Conquest

by C B Samet

  “Do you know where my stone is?”

  “I do not—and not for lack of snooping. The castle is quite gargantuan.”

  “Is Baird nearby?” As I asked, it occurred to me I’d heard no sounds of torture.

  “He’s not, but if you succeed in escape, I could lead you to him.”

  I ran a finger along my marred star. “I can't travel. I can't even talk to Baird. Over ten years we've been connected. Now there’s nothing.”

  Mal’s mouth stretched thin. “I think it's better that you don't know his suffering.”

  I pursed my lips. “Speaking of suffering, how am I healed? And why?”

  “Boyo healed you.”

  I thought of the ambassador to Kovia we’d saved, who’d returned to Bellos. Was he returning the favor by healing me? I thought that unlikely.

  “The answer to your second question is more troubling.”

  I regarded him carefully. “You know something?”

  He hesitated. “I suspect they healed you only to subject you to another beating in a fight they're planning.”

  “Oh, splendid.” I cupped my head in my hands. “Mal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you really a purple dragon when you fought Candice Ntaca?” I glanced up at him and grinned.

  His eyelashes flickered irritably. “A deep, dark, midnight purple. A frightening purple. Not the color of purple Rebekah uses to color her pet rocks.”

  I chuckled. “Did you have cute little wings and wriggling ears?”

  “Very funny. I was a horrendously intimidating, fire-breathing dragon.”

  My voice sobered. “I’ve no doubt.”

  A silence settled between us and I realized I could hear nothing from the thick walls of my cell—no neighbors, no running water, no rustle of wind.

  “Candice fought bravely. She received a hero’s funeral, and I hated my part in it.”

  I regretted dredging up a painful memory.

  He took a deep breath and shook off the past. “Well, my penance is apparently to save you—repeatedly. So, let me not be idle here.” He stood. “Back to spying. Summon me should something change of your current condition.” He motioned to the cell around me. “And don’t be idle. Stretch, pace, meditate.”

  “Aren’t you demanding?”

  “If you want to survive this, keep on your toes.”

  “As you wish,” I said.

  I spent the next day in my small cell stretching and keeping limber in hopes of being prepared for the fight to come—or to escape as soon as possible.

  When scraps of food arrived, Mal was able to say with reasonable certainty that he detected no poison. I ate all of them for the meager energy they might provide.

  Alone and in the dark, I tried not to think about how I languished far away from home, with no rapid means of transportation. It could take months to stow away on a boat at port and sail to Crithos, assuming I could successfully escape this cell and this castle.

  How could I stop Bellosian forces with no star and no stone? I opened and closed my hands. Although my star was damaged, the moon tattoo was still intact.

  This would have to be my new means of reliable communication. But whom should I tell of the impending attack? Coco, without a doubt, needed to know. If Orrick knew, perhaps he could travel to the castle and help disseminate a warning. I didn’t need to dream-walk to him; Mal could tell the wizard.

  I certainly wanted to see my children. I’d never moon walked into their dreams. It never felt right, invading their dreams. But tonight, I could let Natalie know that I may be a long time getting home.

  Curling into a ball on the cold, hard floor, I waited for sleep to come.

  When at last sleep came, a corridor stretched before me. The corridor of dreams. On both sides were thresholds, and through each threshold, a different person was dreaming. My moon tattoo held the magic to connect me to each of them, but only when I chose to enter the room. The caveat was that they had to be sleeping at the same time as me. Natalie, apparently, was not sleeping. As I paced the hallways, most of the rooms were dormant since no one I knew on Crithos was sleeping during the day there. I avoided rooms I identified as people I met at the Victoria castle—Porter Stout and his father, as well as dignitaries and army generals.

  The King was knowledgeable about different forms of magic. He knew enough about the Traveler’s Star to know to disable it. I wondered if he’d learned it from Emerald, his advisor. King Artemis knew about Malos’ scepter since he’d sent his son after it. And he knew about Chevorak Ambria—the magical stones. If I appeared in his dream, or one of his men’s dreams, Artemis might discover my moon magic. If he destroyed it, I’d lose my only means of communication.

  I returned to the entryway to Natalie’s dream and awaited her arrival. At last, she materialized into the vacant room. She wore a royal purple dress with her hair fixed in silky ringlets. She danced on an enormous ballroom floor. When I realized who she waltzed with, my heart lurched.

  Joshua.

  She danced with her father.

  I remained rooted to my spot, not wanting to disrupt her pleasant dream. I watched them gracefully waltz, a moment in time for father and daughter that would never happen again in real life.

  When the song ended, I entered the room—entering her dream. Although my entry point was a threshold the size of a modest doorway, and the next threshold for someone else’s dream resided only two meters away, spacial rules of reality didn’t exist here. Once in someone’s dream, there were no boundaries—an ocean was an ocean, a forest was a forest, and a ballroom was life-sized.

  “Natalie?”

  When she saw me, all other characters in her dream faded away, including her father.

  “Mama?”

  “What a wonderful dream. I’m sorry to have ended it prematurely for you.”

  “Are you really here?”

  I held up my palm, showing her the shimmering blue moon tattoo. “I have the power to walk in others’ dreams.”

  Natalie’s brow furrowed with worry. “Why would you join my dreams? You’re coming home soon. This was a short mission.” She stepped back from me, panic filling her expression.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be delayed. I’m being held captive at the Bellosian castle.”

  Natalie relaxed slightly and halted her retreat. “Then you’re alive?”

  “I am alive.”

  With that, she rushed into my arms. “Mama.”

  I held her in an embrace. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” I let the silence settle and relished the hug.

  Natalie had never been overly generous with her affection, so I had to maximize the intimacy when she let her guard down.

  When she pulled away, she wiped at her eyes. “When are you coming home?”

  She evidently missed the word ‘captive.’ “As soon as I can, but I’m going to be honest with you. My star is damaged. When I escape, it may be weeks or months before I can get home.”

  Shock registered on her face. In her nine years of existence, my delays meant minutes to hours. Never weeks. Anywhere we wanted to go we could arrive in the blink of an eye.

  “Months?”

  “As soon as I possibly can.”

  A blinding light burst into Natalie’s dream from the direction of my entry point.

  “I think I’m waking up.”

  “Will you be back? In my dreams?”

  “When I can, not for a while though.” I didn’t want her sleeping away her life, waiting for me to appear in her dreams. I also had others to visit. Most importantly, I needed to let Coco know of the Queen’s death.

  Instead of continuing to sleep, I woke from the sensations of hunger and cold.

  16

  MALAKAI

  Abigail woke with a shudder. She sat up, leaned against one wall, and hugged her knees against her chest.

  We were alone in the room. Snake Eyes had left to tell Orrick about the attack.

  She glanced at me. “Did I miss anything?�
��

  “Just these gray walls.” I’d done more roaming as she’d slept. I’d visited the barracks and seen the thousands of soldiers in training. They were practicing with their pistols, swords, and bows and arrows. They’d made scarecrow looking targets—some with elaborate horns or three eyes—and decorated them with the silver-embroidered blue tunics of Crithian soldiers. I realized those had been the tunics of the soldiers they killed the other night—the Queen’s guards.

  “Show me the past,” Abigail said. “Show me what King Artemis has done to his own people.”

  I started to protest, but thought better of it. Perhaps Abigail needed to see his atrocities to stoke a fire and keep her motivated to escape.

  I swept my hand in a broad stroke through the air and projected a scene from eight years ago. Abigail had an aerial view of the attack.

  “This is the Widex Tribe. They live—lived—on coastal southern Bellos as a fishing town and port city, actively trading with Wallos.”

  The imagery began peacefully—children played on porches and open lots between buildings, fishermen and women worked at the docks, merchants traded wares along the marketplace. There were probably a few thousand inhabitants in all, in and around the town.

  Soldiers dressed in the red tunics of the Bellosians flooded into the village on horseback and on foot. They didn’t yet have the pistols they used now, so the fighting took place with mostly swords and bows and arrows. The unarmed Widex fled in screaming terror. My projections didn’t have sound, but the agony felt audible nonetheless. Anyone who resisted captivity was killed. Victorian soldiers rounded the others up into wagons. Children were orphaned when their parents sought to defend their family with fishing spears. Homes were burned.

  I expanded the view to show King Artemis Stout sitting on top of a horse on a ridge overlooking the massacre. His face appraised the fighting, and he seemed pleased with his army’s swift progress.

  “Where’s Porter Stout?” Abigail asked.

  I took the imagery to ground level. A younger Porter Stout held the same disdainful expression as he fought a man twice his size. The inexperienced fisherman didn’t stand a chance. Porter hacked his sword at the man’s spear, splintering it in half. In his next terrible swoop, the prince sliced a gaping gash in the man’s abdomen. When he fell to his knees, Porter finished the kill with a blow to the man’s neck.

  A woman with long, loose blonde hair rushed from a nearby house, her mouth opened in a scream of rage and anguish. Porter sheathed his sword and motioned for two soldiers to restrain her. They dragged the woman back into the house by her arms, with Porter following close behind them. She was hurled into the bedroom. The guards left and Porter stepped inside—his eyes filled with a domineering lust. After loosening his belt, he dropped his weapons to the floor. Porter shut the door.

  I stopped the imagery and let the scene dissipate.

  “Is it like that in every city they’ve conquered?” Abigail asked in a dry voice.

  “Yes. Pillaging, ravaging, and death. Some they take as slaves.”

  Abigail lowered her head to her knees. “We’ve been so busy on Crithos with our own troubles, including the devastation of the plague. I’d no idea things were so bad on Bellos. Strategically, this also means Crithian soldiers—green and inexperienced—will be fighting hardened soldiers with a decade of experience. Experience killing civilians, but experience nonetheless.”

  “You’ll need to let Coco DeFay know.”

  Abigail cleared her throat. “Yes. This, and the Queen’s death—and Baird’s captivity.” She blinked away tears in her eyes.

  “Since Natalie can see me, do you want me to update her, and she can update Captain DeFay?”

  Abigail’s face soured at my idea of using Natalie as an intermediary. “I appreciate your willingness, but I can’t do that to Natalie.”

  “She’s more than capable.”

  “She is capable, yes. But Coco won’t treat her with kindness. She’ll berate Natalie with questions the way she would me, and it won’t even occur to her that she’s speaking with a nine-year-old. This failure is my responsibility, and I’ll deliver the devastating news.”

  I furrowed my brows. The responsibility didn’t all reside with Abigail, but reminding her of that wasn’t going to dull the blade of guilt twisting her insides.

  “Can you show me my children?”

  “Yes. They’re all safe and well.”

  I simultaneously projected three different images on the wall opposite Abigail. Paul was riding Phobus around the edge of the field of crops at a canter. His bushy head of hair poked out of a knit hat he wore to keep his head warm. Fury walked through the rows of planted and barely sprouted cabbage and carrots, daring a rabbit or a squirrel to cross his path. Raven sat on his back, leaning back with her eyes closed against the sun. Carrot perched on the scarecrow in the field, her keen eyes watching Paul.

  “They’re all so protective.” Abigail swallowed as she stared gratefully at the scene.

  Beside the scene of Paul, Natalie stood in an empty ballroom taking waltzing lessons from a thin, balding man. A violinist played in one corner. Natalie’s spine was perfectly straight, and her face was focused in concentration.

  Next, I showed Rebekah to Abigail. Bellok and Nadine had taken her out in their small canoe along one of the beaches. They rowed on sparkling teal-colored water as Rebekah sat in the middle, enjoying the rocking of the boat. She wore a yellow sundress and a straw hat to keep the sun off her face and shoulders.

  Abigail turned toward me, eyes glistening. “Thank you.” She wiped at her eyes. “Thank you. Those are happy tears.”

  I removed the images. “You know, you’re a wonderful mother.”

  “Am I? Sometimes, I feel inadequate.”

  “Yes, you are. They’re fortunate to have you and the life you’ve given them—animals, farming, education, happiness.”

  She nodded. “I’m fortunate to have all of the happiness they’ve given me.”

  “You’ll see them again.”

  She eyed me. “Is that speaking from a source of knowledge, or sheer optimism?”

  “Speaking from the heart. And, yes, I do have one of those.”

  “Indeed, you do—and I’m grateful for it.”

  The sentimental moment had me shifting on my feet. I sat down on the floor and created a chess game. “No point in being idle.” On the black and white board, molten lava red pieces stood on my side and gold pieces stood on Abigail’s side.

  “Gold, huh?”

  “It’s more pizazz than the white ones you always play with. You won’t be able to physically touch the pieces, so just use your hand to make the move you want, and I’ll move them for you.”

  Abigail sat cross-legged and leaned forward. She made a motion to advance a pawn. I let it slide with the movements of her fingertips.

  She grinned. “You and your illusions.”

  “If nothing else, I’m entertaining.”

  She looked up at me through low eyelashes, suggesting with her expression that I was much more than entertaining. Heat and affection radiated in her look before she turned her attention back to the game of chess.

  17

  ABIGAIL

  Bright light seared my eyes.

  “Abigail, wake up.”

  When I blinked, the room was dim except for faint early morning sunlight through the tiny window above me. “How did you do that?”

  He winked with a seductive smile. “I have skills.”

  “You mean I could have been using you as a wake-up call all these years? Oh, wait, you haven’t been around for over a year.”

  “How long do you intend to complain about my absence?”

  “Could be years, unless you plan to make yourself more useful than waking me up.”

  “Someone’s coming.”

  I scrambled to my feet. A full thirty seconds passed before I heard footsteps—boots on stone.

  Well, Mal was making himself useful. I glanced a
t him and shook my head at his smug expression. Beneath the superficial calm, I detected more than a little concern in the depths of his dark eyes.

  I stood before the door, preparing myself for attack—all sixty-five kilograms with no armor and barefoot. At least it was one against one, since I’d only heard a single set of boot steps.

  The slot at the bottom of the door, where meals had been delivered, slid open—and someone shoved a pair of iron cuffs inside my cell.

  Another slot opened and a pair of bulging eyes peered at me. “Put them on where I can see you.”

  So much for a fair fight.

  I considered my options. Resist, and they could choose to let me rot in my cell. Obey, and face the fight Mal warned me about.

  I secured the cuffs, noting the way my stomach plummeted when I heard the click of each locking into place.

  When the door swung open, I braced myself—mostly for disappointment. The giant before me was a hunk of sweaty muscles with a thick, brow ridge. He resembled a Muglik from the icy mountains of Karnelik. Judging by the dullness of his expression, I could outsmart him—but there’d be no out-fighting him. Somehow, I didn’t think he’d agree to a battle of the wits in exchange for my freedom.

  When he motioned for me to exit my cell, I did so. He followed behind me, barking when I needed to make a right or left. I tried to focus on creating a mental map of the dungeon. Even if I could escape my cell, I’d be lost down here. Except, I had Mal. He could help direct me to an exit.

  As we reached a long corridor, the stone walkway turned into a ramp. I walked up the incline as the sound of clanging and cheering began, first as a low rumble before growing louder. When we reached a set of double doors, the noise peaked.

  Behind me, the guard slammed a gate shut. “You have two minutes to prepare.”

  “Prepare for what?”

  As he walked away, I looked around the dimly lit room. Light sifted in through the slats in the set of double doors. To my right, a row of body armor and shields hung from a wooden rack. To my left, various weapons—swords, daggers, spears, and axes—leaned against one wall.