by R. K. Thorne
He opened his mouth to try to answer but then looked at her flatly and shrugged. Of course nothing could come out.
“That was stupid. Moronic! What did you think that was going to accomplish?”
He shrugged again and looked at her, puzzled. What was she talking about?
“Damn drunks. Damn ale. Shouldn’t have had any myself. Maybe that was it—was it the ale talking?”
He stared at her blankly, unsure what she was even saying at this point.
Even more irritated, she grabbed the bottle from the pouch, hastily yanked off the cap, and tossed its invisible contents in his direction, as though she were throwing water in his face. With a strange sort of thud, his throat felt suddenly heavier. He coughed, testing it.
“I can’t wait to be done with you,” she said. “You’re going to get me killed.”
“What are you talking about?” he finally choked out.
She shook her head at him in disgust, hands on her hips. “You are a fool.”
“A fool!”
“A damned fool.” She sat down on the other bed with her back toward him and jerked her boots off roughly, kicking them against the wall. “Going to get me killed.”
“Well, then let me go.”
She glowered at him. “Nice try. Not going to happen.”
“Why not? If I’m such an idiot, you’d be better off rid of me, don’t you think?”
“Don’t waste your breath.” Her stare was even icier at him than at the drunk.
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded.
She said nothing.
“Isn’t there something I can do—something I can get you? Something I can trade for my freedom?” She sat still, watching the fire. She didn’t reply or turn to meet his gaze. “Look, I don’t know what I’ve done to be a fool, so I’m not likely to stop unless you tell me.”
That got her attention. She twisted and stared wide-eyed, incredulous. Then she snorted and rose, heading to the window and surveying the street.
“C’mon, be sensible. You’ll never get away with this,” he said, trying to sound practical.
“Really? Is that a threat or your attempt at an observation?” She shook her head at him again. “You know nothing about me. How can you even dare to say that? Would you care to make a bet on it?”
“No. Gambling is against the Code.” She looked away from him and back out the window. “You’ve kidnapped a prince, you realize. It’s not like no one will notice I’ve disappeared.”
“Oh, damn, what a mistake this has all been! I was trying to find the court jester and mistook you for him—imagine that.” She rolled her eyes.
Finally, some confirmation of something. It was because he was a prince that she’d captured him. “I’m just trying to say, they are going to look for me.”
“Hadn’t occurred to me,” she laughed.
“What can I give you?” he demanded. The question was on the table now, he might as well push it to its furthest conclusion. “If you’re looking for something, Akaria will find it for you. Whatever someone is paying you, we can make it more. There has to be something that motivates you. If there’s some wrong I’ve committed, I’ll right it. What is it that you are after?”
She stared him dead in the eye for a long time, face filled with the strangest sadness and almost… was that despair? She shook her head. “My enemy is not you, Prince. It is within me, and there is nothing you can do to free me from it. There is no money that will buy it off or jewels that will sway it. There is nothing you can do. Give up on it.”
Her voice was dark and emotional and told him so little while suggesting so much. What could she mean?
“We have mages in Akaria, too, you know. They will be coming for you.” Now his voice was half threat, half warning.
She barked a laugh. “I’m shaking in my boots.”
His every dart glinted off her armor easily, and it was starting to piss him off. “You don’t have on any boots. And my mother is a mage—she will find you—” He stopped, horrified.
She turned, smiling with pleasant surprise at his mistake. “Is that so! Well, that explains why you’re a mage but not why you’re such a terribly bad one.”
He gasped. She knew—she knew! How could she know? Did everyone so easily figure this out? It didn’t even feel like much of a secret anymore! The air must have given him away. Of course. How could he not have remembered to hide himself? She was right, he was a fool, but she didn’t know the half of it.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. The whole damn village probably knows after your little stunt down there! We’ll be lucky if they only try to shun and ignore us. More likely they’ll try to kill us. Of all the stupid ways to try to draw attention—”
“I wasn’t trying to draw attention.”
“Then what were you trying to do? I’m inclined to just leave now and ride all night. Stupid! You’re lucky they have our coin already.” She strode angrily toward the hearth, hands in fists on her hips. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall, facing away from him, staring into the fire. The firelight gave the outline of her body a golden halo of light, silhouetting her curves. He became strangely aware that they were alone in the room together, of how far away she was, of the sound of her breath above the crackling of the fire. Damn, she’d kick him if she realized how he was staring at her, but he couldn’t help himself.
“The man was out of line. It’s against my Code to tolerate such behavior. But it… it wasn’t intentional,” he said.
She turned and eyed him over her shoulder. She didn’t believe him.
“I can’t control it.” He hesitated, trying to figure out how to convince her and sound sincere, though there was really no way to force someone to believe you, especially if they couldn’t trust a word you said. He groped for words. “Really, I can’t. Whether it would have been a good idea to get me free of you or not, that wasn’t an idea of mine. I can’t stop it.” He paused, trying to gauge her reaction, but she revealed nothing. “It’s been like that all my life. It’s not an easy secret to keep.”
She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “You can’t even stop a spell? Unbelievable! Well, I’m sure these Akarian mages of yours will be quite formidable. They’re going to kill me with a blink if their training is at the high level of yours!”
“Training! I don’t have any training,” he snapped, trying to keep his voice plain but failing. “There is no training for mages in Akaria.” Oh, by the gods was he stupid. Another thing he should not have said. Few people made him this agitated. He was getting sloppy. It also upset him to realize she was right—they would have little defense against her. How could they be so ill prepared to not have some way to defend against this scenario? Once he was back in Estun, he would have to start forming such a force immediately.
“How can there be no training?”
“I’m supposed to be king. Kings aren’t supposed to be mages.” He took a deep breath and was irritated to hear it come out ragged.
She glared at him, furious for some reason. “Oh, how inconvenient for you.”
“You have no idea,” he spat back at her, for the first time a real edge of anger in his voice.
“Yes, I damn well do.”
What could that possibly mean? He met her glare with his own furrowed brow. Her eyes softened as the moments passed. They were both mages. Why was being born a mage always such a curse, it seemed? Were the zealots right that magic was against the Way of Things? No, they couldn’t be.
“Do you think I asked for this? I didn’t ask to be born a mage, or a king, and certainly not both.”
She turned to look back at the fire, saying nothing for a while. Then, eventually, she said, “None of us have ever asked for this. And yet it is what we are.”
The silence stretched on, but the air was charged with intense emotion—was it grief? Despair? Something worse?
“Listen,” he said. “I don’t know if you can believe me. But I didn’t realize I was
putting us in any danger. I wasn’t plotting anything to get free. I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
That was the truth. It wasn’t the Code or the intoxicating freedom of being able to let his magic run wild. At a deeper level, seeing the drunk leer at her made him want to break the man’s legs. Or neck.
She said nothing. How could she just stand there? He was laying himself out on the table, and she just stared coldly, analyzing, never letting her guard down.
Then something insane leapt into his mind. “Look, you want to keep that from happening again?”
“Yes.”
“Then teach me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t want me calling attention? Then you’re going to have to teach me enough to stop my own spells.”
Her mouth hung open in surprise; she said nothing, eyes searching his face.
He shrugged. “Otherwise, this is just going to continue.”
She met his eyes, frowning now, stare icy and hard, cutting into him as if she wished to see into his soul. Perhaps she could see into it, for all he knew.
“You’re an obstinate fool,” she said. Then, after a while, “I will think about it.”
Miara decided to let him sleep more freely that night, binding him to the bed with the saddle chain. It wouldn’t be as comfortable as sleeping normally, but it had to be a great improvement. She had to balance security and her own rest with keeping him from getting any more belligerent.
She had readied herself for sleep and directed him to do the same, and now she sat in the bed, listening, thinking. He appeared to be trying to go to sleep, but from his breathing, he was awake. Intentionally or unintentionally, she wasn’t sure.
She’d been furious after the encounter with the drunken villager, but really, she had been angry at herself. She’d just taken it out on him. She had known that there could be a problem, and sure enough, there had been. Her instincts had told her not to go into the room, but she’d done it anyway. Out of hunger or a longing for mere comfort, she’d endangered her mission.
And, of course, it was safer to take his voice, but there was no finesse to it at all. So heavy-handed on her part. Of course, the day she tried it, that would be the day someone would talk to him and make a scene. She could have gone with a more complex spell, restricting the things he could say. Perhaps to only yes, no, or maybe. That could work for tomorrow. There were so many other ways; she just hadn’t thought about it very hard. She could have given one of them some kind of grotesque disguise that scared people away. Or transformed him into her pet dog, perhaps, although that would take more energy, and he probably wouldn’t be too happy. And she wouldn’t be able to sustain it overnight or indefinitely, and then folks would wonder where the mysterious man in dirty silk robes had come from. If she were a stronger mage or had a shorter road ahead of her, she could easily dominate his thoughts with a barrage of commands, especially with his lack of training. But beyond the fact that that would be exhausting, she had no desire to use such horrible tactics. It was the kind of thing the mages in the Dark Days had done, the kind of unbalanced use of magic that had gotten them all into this mess.
How could she even try to keep any semblance of honor when she was kidnapping a man and probably dragging him to his death? But there were so many things she had no choice about. When she did have a choice, she was going to make the right one.
And now she sat, waiting. She was sure the drunk, or someone like him, would make some kind of move tonight. The question was when. She was ready for them now. Let it be soon, she thought, exhausted. She would pass the time by thinking of a way not to kill any attackers—and how to get some sleep if they waited till the wee hours of the morning to make the attempt.
Aven was still awake. She listened to his breathing again, then returned to her planning. Her options for sprouting defenses were pretty limited by the cleanliness of the inn and the room’s position on the second floor. Many animals and plants would draw far too much attention. The most peaceful option would be to transform the two of them into something tiny when the villagers came so that they’d be too confused to even realize what had happened. Still, there was risk in that, too. Vanishing from the room would be a confirmation that they were mages, and the villagers might spot their tiny transformed selves and kill them more easily with the squash of a boot, especially Aven, who would likely be too inexperienced as another type of being to successfully run and hide. As a creature mage, she had few weapons in her arsenal now that the villagers had seen their faces and knew where they were.
Footsteps out in the hallway. She tensed and tightened her grip on the handle of her dagger, but the footsteps kept going. A door up the hall opened and shut.
That left smaller, more common animals as her only allies. Hearing no one nearby, she swept the house with her senses. A few mice and rats—as most inns had—many people with no magical talent whatsoever, and then finally in the kitchen, she found a cat.
Perfect.
She whispered to it, musical bits of thought, greeting, warming it to her presence. It was curious. It liked the attention. Ah, cats could always be counted on for both of those traits. She reached out to it more and discovered it was a big orange tomcat, relatively neglected but very proud of his dominion over the tavern. Then, ever so politely, she asked him to check if the drunk was still drinking in the tavern room.
Sharing his eyes for a few moments, the tom strode proudly into the tavern room. He dodged a few feet as he skirted the room, scouting. When he found their corner, the drunk was still there.
Will you watch this man for me? she whispered to the cat. She used images and thoughts more than words because they were what the cat himself used. Follow him to see if he goes anywhere? Warn me if he moves? Do this, and I’ll tell you where the mice are hiding.
The cat curled up in the corner of the tavern room, standing guard. She was sure he would have done it without the offer of mice, as he was quite the curious and bored little beast. But that just didn’t feel right. It was not the Way to simply bend him to her will without offering something in exchange.
Settling back into her own eyes, she opened them and turned toward the prince.
He appeared to be sleeping now. He lay on his back, arms over his head where she had chained them. He didn’t look much like most of the mages she had always known. His muscled body was stocky and hardened from effort. A warrior more than a mage. What was this Code he spoke of? Did he really know anything about fighting, if he knew nothing about magic? He sure looked like he could fight. The only mages she knew that looked like that were the ones who worked on farms or in the smithy.
His bargaining and threats were only logical; she should have expected them. What was far more surprising was how unafraid he appeared and how comfortable around her. He was always at ease. That made him seem more royal and princely than anything else, even that kingly face of his. He knew his strength, and he owned the air around him, perhaps too much so. It was refreshing. Of course, he was impetuous and had the magical skills of a three-year-old, but her annoyance at that was wearing off and fading back into pity.
He offered her an interesting proposition. Teaching him some ability to control his magic did seem useful. Of course, it was probably the opposite of what the Masters would want her to do, but that made it all the more enticing. Especially because her brand did not burn and her thoughts did not tremble at the idea. It seemed to know that he was right, and teaching him truly would help her on the mission. His wild magic was a danger and made stealth in any populated area much more difficult.
If the brand would let her, and if they made it through the night, she’d teach him something in the morning. What was the first magic her father had taught her, before the Devoted Knights had come, before they’d become slaves? Where should she start?
She reached back to the tomcat. The drunk was still there, getting drunker. But he was talking to two friends now. The tom could not hear what they were say
ing.
Well, she knew where he was, but that didn’t help her do anything beyond killing the bastard if he attacked. There had to be some other way, but nothing was coming to mind. She so often relied on evasion and hiding that she feeling underprepared for a direct confrontation. She sighed. This was her first kidnapping; she shouldn’t be so hard on herself.
She spread her thoughts again, this time out of the house, up into the sky and fields around the inn. Not many people out in the town. A few more cats, plenty of rodents and insects and the like, squirrels, their horses in the stable.
And then—a bat! Just what she was looking for.
Rising, she opened the tiny window and whispered to the bat to come. After a few moments, a terrifying flutter of wings caused her to duck in spite of herself as the bat swooped inside. Bats had always struck her as intelligent, and this one proved no different. He landed and hung by the door as if he understood what she wanted without a verbal request. She shut the window most of the way but left a large crack open in case the bat needed to get out without her. The cold autumn air smelled fresher than the room anyway.
Well, it wouldn’t be a defense, but at least it would be a warning. And perhaps the bat would scare the hell out of anyone opening the door long enough to stall them until she’d gotten her eyes open. And then she’d kill them, unless a better idea came to her in a dream. Because for now, she had to get some rest. There was no point sitting there staring at the door, wishing for a peaceful way to end someone.
Dagger in its sheath under her pillow, she got into the bed. The linens were quite soft compared to the rough outer blanket, to her surprise. She reached back to the tomcat briefly; the drunk was still leering at his two companions. Perhaps he’d get so drunk he’d forget their encounter. Or perhaps not. She closed her eyes and quickly fell asleep.
Aven woke to—of all things—the sound of a bat screeching and the drunk man from earlier that evening shouting and pounding on the door. He sat up quickly, caught himself on the chain, and twisting awkwardly to sitting.