by R. K. Thorne
She bit back a gasp at the beauty of his words. They were almost a vow. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go. “No! Don’t follow me. You don’t have to go there. I hate myself for dragging you there.” She clutched at her shoulder at the pain her words inflicted. His eyes followed the gesture. She wondered if he understood.
“You’re not dragging me. Not anymore. I’m going willingly now.”
She cried out even as the physical pain lessened. “Don’t you see that that’s the last thing I want?”
“Why? I felt the way you kissed me. We belong together. You and me. We’ll go wherever you’ve got to take me, and we’ll find a way out.”
“There is no way out,” she whispered. “You don’t understand what you’re promising.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be very courageous of me if I did, now would it. Don’t you know that this is a prince’s specialty? Making fine, foolhardy promises and then having to live up to them? Many such promises have been made over much less worthy causes and people.” He smiled a little, and the attempt at humor did seem remarkably brave.
She tried to smile back, but she couldn’t do it. She ached too much, inside and out. Perhaps he was a fool—but he was a fool because of her.
He started to pull her close to him again, but she resisted. He stopped immediately. The sudden sadness in his eyes almost broke her; it drove a spike of ice straight into her chest. But what was this small sadness compared to a lifetime of enslavement? Compared to the whole world losing him forever? She wouldn’t be a part of doing this to him if she could at all resist it.
“We cannot do this,” she whispered again.
“Are you promised to someone else?” he asked suddenly. Her mind went blank as she blinked at him, shocked. “Please, I would rather just know.” She shook her head. “Are you… in love, then?” he asked, swallowing hard. She could only stare in surprise. She was convincing him, wasn’t she? It was working. What should she say—a truth that would damn him or a lie that might save him?
Those eyes, that face… She couldn’t lie, even though she should. She shook her head.
“Then what’s wrong?”
She stared, thinking, searching for a way to drive him away that she could actually force out of her own lips. She twisted away from him and took a few steps toward the fires.
“Regin told me what it means,” he said to her back.
“What what means?” She looked at him sidelong over her shoulder.
“The mark on your shoulder.”
A chill sliced through her. What had Regin told him? What would he think? What did he think he now knew? “Is that so?”
“Yes. I know this isn’t your idea. That you didn’t choose this.”
She turned a little more, her side facing him, and they stared at each other for a long moment. “Then maybe you’ll understand why I want to control this one thing,” she whispered. “Why I can’t just kiss you and forget about the world we live in and the shackles on your wrists of my own making. Why I hoped you were gone, in spite of how much it hurt to think that.”
He hadn’t understood, but now she could see that he did. His mouth fell open as his eyes widened ever so slightly. She had to get away, think this through, figure out what to say to him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You should’ve run.” And with that, she fled from him, back to the firelight, back to her tent. He did not follow.
He watched her flee, darting through the shadows and vanishing into her tent. He stood there, confused, wondering. How had he expected that to go? Perhaps he hadn’t expected anything. His body felt cold where she’d been against him.
He seemed to have hurt everyone except himself by not running. He hadn’t counted on that. It hadn’t felt particularly selfish. But perhaps it had been. He didn’t care if Mara didn’t want his help; she was going to get it. She didn’t have to love him back, but she couldn’t stop him from helping her.
It figured that once he finally found someone worth loving, she did not return the sentiment.
There was only one thing for him to do, besides mope—continue struggling with the puzzle that was the star map. Or was it a distraction? Was there some other loophole, some other way to save her? Regin had agreed, this enslavement was not the Way of Things. It was a safe bet that the forces that ran the world were in his favor… but the combination of foolhardy love and wishful thinking could be skewing his judgment a little.
He slunk back to a low-burning fire circle, where only a few children remained on the other side. He pulled out the star map and opened it. Would it still glisten in the dimming firelight? It shone faintly in response.
He studied it for a while but noticed nothing more.
“What’s that?” a young voice said beside him.
He jumped, not having heard anyone approach. The little boy they had saved smiled up at him.
Aven faltered when he tried to speak, then cleared his throat. “It’s a map.”
“Of what?” the boy asked. “I’ve seen maps of Akaria before. They don’t look like that.”
He smiled. “You’re right. It’s a map of the stars.”
“Oh!” the boy said, leaning closer. “Why would you need a map of the stars?”
Aven shrugged. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I found it one day and have been trying to figure out how to use it. Or what it means.”
“Have you discovered anything?”
“No.” If the boy hadn’t noticed the magic of the starlight, he wasn’t going to call attention to it. And that was really the only thing he’d discovered.
The boy sat down beside him, losing interest in the map. The flames danced as they both watched.
“How are you feeling?” Aven asked the boy. “Better now?”
“Yes!” he replied, smacking his palms against his chest. “Good as new! How did you and the lady help me?”
Aven smiled. “Didn’t they tell you it was magic?”
“Well, yes, but what kind? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know all the details, my friend did most of the work.”
“The lady?”
“Uh-huh. I just helped her. What did it feel like?”
The boy’s face went pale, thinking of it. “It hurt worse than when that man hit me. But not for very long. And then all the pain was gone, so it was worth it. Can you do that to heal anything?”
He laughed at the enthusiasm in the boy’s voice. “I can’t do it, but she can. I am not sure if she can heal just anything, but that seemed pretty bad. So maybe.”
“But what about other things? Dogs, horses?”
He thought of the way she treated the horses, the bat, the way she’d looked when she’d called after them all. He wondered if their horses could have returned when he and Miara were unconscious—he should try to find them. “I think she can. I think that’s maybe even easier for her.” It didn’t matter if he was wrong, did it? The boy was sweetly curious, and he probably wouldn’t meet another mage for a long time, if ever.
“And what about other things? My uncle Lem was born a little you-know,” the boy said, making a wild, twisted face. “Can she fix that, too?”
“Not sure,” Aven said. “But I’ll ask her in the morning for you.”
The boy smiled and bounced his legs up and down over the log, watching the dancing flames again. She was a creature mage, no? Were humans creatures, or was that something different? He groaned inwardly. So much he didn’t know. His eyes scanned the star map idly as he thought. He would bet she could heal plants.
But what about people’s minds? What about their souls? What about Lem?
What about— He caught his breath as his eyes caught on Casel.
What if he could pull down the energy of Casel herself? What if that word freedom actually alluded to more than just a spiritual meaning arbitrarily assigned to the star by some philosopher, a name, a label? Rather, what if it had been charted thusly as instruction by a mage like him—an air
mage?
A star mage.
What if the same process she’d used to heal the boy with his light from the sun could be used to heal that horrendous wound in her shoulder?
He almost flew to her tent to demand the details of how she had done it. Were there risks? Specific techniques one needed to know? But then her face turning away from him, twisted with emotion, came flooding back to him. No, he couldn’t go to her. Not now. Not yet.
Maybe by morning things would feel differently. He wasn’t sure exactly how he wanted them to feel. But different would definitely be better than this.
He glanced over at the boy, who gave him a grin. Aven smiled back. Indeed, he and Mara had been indebted to these people, but perhaps their deed had not gone unrewarded.
Ah, the Way of Things. Perhaps he wasn’t a total fool after all.
He gathered a few twigs from the kindling pile nearby and held them for a moment in the air as the tiniest offering. The boy watched him quizzically, but Aven did not explain.
He held them up and closed his eyes, and in his heart he whispered a prayer, Great Gods, Honored Ancestors, guide me along the path of Balance, take me toward the Way of Things, let me be the sword of righteousness. If what I long to do is truly the Way, then guide my hand, sharpen my blade, and put the wind at my back. I seek to serve you and my people.
And Mara, he thought, as he let the twigs fall into the glowing embers.
Miara awoke but didn’t open her eyes for some time. As dreams and grogginess fell away, the events of the night before slid back into focus.
By the gods. Aven was in love with her.
Suddenly, her cheeks flushed. She was a fool. It wasn’t every night that a handsome man kissed you. And she had to go and ruin it with all her qualms about helping to enslave him. And then it turned out he knew she was a mage slave anyway. Certainly, he must have guessed that was his probable fate, too.
He’d stayed anyway. He’d kissed her anyway. She’d run away. Like a coward.
Today was a new day. Today, she could walk out of the tent and kiss him on the mouth and never look back. If they got out of Mage Hall somehow, then gods be praised! And if they didn’t… she was still better off. Wasn’t she? What did she really have to lose in this situation?
Her lightness of feeling couldn’t last. She couldn’t do it. The more she knew him, the more she admired him. No, she loved him. It was beyond time to admit that. The stronger she felt, the more she didn’t want him to end up like her. Even if that meant she couldn’t be with him. Was it possible to be happy even without your freedom? She shook her head at her wishful thinking. If it were, it certainly wasn’t when the life you left behind was that of a king.
No. She had to keep her distance. She had to treat him such that if he got a second chance to run, the fool would take it.
She cracked open the flap of the tent. No one was in sight. The air was still crisp with the early morning. A few tended fires, prepared breakfasts, but mostly the camp was still hushed with sleep.
She slipped from the tent and headed toward the stream. A glance at Aven’s tent told her nothing of his whereabouts; her shoulder panged in annoyance at the thought. Stupid thing, not even smart enough to know that Aven wouldn’t run away from her if she shoved him on a boat and shipped him downriver. As if to confirm her evaluation of its stupidity, her shoulder twisted again in pain at that thought.
She headed over the hill toward the river. Maybe the cold water would clear her thoughts.
Cresting the hill, she discovered she was not alone. Dozens of tiny waves caught bits of the sunlight, creating a blinding reflection. In spite of them, she could see a figure was in the water. As she got closer, she could make out a masculine, muscled back, broad shoulders, and now-familiar light hair.
Aven.
She slowed, then clung to a tree nearby, hiding behind it. Should she turn back? She peered out, melding her visage with the tree’s to keep hidden.
Certain he couldn’t see her, she watched. He was surrounded by that nearly blinding halo of morning sunlight, splashing the water, jumping up and down to keep warm, scratching at his hair. The water sparkled like stars as it fell back to the river. She could not ignore the clear strength that ripped through his shoulders, the grace with which he moved through the water. A wave of heat shot through her. Was that embarrassment? Excitement?
This was the man that had kissed her only hours before. This was the man that had promised to follow her into darkness and back.
This was the man she’d rejected.
She remembered the day she had kidnapped him and transported him to the forest, inadvertently without his clothes. She remembered waiting for him to rouse, noticing almost against her will what fine shape he’d been in. At the time, she’d felt more intimidation and fear than admiration, but now…
He had claimed to command troops and fight with swords, and it must have been true. How else could he have gotten so strong in a tiny mountain hold? He still felt like so much of a stranger, like there was so much she didn’t know about him.
But maybe she knew plenty about him. And maybe he knew plenty about her. Maybe their lives were horrid situations that had nothing to do with who they really were.
Maybe that was how he knew he loved her in spite of not knowing what lay ahead of them, or behind.
What must he be thinking about falling in love with her? He was a prince—wasn’t he promised to someone? He was an eldest son, an heir. Certainly, he couldn’t throw his love around lightly. What was he really saying with that kiss? Just that he wanted to bed her for sport, as was the style of so many nobles? Did he want a mistress? Or was he actually saying more? That was almost unthinkable. She did not dare to even articulate that potential future, its likelihood was so distant. But he also did not seem like the kind of man to casually take a lover. Some men might have sought to distract her with the promise of love and fortune, only to escape when her trust was earned. But not Aven.
And that was not the kind of proclamation he’d made. Men didn’t tell women they just wanted to sleep with that they would follow them into any darkness and out the other side. Did they? She really was not experienced enough to know. A shiver went through her at the intensity of his words—caused by delight or fear, she wasn’t sure.
A prince could not bestow his love casually, and indeed, he hadn’t. Did he know he could be leaving his kingdom behind? Had he really thought it through? She had assumed he hadn’t, but what if he had?
He’d finished bathing and was climbing out onto the riverbank. The heat she felt rose even higher, her face flushed. Her breath was quicker than normal. His body was wet, and the sunlight shone brightly, exaggerating every curve, every droplet of water that slid down his skin toward the earth. A fine piece of breeding, that one—not at all like herself.
Should she continue to hide? She could keep herself hidden. He would go back to camp and be none the wiser of her scrutiny. It was too early for awkward conversation, and her cheeks were red, she was sure of it.
But much as she did not want to lead him on, part of her wanted him to know that she’d seen him, that she’d admired him, or at least wanted him to wonder if she had. Just as she’d waited for him to rouse and ask for his clothes on that first day before giving them to him, she wanted to be near him and just once more feel the tension between them, like electricity in the air.
She dropped all attempts at hiding while cursing her foolishness. He had put his pants on now and seemed to be planning to let the rest of him dry as he walked. He started up the path.
She stepped out from behind the tree and started down the path as if she’d never been hiding. He jumped, and then so did she as if she’d just seen him.
“Mara!” he called brightly, as if nothing had happened between them. “Good morning!”
She smiled back. When they reached each other, they stopped. There was a tension in the air, strange and different, that she didn’t understand.
She had to prol
ong the moment, study it.
“How was the water? Cold?” she asked him.
He nodded, grinning. “But it will wake you up, all right.”
A long, almost comfortable silence ensued that neither seemed to want to break. Odd. Shouldn’t it be more awkward between them?
Finally, she said, “Did you sleep well?”
He nodded. “Feeling fully recovered?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said. “At least as much as I can this early in the morning.”
He smiled, shifting his weight. “I saw the boy we healed at the fire after you… retired,” he said, faltering for the first time. “He was just fine. Thankful. He wondered if you can heal other things. Dogs, horses…”
“Anything,” she replied, with a slight smile.
He laughed. “Anything? Is that so? I mean, really. It’s against my Code to lie to little boys, you know.”
“It’s true. At least theoretically, with enough energy. A lone creature mage would not usually have enough energy—we’d kill everything in the vicinity trying to suck up enough. So I couldn’t have healed him without you.”
Now he seemed to blush. How silly this was! After the things they’d said last night? Now they were all niceties and compliments? Why were they acting like this?
“What about maladies of the mind? You know, like a madman?”
She raised her eyebrows. He thinks he’s crazy for loving me, she thought with a smirk.
“His question, not mine.” He shrugged, grinning.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I have never tried. At home, I was a healer of animals.”
“Ah,” he said. Silence stretched on. “So there were two types of healers, then?” He seemed to speak more to end the awkwardness than to really find out anything.
“Three—human, animal, and plant. But the plant healers consider themselves gardeners.”
“Do they all use the same techniques?”
“Mostly, yes. Some systems want to heal themselves but can’t. Those you can brute force and pour energy in, and the system will do what it has been trying to do all along. Other systems, you have to coax into behaving.”
