by C B Samet
I reached for the door.
“Wait!” Mal cried, lunging toward me.
But my hand had already grasped and turned the brass knob.
Mal stumbled through me as a sharp pain stung my palm. I looked down to see blood welling up on the surface. The small cut seemed insignificant.
“Poison?” I asked Mal, even as I continued into Queen Rebekah’s room. I worried more about her safety than my own.
“No,” Mal said solemnly.
“My Queen?!” I called, my eyes searching the dim room. In the sitting room, two more guards were down on the floor. Blood had puddled on the tile around their prone bodies.
I reached the bedroom and stopped. “Queen Rebekah?”
No reply.
A dangling chandelier holding a dozen lit candles cast a gentle, yellow glow over the room. The Queen lay in bed, on her back, with her eyes closed. I swallowed the bile rising in the back of my throat.
As I approached her bed, Mal said, “She’s been poisoned. The goblet on the nightstand.”
“Mother Moon,” I gasped. “Was it painful?” Tears welled in my eyes.
“Less so than if they’d held her captive.”
I sniffed as I walked to the bed and touched her hand. Cool. Limp. When I squeezed it, she squeezed weakly back.
She’s alive!
I startled, pulling her hand into mine as I sat close to her on the bed. “Rebekah?”
Her eye blinked open.
Since she still lived, hope of healing her dominated my concentration. I thought of the Ntajid springs where I could heal her and set my mind to take us there.
Nothing happened.
My gaze scrutinized the room, the floor, and the bed searching for what blocked my magic. I knew the combination of salt and iron could interfere.
“Your star.” Mal’s voice sounded dismal and pained.
I glanced at my palm. The jagged piece of metal from the door handle had sliced into one of the branching segments of my star tattoo. The magic had been severed.
Baird, we’re under attack.
No reply.
“I can’t communicate with Baird.”
“I know. Let me try to heal your star.”
“You can do that?”
“Orrick’s been teaching me to harness the power of the stones in the scepter to perform magic. So far, it’s only worked when I connect with Orrick’s magic, but I can try.”
I held my hand out to him.
“Abigail?” the Queen called.
My heart broke to hear how feeble the Queen sounded.
“I’m here. I’m going to try to get you to safety.”
She shook her head. “It’s my time, child.”
Heat filled my hand where Mal worked, but I kept my eyes fixed on the Queen.
“You can’t leave. Not yet.”
“The Unideit calls me to it.”
“Not yet,” I demanded.
“Let me go, Abigail. We both knew this trip wouldn’t end in peace, which meant my leaving alive was unlikely. You likened this to a game of chess once. Crithos is going to sacrifice its Queen to save the country. You will be the knight King Artemis underestimates.”
“The country needs you. I need you.” I didn’t know how to be the Champion without a Queen.
“You don’t serve me anymore. Serve the country. Serve Crithos.”
“Rebekah.” I sobbed.
Her hand went limp in mine.
I turned to Mal, withdrawing my hand. He shook his head. I looked at my star. He had healed the cut, but a small scar marked where the magic had been damaged.
Mal grit his teeth. “It’s imperfect.”
I tried to transport again. Nothing.
“Thank you for trying.” I hoped my words eased the anguish on Mal’s face. I knew frustration at his limited interactions with the physical world irked him. That he was developing magical abilities was remarkable, but I didn’t have time to explore his talents.
With a heavy heart, I closed the Queen’s eyes. Cold fury surged through me. King Artemis poisoned and murdered the Queen of Crithos—and he’d clearly intended to hinder my abilities by planting a sharp device on the door handle.
The door to the Queen’s room opened, followed by the stomping of boots. Bellosian soldiers filed into the sitting room.
Gripping the handle of my sword, I withdrew the blade. They would all die, and one-by-one I’d bring down the house of Victoria. Even if I couldn’t transport, I had the Warrior Stone. With the rage coursing through me, an army couldn’t stop me from killing my way to the King.
I tensed my muscles as I prepared to attack the men. They wore crimson tunics and brandished swords. No pistols. Their firm and unafraid faces watched me intently. Soon, they would know fear.
Two more guards entered, dragging a man with them. They forced the unarmed man to his knees and put a dagger to his neck.
Baird!
Terror riveted me to my spot on the marble floor. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
One eye and his jaw were swollen. Blood dripped from his hand. I guessed the obvious—they had sliced the star on his hand. Without the ability to travel, he’d been overcome.
My heartbeat roared in my ears as the stand-off continued. I couldn’t fathom how to save my friend. I wasn’t fast enough. I had a dagger I could throw, but I couldn’t ensure it would kill the man holding a blade to Baird’s throat before he killed Baird.
“Drop your sword,” one of the guards commanded.
I released my Ballik blade. The metal clamored as it struck the floor.
A single tear streamed from Baird’s eye. Sorrow filled his agonized expression, as though relieved I wouldn’t hesitate if his life were on the line yet devastated things had deteriorated to my surrender.
The guards inched their way closer.
I dropped to my knees, making my surrender complete. My eyes remained fixed on the dagger, willing it to ease away from my friend’s neck.
At last it moved a centimeter further from the skin. I hoped, prayed, that meant the soldiers wouldn’t kill him despite my surrender.
A massive fist barreled toward my face and the room went black.
14
MALAKAI
I paced outside Abigail’s cell. I couldn’t stand to watch her unconscious on the hard floor, and I didn’t want to wake her. Could I be any more useless than I already was? I couldn’t even provide a pillow for her.
Knowing I’d been able to partially heal her hand, I wanted to try to heal the swollen jaw they’d given her. But I worried about the suspicion such an act would incur. Bellosian forces had known about the power of the Traveler’s Star and how to destroy it. They understood her Warrior Stone, evidenced by the way they’d hurriedly removed it while she lay unconscious. If I healed her, the way I healed Orrick once, they may investigate how such a thing happened. If they knew how to sever the star magic, could they sever my connection to Abigail? The thought soured my stomach.
I couldn’t help her if our communication was lost. As things stood, I couldn’t offer much, but I could still be her spy.
I ran my hands through my hair. I hadn’t seen the Queen’s death until seconds before it occurred. I hadn’t seen the rigged door knob until the instant before it happened. I’d seen Baird’s capture, but by that time, Abigail’s surrender was inevitable.
The two of them shared a deep friendship. Perhaps more than a friendship. I often wondered about it, though I saw no evidence of intimacy between them. Because of the connection I shared with Abigail, I could sense when she needed me. When I turned into her, I could hear her verbal conversation without being visible to her—and in Baird’s case, I could hear her nonverbal communication. I tried not to use our connection to eavesdrop. Still, in the time since Joshua’s death, I’d never inadvertently heard her and Baird conversing in a manner suggesting intimacy.
Then, images of Goran Foal and Abigail swam before my vision. So, she’d found intimacy with a man after all. I turned my concen
tration away from seeing past images of the two of them together.
Abigail deserved to find love again. Her life was busy with children and her Champion role, but she was incomplete. She ought not deprive herself the affections of a man.
Baird.
I needed to check on him. She’d want to know his condition when she woke up. I didn’t have to be by her side when she regained consciousness. As soon as she thought of me, I’d sense it. I could be half way round the world, and I’d know Abigail wanted me.
Well, that sounds presumptuous.
I would know she wanted my presence.
I went in search of the monk. I found Baird in a barren room, hanging from a low ceiling by shackles around his wrists. His bare chest glistened with blood and sweat. His head hung so low that, if not for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, with bowing, exposed flesh over ribs, I might have mistaken him for dead.
It pained me to see such suffering. Perhaps the monk didn’t know me, but I knew him. I knew the comfort he’d brought Abigail through the years as a friend and mentor. He’d fought by her side against my forces, then against the Dantajist giants, then against Kovian zealots. He’d provided both protection and the occasional shoulder to cry on.
“Why are you staring at him?” Snake Eyes whispered, although no one could hear him. He floated in the air beside me.
I swallowed. “It’s hard to see a great man suffer.”
Snake Eyes adjusted his hat, crossed his arms and appraised the prisoner. “What’s great about him?” His tone held curiosity, with no hint of disrespect.
“He’s been Abigail’s best friend for years. Before that—and during that—he’s dedicated his life to helping others.”
Abigail’s best friend hung like drying laundry on a line.
I’d been simultaneously envious of their relationship and immensely grateful she had such a friend.
“Is he dead?”
“He is not.”
Given the state of his flayed and bruised skin, he may wish he was dead. I thought of the time I’d healed my brother, and then Abigail’s hand last night. Did I have anything to offer Baird? Could I heal him? I’d done a variety of spells with Orrick—channeling my magic and the magic of my scepter. I’d never performed one just to ease pain, but I could try. I also hadn’t had any success in performing spells without it occurring with Orrick—through Orrick.
I stepped closer to Baird and eased my fingertips into his abdomen. I sensed his oozing spleen and bruised kidneys. He’d dislocated a cervical disc, though without spinal cord damage.
As I focused to heal, nothing happened at first. Then, I latched onto a wisp of magical ability in Baird. Of course he had ability, I realized—he’d been able to activate the Language Stone and bear a Traveler’s Star. Slowly and inefficiently, I stopped his internal bleeding. I focused energy on his herniated vertebral disc and righted it.
“What are you doing?” Snake Eyes asked.
“Trying to heal him.”
“You’re not doing a very good job. He still looks dead.”
I closed my eyes, partially from annoyance and partially to better focus. “I’m only healing his internal damage. I don’t want whoever is torturing him to know he’s been healed.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ll suspect Baird has access to magic. That could motivate them to hurt him more—or find a way to block me from helping or healing him more.”
“Oh.” His face drooped in sadness as he examined the battered monk. “Brownies never treat other brownies this way.”
I nodded. “Your species is perhaps nobler than ours.”
Brownies were vegetarians and animal lovers. They were known for trickery and devious acts, but true torture wasn’t in their constitution.
The door to Baird’s dungeon room swung open on a creaking hinge, and two men approached the monk. Baird blinked his eyes open.
“Are you ready to talk, Crithian?” A broad, burly man asked. He spoke the last word as if spitting out a foul taste.
I watched Baird’s throat bob on a dry swallow. The tormentor reared back and punched Baird in the abdomen. Baird groaned in pain.
I pursed my lips. Baird didn’t need to hold back. They already knew Abigail’s power and stripped her of her stone strength and traveling ability.
No. Baird did have additional powerful secrets. Abigail’s moon magic remained intact, so revealing that could be damaging. Her moon magic enabled her to dream walk and converse privately with anyone she knew.
The Avant Champion’s daughter and future Queen of Crithos stayed at Marrington Castle—another secret that must be kept quiet.
Then there was me. Baird knew Abigail conversed with me, and I was partially—flailingly—able to see the future. No one except Orrick knew my expanding magical abilities, since I hadn’t been in Abigail’s life while developing those skills.
I thought of the monks’ sanctuary, with the Aqua Santos—sacred water giving longevity—and Ntajid with the healing springs. These treasures were worth more than rubies and could be exploited by a greedy ruler such as Artemis Stout.
Yes, Baird possessed a wealth of information the Bellosians could yet drain.
I couldn’t protect him from these monsters. I gritted my teeth as the torture ensued. His screams pierced the room, reverberating off the stone walls. If I intervened and tried to ease his suffering or somehow disconnect his mind from the agony of his body, the maniac mutilating Baird would only double his efforts.
Reluctantly, I left Baird with his agony. I went in search of Abigail’s stone. The soldiers had stripped it from her, along with her dagger when they’d captured her. I’d lost sight of it in the commotion. I should have asked Snake Eyes to keep an eye on the red stone. He would have followed such a treasure like a hound dog on a scent.
Room after room came and went until I stopped outside of an office where the King sat. A short man with spectacles stood before him at a podium with sheets of notepaper.
King Artemis looked well-rested and at ease, unconcerned with the torture happening three stories below him, as the presenter gave his report.
“We’ve suppressed the uprising with the slaves in the diamond mines, but we can’t keep using the Priori. They’re too frail for the hours of manual labor. We’ve been using more slaves from the Widex Tribe.”
“Very well. Move the Priori to work on the airships. What of our movement west to the Gulf of Sota?”
“We’ve not been able to break the Blue Gypsies’ enchantments over the mountains. We’ll need to plan a water-based attack, but the Sota Straight is narrow. They could sink us if they know we’re coming.”
The King snorted. “They’re Blue Gypsies—of course they’ll know we’re coming. We need to finish construction of the dirigibles.”
Artemis Stout dispensed death the way one dishes out a side of roasted potatoes—mechanical and emotionless.
“What’s a dirigible?” Snake Eye’s asked.
“A boat that floats through the air.” I concentrated for a second to visualize the King’s hot air balloons. Like the pistols, this served as a testament to how advanced Bellos had become above the other countries. The dirigibles were being constructed in de Lis, where silks were made. The airships were some years away from being fully constructed—enough to be a threat in the sky, anyway.
I felt Abigail waking, and she began to search for me through a haze of confusion and pain. I instantly took my form to her side.
15
ABIGAIL
I woke in a small, dark cell, and jerked a hand toward my neck. Gone. Captivity would be inordinately more difficult to escape from without my Warrior Stone.
I inspected the room. A single window, three meters high, provided my only light. The walls and floor consisted of dark stone with moldy cracks and corners. A single, solid wooden door separated me from—what? Presumably, the rest of a dungeon.
I still wore my pants and tunic, but my boots and armor were missing. B
ased on blood splatter on my shirt, I’d been bleeding somewhere at one point.
I took stock of my injuries, but couldn't find them. I’d been struck on the head after being punched in the jaw. I assessed my torso and limbs, which were tender but intact. I inspected the cut on my palm. It had formed a scar where Mal healed it. I tried to transport, but nothing happened.
I thought of Baird. They’d cut his hand deeply. Had he also been taken prisoner?
Baird, I called to him with my mind. No response.
Mother Moon.
Our connection had been severed when our stars had been cut. Oh, how we’d underestimated this adversary.
“Mal?” I whispered.
“I’m here, Abigail.” He materialized, sitting and leaning back against one wall with his knees bent.
“Can you give me a status update?”
His expression stayed grim. “Baird is alive, though they’re torturing him for information.”
“What information?”
“Castle schematics. Our army size and training. Weaknesses. Your powers. Others’ powers. Che stone locations. The Gunthi monk sanctuary.”
I pulled myself into a ball. “Merciful monks.”
“Who else lives?” I asked.
“No one else.”
I shuddered. “Why am I still alive?” As I asked the question, I wondered if my torture was next on King Artemis’ agenda.
“I overheard talk of having you fight.”
“Fight whom? Give me my stone and I'll take on anyone. I hope they aren't disillusioned to think I’d fight for them. Do you suppose it could be a duel? One fight to end the war before it begins?” Even as I made the preposterous suggestion, I knew the answer was no. My vision in the Waterlands showed me the Bellosian army invading Crithos. “Never mind. You don't need to emphasize the absurdity of my last guess.”
He grinned. “Ever the optimist.”
“Time to be a realist. What are my chances of escape?”
“Without your star and stone or a weapon of any kind? Slim to none.”
“You're a ball of encouragement,” I grumbled.
He arched an eyebrow. “You specified realism, not false hope.”
