by R. K. Thorne
“He doesn’t need another—Anefin of prosperity indeed!” Aven’s mother said, laughing. “He’s won the whole hand without paying attention.”
Teron chuckled. Aven found himself smiling at his book. Could it be their guests were growing on him? Teron’s words were as good a compliment as he’d ever received. Certainly better than Evana’s had been. He had never thought of a star as a guide, but if he had to choose one…
Teron stood from the game and strode to fetch two books from a table across the room, then handed them to Aven. “I thought of this subject because I have been immersing myself in your wonderful library. These are absolutely brilliant. Have you read them?”
Aven took the leather volumes and turned them over in his hands. He couldn’t recall ever having seen them before, and he was no stranger in the library. “Actually, no. Where did you find these?”
“There is a high shelf by the tall eastern windows you can reach with two ladders—do you know the area?” Teron spoke quietly, subtly separating their conversation from the rest of the room.
“Yes, but I can’t recall ever looking there.”
“It was terribly dusty, I must say, so that makes sense. I think no one had been up there in quite some time. I find sometimes the most valuable things are hidden right there in plain sight. Wouldn’t you agree?” Teron’s words had an odd emphasis, as though he was trying to communicate more than he was saying. His smile spread into a grin, and he folded his arms across his chest. The other Takarans busied themselves with the cards, books, other things, as if their conversation was entirely uninteresting.
Aven’s eyes locked with Teron, and he didn’t look away. He didn’t care what awkwardness it might create. Teron, ever the diplomat, knew how to smile and shift his weight to ease the moment more than most would have been able to, entirely comfortable under Aven’s gaze. What could he be referring to? He was trying to tell him something, but what?
Could it be… ?
Could he know? If he did, he had a strange way of showing it.
“This one,” said Teron, pointing to one with a blue leather cover inlaid with copper designs, “is about Casel in particular.”
Aven opened the book and flipped through the pages. How strange. It seemed to be partly in another language he didn’t recognize. And as part of his duties, he knew enough of nearly all languages to recognize them on paper.
“Excuse me,” Teron said, “but I must get a touch more brandy.”
All too conveniently, Aven was alone with the books. He looked more closely at the lovely cover, the metal inlay illustrating Casel and her sisters shimmering in the dim firelight. Was it his imagination, or did they glisten brighter than the fire should let them? He propped his elbows on the arms of his chair and leafed through the pages.
A folded sheet of paper slid out of the book and fell in his lap.
He unfolded the thick, rough paper. A map of stars and constellations was scrawled in an ancient hand in blue ink. Strange notes adorned the margins in an old, old language—Serabain. He knew it, but very little.
“Prince Aven!” Lord Dyon’s voice made him jump in surprise in the quiet parlor. Teron, who had been talking to Steward Fayton near the door, moved casually as though to look at an artifact, putting himself between Dyon and Aven. Was it his imagination, or was Teron blocking Dyon’s view of the books?
Aven hastily folded up the paper and slipped it into his pocket as he stood.
“Yes, Lord Dyon,” he said.
“Your father is going over some arrangements for the Proving, and he requests your review.”
Aven nodded. “I will join you shortly.”
Dyon gave him a dubious look but took his leave.
As quickly as he could, Aven flipped through the second book. It, too, was sprinkled both with the common tongue and another language. Perhaps it was Serabain, but some of the spellings and characters were different, twisted. He strode to Teron and held open a page.
“Do you know this language?” he asked the Takaran.
“No,” Teron said. He spoke softly so only Aven could hear, and all of the usual charming lilt had faded from his words. “I hoped you did.”
“No, unfortunately.”
“I have seen it. It hasn’t been used since the Dark Days.”
What did Teron know about the Dark Days? “Perhaps one of the scholars would know,” Aven said.
“If I were you,” said Teron in a voice for only Aven to hear, “I might keep it to myself. Or a very trusted few. Certainly not any nosy foreign princesses.” Then he gave Aven a small, polite bow with a smile.
He knows, was all Aven could think. Gods, he knows. Evana had told them. But—the books, the pretense, the coordinated distraction of the others—what did all this mean?
By Anara, they all know, he realized. And they’re trying to help me.
Miara said goodbye to the mare Cora the next morning after she had saddled Kres and packed up her things. Don’t worry, girl, she had told her before she left. My horse friend Kres will be back for you. The mare had huffed in reply. Miara had left the stall unlatched.
Then she and Kres had headed for the mountains. She had dropped the disguise just out of town to save energy. Dawn had barely broken, and she’d ridden in the direction of Estun until the sun had cracked the horizon and cast streams of light down into the forest. At least, she thought it was the direction of Estun. That was one location Sorin couldn’t really confirm for her because the maps weren’t terribly precise as to the location of the hold, probably by design. Gods, let her find it quickly because she dreaded going back to that flea-bitten inn. Perhaps the woods would do just fine tonight, whether she found Estun or not.
She picked an isolated clearing near a creek. There was good grass for Kres to munch on and a musical, clear stream as well. She stopped and splashed the frigid mountain water on her face. She tried to center her thoughts, to calm the core of her soul, but the current of her emotions twitched and trembled, half excited, half terrified.
Briefly, her fear swelled—what was she thinking, trying to break into an Akarian fortress and kidnap its prince? Her and what army?
This was insane. One lone woman couldn’t do this. She was going to die. It was a fortress in a nation of great warriors, and he of all people was their damn prince. And she wasn’t even sure where the hell the fortress was or what this bastard looked like.
This was impossible, and she was a fool. A sacrificial lamb on the altar. The Masters had to know they were sending her to her death. But they didn’t care. Why? Why send her at all, then?
Shut up, she told herself. She forced herself to stop and breathe. One breath, another. Hear the water, the wind, the birds. Her nerves steadied.
It was not impossible. The Akarians were warriors, but they weren’t mages. Magic was nearly extinct in Akaria. They were not prepared for her or anyone like her. She was a good mage, perhaps a great one. She could be as silent as the moon, as hidden as a cat in the grass, and as steady as the mountain. It was not impossible.
Another deep breath.
She put her hand in her pocket; as she moved, her hand shook a little, but she tried to ignore it. I can do this, I can do this. She fingered the eagle feather in her pocket and carefully formed the image of her eagle form in her mind. She didn’t always need to have a token from the animal she sought to become, but it helped to focus her, to transform precisely into the right creature without mistake. She conjured up brown feathers, large and powerful, soaring mightily in the sky in her mind. Miara the girl might have difficulty with this, but she could become anything. Anything. As an eagle, what couldn’t she do? Step by step. It was possible. First step: find the damned palace.
Her body morphed and changed; her fingers could no longer feel the feather. Then there were no fingers—talons crunched the leaves and dirt beneath her. She looked at her wings—perfectly formed as she’d intended. As an eagle, she could do anything. She let out a cry, testing out new lungs, foreign and
familiar at the same time. Another deep breath.
Onward to Estun. She launched herself into the sky.
“Good morning, Mother!” Aven called as he passed her in the hallway, the book tucked under his arm.
“Good morning, Aven! Where are you headed to?”
“The library,” he said. He had thought to check the shelf that Teron had mentioned and see if it was really dusty and freshly disturbed as he’d claimed.
“Did you hope to read or to philosophize? Jerrin has had Thel, Dom, and your father trapped there for a good hour already discussing ancient religions.”
He stopped short. His poor brothers. “Well, I was going to read…”
“Wouldn’t suggest the library, then,” she said, eyes twinkling.
“Right.”
The terrace would be too cold this early in the morning. He tried the parlor but caught Teron’s voice before he rounded the corner and retreated quickly. How hard could it be to find a quiet place to read this book alone?
He headed back to his own bedroom, but the maidservants had turned it upside down and were scrubbing the floor at the moment. A chair at the breakfast room table was too dark, as it was beyond breakfast and most of the candles were now out. Damn this place. He did manage to catch an apple dumpling on his way past the kitchen, so it wasn’t a total loss.
Munching as he walked, he shrugged to himself. The terrace would be cold, but at least he would be able to see. He collected a wool coat from his quarters and headed up the stairs to the terrace. At this rate, he was never going to get to read this thing.
The northern mountains of Akaria made for beautiful flying. Miara left the forested hills behind and soared toward the snowy peaks. The air was calm and cold, and the morning sun warmed the tops of her wings.
She swept broad circles around each mountaintop. A bright shot of green amid the snow and rock caught her eyes, and she headed for it. How could they keep things growing there, at this height, amid the snow? There must be magic at work. But she could sense none nearby, aside from the weak presence of the oppressive Great Stone.
She circled overhead, studying, but the garden was mercifully empty. She swooped down in slow circles, cautious and watchful. She perched on a wall and examined the terrace. No people in sight. A heavy, dark metal door, benches, a few high hedges, a cherry tree, many low shrubs and flowers.
She plopped down onto the dirt of the garden. Where could she hide near the door? And what form would be best to sneak inside? There were no easy hiding places, at least not for a medium-sized animal like an eagle. Should she shift to a mouse? Mice were trustily mobile and small, but also easy targets for both humans and animals. Something else? A falcon? A fly?
The door to the terrace suddenly groaned and creaked open. She stifled a gasp. Hell—her time was up. And as an eagle, she might as well be begging them to spot her. She had to transform, and she had to do it now. She focused her mind on the image of a fly and flung herself into that shape. Her body shrank abruptly down toward the earth.
When her limbs stopped twisting and her eyes focused, she could see him. The man walked toward her, face buried in a book. He did not expect anyone to be here, thank goodness. He sat down on a sun-soaked bench without looking at it, obviously familiar with the place. His dress was finer than a servant or laborer and lent him a refined elegance.
She flew on wobbly, unfamiliar new wings closer to him, crash-landing on a rosebush. Her visitor frowned over a blue leather book with gold inscriptions of stars on the cover. Shaggy blond-brown hair threatened to fall into intense eyes, their color so light and strange she almost couldn’t make it out.
Should she act or wait? Others could be coming to join him. He could leave at any time. She could hope the door was left unlocked, or she could try to sneak inside along with him—a risky proposition. Or she could try to get information out of him. What was just inside the door? And how could she find this prince?
Her heart was pounding as she quickly formulated a plan. Then she went for it before she could reconsider.
She circled behind the bench. He didn’t notice her. She paused for a deep breath, eyes on the door, hoping no one would interrupt what she was about to do.
Anara, protect me. Now or never.
She released her hold on the transformation, and her shape unraveled around her wildly. She could slow and control the process, but when speed was of the essence, the magic spun out of control, flinging her back into her own form like a hurricane falling to pieces.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a split second—as long as she dared—and struggled to steady herself. When she opened them, she could see no one new had arrived. He hadn’t heard the thud that must have accompanied her transformation. She should have silenced the sound, but luckily, he was intent on the book. Get it together, she thought. She couldn’t afford to be sloppy now.
She rose to a crouch, her steps hidden by the wind rustling the leaves of the cherry tree. She crept forward, one step, then another. She jumped as he moved slightly. He turned a page and continued to read.
She was just behind him now. She could hear his breath. After this, there would be no turning back. But then again, there had never been any turning back, had there?
Rising, she clamped one hand over the man’s mouth while the other caught a wrist and forced it behind his back, raising him up to his feet.
A sudden gust of wind hit her from the left and knocked her off-balance, but she dragged him with her to the side and back behind the bench. Strange, it hadn’t been so turbulent a second ago—but they were on a mountaintop. So much for luck.
They fell roughly into the dirt. She released him but only long enough to thrust him to the ground and bring her knee down on his chest. She brought the blade of her dagger just under that strong jawline.
His eyes studied her even more intensely than they had the book. He made no sound and offered no resistance. His eyes—a lovely, mysterious, grayish green—were unlike any she’d ever seen. She instinctively reached into his energies, hungrily, not expecting to find much. As a rule, she never tasted the creature energies or thoughts of other people. But at times like these, she needed to know everything as quickly as possible, so it was worth the risk of knowing or tasting too much.
Smoke. Sulfur. Air magic.
A thrill of fear shot through her.
So not a servant or a prince, but a mage. Oh, by the gods. An air mage could easily kill her before she could grow enough of a wing to fly away—
But she forced her thoughts to a halt, buried the fear. His unusual eyes were still staring into hers. He had cast no spells. She wasn’t dead yet. And there wasn’t the stark, bitter taste of corruption that hung around the Masters.
“Your name—now,” she demanded.
“Aven,” he said, simply.
She froze, mouth still open. Could it be? Aven was certainly a common name in Akaria. There were probably a hundred Avens hiding inside Estun. Every one named after the royal, most likely.
“Who are you? Your full name,” she said.
“Aven Lanuken is my name. Son of Samul, King of Akaria. What of it?” His voice was soft, confident, and a little intrigued. Not the slightest bit afraid. “Who are you?” he added. A brave one, then?
She didn’t answer. She could hardly believe it. Either her luck was incredible, or this was destiny. When he said his full name, she felt the brand on her shoulder throb and burn excitedly—he was the one her binding sought. What she had thought might be the hardest part might just be the easiest.
But she wasn’t out yet.
Before she lost this chance, she began the transformations. With her non-blade hand, she pulled a scrap of white fur from her side pouch. He watched her, unmoving.
Surprising herself, she paused and said, “This might feel a little… weird.” Then she ran the fur across his forehead, down his nose, across his lips—and the transformation began. The energy began to flow out of her, faster and faster, and she reached with li
ghtning speed toward the plants around them, refilling her energy reserves as quickly as she could spend them. She tried to leave the plants alive, but there was no time for precision.
She sheathed the dagger. For a moment, he was still, and then he twisted and thrashed as the transformation took hold. His form shrank, and fur grew. His clothes did not shrink with him. She’d forgotten to spell that as part of the transformation—damn it. Eventually, there was just a small lump inside his shirt.
She quickly grabbed him. The little mouse’s eyes were still a mysterious gray-green, and it was breathing rapidly. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”
Was that really true? she wondered. She couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t, that the prince should be afraid.
She brought out the small black cloth bag she’d brought for this purpose and dropped him gently into it. The clothes were an annoyance. She couldn’t have him riding into that horrid little town naked. She gathered up the clothes and tried to tuck them in her various pockets, but the boots would go nowhere. Damn her sloppiness!
Every moment now was pushing her luck. She had to be gone. If she could be off with him—she’d figure something out.
She ran a finger down the edge of the eagle feather. A few dizzying seconds later, she felt her talons dig into the earth.
One talon clutched the top of the bag; the other grabbed the top of his boots. Then without another second’s hesitation, she launched herself into the sky.
The wind was much calmer now, and she gained height quickly. Her ears rang, her heart pounding, but she was nearly gone, the prince literally in her clutches.
Just as she was losing sight of the terrace, she heard a woman’s voice. “Aven?”
She felt a chill go through her, a pain in her wing where the brand festered even now. Had someone seen her? Hell. She should have left the boots behind. An eagle carrying a tiny bag and a pair of boots was hardly inconspicuous. If the Akarians figured out a mage had taken their prince… would that mean that she had already failed?