The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  “I haven’t told Aven about this yet,” Elise said softly as they walked. “I wanted to speak with you first.”

  Miara blinked and stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. They reached the top of the grand staircase and turned right down a corridor Miara hadn’t noticed before. Through an elegant archway and another turn, she came to a set of closed double doors similar to the king’s, except that the great oaken double doors were painted with a viciously roaring brown bear with eyes of sparkling emerald green.

  The freckled woman scampered ahead of them and opened the door, the bear parting to reveal a giant room bathed in sunlight.

  “Thank you, Kalan,” the queen murmured.

  The only rooms Miara had seen that were nearly this large—outside of Kavanar—were Aven’s rooms, the king’s rooms. The wide foyer was graciously covered by a large, thick cobalt rug. A small, white marble table sat in the center, topped by a broad planter filled decadently with cut white roses, lilies, and a dozen other flowers she didn’t even recognize. The light shining over it all seemed oddly colored, and she stared at a vast and glorious masterpiece of azure and emerald leaded glass, pieced together to form the shape of the continent. By the gods, the work that must have taken, the expense…

  Tearing her eyes away, she spied other areas beyond—sitting areas, a broad oak desk, a bed with posts nearly half again as tall as she was. To her left, a dressing room opened up that was bigger than the room Miara had just left. It alone might have been bigger than her whole family’s rooms in Mage Hall.

  A blue velvet chaise lounge sat serenely in the dressing room, and an immense row of closets lined the far wall, their walnut wood starkly elegant. On the lounge lay three or four familiar-looking sapphire dresses.

  Oh. It hit her. She knew where she was.

  “These are your rooms,” Miara breathed.

  Elise smiled. “Yes and no. They are the queen’s rooms. I’d like them to become your rooms sooner rather than later. Right now, in fact.”

  Miara raised her eyebrows. “Now? But we—”

  Elise held up a hand. “I know we haven’t formalized anything. But Aven has announced his intentions, and as far as I know you’re still amenable to the arrangement?”

  At first, she could only stare at the queen like she’d gone mad. Who could take a poor slave girl to a room like this and say, are you certain you still want it? But Miara recovered quickly and nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. But I fear there won’t be time to formalize anything for a while now anyway. War fast approaches, based on what we discussed yesterday. Won’t that be a problem?”

  “Winter has a way of slowing wars. And also weddings. At least in Akaria, fewer tend to declare their love when the lakes freeze over. But no, I don’t think it need be a problem. We all know you are to be queen; the rest is more ceremonial than anything else. The Assembly voted their support of Aven—mostly—with full knowledge of his intentions, so I am not concerned.”

  Miara swallowed, unnerved by Elise’s certainty. She didn’t feel certain of any of it. She wasn’t even certain they’d survive the war, not after their talk yesterday. There were too few mages on Akaria’s side. That she’d become queen was even less certain. What if something happened? What if Aven found some reason to change his mind? Unlikely, but… Before she could figure out how to voice her concern without offending, Elise moved on.

  “Good. I see you are with me. Now, there are certain duties that fall to the queen, both in peace and in wartime. And I am not the wife of the king anymore.”

  “But neither am I.”

  “Exactly our problem. There is no queen, or there are two.”

  “No, no, I’m just… an Arms Master, if that. Certainly, no one would fault you for continuing the queen’s duties at a time like this.”

  “Indeed they would likely prefer I did continue them.” Worry lines deepened in her face. “But I don’t prefer it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I need to care for Samul. I want to care for him. I want to devote all my attention to saving him. The rest… It is time to let the rest of it go. My husband needs me, and that means I need you, just as Samul needed Aven.”

  “I don’t understand, my lady.”

  “I want you to start taking on the duties of the queen.”

  Miara froze. Then she opened her mouth, but what was she even intending to say? Of course, she’d assumed this would happen eventually, but so soon? The only thought that swirled in her head was one she was desperate not to voice—but am I ready?

  “I’m sorry we haven’t treated you better. I’m sorry we haven’t always trusted you as much as we could—”

  “You were just looking out for Aven.”

  Elise seemed to have been planning to apologize at much greater length, but her eyes held a world of relief at Miara’s words. And now she regarded Miara evenly, patiently. “Can you do this for me?”

  “Am I allowed to?” Miara said quietly.

  “I can instruct others that I am choosing to share my authority with you. And there’s this, which will offer proof.” Elise touched gentle fingers to the emerald at her throat and then looked to a prim attendant who came forward and unclasped the necklace. “Thank you, Opia.”

  Then Opia turned and approached Miara, as inevitable as a storm on the horizon, holding the necklace like she planned to collar a dog.

  Miara’s eyes widened, and her blood was suddenly pounding in her ears. Before she could even think to protest, the attendant was sweeping her hair aside and clasping the necklace around her throat.

  She forced herself to take a deep breath. This is not enslavement. This is a gift. This is not imprisonment. It’s power. Another deep breath. She hoped all those words were true and not a hopeless fantasy.

  Opia stepped back, and Miara just stared at the pendant in a mirror on the far wall, shocked and a little frightened, struggling to calm her body. The same pendant Miara had admired the effortless grace of so many days ago in Estun glittered at her, as if winking. Was the panic coursing through her trying to tell her something or merely the echoes of past suffering? She had been a slave for over twenty years and free for barely twenty days. Perhaps even the similarity to enslavement, however untrue, was enough to set her on edge.

  “Thank you, my lady,” she said, frowning when her voice faltered and bowing deeply to hide it. “What is expected of me?”

  “Now, not so low, dear,” said Elise. “From now on, everyone bows lower than you, if you choose to bow at all. Everyone.” Lowering her chin, Elise leaned forward to drive home her point. “Understand?”

  Miara’s eyes widened as she straightened. She nodded hastily. “What about the king?”

  “Samul and I bowed to each other when the occasion arose, but I suppose you should ask Aven. I for one am fairly certain that he’s never been looking for a queen who knew how to bow. That was his problem all along, really.”

  Miara fought the urge to bow again. “I… understand.”

  “It does take some getting used to, but the honor of the office demands it.”

  Her shoulders loosened just a little to know that Elise had also found it initially difficult and unnatural to refuse to bow to anyone. “It’s… hard to stomach that I deserve such honor,” she admitted.

  “Think not of that. Think of Akaria. Does it not deserve such honor? The ruler of a great nation is worthy of respect, is she not?”

  Miara inclined her head. “I suppose so.”

  “You are now Akaria’s representative, one of her most powerful. You are her steward. Her caretaker. You must demand respect on her behalf.”

  “I will, my lady,” she said, more firmly now.

  “Now, no more ‘my ladies’ either. Not that I mind, but you will need to break the habit. The one getting the honorifics is you now, my queen.” Elise smiled, although deep sadness still lurked in her eyes. She emphasized her words with a small bow that made Miara feel like she should fling herself lower as quickly as she could.r />
  She braced herself bolt upright and only nodded.

  “Good work. It gets easier.” Elise smiled more broadly. “Now, when people come to me with issues, I’m going to send them to you as much as I can. At first it will likely be small things—what to eat for a feast, matters of stewardship of Ranok that Telidar cannot handle alone. But as time goes, harder things will pop up. Audiences of subjects with complaints that are perhaps important but not important enough to see the king. Also, a great deal of time is taken up by simply attending to people. Showing up, letting them be heard, socializing, arguing on behalf of Akarian desires and agendas.”

  That sounded awful and possibly painful too, but Miara said nothing.

  “Not that it’s unimportant work. Those relationships will matter when times like these come upon us. For instance, Takar could take this opportunity to attack us, with Kavanar on the move. And perhaps they will. But our trade agreements make that highly unlikely. They’d rather not.”

  “What’s covered in the trade agreements?”

  “We offer them coal, diamonds, emeralds, stone, and wood. They offer us fabric, spices, iron, fish, wheat, and their good gold coin. There are some limits and guarantees of amounts and costs, but those are the general details.”

  Miara nodded. Gods, let that be enough to keep them. They did not need an additional problem on their hands.

  “Now, these rooms—they will be yours now. I haven’t been in them anyway. I’ll be at Samul’s side. And my attendants as well. Please meet Opia. And also Kalan.” She gestured gracefully at each, who bowed in turn. “Etral will also attend you, but she’s fetching us some tea. They are very talented women.”

  The two women gave her slight curtsies. Perhaps it was good that Miara didn’t have to bow or curtsy because she still wasn’t entirely sure which she ought to be doing.

  “Thank you, my—” She cut herself off before the title could come out. This was definitely going to take practice. She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Elise,” she said more deliberately. There, that wasn’t so hard. That felt good. Dignified, even.

  Aven’s mother smiled more broadly now. “Excellent. Better already.” She gestured at the room around her. “Feel free to make of this what you will. Now, let me show you around.”

  Heat bathed Jaena’s front as the charcoal grew red, then yellow, surrounding the brand. The master smith hadn’t stopped giving them odd looks, and Ro hadn’t stopped valiantly pretending nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

  “Where’s your ore?” he asked.

  “Oh, the king has something special he’d like melted down,” Ro said. That was not entirely a lie either.

  The smith raised an eyebrow. “Into a lump?”

  “Yes,” Ro said confidently, while Jaena struggled not to wince. This part was her idea—and, now she was seeing, the weakest part of their story. “He’s not very particular about its future form as long as it’s not in its current one.”

  “Something ‘special’?” He narrowed his eyes at Tharomar.

  Ro shrugged and looked bored enough to yawn. “I don’t interrogate kings on their requests, sir. I don’t know about you, though. Maybe you should go ask him yourself.”

  Jaena smiled as brightly as she could manage. “Just doing as we’re told. Very sorry to put you out of use of your smelter for a while, but the king demands secrecy.” She again offered up the signed and wax-stamped letter Aven had provided them with. The smith didn’t more than glance at it. Either the stamp was proof enough for him, or he didn’t believe them for a second.

  Ultimately, after more glares, several more questions, and finally a thorough letter perusal, he relented and left them to the smelter by themselves. But he continued to eye Ro from around the corner from time to time.

  “I’m using my magic to heat the furnace faster,” she said softly to Ro, hoping the sounds of the blaze and the smithy muffled it all easily. She probably wasn’t helping matters by doing that, but she didn’t want to be standing there for eight hours either.

  “You can do that?”

  “You can do it too. You already were doing it.”

  “And here I thought I was skilled. Or lucky. Goddess blessed, even.”

  She smiled. “Maybe you are.”

  He snorted. “Which one?”

  “Blessed.”

  “Oh, I know I am.” He snaked an arm toward her waist, but she batted it away, grinning.

  “He’s already suspicious of us enough as it is.”

  “So you don’t think I’m skilled?”

  “You think I’d have a plan to make money off your work if I didn’t?”

  “You were somewhat under duress at the time. I thought you might have just been being nice.”

  She scoffed. “You know you’re skilled, you don’t need me to tell you.”

  “But I still like to hear it,” he said, grinning.

  “Skilled at deception too,” she muttered under her breath. She tried not to worry that he was lying or neglecting to tell something to her, but she had to admit that for a religious man, he sure was quick with a fabricated story.

  He folded his arms, a smile still wide on his face. “It’s a handy skill I use happily at the goddess’s direction.”

  “They teach you that in temple? They seem good at lies. Or omissions.” She winced inwardly at the edge of bitterness to her voice.

  “No,” he said, expression darkening. “I learned how to lie long before that.”

  She cursed under her breath. “Sorry,” she muttered. She should change the subject. “You want me to show you how? To heat the charcoal?”

  He shifted his weight uneasily. “Is that where mages usually start?”

  “Sort of. Feeling the energy move is the first step. Absorbing, losing, expending energies. A heating spell is a good place to start expending energy.”

  “Hmm,” he hesitated. “Maybe let’s start tomorrow.”

  She quickly tucked her disappointment away, nodding and forcing a smile. “Sure.” Damn, her voice sounded far from the casual she’d been going for.

  “We shouldn’t get distracted,” he added.

  “Of course,” she muttered.

  The time passed slowly, but as the hour wore on, Ro’s nonchalant shell started to crack. As bells in the city rang in the beginning of the second hour, he was outright frowning.

  “What is it?” she said slowly.

  “It’s… still black.”

  “What? Is that not normal?”

  “It’s just a thin rod of iron. I don’t know how much faster you’re hearing that furnace, but… it seems a great deal hotter than it should be.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

  “Let’s give it a little longer.”

  After another hour inside the heat and more charcoal shoveled in, the furnace was raging. Sweat dripped from both of them even after backing away as far as they dared.

  Still the brand sat, quietly and defiantly black, stoic amid the hell of charcoal surrounding it.

  She reached out with her senses. She’d hesitated to since the very first time she’d felt the writhing horror locked in its branding end, but there was no bypassing it now. And there it was—twisting agony locked into the metal. Who could have created such a thing? That bit was blazing and ready to sear its mark into innocent flesh. But it was far from hot enough to change shape. And the rest was barely warm. In fact, she could almost feel the evil thing pushing the heat away, defending itself from the onslaught.

  “It’s not going to work, is it?” she said softly.

  “No. I don’t understand how it’s possible, but it’s not acting like iron should.”

  “By the gods. This must be part of its spell somehow.” She swore under her breath. “Let’s give it a little longer.”

  He nodded. “What else do we have to do?”

  “I can think of one thing.” She barely stifled a laugh.

&n
bsp; He elbowed her. “How can you think of that at a time like this?”

  She sobered. “It’s…” Emotion welled up unexpectedly, stealing the words from her throat. It—he—was all she had to remind her that this world wasn’t as terrible as it seemed to be. Whatever tenuous connection they had, however long it lasted, she would cling to it, especially in the face of defeats like these.

  In spite of the heat, he pulled her closer. If only she could read him as well as he seemed to be able to read her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and it was enough. The wave of emotion subsided, and her determination to destroy the brand took its place. If this didn’t work, they would find some other way, even if she had to carry the brand with them all the way to Evrical and back. It had to be destroyed.

  It had to.

  Still, three hours later, they returned to Ranok, sweaty and exhausted. The now-cool brand sat once again in her stolen knapsack, very much intact.

  Miara clung to Aven’s arm as they followed his escort through the bustling streets, on foot as the temple wasn’t far. Arm clinging was convenient for gawking—or maybe gawking gave her an excellent excuse to cling closer. As it was, she didn’t have to watch her step across the uneven cobblestones. She could catch herself from the inevitable trip and simply take in the beauty of the White City. She had been to Evrical, of course, and several of Demikin’s palaces, but this was something different. At the very least it was not quite so filthy as the Kavanarian capital.

  Dappled sunlight caressed red slate roofs, brown awnings, and flower boxes bare with dark earth for the winter. On many a door hung a slender sheaf of wheat, others a vial of water swaying in a cool wind, a few a nail suspended from rough twine. The wheat must honor Nefrana, and such offerings had appeared in Mage Hall often, but of the others she wasn’t so sure. Many a door and wall were pale yellowed bricks or white stucco, ricocheting the sunlight around the streets.

  The temple of Anara awaited them near the city center, sitting low and squat across from a wide cobblestoned market with a long and slender pool in its center. Or was it some kind of watering trough? No horses loomed about, even amid their small party.