like it there?”
“No.”
She watched him, seemingly unsure of what to say.
“I love my people. But I hate the mountain. It’s making more sense now, how miserable it felt. That’s why I would go out onto the terrace—where you found me. Only place there was much sunlight.”
She frowned, lost in thoughts he knew she wouldn’t share. She said nothing for a long while, and neither did he. His magic had led him to frequent the terrace, and being on the terrace had led him to her, and being with her had led him to his magic. Strange, indeed. It could be a coincidence. Or perhaps it was something more.
“You asked if it could be stopped,” she said eventually. “It can, but even if you’re sensitive to tiny fluctuations in your own energy levels, it can be tricky to notice at the start, which is when you need to stop it. And noticing it is like seeing the wind blow. Seeing the wind blowing and making the wind stop blowing are really not in the same realm at all, are they?”
He nodded. They were nearing a stream up ahead on the road.
“Let’s stop for a moment. The horses could use a short rest and a drink.” She led the horses off the road through a clearing in the trees and down to the water’s edge. She dismounted, and he took that as his cue as well. He stretched, then groaned. Hell. He wasn’t used to this much riding. How was she managing without a saddle?
She lumbered back up the hill to look up and down the road. Checking if anyone was following them? Her stride was awkward, so perhaps she wasn’t managing as well as he thought.
She turned back, heading for the water. Light from the creek cast lovely dappled light on her face and the trees around them. He wondered what she looked like with her hair down. He wondered what she looked like in a dress like his mother wore, of flowing gray silk. Or would she pick something different? He imagined her on the terrace at home, wearing such a dress with him. She would probably choose something more practical. Dark blue tunics, leathers like the royal guard? If she had lived in Estun, how might she have looked? He imagined her not as his kidnapper, but as something… else. As a woman. As a queen? That was what he was picturing, wasn’t it? Her riding leathers fit her in their own way, but what did she look like outside of this armored shell?
She must’ve felt him staring because she glanced at him. He would normally glance away immediately, but just this once, he held her brown eyes in his gaze for a split second longer. Then he turned toward the water. He lay down on the grass, stretched out his legs, and closed his eyes. The image of her in a gray silk gown hung in his mind—powerful and surprisingly detailed. She strode confidently among nobles, in between shafts of sunlight in the great hall. She sat at the tables among the lords and seemed no different than the others. Most were refined, but all were warriors nonetheless. He thought she would like it there.
It was probably a stupid fantasy. It was a stupid fantasy, he told himself. But of all the suitors that had come before, he’d never met one he could quite see as an Akarian. None he could really see as a queen. He’d never met anyone he could imagine… by his side.
He certainly wouldn’t have expected this to be the place to find such a woman.
As if sensing his thoughts, she came and sat beside him. She’d washed her face and drunk from the stream, and now they waited while the horses grazed. He couldn’t help but smile, though he hoped she wouldn’t notice.
She also looked out over the river, her keen eyes sharp. A sparrow fluttered down and hopped around on the grass before them. She glared at it. The sparrow flitted away.
“Someone is watching us,” she said flatly. Her eyes lost focus. She cocked her head slightly, listening. He could only hear the babbling of the water.
“Someone is coming,” she hissed, staggering to her feet. She grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up as well. Not letting go, she dragged him away from the water and across the road, heading up the hill and into the forest.
She slipped her dagger from her boot. Had the villagers pursued them? Took them long enough. She made for a large fallen tree just up ahead. She threw him down in its shadow, crouching beside him.
A gust of wind blew leaves furiously over their heads. Mara peered over the top of the tree from her crouch. Aven twisted so he could see a little.
Only swirling leaves and debris. Some kind of bizarre windstorm? But as the moments passed, an image began to form, figures made from blue-white light.
It was his mother—or, at least, her image traced in light. Two others flanked her. The broad-faced man with long, braided hair to her left he did not recognize, but Lord Beneral of Panar stood to her right, as regal and poised as always although minus his usual ebony staff. By the gods—was Beneral a mage too?
“Hold,” his mother’s voice rang out, strong and clear, the voice of a queen. But it was a silvery, echoing version of her voice—was he hearing it with his mind or his ears? Her golden hair was pure white light, her gown the faintest blue. The image swam strangely, as though she were underwater.
Mara’s blade was still drawn. She did not move, nor make any sign that she would run, either. She said nothing.
“Who are you?” his mother demanded.
Mara said nothing, dark eyes darting, measuring, calculating.
“I am Queen Elise of Akaria. You have my son as your captive. By all five m
ountains, I demand you tell me your name and release him immediately.”
Mara was breathing quickly. He saw her jaw tighten, then release, then tighten again, as she considered how to respond.
She called back simply, “I cannot.”
His mother’s lips pressed together as she frowned. “Don’t be stupid. This can be settled peacefully.”
“No,” Mara said, her voice a mixture of strange emotions. “It cannot.”
His mother shook her head. “I will give you one last chance. Do not force my hand. I have come to you to negotiate. Are you turning me away? We will have no choice but to pursue and destroy you if you will not cooperate.”
He saw Mara’s form tense as if poised for immediate attack. But nothing else changed.
“I wish there were some deal that could be reached,” Mara replied. Odd thing for a kidnapper to say. “But there is nothing I can ask you for. You have nothing I need. It cannot be. My—” She tried to say something else but winced and cut herself short. Her hand moved briefly to rub her shoulder, then back to steady herself against the log.
“So be it, then,” his mother said. “You choose to bring the wrath of Akaria upon you. A fool’s choice—you will die before I let you hurt him.” With another blast of the wind, the figures in light were gone.
Aven blinked at the ferocity of her words. In a hall full of warriors, his mother often seemed to be a beacon of refinement. It was easy to lose sight of the powerful warrior queen she really was.
Mara stayed frozen for a moment, listening, the vanishing image putting her by no means at ease.
“Come.” She grabbed him by the shirt and rushing back toward the horses. “There are some ruins on the crest of the hill—let’s go. This isn’t over.”
Kres was happy to break into a gallop for once, and Miara was happy to oblige him. They dismounted when they reached what appeared to be the remains of a temple—elegant, tall, and tragically indefensible. She had dared to hope for some kind of fortification, but no such luck. They ventured inside on foot, bringing the horses with them. Ancient stone columns rose up, holding high stone halls and roofs intact, leaving a darkened shell with shafts of sunlight streaming in. Writing she didn’t recognize was etched into a white stone wall to their left.
