by May Sage
“Your Highness,” said the mage, inclining his head.
Dara opened her mouth in shock and delight. He just bobbed his head like that, that was all. Everyone else properly bowed or curtsied to her father.
Instead of shouting insults and demanding shows of respect, King Kraul also nodded, after a second of puzzlement and hesitation.
“Where’s the patient?” the mage asked, his voice low and rumbling, as Dara tiptoed around the dogs to get a better look at him.
“In her chambers. She’s drunk a little wine and—”
“Wine? Dear goddess, have you bled her too, while you were at it?”
The king shut his mouth. Dara knew that her mother had, in fact, been bled just a week ago. The newest healer had said that replacing tainted blood with fresh, healthy blood was the way to go. When that had made things worse, someone had called for the mage.
“Go on, then. Lead the way.”
Things weren’t going as planned. Her father had scheduled a feast with the best dancers from the far sandy lands in the south and musicians who could make the soul fly with their strings. She glanced at the king and saw his displeasure clearly, in the inclination of his mouth and in his eyes. But he said nothing and did his best to hide it.
Kraul turned on his heels, marching towards the west wing, and the mage followed him.
Mother will be saved, Dara thought. Ian Krane, the Wise, would make everything better.
She learned one thing that day, after they took her to her mother’s chamber and told her to kiss the cold corpse.
Never trust a mage.
Dara opened her heavy eyes and crawled out of her bed. It was a miracle in itself that she’d managed to fall asleep for long enough to dream of those old memories. She mentally asked her processor how long she’d been out of it. Half an hour. Half an hour she couldn’t afford to lose tonight, but she’d been exhausted.
Dara stepped toward the window, watching the quiet dark city. Her room’s windows took over an entire; she had the best view. Usually, it was one of the things she enjoyed most when she spent time in her father’s dwelling. Tonight, the view almost made her sick. It was so very quiet now, but she knew that, in the distance, at the edge of the city, Uncle Lonar was mobilizing the troops, preparing their army and what was left of their fleet, for war. In a few hours, there would be fire, screams, and blood. She’d calculated the odds using data from the previous battles won by the insurgents and she knew that there was no chance of winning this conflict.
None.
The insurgents had taken Haimo, Itri, Raigun, Darferia, and other greater systems with weapons and forces far superior to Zeru’s. For almost a decade, they’d chipped away at the Ratna Belt’s territories, attacking and conquering.
Her world was doomed.
Dara ran the stats in her mind and she could only come to one conclusion: the conquest of their system was of little importance. Zeru was a trivial system without any major trade. Her people didn’t build the best ships, their art wasn’t worth transporting to another system, they imported their weapons because the ones they built were sub-par, and while they were known for their gourmet food, that type of perishable wasn’t transportable throughout the galaxy. Overall, they sucked. Which meant that the insurgents couldn’t care about them all that much.
Why hadn’t her father negotiated? Dammit.
Dara released the lip she’d nibbled at and sighed. She knew why: pride. A pride they couldn’t afford and that would cost them a lot.
She bit her lip again, as she recalled the words of the tall, young, light-haired, gray-eyed mage who’d come to speak to her father. She was pretty good at knowing when she was getting bullshitted, but she hadn’t detected any lie when he’d said that there was no need for war. That he didn’t wish for it.
Never trust a mage.
She didn’t, wouldn’t, and couldn’t, ever, put her faith into a creature like him. They had their agendas, their priorities.
Yet, she thought of her sisters; the vain one, the self-centred one. They weren’t the nicest females in the world, but they didn’t deserve the fate that would befall them as royalty of a fallen kingdom. Dara was schooled in the history of conquests; they all ended with blood, tears, rapes, deaths. At best, her sisters would be prisoners. So would Dara, but she could take it. There also was the cheerful, and very real, possibility that they might actually all end up dead.
Her heart squeezed as her mind travelled to Kaur, the sweet boy of eleven who liked to read and watch holographic stories. He was the heir. What would they do to him?
Dara didn’t command her limbs to move, but she was walking out of her room, down the corridor and then toward the service stairs north of the tower. She didn’t bother to try the elevator. She wouldn’t be authorized to go where she was headed without express permission from her father, if she took the mechanical path. She’d learned, in her mischievous youth, that the stairs were seldom manned. No one worth mentioning would voluntarily subject themselves to thousands of steps when they could take an elevator.
She was halfway down to the dungeon when she came across a servant, who looked at her with some surprise. Following her glance, Dara noticed that she was wearing her silken bed clothes and a white robe over it; she’d gotten changed on automatic pilot, despite—or perhaps because of—the situation.
“My lady. May I be of some assistance?”
The female was visibly curious but there was no questioning her; it wasn’t a servant’s place to demand to know what a Rexis was doing.
“I’m all good, thank you,” she replied, her voice dry and unrecognizable to her own ears.
She forced herself to swallow. What was she thinking? Too late to turn back now. Hand firmly clamped around the handrail, she flew down until she’d reached her destination, three floors below the garage.
Her father had ordered the enforcers to take the stranger to the dungeons, rather than to a jail outside the building, and she’d hoped that he was still there. Finding the floor lit up and occupied, she forced herself to step inside. She’d been right. No prisoners were actually kept here in the dungeon on a regular basis. Typically, if anyone was caught in misdeeds here, they’d be transferred to a jail the next day. If there were lights on, it meant that the mage was here.
Dara straightened her spine and walked to the lone enforcer guarding the entire floor. He watched her approach curiously. She willed her voice not to betray her this time, speaking as clearly and convincingly as she could. “I’m here to see the mage.”
Not her most assertive moment, but at least she didn’t croak.
The enforcer lifted one brow. “Ma’am?”
“That wasn’t me asking for permission, soldier. Consider it an order.”
The male had the guts to hold her gaze without flinching, despite her rank and title. Damn. Why did she have to deal with an enforcer with a backbone now?
“We’ve started a war we can’t win,” she found herself saying, “and the likelihood of anyone standing at your post and surviving this is close to nil.”
The male scratched his chin. “I reckon you ain’t wrong. Whatchya gonna do about it, though?”
She shrugged. “I will do what my father failed to do, to the best of my ability. I will negotiate.”
With luck, the mage would be open to a deal, if she offered to let him go.
The male paused, then smiled. “Not the worst idea, princess. While you’re at it, broker a deal to save my skin too, if you can, will ya’?”
She liked the guy; he managed to exhort a smile from her despite the shitty situation they were in.
“I’ll try my best, Wilm,” she promised, reading his name tag.
He stood aside and let her walk into the lion’s den.
Four
The real monsters
Hart wasn’t surprised to feel the female approach. He wasn’t even surprised to hear what she had to say to the good-humored enforcer who’d been whistling for an hour. He’d read her r
ight earlier. She was smart and fierce.
He was, however, quite astonished when she appeared in soft, flowing clothing that made her look less rough around the edges, more feminine, perhaps kinder. Definitely not weaker.
Did she think that her attire might distract him enough to hinder his judgment? If so, she hadn’t been mistaken, but he hid it well.
“You’re too late,” he informed her before giving her a chance to speak. He forced his gaze away from her because the material was almost translucent in the light, hinting at the shape of each and every one of her dips and curves.
Hart pulled a small, star-shaped charm he kept in his pocket and started playing with it, concentrating on it. He made the metallic object fly around his hand, and bounced it around thin air, just to have something to do with his hands.
“We launched an attack almost an hour ago and it’ll be over soon. Well-meaning as you may be, you simply don’t have the power to stop this.”
He saw the female cross her arms around her torso from the corner of his eyes, although he did his best to keep his attention on the charm.
“I know. I can’t sign a deal for my father, or whatever. That’s not why I’m here.”
Hart had to admit that he was intrigued. Very much so. Everything she did now showed him who she was, what she was made of. He wanted to know more.
Why did she bespell him so? No other male or female had ever interested him as much as this stranger.
“Pray tell,” he invited pleasantly.
The female was looking down on him because he’d taken a seat on the floor.
It occurred to him that he might have gotten to his feet, had he felt like posturing. Hart was tall; taller than most Evris—the one exception was Kai. He used it to his advantage when he was negotiating.
But he’d stayed on the floor.
“It’s my family.”
He couldn’t help it; his gaze went to hers again.
“My little brother. My sisters,” she clarified.
Then, the female bit her plump upper lip and looked away.
“You’re not mentioning your father, or the soldier; was it your cousin, or your uncle?”
She shrugged. “My father isn’t my responsibility. He can protect himself.”
Hart smiled. No, he couldn’t. But she wasn’t foolish enough to attempt to make a deal about a king who’d decided on war.
“As for Uncle Lonar, he’ll be fighting against you, at the heart of it. I’m only here to talk about three innocents.”
“Innocent,” Hart repeated. “How many meals have you had served by slaves? How many times have you cheered as a child with magic was hung at the gallows.”
“None,” she barked, animosity clear in her tone.
“I suppose not. Your planet is perhaps a little too modern for gallows. Do you kill with poison or lasers?”
“My eleven-year-old brother has nothing to do with—”
“Your eleven-year-old brother might have been murdered if he’d been born with powers like mine. He could still develop them, you know. They tend to arrive any time during puberty. How would you feel if he had magic?”
The look on her face was one of pure horror.
Exactly, princess, he wanted to say.
“He’s aware that it happens and he sees nothing wrong with it. Nor do you. It’s not affecting you. Not yet, hopefully not ever.”
“Kaur isn’t…”
“Isn’t he?” His tone remained kind, but he could tell that each of his words was a wound.
Truth was, he didn’t know whether the boy would have magic one day. Probably not. But something about him had caught his attention. The lack of fear, perhaps.
“I was sixteen when my powers came to me, out of nowhere. It could happen to him. And then, what? In the world you were born in, he would die. In the one we’re creating, boys of his age will live. And, princess, the fact that you didn’t so much as think of it before today is proof that this generation is sick to the core. There is no such thing as innocence.”
“Oh, come off it. Like you’re much better. How many people will die because you failed to convince my father?”
“Thousands,” Hart replied without any intonation to his voice. “Millions, perhaps. And you’re welcome to put the blame on me, rather than where it belongs. Denial is a strong self-preservation tool.”
He was infuriating her, pushing her buttons, and enjoying it, partially because she was quite beautiful when she was mad—her eyes lit up, her cheeks had more color—but mostly because he made her think. He made her feel ashamed of the aspects of her world she’d never spared a thought about until now. He could feel it, see it. She wasn’t without compassion.
She hated him now, no doubt. Which meant that she wouldn’t forget him anytime soon.
He smiled.
The female was clenching her fists, biting her tongue. He could see her eyes moisten with tears she wouldn’t shed; she had too much pride for that. Her tears were frustration, not anger or sadness. She’d already admitted to herself that she was wrong. Her world was wrong. Hart didn’t need her to spell it out; he felt her distress.
With an uncharacteristic softness, Hart said, “Nothing will happen to your brother. Your sisters will be safe unless they attempt to hurt the wrong person.” And although she had demanded nothing for her sake, he added, “You will live through today. I’ll see to it. So will Wilm, by the way. He’s a marvelous whistler. It would be a shame to dispose of a male of his caliber.”
She seemed shocked, and confused, probably because she’d expected him to tell her that she deserved to rot in hell after his little speech. How little she understood him.
Hart smiled sadly. “We’re here to put a stop to your monstrosity. Killing children is your pleasure, not ours.”
“I don’t—”
Hart sighed, not inclined to hear her excuse. “This is the world you live in. Thrive in. Denying your baggage is never a good thing, princess.”
She remained silent for an instant, still glaring and shaking. Then she asked, “You’re not going to make demands of me in exchange?”
It was perhaps the tone of her suave voice, or the way she was dressed, but Hart found himself smiling wickedly. “What sorts of demands should I make of a female who comes to me in the middle of the night, I wonder.” That sort of teasing wasn’t in his usual character either.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, but Hart had the satisfaction of noticing that she was blushing. “I mean, don’t you want me to get you out of here, or something?”
He chuckled, before lifting his hand; the small silver charm hovering over it zoomed forward, so fast her naked eye probably couldn’t see it by the time it reached, and smashed through, the lock of his cell.
Hart got to his feet, and crossed the small room, going to the barred doors separating them. He pushed them open and her jaw fell.
“Why—” she started, and found that no words came to her. Eventually, she tried again, “Why are you staying in here?”
Hart shrugged. “I don’t have much to do until the troops get here. Might as well take a break.”
She didn’t look quite so confident now that there were no bars between them. Hart saw her take a small step back and look away.
He didn’t like it but it didn’t surprise him. He was rather tall. So was she, for a female, but he did tower over her. No doubt it made her uncomfortable. Funny. As though he needed to stand close to her to do her harm.
Still, he took a step back himself to give her the space she needed to feel safer.
“Head back up, princess. Lock yourself in. Go to sleep, if you can. No harm will come to your siblings. Come morning, your kingdom will have fallen, but you will still stand. I promise.”
He turned his back on her, returning inside the cell. It was as good a spot as any.
“Seriously, what was that? Flirting? Now?!”
Shit.
Like many mages, Hart could mentally communicate with his kind
red, but his bond with Star, his twin, was much stronger. Occasionally, he found himself seeing through her eyes, hearing the inner thoughts she didn’t mean to share with anyone. And Star purposefully jumped into his mind far more often than he would have liked.
He knew she did it out of concern when he was on a mission, to ensure that everything was going according to plan on his end. Still, he wished he’d remembered to severe their link for a few minutes. He might take to automatically doing it, just to avoid a situation like this in the future.
The conversation with the pretty princess wasn’t something he would have added to a mission report. It felt private, somehow. Star spying on it irritated him.
Too late now, as the female had left, he realized that he hadn’t bothered to ask her name.
No matter. They’d see each other again in a few hours.
Five
Fall from Grace
Uncharacteristically, Dara did as she was told. For a time.
She headed to her room and tried to let her fear go. She was powerless to do much. Her father had ordered that she stay here tonight. She couldn’t join the troops, and she was glad of it. Hours ago, she hadn’t attempted to go against the order because she’d been convinced that their side would lose; what was the point in driving a sinking ship? Now, she also felt that remaining out of this conflict was the way forward because the mage—infuriating as he had been when he’d lectured her—wasn’t, in fact, entirely wrong. He wasn’t even wrong at all.
As moments passed, she twitched, then paced in her room, one simple mantra running around her mind. She hadn’t thought it once while she had been in the dungeon, but now the voice was louder, demanding attention.
Never trust a mage.
He’d been so very convincing. She couldn’t see any falsehood in his demeanor. He’d even made her acknowledge, in minutes, with just a few words, that her world, her society, her own way of life was based on disgusting foundations.
