Born of Magic (Heiress of Magic Trilogy Book 1)

by H. D. Gordon

  The two men walked behind her, their heavy shoes making the vegetation crunch underfoot. Surah kept ahead of them and concentrated on two things; keeping her calm, and making sure she lived long enough to see the two of them punished. It was a savage part of her that had been cultivated over the years, a strong survival instinct that had saved her on more than one occasion. The ability to shut out her emotions and be pragmatic was key right now.

  Theo would be looking for her, as would her father, if he was even physically able. So would Samson. She just had to wait for her moment to escape, and seize it when it came. Easy.

  She swallowed. She hated Charlie Redmine and his crazy brother. She hated them.

  They walked for a little ways through the trees, the sound of the waterfall in the distance growing closer and closer until at last they reached the source. The cliff from which the water poured over was small, only fifteen feet high or so. It spilled into a small river that shimmered in the sunlight, reflecting the images of the trees leaning out over it. The rushing of the water filled Surah’s head, and she was glad when it drowned out the sound of the blood rushing in her ears.

  When Surah came to a stop Black Heart reached out to push her forward again, but before he could, Charlie snatched up his wrist in a hard grip and met his brother’s eyes with a level stare.

  Black Heart smiled innocently, and Charlie released his hold slowly. “You won’t touch her again,” Charlie said. “I won’t let you.”

  Surah narrowed her eyes on him.

  Black Heart only grinned and stepped around Surah. His movements were lithe and graceful as he moved toward the edge of the waterfall, where large gray rocks jutted out over the lake. He hopped onto the nearest one, the mist of water clinging to his black cloak in tiny droplets, and extended his hand to Surah, smiling.

  “Come, princess. Watch your step.”

  Surah, her hands still bound in front of her, leapt onto the rock gracefully, not at all tottering for balance, ignoring the offered assistance. Black Heart laughed again and clapped his hands. Charlie followed behind her, and Surah resisted the urge to shove him over the edge and into the river, where maybe he would drown.

  The string of obscenities running through her head in that moment would have put her lost mother to shame.

  Black Heart led them into a small cave behind the waterfall, which was dark and damp and cool. He cast a small light sphere, which illuminated the place just enough to see by. Then he turned and faced them.

  “Have a seat, princess. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Surah felt her knees give way and was forced to the ground under an invisible weight. Black tendrils of smoke rose from the floor and looped around the dark cuffs encircling her wrists, chaining her to the earth and making a lump form in her throat.

  Now the fear came, and it was all she could do to keep the tears from forming in her eyes. She refused to let them see her cry. She raised her chin and straightened her back as much as she could with her wrists chained to the floor.

  “Comfortable?” Black Heart asked.

  Surah glared up at him. “Very,” she said.

  Black Heart clasped his hands in front of him and settled down to the floor in front of her. Charlie stood off to the side, silent.

  “Wonderful,” Black Heart said. “We wouldn’t want our princess to be uncomfortable.”

  Surah just looked at him.

  He ran a hand over the slicked-back ponytail on his head, arranged his cloak beneath him. “First,” he said, “let me apologize for this.” He reached up to touch Surah’s face, which was starting to darken to a deep purple where he had struck her. Surah jerked her head away from his fingers. Black Heart sighed. “I don’t believe in hitting women,” he said.

  Surah’s teeth clenched. “Yes, that much is clear.”

  Black Heart laughed. “You’ve got spunk,” he said. “I’ll give you that, but it would behoove you to cooperate with me, princess.”

  Surah said nothing.

  “I just have a few questions to ask you, and if you answer them, this will all be quick and painless. Time is of the essence, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  Silence.

  “What happened to your brother?”

  This question was not what Surah had been expecting, but she was sure to keep the surprise free of her face. She pressed her lips together, held her tongue.

  “He was murdered by the King of Vampires and Wolves, was he not?”

  Surah said nothing.

  “And your father, did he seek revenge for Syris’s death?”

  Surah inclined her head a fraction, held his gaze, and said nothing.

  Black Heart sighed. “You’re not in the talking mood.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a silver sundial, flicked open the face, glanced down at it, looked back up at her. “Your father probably has all of thirty-six hours left to live.” He stood, towering over Surah like a pillar of black stone. “Perhaps twenty hours here will loosen your tongue.”

  Surah looked up at him, said nothing.

  Black Heart’s returning smile made her teeth clench, and she had to ball her bound hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

  “I’ll see you soon, princess,” he said, and turned on his heels. He looked at Charlie. “He wasn’t lying, by the way. Charlie didn’t know I’d be at the Witches place, but I know him, and I knew he’d go.” He winked at Surah and turned toward the mouth of the cave. “Come, brother, let us have a discussion.” Then he stepped out of the cave and beneath the waterfall.

  Charlie was yanked forward, as if he were being pulled by a magical leash, but Surah pointedly avoided his gaze. His voice was low and deep and sad when he spoke. “I’m sorry, princess,” he said.

  She looked at him now, her purple eyes burning as the clock of her father’s life ticked down.

  “No, Charlie,” she said. “Not yet, you aren’t.”

  Chapter 20

  King Syrian

  King Syrian was in bed when the message came. He had been bed-ridden for the past few hours, having told the servants to make sure no one bothered him. He didn’t want anyone to see him in the state he was in, which was, to say the least, terrible.

  He was running a fever and all the muscles in his body hurt. It was as if he could feel the poison spreading through him, entering his bloodstream and making him weak. His head pounded, the dim light in the room making even his eyes ache. In all his years he couldn’t remember ever feeling so awful.

  And it was just getting worse.

  The clock was ticking. He could practically hear it counting down the seconds of his life in the silence of his bedroom. What was worse, Theo said that Surah was missing, and he hadn’t heard from her in several hours. He cursed his weakness as he lie there, wishing he was strong enough to go out and look for Surah himself.

  He wasn’t quite panicked yet. Surah was a smart girl, a great fighter and well-trained in the magics. He took comfort in this, and knew she could probably look after herself. In fact, chances were that she was just out looking for a way to cure him, and he could just picture her raising her chin and giving him that sweet smile, so much like her mother’s, when he told her how worried he’d been.

  Then the message came, and the fear and panic and dread came with it.

  His eyes were closed when it happened, but he opened them when the world beyond his lids shadowed, like a cloud passing over the sun on a bright day.

  He lifted his head, then pulled himself into a painful sitting position, staring at the black smoke that was swirling in front of him, the source of the darkness that had fallen over the room. His eyes narrowed down to slits as he realized what it was.

  A message, sent with black magic.

  The smoke swirled and danced and finally settled into a black rectangle, like the frame of a picture. In the center of the frame, Black Heart’s face took stage. Syrian knew the message was recorded, and that Black Heart could not hear him, but he uttered a string of obscenities that burn
ed his poor throat.

  The face in the picture smiled. “Syrian,” It began, the voice gleeful and menacing. “How are you, dearest king?” A deep laugh. “Not so well? That’s most unfortunate. But I am so pleased to finally have your attention. I suppose I should have just gone after your precious Highborn ladies years ago. You wouldn’t have disregarded me then. But that’s all in the past, right? There are more important matters to consider now, and I think you will be a wonderful listener this time. That is, if your old ears are still up to hearing.”

  Another laugh. King Syrian tightened his hands into hard fists in his lap. It made his fingers ache.

  The recorded message continued. “My demands are simple, and though I shouldn’t have to explain them to you, I will, because I am well aware that you can be a…slow learner. First, you will renounce the throne to the kingdom and name me, Michael Redmine, king. Then, you will hand over the White Stone and all of its accompanying pieces.”

  A pause. Now King Syrian was the one who laughed. It shook painfully in his chest.

  “You will do these things for two reasons,” Black Heart continued. “The first reason is because it is the right thing to do. You are old and weak. Your rein has run its course, and our people are in need of a capable leader in the dark times ahead. I will be that leader. I will protect those who you would disregard, the same way you disregarded them in the war not so long ago. The common people will stand behind me, and embrace the new way of life, because they too know you are weak.”

  Another pause. King Syrian rolled his eyes a little. Black Heart had always been a fanatic, and he would get nothing. Except what all murderers and traitors to the kingdom got, and it certainly wasn’t the throne.

  “And the second reason, in case you are not thus far convinced, my brave King, is because you are going to die anyway. No matter if you meet my demands or not. You will die. The only thing you can hope to do now is save your precious daughter from the same fate. She’s a lovely woman, by the way. Such manners!”

  Now Syrian’s heart raced, his already sweaty back and neck springing fresh salt water from the pores, the room going instantly hot. Some of the pain rushed away from his body and he sprung up from the bed, exhilaration taking its place.

  Then, the strength left him again, sliding away as though it had never been, and he fell forward and landed back on the bed.

  Black Heart’s recording continued on, as if it had been allowing for just such reaction. “I have her, Syrian. I have your daughter stashed away nice and cozy, but she won’t remain that way for long. You can waste what little time I am going to give you checking to see if I’m telling the truth, or you can just believe me and start contemplating your decision. As far as how much time she has…let’s just say it is even less than you do, my king, and in my experience, demon poison can be quite expedient. Have a good day, my Liege. It is, after all, one of your last.”

  Then the smoke vanished, taking with it the face of the man who claimed to have his daughter. King Syrian was beside himself, unable to process what was happening. It was a terribly paralyzing moment, because he was usually such a self-controlled man. So much had happened over the years, so many that he loved gone, so much lost. He wasn’t sure he could bear to lose his last child, not his little Surah, too. It was unthinkable. It made him almost long for the death that was slowly taking him.

  He fell back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, the pain of his condition coming back to him in full force. He couldn’t breathe. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, brushing away a single hot tear. He felt very common in that moment, not kingly or royal or even worthy. Then the anger came to him, his longtime enemy and savior, and it rushed through his body in a welcome wave.

  He straightened himself up in bed with agonizing effort, gritting his teeth against groans of pain. When he was upright, he smoothed a hand through his hair and down his silk robe, brushing the moisture from his head with the sleeve of his arm. He snapped his fingers, and the door to his room swung open. One of the Hunters standing guard stepped around the corner.

  “Yes, my liege?”

  Syrian suppressed a cough, cleared his throat. “Summon Theodine Gray,” he ordered, and rested his head back against the high headboard of the bed, swallowing to keep back more bloody coughs.

  A few minutes later, the Head Hunter entered the room, sweeping in gracefully, his cloak flowing behind him. He bowed. “What can I do for you, my liege?”

  “My daughter, has she returned?”

  Theo shook his head, gray eyes taking in Syrian’s condition. “No, my liege.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Nearly three hours,” Theo said, as if he’d been counting the minutes.

  Syrian met his eyes, his voice sounding stronger than he felt. “And you’ve looked for her, I assume.”

  Theo nodded.

  “Black Heart claims he has her.”

  Syrian watched as Theo absorbed this information, saw the tightening of his jaw and the clenching of his fists, glad to see that the Head Hunter cared for his daughter so much, since someone strong would be needed if they had a hope of finding her.

  He honestly couldn’t understand Surah’s hesitation over marrying Theodine Gray. He would make a good husband, a good king, which may be likely to be sooner than Syrian had planned for. And which was of no matter right now.

  “He sent a message?” Theo asked, his tone low and angry.

  Syrian nodded slowly, his neck aching, regarding Theo through blurry eyes. A cough racked his chest, a deep, nasty rattling that was unstoppable. He snatched a handkerchief from the bedside table, too weak to even use his magic to summon one. It went to his mouth white and came away red.

  When the fit passed, Syrian said, “You love my daughter, Hunter Gray, do you not?”

  Theo’s response was immediate. “With all my heart, my liege.”

  Syrian nodded once more. “Then find her.” He coughed again, this one lasting longer, his entire body jerking with the force. When he finally regained control over himself, he looked gravely at the Head Hunter.

  “Find her and save her. Kill this man who has dared to take her prisoner and threatened the kingdom. Kill Black Heart and his brother and anyone else who would stand beside them.” Syrian stared at him, and knowing that Theo had never seen his king as desperate as he was now.

  “Do this for me, Theo,” he continued, “and you have my blessing to marry my daughter. I will make the announcement myself, assuming I am still able.”

  Theodine Gray bowed low to his king, concealing the small, crooked smile on his face. “With pleasure, my liege.”

  Chapter 21

  Surah

  Surah crossed her legs beneath her, trying to find a way to sit that wouldn’t hurt her wrists so much. Each time she shifted in the slightest, the dark bonds encircling her wrists tightened, and they were so constricted now that they pulsed. Her fingers were beginning to go numb.

  The sound of the water rushing over the rocks was loud and constant and irritating, but did nothing to drown out the rapid beating of her heart. The moisture in the small cave was as thick as a sauna. She wished she could have removed her cloak, because the temperature seemed to be rising and rising as the day wore on.

  Or maybe it was just that her panic and fear were starting to overtake her. She had to calm herself and think.

  She looked all around the dark cavern, grateful that at least Black Heart had left the little light sphere ablaze for her to see by. She had no idea what she was looking for, even though she knew she wouldn’t find it. It’s not like he would have left some magical key to the handcuffs lying around for her to find and slowly drag toward her with the heel of her boot. This thought made her laugh, but it sounded forced even to her own ears.

  She didn’t hear his return, was too busy staring down at her bound hands and trying to gain control over her racing thoughts, but when she looked up again, he was there, and she breathed a mental sigh of relief to see that
it was Charlie and not Black Heart, then chastised herself for doing so.

  Charlie Redmine was just as dangerous as his brother, probably more so. She would not make the mistake of forgetting that.

  She stared at him a moment because there was nothing else to be done and because she couldn’t help it. He had his old guitar in his hand, holding it at his side by the neck. His handsome face was blank and guarded, but his emerald eyes betrayed some inner roiling. Surah jerked her gaze away.

  Lying eyes, those were.

  He said nothing as he entered the cave, just went over to the rock wall and leaned against it, sliding down to a seated position with his long legs sprawled out in front of him, gently positioning the guitar in his lap. Surah could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to look at him again. He didn’t deserve her attention.

  When his hands began to stroke the strings, soft soothing notes coming together to make a lulling rhythm, Surah did look up, and her anger came rushing back to her in a hot wave.

  “Stop that,” she snapped.

  Charlie’s fingers halted at once and his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “All right,” he said.

  This response served only to anger her more. “How long have you and your brother been planning this?”

  Charlie just looked at her.

  Surah gritted her teeth, her usually sweet voice edged with anger. “So you’re just going to ignore me? You don’t think I deserve to at least know the answers to my questions before your brother murders me? Or is that what you’re here for?”

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw Charlie flinch.

  Silence hung for a moment. Then, he said, “That’s not gonna happen, princess.”

  Surah laughed. “Is that so? You could’ve fooled me.”

  Charlie said nothing, just looked at her underneath dark lashes.