by R. K. Thorne
“Back at it, Farsai.”
He turned on a heel and stalked away. She scowled after him. Ignorant bastard. He liked to throw around epithets, a pathetic attempt at intimidation that only proved what an idiot he was. She wasn’t even from Farsa. If he actually listened to a word she said, he would hear no accent. But she wasn’t holding her breath for that to happen.
Kae gave her a sheepish shrug and mouthed a silent “Sorry.” Although similarly blond and pale, Kae couldn’t be more different from their teacher. She waved off his concern. Her friend was just doing his job. After dozens of practice blasts, she was bound to miss one or two. And how would she get better if he didn’t push her? If it were a real battle, those one or two blasts could be deadly.
It was good to have goals. Like revenge. And not missing another volley for the rest of the day. And maybe deflecting one at Sorin’s backside.
Kae had far less interest in buffeting her with blasts of energy than she had in deflecting them. At least for her it was a practical skill. Earth mages did not take so easily to combat as air mages like Kae. If they took to it at all. But she would. She had to.
“Again,” barked Sorin. He was pacing up and down the rows of practicing mages, observing and “correcting” but mostly just being a nuisance.
She placed one hand on the staff two handbreadths above the other, sunk down into horse stance, and held the weapon straight in a plumb line to the earth, listening for its rhythm, making the connection as quickly and instinctively as possible. This wasn’t just any staff, but one spelled to defend against air attacks in particular, or else she couldn’t have managed. Fortunately, there was little disadvantage to relying on a weapon beyond the fact that you could lose it.
Supposedly they would also learn how to fight back eventually. Every morning she hoped that was the day, but they hadn’t gotten to it yet. If they ever would.
Kae sent another wave of energy, a shock of lightning this time, and this one she managed to capture and channel down into the welcoming earth in spite of her wandering thoughts. Good. It was becoming more automatic.
Sorin had reached the far end of the mages, as far out of earshot as he would get, and Kae seemed to be waiting for him to do so, eying their teacher over his shoulder every few moments. “Have you heard the rumors?” He cupped his hand and kept his voice low, otherwise putting all his body language into readying another blast.
“What?” The next wave hit. The gentler gust of wind sent her a little off-balance to the left, but she worked with it, spinning a little and righting herself quickly. Back in position.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Kae eyed Sorin’s position again, hesitating. “Rumor is a mage escaped.” Her eyes widened, and he grinned. “See, I thought you’d like that. Was surprised you wasn’t the one telling me.” Kae, unlike her, did have an accent, some kind of backcountry farm dialect. Refreshing, when those who talked like her mostly had nothing nice to say.
Len, a mage to his left, shot him a dangerous look. “Don’t go spreading lies, Kae.”
“No lie, if it’s true.”
“You don’t know that.”
“How you think they could do such a thing?”
Len shrugged, sending his next volley at his earth mage partner to Jaena’s left. “It matters not.”
“But—” Kae started, but Sorin turned and was making his way back down the row, one eyebrow raised. Kae shut up.
Escaped? How strange. Everyone knew such a thing was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
She shoved a surge of hope back down. It was probably all foolish, childish rumors. Lies. Kids not knowing any better, not understanding how the lure of hope could crush your spirit each time you discovered afresh that you had absolutely no hope of escape. It was all foolish and impossible.
In the tense silence that followed, she struggled to keep her thoughts on Kae’s attempts—thankfully all failures—to knock her on her ass. But his words niggled at her, as he’d probably known they would.
Jaena would never get used to being a slave. She didn’t know how anyone did, but some seemed to. Or perhaps they just got tired.
Well, she was not tired yet. Especially not after watching the way their capture had crushed her sister, until she could no longer stand it. Until she’d thrown herself from the north tower—or someone had pushed her. Supposedly mage slaves weren’t supposed to be able to kill themselves. But Dekana had been physically stronger than most men Jaena knew. Inside, though… Jaena did not believe it had been anything but despair that had killed her sister.
Three years ago, the two of them had been kidnapped and brought here. As daughters of a Hepani diplomat, they hadn’t been nobles in Hepan and had been obligated to political marriages on their family’s behalf. But Jaena had counted such a fate lucky by most Hepani standards. Her marriage would likely have been more advantageous for her than for her husband. Many nobles tended to choose brides from the diplomatic and merchant class. She’d also harbored a hope that perhaps she could avoid marriage. It happened once in a while.
Poor Hepani women often remained unmarried but also had the least resources to take advantage of such a state. As someone near the middle of the social hierarchy, as the younger sibling, she’d had the most chance at carving out something for herself between the lines of Hepani society. She’d plotted to dodge a husband and become a merchant, open a shop of some kind. Stones, to be honest, she had wanted to sell stones. Precious as emeralds and opals or common as quartz and hematite. In hindsight, her fixation on stones made sense, but she hadn’t thought much of it at the time. It hurt to remember the dream, partly because of its innocence. Her most likely destiny, a political marriage, had not seemed so bad. Perhaps an intellectual merchant from southern Akaria who could sweep her off to the White City, or a daring Takaran seafarer who’d be away half the year anyway?
She had accepted that her family’s position and her father’s determined machinations would limit her, but she had still thought it likely she’d have some hand in her fate. She had still had hope.
She could never have imagined this.
It had all ended abruptly. Her family had been attacked on the road by those damned Devoted, and she’d found herself here. A slave. Sometimes a serving girl, sometimes a blacksmith’s assistant. Perhaps a warrior, if she responded to their training. The Masters would see. The Masters would determine. She hadn’t even known that she and her sister were mages. She didn’t regret learning of her power, but it had not been worth the cost. She’d trade her magic for her freedom in a heartbeat.
Even more, she would trade any and all of it to have her sister back.
Still. Escape? Was such a thing really possible? If only it had come in time for Dekana. But… Jaena could get revenge much more easily if she were free.
When Sorin reached the far end of the row, she caught Kae’s eye. “We should find out if those rumors are true.”
“Impossible,” grunted Len.
“How?” Kae smiled and lifted his chin in challenge.
“Maybe the mages at the gate. Maybe they saw someone go in or out. Or the healers. Or maybe Menaha has heard something.”
He rubbed his chin. “And there’s why I tell you this stuff.”
“We’ll find her at dinner,” she decided with a nod, and he nodded grimly in reply.
A messenger darted up and handed Sorin a note. He quickly glanced over it. “I’m called on another mission. Continue practice until the third bell rings, then you may be dismissed.” He strode away, a new self-important bounce in his step.
She rolled her eyes. Please. Fortunately for them, Sorin didn’t hold the power to compel them like the Masters did. As soon as the bastard was out of sight, they’d be off, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“We need to talk,” his mother said once Aven and his father arrived in Miara’s rooms.
“So I hear.” Aven settled down in an armchair by the hearth. Oh, by all the gods and ancestors. He had misse
d such luxuries as cushions. His father moved to lean against the warm carved stone.
Aven glanced with concern at Miara, who pointed furtively at a nearby table. A whole tray of six apple dumplings sat waiting. He leapt to his feet, snatched one, and took a huge bite before returning to them.
Gods. He hadn’t been sure he’d ever taste this again.
“I don’t know how to go about this delicately,” his mother said, “so let’s have out with it. Your father and I don’t think you should share the news of your relationship publicly just yet.” Elise set a cup of tea on his end table. Was there a touch of apology to the gesture, or was he imagining it?
Aven glared from one parent to the other while he chewed on another overlarge bite. “Because of this dvora?”
“Dvora?” Miara asked.
Elise stood and began pacing in front of the hearth, arms folded across her chest. “No, not because of her.” She waved her hand irritably, as though shooing away a fly. She turned to Miara. “A suitor arrived yesterday for Aven, a minor noble from Esengard. Dvora is her title, like a lord. Not to worry, though, because Aven is expert in finding fault and repelling potential suitors.”
“And also because I’m rather partial to you and not her,” he added gruffly. Miara smiled back at his consternation.
“Not because of our new visitor,” his mother said.
“Why then?” Aven demanded, voice colder now.
“Because right now, Miara is seen by many to be foreign, first of all,” his father said. “The enemy. All they know about her is that she’s a mage. From Kavanar, our greatest enemy. Who just began a war with us by kidnapping you.”
“By having me in particular do the kidnapping, although we’ve skipped over that part,” Miara added.
“I think high treason is easily forgiven for saving the prince’s life, don’t you think, Mother?” Aven said.
Elise snorted. “I would tend to agree, if your father is amiable too.” She inclined her head at her husband, and he gave a rough nod, but not without a slight hesitation.
“There is that matter,” Samul said. “I will document a formal pardon, even if we don’t share it publicly, in case that story becomes more widely known. But she is still not one of us. Yet.”
Aven scowled at his father. Miara raised her eyebrows.
“We’re not saying you can’t be together,” his mother added quickly. “I’m just saying we’re all going to have to work for it. We need to manage this situation and control how and to whom we reveal what.”
“No. Secrets are what got us into this mess.” Aven sat forward in his chair, relaxation gone.
“All governments have secrets,” his father snapped. “You know this.”
“Fine, fine. But this is foolish. We can’t treat her like an outsider. We need to involve her in our planning. She has the best information on our enemies we are going to get. She should be working with Dyon and Asten and—”
“It is much too soon for that,” his father shot back.
“We don’t have time for everyone to play until they make friends. Kavanar is going to act, and they’re going to act soon. We need to present a strong and united front, and not—”
“If I have to give you an order to do this, I will.” Samul shifted from his more casual pose leaning against the stone to standing, shoulders squared as he faced Aven.
Aven gritted his teeth. “A week.”
“A month. At least.”
“We don’t have that kind of—”
“We should see how long we need,” his mother cut in smoothly. “You’ve only just arrived. Miara needs to earn a place in Akarian society that people respect and admire. She needs to define herself to them as someone they know and could imagine being loyal to, not just a Kavanarian spy. That may take more than a month.”
He turned a frustrated gaze to Miara, hoping for some support, some clever reason why they definitely shouldn’t do this. “How do you feel about this?”
She shrugged, although she looked paler than before. “You are all better judges of the political situation than I am. I can see the logic behind allowing me to establish myself more here as an individual. Also, people might think dark magic is afoot, even if magic can’t do that. Or some might worry I’ve tricked you or manipulated you through some other nonmagical means.”
The way his father frowned at Miara as she spoke suggested the king might actually share some of those concerns. Aven stifled a groan.
He hated this idea. Hated it. And with this newly arrived dvora blushing and batting her eyelashes at the same time? Bloody hell. His shoulders were tightening into knots already.
“Fine, one month,” he grunted.
“We’ll see,” the king said.
“But we need Miara’s knowledge of magic and of Kavanar. It will make a decisive difference in this war. You cannot just relegate her to drinking tea with irrelevant diplomats and advisors.”
“I’ll discuss it with Warden Asten and Lord Dyon.”
See that you do, Aven wanted to snap. But nobody talked to King Samul that way, not even his sons. A different part of him wanted to respond with more deference and say thank you, Father, I’d appreciate that, you’re right about all this, as he knew was probably appropriate. But mostly he just wanted to yell. To turn away her knowledge and abilities while forming their plans was pure politics and hubris, the same hubris that had left them so unprepared against the mage threat in the first place. Apparently no one had learned their lesson yet, except maybe him.
Aven sat, eyes locked with his father’s for one moment, then another, as he struggled with a response until part of him won out.
“Thank you, Father. Of course. Whatever you think.”
The king gave a nod to each of them and left, but Aven wasn’t watching. He stared off into the fire.
Shortly after, his mother left them too. Aven moved from the armchair to beside Miara on the couch. Servants wandered about. They would find no end of chores to complete as long as he stayed in Miara’s rooms. Their errands were only an excuse to not leave Aven and Miara alone. Which was just as well, much as he didn’t like it.
It would help him stick with his… decision.
She leaned her elbows on her forearms and stared into the fire, which lit her features in a soft, familiar light. He had studied the profile of her face for many an hour, and yet he had no desire to stop any time soon. The jagged scar from the wolf attack on her cheek still felt new and made her no less beautiful. In fact, it lent a certain wildness to her that made his heart beat faster. She had removed her cloak but still wore her leathers.
“Well, that was… interesting. Do you think that meeting went well? What did I miss?” She straightened and scooted closer to him as she spoke. Her thigh came to rest gently against his, and he found himself staring at his knee, a new tension coiling inside him.
“It could have been worse,” he said. “Lord Alikar did call for an Assembly meeting to vote on my place as heir. Called for Thel to be king.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That was the bit at the beginning, wasn’t it? When that sour-faced fellow stormed out. What exactly does that mean?”
“Wait—what did Thel want? I didn’t even see him pull you out of the room.”
“Oh, he wanted to know if he is a mage.”
And he hadn’t chosen to ask Mother? Of course, she had long refused to answer the question, but certainly now things would be different. “And? Is he?”
“Oh, very much so, yes.”
The wave of relief that washed over Aven was more intense than he would have expected. At least that was one less thing to worry about.
“You’re glad to hear it?”
He nodded. “Back to your question. Alikar’s call for an Assembly meeting doesn’t mean much by the letter of the law. The king is still the king. He chooses his heir. However, the Assembly can voice their opinion on something, if they desire. And they occasionally do so via a formal vote when it is a serious matter.”
>
“Their… opinion? What happens if their opinion is against you?”
“Nothing specific. They can vote on whether they support the king’s choice of heir, but they have no power to make him change anything. But politics is all subtleties. Our united military holds the kingdom together. The territories fund the army, as well as similar parts of government. My father could ignore them and do whatever he pleased. They could also ‘misplace’ their next gold shipments or ‘forget’ to send forces into the battle. Or a lot worse. Of course, he could then later refuse to defend them in their time of need.”
She leaned against the couch beside him now, and her shoulder touched his. Hmm. Was putting his arm around her in front of these servants breaking his promise to his mother? If they’d been listening, had she sworn them to secrecy already anyway? No, that’d be unreliable, if not ineffective. He hadn’t seen any of them nearby while they’d talked, so perhaps she’d sent them out.
Still, he wanted to do more than let his shoulder brush hers. Hmm.
“What could be worse than ‘forgetting’ to send troops? That sounds like a pretty low blow.”
“They could start an all-out civil war.”
She winced. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“There are six of them. Imagine half vote in support of me and half vote against.”
“Are you saying you think civil war is likely?”
“I have no idea.”
“Any guesses as to how they will vote?” She bent down to unlace and remove her boots as she spoke, and he watched with too much intensity as her fingers deftly loosened the laces. She didn’t seem to notice.
What was her question again? Oh, yes. “I’d wager Dyon would support us. My father, of course has a vote. Warden Asten is exceedingly fair, part of the reason she won her seat as Assembly member, and so I’m sure she will consider all sides. Not sure what she will do. I’m hoping she’ll come to the same conclusion as I did with enough information.”