The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  Miara stared up at the wood beams and tried to keep her mind blank and calm. She didn’t know if she should be happy or concerned that the healer considered her a real warrior. But bloody as she was, perhaps anything else would be ridiculous. She was indeed fresh from a battle—both physically, and in her soul. At least the physical fight was over.

  Fesian circled around, moved her hand over the scratch on Miara’s face, and began to focus on it.

  Miara held up her hand. “Leave that,” she said.

  “But why? We’re not short on energy. We’ve got more than we know what to do with, I promise you. You needn’t skimp.”

  “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I can’t explain. I just… I have to keep it, at least for a little while. I don’t want to completely erase it all. Maybe I’ll change my mind and be back tomorrow.”

  This seemed to assuage them. The talon punctures required several stops and starts and rests in between as they healed them back and forth in waves. The world was fuzzy and seemed to buzz around her. She lay mostly still, eyes shut, dazed, stuck like an insect cocooned in amber.

  Each healing spell itself was agony. But they only barely registered in her mind. She had forced herself to stop thinking about the stupid knight. All that was left was… nothing.

  There was nothing to think of, nothing to work toward, nothing to care about. Nothing but the tendril of a thought of him, the feeling that someone who had just been in the room was now gone, the cold feeling after a warm hand leaves your side. She sighed. It wasn’t that there was nothing left. Something was left: the glaring absence of him.

  How could she care in a world that would let Aven die? How could she build anything in a world like this? Why would she bring herself to even move? How could she do anything at all, really?

  She didn’t.

  Fesian paused for a moment, frowning at the eternal wound on Miara’s shoulder. “Hmph. Odd.”

  “What is it?” Miara managed.

  “Oh, nothing.” The healer returned to fussing over the talon punctures on her back. “Just a few more, hold on.”

  Finally, Tameun roused her with a pat on her forearm. Had she fallen asleep? When had she closed her eyes? “That’s enough for now, Miara. Let’s see if it finishes the last little healing on its own. There should be few scars.”

  “On the outside, anyway,” she muttered.

  Tameun gave a friendly snort, and Fesian wrapped her arms around Miara in a hug. “All things heal with time,” she whispered.

  Death doesn’t, Miara thought. Slavery doesn’t. But she didn’t voice her thoughts.

  The healers left her. She trudged back to the dorm. Her father wasn’t there, nor Luha. Of course, it was the middle of the day, and they were working. She sat down on her bed, then threw herself carelessly down, burying her face in the blankets.

  There she lay, thinking very little, hardly moving, just staring, as the day marched on.

  At one point, she thought she heard a scream in the distance. Was that Aven? She leapt up, running to the window and throwing the shutters open, listening. Nothing.

  No, no, it made no sense. It was probably long done. Before she’d even left the healers. The branding didn’t take long. It could not be him. It was probably just children playing.

  But in her heart, it might as well have been. She may not have heard it, but at some point during the day, there had been at least one such scream. And her heart broke at the thought that they had broken him, that they’d made him into a slave. Just like her.

  Now instead of just sitting and staring, the tears finally came. She forgot the open window and collapsed back onto her bed, slowly crying herself into an exhausted sleep.

  Exhausted as he was, Aven gave the guards his fair share of trouble getting him up off the table in the smithy and vertical again. One slung Aven’s branded arm over his shoulder to hold him upright, and he groaned at the shockwave of pain that resulted. He wasn’t aware of anything in the next few moments beyond that pain.

  Then they were dragging him somewhere. Where had the woman said? The dungeon? Yes. They entered the main building from the back this time and hauled him down several excruciating flights of stairs. Blackness replaced the midday light, and only a sporadic torch made further progress possible.

  Finally, a small, dank room opened up before them. Wet, rugged stone surrounded them on all sides. In the center of the room, red-hot coals in an open hearth left the room almost as sweltering as the smithy. The air reeked of sweat and worse. Cells lined the walls.

  Into one of these he was dragged. A guard shackled his hands to the wall and left. He saw the two masters studying him from the base of the staircase before they, too, were gone.

  Hell. There was no starlight here. Nor light from the sun or the moon. Nothing to sustain him or revive him as Miara had taught him. His heart started to race in mild panic, that same feeling of being trapped returning so suddenly.

  He shivered, finally recovering enough to notice the deep, icy feeling in his chest. At least he had expended some magic. Whether it had accomplished anything, he was glad he now knew enough to try.

  The dark, heavy walls pressed in on him, bringing back his very worst memories of Estun. How much had changed in just a few days. His worries had been for hiding his magic, finding a wife, getting out of yet another boring social event. Now he couldn’t imagine hiding his magic, or finding anyone to marry other than Miara, or wasting a minute in an event he didn’t want to take part in. In retrospect, though, brandy and conversation didn’t seem quite so bad or so boring.

  He studied his surroundings. Why bother with iron bars if he was to be shackled to the wall anyway? The restraints around his wrists were anchored at about shoulder height and left him in an awkward sitting position. His feet and legs were free. His chest still felt hollow with a frigid cold.

  He examined the hearth. There was light coming from it, wasn’t there? And wasn’t fire the domain of the air mage, even if he didn’t understand it yet? Perhaps he could draw some energy from that to recharge. He didn’t mind the cold with the heat in the room, but who knew when he might need that energy for something?

  He closed his eyes and tried to feel the energy instead of looking for it. For a while, all he could sense was his own frigid core. But gradually, he caught another whisper of a strange, dancing, vibrating, twitching energy. The fire.

  He pulled from it cautiously, slowly. Would going too fast make it go out? He didn’t want anything to be noticed. And he didn’t know how much he needed or how this strange, twitchy energy might make him feel.

  In the end, though, it felt no different than sunlight or starlight—like glorious sustenance, like pure joy coursing through is veins.

  A squeak broke his concentration. A rat was sniffing his boot. He twitched his foot in its direction, and it scurried away. Well. What a pleasant addition to these lovely accommodations.

  He took a deep breath. The cold was mostly gone; that was probably enough for now. His shoulder ached, of course. His mind felt unchanged. Did the enslavement spell take time? Could one even notice it at any given moment? What a torture it would be to only remember you were a slave some of the time, when you couldn’t do what you really wanted. He thought of Miara and felt sure that must be the way it worked.

  He tried to bring his thoughts back to assessing his situation and preparing himself for any future battle that might come his way. He’d rejuvenated his magic. Now the best thing he could do was rest as well as he could in this awful position. He tried to lean his temple against the shackle that held his right hand in the air, and after a few wild head jerks as he nodded off, he finally settled into a tense sleep.

  “What the hell just happened?” Daes demanded as soon as they were alone.

  The Tall Master shrugged. “I don’t think it worked.”

  A chill ran through Daes’s veins. “What do you mean it didn’t work?” He spoke numbly. He didn’t really mean it. He knew exactly what it meant. He had seen
the same thing the Tall Master had. At the end of the process, there was always a strange flash and cracking sound, like the briefest flash of thunder, as the enchantment took hold. But this time, nothing.

  But he didn’t want to believe it.

  “Perhaps your fears were more founded than some of us were willing to believe.”

  He met the Tall Master’s gaze, his expression grim. But Daes said nothing.

  “His lips were moving,” the other man said. “Did you see it? He was saying something. Maybe saying something to stop the process.”

  “This is one time I’m not pleased to be right. I hope it is not the case. We must be sure.”

  The Tall Master nodded.

  “I think we should brand him again,” Daes said.

  “But then he will know that something isn’t right.” The older man frowned and rubbed his chin.

  “If he already has the star magic, then he may already know that he is not a slave. Then again, he might not realize it’s anything out of the ordinary. He doesn’t know our ways. Perhaps it is the usual second step in the process. Also, check his wound, see if any healing has begun.” Daes needed to know more. What did this prince think he knew, where had he learned how to resist them? He had to die—but Daes had to figure out how the prince had gained his knowledge first.

  “It’s only been a few hours. The wound will not have had time to heal. But I’ll check.” The Tall Master nodded, eyes dark, and turned to go. But just in the doorway, he stopped for a moment. “Daes,” he said, voice deadly serious. “What if he has discovered the forbidden magic?”

  “Then we will kill him as quickly as possible, and his brothers next. Perhaps try to find out how he learned of it first. But we can’t let this knowledge resurface. It was foolish to underestimate it for so long, to assume it was forgotten. We will end it now. We must.”

  The Tall Master nodded crisply and headed out.

  Miara awoke to soft fingers stroking her hair. She blinked her eyes open to her father sitting beside her on the bed. The window was still open. The light of early evening fell on his soft smile.

  She sat up quickly and threw her arms around him. He squeezed her hard in return. The way he did it made her suspect he hadn’t been sure she’d come home this time.

  She had. Although she might have wished differently.

  “You’re back,” he murmured.

  She let go of him and smiled. “I made it.”

  “And your mission?”

  “Complete.” His face said that he understood the bitter tone in her voice. He understood her like no one else.

  “What happened to your face?” He gently brushed his fingers over the scratches on her cheek.

  “A wolf.”

  He frowned. “You ran into a wolf you couldn’t charm? Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

  “Not a wild one. A human one.”

  “Ah, I see. They came after him, eh?”

  She nodded.

  “I would do the same, of course, if I could. Are you all right?” he said.

  “No,” she said, not wanting to lie. Not to him.

  He said nothing, only waited.

  “Aven—the prince—is a good man. He doesn’t deserve this hell.”

  He nodded grimly and pulled her back into his arms.

  “He fell in love with me,” she whispered, feeling her eyes growing blurry, muffling her voice into the wool of his tunic and vest. “It was horrible. He could have run away, but he didn’t, because of me. He didn’t want to leave me; he wanted to help. I couldn’t explain any of it. I couldn’t warn him. I tried to convince him I didn’t—” She stopped short, choked with emotion.

  “That was his choice, not yours. A noble and brave choice, too.”

  “I was still the cause. I’ve never been in love before, Father. Love should be about being happy, making a family—not luring a man to his death.”

  He gave a little snort of laughter. “Love is often far more complicated than we like to think, isn’t it?” he replied. “We know that all too well. There’s what they tell you in children’s books and parables. Then there’s real life. You and I are not the first ones to be burned by love, my dear.”

  She said nothing, just holding onto him, letting the tears slow to a hollow stop.

  “Of course, one can hardly blame him,” he continued. “You have all of your mother’s beauty, and much more heart than she ever did.”

  “I wish I didn’t. If only I’d been ugly, or cruel, or had no good spells to stop him. If I’d been worse. The world would be better without—”

  He pulled away, put a finger rapidly to her lips, and didn’t let her say it. “Don’t ever say that, Miara. It’s not true. Not true at all.”

  “It is true,” she whispered. She was too full of emotion to stay her words or think them through. “Don’t try to tell me it isn’t, Father. What about you and mother? It would all have been better without me. What good have I brought to you?” She shook her head.

  “No,” he spat, his fingers digging into her arms. “You have brought me so much joy, it’s indescribable. You can’t possibly understand. I know it might seem hard to believe, but it’s true. Someday when you are a mother, you will see. Your mother and I would not have lasted. I was living a lie. And so was she. You helped me see that magic—and my daughter’s magic—was more important than that lie, whatever the cost. You have the best things about her in you, and then more. I cannot comprehend a world without you. And what the Masters have made you do is not your fault. That sin is on their souls, not yours. Let me send for Brother Sefim.”

  “I already know what he would say,” she whispered bitterly. “He has told me a thousand times. But it is still my hands that have done these things. They are still my memories. I can’t forget giving him over to them, seeing them take him away because I was able to do their bidding. Sefim says the Balance will even out all things in the end—but where is the Balance now? Where is the Balance in my life? There is no balance here. No matter how much good I put in, only pain and strife come back in the end.”

  “You’re young, Miara—”

  “What does that matter?”

  “You have many years of life ahead of you for things to even out. You have lived but a fraction of your time here. Justice is slow, and the Way is long. The Balance will reach you, it just takes time.”

  “Has it reached you, Father?” she whispered.

  His jaw clenched at that, and there was a look in his eyes she couldn’t decode. “It gave me you,” he whispered. “And Luha. Just one of you is more than I could dare to ask for.”

  “Maybe the Balance is just a lie to keep us going. To keep us from giving up. Something to give us hope, but it’s not real. Maybe the world is not fair, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it.”

  He stared at her. He said nothing for a long while. He didn’t seem to be wondering if what she’d said was true, and she was a little glad because she wasn’t sure she believed it was. Instead his face seemed to say that he wondered what she could have gone through that could possibly make her feel this way.

  “Oh, Miara,” he whispered finally. “This has been even harder on you than I thought.”

  They said nothing for a while, sitting in silence. Outside, a few birds chirped the songs of evening, readying for quiet.

  “I will let you be,” he said. “I can see you need time to think and be alone. There are no easy answers, and even if I had any, I’m not sure you could hear them right now. But if I could say one more thing… I would say whatever you do, whatever they break in you, whatever they take from you, don’t let them take your faith. Don’t let them in that far. They don’t deserve it.”

  He ran a hand over her hair, brushed the backs of his fingers along the scar on her cheek, and then stood. He kissed her on the forehead. Then he went to the window and closed the shutters.

  “Shall I bring you back a flame for the fire?”

  She nodded numbly.

&n
bsp; He, too, nodded, bowed a little, and headed from her room. As soon as he was gone, she felt a strange longing. Fathers were supposed to have the answers. He always had before. But if he had the answer this time, he wasn’t saying. He was waiting for her to find it herself, or not at all. This time when he left her, the question was still hanging in the air.

  She shouldn’t have pushed him so hard. She shouldn’t have mentioned Mother. Miara was hurt, and she was lashing out by hurting him. The Masters had hurt her and Aven, and she was just passing it onto her father as well. She had to stop the cycle.

  But she didn’t have the strength just yet. She was still aching. Maybe tomorrow. Or perhaps her father yet had the strength to stop the cycle with him.

  Later, he returned and stoked the fire for her, smiling sweetly at her, kissing her forehead, saying nothing. She smiled back weakly. She lay on the bed for the longest time, just listening to him move about his daily tasks in the adjoining rooms. He hummed to himself, a small salve to the emptiness. Her brain wouldn’t move, wouldn’t think. Every time it did, she hurt too much. Every thought was of Aven.

  Eventually, Luha crept in and snuggled to her side, sleepy eyed and sweet. Miara had no idea what time it was, but it had to be very late.

  “Can I sleep with you tonight, Miara?” Luha whispered. “It’s getting cold, and I had a nightmare.”

  Miara smiled a little and nodded, and Luha climbed in next to her. Miara wrapped an arm around the little girl, pulling her close. There was probably no nightmare; Luha just wanted to be close. That was okay with her. The air had indeed grown cold, and besides, she had missed her sister.

  For a moment, she could see Luha less as a little sister and more like her own little girl. Her father’s words rang in her head. Someday when you’re a mother. Would such a day ever come? What if she had her own little girl to cradle to sleep just like this? Could she bring a life into such a sad and unjust world? And even if she wanted to… who would ever be good enough to lie in her arms, after him?

  For a moment, a vision flashed before her eyes—an older Aven with graying hair and a delicate silver crown, cradling a laughing little boy in the crook of his arm. What if… what if things had been completely different? What if she’d been born in Akaria? What if she’d been free? What if neither of them had had any of this stupid magic? What kind of family could they have created?