by Kara Jaynes
“Same thing we’ve had for the past five days,” she snapped, throwing the rucksack at him. “Stale bread, dried apples, and cheese.”
Aaric sighed, pulling out some bread. He handed it to her. “Here. Eat this.”
She shoved it away. “I’m not hungry.”
“Adaryn, you need to eat.” Aaric could feel his temper rising. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“Eating makes me sick!” she retorted, folding her arms and looking at him crossly. “I’ll try some later.”
Aaric ground his teeth in frustration. “Adaryn . . .” he growled, but cut off when her eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t keep anything down!” She angrily wiped at her eyes. “I’ve tried, Aaric. I can’t eat.”
Aaric stared at her, helpless. He didn’t know what to do.
All discussion halted when a man stepped out of the woods holding a bow with a nocked arrow. Aaric rose to face him, the hair rising on the back of his neck. “Can I help—” He froze when another armed man stepped out of the trees.
“Aaric!”
Adaryn’s urgent voice wheeled him around, and he saw two more men standing only a few yards away from her and Dahlia. He yanked his sword from its sheath, and advanced on the men. “Stay away,” he snarled. “We’re not looking for a fight, but if you leave me no choice, I’ll—”
“Wait.” Adaryn put a hand out, silencing Aaric, staring intently at the man closest to her. Aaric couldn’t see the man clearly in the deepening gloom, but he looked washed out. His hair was light and his eyes looked colorless, almost like water. He looked vaguely familiar, but Aaric couldn’t say why. The man stared at Adaryn, recognition in his expression.
Adaryn stood. “Take me to your master.”
10
Adaryn
Their leader was who I suspected it was. After walking a mile deeper into the forest, we came to a large clearing where several tents had been pitched and fires lit. A tall man stood by the fire-pit closest to us, his hair raven-black, eyes piercing blue. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he saw me, and he smiled.
“We meet again, little sand cat.” He smiled.
“Matias,” I said stiffly. “Still plundering from innocent travelers, I see.”
His smile deepened. “A man has to eat, Adaryn.”
Aaric stepped forward, eyes cold. “How did you escape Sen Altare?”
Matias laughed, clearly amused. “You mean Adaryn hasn’t told you? That’s rich.”
“Told me what?” Aaric eyed me, suddenly wary.
I shifted my feet, uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. I couldn’t quite meet Aaric’s gaze. “I helped Matias escape.”
“What?”
The accusatory look on Aaric’s face made me feel guilty, but it also flared a spark of anger. I jutted my chin up. “Well, why not? You knew Sirius Archer was going to enslave him. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”
Aaric’s jaw clenched and he shook his head.
“Aaric, I had no choice.” He still didn’t say anything, and I threw my hands up, exasperated. The silent treatment from Aaric was the worst.
I whirled to face Matias, shaking a finger under his nose. “This is your fault.”
Matias arched a dark brow wryly, then mercifully switched the conversation by asking, “What brings you to this side of the mountains, Adaryn?”
“I might ask you the same thing.”
“Ladies, first.” He waited expectantly, completely ignoring Aaric and Dahlia.
“All right, then,” I said. “Long story short, we got tired of the prejudice over on that side, and decided to come and see if this side was any better.”
“And is it?” Matias sat on a log by the fire, and motioned me to sit by him. I did so. Aaric sat on the log opposite us, Dahlia on his lap. Aaric watched Matias closely.
“I don’t know.” I frowned, staring at the fire. “People are terrified of magic here.” I turned my frown on Matias, who watched me intently. “Matias, who are the Twyli?”
“I go by Fyrsil now.” He said it almost absently as he considered my question. “If you thought it might be better here, you’re wrong. Dead wrong.” He paused a moment before continuing, choosing his words carefully. “The Twyli are . . . us, Adaryn. That’s the name of the magic users here. They aren’t nomads though. They have a city, called Twyarinoth. It’s several miles east of here.” His mouth twisted distastefully. “They welcome all magic users, regardless of what land you hail from.”
“Why aren’t you there then?” It sounded all right by me. A city that welcomed magic users sounded too good to be true.
Fyrsil arched an eyebrow. “Because even I can’t stomach what they do with the magic.”
“Does it involve kidnapping children?” I glanced worriedly in Dahlia’s direction. She was watching the brigand, her eyes huge in her pale face. I wasn’t sure how much of our conversation she understood.
Fyrsil nodded. “Yes. The Twyli are ruled by a king. He has two children, a son and a daughter. Twins, I believe.” He chuckled ruefully. “They have discovered a power that could possibly match the sky jewel in strength.” He paused, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “You don’t happen to still have it, do you?”
I shook my head. “I gave it away.”
The brigand king groaned, running a hand down his face. “You would. Pity. It would have come in use here.”
“You’ve been to Twyarinoth?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve heard enough rumors to lose any interest I might have had in visiting it.”
“Why do they take children?” I asked.
Fyrsil’s eyes flickered over to Dahlia. “Perhaps the girl is hungry.” He motioned to one of the fires closer to the center of camp. “There is food for her, there.”
I took the hint. “Please get Dahlia some food, Aaric.” When he hesitated, I added, “You can bring a plate for me after she’s finished.” Aaric nodded and took Dahlia over to the cook fire.
Fyrsil watched them go. “You chose that scrawny man over me?”
“He’s not scrawny,” I said irritably. “He’s lean, but he’s strong enough.” I narrowed my eyes. “You keep changing the subject, Fyrsil. What is wrong with the Twyli?”
Fyrsil sighed. “The Twyli use the children to make their magic stronger.”
“What? How?” I wrinkled my nose, trying to work my mind around it.
“I don’t know exactly how they do it, only that they do. And the children don’t survive.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, but chewed my lower lip, thinking. It was madness, but then, I’d seen the Twyli themselves. One tried to take Dahlia. “The Twyli. Do they have yellow eyes?”
Fyrsil looked stunned. “You met the prince? Where? Only the twins have golden eyes, as far as I’ve heard,” he explained. “Them and the king. I think it has to do with the extraction. They’re the only ones of the Twyli who are allowed to use the magic in that manner. Perhaps some in their inner circle do as well, but I’m not sure.”
“What do they ‘extract’?” It was an effort not to shudder. I felt sick inside when I thought about what could’ve happened to Dahlia if I hadn’t intervened.
Fyrsil shrugged. “They take what they call ‘essence’ from them. I don’t know what it is, their soul, maybe? I can’t willingly harm children—or anyone—in that fashion, or support those who do, even if they’re the leading authority in the land.”
I shivered, despite the fire, and wrapped my cloak more snugly around myself.
“What are you going to do?” Fyrsil asked me.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I need to think on it.”
“I should have you killed.” He sighed and stretched lazily, his arms above his head. “After stealing the sky jewel and taking my kingdom from me, you have a lot to answer for.”
I looked at him warily, but he continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “You did, however, free me when you could have left me to rot in pri
son or be enslaved by those fools. I suppose I’ll let you live.” He gestured to the tents. “You may stay here for a while at any rate.”
“I don’t suppose we’re allowed to leave?” I stood.
Fyrsil shook his head. “Not until I know what you plan to do.”
I nodded and turned away, but paused when Fyrsil spoke again.
“Make no mistake, Adaryn. You left Ruis for a chance at a better life, but what you’ve stumbled upon here is nothing short of a nightmare.”
I trudged through the snow to Aaric and Dahlia.
11
Aaric
Adaryn filled Aaric in on the discussion she’d had with Fyrsil after Dahlia fell asleep. The toddler lay between the two of them, nestled in warm furs.
“Do you know what it is they are taking from the children? How is it killing them?” Aaric spoke softly, not wanting to wake Dahlia.
Adaryn shook her head. “They may be magic users, but they are obviously twisting the magic. I’ve never heard of ‘extracting’ anything from anyone.” She grinned ruefully. “Though if I’d known how, I could’ve dealt with Kingsley before he became an issue.”
Aaric patted Adaryn on the shoulder, sympathetic. Adaryn’s gaze had turned inward, thinking of her past. “It’s all right, Adaryn.” Aaric spoke in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “He’s not here.”
Adaryn blinked and shuddered. “I know.” She took a deep, shaky breath. She fixed Aaric with a blue-eyed stare. “I think I need to go to back to Bleaksdale.”
“What? No!” Aaric hissed. Dahlia stirred and they both paused. She snuggled closer to Adaryn and became still. “No, Adaryn,” Aaric whispered. He felt his temper rising. “Who gave you that fool notion? Fyrsil? I won’t allow it. You could be killed!”
“No one did, calm down,” she whispered back just as fiercely. “I was just thinking about it. We came here hoping to make a new life for ourselves, but things sound just as bad here as back in Ruis. We can’t just sit back and allow this to happen. What if the Twyli come for Dahlia? It’s the safest place for her.”
Aaric looked down at the toddler. She had only been with them for a few short days, yet she’d managed to wrap her little finger around Aaric’s heart. “We could go back,” he said. “Back over the mountains. We don’t have to go to Ruis. We can travel to Sen Altare, or settle in a village.”
Adaryn shook her head. “We’re here, Aaric. We can’t just abandon these people. They need us.”
Aaric clenched his fist. “You’re pregnant, Adaryn. You and the unborn child are my first concern. And Dahlia.”
“Aaric . . .”
Aaric recognized the tone, and immediately switched tactics. “It’s late, Adaryn, and we don’t want to wake the child. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
Adaryn harrumphed and rolled over to face the tent wall. Less than five minutes later, her breathing had slowed to the breath of sleep. Aaric grimaced. He wished he knew what the right thing to do was. He could see Adaryn’s point, but it was his responsibility to make sure she stayed safe, especially now that she was pregnant. Going back to Bleaksdale was crazy. He would not agree to that.
His own breathing slowed until he fell into sleep, his dreams filled with thick fog and a voice calling him through the mist.
12
Adaryn
“So you’ve been hired by Bleaksdale to track the Twyli?” I asked. “I heard some men in the city mention the mayor hired some people to do so.”
“Yes,” was the brigand king’s reply. “Their weapons don’t come close to being enough to protect from the Twyli. I’m surprised they’re still around, actually.”
Fyrsil and I were seated on the same log by the fire pit from last night. I’d woken and quietly slipped out of the tent without waking Aaric or Dahlia. I eyed him skeptically. “It seems like it’d take a fair amount of luck to be in the vicinity when the Twyli happened to strike.”
Fyrsil shook his head. “They don’t need to call enchantment in order for me to sense them, so they’re not hard to track.”
I nodded, well aware of his ability to sense magic, even before it was cast.
“There’s something I want to know.” I fixed him with a stare. “It’s been bothering me ever since I discovered you were behind the brigand attacks in Sen Altare.”
Fyrsil watched me, but remained silent, and I continued. “You were once a brigand named Fyrsil, but became a king named Matias. How?”
Fyrsil’s blue eyes took on a faraway look as he mulled over my question, silent. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. “I never knew my father. He died before I was born. But my mother told me he was a magic user, who led a band of brigands. He was strong, and remarkably skilled with the sword. Mother said it was love at first sight.”
“Who was she?” I wondered.
“She was Aleta, princess of Sen Altare.”
My mouth dropped. I stared at him, surprised.
Fyrsil shrugged his shoulders. “They met in the palace. My father was a skilled thief and had claimed he could steal anything. He was there because some fellow rogues challenged him to steal the King’s greatest possession.”
“The princess,” I said wonderingly.
The brigand laughed bitterly. “You would think, but actually it was the sky jewel. He wore it around his neck day and night. The king didn’t wield magic, of course, but apparently the sky jewel had been passed down from generation to generation as the emblem of Sen Altare’s royalty. There’s speculation that the Lord of Omniah wielded the sky jewel himself, but no one really knows.”
I nodded eagerly, wanting him to continue the tale. “Did he steal it then?”
“No. He met my mother first. It sounds like a fairytale, really. As he scaled the castle wall—” I stared, dumbfounded. The castle walls looked as slick as ice. “—he heard my mother singing. He climbed to her rooms, and after convincing her that he meant her no harm, they talked the remainder of the night. She promised him to keep their visits secret, and from that time forth, he went to see her nearly every night. At some point,” Fyrsil coughed self-consciously, “I entered the picture. My mother managed to keep it a secret for several months, but it became obvious with time that she was with child.
“Her father was furious when he found out,” Fyrsil continued. “He forced her to tell him who the father was, and that night, when my father climbed over the balcony, the king and his guards were waiting for him.” Fyrsil’s mouth twisted, as if he could recall it from his own memory.
“My mother was devastated. Not only did she lose her lover, her father banished her from the city. Her younger sister, Elerith, would succeed the throne.”
“What happened then?” I couldn’t help but be completely drawn into the tale.
The once-king smiled grimly. “My mother stole the sky jewel and fled. She couldn’t wield magic, but I think she took comfort in taking what she knew her father prized above all else. A small comfort, but one nonetheless. She fled to the Tyrko Ruins, and the brigands took her in, knowing what she’d meant to Fyrsil.”
“Fyrsil was your father’s name?” I asked. “I thought it was yours.”
“It is.” Fyrsil stood, towering over me, and I scrambled to my feet, seizing the magic in my alarm. He merely stood there, however, his arms crossed, chin jutting out proudly. “My name is Fyrsil Matias Aleta.” He glared at me. “I may not have been the kindest ruler to Sen Altare, but I am their rightful king.”
“I assume your mother told you all of this?” I asked, watching him warily.
He frowned. “Of course. She and the other outlaws.”
He started pacing through the trampled snow, hands behind his back. “She told me the story countless times. The other brigands confirmed it, and once I was old enough to occasionally venture into the city, the rumors there confirmed it as well. Aleta had been cast out by her own father. And for what?”
“For loving a brigand?” I said wryly.
He cast me a bitter look. “For loving
a magic user.”
I was speechless, my eyes wide in shock. He smirked at me. “You jumped to the wrong conclusions back in Sen Altare, sweetheart. You thought I was the villain, and it’s now being run by a bunch of discriminating idiots, that fool Sirius Archer at the head.”
“Hold on, Fyrsil,” I growled. “You are far from being innocent. You had your soldiers plundering travelers, merchants, and farmers. How can you justify that?”
“Because they deserved it,” he spat. “They deserved everything they got. The taxes, the persecution, anything, everything. Everyone hates our kind, Adaryn, and the reason? Because we’re different. We wield magic. You admitted yourself that it’s far, far worse in the north. I don’t understand how you can sit back and take it.”
“The people in Sen Altare weren’t that bad.” I thought back to our time at the Dancing Cat inn. “The innkeeper was kind.”
“If Aaric hadn’t been there with a handful of gold, you would’ve been thrown out,” Fyrsil retorted. “If Aaric hadn’t been rubbing elbows with the Scholar’s Guild, chances are very good they wouldn’t have helped you. Though who knows?” He rubbed his chin, thinking. “Sirius Archer looked like a man who knew opportunity when he saw it. He possibly wouldn’t let his prejudice get in the way if it benefited him.”
The brigand king turned to face me, still frowning, his deep blue eyes expressing indignation. “Besides, I wasn’t all cruelty. I healed those who needed it from time to time.”
“So they knew you were a magic user.”
“The rumor was that my healing was more of a . . . clerical ability.” Fyrsil smirked at me, one eyebrow cocked. “That makes it different.”
I held up my hand, cutting him off. “We’re getting off topic. How did you gain the throne?”
His smile was cold. “I killed the fool king and Elerith, of course. Once I reached adulthood.”
I sighed, frustrated, trying to keep everything straight. “So your mother was a princess, and your father a nomadic brigand.”
