by T Ariyanna
The Clockwork Heart
Of Magic: Book Two
T. Ariyanna
Copyright © 2017 T. Ariyanna
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The reproduction or utilization of this work in part of in whole including xerography, recording and photocopying is strictly forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
BISAC Category: Young Adult/Fantasy
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Concept by Covers by Christian
Cover Art by greggzart
Editing and Formatting by Megan Linski
Chapter Design by Molly Phipps
Distributed in the USA by T. Ariyanna
For information about custom editions, special sales, ARCs, and premium and corporate purchases, please contact T. Ariyanna at [email protected]
Manufactured in the United States of America
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Reaper by T. Ariyanna
About the Author
The Towers of Centric loomed over all of Lontorra, serving as a constant reminder of the world they oversaw. Though their shadows could reach even the most secluded of locales of this land, it’s magical influence had a far more disappointing effect. Humans had overthrown the majority of Lontorra’s populace, but not through force. By surrender. Rather than cause the destruction of their shared land, the magical creatures opted for peace, and so they shut themselves into hiding. The Mages, the most hated and feared of those the humans opposed, made a true home for themselves in the very center of Lontorra, and it was there that anger fermented for some, and they watched, stifled by their suffering, as the world around them coped with the change. They watched from the safety of their Towers for the chance to strike back.
A man and woman sat in silence for hours, peering out of the balcony of Talgrin, the greatest and most esteemed Tower in all of Centric. The small room was cramped, filled with plush furniture and vibrant colors. The rug beneath their feet resembled the ocean in both its magnificent waves of blue, and the cool water that lapped at the walls. A large ottoman sat just under the window, and the lush cushions soaked up the warmth from the setting sun. The base of the seat was ancient, depicting a battle between a large cat jumping gracefully, and a mighty beast with beautiful wings and a perfectly sharpened beak. Ribbons of crystals hung from the ceiling, gathering any stray light and reflecting it in rainbows across the surprisingly barren walls. The glimmers of sunlight danced around each other, swaying to a tune the ribbons played on the passing breeze.
The sleeves of the woman’s velvet gown draped over the ledge elegantly, folding in on itself. She tapped her bare toes against the magic rug, and the water licked at her bare skin. She was no older than eighteen, but had seen so much tragedy in her short life that she hadn’t any vitality left in her.
The man was only two years older, though he hadn’t even begun to mature yet. Not in the ways that should be normal, at least. He remained a spoiled prince, heavily equipped with a wide assortment of threats, taunts, and punishments for any that displeased him. He excelled in creativity, yet surprisingly lacked in general intelligence. The woman thought it just a side effect of royalty, though the same could never be said for the man’s father.
Centric below them was bustling, busy and populated as ever. A man was trying desperately to sell his wares, screaming about magical lamps at the top of his lungs, and swearing to an unknown god that he had found a carpet that could fly. His voice was the only one that held enough force and power to reach the tops of the Towers, but it also held a great sorrow.
Theresa leaned over the sill of the window to find the source of the voice. He was parked not far away, but he sat in shadows. As he lunged for another passerby, she thought his skin looked blue. Preposterous. There haven’t been any Droll in Centric for ages.
The man pressed up against her side, curious in what had caught her attention. He tilted his head and scoffed at the poor man begging for acknowledgement. He raised his left hand, a sinister green glow already emanating from his palm.
Theresa snatched his hand before he could make his move. The magic that sparked from within stung her, but she had long ago grown accustomed to the pain.
“Don’t, Crestyss. He spouts nothing more than the foolishness of children’s stories. A poor old man with nothing left needs not your punishment. Please.”
Crestyss glared at her a moment, but his expression softened before she could say any more. The man below them, seemingly knowing the danger he had been in, was now packing up his wares. As Theresa watched him, the rug he claimed to be magical fell over, knocking a vase to the floor. It shattered all around, scattering into the streets. The man bent over the rug, screaming profanities at it before regaining his composure and using a simple spell to undo the damage. With the man’s attention diverted, Theresa almost thought she saw the rug actually move.
Before she could convince herself it had been just a trick of the eye, the mat unrolled suddenly, whacking against the man’s legs. He whirled on the rug, but he didn’t yell again. His shoulders sagged and he rolled the rug back up. Within minutes everything was packed, and the man was gone, a great weight on his shoulders.
With her distraction gone, Theresa turned to find Crestyss gazing at her intently. She dared herself to question him, but the proper words wouldn’t come to her. His stare was inquisitive, and she was spared the feat of speaking her mind. The door burst open, and a man barely older than herself marched inside.
“Young Master Crestyss! I have the report on your father's meeting with the humans,” Jenta said, breathless as he came into the room.
He stopped suddenly and gave a sloppy bow. Theresa glanced to Crestyss, worried it would offset his temper. He scowled at the young servant of his, and waved his hand to dismiss the bow.
“What of the reports? Is father not going to announce it to the world himself as he always does?” Crestyss turned away, disgusted. He picked at his nails absentmindedly, but Theresa could tell he was on edge by the way he tensed and relaxed his jaw repeatedly.
“My condolences, sir. I hate to bring news such as this, but I'm afraid your father is no longer alive in order to pass the news along. The humans assassinated him, but left his subordinate alive to convey their demands to us.”
Crestyss froze at the words, but his emerald eyes flashed. Theresa looked away anxiously, awaiting his response. “And what might their demands be?” he asked slowly. It was obvious that he was guarding his thoughts, picking his words and reactions very carefully. There was nothing more terrifying than when Crestyss was cautious, not even when his anger flared.
“They wish to be left alone, completely. They will allow us to survive within the confines of Centric, but should we try to inte
rfere with 'their world' any further, they claim that they will exterminate us all.” Jenta sounded worried, and Theresa eyed him carefully. He was a scrawny young man who had yet to fully control his magic. His spellbook often hid from him, and he lacked the drive to search for it, and it gave him very few opportunities to practice with his magic.
Though Jenta idolized Crestyss, he could not read him like Theresa had grown to. After years of being by his side, she thought she knew him better than he knew himself, but he always found new ways to scare her. It was this uncertainty that kept her quiet, along with the fear of retaliation should she speak out of place.
“So father's dead, then. I assume I'll be forced to take his place,” Crestyss mused aloud, his joy leaking into his tone.
“The Magicern has yet to convene on the subject, but I have no doubts that they will come to that conclusion,” Jenta replied, looking slightly uneasy. He shifted his weight until he caught Crestyss' attention, and froze. “There was one other thing, sir.”
“Well, out with it then,” Crestyss snapped, glaring at Jenta.
“The humans have sent a sort of present for you. The weapon that was your father's undoing, they requested that it be brought to you.” Jenta pulled his satchel into view, and took a lump of cloth from it. He handed it to Crestyss swiftly, clearly uncomfortable with it in his possession.
Crestyss snatched the object from his hands, and unwrapped it with sharp movements. Kept within it was a thick, bent hunk of metal slightly bigger than his hand. It had no blades or prongs, no clear indication that it was a weapon, but it gave Theresa a sense of malice to look at it.
Crestyss gripped the object as easily as he did anything else, he fingers curling around the leather handle without hesitation. He smiled wickedly as he stared into the muzzle of the thing.
“They called it a gun, sir. The humans claimed to have made it themselves, but that can't be possible, can it? 'A weapon of mass murder,' they called it,” Jenta said, eyeing the gun with caution.
Crestyss flipped a lever, and the body of the gun fell to the side, revealing six holes in a circle. “It's missing a few pieces. What a shame. Seems the humans aren't as stupid as we thought. Especially if they were able to create something out of Mage technology.”
“Mage technology?” Theresa asked, finally provoked to speak.
Crestyss glanced at her and flashed another triumphant smile. He had finally incited a reaction from her. “Yes. This is clearly our work, but the humans somehow managed to get a hold of it. I wonder how that could have happened.” Crestyss ran his fingers along the length of the gun, studying every inch of it.
Theresa looked away from him, terrified at the undertone of a secret in his voice. What is he up to now? He couldn't possibly be-
“What are you planning for your first action as head of the Magicern, sir?” Jenta asked, breaking Theresa from her thoughts.
“Hmm. I honestly haven't given it much thought. A lot has happened in such short a time, I'm not sure how to process it all right now. I suppose some sort of retaliation is in need for the humans. They are not the top of the food chain in this world, not by a long shot. But we haven't the forces for an outright attack. We must use cunning, strategy, and I fear a great deal of patience. We'll leave them be for now, allow them their false sense of security, but from here on out, we shall plan their destruction. Have you any suggestions, Theresa?”
Theresa gasped as he addressed her. He stared at her with a fierce and threatening look. She turned away from him, her face growing hot from the anxiety his stare brought upon. Her gut twisted and her heart nearly pounded out of her chest, his gaze boring holes into her. Why must he bring about such strong reactions in me? she thought furiously as she struggled to regain her mentality.
With his intense stare urging her on, she scanned her mind quickly. She thought first of the stories of the ancients, when war was more common than peace. One such story stuck in her mind, a legend of the greatest warriors that had been laid to rest in abandoned coves beneath the whole of Lontorra. The story, as incredible as it was, suggested that they had been preserved, stored in all their glory until they were again needed. The most likely truth to the tale was that the coves were their tombs, but it still implies that they are down there. And if the story was to be believed to any degree, they could be resurrected.
Theresa glanced up at Crestyss, and fear filled her again. His light green eyes shown so brightly, so maliciously, that there was no way he didn't want to bring about a war. She was certain that it had all been his doing, the creation of the weapon and the execution of his own father, had all been for his own gain.
She swallowed a lump in her throat, warring with herself. She thought back to her parents, murdered before her eyes ten years ago. They had been skilled healers that traveled all throughout Lontorra, even to the humans. She herself had developed an impressive amount of skill at her young age of eight.
They had been welcomed by all, rejoiced as saviors even. But the humans had attacked without warning, killing them both in cold blood. She was alive only thanks to Crestyss and his father, arriving just in time to frighten the humans away. They had taken her in, and she couldn't remember a single day without Crestyss since.
How did they know to come for help? They barely travel outside of Centric, could it really be coincidence that they found me, helpless and staring down my own death? Could Crestyss- Could he have been this conniving at so young?
She shook the doubts from her head. They were her heroes, she owed everything to them. Crestyss especially had helped her through her sorrow and depression that followed her loss. He had saved her life more times than she could count, mostly from herself. The humans had caused all of the ruin in her life, had twisted and bruised her. She owed them nothing.
“There is a legend of the greatest warriors the world has ever seen, kept dormant just beneath our feet. They could be dead, but the story could be true. If we could harness enough power, enough magic, we could bring them to our aid. We could raise up an unstoppable army, and take back Lontorra for ourselves, and for our ancestors. We could rid this world of humans, forever,” she said finally, emotionless.
Crestyss leaned back and clapped his hands together. “I can't tell you how happy I am to hear you say that, Theresa! What joy that we would have exactly the same plan, down to the wire. And together, it can become reality. I'm so overwhelmed, I'm nearly compelled to say that I love you! How ridiculous, that such a thing as impending doom of an entire species can bring two souls together like this.”
Theresa turned to him in shock. The gleam in his eyes was that of a hunter staring down his prey. No, it was that of a boy, torturing a small animal he had trapped. Theresa had seen that from him far too much, the joy he had when he had brought her a small creature who's legs he had broken. It was then that she realized the story she had recalled had been the same one he had read to her every night for the first few years she had been with him. It was the same that they had played as children, pretending they were the world's best soldiers.
It was then that she realized he had broken her legs, her will to escape. She was trapped by him, as she had been from the very beginning. She was his slave, and she was performing exactly as he had planned.
Kaitlyn
Kaitlyn sat against the wall of the dungeon. The woman had healed the wounds on her back easily, but her muscles ached with every movement. The pressure of leaning against the wall threatened to split her skin back open, and she sat forward slowly. A knotted, bloody braid was caught in her hands, and she tugged at it nervously. She watched the woman and the thing in the room as they argued, knowing that if she looked away from them, her eyes would be drawn to the last thing she wanted to see.
Arion's dead body.
The woman, Theresa, had replaced his heart, but the image of it was ingrained in her mind. She shook her head violently to rid herself of the thought. Ignoring the sound of the blood that splattered from her hair, she forced herself to f
ocus on the conversation before her. It wasn't much better, but it was a distraction, at least.
“Why aren't you worried about this? The kid is dead, Theresa, and all you care about are a group of stupid humans! They aren't moronic enough to come back here again, not when their ring leader was taken out. They already retrieved Kraven's body, and they'll have a white flag in the air by morning. Can you just worry about your son for once?”
The creature encased in metal had been shrieking at her for almost an hour now, but Theresa didn't seem phased. She had cast a preservation spell over Arion's body, and the thick magic was difficult to see through. Other than that, she’d barely batted an eye at the situation.
Kaitlyn felt the complete opposite. She wanted to scream, to bawl, anything that would take her mind away from the pain. Anytime she glanced in the direction of her friend's body, she felt like she was going to be sick. No matter how much magic covered him, she could still see the blood smeared across Arion’s face, the ragged hole in his chest.
She pressed her hand to her mouth, forcing herself not to gag. She looked to Theresa, who was pacing in front of the fuming creature. It watched her pointedly, its patience obviously wearing thin.
It was an odd creation, unlike like anything she could even imagine. Still, she could recognize Arion's work from the phoenix that they had used to exchange letters. Most of the creature was made of thin, smooth plates of metal, but Arion had given it more of a flourish than the bird. The shoulders flared out at the sides, and large plates covered the chest, back, and legs like armor covering the body. Most of the metal had grown dull, save for the fresh spot in its chest where Kaitlyn had stabbed it with the spear. Its spine was made of small, thick gears that interlocked in a way that still allowed a wide range of movement.
