Born of Magic (Heiress of Magic Trilogy Book 1)

by H. D. Gordon

  Bassil eyed her from across the small table where the ingredients to the tracking spell were spread out. He tilted his head as he looked at her. Surah’s face was as emotionless as ever.

  “Ready, princess?” he asked.

  Surah snapped out of her thoughts and rolled her shoulders, nodding. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. Even if her face gave nothing away, her heart was thumping. Black magic was something she didn’t have much familiarity with. Her teachers over the years, which included her brother, had all been unmovable in their positions regarding the dark arts. This was the common feeling among most of the people—something that was regarded as taboo, not to mention illegal.

  She reached out and began pouring the various liquids on the small round table into a bowl at the center, forcing the thoughts of her brother away gently. Wondering what Syris would think of her actions were he still alive would do her no good right now. Something needed to be done, and she was doing it. There would be plenty of time for contemplations later, like when her father wasn’t slowly dying of demon poisoning and a murderer wasn’t on the loose.

  The mixture in the bowl let off a pungent scent, filling the room with the smells of burning things and spoiled sugar, almost to a choking capacity. Surah breathed shortly through her mouth and held her hands out to Bassil over the table after adding the last ingredient, the stolen eagle’s blood.

  The Warlock placed his hand in hers and began the spell, chanting low in the tongue of the ancients, his deep voice a rumble in his chest. Surah looked down at the paper beside her and read along with the words, echoing Bassil in her sweet, soft voice, creating a juxtaposition that sounded eerie to her own ears.

  Samson watched from beneath the window, his ears perked and muscles tense.

  Their chanting seemed to carry on into oblivion, and after a while, Surah was at the point where she felt like giving up.

  Nothing but that terrible smell had been produced by the spell thus far, and she was beginning to think she just couldn’t do it. But she carried on a little longer. If this failed, it was back to the drawing board, and she didn’t have time for that. Her father didn’t have time for that.

  In a matter of forty-eight hours the demon poison could be fatal. And that was a highball.

  She shoved the doubt away, as she had been doing with a whole range of emotions lately, trying her hardest to concentrate on the spell and the words, trying hard to settle the roiling in her soul. Salty sweat rolled down her back, the weight of the cloak heavy there. She ran her tongue out over her lips, feeling sudden tears of frustration threaten. She swallowed them away.

  At last, when she was just thinking she couldn’t do this any longer, it happened. Bassil felt it at the same time she did, his large hands tightening around hers to an almost crushing proportion. Surah’s heart went from sinking to galloping like a racehorse out of the gate. She stared into the smoke drifting up from the clay bowl, unaware that she was biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. The room was silent now, both of them having stopped the chanting on the same syllable.

  An image began to form in the smoke, the scene moving like an eagle’s eye over the land. Surah swallowed back more tears as the thought reminded her of the bird she had all but left to die.

  She stared into the smoke and got the feeling of vertigo as the lens passed over the city, where people were walking the streets and store windows were going dark and the lights of the taverns were blinking to life. It soared over the buildings, over the alleys and backyards of private homes. Then out further still, over the grassland and forests and small towns, and further still and still.

  The Black Stone was in the jungles of the Southlands then, because nothing else was out this far. Surah’s throat went tight as the smoke scene proved her right, and now she felt the perspiration roll down the side of her face as well. The jungles of the Southlands were even more dangerous than the ones to the north where she had obtained the eagle blood. The things that lived there were more monsters than beasts.

  The scene halted over its destination, still high above the green canopy, where only the shadows penetrated. She could only imagine what could be waiting, hiding there. Then, the picture vanished and was replaced by numbers, which Surah knew were longitude and latitude.

  She committed them to memory instantly, letting out a long breath and finally releasing Bassil’s hands. He looked as peaked as she probably did, his dark skin having taken on an ashy tone. Surah could tell by the expression on his face that his stomach was as queasy as hers. Black magic had a way of doing that to the user.

  But she had what she needed. She knew where she had to go. And time was ticking.

  She stood from her chair and ignored the lightheadedness rushing over her in a wave, blinking back a few spots that appeared before her eyes. She ran her hands down her cloak, composing herself, clenching her teeth against the complaining of her stomach.

  “Where are you going?” Bassil asked, wiping some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and settling back in his chair.

  Surah raised an eyebrow at the stupid question.

  Bassil chuckled and shook his head. “You are not going into the Southland jungle at eleven o’clock at night, especially not if you’re feeling as nauseated as I am.”

  Surah tilted her head, her lips quirked in a small half-smile. She leaned forward, gripping the chair in front of her more for support than effect. Not that she would admit it.

  “You’re giving me orders now, Warlock?”

  Bassil gave her a droll look. “Of course not, dear Princess,” he said. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He spread his hands. “Go on and get yourself killed if you like. I’ll do my best to help your father in your stead.”

  Surah spoke through her teeth, not really angry with Bassil so much as frustrated and tired and nauseated. “You know I don’t have much time. The Black Stone could be moved and then we would be back at square one. This is imminent.”

  Bassil nodded. “And so is being able to get out of the jungle alive. You really want to walk into that place in the middle of night? Like I said, be my guest. Ignore my council. Gods know you’ve never had trouble doing that.”

  Surah knew he was right, that she would need to prepare for this mission, and yes, she needed to rest and eat, since she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done so, but that didn’t stop a little impatient anger from spiraling in her belly.

  “Well,” she said, taking a seat on her bed. Samson jumped down from the windowsill and hopped on the bed beside her, making her dip to the side. “You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

  This made them both laugh, relieving some of the tension that seemed to have been brewing in the air for the last couple days. Bassil stood and bowed to her before taking his leave.

  “Sleep, princess,” he said, “I will let the Head Hunter know you want to leave at first light.” He checked the magical sundial that hung from a chain inside his cloak. “That’ll give you a little over six hours to rest. I think you should sleep longer, but I know you won’t.”

  Surah looked at him, letting her mask slip for just a moment because she couldn’t help it. “I don’t think I can sleep at all, Bassil,” she said, and hated that her voice sounded small.

  The Warlock gave her a gentle smile and opened the door to leave. “Try, princess. Just try,” he said. “That’s all anyone can ask of you.” Then the door clicked shut behind him.

  After he left, Surah kicked off her boots and slung her cloak over the chair by the window, crawling into her big bed beside Samson, who took up most of it, and snuggled into his warm fur. She felt very alone right then, as she had for a good portion of her life, very alone and very tired, but she was right about not being able to sleep despite her exhaustion. How could she? Things seemed to be getting worse and worse with every passing moment, drifting further up the creek and losing paddles.

  She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, trying not to think about all the people
she had lost over the years, her brother, her sister, her mother. Trying not to think about the possibility of losing her father as well.

  Trying—and this was somehow the most disturbing of all—not to think about Charlie Redmine. The man with the penetrating emerald gaze and the criminal brother who seemed hell-bent on causing trouble.

  No, she should not be thinking about those things at all.

  Chapter 15

  Surah

  When she awoke, Charlie Redmine was standing in her room.

  “Would you like me to kill him for you, love? I will gladly kill him for you.”

  For a few moments, Surah couldn’t seem to form another thought, she just sat on the bed staring wide-eyed at the scene in front of her, her mouth hanging open as she sucked in air. There was no thought for composure.

  Samson was staring at Charlie, but Charlie was staring at her, his hands raised in surrender, his back pushed up against the wall, only his wide chest moving with his deep breaths.

  She’d been dreaming about the day they’d first met, and it was somehow paralyzing to wake from that dream, where the emerald color of his eyes had been so crystal, and come back into reality and see them with even more clarity there. To go from looking at him as the boy she’d helped escape to the man—very, very much a man—standing within her bedroom.

  About to be eaten by her tiger.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but instead, spoke to Samson in her head, practically tripping over the words to get them across. “No, don’t kill him.”

  The tiger’s only response was a small grumble, but he held his position between Charlie and his mistress.

  Surah climbed out of bed and grabbed her cloak from the chair beside it, wrapping it around her shoulders and feeling a little better with the weight of her sais on her back. She used her magic to return her boots to her feet. Then she just stood there like an idiot. Now what?

  When Charlie spoke, his voice was deep and low, cautious. “I come in peace, princess.”

  Surah still didn’t know what to say, so when she opened her mouth, even she was surprised by what came out. “Are you insane, Charlie?”

  Whoops. She hadn’t meant to call him that.

  One side of his mouth quirked at this, but his hands were still raised, and Samson was practically breathing in his face. “It’s nice to see you again too, Surah.”

  This snapped her out of whatever trance she’d been in. She stalked forward, removing one of the sais from her back and clutching it in her right hand.

  “Do not speak to me like that,” she said, all her anger over the events of the past two days rushing back to her. “I am your princess. You will address me as such.”

  Charlie said nothing to this, just stared at her in that annoyingly mysterious way he had, and Surah ignored the fact that she felt a little guilty at the harshness of her tone. Why should she feel guilty? Highborn ladies were being murdered, her father was dying, and she knew his brother and him had something to do with it. She just knew it.

  “Where is the Black Stone?” she asked, fully expecting him to evade the question.

  He didn’t. “My brother has it.”

  Surah’s brow furrowed as she was taken aback, not sure what to think of this blatantly honest answer. She found herself fumbling again for her words. “Why are you here?”

  His next answer sounded as honest as the first, but Surah wasn’t naive enough to let that make her think it couldn’t be a lie. She happened to be a master at deceit as well.

  “I’ve come to help you stop him,” Charlie said.

  “Why?” Her voice came out smaller than she would have liked, even though both of their tones had yet to reach above a whisper.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Surah raised her eyebrows, still holding the sai in her right hand. “That’s reassuring.”

  “Your father’s sick, right?” he asked, and Surah’s eyes narrowed. He continued on before she could say anything. “You want my help or not?”

  Her teeth clenched, and she raised her weapon for the first time and pointed it at him, her violet eyes as hard as stones. No one spoke to her so plainly. Except maybe her father.

  “What makes you think I need your cooperation? I could kill you right now. You obviously have a hand in all this.”

  Charlie shrugged, as if it didn’t matter either way. “You could, and actually, I don’t.”

  They were silent for a moment, and Samson spoke in her head. “Are you going to invite him to tea, my love, or do you want me to tear his throat out?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “You’re oddly indecisive with this one.”

  “I know.”

  A pause.

  “Be careful.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Charlie spoke in that easy way of his. “I’m sorry about everything that’s happening, princess, but I’m here to help you. If you want to have me locked up,” his eyes flicked to Samson, “or kill me, that’s your choice.”

  Surah found herself looking at his lips and instead met his gaze. “You just want me to trust you?”

  His eyes seemed to pin her, even though he was the one who was pinned, his voice as calm as if they were just sharing tea. “That’s what you wanted me to do, and I did.”

  “You think I’m a fool.”

  He shook his head once, slowly. “Not at all.” In a mumble, he added, “I’m the one being a damn fool.”

  Surah looked out her window, trying to make a decision—any decision—and saw with a drop of her heart that the sun was making an appearance over the horizon, the first light of the new day. Bassil or Theo would be here soon, expecting her to be ready to set off to the jungles of the Southlands, where the eagle’s blood had traced the Black Stone.

  She approached Charlie now, feeling the urgency in her movements. If she didn’t make a decision here soon, the decision would be made for her.

  She stepped up beside Samson and held her hand out to Charlie, her face grave and beautiful. He gave her his hand, his inscrutable gaze locked on hers.

  “Are you planning to betray me?” she asked, hoping he would pass her lie detector test and also hoping he wouldn’t. Somehow she knew that his answer would seal an envelope, though she still had no idea what was tucked inside it.

  “No,” he said.

  Just then, there was a knock at her door, and all three of their heads whipped in that direction.

  “Time’s up,” Samson told her. “What do you want to do?”

  Charlie watched her closely, said nothing,

  In the end, it was Samson who made the decision.

  “Let’s see what he has to say. You obviously want to. If he tries to betray you, I’ll kill him. But you better take us out of here now, love. Whoever is calling won’t wait much longer.”

  Before she could question her tiger’s council or her own warring thoughts, Surah gripped Charlie’s hand, which still held hers, and placed her other one on Samson’s shoulder.

  The door swung open and Theodine Gray entered just a split second after Surah squeezed her eyes shut and portaled the three of them out of the room, feeling like she was falling over a ledge into a gorge that would be impossible to climb out of rather than flying through space and time.

  It felt very much like falling, indeed.

  Chapter 16

  Surah

  They landed in a large forest just outside Zadira, where only the woodland creatures and the occasional hunter roamed.

  The sun was slowly making its ascent in the sky, filtering through the trees in streams of golden light. The forest was quiet this morning, with only the sound of squirrels jumping from branches and birds calling from their nests.

  Charlie stumbled a little when Surah released his hand, bending over and clutching his knees at the feeling of vertigo that came with the sudden departure. Samson stood very close to her side, watching Charlie with a slightly amused expression behind his eyes.

  Charlie str
aightened up, boldly giving Samson a look that said he knew the tiger was enjoying this. Surah couldn’t help but be a little impressed at his bravery. People didn’t just look at Samson any way they wanted. Only she did that. It made her wonder just who Charlie Redmine really was. She couldn’t get a read on the man.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Start talking,” she said.

  Charlie stared at her for a moment, and she didn’t like the fact that she had to plant her feet to keep from shifting under his gaze.

  “My brother has the Black Stone, and he wants you and your father dead.”

  For a moment, she was at a loss for words again. She wondered if his blunt way of delivering information had that effect on everyone. She was usually quicker on her feet.

  “Wonderful,” she said, “and you escaped his clutches to come tell me this? How did you get into my room?”

  Charlie reached up and pulled out a necklace that had been tucked under his shirt. On the end of the chain was a small piece of the Black Stone, not enough to cure her father, but enough to portal somewhere, like right outside her bedroom window, even with all the spells around the castle blocking the travel.

  Her eyes narrowed. “How’d you get that?”

  “Michael gave it to me.”

  “Michael?”

  “My brother…Black Heart, I guess.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because I told him I would help him.”

  She raised an eyebrow at this. “And instead you’ve come to help me.”

  “That’s about the short of it.”

  “Well, forgive me, Mr. Redmine, but the ‘short of it’ sounds like bullshit.”

  “It’s not.”

  Surah threw her hands up, looking at Samson for an answer.

  The tiger gave her a look that conveyed his amusement. “Do you want me to decide everything, love? I can, but at some point I might decide to just eat him, and something tells me you wouldn’t like that.”