by R. K. Thorne
I’m at his mercy, she thought. All he has to do is call them back in. But worse, what was he going to think? His half smile flashed through her mind, his implication that he cared for her to return here. That would likely be gone now. He apparently didn’t want to give her up to the Devoted, at least not yet, but would he cast her out into the rain?
She was evil, Nefrana-cursed, an aberration, a danger to his soul. Not someone to be cared about. And he was a good man, a holy one—or as close to it as she had ever known.
Other knocks sounded. Other doors opened, closed. He remained by the door, unmoving. She remained under the bed.
Finally, the jangling of bridles and reins. Men’s shouting voices. Then, hooves pounding.
The Devoted rode away. She was still here, albeit with her damn lame ankle. She could hardly believe it.
Silence for a moment. Then he strode straight to the bed and bent down. There certainly weren’t many other places to hide.
His brown eyes were only concerned. He extended an arm, reaching a hand out to her. “Can I help you up?”
She stared at him for a moment, like a caged animal, unsure if she should bite or flee. Her eyes flitted around, then locked on his. He, who had shown her nothing but kindness. He, who had offered her shelter and food and medicine and warmth and asked for nothing in return. He, who possessed a pair of beautiful, shining, too-intelligent eyes that regarded her with only empathy at the moment. He, who had just lied on her behalf.
She reached out and took his hand. Scooting out and shimmying on her stomach hurt, but it could have been a lot worse. Once free of the bed, she pushed herself up to her knees, just as he was. Her face was barely inches from his, their bodies close, and his musky, earthy scent enchanted her.
Their eyes locked for a moment. He did not turn away.
She tore her eyes away, however, the intensity too much. It had almost seemed like— Was he thinking of— No, he couldn’t be thinking of kissing her. Not now. Likely not ever, with what he had just learned. A ridiculous fantasy on her part.
She was smoothing her tunic with her sweaty palms, nervously straightening herself, when she glanced down and saw the paper unfolded in his hand. A rough parchment bore a drawing of her, painstakingly rendered and fairly accurate. A large bounty was scrawled below it.
“Oh, gods,” she whispered. “Twenty thousand gold.”
Miara read on her couch for several hours. Everyone was busy with the final preparations for the trip to Panar, even Camil. And who knew how they were handling the devastation of the cave-in. She would rather have been helping, but she didn’t mind the time alone after all that mess. If only it had been by choice. It stung to lose that cherished freedom so quickly, but even this was a curious experiment. She had long been a slave but rarely if ever imprisoned. She’d hardly been free but never physically bound. Now she was technically still free—but her freedom had shrunk to three designated rooms.
Only the guards stood watch, watching her while she restlessly drifted about her rooms before returning to her book again. Camil finally delivered dinner to her room with an apologetic shrug.
After dinner, she took a bath, tossing rosemary and mint from her garden into the water. Camil had already scented it with lavender too, and the heat of the water did melt away some stress of the day. She stayed in much longer than she might have planned, with no reason to rush out. But finally she rose, dried herself, and found a warm, pale blue tunic and soft trousers that she didn’t think were meant for sleeping, but she intended to use them that way. After everything that had happened today, she wasn’t sleeping in the giant sack of a sleep shift, which was like wearing a sail from a boat so big it must be designed to catch the wind. The shifts also made it much more awkward to strap her dagger to her calf, but the trousers were better.
As she twisted her hair into a bun for the time being, her eyes spotted a scroll of parchment on the bed, and she froze.
What the hell… ?
Could it be from Aven? Some secret message? Any legitimate message would have been delivered by Camil or Fayton, and they would have announced its arrival. This had to be… something else.
She inspected the scroll carefully. Red wax sealed it shut, the symbol pressed into it reminding her of the twisting mage-knots. Gods. That could not be good. She investigated it for anything strange looking but found nothing, so she broke the seal and unrolled the strange scroll. It read:
Miara Floren,
You know that I have your father and sister. I know that you have the location of the upcoming Assembly of Akaria.
Send me via bird the exact building, room, and time to ensure your family’s continued safety. Tell no one.
If the information you provide turns out to be false, or you share this with anyone, consider your sister dead. Your father will watch.
Daes Cavalion
She dropped the parchment on the bed, her heart pounding. She had to tell Aven. But how had this scroll gotten here? Could it have been Camil? Someone else? Who would have access to this room and be willing to do this? What else might they be planning to do? Damn, she wasn’t safe even here, by the gods. Not that she had entirely expected to be, she was no fool.
The Masters obviously had someone on the inside. She couldn’t be certain, but the same person would likely know if she shared this information with Aven.
She had to find some way to tell him anyway, some way to figure out what to do together. Even as her heart ached in her chest, she knew she could not betray the true location. Her father and Luha would not want that, either. The blood of likely dozens of innocents hung in the balance, blood they would not want on their hands. The Assembly meeting would contain not only the members of the Assembly themselves, but their trusted advisors, family members, and lesser officials. An attack on the Assembly would cut off the head of Akaria in one blow.
Which was precisely the plan.
Those innocents were also the people in the world most likely to be convinced to fight for the freedom of mages everywhere, making such a betrayal all the more abhorrent. No, no, she couldn’t do it. There was no way. Hands shaking, she picked up the parchment again. Perhaps there was some way out of this trap. Perhaps they could figure out a way to save Luha before the meeting. She needed to talk to Aven. He could think clearly. He could think of something.
She scrutinized the parchment for clues. Was it genuine? Could it somehow have been faked? That didn’t help. Even if it were, if she put the information onto a bird and sent it off to Mage Hall, the result would be the same. The Dark Master would be just as delighted. She was familiar enough with official missives of Kavanar, having stolen a few different letters and scrolls and replaced them with fakes during her years in his service. The seal wax was the appropriate scarlet color and consistency, the parchment a common thickness.
She rolled the scroll, folded it flat, and slipped it into her pocket.
Hurrying into the outer room, she approached one of her guards. She would give them nothing to be suspicious of.
“Can you possibly send for the prince for me? Or for Camil, so she can summon him? I grow bored.”
One guard eyed her warily but did step out.
In the end, they did not produce Aven. A quarter of an hour later, Queen Elise arrived. Hmm, were they keeping him away from her, or was he simply busy with all the preparations and cleanup from the day? Again, a wave of frustration at being unable to help hit her.
“The guards said you had a question for Aven?” Elise asked. “I can take it to him.”
Miara blinked. Did they sincerely think she was a danger to him, or was it a show? “Yes, I was wondering if he would like to play Rooks and Pawns or a dice game.”
“Oh,” said Elise, clearly having expected something else.
“But you’ll do.” Miara confidently strode to the small corner game table and sat down, not looking at Elise and wondering if she would take the bait or take offense.
If you pretend to play, she whispe
red to Elise, I can give you my message. I can’t let the guards hear.
Elise joined her at the chess table, straightening her pale sky-blue dress as she sat. What is it? Elise was in some way even better than Aven, as she could send her thoughts back easily and with more control.
Terrible news. I just found a scroll on my bed, signed by the Dark Master and sealed with Kavanarian red wax. Appears authentic. It demands the location details of the Assembly vote in exchange for my family’s continued safety.
Elise’s eyes widened. How… how do they know?
The assassins that attacked Aven are likely disguised as ordinary servants, allowing them to overhear much. There are certainly others listening and reporting back too, including our dear Lord Alikar.
Elise picked up a piece. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”
“Feel free.” She continued to speak as Elise considered a move. The scroll says they will kill my sister if I don’t tell them. Or if the information is false, or if I tell anyone I’ve received the scroll.
Until that point, Elise had been managing it all with her typical composure. But at those words, she fumbled and looked up with wide eyes for a split second before continuing to make her first move. Tell anyone, like you’re doing right now?
Yes. Thus the secrecy. Can you tell Aven? I am not sure what they would prefer me to do. We cannot turn over the real location. Maybe there is a way around this, a way to save my sister. I thought Aven might be able to think of something.
And if he can’t?
We cannot tell them. My sister would not want to live with the deaths of innocents on her hands—
It’s the Masters who would have the deaths on their hands.
Either way there will be death, unless we figure a way around it. Two versus dozens? It’s hardly a choice.
Even when those two people are all the family you have in the world?
Miara picked up a piece. It was her turn, but she had trouble steadying her hand. A rising tide of anger came with those words. Must you remind me? Perhaps she was callous, secretly like her mother deep down. No. She was trying to do the right thing.
I’m sorry. Putting the good of all ahead of your personal happiness… is admirable.
She didn’t know how to respond. If anyone can find a way to appease both, it’s Aven.
Too true. There are only so many buildings with big enough meeting halls. Even if we lie, they could simply try them all. Elise was scowling at the board.
They could do that right now anyway. Tell me a location and time to tell them. A false one. I’ll send it back to them. Then, we can try to think of other options.
Elise remained silent, thinking about more than the game as they went through several turns.
I’ll talk to Wunik and Aven and get their opinion.
As secretly as possible, please.
Of course. A few minutes later, Elise rose, smoothing the dress’s pale blue linen with her palms. “I should get back to my duties, I hadn’t expected to stay long. Let’s continue this later, or—oh. You’ve won.”
Miara nodded and gave the queen a seated bow. “Thank you for taking a moment to entertain me, Your Majesty.”
Elise gave her an uneasy smile. “My pleasure. I’ll tell Aven he missed an excellent, although very quick, game.”
I will send word of what to reply before the end of the day. And then, she was gone, leaving Miara frowning at the game pieces.
Later that night, the reply came. Elise knocked, and a guard opened the door before Miara could even stand up from her seat.
“Aven asked me to send this. Of course, he chose the contents, not me.” Elise handed her a warm, red linen package. “He sends his regrets. He is busy with the trip’s preparations.”
“Of course,” Miara said, her voice faltering only a little. Elise took her leave.
Was he truly busy? Were they keeping him away?
She took the red linen package into the bedroom and unwrapped it on the bed, where fewer guards could see her. Steam wafted up from a warm, fresh apple dumpling. A small scroll, unmarked with any seal or signature, rested quietly underneath the next fold of the linen, likely holding whatever location and time Aven and Elise had chosen to tell the Dark Master. She slipped it to into her pocket with the other.
Taking a large bite of the dumpling, she strode to the desk and penned the details in her own hand. She folded the piece and sealed it with stormy Akarian blue-gray. She even found an ursine stamp to press into the hot wax.
Now it was just a matter of finding some poor bird and sending it into danger. War was not an easy thing. If only these people would wake up and realize they were in one. Luckily, she had a room with windows—and guards who frowned on watching her while she took a bath.
And opening the window.
In the end, her large bathroom window held only a smaller window that could be levered open, possibly for ventilation but more likely to aim an arrow through. It wasn’t much, but the scroll would fit.
She closed her eyes and spread her mind out across the mountainside, feeling a little guilty about asking any creature to fulfill this task.
A few sparrows flitted overhead. An eagle. A white hare jumped and rolled in the snow. A young falcon.
The falcon’s attention turned toward her even as she noticed it. More curious than usual, she could imagine it tilting its head, considering this foreign presence.
Can you help me?
She let the quiet desperation, the sadness, the regret seep into her words. She wasn’t entirely sure all creatures understood or even experienced such emotions, but she felt much better disclosing her regret and her dire need along with her request.
It—he—swooped down a ledge. He paused, listening for danger, then swooped closer. He landed in a small, steep snowbank and hopped a few inches up the slope.
For a moment, Miara saw the window from the outside. A dark eye peered out the leaded blue, green, and white glass window. Wisps of red hair teased by the wind swished in and out of view. The bird hopped closer.
She saw him now—small, powerful, elegant. The falcon inclined his head, as though waiting.
Miara held out the scroll, then thought of the location of Mage Hall and pushed it to the falcon’s mind. She thought of the Dark Master too, picturing his cursed face.
I need to get this scroll to this man, or he will harm my family. There, that should make sense to any creature. I can’t go myself. Can you take it for me? How can I reward your efforts? Although—I am concerned it could be dangerous to you.
The falcon hopped a few more steps forward and inclined his head the other way. Her mind and his mingled again, and she caught another glimpse of herself through the window. Strange, creatures usually kept more of a barrier between them.
The falcon found her… intriguing.
The thought of a reward flashed through her mind—food. Meat, in particular. Perhaps a nice tasty duck. Doves were nice.
Miara raised her eyebrows and tried to appear calm as she strode back into the bedroom. Good, her dinner remained, along with an untouched chicken leg. She snatched it, and brought it back to the falcon.
Ripping the flesh from bone with surprising agility, the bird made short work of the chicken as Miara stared with round eyes. Then he hopped closer and extended his talons.
Miara reached out, and the bird took the missive.
I will return to you. More birds to eat would be good. I do things then. If you wish. The bird did not exactly speak in words, but his intentions were clear.
I may be in Panar. The city with the white towers in the south?
Recognition in the falcon’s mind. He’d already soared over the mountaintops. Your mind is bright. It can be found.
Huh. What a strange creature. She did hope she would see him again.
Chapter 11
Drawing the Line
Tharomar said nothing as she stared at the parchment, only turned his gaze from her face to the drawing with a scowling
brow. She could not read his expression. What did he disapprove of? What was he thinking? Did he regret offering her sanctuary in his home?
“Twenty—I—” She stumbled over the words, struggled to rise, but found herself only grabbing onto him and stumbling awkwardly instead. Panic pumped through her veins. Should she run? Were the Devoted still close by? Could she even get away from the likes of Tharomar?
Did she even want to? Destroying the brand was a noble goal, and she’d made a valiant attempt at revenge, but dying to feed orphaned children wasn’t the worst way to go. He could use the money for the temple. The damn womenfolk. Dekana might have even preferred that to revenge. Her sister would hardly have been disappointed by that end, right? If the Devoted were going to catch Jaena anyway, it’d be nice for someone worthwhile to benefit from it.
She had been so close to freedom, though. She couldn’t give up yet. She couldn’t let them have the brand back either. That would hurt more than her own death. She lurched to her feet and took a limping step forward.
“What are you doing?” He stepped right on after her and caught her elbow as she wobbled, supporting her weight. “They can’t be far. We need to be quiet.”
She met his gaze and tried to keep the fear from her eyes.
“They could come back. Someone will likely mention that you’re here. The others won’t think to—”
“To what?” she whispered.
“To omit that fact.”
“And why did you?”
His chin lifted slightly, but he didn’t immediately answer.
“Twenty thousand gold is a lot of coin for the womenfolk,” she whispered, daring him to sacrifice her to them.
“Do I really seem like someone who would do that? To you?” he whispered back harshly, finally showing a touch of anger.
“We’ve only just met. How do I know if I can trust what you say?”
“And yet, I’m already lying for you.”
“Have regrets? Call them back.”
Now he scowled even harder at her. Her eyes caught on the pendant around his neck and widened: the gold of the wheat had turned to silver. What strangeness was this?