The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

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The Complete Enslaved Chronicles Page 99

by R. K. Thorne


  “Of course, Your Highness.” Her eyes were staring blankly off in thought as she floated away, and the next fine soul stepped up.

  Thel dashed into the woods, the wound in his leg aching. The thunk of arrows told him a tree to his right had taken the hits meant for them. Their feet crunched loudly in the packed, cold snow. Niat seemed to have gotten her legs under her and was moving faster now, and he was dragging her less, and he was almost tempted to let her go and trust her to run with him. But not yet. She hadn’t tried to wrench herself away either, so he took that as a good sign.

  He darted toward the densest patch of trees he could find, zigzagging, pulling her along. Another good reason not to let go—she wouldn’t know any tricks to help evading arrows, and they could get separated if she tried. If they could just get a little farther into the—

  Something hit his right knee, then swung around and hit his left, suddenly yanking them together.

  He went down, letting go of her immediately and cursing as he went. Frantically he went for his knees—a simple leather bola had hit him and was tangled there, incapacitating him all too efficiently.

  “Go, Niat,” he shouted. “Keep going.”

  She took a few steps further into the trees, but she didn’t run. She was stopping. What was she looking at?

  Only at the last second did he hear footsteps and look up to see Alikar before the young lord fell on him. He reached for the rocks on the chain ends, but too late. Alikar’s fist slammed into Thel’s face, sending him seeing stars. He lost his grip on the stone—and his magic entirely.

  By instinct more than thought, Thel lunged for Alikar’s throat, his cloak to choke him with, anything, but Alikar caught the arm and twisted, pulling, flipping Thel onto his stomach and wrenching the arm up behind Thel’s back.

  He caught hold of one of the chain stones and flung it at Alikar, but the lord ducked as he brought a vicious elbow down between Thel’s shoulder blades, splintering his concentration. Pain stopped all rational thought. Alikar’s weight sank into him, pinning him down.

  Thel tried to heave him off and grabbed for the stone again—or for the earth below him—or anything, but Alikar seemed to have him figured out. A fist dug deep into Thel’s kidney, then another collided with his face, stealing away every chance at a thought. Alikar caught his other wrist; the chains attached to the shackles made that all too easy. He held Thel’s wrists fast, shoving them viciously into the small of his back.

  “You poor thing,” Alikar said slowly. “Almost kidnapped by a mage.”

  “Better than kidnapped by you!” Thel shouted, getting snow in his mouth and viciously spitting it out.

  Alikar ignored him. “I’m sure he just dragged you along. You didn’t actually want to leave us. Did you.”

  “Of course not,” said Niat’s voice smoothly. He heard the sound of a small tin opening, then closing slowly. “But I was afraid he’d crush me. Like he did Detrax.” Her voice was different, slow, almost languid. He’d never heard it like that, and a pang went through him, of irritation, of anger, of what?

  “Crush you!” Thel shouted again, more than a little indignant and not caring any more at this point. “How could you—”

  “Shut up, mage, you’re not a part of this conversation,” growled Alikar, jerking his arms higher. His shoulders split with pain. Thel bit off his scream, but just barely.

  “Is Detrax going to be all right?” she said softly. As if she cared. Why was she pretending to care?

  “Not likely. Now show me your loyalty. Take that weapon and tie this murderer’s hands.”

  “Even with the shackles?”

  “Clearly they were not enough.”

  Without objection, Niat moved to his legs, untangled the stupid, stupid weapon, and proceeded to bind his hands behind him. He glared at the snow, even if she couldn’t see him. “That’s what I get for bringing you with me. See if I try to save you next time.”

  Niat said nothing. Alikar laughed darkly and rose off him. Then he was hauling him up to sitting against a tree trunk. He pointed a finger in Thel’s face. “You, like your brother, are more trouble than you appear.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t like that your little halfwit brain can’t figure out why we keep beating you?”

  “Who’s beating whom now?” said Alikar calmly, propping his hands on his hips. “All that, and I brought you down with a strip of leather. Pathetic.”

  Thel glowered at him. “At least I still have my honor. At least I’m no traitor. At least I can sleep soundly at night knowing I never sold out my country to a corrupt, greedy pack of wolves for an extra chest of silver.”

  “It was far more than one chest of silver. But that’s not the point. The point is, you mages will never rule Akaria. I’d rather have Kavanar as my masters than freaks of nature who must be cleansed. You’ll see. History will remember me as keeping Akaria’s honor. As saving our land from corruption.”

  “History will look back on you with nothing but disgust,” Thel spat.

  “When I am king of Akaria, you will eat your words. If I let you live to see the day.”

  “Is that what you think you’re getting out of all this? Please. Kavanar wants Akaria for itself. Why would they keep you?”

  “Because I can make the lords listen to me.”

  “Like you did with Asten and Toyl?”

  Alikar cuffed him across the face.

  When the stars cleared, Thel met Alikar’s gaze head-on. “And Beneral? You really convinced—”

  The young lord raised his hand again, and Thel flinched this time—a tough guy, he was not—but Niat eased closer suddenly.

  Alikar stopped, drawn by her presence. She floated up to him, a delicate, glowing ghost of white against the snow, the dark pines. Her lips seemed impossibly red and full and luscious, like ripe cherries from the height of summertime that had somehow been tossed amid the snow. Reaching Alikar, she slowly placed her hand on his chest, and then ran it lower, drifting down his abdomen. Along the belt that held his dagger.

  Before her hand could near the blade, Alikar lowered his hand and placed it over hers, stopping it.

  “You’ve already captured him, my lord. Waste no more of your energy on this pathetic prince,” she said, voice smooth and honeyed.

  Alikar frowned, as if unsure what to make of her words or her hands.

  “Detrax has not left us alone for even a minute.” She lowered her eyes.

  A chill shot through Thel’s veins, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Alikar’s gaze sharpened on her, the slow way she looked up at him through her eyelashes.

  “True,” Alikar said, his voice rough. “But Detrax is not here, is he.”

  “No, he is not.” She smiled slightly. “And he’s not likely to be anytime soon.”

  Thel squirmed, both inside and out. Seizing Niat with his other arm, Alikar spun her away as though she was no more substantial than a feather, utterly forgetting Thel.

  Gods, let him have interpreted that exchange wrong. Let him have seen something that wasn’t really there. Let him—

  The sound of a soft gasp from Niat to his left made him lose a bit of hope. He tried to resist but eventually glanced over. Alikar had drawn Niat under the cove created by the branches of a large pine and sunk to a seat with his back to the trunk. He was pulling the priestess down over him.

  “Aren’t you already married?” Thel snapped.

  “Shut up, mage.” Alikar sounded highly pleased with himself. Thel gritted his teeth.

  “Some holy man you are,” Thel grumbled. And he tried to look every which way but there, as the sounds reaching his ears told him he had not imagined anything.

  She was kissing that traitor with those impossible cherry lips.

  The cold forest air was mockingly fresh and smelled of pine boughs and churned-up soil and wide-open wilderness. He had never been terribly enthusiastic about hunts with Dom, but this is what they smelled like. He should have taken th
em a little less for granted. He heaved a sigh. What else can you do when you’re captured and tied up again? How many weeks was he going to spend this way? Certainly he’d count it in weeks. They’d either kill him or he’d get away before it got to a year. Wouldn’t it? He gritted his teeth and squirmed again, grumbling to himself.

  “Must we have an audience?” murmured Niat, as if put out by his sighing and grumbling.

  “Fine, fine.” Alikar lurched to his feet, withdrew some misshapen cloth lump from his satchel, and pulled it over Thel’s head.

  Thel rolled his eyes to himself. Well, this was just excellent. Now instead of pine boughs and snow, he got to smell Alikar’s sweat. A magnificent turn of events.

  Alikar plopped back down with a thud, and the mouth noises resumed, and Thel restrained a need to roll his eyes again. It was benefiting no one at this point, not even him. He should be figuring a way out of this. He wriggled a bit, but try as he might, the knots Niat had tied remained snug against his wrists.

  He gave up for now and relaxed against the tree trunk. Nothing met his ears but the sound of water flowing somewhere, dripping, wind whispering in the swaying trees, and an occasional bird that was long overdue to fly to Farsa or somewhere warmer.

  Nothing. Hmm. Weren’t the sounds of infidelity and betrayal supposed to get louder, not quieter? He wasn’t very experienced in love, but he knew that much.

  The silence stretched on, and Thel sighed. Maybe they’d left him here. That’s what he got for trying to do something noble—or at least decent. A slow, bitter cold to seep into his bones until he froze to death. Alone.

  Chapter 7

  Translations

  Niat crouched quietly in front of the mage prince and studied him, now that she had a moment to herself. He’d faired moderately well in their captivity, with one wound partially healed Detrax-style in his thigh and another near his shoulder, but overall he could be much worse for the wear than he was. He didn’t look nearly as dirty as she was. The lump in his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she had to admit it was oddly interesting.

  He was a strange combination of masculine grace and lanky awkwardness. If she let herself be honest for a moment, it was a little endearing. For a mage. She’d spent so much of her life only around women, aside from her father, and Peluna had kept her at a protective distance from men as often as possible, either isolating her completely or playing a barrier in their presence. Guards and soldiers had more bulky frames than this mage. She hadn’t known many like him. Maybe none. He was an intelligent fellow, too, with more words than he knew what to do with.

  She took one more precious moment to drink him in, to study him and what made him tick, corruption and all. Of course, that corruption had just bought her some measure of temporary freedom. Having all the cards in her control was quite the luxury. It likely wouldn’t last long.

  Why had he chosen to take her with him?

  Failing to think of any answer to that, she moved on to what to do next. What options did she have? They were all bad. Go back to the fortress, or follow this mage wherever he had intended to go. If he even had a plan. She certainly didn’t.

  She glanced at Alikar’s body in the snow, then back at the fortress. Detrax would not recover from Thel’s deluge of rock, but someone else might send pursuers soon. And those men would find what she’d done. They would catch her and the mage one way or another. They were simply at too much of a disadvantage and too unprepared out here in the snow.

  If defeat was assured, what did it matter what she did? She should simply go back. She was already shivering, in spite of taking Alikar’s cloak. Temple gowns weren’t intended for the wilderness, and bare flesh was not at all the ideal fashion for snowy expeditions.

  They’d likely die out here.

  Then again, if one of Alikar’s or Detrax’s minions catching her—and probably killing her—was inevitable, what did it matter what she did? She sat, basking in this brief moment of power, of freedom.

  For this heartbeat, all the choices were hers.

  Wasn’t that what Sister Ireie was always muttering at her? “The goddess judges your choices, girl, and don’t you forget it.” Niat had often just shaken her head, truly not understanding. When you’ve seen the future, and seen your visions come to pass, it was not so simple. What difference did choice make then? What difference did it make to the goddess if, in some way, her choice was already made? Though one question haunted Niat. Was it possible for the visions not to come to pass? Sister Ireie could not answer that question. No one could, save another seer, and there weren’t any. If others had known the answer, none of them had written it down.

  On the other hand, she didn’t always know what would come to pass. She’d seen this young man in her future, but what did that tell her? That death wasn’t tomorrow, perhaps, but not much else. He could be in her future if they were recaptured or if they somehow escaped. The latter seemed beyond impossible, but…

  She still had to choose.

  She knelt beside him and untied his wrists.

  He jumped at her touch. She must have approached more quietly than she’d thought. As soon as one hand was free, he whipped the cloth off his head and stared at her, wild-eyed.

  He had nice eyes. Pale blue like the sky above the ocean before a storm. Nice for a corrupt abomination that would horrify the gods, of course. But her mind’s objection felt rote, hollow. Those nice eyes flicked their gaze to Alikar and widened.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but shouts rose up from near the fortress. They both squinted into the distance.

  “They’re coming after us,” he growled and climbed to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Wait.” She dashed to Alikar, pulled his satchel out from under him, pushing him off it with her foot. She swung it over her shoulder as she raced after the mage. To her surprise, he’d listened to her hasty command and stood tensely until she reached him.

  “This way,” he said softly, turning toward the sound of water. She followed. Weaving in and out of pines, they reached a narrow stream and jumped across it. “Ideally we’d wade up it,” he said as they kept jogging, “but we don’t have the boots for that. We’ll freeze.”

  “We’ll likely freeze anyway,” she muttered.

  “Have I ever told you what a ray of sunshine you are?”

  She shot a glare at him, but to her surprise, he was smiling. “Is that any way to treat someone who just untied you? I could have left you in the snow, you know.”

  He eyed her. And to her surprise, he did not point out that she wouldn’t have had the opportunity if he hadn’t freed himself and dragged her with him in the first place. “Is he dead?” he said instead.

  “Yes.” If Alikar weren’t dead already, he would be any moment now. She pressed her lips together, refusing to meet his gaze. Finally, she set her jaw and glanced at him. He was staring hard at her, but she couldn’t read the expression. “What? Don’t judge me. He was going to kill us. Well, you. I may as well be dead already. Priestess or no, I know I shouldn’t know how to kill people, and I shouldn’t do it even if I do know how. But the world should be a lot of ways, and it isn’t.”

  “Keep your voice down,” he whispered.

  She rolled her eyes and jogged forward more quickly.

  “I wasn’t thinking any of that,” he said between breaths, so soft she barely heard him.

  “Well. What were you thinking?” Perhaps he had some other clever angle to judge her by.

  “I was thinking I’m glad he got what he deserved, even if I couldn’t give it to him.” He watched the ground at his feet carefully now, checking where he was going. “I’m glad he can’t betray anyone else.”

  Oh. Not judging, then. Approving? They walked along in silence, boots crunching in the snow and the whistling wind carrying distant shouts. She quickened her pace again. The trees grew thicker, and the shouts quieter as they made their way deeper into the forest. She wrapped the cloak around her tighter. The press of mo
re and more evergreens was reassuring in that it hid them better from those who might pursue them, but the air also grew colder, wetter. More dangerous.

  “I don’t hear any more shouting, do you?”

  She shook her head, slowing to a walk and turning to look back for a moment. “I’m sure they’re still coming. But I don’t see anything.”

  “Maybe they went a different direction. Or they found Alikar and had to deal with him.”

  They both said nothing for another while, walking more slowly now. She strained her ears, but he was right. She couldn’t hear them. The forest was simply a few foolish birds and the wind. So quiet, in fact, it made her nervous.

  “You were injured,” she blurted. “Detrax leaves a mean mark.”

  His gaze snapped back to her. “You know about that personally?” His voice held a dangerous edge, one she hadn’t heard before.

  “Injuries don’t encourage visions. But I am not unfamiliar with them.”

  “When? While we were in their dungeon?”

  “Just one. I don’t think he could help himself. But he seemed to believe me more about my vision than about the bluebell.” She hesitated. “There was another time, when he worked for my father. That’s when my governess gave me the Devoted stone. To help me spot people like him.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence settled around them again, restless and tense. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad he got what he deserved too. Even if I couldn’t give it to him.”

  He pressed his lips together in something that wasn’t quite a smile—it probably wasn’t appropriate to smile when receiving thanks for murder—but he did seem gratified.

  “I’m glad to see some measure of justice before we die out here.”

  “We are not going to die out here,” he said firmly.

  “Oh, I don’t see how you can be so sure of that. What, are you getting visions now?”

  “No. But we haven’t seen Anonil yet. And I think it still stands, based on what I heard. Didn’t you say you saw it fall? You’ll apparently live at least that long.”

 

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