by Jayne Castel
“I don’t have time,” he muttered, reaching for the wooden box behind Shade. “Without the formula, all those enchanters put together are of no use to me.”
Gael produced a small iron key from his robes and opened the box, withdrawing a thick stack of parchments. Yellowed with age and crumbling around the edges, these pages were incredibly fragile. Over five-hundred years old, they needed delicate handling.
Massaging his tense jaw, Gael sat down at the desk. He set his goblet aside, produced a fresh piece of parchment, and began leafing through the ancient pages before him.
“Where did I get to yesterday?” he mused aloud.
Shade didn’t reply. Instead, she sprawled out on the desk and started to clean herself.
Gael let out a long sigh. Translating these pages from the ancient tongue was laborious and tedious work, especially since he was rusty in the language and had to constantly refer to the large leather-bound dictionary that sat on the corner of the desk.
He was slowly getting through the text, although the painstaking job was starting to wear at him.
Somewhere within it was the secret he sought.
Irana had sworn the answer lay amongst these pages—although the former High Enchanter of Rithmar’s House of Light and Darkness had died before being able to reveal it to him. He’d sent them to her to translate a couple of months earlier and had almost regretted doing so.
Gael closed his eyes, trying to will the throbbing in his temples to subside. Tension had turned his shoulders to stone. His mood was dark. The last thing he wanted was to work on these translations.
And yet Reoul would want a demonstration soon, would demand to see these enchanters and their enhanced abilities. Gael had boasted that they’d be stronger than those of Rithmar, that they’d even be a match for Ninia of Thûn.
But if he didn’t uncover the formula Irana had seen, the enchanters of Veldoras would make him a laughing stock.
Opening his eyes, Gael took in the small, dark chamber the High Enchanter had assigned him. It was windowless and smelled of damp. Shabby furniture lined the space, and the bed-linen was threadbare. Unlike Saskia and the other Anthor enchanters, Gael wasn’t welcome in The Swallow Keep.
Instead, he was forced to reside here—in squalor.
Just another thing that soured his mood.
Stop brooding, Shade chastised him, and get to work.
Forcing his attention away from his poor lodgings, Gael dipped his quill into the inkwell and started to translate. He was just looking up yet another word when a knock sounded on his door.
Gael lowered the dictionary and frowned. “Who is it?” he called out.
The door opened, and a big woman cloaked in white glided into the chamber. As always, Mysandra was impeccably made up and coiffed. Her expression, however, was thunderous.
“Marik has suffered a cranial fracture,” she greeted Gael without preamble.
Gael shrugged. “Will he live?”
“Aye … I’ve healed him.”
“Why the scowl then?”
The High Enchanter looked down her nose at him, before her attention flicked across to where Shade sat, watching her. “Is violence going to be a regular occurrence?”
“I used Marik to prove a point,” Gael drawled. “He’s the strongest of your order … yet I brushed him aside like a gnat. All of your enchanters could do with improving their skills.”
Mysandra’s gaze narrowed, and then her attention shifted to the parchments before Gael. “What are you doing?”
“Research,” he replied casually, resisting the urge to place his hand over the pages he’d found deep under the ruins of Dûn Maras.
“Really? What about?”
“Training texts.”
She smirked. “From what I’ve heard, you could learn a few skills in that area.”
“I’m the most powerful enchanter alive,” he pointed out, his tone wintry. “I’ve never needed to teach others.”
The High Enchanter’s smirk faded, and her painted lips drew together. “You have an inflated opinion of yourself, I believe.”
I still think you should be wary of this woman. Shade’s voice whispered through his head. She’s highly suspicious of you.
Gael pushed aside his familiar’s concerns. Instead, he favored Mysandra with a careless smile. “What you believe doesn’t interest me. What matters is the king doesn’t think so.”
12
Blind
ELIAS ADVANCED ON Santino, pressing his advantage hard. The ‘clack’ of wooden swords echoed off the surrounding stone, filling the training yard. His narrow face gleaming with sweat, Santino drew back, hemmed in now by the wall behind him.
Again and again, the soldier tried to counterattack, tried to get under his guard. But Elias was relentless, focused.
Days of frustration, of endless negotiations, and impulses he wouldn’t let himself act on, released. Fighting was an outlet. Under normal circumstances, Elias was a highly skilled swordsman. In his current state of mind, he was lethal.
Eventually, Santino dropped to his knees, his wooden sword slipping from his fingers onto the dirt as Elias’s blade pressed against his throat. “I yield,” he croaked.
Elias acknowledged his opponent with a curt nod before turning on his heel and striding out of the training yard. Applause followed him. Rithmar soldiers had gathered around the perimeter to watch them train. Elias had just given them a spectacle.
Dripping with sweat, Elias entered the armory and hung up his sword. He was toweling off his face with a drying cloth, when Santino entered behind him.
“Well fought, Your Highness,” Santino greeted him, his voice still raspy from exhaustion.
Elias cast his second a rueful look over his shoulder, tossing him a dry cloth. “Apologies if I went a bit hard on you.”
Santino caught the cloth and smiled. “I’m used to it. Keeps me on my toes.”
Silence passed as both men dried off. They were dressed lightly in leather breeches and sleeveless tunics. Outside, Elias heard muffled shouts as the captain of the King’s Guard began practice with his men. The captain had let Elias use the space first thing this morning.
Elias and Santino had fought for nearly an hour, and Elias’s body ached in the aftermath, yet the physical exertion hadn’t burned away all the frustration as he’d hoped. He could still feel the tension coiled within him, like a trap ready to spring.
“Your Highness.” Elias turned to see that his second still stood behind him, his narrow face strained. Elias knew what he was going to say—for the same subject had been on his mind for days now. “The girl,” Santino murmured, casting a look over his shoulder to ensure they were alone. “When will you do it?”
“Soon.”
Santino frowned. “I heard you took supper with her and the king and queen?”
“Aye, but it wasn’t the right moment to strike,” Elias replied.
That was a lie—it had been the perfect moment to strike, and they both knew it.
Santino folded his arms across his chest, his lean face tightening. “You should have killed her.”
Elias went still. “Are you telling me what to do, Santino?”
Silence fell between the two men as they stared at each other. “There will never be a ‘right’ moment, Your Highness,” Santino said finally. “You just need to get this done.”
“And I will,” Elias growled back, his anger rising. “When the time comes.”
“But the time is upon you now.”
“I will strike when I’m ready.”
“The peace talks will end soon,” Santino countered. “Soon you’ll be out of chances. You should—”
“Enough.” Elias barked, cutting his second off. “We’re done here.”
Brushing past Santino, he strode out of the armory without a backward glance.
The wall of shadow hurtled toward Ryana.
She moved to deflect it, gathering her own Dark, but she wasn’t fast enough. The shadows ho
wled across the flat roof of the building and barreled into her.
Ryana flew backward and hit hard stone, skidding across it. Only the balustrade that lined the rooftop prevented her from toppling over the edge.
Wheezing a curse, she rolled onto her side.
“Shadows, Ryana! I’m so sorry!”
The quick pad of approaching footsteps followed. Ryana looked up to see Ninia standing over her. The girl’s face was creased in concern.
“You nearly knocked me off the roof,” Ryana muttered, pushing herself up onto her knees.
Ninia’s face paled. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispered.
Ryana cast her a rueful look and, grasping the balustrade, pulled herself to her feet.
They stood atop the House of Light and Darkness—a vast flat space that was ideal for training. Below them, the city was awaking to a misty dawn. However, the warmth in the air promised that the sun would soon burn the mist off and bring a hot summer’s day.
The aroma of baking bread wafted up from the kitchens, reminding Ryana that it was almost time for breakfast.
“I know you didn’t,” she admitted, rubbing her hip. She’d hit the roof hard and would need Asher to take a look at her hip later. “That was partly my fault. I pulled my shield up too late … however, you don’t know your own strength.”
Ninia’s gaze narrowed. “You’ve been distracted all through practice,” she observed. “Is something wrong?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Ryana continued to rub her bruised hip.
If only you knew.
“These peace talks worry me,” she said after a pause. That wasn’t a lie—not exactly.
Ninia’s frown deepened. “Why? I thought they were going well.”
“I don’t trust the prince of Anthor.” That was true enough.
“Nathan doesn’t either,” Ninia replied.
Something in the girl’s tone made Ryana tense. “And you do?”
Ninia’s brow smoothed, and her mouth curved. “He’s ruthless and driven … yet I believe there’s good in him.”
Ryana snorted, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m sure there was good in his brother too, if you looked hard enough.”
Ninia shrugged. “I never met Saul … so I couldn’t say.”
“Well, after talking to both brothers, I can tell you the men of that family are trouble.”
Ninia inclined her head. “Have you been spending time with Elias?”
Ryana tensed, inwardly cursing her slip. The girl had a mind like a whetted blade—little escaped her. “No,” she replied curtly.
“I saw you talking to Elias at the ball,” Ninia pressed on, “but have you seen him again?”
Ryana wet her lips nervously. She suddenly felt as if she was under interrogation and considered lying. Yet Ninia’s sharp gaze speared her, demanding honesty.
“I spoke to him briefly after the first peace council,” Ryana finally admitted, “And then I saw him again in The Black Boar Inn a couple of days ago.”
Ryana stopped there—she wasn’t about to reveal what happened later that evening. There were some things she’d never share with Ninia.
“The king allows him to wander about the city?”
Leaning back against the balustrade, Ryana raked a hand through her hair. She wished she hadn’t let Ninia corner her. “I don’t think Nathan knew Elias had slipped out of the palace,” she admitted.
Silence fell between the two women then, and Ryana became aware of the sounds of the morning rising up around them: the calls of hawkers at market, the clang of weapons being forged, and the shouts of soldiers at training.
Ninia interrupted the brief pause. “You like him, don’t you?”
The words slammed into Ryana’s belly like a clenched fist. Stifling a gasp, she turned to see the princess shift over to the balustrade next to her. The smile on Ninia’s face made heat flower across Ryana’s chest. As it rose up her neck, she swallowed hard. “What?”
“I’m fourteen, not blind,” Ninia replied. “And I know the signs … I traveled with Asher and Mira, remember?”
Of course. Ninia had witnessed the pair’s tempestuous courtship during their journey together a couple of months earlier.
“I don’t like him,” Ryana replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “The man’s arrogant and overbearing.”
The memory of Elias’s teeth sinking into her neck as he ground his hips against her core suddenly made it difficult to breathe. That was lust though—it didn’t mean she had any feelings for the man.
“But he’s very attractive,” Ninia pointed out, ignorant of Ryana’s heated thoughts.
Shoving the image aside, Ryana frowned. Ninia wasn’t even blushing. At the same age, Ryana couldn’t admit to a man being good-looking without going as red as a Honeycrisp apple. However, Ninia was much more self-possessed.
Ninia’s smile turned impish. “Like I said … I’ve seen this before.”
Ryana let out a sharp breath. “Enough of your lip.” She slung an arm around Ninia’s shoulders, steering her toward the steps leading downstairs. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
The feasting hall was full when Ryana and Ninia entered. They walked down an aisle, between rows of long tables. The excited chatter of apprentices echoed through the cavernous space. There were plenty of apprentices these days, after Ryana and Asher had sought to increase the numbers of enchanters. The Battle of the Shadefells nearly a year earlier had weakened the Order.
Ninia joined the apprentices, slipping onto the end of a bench and helping herself to a bowl of porridge. Most greeted her with warm smiles, although one or two gave Ninia wary looks. Noting their reaction, Ryana frowned. Irana’s attitude toward Ninia and her ability to wield both the Light and the Dark had left a lingering suspicion among some in the House that had proved difficult to shift.
Ryana walked on, making her way to the dais at the far end of the hall, where the High Enchanter and his consort, and the Head of the Light sat. As Head of the Dark, she took all her meals with Asher, Mira, and Wray.
“You’re limping,” Asher noted as Ryana stepped up onto the dais.
“Ninia got a bit rough during practice,” she replied, lowering herself down onto her seat with a grimace. “My hip’s bruised. Can I get some salve from you later?”
Asher nodded. “I’m going to the Hall of Healing after breakfast.” He reached for a pot of cream and drizzled some over his porridge. He then glanced up, his silver gaze focusing upon Ryana with unnerving intensity.
She tensed. It was a look she knew well. “What?”
“I’ve hardly seen you over the past few days … is anything amiss?”
Ryana shrugged and reached for a bread roll. She did it out of habit, although, in truth, her appetite was poor this morning. Ever since her run in with Elias, her stomach had been closed. “No.”
“You haven’t attended any more of the negotiations. Why?”
Ryana rolled her eyes. “I find them painful,” she replied. “One morning of watching Nathan and Elias lock horns was enough for me.”
Mira huffed a laugh at this, looking up from where she was buttering a roll. “How’s Ninia progressing?”
“She’s quick and able,” Ryana replied, grateful that Mira had just given her the opportunity to change the subject. “I’ve never trained anyone so sharp … you never have to tell Ninia anything twice.”
“She’s like that during our combat lessons.” Mira’s full mouth curved. “The girl has a mean right hook.”
Smearing the roll with butter and honey, Ryana then cast Asher an arch look. “I hear you’ve taught Ninia how to lift a Light Shield already. You’re showing me up. I might have to teach her how to gather a Shadow Spear tomorrow.”
Asher laughed. “Aye … but you might want to don some body armor before you do.”
13
Gambling
NATHAN OF RITHMAR regarded Elias steadily. “You buy minerals from us only,” he murmured. “Or the deal is
off.”
Elias held the king’s gaze. He didn’t reply immediately, instead letting the silence drag out. It had been a long afternoon. He was tiring of the endless negotiations, of the minutiae of detail that Nathan insisted upon discussing.
The pair of them sat alone in the Council Chamber, save a scribe and two armed guards by the door. The scribe perched at a small desk behind the king, recording every item they addressed. A thin man with watery blue eyes, his face was grey with fatigue. Ink stained his bony fingers as he hunched over the parchment, scribbling.
The scratch of the quill was the only sound in the quiet chamber.
“Farras has Borite and Thormium,” Elias pointed out eventually. “Minerals that Rithmar doesn’t mine … and ones that are crucial to our glassmaking industry. I can’t agree to such rigid conditions.”
He’d noted over the past few days that Nathan of Rithmar wasn’t just a renowned military leader, he was also a shrewd politician. He fought Elias over every matter, no matter how small.
Nathan was relentless. He wanted every detail analyzed, agreed upon, and written down. Elias had argued over everything, although once the king started twisting the signet ring he wore on his right hand, he knew it was time to back off.
Nathan could only be pushed so far.
Initially, Elias had enjoyed the verbal sparring, yet it wore on him now. He also found it difficult to concentrate this afternoon. Other thoughts that had nothing to do with the negotiations kept intruding.
The princess who had to die.
The sorceress who tempted him.
Nathan leaned back in his chair, brow furrowing. “Very well,” he rumbled. “With the exception of Borite and Thormium then.”
Elias pretended to consider his words. In reality, he already knew the answer. His arse was numb, and his neck and shoulders ached. “Agreed,” he said.
Nathan watched him for a long moment. The king’s eyes still lacked warmth although he didn’t view Elias with the naked suspicion of a few days earlier. Eventually, a rare smile creased his face. “Excellent.” He rose to his feet and stretched his long body before casting a glance over his shoulder at the scribe. “That’s all for today. You may go, Thordis.”
