Nolen pinched his lips together as he put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, and Mikelle watched the Class Ten stiffen. His spine locked up as he straightened. Lace glanced at him and watched for several long seconds before he took a breath in. Putting her own hand through his, she placed the other on her black gelding. Bianji joined the connection with a hand on her roan and the other on the back of Nolen’s neck. He turned to sneer at her, but she only smiled and tightened her grip.
The Prince broke his connection with Gabriel to lay the patterns and reconnected before fueling them. Gabriel remained standing this time. Lace had told stories of the Prince’s usage of Gabriel’s power before and how wounded it left the man. Everyone knew they had to draw and fuel their power gently or it would rip from them like thorns through a hole. She could only imagine how such a strong power in Nolen’s hands would leave someone damaged.
“You are leading,” Lace informed Nolen. “Do you know where we are going?”
He gave her a sharp glare, and the world around them changed. The green backdrop of the livery brightened as a snowy landscape replaced it, dotted with snow-laden evergreens. The warm stable slipped away as a cold wind kicked up, blowing a few old snowflakes with it that caught in Mikelle’s hair. A mountain range came into view as the ground sharpened to jagged, rocky peaks that looked unlike the Greynadaltynes’ rounded summits. These mountains looked as though a giant had smashed a club and shattered the peaks.
“Where are we?” Mikelle asked.
“The Nevis Range in the north,” Nolen replied. They broke their connection, and he assisted Bianji and Lace to their seats before he swung his lithe frame up onto his destrier. “The Anatolian border ends in them and gives way to the Northmen. It’s a land they call the Reglajae, but it is nothing more than frozen lakes and mountains.”
“Prince Nolen, this is where we leave you,” Bianji stated as Nolen turned his horse north. He looked over his shoulder at them with a face forming an argument.
“Anatoly City is that way,” he pointed south-west. “It should take you a week.”
“A week!” Lace shouted, and spouted off curses in Arconian. Surprisingly, Nolen reached into his saddle bag and withdrew a pouch that he tossed to Bianji. It clinked metallically and full of gold squares.
“That should keep you well fed and give you a decent bed. If you shut your gob, you would make better time.” He turned his horse and kicked the beast into a trot. He had a solid seat, though she suspected a man who was such an ass would know how to use his own.
Lace sidled up alongside Mikelle and put her hand on Mikelle’s arm. “Nolen is capable of very dangerous things. Take caution.” She glanced at Gabriel as he kicked his own roan mare into a trot. “He is a good soul, better than I suspected. Be extra gentle with him.”
Mikelle searched for a witty comeback but let it slip away with Lace’s serious face. “Where did you two go last night?”
Lace paid a glance at Gabriel’s back, and her grip on Mikelle’s arm tightened. “Don’t ask him of it.”
She slipped away as Bianji came up beside her. “You’re in charge while I’m away,” Mikelle whispered in Arconian. “Glean what information you can.”
Bianji tapped her temple and smiled as she kicked her mare and cantered away. Mikelle had to race to catch up with Gabriel’s horse that shied at her approach. While he may have known his techniques, he did not look comfortable in the saddle nor seemed to understand how to communicate with the beast.
“You do not like horses,” she commented as they trotted behind Nolen.
“Neither do you.”
“Are you accustomed to carriage riding then?”
“No.”
“How did you get around if not by horse or carriage? Did you fly?”
“I walked,” he replied and adjusted his hands on the reins. “Not in this form.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You… know a shapeshifting-pattern?” she exclaimed. “I’ve heard of those, but I thought they were all lost with the Class Eights. They knew patterns for giant wolves and moose and elk. What shape were you?”
Nolen looked over his shoulder and snapped, “No Mage, keep that to yourself.” Any syllable Gabriel was about to utter died on his lips.
They crested a hill to reveal a small town spread out atop a hill. The buildings were made of pale wood that would have passed for ice at this distance. No building stood over two stories, and from every chimney, pillows of black smoke rose. From this length they could see little specks of people huddled in long pale cloaks and large dogs. The land was hilly and rocky. Most of it was covered in old snow and spotted with evergreens. The town sat in a crescent shape around a white, flat space that spread for miles in every direction. It took Mikelle a moment to realize it was a large frozen lake. Despite being frozen, she could feel the water moving beneath the surface the closer they rode.
“What is this place?” Mikelle called to Nolen.
He paid her a glance over a shoulder. “Borogue, a fishing village. Our destination is not far.”
“Why did we not sidestep there?”
“I have not been there,” he replied with a finite tone.
She sneered at his back and knew she would get no kind conversation from him, so she looked to Gabriel who rode not far behind and slowed her mare to match his pace. His head was down but his gaze was up, watching the scenery and passing over Nolen now and again with a wary expression. Against the white background, his black hair and blue eyes seemed all the deeper.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
He made no eye contact but glanced at Nolen to see if the man would bark at him again. “Hollow Downs, in the foothills of the Gray Mountains.”
“Is it near Castle Jaden?”
He shook his head and straightened a little in the saddle, wincing as he adjusted his seat. They rode silently for a few moments, and Gabriel glanced to see Mikelle was watching him. He sensed the awkward silence, for he said, “Tell me of your friends.”
“What do you know?”
He looked up as he thought. “Lace is the daughter of diamond moguls who are loyal to the royalty. Bianji is the niece of the Headmaster of the Mage Academy. Shayleen is an Anomaly born to non-Mages who craft violins. You…” he paused and paid her eyes a look. “I don’t know you.”
She smirked. “How long a tale do you wish for?”
For a moment, light and life flickered into his eyes, and she thought he smiled a touch as he said, “All of it.”
She nodded most nobly. “I am the daughter of Water Mages. I am middleborn, and my parents were sailors. They transported trade from the Hundred Isles to the mainland to save enough money and send me to the Mage Academy. In Arconia we must pay to be trained, unlike your Jaden. A year before I finished, my mother ran off with a captain of a nicer vessel, and my father drank himself to death.
“I come from a long line of Water Mages, and while the Anlon name cannot be traced far back in the histories, there was a Mage Greggin Anlon who sat the throne before Arconia became her own kingdom over an Age ago. Naturally I like to think myself a princess.”
He smirked a little, and she laughed. “I went rogue for a while after my father died and only just managed to finish my studies and get a Class. After that I spent two years on my own, living among the lowborns and using my Elements to cause grief for those who would pay enough coin. It was in my lowest moments that I fled to Lace for refuge after a crime. She presented me to King Victor not as a criminal, but as a noble who had fallen on hard times. I have a certain knack for getting what I want, and prying information out of people without harming them is valuable. He took me into his court, and I became an informant.
“After catching a few purse thieves, I stumbled upon a plot to free a score of men from the prisons—dissenters and traitors—and the more I poked, the more I learned. They were not only planning to escape, but to capture the Crown Prince Quinn for ransom. There was even a pool going to see how many pieces he would arrive in; it
was most…grotesque? Is that a word? Grotesque, then. On the eve of their escape, I had three hundred soldiers ready for them, and each man was beheaded as they climbed out of the tunnel they had dug. I presented to King Victor seventeen heads on spikes alongside two survivors who explained the plot. I was awarded many coin and gifts for my loyalty and gained the King’s trust.”
Nolen had pulled far enough away to not hear their conversation, and she watched to make sure he would not send a tendril of Air their way to eavesdrop. The smile, if there had been one, faded from Gabriel’s face long ago, leaving him listless and expressionless as he listened. “Who gave you their personality?” he asked.
“I am my own person.”
“No, I mean, do you take after your mother or father?”
“I take after myself. I am like neither my mother nor father. Both were quiet. You use the word introverted? Yes, introverted then.”
He nodded thoughtfully but made no reply.
“And you?”
“I am my father’s son.”
They could smell the smoke from the chimneys and hear squawking from a covered pen as they rode closer. A few people stopped when they saw the black cloaks on the men but continued on their way without bothering them. Nolen reigned up beside a small covered market and dismounted to talk with a bearded man in light gray woolens and a long white cloak. Beside him sat a large gray dog that watched the destrier with a hungry look.
“How far are we from Jaden?” Mikelle whispered to Gabriel as they stopped.
He looked west reflexively, but there were no mountains to be seen. “Far.”
“Do these people know who Mages are?”
He searched the area with intelligent eyes. “It would be rare to find a place that did not know.”
Nolen swung back into the saddle, and for a second met Gabriel’s eyes. Gabriel clenched them shut and put his chin to his chest. Nolen still formed a rod of Air and clubbed him across the shoulders. “Be silent or I will put you back in the leash.”
‘I would have something to say against that.’ Mikelle straightened. “Be careful with him. I need him hale tonight. If you damage him he won’t be able to—”
“I do not need details!” Nolen shouted and put up a gloved hand. He muttered something as he turned the gray into the village.
“Did he wound you?” Mikelle asked. Gabriel looked up and met her eyes but said nothing; Nolen told him not to. Yet, by the look he gave, she could glean an affirmative. ‘Stars help you.’
Chapter 8
Gabriel lingered in the back yard of the cottage, stripped to the waist and dripping sweat. He weighed an axe in his hands. His hair was wet and fell in rings around his face and neck, and his torso was shiny with oil. Heaving the axe over his head, he pulled the weapon in an arc and slammed it into the fallen tree at his feet. The muscles in his arm vibrated and absorbed the strike into his broad shoulders. Flexing, he wrenched it free and swung again.
He had been at it for half an hour, but the tree was oak and still green, and he was exhausting himself. He could easily have split the wood with a pattern of Earth but continued to strain himself.
Robyn watched him through a crack in the door as he worked. Her fingers perched on the boards to keep it ajar. She had seen this before, she was certain, but she could not explain when or how, so she held her breath and leaned forward to observe. It had taken her a long time to fall for the raven-haired man, certain his power would keep them too distant, but as the weeks had passed, and they realized they would be together for a time, she let her desiring be realized. He was handsome to look upon, fair as a portrait, gentle and compassionate, and while he came with faults and flaws, she could not help but love them all. She missed him, though she could not say why.
The axe stuck fast in the oak, and even as he tried to wrench it loose it remained lodged. He threw his hands away in anger and raised them, laying a pattern she could not see. It happened in the span of two seconds, and by the count of the third, the great tree split into a thousand pieces, each the perfect size for a fire.
She smiled and pushed the door open to reveal herself as he glanced up with an abashed look, splinters of wood decorating his skin. He smirked and could not help the laugh that came to his lips at the berating look she gave him. She soon dissolved into laughter. It hurt to laugh, she did not know why. He flicked his hair from his eyes and gave her a beaming smile as he chuckled. She never saw him as gleeful in that moment, and his smiling face was forever imprinted in her memory.
‘I love you,’ she should have told him but her lips would not move. Her body failed her as she tried to step forward, to go back, to do anything but stand there chuckling. ‘Why? What is this?’ she asked herself. Slowly, her vision darkened around the edges, and Gabriel’s smiling face faded. She willed herself to reach out to him, but her body would not allow it.
As his image darkened, sound began to reach her ears. Foreign voices and the sound of hooves on a road filled her senses, and she realized it had been all a memory. She was warm and snuggled tightly into someone’s arms. ‘Gabriel,’ her heart leapt. She was going to rescue him. ‘We succeeded!’
Her eyes opened hurriedly, searching the face of the man that held her. It looked much like her love.
“Cordis?” she whispered, and the man gave a relieved smile, reigning in the horse. “Sweet stars, am I dead?”
“Far from it, my dear.”
“But you are dead.”
“Also not true,” he grinned. He adjusted her position in his arm as she sat up, draped over his leg and perched on the front of the bony saddle.
“Where is Gabriel?” she whispered. Cordis’s smiling face hardly faltered, but he had always been excellent at controlling emotions.
“He did not come with us on this trip,” he said carefully. “But we are going to him.”
“I—I don’t remember anything. He was right there and then…nothing. What happened?” she asked and brought her hand up to adjust her coat pulled askew. As she asked her fingers to open, nothing happened. Her hand hit her collarbone awkwardly, and she looked befuddled at it. The sleeve of the coat was terribly long and hid the digits. She brought her right hand up to pull it back, but Cordis pulled her in tighter.
“Don’t,” he whispered as gently as Gabriel would have.
She had never been one to take orders from people and freed herself to pull back the long sleeve. Her breath caught in her throat to see not fingers, but a rounded stump of flesh that ended below where her wrist should have been.
She screamed.
The horse spooked, and as Cordis jerked to restrain her, Robyn slipped loose, falling to the ground in a tangle of weak legs and jittery horses. There were several horses nearby, but their riders controlled them as she struggled to her feet, staring at the stump where her hand should have been.
“Easy, easy!” a man was yelling, and she realized she was still screaming in broken tones. Cordis grabbed her shoulders and held her fast.
“It’s okay Roby, we’re going to make this right,” he said.
She snapped her jaws shut and held her breath as she looked at the stump. She willed her weeping away, but shock and horror welled up behind her breath. Gabriel had been right there, within her grasp, and then there was nothing.
“What happened?” she gasped out. She asked her hand to open, the fingers to bend, but there was nothing but a broken connection she could not understand. Her hand should still be there.
“Lightning struck you,” Cordis explained. “You’ve been unconscious for two days. Mage Aisling healed you, and we are heading to Anatoly City now to take the palace and remove Nolen.”
She would not let Cordis see her cry, so she bit her trembling lip and pulled the sleeve over her stump. She would not be able to hold a bow now, or tie the laces to her boots, or unclip a buckle, or braid her own hair, or…. ‘The people will not look kindly to a crippled Queen.’ With Cordis’ help, she stood and remained steady on weak knees, clutching his ar
m with her good hand. At least she had not lost her dominant one.
As she turned, she surveyed the party they were traveling with. From her vantage point, she could see dozens of carriages painted in every color, and twice as many horses with riders. The carriages had family crests and Mage standards painted on the sides. As she looked at the riders passing her at a smooth trot, she saw most of them draped in their black Mage cloaks. General Calsifer held Cordis’ horse not far off, and as she looked up the column, she spotted Lady Aisling cantering towards them with several people in tow. Calsifer had a small, sad smile as he looked on Robyn, and she knew he felt guilty. She gave a nod of her head in dismissal of his emotions.
Aisling reigned up and slipped from her saddle as graceful as only a Lady could manage. Pulling off her gray riding gloves, she embraced Robyn gently. “I did all I could for you. I am so sorry,” she whispered.
Robyn smiled, happy to see a familiar face, but the joy did not reach her eyes. “Did you cut the hand off?” she whispered, her smile slipping. She did not think she could love the woman if she had been the one to cut her.
Thankfully, Aisling shook her head. “There was no hand when I arrived. It was taken off in the strike and left behind. Not that I could have reattached it—the skin was badly burned.”
“We are going to the City?” Robyn questioned. ‘I was just there.’
An older man dressed in white behind Aisling sat atop a white destrier and moved his mount closer. “We are going to put a stop to what Nolen began.”
She immediately dropped to a bow as befitted the Head Mage. “Head Mage Casimir, it has been many years.”
“I hardly recognized you, young lady,” he chortled. “You were shorter than a colt’s withers last I saw you.”
She forced a smile, though she felt sick inside. ‘My hand. What if I had moved, or not shot, or left when Gabriel begged me to?’
“Would someone kindly enlighten me to Mage Gabriel’s situation and location?” she asked, reverting back to her royal training. Princesses did not use contractions or common words, nor did they curse or gossip.
Breaking Stars (Book 2) Page 9
