The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

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The Complete Enslaved Chronicles Page 41

by R. K. Thorne


  He nodded, his face still buried in the hair of her shoulder. “When did you tell her to leave?” His hands ran down her back, circling around her hips. They should stop. Perhaps a moment longer.

  “Tomorrow night. Should give us at least tonight and perhaps part of tomorrow. Think you can cooperate to perhaps free two or three? Maybe teach someone else how to do it?”

  He pulled away, smiling sheepishly. “Well, when you put it that way, I can.”

  “It’s fine. One more mage is free today that wasn’t yesterday. Tonight, we aim for more.”

  He nodded. “I have to tend to administrative things this morning—duties that a certain kidnapper kept me from are now far overdue. But you can explore Estun. There’s nothing off-limits to you here.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nothing. You’ll be queen here someday, Miara. I promise you. You can do anything you like.”

  She swallowed. She was not as sure about that as he was, but she was certainly willing to go down that road and see where it ended. “Huh. Anything…” Anything at all. She’d never had a day where she could do absolutely anything, at least not since she was very small. What in the world would she do?

  “Hopefully I can find you at noon, and we can eat together. I’ll send word with Fayton if I can’t.” He released her and stepped away. They had gambled for long enough, it was true.

  “Is it wise to spend so much time with an insignificant guest like me? People will start to talk. What about your other visitors? Don’t you need to attend to them too?”

  “I’m simply showing my gratitude to my rescuer. Let them talk.”

  “I don’t know if your father would prefer to hear you say that.”

  He frowned. “Most likely not. He’d probably prefer I wasn’t here now either, though.”

  She looked away, off into the fire. “We should talk to him about this idea of his again. It’s—” She groped for better objections than she’d been able to come up with on the spot. “It’s not fair to lead on suitors, if they have no chance. And wouldn’t it help people to trust me if they knew I’d already earned your trust?”

  His frown deepened. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure how perfectly they trust me at the moment either. They are right that our news might be… a lot to handle at once. Probably too much.”

  “So you agree with them?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Well, maybe. Some of it. It’s not what I would do if I were king. But if you hadn’t noticed, I have a tendency to put principle over practicality at times. And I’m not terribly experienced at this whole ‘ruling a kingdom’ thing.”

  “You seem like you have good enough instincts to me.” Her turn to frown. “Just because your father has spent more years on the throne doesn’t mean he always knows better than you.”

  He shrugged. “But it does mean he gets to order me around. Mostly. But, hey, I’m just talking about lunch, not plowing the fields on the banquet tables.” She snorted at that image, although a momentary thrill at the idea shot through her. He grinned back. “As fun as that might be.” His eyes ran over her again. The risk of the shift had been worth it. “I don’t think he can object to a simple lunch. But I can invite the dvora, if you wish. Or Warden Asten. Or Devol. I think you’ll like them all.”

  Miara doubted that, but she kept it to herself. “If we wish to keep this secret, then the more the merrier.” As if to spite herself, her voice came out dour and utterly unenthusiastic, and he let out a bark of laughter. He stepped forward, as if he meant to embrace her again.

  Click. The now familiar turn of the doorknob almost made her groan—almost.

  Camil bustled in, several outfits in hand, humming to herself, and oblivious to them.

  Miara glanced at Aven with laughing eyes, and he returned her amused expression. She stepped back so they were no longer clearly able to see each other. Might as well make an effort, if this secret was to be kept. For now.

  “We’ll speak later,” he said on the other side of the door, his voice sweet and warm even as his words were formal. “You’re free, Miara. Enjoy it.” And with a dozen heavy thuds of boots on the floor, he was gone.

  Camil plied her with new choices that the young lady seemed sincerely excited about.

  “Where are these all coming from?” Miara asked, amused by Camil’s enthusiasm.

  “Well, I had the foresight to tell some of the seamstresses to start on a few things yesterday. Tunics are rather quick to make, you know.”

  “No, I’ve never sewn a thing in my life.”

  “Is that so? Well, yes, they’re fairly simple. And also Warden Asten was willing to part with a few pieces.”

  Well, that was mortifying. Miara winced. “So… you begged these from the warden?”

  “Oh, no, I purchased them from her for a generous price. And then she can get her own new pieces. Delight for everybody, don’t you think?”

  Miara had no idea if that was delightful or horrifying. Asten seemed widely respected, however, so if she had to literally wear the dress of another, it might as well be the warden’s. Miara let Camil choose the eventual outfit and was rewarded with a stormy blue-gray leather dress, the bodice fitting snugly over a white chemise. Yes, good colors, Akarian colors. Camil again insisted on having her way with Miara’s hair, and as she sat, Miara considered what she should do with a morning all to herself.

  How to prove herself to these people, become one of them? She couldn’t even imagine ruling them, but perhaps if she felt like one of them, the idea would become clearer. Aven and Elise certainly didn’t seem to have any trouble with the notion. This was also a rare opportunity to make her own choices for once. And then there were her people—her father, Luha, the others. What else could she be doing to help them?

  She smiled to herself. She knew exactly where to start.

  Before she headed out on her own, she had one request for Camil. “Can you get me some… pots?”

  “Pots, my lady?” Her delicate bronze features didn’t try to hide their frown of confusion.

  “Um, yes. Pots for plants. Of soil.”

  “Plants?”

  “No. No plants. Just pots. With soil in them, but without plants.” Miara didn’t know how to better explain. Camil shrugged and nodded. “Dead plants are fine,” Miara added, trying to be helpful but starting to realize by the look Camil gave her that that might have sounded a little strange. No matter. Camil would understand when Miara was through with them.

  She took a hesitant step out of the room. She could feel Camil’s eyes on her back, ready to come to her aid. But this was something Miara needed to do alone. She had no idea which direction she was going. And she liked it. The only way to learn her way around here would be to jump in. Before Camil could speak up, she turned abruptly, choosing a direction at random, and headed down the hallway.

  She would find her way around this place. She’d become one of them. She’d make a home here. It had to start somewhere.

  For the first time in three years, Jaena was awoken by something other than a burning in her shoulder. She slept heavily, and while others arose to the bells and chimes that were supposed to wake them, she tended to need the brand’s painful reminder to actually open her eyes. Assorted pains stabbing her shoulder was the worst way to wake up that she could imagine.

  And today, they were gone.

  Instead, one of the other girls that shared their arbitrarily assigned rooms left and slammed the door behind her.

  Jaena sat up. Everyone else was already gone, off about their duties. She was glad to miss them—they were not women she would have chosen to live with—and so it was a relief to have some peace, just as the lack of pain was a relief.

  But would it be harder to keep this secret than she had thought?

  She scrambled to pull on a clean white tunic and her usual leather vest, one of the few things she retained from Hepan that she actually used everyday. She splashed water over her face. Neat, thin braids tumbled about her face as she unw
rapped her hair, and then she headed for the stairs. As she spiraled down, she wove the tiny braids into two larger ones to keep them out of her face. Thank Anara they weren’t harder to deal with in the morning, because she had no time. Of course, they’d taken Dekana hours to put in. And Jaena had no idea who she would find to ever do them again when she needed to take them out. Or if she would find anyone at all. A familiar despair settled over her.

  Even though Jaena was free, nothing could bring her sister back.

  Her footsteps echoed bleakly in the empty stairwell as she hurried down. Shafts of morning sunlight pierced her, making her squint, too attentive, too cheerful. How would she explain her lateness? Where was she even assigned today? She didn’t know yet. She would have to go to the Master’s Hall to find out. Great.

  Outside, a few still funneled into the various buildings, so she was not the very last person. But she’d been close to horrendously late. What if her annoying roommate hadn’t slammed the door on her? How was she going to keep this up?

  It would be fine. It wasn’t long. She could get through a day without them discovering it, surely.

  She trotted toward the stairs where one of the Fat Master’s favorite mages handed out assignments. Before Mage Hall, Jaena had been fond of exercise in the morning. Sometimes a run, sometimes dance or meditation. Her father had prized grace in his daughters, and running didn’t impart much of that. Still, it was good to get the blood pumping. Now outside that world of diplomacy, it was nice to be something more than a graceful, tactful flower. She could be strong. She could be tough. And she was.

  Most earth mages were. Perhaps she had always been.

  The taskmistress greeted her with a suspicious glare.

  “I, uh—threw up,” Jaena blurted. She’d seen it happen once. Physical illness could keep you from following the brand’s orders, even if you wanted to.

  Right?

  “Here. You’re needed in the smithy.” The woman, who was also on the rotund side, like the Fat Master himself, held out a knapsack. “They want help with cooling. Then you’re on delivery duty. Casting horseshoes today, shoeing them tomorrow.”

  Jaena groaned, but she grudgingly took the empty knapsack. Slinging it over her shoulder, she headed toward the smithy. Earth mages had the most boring jobs. Kae got to blast people on their duffs all day. And her? She was stuck cooling slivers of metal.

  Over and over and over again.

  But not for long, she reminded herself, and that put a bounce in her step. This would likely be the last time she had to cool horseshoes. At least, if everything went off without a problem.

  She greeted the master blacksmith with a nod. A dozen smiths slaved away in the heat, but they regularly worked together and always without a word. He preferred not to stop clanging for niceties. She had to agree. She dropped the knapsack and headed to sit by the coals. They weren’t blazing hot, and each day grew colder and colder. But they didn’t need to be blazing hot, because they had only been to get the smith started. Now he had her instead.

  She paid little heed to his work but managed to heat the steel, funneling energy from the earth beneath her feet. Sometimes she took off her boots for a better connection for intense work, but today’s work barely required her attention, let alone her whole energy. But it did make the smith’s job far easier, and she was glad for that, so it could have been worse.

  Most efficient was when the earth mage was the smith. And sometimes that was the case. But occasionally air mages took to it too, like this fellow, drawn to where earth met air in the fire and heat. They were still competent mage-smiths who could keep their fires going with amazing heat and regularity.

  Jaena was just glad that they hadn’t tried to make her into one of them. To be a warrior was far better than a smith, at least to her. She would be more independent, more able to defend herself. Maybe more able to get some kind of revenge on behalf of her sister.

  This is almost over, she thought. Nothing to get worked up about right now.

  The shoes for the horses piled up in a sack near the hearth. She alternated between keeping a steady heat in the shoe as it curved around the horn of the anvil and cooling the shoes as rapidly as she could. Then the smith would drop them into the sack to take to the stables. One after another clanked into the pile, until she doubted she would be able to carry the thing soon. She’d take a break and head over to the stables shortly. Just one or two more.

  A scream sliced through the regular clanging of the smiths working, and Jaena’s heart leapt into double time.

  “Anara protect us,” she whispered, mostly to herself. No one could hear her, because the screams continued.

  Her smith stilled, staring down at the anvil, his dark eyes bleak and empty. The Masters were making another slave.

  There’s hope, she wanted to tell him. Someone’s discovered a way out of this. But she really had no idea who or how or why. And this was neither the time nor the place to explain. If only she were a creature mage and could plant the words in his head without them hearing.

  She stood, forcing herself to act steady, to appear strong. She pointed at the knapsack, and he nodded. She hefted it to her shoulder and strode out of the smithy, trying to pretend she wasn’t running away. Trying to look like the screams made no difference to her.

  All too quickly, she reached the stables, emptied the shoes into their nearly empty bin, and was on her way back. She tried to think of something that could delay her. But any variation from the norm could be a reason to suspect something was up. A way for them to take that brand to her too. Again.

  If she had thought being enslaved once intolerable, she imagined a second time might drive her mad. Dekana hadn’t been able to tolerate even once. But she’d had it worse. If Jaena ever finished her training, she’d likely find out for herself.

  So she needed to make sure she didn’t finish her damn training. She did not hesitate to head back. She would do everything as perfectly as they said, better than she had as a slave if she had to. Until darkness fell tomorrow—then she would be gone.

  She was nearly back to the smithy. She would have to walk past the branding area—going the long way around could draw attention, and it wasn’t worth them noticing her. But, gods—she didn’t want to see. Fortunately, the screams had stopped. For now.

  “No, I’m coming with you.” The Tall Master’s voice close by grated across her nerves, and she staggered back a step involuntarily. “I’m the one who tackled the prince last week, so I’m not trusting this to you. First that, now this one. You have to actually hold them if you don’t want them to get the jump on you. Idiots.”

  As she rounded the corner and stepped inside the smithy, the first of six guards trotted forth and slammed into her, sending her stumbling to the ground. The five others guards jogged past her sprawled form on the smithy floor without reaction. The Tall Master followed along behind them. Perhaps she should have gone around the long way.

  Jaena sat up and stopped short. Blood dripped from the table where the slaves were branded and smeared across the floor. A lot of blood. What had happened here? Sure, one could bleed a little from the brand, but it was mostly a burn. Whoever had been brought here must have been beaten—because they’d tried to run?—or already injured.

  She had stared for too long. She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed her. No one stood nearby. Anyone else in the smithy huddled close to their hearths, as far out of sight and mind of the Tall Master as they could reach.

  Her eyes caught on a pole of iron on the floor near the hearth. The brand they used to make slaves had been knocked aside in the fray, now resting in the blood splatter. The unimportant-looking object steamed and radiated a violent heat, both physical and magical.

  And here it sat, not three feet from her.

  She scooted a measure closer to it. What was she doing? She needed to head back to her smith, keep her head down, and wait until tomorrow night. And then she’d be out of here. She’d be free.

 
She slid toward it again. As a slave, she would have been compelled not to touch the brand. She hadn’t truly tested her new freedom yet, not deliberately anyway.

  Her hand shook as she reached for the brand. Her fingers wrapped around the long handle. Nothing happened, no burn in her shoulder. She could feel the hot steel, but something more resided in the end, a twisted, sulfurous energy, more like air magic. More like a maggot made of fire. More like pure evil imbued in metal. Strange.

  Even if she escaped, this device would be able to enslave her again if they caught her. And while she fled, the enslavement would all continue.

  Think of some way to hurt them.

  This was her chance—her chance at revenge. She had thought she would have to wait a long time for revenge against them. And yet. She stared at the bleak metal. What loss was Jaena to the Masters? A young apprentice who would maybe someday be a warrior but for now was mostly good for speeding the production of horseshoes? How could she even compare the two?

  Before she could think better of it, she took the knapsack off her shoulder, opened it, and stuffed the brand inside, cooling it with a spell as much as she was able. The evil bit was not something she could influence, and it hissed as it hit the burlap canvas, but the metal handle cooled. A whiff of smoke caught her nose, but it would be hardly noticeable in a smithy.

  She scrambled to her feet, trying to look calm as one of the smiths moved into view. Smoothing her tunic, her eyes caught on a guard not six feet from her, waiting just outside the door. Of course, he watched for intruders, not mages already inside. She swallowed and strolled as casually as she could back out of the smithy, hoping he couldn’t see her shaking. I’m fine. I’m cool. I’m collected. Nothing to see here. Just carrying more shoes to the stable. My, that smith is fast.

  Turning the corner, she gasped. She’d been holding her breath. So much for looking casual, but it had apparently been enough to fool that guard. A crowd of young mages headed toward their classrooms, and she melded into their group.

  Now that the deed was done, her mind began to race. The Tall Master would realize the brand was gone any second. She had very little time. Where could she hide it? Would they be able to use magic to detect it somehow, or could she hide it in a more normal way? Should she toss it and get away from it so they wouldn’t suspect her? Now that she had it, what in the seven hells was she going to do with it?

 

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