by Jayne Castel
Irana tore her attention from Asher then and looked at Ninia once more, pinning her to the spot. “Do you know what you are?”
Ninia’s mouth compressed. “I know who I am.”
Irana drew herself up, swiveling in the saddle to address her companions. “This girl wields both the Light and the Dark. Don’t be fooled by her youth—she’s a danger to us all.”
This revelation brought muffled gasps. The enchanters exchanged glances again, their young faces paling.
The High Enchanter swung her attention back to Ninia. “The world had one like you before, and he nearly brought us to our knees.”
Ninia’s back stiffened, her chin lifting. “I’m not Valgarth. I’m not a danger.” She held Irana’s gaze, unflinching. “All I want, is to learn how to harness this gift.”
Irana hissed out a breath. “It’s not a gift, girl. It’s a curse.”
And with that, Irana let fly a whip of darkness from her right hand—aimed directly for Ninia’s chest. There was no time for Asher to deflect it; the High Enchanter moved with quicksilver speed.
The whip hit Ninia with a thud and wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. Irana’s first blow hadn’t been intended to kill Ninia, but to immobilize her.
The High Enchanter gathered the Dark once more.
A spear of shadows snapped across the space separating her and Ninia—but Ryana intercepted it with a wall of chattering shadows. However, Irana was ready for the defense, and countered it with another attack, shattering Ryana’s wall.
Ryana’s bay gelding squealed in terror and reared up, dumping its rider headfirst onto the hard road.
Asher gathered the Light, yet Irana moved again—unnaturally fast. He barely blocked her in time. Then Irana gathered the Dark once more, and a long shadow fell across the road.
Ninia cried out and struggled to free herself of her bonds. Her pony danced beneath her.
Time slowed down.
Grim shrieked, and for the first time Asher understood the bird.
The Light Shield. Lift it.
The bird’s talons released him as the hawk took flight.
Irana flung her right arm toward Ninia. A great black fist flew across the gap between the High Enchanter and the princess.
Asher moved, guiding his horse with his knees toward Ninia. The Light Shield was a powerful enchantment, a defense enchanters of the Light usually wielded as a group. Yet there was no time to do anything else, no time to ask for help.
The heat of the sun shot down from the sky, and—instead of using it to intercept Irana’s attack—Asher bound it to his body. Heat enveloped him, and he threw himself off his horse into the path of the cannon-ball of shadows, just before it collided with Ninia.
40
Steel
MIRA WATCHED ASHER throw himself before Ninia—in the path of Irana’s attack.
It had all happened so fast. All of them—Irana, Ryana, and Asher—had moved in a blur of darkness and light.
She wasn’t sure what Asher had done. One moment he’d been sitting astride his horse, the next a shroud of golden light surrounded him. She watched him move, saw the deadly fist of blackness fly, and a scream rose in her throat.
Mira leaped toward Asher, but she was too slow.
A crunch of impact echoed across the road, shuddering off the rocky sides of the gorge, and Asher fell, colliding with Ninia’s horse. The animal staggered and went down on its knees, throwing Ninia off.
Asher hit the road and rolled onto the verge, where he lay face-down, unmoving. The golden light about him faded.
Mira swung down from the saddle, crouching next to Whinny. The horse snorted, backing away from where the taint of enchantment crackled in the air. A few yards away, Irana had also dismounted and was advancing toward where Ninia struggled on the ground, legs kicking as she tried to climb to her feet. She looked so small, young, and terrified—her power muzzled by the bonds that pinned her arms to her torso.
Irana stalked the princess. She gathered the Dark again, shadows flying from the corners of the ravine. Her face was gaunt and terrible, her eyes wild, as she drew her hand back to launch the death blow.
With Ryana and Asher disabled, she focused on nothing else.
That was a mistake.
Mira carried three daggers strapped to her body. One on her thigh, one in her boot, and the third strapped to her chest.
She threw each blade with deadly accuracy.
The first caught Irana in the chest, the second in the shoulder. And the third—the fatal strike—hit her at the base of the throat and embedded to the hilt.
Irana staggered back, frantically gathering the Dark once more. Yet the shadows could do nothing against steel. Her face sagged, and she staggered, falling to her knees upon the road. Irana’s expression turned wild as panic seized her. Her hands fumbled, grappling with the blades in her flesh, yet they were embedded too deep.
Long moments drew out, before Irana stopped trying to pull the blades free. She crumpled to the ground, mouth gaping. Her jade eyes were huge and pleading on her bloodless face. Yet no one, not even one of the enchanters looking on a few yards away, made a move to help her.
Neither did Mira.
“Arrogant bitch,” Mira growled. Never take your eyes off a Swallow.”
She left Whinny’s side and strode over to where Asher lay, unmoving on the roadside. A few yards away, Ryana was picking herself up; blood trickled down her temple from where she’d hit the road.
Mira knelt beside Asher. Her heart started to race. He seemed deathly still.
Please … no.
She gently rolled him over. His face was chalk-white, yet she saw the gentle rise of his chest. Mira let out the breath she’d been holding.
He’s alive.
“Asher,” she whispered, her voice catching as she reached out to touch his face. “Wake up.”
His eyelids flickered, and he let out a soft groan. Then his eyes opened. He stared up at her, his gaze unfocused for a few moments. “What happened?”
“You lifted the Light Shield,” Ryana replied appearing at Mira’s side. “You don’t remember?”
His gaze flicked between the two of them, before his features tightened. “Ninia?”
“I’m alright.” Ninia stepped up then next to Ryana, still brushing herself off. “Mira killed Irana.”
Asher’s gaze flicked between the three of them a moment, his eyes widening. “Help me up?” he rasped.
With Ryana’s assistance, Mira pulled him to his feet. Asher swayed unsteadily, his balance teetering, as he surveyed the scene behind them.
Irana lay on her side, curled around the blades that still protruded from her body. The woman’s green eyes, once so sharp, were now vacant and glassy.
Asher’s gaze narrowed as it alighted upon the knot of enchanters behind her. They had dismounted from their horses, and the young woman driving the wagon had climbed down. They were all shaken and pale.
The young male enchanter who’d been riding alongside Irana spoke first. He was sweating, his blue eyes wide. “She told us that the king had ordered the Stynix.”
A beat of silence followed, before one of his female companions spoke up. “She’s been taking the mineral in her wine over the past two nights … I’ve seen her.”
A hush fell over the road. Ryana and Asher’s gazes met.
“That’s why she was so powerful,” Ryana muttered finally. “But Stynix is a poison when taken internally, she would have known that. It’s takes a while, but eventually you hemorrhage and bleed to death. What was she up to?”
Asher leaned against Mira for support. “We’ll never know now,” he replied. “Although the king will need to hear of this.”
Asher stood before King Nathan in his solar.
The left side of his chest, where he’d taken the brunt of impact from Irana’s attack, throbbed dully. It needed attending to, but an audience with the king could not wait.
He had visited the kin
g alone, while the others saw to the horses and retired to their beds. Ninia and Ryana had both wanted to join him, yet Asher was wary of bringing the princess before the king. He didn’t know she was alive, or of the gift she possessed.
“Thank you for coming to see me so quickly with the news.” The king’s voice, low and powerful, cut across the richly furnished room. “You did well to do so.”
Nathan was not dressed for an audience, having risen from his bed to see Asher. A long damask robe encased his tall, muscular form, brushing the floor, and his feet were bare upon the thick rug that covered the floor. A low fire burned in a hearth a few feet away, throwing out welcome warmth.
Clenching his jaw against the pain that tore across his ribs with each indrawn breath, Asher nodded. It had been a painful and long ride home; every jolt of his horse’s stride had been agony.
“Have the Stynix brought to me tomorrow,” the king said after a pause. “I will have it destroyed.”
“Aye, sire. I will see it done.”
It had been a few months since he’d seen the king. Although Nathan was only a year or two older than Asher, he had a stern face that made him look older. That was what responsibility did to you, Asher reflected. Already, he could see flecks of grey in the king’s dark-brown hair that hadn’t been there a year earlier.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
“You do realize that I had nothing to do with Irana bringing Stynix here?” Nathan asked, frowning. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Asher nodded. “Her claim made no sense to me, sire.”
A pause followed. “Was she plotting against me?”
Asher tensed. “I can’t think why,” he admitted quietly. “She never voiced any resentment toward you.”
The king dragged a hand through his short hair and turned away. He crossed to a sideboard, where he poured two small cups of pale green liqueur. He then handed one to Asher. “Here … you look like you could do with a shot of Amirinth in your veins.”
Asher took the cup gratefully and downed it in one gulp. The fire of the spirit, made from the berries of a tree that grew high up in these mountains—catching alight in his belly. It took the edge off the pain. It also galvanized him for what he had to say next.
“Irana isn’t the only reason I’m here,” he said quietly. “The reason she attacked us wasn’t because of the Stynix. She was trying to kill Princess Ninia of Thûn.”
King Nathan frowned. “The princess … she’s alive?”
“Aye—she escaped during the attack on Veldoras with one of The Swallow Guard. Queen Rena sent a message to Thrindul, but it was lost until recently. Irana found it.”
Nathan’s frown turned into a scowl. “I don’t understand … why wouldn’t the queen send word to me?”
Asher heaved in a deep breath, and instantly regretted it as agony lanced down his left side. “She’d discovered that her daughter had recently manifested signs of enchantment,” he replied. “Of both the Light and the Dark. She wanted Thrindul to protect her, to train her.” Asher broke off here, noting the stunned look on the king’s face. “Irana sent me to Thûn to kill the princess … but I didn’t—instead I brought her here.”
Silence fell. When Nathan broke it, his expression was severe.
“Have we another Valgarth among us?”
Asher shook his head. “I’d never have brought her here if I thought that.”
“But the High Enchanter thought the girl dangerous?”
“She was wrong.”
Their gazes met and held for a long moment. Then the king’s face softened. “I see an honest man before me,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “and one of sound judgment. Very well, Asher of the Light, I will take your word for it.”
Nathan downed his Amirinth and took Asher’s empty cup from him. “Go on, you look half-dead, man. Get to bed. We shall speak of this again tomorrow, when you’re rested. I will wish to meet Ninia as well.”
Asher nodded. Fatigue pressed down upon him in a heavy blanket; he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in confiding in the king. However, he had little choice. Nathan would learn she was here in Rithmar soon enough anyway. It was important that Asher laid the groundwork first, that he made the king realize she wasn’t a threat.
“Goodnight, Your Highness.” He dipped his head and turned to go, making his way across the room toward the door.
He was halfway across when the king hailed him. “Asher.”
He halted, turning. “Aye, sire?”
“With Irana gone, the Order will need a new High Enchanter. I think you are a good choice.”
Asher stiffened and dropped his gaze. “The High Council votes on such things … I have no say in the matter.” Truthfully, he was too weary and sore to even contemplate the future of the Order. He wasn’t sure he wanted such a responsibility cast upon him.
The king smiled then, the expression softening the austere lines of his face. “I’d like you to make my preference known to the council,” he said. “We need men like you in dark times like these.”
41
Our Secret
ASHER VISITED THE Hall of Healing after leaving the palace. There, one of the enchanters of the Light, a young woman named Alvia, tended to his bruised and battered ribs. Afterward, he made his way into the House of Light and Darkness, and up familiar stairwells and hallways to his chamber.
He opened the door carefully, not wanting to wake Mira. Inside he found the chamber lit in a soft glow from the lantern next to the bed. Grim sat roosting upon the windowsill, and Mira sprawled on her side, fully clothed, upon his sleeping pallet.
She stirred as he entered, her dark eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. “What time is it?” she asked sleepily.
“Late,” he murmured. “I thought you’d be fast asleep by now.”
Mira sat up and stretched before giving a jaw-cracking yawn. “I couldn’t … not without knowing the king hadn’t locked you up.”
Asher gave a soft laugh. “You needn’t have worried. All is well.”
She watched him. “And your ribs? Has someone taken a look at them?”
He nodded, producing a clay jar and putting it on the sideboard. “I had three cracked ribs, which one of the enchanters has managed to heal. However, I’ll need to apply some salve to aid the bruising.”
Mira rose to her feet and crossed to the sideboard, picking up the jar. “Take off your shirt, and I’ll do it.”
Asher gave her a heated look, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re insatiable, woman.”
Mira gave him an arch look. “No … not tonight.”
Asher undid his vest, gingerly shedding it and the shirt he wore underneath.
Mira’s breath sucked in when she saw the state of his ribs; a mottled swath of purple and yellow bruises covered his left side. Asher caught her eye with a grimace. “Believe me, it looked worse earlier.”
They sat down upon the sleeping pallet, and Mira started to apply the salve. Her fingers were gentle on his skin, although the ointment was ice-cold. Still, her closeness made him relax. He looked down at her bowed head, the curtain of her dark hair, and a sense of calm settled over him. It had been a long hard day—and many worries still plagued him. Yet sitting here alone with Mira he felt at peace.
For the first time in his life, he felt truly content.
Mira finished applying the salve and pulled back, wiping her hands on a cloth. Asher was watching her, his eyes dark in the soft lantern light. He looked tired, although his expression was soft, his gaze intense.
“What?” she asked with a smile. “Why are you staring?”
His mouth curved. “It’s probably just exhaustion setting in … or it could be that you’re lovely to look upon.”
She huffed, as if the compliment didn’t warm her, when in fact it did. “You’ve a silver-tongue, Asher of the Light.”
He reached out and cupped her cheek gently. “Beautiful, but deadly. Just how I like my women.”
Mi
ra inclined her head, gaze narrowing. “Your women?”
He laughed. “Well there’s Ninia, of course.”
“That ungrateful wench.” Mira pulled a face. “She didn’t even thank me for saving her life.”
He smiled down at her. Then he reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. “Then first thing tomorrow, I’ll march the girl up here and make her.”
Mira leaned toward him, breathing in the musky male scent of his skin. Truthfully, she’d seen little of Ninia since their arrival at the capital. They’d all been exhausted, and Ryana had escorted the girl off to bed as soon as they’d unsaddled the horses. “Aye … you do that.”
Asher’s smile faded then. “I told the king about Ninia … he wants to meet her.”
“You look worried—why?”
“After today, I’m wary of how folk will react to her.”
Mira shook her head. “Irana isn’t representative of most people.”
Asher pulled back from her and reached for his shirt. Mira sensed his mood shift.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shrugged the shirt on, his face twisting into a grimace as he did so. “There’s something else … the king has asked me to take Irana’s place as High Enchanter.”
Mira stiffened. “You didn’t agree, did you?”
“It’s not my decision anyway.” He looked away from her. “The High Council decides. They’ll cast their vote in the next couple of days.”
She watched him, noting the conflict, the tension, in his face. “And what if they vote you in?”
He glanced back at her, and she saw the answer in his eyes.
“I thought you wanted to be free,” she whispered, disappointment thrumming through her. “You said you’d had enough of this life.”
“And I have.”
“Why then?”
He held her gaze, his eyes shadowed. “War is coming to the north—we both know it.”
“Aye, but it doesn’t have to be our war.”
He watched her steadily. “Do you think we can hide from it? If Anthor wins, there will be nowhere else to go.” He broke off then and rose to his feet, crossing to where embers glowed in the hearth on the far side of the room. “I’m tired of all of it, Mira,” he said finally, his voice weary as he stared down at the dying fire, “but I can’t abandon the Order, not now.”
