The Akorell Break (The Mortal Mage Book 2)

by B. T. Narro

  “Thank you for the help,” Desil whispered over the clacking of hoofs. He had his doubts that this man was as genuinely interested as he seemed. After all, Ionrad could’ve been sent by Allephon to figure out who Desil was. Still, instinct told him to trust the man. It’s the eyes making me think this way, Desil realized, and raised his guard.

  He checked again for anyone near enough to overhear them. Besides the man driving Desil’s jail-wagon, there was no one. Ionrad seemed to be the only one responsible for watching Desil. He was surprisingly caring. Something wasn’t right here.

  “Beatrix seemed sincere about King Fernan,” Desil prompted.

  The guard looked at Desil with disappointment, clearly not taking the bait.

  “I’ll only bring it up with you,” Desil promised.

  He wasn’t sure whether that answer would help him, but he needed to know why men like this would follow Allephon.

  “Your affection for the princess is speaking, nay, thinking for you,” Ionrad replied. “No man would disagree that she’s beautiful, but her power exceeds her beauty. Have you heard she’s a psychic?”

  “Yes.” Most everyone in Ovira knew at least that detail about Beatrix Estlander.

  “She can lie.” Ionrad spoke the words with heavy dread, as if discussing an evil presence that threatened their world.

  Desil wanted to argue that psychics couldn’t lie to other psychics any better than everyone else, but how much was he supposed to know about such a topic? How much did he actually know about it? Reela could lie. Was it possible Beatrix could as well?

  No, she didn’t have the same power. If so, she would’ve forced Leida to talk about her father when they first met, like Reela had forced Desil to speak during their recent meeting.

  “If she lies, then how can anyone tell?” Desil asked.

  “Because her lying is the only explanation that makes sense, Ben. You’ll have to trust me. Say nothing in support of her.”

  Desil did trust that Ionrad believed what he was saying, but no matter what proof the guard could provide, Desil would never believe Beatrix had poisoned her father.

  “I can see you don’t want to leave it at that,” Ionrad said.

  “At least tell me what led you to this belief.”

  “The king was bedridden the day after she left for Kanoan. Allephon was always at his side. He’s been observed to be in great pain and worried to the point of tears. He has fits of anger. His emotions went wild as his father worsened, especially when poisoning was all but confirmed. Everyone in the castle was questioned; everyone who’d been there in the last few days before Fernan took to his bed and didn’t get up again. The only person who wasn’t cleared by psychics was Beatrix. The king’s other children came and answered in front of psychics, including Allephon. They had nothing to do with it. Then recently, Beatrix was found to be in the company of the Academy’s headmaster, an enemy to war and to the king. She’s known Basen for three years or longer. She must’ve grown fond of his ideas. Allephon’s been so affected by this mess he had to take a mixture of potions just to ease his nerves before this meeting. It’s why he was drowsy, Ben, but admitting to that would make him sound weak.”

  Ionrad looked over his shoulder for eavesdroppers before turning back to Desil. “You remind me of my son fighting for Kyrro,” the guard continued. “He questions everything, as you both should, and as I myself have done. Yet the truth is that Beatrix will say anything to return to Basen.”

  Desil was unsure why he didn’t think of something earlier that just came to mind. Allephon must’ve sent people from the army to look for the headmaster and his party, knowing they must be close by. They could easily be found in the forest near the wall and captured.

  Should Desil have run back into the forest to warn the others to leave instead of getting himself arrested? But then Beatrix and Kirnich would have no hope.

  “Do you believe me now?” Ionrad asked.

  “I do,” Desil lied.

  “I’m glad. I wouldn’t sleep right if I let you talk yourself into a life sentence when I had the chance to prevent it.”

  Perhaps there wasn’t anything amiss with Ionrad. Perhaps some of these men were good-hearted, just wrong, and Allephon had tricked them.

  But there still had to be some, like Jimmin, who knew the truth and chose to let Fernan die. These were the same people who would allow Beatrix to be tortured and killed, who’d want the headmaster to be captured, and anyone loyal to Beatrix or Basen to be silenced.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Beatrix’s brother didn’t allow her out of the cage even as they passed into the courtyard of the castle grounds. He did cover her wagon with a blanket, though, so the workers would not see and gossip. Even with the reputation of their family in shambles, Allephon did what he could to keep it from getting worse.

  The last time Beatrix had seen Kirnich, he was following her out of the forest and toward the meeting between Allephon and Hawthen. Kirnich had pleaded for Beatrix to stay back. Now she wished she’d listened, or at least he had not come with her.

  She had no memory of what had transpired afterward. The last she could recall was being in this cage as she was taken through the Fjallejon Mountains. She hadn’t even gotten a glance at Kirnich. Now he wasn’t close enough to detect his energy with psyche, but she still had faith he was near. He wouldn’t have let Allephon take her without trying to stop it. So Allephon must’ve taken him as well.

  Light flashed as someone lifted the blanket from one side of the wagon. She couldn’t make out the silhouette as a man stepped close to the wagon and let the blanket fall over him.

  “We’re going to take you out now.” It was Jimmin, a traitor deserving of death, like her brother. “For the sake of the kingdom, don’t fight. Imagine the talk if Allephon is forced to slay you in the courtyard.”

  No, he planned to slay her in the depths of the castle after squeezing out everything she knew. Beatrix would not die quietly, but her first priority was to survive this.

  “I won’t fight.” Not here.

  Jimmin unlocked her cage as others pulled off the blanket. No less than fifty men surrounded her. It was almost laughable. Ten archers stood back where they figured her psyche would be weak against them. She only wanted to hurt two of them, but she still wasn’t sure Jimmin could be pained. She’d heard of men like him whose energy could not be read. Did that mean it couldn’t be changed at all to make him feel any emotion? They were too much a rarity to know anything certain about them, and it wasn’t as if one of them would let himself be tested. They kept their ability a secret so that it was most beneficial to them.

  Jimmin had helped kill a king. Who knew what the others might have done?

  Allephon called out from somewhere within the castle keep. “Bring her through.”

  Horses had taken her wagon right up to the keep. She looked back as countless men put their hands on her. Two more covered wagons were behind. Two? Who else had been arrested beside her and Kirnich? Both wagons were too far for Beatrix to read the energy of anyone within.

  “What should we do with the younger one?” someone asked Allephon. Beatrix didn’t recognize his voice. It made her realize she didn’t recognize more than half of these troops. Were they all loyal to Allephon, even if they knew the truth? It didn’t matter. Nothing would anymore. She was walking to her death.

  “Keep all of them separate and guarded. I’ll figure out what to do about the boy after I deal with my sister.” Allephon sounded exhausted. Suddenly Beatrix recalled a piece of the meeting. He’d obviously taken something that made it difficult for him to stay on his feet and keep his eyes open. It had allowed him to lie. She’d demanded the truth to be known. Had she announced that he was the one who had killed Fernan? Had Reela and any of the other Wind Knights heard her plea?

  Beatrix believed they had, but would they listen? Her life was riding on the answer to that question.

  More uncertain was whether Allephon would worm his way out of
this somehow. He couldn’t possibly remain king with the crimes he’d committed. He might not be killed, like Beatrix would here in the keep, but everything he’d worked toward would slide through his fingers as if he were trying to hold onto sand. At least there was that.

  Allephon stepped toward her to show himself. “Don’t fight, Sister. Reela Polken demanded on behalf of the Wind Knights that there must be a public trial for you, so you are going to live at least until then no matter what, unless you resist. Even they would understand if you were killed before the trial because you pained me or my troops with psyche and attempted to escape.”

  Beatrix remained undecided. She could die gloriously here, not attempting to escape but killing her brother, or cooperate for a slim chance at life.

  To fight in this keep wouldn’t be glorious, she realized. Foolish. She feared the pain she would soon endure, and that was the only thing pushing her to accept a swift death. She must be courageous, or she would give up during this ordeal and Allephon would win.

  She let them take her into the keep.

  Allephon made no attempt to clear the castle of its inhabitants. Although there were fewer than Beatrix was used to seeing, Allephon no doubt wanted them here to witness Beatrix fighting back. The small army of troops marched her through the corridors and into the entrance of the dungeon. Fear increased her need for breath as they descended into darkness. A mage lit a few torches and passed them to other men.

  Heat belted her face as one torch was passed beside her. She thought to act here and now, floor them with psyche and run.

  The moment passed. A bead of sweat ran down her temple.

  Don’t or they will kill you, she reminded herself. There must be at least one psychic among them who wouldn’t let her get far.

  They took her past many cells. Men and women were caged separately, but not a single person let the sight of the princess in cuffs go unnoticed. A few babbled with questions about her arrest, none mentioning her father’s death. All it took was one for the news to spread to everyone here. Allephon could put Beatrix in a cell with others after they found out, and it would be the other prisoners who would kill her, not her brother or Jimmin.

  Eventually the cells they passed were empty. Beatrix figured out exactly where she was going. It was the room in the far corner of the dungeon that her father had almost chosen to remove by building a wall in front of it. Jimmin had convinced him that keeping the torture chamber didn’t mean he had to use it, and no one would blame Fernan for doing nothing with it, so the wall was never built.

  Her father had trusted the older councilman for as long as she could remember. Why had Jimmin decided to betray Fernan in favor of Allephon? What could her failure of a brother have done to change the man’s loyalty?

  I’ve underestimated Allephon until now. She should’ve read the signs…his arrogance, his frustration. She didn’t think him capable of…she couldn’t finish the thought as the sight of her father’s corpse entered her mind. She tried to rid herself of it, but the image was a flood and she had but a small pail.

  They stopped before the torture chamber to wait for something. There were too many people ahead of Beatrix for her to see what it was. She could feel panic coming—exactly what her brother wanted. Beatrix had been taught never to rid herself of her uncomfortable emotions using psyche or she would never learn to deal with them naturally, but these were dire circumstances. She read her own energy and saw plainly just how terrified she was. She shifted her energy with her mind to match the pattern of someone who was calm. Relief trickled down her body like a weak stream of water. But as soon as she ended the psychic spell, panic inflamed her skin worse than before, because now she knew there was no way to rid herself of it for good.

  A couple women came from the torture chamber with brooms in hand. How nice of them to tidy up the room before I endure the worst pain of my life. The small army of troops stopped outside the chamber, only a few taking Beatrix within.

  “Where did all of you come from?” she asked them.

  None replied.

  “Why haven’t I seen any of you before?”

  A few scoffed, but Beatrix didn’t know why.

  They didn’t meet her eyes as they brought her to the center of the rather small chamber. They removed her cuffs, but the freedom didn’t last. They were rough as two of them held up her wrists up and another tied a rope from the ceiling around both of them. After a few quick adjustments, her arms stretched up to the point of pulling her heels slightly off the ground. Her wrists ached instantly; already she’d had enough pain, and no one had even glanced at the hammers, pliers, and knives on a nearby table.

  The two men moved away and glanced at their work to ensure she was trapped. Satisfied, they left her alone. The door shut with an ominous thud.

  She tried to move directly beneath the rope to relieve the tension of hanging, but all she managed to do was increase the pain of her already raw wrists. Calm down and think, she told herself, looking about the room to see what she might be able to use.

  The table was too far. None of the tools on top of it had been designed for torture. They shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be here. Blood stained the stone floor in a loose circle around her feet. Torture was reserved for the worst criminals, or for those helping them hide. Allephon shouldn’t be able to justify torturing her for information on the headmaster. She would make sure he paid for this.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, he opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it after him.

  He didn’t look at her as he walked over to the table. He set his hands on it, glanced down, and shook his head as he breathed out in frustration. He faced Beatrix.

  “I need someone in here now,” Allephon said seemingly to her. “Any guard. Can you hear me?”

  She could barely see behind her without causing more pain to her wrists. There was a glass window in the wooden door, the back of someone’s head in view.

  She looked back at Allephon. “What are doing?” she asked.

  “Wait,” he told her. He raised his voice. “Guard!”

  The door came open. One man stepped in.

  “Fetch me some wine,” Allephon requested.

  The guard nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

  “I needed to know at what volume they could hear my voice,” Allephon explained. He went back to the table to clear some space and sat upon it. “You’re going to help me.”

  She might’ve laughed if it wasn’t for her fear. “Why wouldn’t I do the opposite and pain you right now?” She knew the answer already. She didn’t know why she needed him to say it aloud. Did she have some hope left after all that there would be a way out of this?

  “Because cooperation is the only way both of us are going to live.”

  Both of us? Why is his life in danger? “I don’t care anymore if you die. I would kill you myself if I could.”

  The arch of his brows gave him a sad look. “I don’t blame you for that thought.” He took a slow breath. “I know Father’s death was my fault.”

  She was surprised at his maturity. Psyche confirmed he was sincere.

  “Why rope me up like this just to admit fault?”

  “There’s a perception we have to create.”

  Someone knocked. Allephon rushed to open the door. He took his wine through the small opening and drank it in a few gulps. He then told the guard, “Make sure no one disturbs us.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Allephon shut the door, then walked past Beatrix to lean against the table. “I don’t know how much time we have. You have to trust me, or both of us are dead.” He was still sincere.

  “How do I know you haven’t taken the same substance as earlier that allows you to lie?”

  He stood and balanced on one foot. “Because I can do this.” He closed his eyes and touched his nose, then he switched to stand on the other foot and touched his nose with his other hand. “The enblock potion alters perception and makes me drowsier as time goes
on, a necessary side effect of blocking emotions.”

  He didn’t appear worried that now she would be able to tell psychics truthfully that he’d admitted this. She shivered with fear.

  “What’s your plan with me?”

  “To help each other.”

  “You keep saying that. Cut me down if that’s really what you want.”

  “I will once I’m sure.”

  “Of what?” She tried to get more comfortable as she squirmed, but the pain in her wrists only worsened, as did the prickles down her arms.

  “That you aren’t going to kill us both by attacking me.”

  “I’m smarter than that.” She spoke it like an insult to his intelligence, as if he should remember what she’d proven to him every year. I’m smarter than you.

  “You are,” he admitted to her surprise. “I’m sure that’s why Father was going to entrust you with Tenred after it was taken.”

  Allephon thought his own words to be true, but that didn’t make them so.

  She asked, “Why do you believe that?”

  “You don’t?”

  “It sounds like an excuse to kill me, nothing more.”

  “You’re smarter than that, Sister! You just said so.”

  “You’re the eldest! The territory of Tenred would go to you just like the territory of Kyrro when he died.”

  “Lower your voice.”

  “Or what?”

  Don’t tempt him, you idiot! Anger had spoken for her.

  Allephon picked up the smallest knife on the table. “I’m supposed to be torturing you for information on Basen Hiller. If you don’t lower your voice, I’ll have to give you a reason to scream.”

  Her anger broke like a dam keeping in her grief. She missed her father more than ever before in that moment. She wouldn’t cry in front of Allephon. Damn, tears were pooling.

  “How could you kill him?” she asked, barely holding onto her strength. “He loved you.”

  Allephon turned away. He tried to set the knife back where he’d found it, but he let go too early as he grabbed the side of the table to keep from falling. The knife clanked against the floor as his head slumped. “I know he did.”