by R. K. Thorne
“This is not about idealism anyway,” Aven said, more softly now. “War is coming. Whether we like it or not. Shutting Miara out weakens us. It’s a poor choice, tactically, morally, and politically. It’s your decision, but—”
“It is my decision. And I’ve made it. We’re not going to resolve this now.”
“I’m going to ask you one last time—”
“The answer is no. I forbid you to see her until after the vote has taken place.”
Aven’s scowl deepened. “You’re wrong about this. You’ll see.”
He stormed out of the king’s meeting chambers, then down the hallway, a spiraling staircase, and another bleak hall. Nearly everyone was already asleep in their quarters, everyone who was leaving for Panar anyway, which was most of them. He tried to collect himself as he stalked back to his rooms. Years had passed since he’d fought with his father like that, and it’d never been over something so deeply important. How had he missed the depth of his father’s mistrust, his misgivings? Could he have done anything about it, if he’d noticed? A fresh wave of anger swept through him over the decision, the somewhat irrational feeling of betrayal. He’d been so focused on convincing others of his own worth, he hadn’t thought he needed to tell his father what he thought was obvious. Could the Akarians succeed against Kavanar without her help and the help she’d already given them? Aven honestly wasn’t sure.
When he got to the next corridor, he stopped. His rooms were to the left, back in the direction of the king’s but a few floors down. The hall to the guest quarters waited to his right.
The king’s words echoed in his head. Tomorrow, Aven and half the household would leave for Panar, and Miara would stay here in Estun with at least two assassins. Unless, of course, they tagged along with Aven. One or both of them would be left to face that threat alone, and probably others.
He regretted nothing he had said to his father. But Aven was tired of going against his own intuition. Of doing what he was told, every single time.
He knew what he needed to do.
Aven turned down the hallway to the right. He would see her whether his father liked it or not.
Reaching her rooms, he knocked. The guard opened the door without even asking who it was. “Shouldn’t you ask your charge if she wants to see the visitor, not just let everyone in?” Aven’s scowl hadn’t left him, so he turned it on this guard.
“Prisoners are usually required to see members of the royal family, my lord. But I apologize.” The guard glared back, his words insincere. “She’s asleep.”
“And you still let me in?” Aven didn’t care. He stormed past the fool and made straight for the bedroom.
He slammed the door behind him, shutting out the guards and the rest of the whole damn world.
Miara looked up in surprise from where she sat at the writing desk, clearly not asleep. A pale blue tunic hugged her curves, a robe thrown over that and her wild hair hanging free and mingling with thin braids.
They were alone. Completely, actually alone.
He froze in the doorway for a moment, remembering a time not so long ago when they’d regarded each other this way. The music of flute and drum floated through his memory.
“You once told me to get as far away from you as I could,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Do you remember?”
She nodded, her eyes wide, lips parted.
“I’m apparently very bad at following orders.”
“Aven—” she started, standing as he rushed toward her. He took her face in his hands, kissing her hungrily, like there might not be another chance. The entire world be damned. He would have this moment, at the very least, with her. Her lips parted, opening beneath him and kissing him ardently in return. The taste of her was familiar, and yet not familiar enough.
I thought—your father said you were forbidden to— she started.
I am. He did say that. I’m here anyway.
Oh. I see. Following orders. It’s good to see you too. She broke away for a moment, stealing a breath with a small smile.
“Do you have something to write on?” he asked.
Frowning and smiling at the same time, she reached for a sheet of parchment and placed it before him on the desk. He started drawing, her arm still wrapped around the small of his back.
“What is this?”
He tapped his temple to make sure she was listening. It’s a secret emergency path out of Estun. It goes past the cellars, where there are supplies.
Am I going somewhere? Her mind’s voice shook with laughter.
I want you to come. To follow us. Something.
I was already planning on it.
Of course she was. That’s why I love you. He roped her in for another long kiss before he continued his map creation.
Because I disobey my king? Because I’m good at escaping from places?
Because you do the right thing, even when it’s difficult.
You give me too much credit. It would be harder to stay away from you. I have to follow. I have to know you’re all safe.
Got one more sheet?
She handed him another. What will your father say when he finds out you came here?
I don’t know. Or care. He paused for a moment, remembering the fight, wondering if recalling those moments would be enough to explain to her generally what had transpired.
Oh. I’m so sorry I—
Don’t be sorry. I’m not.
“What are you drawing now?” she whispered.
The roads to Panar. Do you think you can follow this?
Yes. But what is that?
This is Lake Senokin. If for some reason we can’t meet in Panar, I want you to come here. What do you think?
A secondary meeting place is smart.
He pulled her close and kissed her again now, turning over the idea that had taken root in his mind. Was this the right time? The right way?
What if they never got another?
It’s also one of the sacred lakes where by tradition Akarian kings and queens have married. The ritual requires two lovers, alone at night under the silent moon, and only a priestess in attendance. No grand state affairs, at least not till later.
She broke away from his kiss, eyes wide.
When this is all over, will you meet me there? Marry me, Miara. Not someday, not maybe—as soon as humanly possible. As soon as the vote is finished, we’ll go straight there.
Her eyes widened further for a split second, and he felt none of that connection that had scared him so, that fear of being queen. Perhaps he asked too much, perhaps he and his father had ruined her trust in Akaria already. His heart jumped to double, then triple time.
If you’ll still have me, he added, not even sure if she was listening. If you think you can stand to be queen.
“Oh, of course,” she whispered, snapping out of her daze. Ah, she was only surprised, not trying to figure out how to throw him out of the room. Thank goodness. She dove into his kiss again. Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry you thought I doubted you.
He guided her away from the desk and toward the wall, pressing her against the climbing vines, roses blooming around them as their lips met again, feverish. He had held this back for so long… and soon enough he’d be leaving again. Tell me what you’re planning. We don’t have much time.
I’d almost think you find plotting insubordination alluring.
When you do it, I do.
She let out a musical laugh. I’ll wait until you should be on the morning road, then I will get out of Estun with the help of your map. If that doesn’t work, I can always try my window, then try to acquire some supplies on the way. Of course, I’ll have to borrow a horse, but that shouldn’t be a problem.
We won’t be going terribly fast. That may give you a few hours’ head start. You might be able to catch us.
Maybe, but I’d rather reach you closer to Panar, she said. Too late to send me back, you know? And I’ll head to the palace you marked—isn’t that the address you told Daes
on the scroll?
Yes. Let him go ahead and try. Most heavily fortified building in the city. We’ll think of a way to get to your sister, to stop Daes somehow. I promise you.
Don’t promise the impossible. He felt her ache like it was his own.
You’re right. But I’ll do my best to think of something.
And I’ll do my best to get to that address. If I can’t make it there, or you aren’t there, I’ll leave and head to the lake and wait there.
“Good plan,” he whispered in her ear.
“Be careful, Aven. The mages who caused that cave-in, those assassins, they’ll likely follow you.”
“I know. Try not to worry.”
“I don’t worry about such things. I prepare for them.”
“Of course.” He gave her another small kiss and nestled into her neck. Lavender, cinnamon, and rosemary.
You can’t stay, can you? she said softly.
I shouldn’t. We ride in a few hours. But I’ll spend those hours here with you if you wish.
She clung harder to him for a moment before saying, No, no, you should go. We needn’t try so hard to point out this visit to your father. And… I can’t imagine your stay here would be very restful.
No pillow is as restful as your arms.
Ah, but my arms do not have restful activities in mind.
He let out a muted rumble of a laugh, still conscious of the guards outside and potential eavesdroppers.
I… did not entirely mean to share this line of thinking.
Let me in again, like you did the last time. One more moment, and I will go.
The walls of their minds fall away, thoughts mingling together in curious harmony, a sea of flashing images, most of them plans for future minglings that would be slightly more physical and slightly less abstract.
I need to never let you go, he told her. Ever.
But you must.
I know.
Finally, he stepped back from her, reluctant but exhausted, afraid and yet also relieved.
“See you in Panar,” she whispered, taking the maps from the desk and folding them. Her sleepy eyes twinkled, a smile gracing her lips.
“I’m counting on it.”
The sound of the door creaking open woke Miara. Aven was gone, of course, and the fire had burned low. She didn’t open her eyes as the door creaked shut again. She lay on her back, left arm over her head, the other straight by her side. The handle of the dagger under her pillow was unfortunately readied for her right hand, but her left was the one close to it.
It could be just a servant.
But she had a feeling it wasn’t. She reached out gently to check.
A mage. Someone who seemed—familiar. She mustn’t let them realize she’d awoken. She eased her left hand over the top of the pillow and closer to the blade, all in the guise of sleep.
The edge of the bed dipped. Whoever it was had climbed onto the bed.
Could it be Aven? He’d have to be crazy to come back at this early hour, before the long trip. It wasn’t unthinkable, but he could also have just stayed and never left. She was tempted to reach out further, but that would alert them to her wakefulness.
Her instincts blared danger, and she eased her hand further under the pillow. That said, she did need to figure out how to be sure it wasn’t him, but that would cost her precious moments.
The form eased closer. They made their way up the bed, coming toward her. Over her.
Good. Fine. Better to get them in range. Her first strike would be the easiest, as they wouldn’t expect it.
Except—gruff hands suddenly seized her forearms, yanking her right hand up over her head. She ignored that and pushed her left hand further under the pillow, getting her fingers at least partially around the handle of the blade. It was an awkward angle, and she had to reach farther, but she almost had it—
She bridged, lifting her hips into the air, sending her attacker flying over her head and colliding into the bed frame. While their balance was off, she twisted beneath, scrambling to land a blow or slide away. A lucky kick made contact, sending them rolling, and she scrambled to the other side of the bed, dagger in hand.
Hearth light fell across a familiar face.
“Sorin! By the gods, what are you doing here?” That son of a bitch.
“Just my duty. Tell me how you got free, and I’ll make this easy on you.”
“Make what easy on me? You getting a beating?
“You’re dangerous. You need to be stopped.”
“What? Why would I need to be stopped?”
“Nefrana teaches we are evil. Without their chains on you, who knows what you will do? You must be stopped, for all our sakes, or there are even greater dark days to come.”
“Did the Dark Master send you here for this?” No, he was not her master anymore. “Did Daes send you?”
“The Masters sent us for the prince. Coming for you was my personal choice.”
He leapt over the bed and lunged at her again. She was faster, though, easily dodging and scampering across the room, taking cover behind the desk.
“How did you get free?” he demanded.
“What does it matter? Do you want to be free?”
“Was it that damn prince—the one just in here plowing you—”
“He was not—” she started. Wait. “How did you know he was just here? He was not plowing me.”
“Sure, he wasn’t.”
“How did you know?”
“I was right outside, dutifully guarding you,” he said, his voice sickly sweet.
He sauntered slowly across the room toward her, trying to intimidate, perhaps. She readied herself to dodge in the direction of the main door. Didn’t need to be cornered. Where were the guards? “How can you not want to be free?”
He had reached the other side of the desk and stopped. His voice was breathy, just above a whisper. “I don’t need freedom if I have Nefrana’s eternal favor.”
“You really believe all that?”
Suddenly, the desk lurched before her. He heaved it, sending it toppling over and to the side and leaving no barrier between them. She recoiled another step. “How can you deny it, Miara? Who are you to question the gods?”
“Who are you to know their will perfectly?”
“See, I told you, denial. You must accept—”
He lunged, mid sentence, seeking to catch her off guard. It worked, partially. He captured her wrist and swung her with her own momentum. She flew into the nearby wall, and he rushed to pin her.
She rode the momentum of the spin and stabbed. The dagger gored into his neck.
The spurt of blood covered everything, it seemed. That sickly, hot wetness was answer enough that she’d made contact in the darkness. Still, she thrust him away from her. He collapsed to the floor. One gurgling breath, then another. Then nothing.
“Let me know what they say,” she whispered into the silence.
She stared at his still form for a long time, feeling hollow. The Akarians were leaving her, her family had drawn the Dark Master’s ire. Now this. Was Sorin truly dead?
After a while, she blinked, trying to snap herself out of the shock. It was over. She was safe for now. She’d had to defend herself in a way she’d never wanted. But for now, it was done.
Miara made her way to the bath, which felt like an entirely too cold and unfeeling thing to do right after you’d murdered someone. But she wasn’t touching his body again if she could avoid it. She was unsafe here, and she would be even more so once Aven and the others left in a few hours for Panar.
Looked like the time for escape had come. An hour or two earlier than she’d planned. But there was no way she was staying here now.
Water remained in the pool from earlier, and although it was as cold as the rock it sat in, it would wash off the blood. It would have been more frigid without the slumbering coals that still heated it a little from beneath. She scrubbed with the rosemary and lavender, again and again, and yet again, even after the
blood was mostly gone.
She didn’t call for help. Part of her feared that she’d discover more bodies in the outer room if Sorin had dispatched them. She doubted he could have bested them, though. At least not alone. But he must have gotten through somehow. Had he truly been hiding as one of the guards all along? Could the assassins have been helping him? Perhaps the creature mage assassin had transformed him or created a distraction. Either way—she would enter the outer room with caution and see what awaited her.
Something about seeing Sorin brought the seriousness of everything back. This was not a game played for votes. If Sorin could get to her, past all those guards, what would stop the assassins from getting to Aven?
It was time to go.
Shaking now, she climbed from the water and dried herself as best she could. Were her old leathers here? Yes. Not the cleanest, but she knew them best for traveling, knew they wouldn’t vex her, knew the pockets without a thought. She pulled them on quickly and twisted her hair back into a bun. Camil wasn’t there to use Miara’s hair as her canvas for creative expression, nor would that be ideal at the moment, but she felt a pang of sadness. Would she see Camil again? Would King Samul be furious when he found out she’d left? If the king discovered how Aven had disobeyed him and helped her? Some might try to twist her escape as a sign that she had been the assassin all along, and if they hadn’t believed her about the assassination attempt, how would they believe her about this? But it was a risk she had to take. Hopefully Sorin’s body would be a clue that foul play was afoot.
At least, she hoped so.
Lastly, the dagger. She yanked it from Sorin’s neck as best she could and returned to the bath to clean it. Gods, how could he do this? She had once counted him a friend. Someone she had come to believe was a bit of a fool, but she’d had no idea this hatred simmered beneath the surface. She had never realized he’d been indoctrinated into the Masters’ ideology so completely. That he’d truly believed that mages deserved to be slaves.
She swallowed as she wiped the blood away. Anara forgive me. You steadied my blade against him. I will not waste this opportunity to fight for the other mages who are enslaved. Even the indoctrinated and foolish ones.