by Amanda Twigg
“Apprentice Templers don’t go beyond here.”
Rust-brown robes filled Landra’s downturned gaze. Her glance up took in the small exit ahead, but the guard blocked her way. What lie could she give? If she denied her status, they’d want to know how she’d stolen apprentice skins, and there’d be the devil’s mischief explaining the ranking insignia in her hair.
“Good morning,” she said, using the charming tone she’d often tried on Winton.
Blue surges of irritation coursed through the guard’s aura and down his staff. He wore the long, brushed hair of a temple-bound guard, fighter muscles, a jaw width that looked too solid to hit, and the frozen glare of someone who was pissed.
Yep, Winton didn’t like that voice either.
“A good morning’s when I have no runaways to herd into place,” he said.
“I see the misunderstanding. I’m not a runaway.” Although everyone in the six cities thinks I am. “I have people to see outside the temple.”
“Not with that insignia, you don’t.”
A glimpse of the yellow concourse light leaked through the open exit, and her longing surged. She was so close. “Are you sure? I won’t be long.”
Another guard joined them. A crimson line edged his robe, marking him out as the boss. “What’s this?”
“I—”
“Not asking you.”
“We’ve got an apprentice runaway,” the first guard said.
Wish you’d stop calling me that. The accusation aroused grievances in Landra’s Soul, both old and new.
“I can see what she is,” the boss said. “Anyone thinking they can escape wearing white skins has to be some kind of stupid.”
Maybe I am stupid—or just desperate.
“I just want to see my family,” she said. In some ways, it was true, and the story played into their assessment of who they thought she was. Better to be known as a failing apprentice than a Hux spy.
“I have permission to blast unauthorized travelers coming in or going out,” the boss said.
“That’s a no, then?” If it hadn’t been for blooms of power erupting around the guard’s staff or the spinning red streaks surging through his aura, she could have taken his stance as posturing, but he looked as serious a threat as Landra had met in a while.
“That is a no. It breaks the treaty. If any Warrior catches you on the concourse, you’ll be on the next exile pod and every Templer will be on complete lockdown.”
She formulated a plan to break her father’s treaty—again. The prospect made every nerve in her body jangle. Have to stop crossing him. I’ll start tomorrow when I’m home and have had chance to explain. Surely, her report would appease him for now. So, I run and fight. Shelk. Her aura electrified in readiness for action.
The first guard planted his boots on the path with the solidness of a strong fighter, and the senior guard carried his frame with the lithe suppleness of someone with speed. She grinned, as if ready to comply with their orders, and then ducked past them both.
“Hold!”
You won’t risk pilgrims. I can make it. She dodged around a Templer group, ducked behind a visiting soldier, and darted away. A similar aura shove to the one Ossek had given her in the garden room stopped her flight. A berry smell came next, smothering her nostrils with more intensity than had risen from the magic well. Heat followed, spreading in rippling waves through her aura and leaving a smarting sensation on her back. Exhaustion finally folded her down, and she tumbled to the floor.
Got to get up. No breath.
She defied the paleness of her aura and the press of weight on her body to rise. As she found her feet and staggered toward the midlevel light, tottering steps landed her in the arms of a two-bar soldier. No strength. She slipped the note from her sleeve and pressed it into the man’s hand. “For the Fourth,” she said through hissing breath.
Her limbs flailed like they weren’t her own. Can’t… Can’t…
She fell onto her face again, and this time she couldn’t rise.
Chapter 41
Dangling between two guards, pulsing with pain, and barely conscious, Landra viewed her surroundings without opening her eyes. Soul sight found her at the oddest times, and she could have done without it right now.
She knew Chanda’s room from its cozy chairs and wall paintings. Dimmed light settings and dying embers added more shadows than light, but the gloom couldn’t hide the recruiter’s aura. A cerise band pulsed around his body with fascinated attention.
Despair sagged her more. Efforts to reclaim her soldier life only pushed home farther away. She was no good at this spying thing. What was Thisk thinking sending her here? Didn’t he know this place would unleash the magic she kept buried? Didn’t he know she would be trapped?
Of course he knew. He didn’t care. The man had bullied her often, yet she’d near worshipped him. Why?
“Guards, leave,” Chanda said.
Strong hands released her, but she didn’t fall. Wouldn’t. She pulled tall and opened her eyes. Her body pulsed, as if blood rushed through her limbs to feed strength to her Soul, but all she wanted to do was sleep.
By contrast, Chanda’s inquisitive aura glowed in a vibrant halo around his body. In workday red skins and with his blond hair tied back, the recruiter looked like an ordinary soldier in disguise. His power was in his voice, but right now, his tongue only flicked over his lips as his stare followed her movements. Once he realized she wouldn’t collapse, he picked up her stolen knife from the mantle and smirked.
Discovered. She’d forgotten the blade hidden inside her boot, right up until that moment when they’d searched her, but how much worse could her position be? Captured during escape gave her no story to spin.
“This is her?” a voice asked from behind.
Landra faked surprise. She’d sensed a second aura lurking in the shadows from the moment she entered the room. The stranger’s tone rumbled in the bass range. Not Pedra, thank shelk. Her relief ebbed when the man’s words sank in. This is her, Landra Hux? Her, the spy? She cleared her throat. “I don’t know who you think I am, but this is a mistake.”
Chanda laughed. “A mistake? Shall we throw your thieving, lying, deceitful ass back to the underlevel, then?”
Wallowing in mud was the least Landra expected following her capture. She shifted awkwardly, diverting her racing thoughts from darker potential outcomes. At her lack of response, the lurking Templer stepped from the shadows and into plain view. His skins shaded to deep burgundy, and his straight, dark hair hung loose to his waist as if grown from birth.
Your waist! And no insignia. Who the shelk are you?
Dim light made his pale skin contrast against his black hair and dark clothes. Full cheeks and round features didn’t fit with his slender body, making him look harmless, awkward. Yet his eyes sparkled silver, like the brain behind them held the answers of Jethra. His aura swirled with crimson, and blue tips decorated the end of each coil. She saw its energy extend through the staff in his hand.
He moved inside her boundaries, ran a bitten nail into his teeth, and gawked. “Hux hair. Hux eyes. Did that Fifth City story check out, Chanda?”
His words resonated through Landra’s Soul, and she felt wholehearted relief that Pedra wasn’t here to witness her aura turmoil. How useful could Soul sight be to an interrogator? Or a spy, for that matter? Yet Landra didn’t feel confident in her new role. A good spy wouldn’t be standing here defending a weak cover story. No one in Fifth City was going to remember a soldier with Hux hair, no matter how hard they searched.
“We’re still waiting on the report,” Chanda said.
Thank shelk.
“Then show me what she can do.”
“Just like that, Quillen?” the recruiter asked.
“No names.”
Temple Lord Chanda flinched like a first-year apprentice on punishment duty, and chagrin colored his Soul blue. Who was this Quillen to order the recruiter about like so? And how much power did he hold?
“Bexter, you heard the order,” Chanda said. “Read our auras now.”
Still Bexter. Good. I’m a bastard underdweller of no consequence. A temple recruit. She hunched over, acting her pathetic part with ease. “I don’t know what you want, Templers, but I’m not sure I can do the thing you’re asking.”
“Pedra disagrees, and you claimed the sight before. Just look at us and describe what you see.”
She submitted to Chanda’s tempting tone because she’d exhausted all reasons to hide her power. These Templers knew too much, but giving up the truth didn’t mean she had to flaunt the strength of her ability.
“Blue aura with a cerise rim,” she told Chanda. Her attention turned on Quillen, and she made a pretence of working him out. “You’re pink and blue all over.”
Not lies. Not all the truth either. That will do.
Quillen’s staff flared with his anger. The living rod was taller than his head, and its leafy crown expanded with his mood until it spread wider than his chest. “This is useless information.”
“But Pedra can train her,” Chanda said.
“Maybe, but I didn’t come here for this. Stop wasting my time and show me her testing power. That’s what tempted me out of New City—a weapon I can use.”
Landra balled her fists and clenched her muscles. Use? Am I just a tool to use? Like Preston used me? Like the twins used me? Shelk, like Father used me? The bitter thoughts plumed stronger blue shades through her aura.
“We should bring the guards back for this part,” Chanda said. “Her magical power is like nothing I’ve seen.”
“And if they tattle and Vellion finds out?” Quillen asked. “You’re such a fool.”
Landra stiffened. The Chief Templer doesn’t know what you’re plotting. That tidbit felt important, but in her weakened state, she couldn’t comprehend how.
Chanda thrust a long chain at her chest. “Explode this.”
Chapter 42
Capture hadn’t gone as Landra had expected, and she wobbled with the artifact clutched between her breasts.
“Is she dull-witted?” Quillen asked at her lack of response.
“Don’t think so, but she might be dazed after that guard’s Soul blast,” Chanda answered. “The jolt was enough to sap her strength. Then one of the idiots got excited and landed a kick.” Throbbing pinpointed the spot on Landra’s shoulder where the boot had landed.
Quillen folded his arms around his staff to face her. “Girl, show me what you can do, or I’ll kill you now.”
Experience had taught Landra more about auras than she liked to admit. Seeing them had always been a problem, but reading them had come in handy. Ambition pulsed through Quillen’s crimson shades with a side order of greed. The glimmer carried into his eyes and twisted his broad lips back into a snarl. You’ve murdered before. She rested the weight of the chain in the crook of her elbows, her breathing heavy.
“Do it quickly,” Quillen said. “War is here, and it’s time to choose sides.”
Bastard. I choose my own side.
She closed her eyes, hung onto a deep breath, and examined the chain with her Soul. Activating its power didn’t come to order, and the magic refused her call. Her eyes popped open when she admitted defeat. Chanda and Quillen pierced her with intense stares that held no accommodation for tiredness or failure.
I’m trying. Gods, I want to live, so I’m trying to…
She thought back to when she’d done this before, when desperation had summoned dark thoughts. She didn’t want to relive her emotional pains, but what else could she do?
Her kidnapping felt remote, as if it had happened to someone else, but she recalled Mendog’s thick hands. Preservation instincts damped down her emotions, so her thoughts turned to family times. No, no. Not that. I might give myself away. Skipping through the hard memories drew thick lines through her wan aura but added strength to her legs.
“This is ridiculous,” Quillen interrupted. “How long is it supposed to take? If we use her in battle, shall we ask our enemies to wait?”
There you go with talk of using me again. Anger surged in her like a remote land storm. She’d been trying to obey, despite her sore back and the weariness in her bones. What did they want?
She spun on the Templer. “You’re asking how long this is supposed to take? How long does it take to recall beatings and abandonment? Is it easy to recall when I was stripped from my life and abused to near-death? No!” Each revelation deepened her aura with inky lines of emotion and replenished her reservoir of physical strength. “How deep have I buried thoughts of being made to kill and of my victims’ blood dripping hot through my fingers? What does it take to recall Mendog…?”
The chain shattered, sending metal shards arrowing across the room. One landed in the embers, powering the fire to life. Chanda ducked beneath another shard, which exploded into his ancestor’s painting on the wall. At the center of the chaos, Landra remained untouched. Not on her bottom this time, not dazed, and fully in control. Part of her Soul had separated to feed energy into the links, allowing her to remain protected in her aura cocoon. Not even the berry smell of her conjured blue cloud made it through her shell.
Quillen sank to his knees, a link half buried in his hip. “Holy mother of the mist. What the shelk was that?”
“What I’ve been telling you,” Chanda said. “She has a terrible, dark power.”
Despite obvious pain, Quillen’s eyes glinted with longing. “Others can kill with magic. I’ve killed with magic. What makes her different?”
“Scale. She’s barely trained and has a stunted staff, and look what she can do.”
Oh yes. Look what I can do. Is murder and destruction all you people think I’m fit for? She took in the gouged floorboards, smashed teacups, and scorched ceiling. Few painting fragments remained, and the scraps looked like spilled trash from the bin. But you’re underestimating me, Chanda. I can destroy property too. Big time. That was something she’d not seen other Templers do.
“She managed that blast without a decent staff to amplify and project her power?” Quillen asked. Desire drew a pattern on his round features.
Guess I did. She lifted her pot to examine the deformed plant. Red veins twisted through the misshapen foliage, growing brighter with power under her attentive gaze. Its energy joined with her strengthened Soul, which had blossomed and deepened in response to her emotions. She stroked a leaf on the plant.
So, little elba, that’s what you do. Ready?
A pulse throbbed in her neck, and her weakness fled. It didn’t take concentration or effort to rouse her magic now. Resentment rode every drop of her blood, surging her power as it coursed through her veins. Her skin tingled, her head pounded, and her heart banged against her ribs like it wanted to escape.
The elba leached light from her aura, but it grew her power rather than diminish its force. The leaves unfurled, and more energy tracked through their veins. The display froze Chanda, and his green eyes flared.
You noticed I’m not done. What gave me away? Not gifted enough to see my flaring aura. Must be my elba or the hate on my face.
The Templer darted across the room toward his staff. A full feeling overtook Landra, as if she’d eaten magic non-stop for a cycle. She pointed her plant at the recruiter and unleashed power on a pulse of blue aura light. The beam connected with Chanda’s staff, blue sparks travelled along its leaves, and Chanda’s fingers sprang open. His delicate features contorted in agony and his staff fell. Landra’s next bolt focused on its leaves. Hissing accompanied her magic’s touch, and the entire staff bleached white. Its buds screwed into tight knots, and the tendrils withered.
Guess you won’t be using that any time soon.
Quillen stood and came at her from behind, conjuring bindings from his aura.
“Like I can’t see that.” She’d only just started, and the attack bounced off her reinforced barrier like a stone skipping over water. There’d be no towing the temple line or waiting for Thisk
to receive her message after this. She’d been a victim for too long and had been used by too many people.
She took in Chanda, who was squirming on the floor and cradling his scorched staff. Quillen backed away, but Landra’s aura expanded to fill the small room with blue and pink light, leaving him no shadow for cover. She shook her elba in his face, ready to do damage.
“You’re tired,” Chanda said in a weak voice.
Hypnotic words? Shelk off.
Despite her rejection of the suggestion, her head lightened and legs weakened. She’d missed some magic lessons, but this magic thing was starting to make sense. Her aura was the visible manifestation of her Soul and the source of her power. Each intense emotion had built its dark-shaded strength, and each magical deployment had thinned its power. Right now, she was like a scale tipped out of balance—a hammer, tempered in the fires of suffering but without the strength to fall. As a wave of weakness made her sway, she drew her aura back close. Better.
The fearful men who’d awoken this terrible power cowered, unaware of her current vulnerability. She turned from them and tried the door. It was locked, so she held Thisk’s desertion in her heart to build more energy. Once pink tinged her edges, she poked an aura slither around the doorframe and squeezed. The panel popped open, and she ran out through the guards.
Limbs flailed, staffs powered up, and shouts rang out, but she sprinted through the Templer ranks before the full extent of the problem could register in their thoughts. Her white Templer boots pounded along the corridor, and she wove through the next arch in a zigzag path.
A magic bolt registered on her Soul sense while she was still in flight. It closed in from behind, and she knew it would hit. With her barriers half-strengthened, the strike landed, shoving her forward as if she had skidded on a polished floor. Shelk, how it seared her Soul, and her smarting back stung more.
Landra’s first plan had been to walk out of the temple into the midlevel, and her second had been to get a note to Thisk, which she’d hopefully managed, but she couldn’t wait for him to come. Her emergency fall-back position was reserved for dire situations only. As she ran, she considered whether this qualified and concluded this to be an overlevel storm, wrapped up in a mist-forsaken battle and tied with a shelk-stained, demonic bow.