Unleashed Fury (BloodRunes: Book 1)

by Cole, Laura R

  Layna let her thoughts drift back to the conversation around her and chuckled to herself as her own thoughts had nearly mirrored those of the current speaker, Katrina. She was asking if anyone had heard any of the new gossip about the nobles, their constant source of entertainment. Who was seen with whom. How relationships were going. Who and what was in style. It was such a silly little gossip train, but Layna couldn't help herself. She got sucked into it with the rest of them.

  “I heard that Lady Renee may have actually found a suitor recently,” she chimed in and explained as a flurry of excitement broke out at this juicy news.

  When they had exhausted all avenues of who-knew-what in the lives of the nobility, Layna found herself stifling a yawn. She excused herself and squeezed past the gardener and stable boy, playfully batting at the hand of the former, which strayed puckishly towards her.

  She paused just outside the door when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to find that Aaron had followed her out. “Watch yourself,” he warned her.

  “Excuse me?” she asked him.

  “I may have been out of line the other day when I accused the lord of only using you. But all this joking and laughter,” he waved his hand, indicating the party, “about the evilness of Jezebel is really not very funny. Servants actually do go missing and I’d hate to see you among them.”

  Layna's face grew hot. “There's nothing going on with me and-”

  “-You don't need to convince me. It's none of my business.” He glanced back into the kitchen and smiled at Katrina who waved back at him. Then he turned his attention back to Layna. “But I don't think it’s just a matter of a broken heart anymore. If Jezebel found out…” he drifted off, giving her a meaningful look, “I promise this is the last time I’ll bring it up, but please, just watch yourself.”

  Layna nodded soberly, and gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. Now, go enjoy yourself.” Aaron reentered the party, and Layna made her way to bed, idly thinking that she missed Gryffon's company despite Aaron’s warning. A strange pang of jealously twisted her stomach for a moment, thinking of them both at the palace, but she shook it off sheepishly. Why in the world would I feel such a thing about Gryffon anyway? I simply enjoy his company. We’re just friends. In the back of her mind she knew that she didn't believe her own reasoning for a second, but she was too tired to argue with herself. She sank into the blankets gratefully; letting her body warm the chilled fabric until her cozy nest embraced her in sleep.

  CHAPTER 10

  Jezebel lounged on a luxurious couch adorned with gold ribbon. She stretched out her arms and crossed her legs daintily in front of her. “Isn't this wonderful?” she purred to Renee, who stood looking out the window.

  The large woman turned towards her at the inquiry and gushed, “Oh yes. It would be so perfect to live here at the palace all the time. They have such beautiful gardens, and wonderful food, and everything is so,” she paused, searching for the word, “perfect,” she finished with a sigh, looking longingly around the room.

  Jezebel smiled at her, amused by her obvious awe of their surroundings. Jezebel knew that this was really where she belonged, and no more than what she deserved. Her manor was far too small for a woman of her stature, and she was determined to move up into her proper place in life. That was why she needed to gain a Council seat, and had initially been looking for her father's support for one. Her mood soured slightly as she remembered the episode where she had asked for it. His refusal soon won’t matter though, she reminded herself. In exchange for loyalty and obedience, the Order would help you get what you wanted. Or at least the semblance of loyalty, she amended. Frustratingly, that little rat of a man, Jonathan, had left before she could ask any questions. Therefore, she was currently stalled in her plans. Since she had no way of contacting him, she was left in a position of simply waiting until he chose to contact her again. She could feel herself getting worked up and fought down the emotions, stroking the soft fabric of the couch to soothe herself.

  Just then, a knock sounded at the door and a flutter of excitement replaced her earlier anxiety. “Come in,” she answered, cutting off Renee's acknowledgment.

  Three maids entered, each carrying yards of fabric that threatened to overwhelm them. They quickly set the cloth on the unused furniture, and then curtsied to the two ladies. Once they had properly addressed the two women, the maids proceeded to unravel each of the lengths in front of Jezebel and Renee. Renee took a seat on the couch next to Jezebel and took a fold of the first yard in her hand.

  “Oh, feel this one,” she cooed, “it's simply divine.”

  Jezebel reached out her own elaborately adorned fingers towards the cloth and stroked it softly. The fabric was silky under her touch, and it shone where the light touched it. The deep red seemed to shimmer and flow across the fabric as if it were real wine. “Hmm,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps. I'll have to see the others though. Come along, dear,” she said to the maid as she tossed the bit of fabric back up the length. “Let's see the next one.”

  The girl hastened to comply and brought out the next, a deep blue velvet. “What do you think the new King is like?” asked Renee, running her hands all over the velvet in a completely undignified manner. “I hear that he's some back-country royalty that laid claim to the throne after Edward's death. Somehow he got the entire Council to agree to appoint him even though he's from so far north.”

  “Yes,” Jezebel replied. “As you know, my father is quite influential with the Council and he told me that Lord - excuse me - King Nathair was found to be a far distant cousin of Edward. The Council determined him to be next in line since his father, the Baron Asheron, just died last year. Plus, I hear he's made quite a name for himself on the battlefield. I expect he'll be looking for a bride soon as well. Do you think he likes green?” she asked, holding a delicate emerald fabric up to her cheek and batting her eyes.

  Renee laughed. “Do you think he might be looking for one at the ceremony?”

  Jezebel shrugged. “You never know. Men look for it everywhere.” She emphasized the word and gave Renee a conspiratorial look before saying effusively, “Wouldn't it be wonderful to snag the King? Just think of the power you'd get, and the allowance!” She trailed off, happily day-dreaming.

  “Assuming he'd make a good husband, of course,” added Renee.

  “Of course,” Jezebel answered agreeably. As long as he's a good husband who knows to always listen to his dear wife. Jezebel had heard quite a bit about the King from her father, but she didn't care to share the information with Renee. The woman was far too wrapped up in her domestic duties to have even an inkling of matters of real importance.

  Jezebel had gotten her father to let her in on the secret that their new King might be amendable to loosening the priests’ tight control on the use of talent. He was apparently already working to establish training facilities outside their supervision and there was talk of trying to open modes of communication with Treymayne to gather more knowledge about the magical arts.

  Following the downfall of the Dark King, the people in Gelendan were initially too relieved to be rid of the tyrant to worry too much about what would happen to the future of magic-use following the mass book-burning that had taken place. The destruction of all this knowledge, combined with the depletion of talent that the Massacre had caused, greatly diminished Gelendan’s ability to utilize this important aspect of life. And it was now further limited by the priests’ constraints. The country had become far more handicapped in this respect than anyone had realized at first, and more so than many admitted even now. This handicap was made obvious, at least to Jezebel, by the magical barrier that had sprung up between Gelendan and Treymayne.

  To Jezebel's knowledge, no one in Gelendan even understood the properties of the barrier, much less had any idea how to get past it or what kind of people were on the other side of it. Most of the commoners believed that Treymayne had just stopped allowing people to pass; they didn't realize that it was magic
that kept it that way. If they knew, no doubt there would be a lot more unrest about their own country's lack of talent. Though their isolation made it difficult to determine what level of talent they actually possessed, there was whispered talk that their level and use of it was much greater than Gelendan’s own. Luckily, they were much smaller physically so even if this were true, Jezebel had no doubt that Gelendan could crush them.

  When King Nathair revealed his plans, there would be those opposed to the idea of bringing back more magic, when it was magic that had been so intimately tangled with the pain and destruction that the Dark King had caused. It had become the scape-goat for the Dark Age, and even now there were many who were afraid of its use in any form. However, there were many others who saw the importance of regaining this knowledge, and no doubt the commoners could be convinced as well, simply by reminding them that the status of talent in Treymayne was unknown and could potentially greatly outweigh what there was in Gelendan. With a few hints that Treymayne’s greater magical talent would give them an advantage if the two countries ever had a conflict, even those who were against it would be sure to see the logic of regaining the information. Given these facts, Jezebel had great hopes that perhaps in her lifetime she would get to see the results of some real magic.

  They had magic now, of course, she was trained to use it and did so from time to time, but using magic was like learning a language. If the teachers were lacking in their own vocabulary, it was difficult to attain any great level of proficiency as the student. She could activate surviving spells and perform a dozen petty tricks, but it was nothing compared to the magics of old. It was said that the old talents could call lightening with a flick of their wrist, transport objects and even people over large distances in the blink of an eye, and manipulate beasts into obeying their will. Jezebel couldn't imagine what it was like to have that kind of power, but she wanted to very badly. Though the Dark King was said to have fallen prey to madness, he was also known as one of the most powerful mages ever in history. In a way, she admired him despite his eventual failure. He had the entire country so in fear and awe of him that they actually killed their neighbors and friends as he named them unworthy. He had possessed the power of persuasion as well as being one of the most powerful mages of his time. Jezebel wondered if he had used mass mind control, which apparently was possible, or if he was simply that charismatic.

  The priests had surprisingly taught them about mind control in their training, but even this lesson had only consisted with the basics. She had been rather astonished to learn that it would be included in their course, but her father had explained that it was because it ironically was one of the easier spells to do. People naturally tried to convince others to think like them, and when they did so while touching the power, oftentimes they could happen upon a spell which would carry out this wish. Therefore, the priests had learned that it was better just to tell people about it and how to prevent it, rather than dealing with the issues it was bound to cause after the fact.

  Renee's nasal voice interrupted her wandering thoughts and she was abruptly brought back to the present. “Do you know anyone who's actually seen him?” Renee asked, forcing Jezebel to wrack her brain to remember what drivel it was that she was talking about with Renee. Oh, yes. The King's oh-so-important appearance. She shrugged in response.

  Renee went on cheerfully, “It seems as though no one knows what he looks like, but I'm dying to find out. One can't have a husband who doesn't inspire baby-making either,” she joked.

  Jezebel managed to give her a small smile, but the woman was beginning to irritate her. She was a harebrained fool with no motivation beyond finding a husband and doing her wifely duty of producing lots of offspring. Not that offspring don't have their own uses as well, I suppose. Having young pliable minds that would listen to me above anyone else…hmm...maybe Renee has a point after all. She brought her attention back to the fabrics and brought out a particularly hideous gold one. “Why don't you use this one,” she suggested to Renee. “It would bring out your eyes.”

  Renee held it up to herself doubtfully, and a maid dutifully moved the mirror so that she could see. “You really think so?”

  “Oh yes,” Jezebel lied smoothly. “It's simply gorgeous.”

  *

  Layna was shivering under her thin covers as a cold breeze found its way in through cracks in the window. Jezebel forbade them to use the normal amount of wood while she was gone. Since she wouldn't be there, the house would be empty according to her, and that meant that they should not need to use nearly as much wood to heat the place. Despite Layna's layers of all of the blankets that she owned, the chill bit through, and her nose ran with cold.

  The sun was not quite up, but Layna was shivering so badly that it was impossible to sleep. She got out of bed, hoping that moving around would help to warm her. She did a little dance to avoid stepping on the cold stone floor, and hopped over to the wash-bin. The rug in front of it was a small comfort to her toes. Layna sighed as she prodded at what had been water last night. It was now a solid half moon of ice. She debated putting on some warm clothes and running out to the stream, but hated the thought of so much work before she had even had a chance to rub the sleepiness out of her eyes. Too bad I can't just warm a rock like Gryffon can, she thought to herself regretfully, and then had a funny thought. Maybe I'm really a high talent disguised as a maid so that no one will know that I'm here. She laughed ruefully to herself. Well, why not? Gryffon said it was like expanding your consciousness to become aware of the power around you. Layna relaxed and cleared her mind of all other thoughts. She tried to become aware of a stream of power that she had always felt, but never known what it was.

  She felt silly. Several moments passed and nothing happened. She was about to abandon her foolish charade when all at once a shock wave of understanding hit her. She grabbed for the power that she suddenly felt with both physical and mental being.

  She was almost thrown backwards by the sheer force of the contact, and she let go instantly. She clutched her hand to her chest and cried out in pain. Eyes wide, she stared at the bowl in front of her. What had been ice just a moment before was now boiling water, bubbling wildly. Gingerly, she opened her hand and was horrified to see that her palm was red and blistering, as though she had just thrust it into a fire.

  “Whoa,” she whispered to herself, bringing her other hand up to rub her neck which had just started tingling.

  Layna glanced around the room nervously as if expecting someone to have been standing behind her to witness what had just happened. As always, there was no one in the room but herself, and she quickly wrapped a piece of cloth around her hand. She'd have to make do with this makeshift bandage for the first of her chores and then sneak out to have it taken care of.

  Layna couldn't afford a real healer, but there was a woman on the outskirts of the city who used poultices and herbs who was also extremely accommodating to those who had little to pay her with. Layna had visited her a few times and found her to be a peculiar, but very friendly, old lady. She concentrated on the pain in her hand and the need to hide it from everyone, not allowing herself to contemplate the enormity of the situation she had just caused.

  Taking care not to further damage her hand, Layna sped through her morning chores, which were greatly diminished by her mistress's absence. Shock numbed her senses, and Layna found it difficult to think - and impossible to comprehend - the full consequences of the morning's event. As soon as she was finished, she popped into the kitchen and found the cook hard at work. He was catching up on making preserves and such that he normally had to forgo in order to meet Jezebel's outlandish menu demands. Laconic as usual, he simply grunted in affirmation of her statement that she was taking a horse to the healer's.

  Layna hurried out so as not to give him a chance to ask where she had hurt herself and made her way to the stables. Thanks to Gryffon, she was now well versed in how to saddle up a horse. Though he often did it for her since it was easier f
or him to reach, he insisted that it was best for her to know how to do it herself, a fact for which she was now grateful.

  She prepared Firefly for the trek and gingerly mounted, holding the reins with one hand. When she reached the gates separating the noble manors from the rest of the city, the guardsmen nodded to her and let her pass without incident. The streets themselves were almost deserted, most people preferring to stay inside on such a cold day. Because of the empty streets, Layna was able to ride Firefly almost to the door of the healer. A strange, yellow smoke snaked out from the chimney, spreading into a haze above the house as it fought through the bitter air.

  Layna knocked gently on the door and waited. A moment later the door opened and a hunched-over old woman with mottled gray and white hair ushered her inside.

  “Come in, child. It's freezing out there.”

  Layna followed the woman to a fireplace in the corner where a cauldron full of a bubbling yellow liquid hung over a blazing fire.

  “There now. Warm your hands; you must be chilled to the bone.”

  Layna nodded gratefully and moved nearer to the hearth. The old woman puttered around, humming under her breath for a few moments, allowing Layna to thaw before turning to her and asking, “Now what can I do for you, honey?” She came over to sit next to Layna, and Layna offered up her palm wordlessly. The healer took Layna's hand in her own, examining the blackened mess. Her wrinkled fingers were firm but gentle, and surprisingly steady for one her age.

  “Tsk, tsk. Perhaps I should not have told you to put your hands near the fire,” she teased Layna good-naturedly, “though I don't think that's what happened here.”

  The woman closed her eyes, and Layna felt an odd sensation in her hand. The healer's brow furrowed. “These burns are from the inside,” she murmured without opening her eyes. Layna waited patiently as the woman held the pose a moment longer, then opening her eyes to give Layna an appraising look. “Hasn't anyone told you not to play with fire, my dear,” she asked, her voice a touch harsher than a moment before.