“It’s nothing,” she tugged her arm back. “Two young men wished to make my acquaintance.”
That was the wrong thing to say. A snarl tore out of Zev’s throat and Cassiel’s expression grew murderous. The statement was far more suggestive than she intended.
“When did this happen?” the Prince demanded. “Outside the pub?”
Zev lifted her wrist to his nose and inhaled deeply, capturing Dalton’s scent off her skin. He marched for the town.
“Zev.” Dyna grabbed his arm. She didn’t have the strength to stop him, but he immediately halted, his first instinct to always prevent her from any harm. His eyes, pinned on Landcaster in the distance, glowed in the night. His wolf had returned in full force and itched to eliminate any threat. She felt it in the way his limbs vibrated with the need to shift. “They were only boys.”
“Age does not excuse it,” Cassiel said as if he too wanted to search for them.
“We must go,” she reminded them. “It’s not safe here, as you said.”
Zev rubbed his face, forcing himself to turn away. “Aye, that’s best,” he said in a guttural growl.
“Can you shift?” the Prince asked him.
Zev flexed his hands and claws grew from his fingers, fur sprouting along his arms. He nodded.
“Good. I suggest you take to your wolf and we travel all night. We need to put as much distance between us and this town as possible.”
“But you could not keep up on foot.”
Cassiel looked up at the sky where a strong gust was dragging in a veil of clouds. His large wings unfurled behind him, feathers fluttering in the breeze. “It is a good night to fly.” His gaze fell on Dyna, and he eyed her from head to toe, calculating. “You hardly weigh much. I can bear the weight.”
Bear the weight? Did he mean to carry her?
Reading the shock on her face, he arched a brow. “Is it the height you fear?”
Her stomach dropped at the reminder. Both times Cassiel had flown with her were out of necessity. He had deliberately avoided her whenever possible, but now he offered of his own will to carry her? The thought of being that close to him, of embracing him all night, sent an unexplainable feeling through her.
“It’s quite high,” she squeaked.
Amusement swam in eyes from a face that never smiled. “I will not drop you.”
“Flying would be much faster,” her cousin added as he slipped off his tunic.
Dyna nodded reluctantly.
Zev moved behind a cluster of bushes to finish undressing and he sauntered out as a wolf. Once their packs were strapped to his back with some rope Cassiel produced, they were ready.
Cassiel said to him, “Let’s meet in Elms Nook. It is a woodland seventy-five miles east from here.”
Her cousin could run that much distance in a night, but she was not sure about the Prince. He didn’t appear concerned about it.
Zev nuzzled her shoulder then took off into the forest, the chains jangling in his wake. Dyna prayed he would be all right.
“Keep the coat,” Cassiel said. “You will need it.”
He fixed it over her shoulders and made sure the length covered her legs. The long coat reached to her feet, gathering on the ground and deflecting most of the frosty air. His graceful fingers fastened each button and buckled the belts. She peered up at him as he worked, not sure what to make of this unexpected consideration.
Once the coat enveloped her, he lifted the collar around her neck. The edge of his hand grazed her chin, leaving a faint tingle where he had touched her and she couldn’t help shivering. Cassiel took a step back, rubbing his hand like he wanted to remove the sensation.
The oversized coat may be more than a means to guard her against the cold, but also a way to guard him against her.
The Prince studied her, his brow furrowing. “We will have to see about you learning how to defend yourself.” The way he said it sounded like a thought he unintentionally spoke aloud. “Ready?”
Dyna nodded, something fluttering in her chest. Not looking away from him, she gathered her nerve and closed the gap between them again. He stood quietly, considering, or perhaps waiting for her to decide. She slowly latched her arms around his neck. He inhaled a low breath, and his hands hesitantly, lightly, settled on her waist. There were many layers between them, yet heat radiated where they joined.
“I’m ready,” she whispered.
Cassiel crouched, and her heart jolted when he swept her off her feet. She easily fit into the crook of his arms. There was strength in them and security in the manner he held her. Wings spreading wide, his muscles flexed beneath her, legs bracing. He looked up, and a rare excitement rose to his face.
“Hold fast.” The words were soft against her cheek and her only warning.
They shot into the sky.
Dyna gasped at the whip of icy wind. She dug her fingers into Cassiel’s back or tried to. His firm shoulders moved fluidly under her hands in a steady rhythm as they climbed higher. He was more lean than muscular, containing his own kind of strength. He needed to be strong to control such massive wings.
They gracefully beat, riding the night wind. He took her further than the treetops he had kept to before. Landcaster quickly grew smaller until it was nothing but a smudge on land. The tail end of the Zafiro Mountains rose in the distance. They stood mighty and proud in their witness until they too grew smaller. It showed how far she’d gone from home.
Wonder pushed down her fear and she settled against Cassiel, seeing the world from a new perspective. He carried them on swift wings, no falter brought on by her extra weight. This was his natural ability, a part of who he was, and it peeled away a section of his carefully placed mask. Beneath the cool exterior, she glimpsed a side of him he hid so well. The pure joy it brought him to fly.
At the sight of her smile, a cocky smirk surfaced on his face. “Shall we rise above the clouds?”
“Impossible.”
A touch of mirth glinted in his eyes and Dyna immediately regretted challenging him. His arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against his long frame. She could almost feel his heart and the elation beating with it. Or was it her own?
The wind rushed to meet them as they picked up speed, whipping her hair into her eyes. Dyna clung tight to his smooth coat, but she trusted Cassiel not to drop her. Even with the hundreds of feet of distance between her and the ground, she knew there was no safer place than in his arms.
He flew higher, icy air stinging her face. She looked up at the canopy of rapidly incoming clouds and gasped. They dove into the barrier, a blanket of mist coating them. There was nothing but a thick, grey shroud. She struggled to breathe in the thin air. As soon as she thought there would be no end, they broke through.
They had entered a new plain entirely. A soft land swathed in brilliant moonlight. Nearly a full pearl, the gleaming moon reigned among the immense throne of clouds, a queen in its own right. The view was stunning.
Dyna glanced at Cassiel and saw he was pleased with whatever he gleaned from her obvious awe. The moonlight cast him in a glow. His black wings shimmered like they were covered in a layer of frost. For once his gaze was warm and searching. He didn’t fully smile, but it surprised her to see the makings of one there in the corners of his mouth. This was a gift she realized. An intimate piece of his life he chose to share with her.
“Possibility is limited by perception,” he said thoughtfully as if the thought was a new revelation.
What was their first encounter, but an impossibility made a reality? Days ago, she could not have fathomed his existence, and yet here he was. A descendant from the Heaven’s, showing her far more than she could have imagined. That was the true gift.
“May it not be limited by our belief,” was her reply as she admired the divine creation of him. “But by our imagination.”
The Celestial Prince looked above, and she read the question there. The velvet sky was endless. Sparkling. A beautiful deep dark blue that gazed at them i
n return. She too wondered what lay beyond.
Dyna stretched out a hand, needing to touch it. Cassiel granted her wish. With the soft beat of wings, they soared past the impossible and aimed for the stars.
Chapter 24
Von
Brisk wind and conflicted thought accompanied Von out of Landcaster. The future was uncertain, taking from him any sense of normalcy. This day had sent in motion something ominous. There was no stopping the force that was Tarn. He was an imminent avalanche who would bury all in his path if he was unleashed.
Von veered off the road and climbed sloping hills until he came to an empty valley west of the farm town. The tall grass rustled in the night breeze. He reached out and his palm pressed on an invisible, solid surface. Cold and slithering. It glowed faintly at his touch, rippling like water. The ripples spread and curved, revealing a massive, translucent dome.
He pushed against it. The slippery entity resisted at first, then it stuck to his fingers, enveloping his hand and arm. It coursed over the rest of his body, making him shudder. Once the spell determined he was permitted to enter, he passed through its threshold, and the camp appeared.
At the center loomed Tarn’s great tent, rising like a black peak among the hundreds of smaller tents circling it at a distance. Torches spread throughout the camp, speared into the mud. Raiders mingled at small fires, laughing, drinking, and eating out of steaming bowls. Each wore all black and was well-armed.
On the north end of the camp stood the cook’s tent. Smoke filtered out of the opening on top, carrying the scent of dinner. Von strode for it, nodding to the Raiders as he passed. They leaped to their feet, returned salutes, then made themselves scarce. Regardless of how many years they served under him, they maintained a layer of fear. Von didn’t go out of his way to intimidate them, but they had seen how brutal he could be to maintain obedience.
He needed to be hard on them so their master wouldn’t be.
He entered the cook’s tent and found a towering Minotaur inside. At nine feet tall, Sorren filled most of the heightened space. He sported an auburn pelt beneath his stained apron. Only one horn extended on the left of his head, a sawed-off stump rose where his second horn used to be. Gold earrings glinted on his long, floppy ears, and another hung from his snout.
Sorren acknowledged Von with a grunt. He stirred an enormous cauldron over a fire that sizzled and popped. The stuffy space carried the smell of stew, hinted with stale sweat and herbs. Behind the creature was a table stacked with dirty dishes and vegetable scraps. To the right was another table where Von found his subordinates. They raised their heads from their meals when he entered and stood at attention.
Each commanded a different faction among Tarn’s Raiders, and Von commanded them all.
Captain Elon, who led the spies, was indifferent as always. There was no evidence of his confrontation with the Rangers on his person.
Next to him was Lieutenant Abenon, a dark-skinned man with a nest of black curls, and two scimitar blades strapped to his back. The Mirage Desert native led the Raiders.
The cooking fire sparkled against the red crystal on Benton’s gnarled staff. The bearded old mage in umber robes looked annoyed as usual. He oversaw anything to do with magic.
“I found the Maiden,” Von announced.
Elon remained apathetic. Abenon grinned. Benton’s mouth thinned in a tight line.
“The local authorities have discovered our presence. Lieutenant, inform the men. We move out in an hour.”
“Aye, Commander.” Abenon rushed out of the tent.
“Benton,” Von called to the mage next. “Your son encountered the Maiden. Use him to cast a location spell on her.”
“No.” Benton jerked a step back, clanking the brass bangles around his bony ankles. His white fingers gripped his staff tightly. “Why are you helping Tarn with this? You know the abominable thing he wants. If he gets his hands on the Unending, we will never have our freedom. Nor will anyone in this world.”
Von couldn’t argue. The mage was right. With the Unending, nothing could ever oppose his master. But what choice did he have? What choice did any of them have?
Benton was the only one who verbally opposed him. Of the two-hundred men in camp, less than an eighth were slaves either by coercion or by debt. The rest followed Tarn devotedly.
“I say we band together and kill him!” the mage raged, his wild expression urging them to join him. “Set me free. I’ll do it.”
Von scowled. Such treasonous words could lop off all their heads. By duty alone, he should slit the mage’s throat here and now. “You dare say that in front of me? You’ve grown too bold, Benton. It is against the law to harm your master.”
“He is not my master.”
Von nodded to Benton’s bangles. “Those say otherwise.”
The mage glared down at his feet. “These manacles may bind me to this camp, but they will cease to work if I destroy the Crystal Core in his tent. It is the only thing preventing me from killing him!”
“You cannot go near it, you fool,” Von said as he slowly reached for a particular knife sheathed on the back of his belt.
“If you will not join me, then I will take you down with him.” The mage’s dark eyes glowed red in tandem with the crystal of his staff. “I may not be able to enter his tent, but this camp is set on the ground. You seem to have forgotten to which guild I pertain.” Benton slammed his staff into the dirt, and the earth trembled violently. The tent shook, and the pots rattled, dishes crashing. “What is to stop me from burying you all alive!”
Elon joined Von’s side and raised his glowing blue palms. “Cease or this will not end well for you.”
“I do not fear you, pointy-eared toff!” Benton spat. “You elves utter your incantations. I’ll kill you before you speak a single word—”
Von hurled the knife. It pierced Benton’s shoulder, knocking him down. The mage screamed as a brilliant wave of roaring red power peeled out of him and whooshed into the hilt of the knife. The tremors immediately stopped.
Benton panted, sweat gleaming on his insipid face. “You siphoned my Essence?”
Von yanked out the knife and showed it to him. Studded in the pommel was an amber bead glowing with the power it had consumed. Within it was a tiny black plant with three heart-shaped leaves.
“Black clovers,” he said, examining the bead. “Nasty little buggers.”
Benton’s eyes bulged wide. “Where did you get that?”
“Where is not important. I’ve siphoned your Essence within an inch of your life. Rebel against the master again, and I will take all of it.”
“He would never allow it. I am worth more than you.”
“He has no need for rebellious slaves. There are mages aplenty but his patience is limited.” Von cleaned the blade on Benton’s robes before he stood and tucked it away. “This is not the only clover we have, but you only have two sons. Know your place, or they will suffer the consequences with you.”
“Touch them and you die!” Benton bellowed. Weak sputters of magic sparked at his fingertips, but that was all he mustered.
Dalton rushed into the tent with his older brother, Clayton. The boys gaped at their father and Von. They must have sensed magic in the quake, and who had caused it. Both ran to Benton’s side.
Clayton shot Von a glare as he pressed on the wound. He had the same narrow face and nose of his father, along with the defiant twist of his mouth. His palm glowed yellow with his Essence as he healed Benton. Neither he or Dalton asked what happened. This was not the first time Von had to subdue the old mage.
“Rest, Benton,” Von said, giving him a casual smile as he deliberately laid a hand on Dalton’s shoulder. “Once you’ve regained your strength, prepare the location spell.”
Benton’s face turned purple, but this time he didn’t refuse. Clayton helped him up, and the mages shuffled out without another word.
Von sighed and rubbed his face. He hated making such threats, but it was necessary to
keep them alive. If Benton had revolted while Tarn was present, this bluster would have ended differently. The old mage must have known it as well. His antics never started when the master was around.
“Track the Maiden in the meanwhile,” Von told Elon. “Keep your distance and find out what you can about them.” He paused then added, “Take Novo and Len with you. Leave Bouvier behind. I have another task for him.”
Elon nodded and soundlessly slipped outside.
The tables rattled as Sorren moved around the tent stiffly. With each of his heavy steps, his thick slave bangles clanked against his hooves.
“Let me.” Von waved him away and helped pick up the dishes off the floor.
The Minotaur’s deep voice rumbled in the tent, “So, it is happening.”
“Aye, it has begun,” Von said, letting his informal brogue accent seep through. He didn’t need to hold up airs around his friend.
“Benton is right. Why do you refuse to fight? I’d stand with you.”
Von busied himself by tossing the broken dishes in an empty barrel. Discussing it would only lead to arguments with Sorren and Yavi. As it had many times before.
He’d sworn to serve the Morken family many years ago, so perpetual enslavement to Lord Morken’s eldest son was not much of a difference. The terms of his life-debt were binding law on earth and in the Heavens. Ironic thing it was, as he constantly committed crimes to fulfill his obligation.
“We’re slaves. We have to obey whether or not we agree with it.”
Sorren dumped two bowls of mutton stew on the table, the contents spilling on the surface. “I never agreed to be that man’s slave,” he growled. “Nor did Benton. Did you?”
Von looked away. He bid Sorren thanks for the food and left the stuffy tent. The activity outside was bustling as the men broke down the camp and loaded wagons.
Abenon marched through the camp, barking commands. “Drop those tents! Load the horses! Pick up the pace you daft, lazy swine!”
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