The Outlanders

by Erin Rhew

  “So you are an Outlander.”

  “Half Outlander. I lived in Vanguard my whole life and consider myself one. I never knew my father, but I hoped to find him in the Outlands after Vance killed my mother.” Lies flowed out of her mouth with shocking ease.

  “You can’t break the bonds, so what is your power?” He leaned forward.

  “I have no power.” She kept her tone neutral, careful not to betray anything with her voice.

  Nash stood and walked around to the back of his chair. Gripping the top, he cursed under his breath. He glanced up at her, his handsome face twisting into anger. Again, she could see why certain people desired this man. He had the passion and intensity of a Vanguard but the intuitiveness of an Ethereal. A true Halfling—the perfect combination of two warring peoples.

  “You must have a power. Tell me what it is. Even Halflings have powers.”

  Mia bit her lip to keep the words you would know from slipping out. Instead, she rearranged her face into a stoic mask, revealing nothing. She knew what she had to do, and she would do it. Setting her jaw, Mia turned up her chin to emphasize her lack of cooperation, garnering an irritated snort from Nash.

  Before he could continue his interrogation, the door swung open. Samson bolted into the open space. Despite her resolve to remain impassive, Mia smiled as his warm gaze landed on her, but he frowned when his gaze landed on her still-bound hands.

  “Nash, it’s your brother.” Samson turned away from Mia. “He’s dying.”

  Without hesitation, Nash raced toward the doorway. He made a vague, distracted gesture with his hand. “Watch her.”

  He paused, turning back to Samson. “There are other guards outside the door, so don’t even think about freeing her.” Without another word, Nash sprinted out and slammed the door behind him.

  Mia slumped back in the chair, relieved. She knew Samson. He liked to ask questions, but he never pushed her the way Nash tried to do. She could handle Samson.

  Chapter Four

  Nash

  Nash raced down corridors of the castle, willing his legs to move faster, but he failed to propel them fast enough to outrun his racing mind, which seemed intent on playing out the worst case scenario. When seconds counted, why did his body fail him? If Wil died before he got there…Nash didn’t even want to consider that possibility. Wil—his brother, his friend, his king, and his rival. Their relationship had always been complicated, but they loved one another. He couldn’t imagine a world where his brother didn’t exist.

  He crashed through the door, startling his mother, Layla, and the Volton. Sansolena and Layla huddled together on the far side of Wil’s bed, crying. Volton Mars, his back to Nash, obscured the view of Wil’s body. Nash’s gaze met Layla’s and his mother’s wide, terrified eyes before sliding down in horror to Wil’s writhing legs.

  “Am I too late?” Nash’s heart plummeted as he stepped next to the Volton and he took in the scene in its entirety.

  “He just started shaking…” Layla’s clipped, anguished voice terrified him.

  “If I could just stabilize him…” The Volton grunted, pressing Wil down. “Queen Sansolena, please be prepared. If I can stop the tremors and get his attention for a moment, you must perform the Alteration right away.”

  “Alteration?” Layla echoed. “What are you talking about? How will that help?”

  His mother moved to the head of the bed and sighed, a deep bone weary sound Nash had never heard from her before. “We have to use an Alteration to put Wil into a deep sleep and force him to rest until his body heals. It’s the only way. It’s my son’s only chance.” Though the queen’s voice remained steady and strong, tears poured from her eyes. A part of Nash wanted to weep with her, but he couldn’t. As acting king, he had to stand strong for his people and for his family. Wil would have wanted it that way.

  “Are you sure it will work?” Layla demanded, crossing her arms. “He’s king. Can he even be Altered? Jesper tried once, and it didn’t work.”

  The Volton spared a quick glance at Layla. “He’s so close to death, it may be possible. With Wil this weak, the powers of the king will transfer to Nash. My queen, you may be able to enact the Parent’s Right. I’m sorry, but I don’t know another way to save him.”

  The queen leaned over Wil. “We have to try.”

  If the situation had grown dire enough to warrant his mother enforcing her will through the Parent’s Right, Wil truly lay on the precipice of death. Desperation clawed at Nash. He hated Alterations—hated the idea of controlling another’s mind and stealing dignity. But most of all, he hated his own failure—his inability to perform one, the simplest of Ethereal abilities. Yet, as the older brother, a sense of responsibility, an all-encompassing desire to protect his younger siblings, gnawed at him. He couldn’t save Wil, but if their mother could…

  Nash sucked in a deep breath and moved around the bed to take hold of Wil’s shoulders. He pressed down hard, using his Vanguard strength to fight against his brother’s flailing. The Volton’s hands flew around as he wrestled his beloved student-turned-king from death’s relentless grip. Beside him, Layla’s small yet fierce hands joined the effort, pushing against Wil’s hips. She applied enough added pressure to stop Wil’s thrashing and give Mars the final bit of assistance he needed.

  “Do it now, Sansolena!” The Volton abandoned his normal decorum in referring to the queen by her given name, but no one batted an eyelash. In this moment, with all that hung in the balance, traditional behavior fell away.

  Wil’s eyes shot open as a strangled gasp escaped his dying body. Layla bent over to say something, but Nash used his shoulder to bump her back. An enraged growl emanated from her, but he ignored it. Though he wanted to explain, he couldn’t in the midst of such turmoil. His mother needed unfettered access if Wil had a chance to survive, and Nash intended to make sure she had it, whether or not Layla understood.

  Sansolena wiggled in front of Nash and leaned over Wil. She pushed back his matted blond hair with shaking fingers and fixed her brown eyes on his startled blue ones. Nash held his breath, begging the First Ones to save his brother.

  If this Alteration didn’t work…he couldn’t even imagine such an outcome. He and Wil circled one another like the sun and moon. Each sought his own purpose, moving in his own direction, yet both remained dependent on the other. Without Wil, who would Nash be? He shoved the thoughts away—a reality too terrible to contemplate.

  “Wilhelm, I invoke the Parent’s Right over you. You will go to sleep, the deepest sleep you’ve ever known, and you will not awake until your body has healed enough for you to survive. Do not wake up until that time. You will sleep, son, but you will not die. I forbid it.”

  “You can’t do that.” Mars’s hands froze, his face ashen.

  The queen’s head dropped down. As Nash reached over to place his hand on her back, his mother’s head snapped up. She set her jaw in steely determination like he’d seen her do so many times. “I can, and I will. I will force his body to fight for his life. He will live.”

  “You could leave him stuck, lingering between life and death, never to awaken again. If his body needs to die but his mind won’t allow it because of your command, he will sleep forever. Think about what you are doing.” Mars’ face twisted in panic.

  With The Volton so worried, maybe his mother had made a terrible mistake. “Mother—” Nash started, though the lump in his throat choked off his plea.

  “He will live.” The queen stroked Wil’s forehead, her features softening. “Now, sleep, my precious son. Sleep until you are well.”

  At her command, Wil’s eyes closed. His body grew still. The four people gathered around his bedside looked at one another, a thousand questions suspended between them. An eerie silence shrouded the room that had, only moments before, teemed with anxious activity.

  * * * *

  Nash walked down the corridor beside Layla, trying to wrap his mind around what the Volton had said and what his mother had done. Ou
t of the corner of his eye, he watched Layla clench and unclench her fists. He reached out and threaded their fingers together, noting again the buzzing between them had ceased.

  She squeezed his hand. “Do you think he will be stuck somewhere between life and death?”

  “I don’t know.” Nash swallowed hard against the lump still refusing to leave his throat.

  “We’ll never even know if he’s alive or only half alive unless he wakes up.”

  “Then he’ll just have to wake up.” He sounded more confident than he felt. Layla nodded though her fingers tensed inside his.

  “I know this isn’t the right time, Nash—”

  “After seeing what happened to my brother, I’d say now is the perfect time. Now is all we have.”

  She cast a wan smile. “When you were gone, Wil and I realized that Elder Werrick accidently bound you and me instead of Wil and me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means our feelings for one another could have been nothing more than a product of the binding…”

  He stopped mid-stride, delayed by the erratic pounding of his heart. Did she really believe some insane Ecclesiastical ritual created and controlled his feelings for her? Even worse…did she believe the same about her own feelings? Was she trying to say she no longer loved him?

  “Layla—” His voice broke on her name.

  She held up her free hand to stop him. “There is more.”

  He waited for her to continue, pain burrowing a hole deep into his stomach. More? He’d barely grasped the first part, and now she had more?

  “We had the Elder undo the binding. If you and I end up together, I have to know it’s because we want to be and not because of the Elder’s meddling. But he went behind our backs and reestablished it. Except this time, he placed it between Wil and me.” Her cheeks flushed. He closed his eyes for a moment as the world spun and tilted. “When we discovered what he’d done, we tried to get the Elder to unbind us, but he wouldn’t. Volton Mars knew how untrustworthy the Elder can be and had begun researching ways to block him. Thankfully, he found one. We are all unbound now, and we can’t ever be bound together again.” The words flew out of her mouth in rapid succession, piercing him.

  Nash remained silent. Had her feelings for him changed? Had something happened between Layla and Wil? Questions raced through his mind faster than he could process them.

  He posed the one question that his heart had to know, “Are you saying you don’t love me anymore?”

  “I’m saying I don’t know how I feel.”

  The weight of her confessions pressed upon him, heavy and oppressive. Where only moments before the blood flew through his veins, his injured heart now throbbed a sluggish, dull beat. Time slowed. He dropped their joined hands to touch her face, noting the conflict there. Unable to bear the combination of her beauty and her confession, Nash shuffled forward in stunned silence.

  They walked the remainder of the way to her room without uttering a word, each lost in thought. A boulder of pure agony continued to press against his chest, threatening to crush his heart, but he refused to show it. From the moment Layla had been proclaimed the Fulfillment, others—the Elder, Vance, Jesper—clamored to control her, to force her to follow their narrow interpretations of the role she should play. He refused to join them. Nash recognized her as a strong, independent, fierce warrior and loved the very core of her being. The decision might break him, but he would give her the space she needed and wait for her to make a choice.

  Layla stopped short at her door and faced him. The pressure in his chest grew as the sweet heartache tormented him even more. Her beauty mesmerized him, and Nash loved her with a depth he never thought possible. He wanted to draw her toward him, wrap her in his arms, and never let go. Yet, he stayed in place. Though he lay in a suspended sleep state down the hall, Wil stood between them.

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “For now, we run the kingdom like Wil asked us to do. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

  Layla nodded. He watched an internal battle war across her face, and he longed to touch her cheek. For a moment, he almost faltered, but he forced his hands to remain by his side. Until they had time to sort out everything, they needed to stick to the task at hand—ruling Etherea, together, as Wil requested.

  He bent down, intending to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. A soft moan escaped her lips, and his heart wrenched. With all his willpower, he continued to her forehead though he longed to join their mouths. Nash stepped back and searched her face. She flushed bright red, from her neck to the top of her head. Swallowing hard, her eyes fluttered closed and blocked him from seeing whatever truths might lie there.

  Fighting the desire to kiss her again, for real this time, he turned and headed down the hall, calling goodnight as he went.

  Chapter Five

  Layla

  Layla slammed the bedroom door and leaned against it, her face burning. She thought Nash had leaned in to kiss her, but he’d only brushed her forehead. As waves of embarrassment rolled through her, she wished she could just sink into the floor. She had sighed as he moved toward her. Layla covered her face, but nothing blocked out the mortifying image playing over and over in her mind. The crushing weight of guilt fused with her humiliation. How could she behave in such a brazen manner when Wil lay dying just down the hall?

  Needing an outlet for her pent-up emotions, Layla turned toward the bedroom wall and punched it with all her might. As she pulled her hand from the newly made hole, laughter filled the room.

  “Having a bad day?” a sarcastic voice rang out.

  Startled, she whirled around to find Samson sitting cross legged on her bed, a cocky grin upon his face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He chuckled. “Now that’s some welcome.” Samson’s smile dropped into a frown, his brown eyes filling with mock sadness. “After I traveled the full length of the known world to save your life, this is the thanks I get.”

  Against her will, the sides of Layla’s lips twitched, her treacherous mouth threatening to smile. “I just didn’t expect to see you in here.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  Samson patted the space to his right, encouraging her to climb up onto the bed beside him. As children, they’d had many talks in just that position, yet today, she squirmed under his closeness. Not too long ago, she assumed Samson would be her husband. But that was all before. Before Elder Werrick proclaimed her the Fulfillment and dragged her away from her home in Vanguard. Before she met Wil and Nash and fought alongside them for Etherea. Before her life charged down this predestined path. So much had changed for her, but what if it hadn’t for him? Indecision over Wil and Nash already plagued her. She didn’t need Samson to further complicate the situation.

  Sensing her hesitation, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and leapt off. Layla’s palms began to sweat as he sauntered toward her. What did he intend to do? If he tried to kiss her, she might just land a fist right between his eyes…the thought would have made her laugh if tension hadn’t seized every muscle in her body.

  “I see what’s going on, Layla.” He spoke with unusual softness. “You love that Ethereal prince.”

  She remained silent, though she didn’t know to which prince he referred.

  “That’s good. I’ve always wanted you to be happy.”

  “What?” She furrowed her brows, confused by his declaration.

  “Look, I know from the time we were small children, we were expected to marry, but,” Samson placed steadying hands on both arms, “I don’t love you like that.”

  He winced like it hurt him to say the words, like he expected them to hurt her too. Concern flooded his face. When Layla burst out laughing, Samson stepped back in surprise, frowning.

  “I thought you’d at least be a little upset.” He stared at his shuffling feet.

  Layla dropped her smile, mustering her mock-serious face. “I am.” She nodded with enthusiasm. “I’m so
disappointed you don’t love me like that, Samson.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh please!”

  They both began to giggle, much like they had as children. Tension between them, which began the moment they’d found out people expected them to marry, vanished. Layla threw her arms around him.

  “It would have been so weird to marry you.” She inhaled his Vanguard scent—cedar, smoke, and musky—the smell of a Vanguard, the smell of home.

  “Same for me. You’re practically my sister.” Samson pulled back a little, looking into her eyes with a thoughtful expression. “No, you are my sister. We may not be related by blood, but to me, you have and always will be my sister.”

  “And you’re my brother. I do love you like family.” She yanked him back into a hug.

  “I love you too, Layla girl.” His words brushed against her hair. “So, now that all that awkwardness is over, will you come sit with me?”

  “Of course.” She punched his arm, a light tap instead of a full hit, as she had done so often growing up.

  They flung themselves side-by-side on the bed. Layla wiggled to Samson’s outstretched arm, using it as a pillow. She let out a long sigh. They lay in companionable silence.

  Breaking the stillness, Layla whispered, “Thank you for risking your life to find a way to get me out of Elder Werrick’s clutches.”

  “Well, when a man sees his little sister in trouble, he has to ride to her rescue.”

  She snorted. “I’m not your little sister, and you’re certainly not a man.”

  His face crumpled. “I am definitely a man, and I’m older.”

  “You’re only three days older.”

  “That still makes you younger.”

  “Anyway…” She emphasized the word as their eyes connected. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” He acted nonchalant, but she caught the subtle pride lurking in the word. No matter how much circumstances and people changed around her, Samson somehow remained the same. Sliding closer, she settled into the crook of his arm as they both stared up at the ceiling.