Starborn

by Katie MacAlister

  “I’m counting on that,” I said, nipping his lower lip before releasing him and turning to face Quinn. “We’ll put our faith in the fact that Kiriah and Bellias have blessed us and must want to see us right the injustices done to their children.”

  Quinn sighed, but pushed himself off the wall and with a little shake of his head, said he would go see to the stocking of the ship. He paused at the end of the hallway, looking back to say, “I won’t risk my crew, though. I have enough deaths staining my soul, and I don’t believe either of you want any more on yours either.”

  “Will we be able to sail with just the four of us?” Hallow asked, his brow wrinkling. “Allegria and I are more than happy to do what is needed, but neither of us are experienced sailors.”

  “No, the Tempest needs eight hands.” A little smile curled the corners of his mouth. “But we will be able to sail nonetheless. Come, Dex. You have a lot of work to do if we expect to be able to sail at Bellias’ light.”

  Dexia smiled, and hopped up and down, clapping her hands. “Can we have a blood sacrifice? I will need a blood sacrifice. Maybe two. Three to be absolutely certain.”

  “You may sacrifice the chicken that I intend to have for supper,” Quinn told her as the two left.

  Since Lord Israel was still in deep conference with his lieutenant, that left us with Idril, whose gaze rested on Hallow. “You will, naturally, allow me to come with you.”

  “Oh, no, my lady, not this time,” Hallow said firmly, his gaze holding hers. I moved to his side so that we presented a solid front. “The journey to Eris with Quinn will likely end up with us dead or worse.”

  I frowned, wondering what was worse than death.

  “If there was any way under Kiriah’s gaze that I could possibly keep Allegria from going, I would,” he added, which just earned him an elbow to the side. “But I can, and will, keep you from journeying with us.”

  “Deo is there, and thus, so must I go.” Her gaze crawled over me for a few seconds. “Despite the fact that the priest reportedly did everything she could to ensnare him with her wiles, he is my beloved, not hers.”

  “Oh!” I gasped, outraged at the slander. “I never tried to ensnare—wait a minute, if he’s so beloved, why did you marry his father?”

  “That was a political gesture, nothing more,” she said haughtily. “The marriage contract was broken a few months later.”

  “Convenient, that,” I said, and would have gone on with more opinions about women who professed love for a man, and then married his father, but there was much we needed to do before we sailed, and I didn’t want to waste any more time arguing with her. I lifted a hand when she was about to object and said, “My apologies, that was rude, and the last thing I want is to be rude. That said, Hallow is right that it’s far too dangerous for you to accompany us. If you insist on going to Eris, you must wait for Lord Israel to convince your father to hand over the third stone. Who knows, perhaps you might even help him instead of standing around looking perfect. Come on, Hallow. Let’s go find a private room so I can make sure you’re fit for a trip to Eris.”

  Taking his hand, I pulled him past where Idril stood with a murderous look in her eye, one of her hands caressing the hilt of the dagger stuck into her golden girdle.

  “Ah, my heart, the day you stop trying to be rude to Lady Idril will be the end of me,” Hallow said with a laugh, but at the look I sent him, he swung me up into his arms and carried me up a flight of stairs to one of the many unoccupied rooms we’d visited earlier.

  Chapter 10

  “My lord.”

  The whispered words drifted through the red haze of pain that wound around Deo so tightly he was mildly surprised to find he could still draw air into his lungs.

  “My lord, you must listen to me.”

  The words were as soft as a caress. Deo’s mind spun off for a few minutes, remembering the feel of pale silver blond hair brushing against his naked, sated flesh. The memory pierced him with the agony of molten metal. Damn Idril. How could thoughts of her still have the power to hurt him when his entire body was locked in a world of agony?

  “Lord Deo? It is I, Mayam. Please, my lord, you must listen to me.”

  Deo frowned to himself at the voice that he thought at first must have been manufactured by the madness that every now and then gripped him. Idly, he wondered what had happened to his friend Goat. The last he’d seen of his companion in exile, he was confined to a garden at his father’s keep, eating all the shrubs, flowers, plants, trees, buckets, small pieces of cloth, and pretty much anything else the creature could fit into his mouth.

  “You must focus, my lord. There is a great need of you. The Speaker…” The voice broke in a sob.

  “What is Racin doing now?” Deo’s voice came out as a croak, but with the sound of it, he opened his eyes, pushing aside the rush of pain that came with his heightened awareness. Deep inside of him, the chaos magic stirred, sensing the quick rise of anger.

  “Oh, thank the gods, you are sensible at last,” the serving woman cried, her voice catching as she stood before him. She had the long bronze hair of the Shadowborn, but unlike the blood priests who had bound him to the torture device that stretched his limbs to their fullest extension, her skin was tinged with the red that came from exposure to chaos power, indicating that she had been born after the arrival of the Harborym. “I prayed to Nezu that your wits would remain despite the ceremony, although I don’t see how…” Her face was a mask of horror as her gaze traversed the chains and spikes that bound Deo to the wall.

  “What has happened that you must disturb me?” Deo asked, fighting the rise of chaos within. Kiriah damn it, must the power always fight him?

  Not fight. Assist. Guide. Enhance, it whispered.

  He ignored the voice just as he ignored the pain that laced every inch of his skin. The blood priests had learned their art well, knowing exactly what parts of the body could be pierced to cause maximum pain without actually killing him, but they had underestimated Deo. He hadn’t fought to become a Bane of Eris only to give in to a little torture.

  “Lord Racin is combing the land, capturing as many Shadowborn as would be able to survive the journey to Skystead. He has killed most of the blood priests by subjecting them to what he calls trials, and now is decimating my people. My lord, you must aid us. We cannot face him, but you can.”

  Fury possessed Deo, instantly releasing the chaos.

  Mayam gasped and leaped back as the stone walls began to groan and crack.

  Quickly Deo leashed the power, every ounce of his will focused on controlling the need to lash out and destroy those who would harm the innocents of this land. The pain of his bondage intensified with his struggles, and for a few seconds, he thought that he might finally have reached the point where he would lose control once and for all, but at last the magic yielded to his will and subsided.

  Although not without a whispered, You grow weak fighting your true nature.

  “My lord?” Mayam crept forward, her hands fluttering gently along his arms and chest as if to reassure herself that he still lived.

  “Where is Racin now?” he managed to ask.

  “In Skystead, but the Harborym crawl over the land, herding Shadowborn men and women before them, dooming them all. Please, my lord, you must do something,” she answered.

  Deo turned his head and looked out of the high, narrow slit in the cell. The light outside was that of a gloomy dusk, meaning it was probably morning. He coughed up a bit of blood, his lips dried and cracked, wondering how long it had been since anyone had fed him. Had he been nailed to the wall three days ago? Three weeks? Time had ceased to have meaning to him.

  Mayam exclaimed to herself and hurriedly pulled a small gourd from a basket, from which she poured out a liquid, offering it to Deo’s lips. He drank, both relishing the feeling of the wine burning a path to his belly and wincing as i
t seemed to wake his body up to the fact that he was impaled, bound, and laden with various confining runes. “I have brought food, too, only we thought you might not want that until you are set free,” Mayam told him.

  “We?” He pounced on the most important word. One part of his mind welcomed the idea of respite from his torture, while the other wondered suspiciously if this was not a trap that Racin had set for him.

  “My brother is one of Queen Deva’s serving men. He is most devoted to her, and since he was once a priest in the Order of the Red Hand he is learned in the ways of blood magic. He can undo what has been done to you.”

  “Dasa,” Deo said without thinking.

  “My lord?” Mayam clutched the gourd, confusion writ upon her face.

  “My mother—the queen—her name is Dasa, not Deva. That is his name for her.”

  She blinked at him, casting one hand to the side. “I don’t see—”

  “Never mind.” Deo took a deep breath, wincing at the pain. He needed to will his mind back to the state of insensibility that he’d embraced since he had been bound to the wall. “It matters not. Go, little maid, before the priests find you here.”

  “But my lord, we must free you! My people will die if you do not stop Racin!”

  Deo closed his eyes against the need to rush out and protect the innocent people of this dark place, to destroy the one who ravished the land and decimated its inhabitants, but as Dasa had pointed out, he had to look beyond his own needs and remember the plan. “Some will survive. Racin is not stupid enough to kill all of you.”

  “But…” Mayam clearly was at a loss for words. “But we could free you—”

  “Kiriah blast you, woman!” he roared, opening his eyes to glare at her.

  She leaped back, one hand over her mouth, her own eyes wide with horror even as tears rolled down her face.

  “Do you think I don’t want to be free? Do you think I don’t want to let the blood of those priests who did this to me stain the stones of this building before I turn it to dust? Do you think I embrace the thought of Racin destroying innocents?”

  Yes, yes, destroy him before he can hurt others, the chaos inside him said with a siren’s lure.

  “Please,” she said, the word a whimper, and in it, Deo heard the cries of thousands whose voices were being systematically silenced.

  Deo closed his eyes for a moment, his struggle with the magic for once not the sole focus of his attention. He hated what was happening. Every instinct railed against inactivity.

  You can do something about it, came the whisper in his mind.

  It was too much. What Dasa asked of him was too much, he told himself with an anger that fed the magic inside him. How could he remain here, passive, doing nothing while all around him people died because of Racin’s insane thirst for power?

  “No! I was born to bring peace to Alba, and I will stand by idle no longer! Dasa’s plans be damned!” He narrowed his eyes, searching the face of the cowering woman, intent on finding any signs of deceit, coming to a sudden decision that he prayed he wouldn’t regret. “Fetch your brother, and any others who will fight for your people. Blast my father for scattering my Banes…I need them now more than ever.”

  “Banes?” she asked, getting to her feet, her face caught between a wary expression, and exultation.

  “My army.” He eyed her, thinking hard. Was there any reason he could not duplicate the Banes of Eris he had created the previous year? It was true that the Shadowborn were more used to chaos magic than the men and women of Aryia who had joined him before, but would that not mean they had a better chance of mastering it?

  The decision was made. While Mayam scurried off to fetch her brother so that he might be freed, Deo made plans. First, he’d destroy this temple so no other prisoners could be held here. Then he would gather unto him a force of volunteers who were willing to become a new order of Banes…and then once and for all, he would destroy Racin.

  Deo smiled. His mother would no doubt protest the change of plans, but she couldn’t object to it if his actions achieved their goals.

  He just hoped he could stay in control of the chaos magic inside him long enough to see Racin destroyed. He had a horrible suspicion it was getting stronger.

  Oh, I am. I very much am.

  Chapter 11

  I think you’re making a big mistake.

  Hallow marched up the stairs from the lower levels of Jalas’s keep filled with determination, grit, and the firmest of intentions. “Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  You need me!

  “I do, but sometimes, I need you to be my eyes and ears. This is one of those times.”

  I can’t believe you’d go to Eris without me!

  “My lord Hallow—”

  He continued past Idril, his much lauded patience at an end where that woman—not to mention Thorn—was concerned.

  You don’t know what Eris is like! It’s horrible! Truly horrible! Harborym so thick on the ground you’d trip over them, and chaos magic fair oozing out of the soil itself. It’s no place for you without me to guide you.

  “We’ll be fine. It’s much more important that you stay here and help Lord Israel with Jalas.”

  Faugh! If you get yourself killed and go to the spirit world, don’t come crying to me. That’s all I have to say!

  “Oh, if only that were so,” Hallow murmured, and strode across the hall toward the great curved wooden staircase that led up to Jalas’s chambers. He’d have one last quick word with Lord Israel; then he would escape to Quinn’s ship with Allegria, and finally be free of both Thorn’s and Idril’s persistent demands that they sail with him.

  “My lord, I am just as tired as you are of these encounters,” Idril said, hurrying up behind him. He made a note to tell Allegria that Idril sounded downright peeved. Allegria claimed Idril never expressed any emotion other than mild boredom, and she would be sure to appreciate that along with his own temper, Idril’s had clearly been pushed to its limits.

  On your own head be it, Thorn said dramatically, and with a rude gesture of his hindquarters, flew off, clearly in a snit.

  “Gah!” Idril yelled and added something very rude indeed under her breath.

  Hallow grinned to himself and merely said as he started up the stairs, “I’m glad to hear that you don’t seek out these encounters any more than I do. We shall get along much better without them, don’t you think?”

  There was a brief noise that raised the hair on the back of his neck, and a sudden tugging of his sleeve. He stopped and stared in disbelief at the dagger that had skimmed his arm and pinned the edge of his cloak to the wood bannister.

  He turned to look at Idril. She stood at the foot of the stairs, an expression on her face that he had last seen on his wife’s stubborn mule. “You drove me to that,” Idril said hurriedly when he plucked the dagger from where it was buried a good two inches into the wood. He gave the blade a curious look before handing it back to her. She moved around to block his advance up the stairs. “If you would cease these silly refusals of my most reasonable request—”

  “No,” he said, and bodily moved her to the steps behind him.

  “I will be of use to you—” Idril started to say, but he was shaking his head even as he reached the top and headed to the right to Jalas’s chambers.

  “This is the fourteenth time I’ve said no. Nothing you can say will change my mind. You will have to wait for Lord Israel to persuade your father to give him the third stone.”

  He closed his ears to her protestations, trying to regain the equilibrium of mind that always amazed Allegria. By the time he reached Jalas’s door, he felt much more in control of himself. He consulted with the guard outside the great double doors, then entered the antechamber. Lord Israel stood staring into a small fire, a nearby table littered with a meal that he hadn’t touched.

 
; “Is all at hand?” Israel asked him without shifting his gaze from the amber glow.

  “Yes. The soldiers below are secure and have been fed. The men you left are settled, and I don’t think—barring a catastrophe like the Tribesmen arriving—you will have any trouble keeping the denizens of Ilam under your control until you get the third stone. How is Lord Jalas?”

  Israel grimaced. “He threatened to geld me, cut out my liver, and eat a stew made of both in front of me.”

  “So much as usual?” Hallow asked.

  “Aye.” A rare smile graced Israel’s lips for a few seconds. “He doesn’t seem to me to be in the least bit lacking in wits. He demanded I bring his pet bear into his rooms, and when I told him it had been banished to the stables because it had regrettable desires toward a couple of my men, he told me that they just needed to embrace the opportunity, and that he—the bear—meant no real harm. He simply had a taste for…er…”

  “Regrettable desires,” Hallow repeated, then felt that the less said about Jalas’s bear, the better. “I take it Jalas was not forthcoming with information about where he’s sent the stone?”

  The look of amusement faded from Israel’s face. He turned to meet Hallow’s gaze with one of unwavering dark amber. “No. But he will.”

  Hallow knew well just how single-minded Lord Israel could be when he was focused on a plan of action. It was a trait that he admired, although he seldom had the luxury of being so inflexible. Still, in this instance, it was to the benefit of all Alba for the leader of the Fireborn to be so focused on a single goal. “You will call upon the grace of Alba to trick him into telling you the stone’s location?” he asked, wondering if the magic that was bestowed upon the Fireborn race had the power to make Jalas speak the truth.

  Israel smiled, and cracked the knuckles of one hand. For a moment, the look of strain, exhaustion, and desperation fled, leaving him a powerful king, one who was not afraid to fight for those he loved. “Better than that: I will speak to him on a level he understands.”