The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  Kae approached her, pausing his work on the fire, and gave her his best courtly bow, feeling only slightly guilty that it was half mocking. “Kae Teneen, fine lady,” he said, “Former mage slave, former farmer, right now absolutely nothing. Except free.” He straightened and smiled brightly at her. Her eyes were a nice blue, for all her wary-eyed staring.

  She said nothing for a long moment.

  Thel sighed. “This is—”

  She hastily waved to silence him. “Niat. Just call me Niat.”

  “Just Niat? Is that what you are now?” Thel frowned at that.

  She said nothing, only glared at him.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Niat.” Kae caught up her hand and kissed it in what he guessed was more of a mockery of fine court manners than anything else. Anything to break the tension between those two. And with that he turned away to sweep up his twigs and build them a fine fire.

  Miara trudged down to the stables. Siliana should be looking for her with an update on Opia and the others, but at that moment, the last thing she wanted to think about was the loyalty of her attendants, whether well-meaning or homicidal. The pounding in her head had started to return, but now she was determined to weather it. Scanning her system told her the effects of it had mostly faded, however; the substance must simply be more drug than poison and have extremely addictive qualities. How considerate of Opia. She sighed.

  She was used to her life not mattering to the Masters or risking it doing something nefarious. But someone trying to hurt her for being herself? For simply being alive, and in love, and trying to do the right thing? That was new, and surprisingly frustrating. She could only hope that Kalan and Etral had had no part in it.

  She stalked down to the stables, using all her skill to get there without being heard or seen. She slipped into Ata’s stall and whiled away an hour, brushing her soft, chestnut hair, muttering sweet nothings, and resting her forehead against Ata’s quiet, reassuring warmth. Ata didn’t have to argue over complex human things, like whether evil things done in the service of good motives were still good. Horses didn’t have argue those points with those they loved dearly.

  Miara tensed at the sound of footsteps. The stable boy rounded the corner and gaped at her, fumbling and dropping his bale of hay.

  “Did you want to go for a ride, my lady?” muttered the boy, clearly uncertain as to any other reason why she’d be in the stables. She supposed it was an unusual place for one to find peace of mind, but it wasn’t unusual for her.

  Ata huffed and stomped a foot at the words in slight excitement, though, and Miara pursed her lips.

  “Yes,” she told him, stepping back.

  “I’ll prepare your horse, my lady.” And he tossed the hay out of the way and hurried to get the saddle.

  She looked down at her dress in dismay—she hadn’t considered that part of the picture. But perhaps it was best she gave it a shot, dress and all, to see how truly bad it could be.

  Truth be told, it wasn’t quite as terrible as she hoped, and though having bare thighs pressed against the saddle was a little uncomfortable, the stable boy knew more than she did about accommodating her skirt, which he deftly, if nervously, spread out gracefully around Ata’s flanks and rump in a way that looked a bit like a covered wagon but also very elegant. She wasn’t going to be galloping or jumping any logs, but it would do.

  The brisk air and city sights were a welcome distraction. The stable hand must have alerted someone of what she was doing, because the same four guards that had accompanied her last time appeared out of nowhere to ride in their four-pillar formation. This meant she drew more stares, and suddenly she realized this was a very public appearance and she hadn’t given one whit of thought about what she was doing, how she looked, why she was here. She resolved not to care.

  He’s worried about protecting all this, she told herself. About keeping these people safe, about freeing the mages still enslaved. About fighting off Daes. They were both trying to do the right thing. Weren’t they?

  The regular clop of Ata’s hooves lulled her, and even the people peeking out or standing in their doorways to watch her go by faded into the background, regular little moles popping their heads aboveground, then ducking back inside. Scri soared overhead in hypnotic, lazy circles.

  If she was honest with herself, what was she really so angry about? The thought of Aven wielding the same power as Daes? Daes had held so much power over her for so long. Aven held much more power, although she wasn’t sure how well he knew that. And he’d granted her just as much power in return. But she couldn’t shake the terror, the worry that welled up in her knowing that he could wield the same sort of spell that her former tyrants had. That he would even consider it… An image of Aven holding a hot brand, one lip curled like the Tall Master sometimes did, flashed before her. She thrust it away viciously. Aven was one of the good ones. He fought to help the oppressed, those like her. Aven and Daes were worlds apart.

  Weren’t they? Or was one just lucky to be born with power, the other grasping for it?

  She shook her head. Nothing could excuse the actions of the Masters or any of the Kavanarians who’d enslaved mages. Nothing. They had no right. And Aven was terrifying her by even looking at the same star those fools had used to commit their sins, however indirectly. She didn’t want that stain on his soul, on his legacy, and she didn’t want it to backfire and blow up in his face.

  He was right, though, she wasn’t being entirely fair. If he had followed her logic before he’d met her and burned the map because of the risk it contained, Miara would still be a slave. And likely Aven would be too. And that was not a better world for anyone. He’d certainly made the right choice back then, so why was she so concerned he wouldn’t make the right choice now? Why did the map bother her so?

  She passed a box of roses that had lost their bloom and started to fade. She reached out and embraced the plant, and its buds burst into life again, white pools of beauty in the sun.

  When had her roses stopped being bloodred? She frowned, and then rode on.

  All of the star spells were strange to her. Courage and fear, joy and despair. Revelation. Freedom. They didn’t interact with nature, but with people’s minds. Oh, she supposed minds were parts of nature, but it still felt wrong. Like cheating. Like messing with something they shouldn’t. Yes, that was what bothered her about them. It was one thing to beg a rose to bloom, to ask a falcon to watch your back and reward him for his help.

  It was another thing to control people’s minds. She never forced tomcats or spiders or robins to do her bidding, and she always rewarded them. People—and tomcats—had the right to think for themselves.

  And if there was anyone to whom it would be a dangerous temptation to control minds, it was a king.

  She bit her lip. Would he be tempted to calm crowds who were angry about something righteous? Inspire courage in soldiers who didn’t want to die—and turn them into wild beasts who sought death freely?

  The overwhelming sense of wrongness that filled her was almost nauseating. She took a deep breath, then another, forcing herself to breathe through her nose. Perhaps he might be tempted, but she knew him. Those were not things he wanted to do. Or would even need to do. And she could sway him. If she pointed out the wrongness, how great a debt to the Balance it was, he would listen. Wouldn’t he?

  Her head was pounding harder now, and the slanting sun was starting to hurt her eyes, but her heart had lightened. Some quiet moments, a noble horse, and brisk winter air really could work wonders. That said, it was full-on winter now, and she hadn’t even brought a cloak. She’d been too lost in thought to realize how cold she was, but now she turned back slowly, admiring more of the lovely streets of Panar as she went, the now-lush window boxes she surreptitiously refreshed with a flower or two as she passed.

  She remembered sitting by the fire with Samul, everything he’d said about fearing versus knowing. Fearing that Aven could be like Daes was extremely different than knowing. Aven
was nothing like Daes, and deep down, she knew that. It was only fear, torturing her. Very powerful fear she was having difficulty talking herself out of, but simple fear nonetheless. Still, the fear nagged. What if this magic could change him? Make him become like the Dark Master—no, Daes.

  A man stepping toward them out into the street ripped her out of her thoughts, and the guards tensed, hands gripping their hilts. The man had a respectable-looking burgundy tunic and leather vest but a broad-brimmed hat with a huge feather gave it all a whimsical air. Around his belt hung many pouches and flasks. A merchant?

  “Are you the one the announcements speak of, my lady?” he said. His voice was bold and loud, and it seemed to echo as the street around them went quiet.

  “Who asks?” she returned guardedly, biting off the urge to add an honorific.

  The man swept off his hat and bowed elegantly. “Sestin of Sestin’s Drams. I’m an herbalist and healer of sorts.” He swept an open hand toward the nearby garden in front of a tall building painted white. The nearby herb garden she’d spelled a few days ago had been carefully cut and harvested. “Are you the one who did this, my fine woman? Arms Master Floren, I presume?”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly at that, but nodded. “I am.”

  “Allow me to thank you for your gifts, Arms Master. They’ve added three times the yearly inventory to my shop,” he said, sounding pleased.

  “You’re welcome,” she said plainly, unable to muster much of a regal air after the exhaustions of the day. Nodding was as close to regal as anyone was getting. She raised the reins to be on her way.

  “If I may hold you one more moment, my lady,” he said, hesitating.

  She lowered her reins, looking back at him but saying nothing.

  “Is it true you’re looking for mages?”

  She didn’t miss the slight lift of his chin, the way he flung the words out into the street with a certain boldness that belied the danger in uttering them.

  “Why, yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, we are. The king is in dire need of more mages.” There, that sounded quite like something a royal would say. She raised any eyebrow. “A healer, you said you were?”

  He grinned at her. “Oh, I only ask out of curiosity, my lady.” His expression clearly said otherwise.

  “Well, if you know of any, I can be reached at Ranok.” She picked up the reins and started to move away and then added, “Or you can also ask for Jaena Eliar, my… my lieutenant.” There. That sounded very official, and after realizing earlier they hadn’t even offered residence to Jaena, she resolved to make both official just as soon as she got back.

  “Thank you, my lady,” said Sestin with another dashing bow. “If I know of anyone, I’ll be sure to send them to you. And thank you again for the late harvest.”

  She gave him another nod that felt quite regal this time. Come, girl, she urged Ata. Let’s go back and get you another apple, shall we?

  Thel tore his gaze away from Niat and Kae, down toward where the snow was melting into the dirt to make mud at his feet. He pretended to be studying the earth for something specific—it was his domain, after all—but he was really just staring. His thoughts were blank, but also in a frenzy over nothing in particular.

  He sighed. This new mage had friendliness in spades, and Niat was, well—not naturally friendly, if he wanted to be charitable. That hadn’t stopped Kae from kissing her hand in a flamboyant courtly display. And that had left Thel frozen, acid pumping through his veins, glaring at the dirt, even as Kae had tromped away through the brush looking for sustenance.

  Why? What did he care if Kae kissed her fingers and Niat’s cheeks flushed crimson? He didn’t, he couldn’t. Impossible. Maybe he was just feeling out-of-his-mind exhausted from all the spells and activity over the last week.

  Niat came and sat down beside him, and he resisted looking at her. He wanted to ask if there was a reason she hadn’t announced she was a priestess, but Kae was not far off, and the forest was dreadfully quiet, as winter often was. It’d have to wait. Some days being a creature mage seemed like it would be terribly convenient.

  But Kae was putting on a pretty good display in favor of air mages. Wind swept in all around them, carrying things for him, and he piled them up with lighthearted amusement and set them aflame. He was smiling most of the time, grinning at the warmth of the earth and fire combined. Thel must have been steeped in Niat’s wry and pessimistic presence too long, for Kae seemed nearly delirious with happiness.

  The two of them just stared at the cheerful air mage like he was some kind of freak.

  Kae did not care in the slightest. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them up and down. “All right, then! My instructions were to head to Anonil—”

  “We’ve heard it will be besieged and fall soon,” said Thel. “Kavanar’s army approaches. If you get there and it’s fallen, you should head on to Panar. The White City.”

  “I thought perhaps we should head there together?” Kae frowned slightly.

  “We could. I was planning to make straight for Panar, but…”

  “If we don’t want to be captured again, maybe we should skip Anonil,” said Niat as calmly as he’d ever heard her. Thel pursed his lips. Maybe he should have tried courtly displays to mollify her.

  “Hmm, but that’s where my instructions from Miara said to go.” Kae scratched his scruffy beard.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure where Miara is, honestly,” said Thel. “But my brother and everyone else has moved to Panar. I think they were going to stay there.” Actually, now that he thought about it, he didn’t know that for sure. What if they had moved to Anonil? Or Dramsren? Or somewhere else?

  “Well, let’s see.” Casually, Kae made a circle with his fingers and spread it out. As if he were ripping a hole in space, a window of light opened in his lap. Farsight. Niat gaped in wonder and got on her knees, creeping closer. Thel had to forcibly keep himself from glaring at the two of them. Air magic was showy, all right, but which magic had freed her from a dungeon, a near-death rubble experience, certain imprisonment, and indefinite servitude? His earth magic that “couldn’t do much.”

  So what if he couldn’t make a window in the sky?

  Suddenly he realized the window was pointing at Anonil.

  “Looks like it’s right at the bottom of this range, here,” said Kae. “Which way is Panar?”

  “South. That way?” Thel pointed over the window’s light.

  “Well, then, Anonil is on the way to Panar. So we can do both.”

  Thel rocked back. The fortress at Anonil sat east of the city. That meant… he must have gone north instead of south quite a ways when they’d first run. The important thing had been getting away, and they had done that, so he didn’t really mind, and running the wrong way might have even helped them not be found… But he resolved to check the sun more proactively next time. “All right then, Anonil it is. Then Panar, if we don’t find anyone.”

  “So you say Jaena is in Panar too?”

  Thel nodded. “You should be able to find her there. Or my brother Aven. How do you know Jaena?”

  “We were training partners in Mage Hall. Young warrior mages are paired with older ones to get started.”

  “You don’t seem any older than she is.”

  “I’m not, but they enslaved her later. Most of us are found as kids and brought in, all alone or in families.” Thel glanced at Niat as Kae spoke, wondering if those words affected her at all. She was staring into the fire, her expression unreadable. “She and her sister were brought in late. She’s only known she is a mage for about five years. I’ve been studying for twenty.”

  “Wait, sister? She didn’t bring a sister. Or mention one.”

  For the first time, Kae’s face darkened. “She’s dead. Killed herself, some say, although that’s supposed to be against the binding of the brand. It’s not supposed to be possible. But we all thought for sure she had found a way.”

  “That’s terrible. Why?”

&nbs
p; “We don’t know. Never will. Maybe she just hated being a slave. Maybe whatever the Dark Master made her do, she couldn’t live with it.”

  Thel glanced at Niat again, more pointedly. She was staring at the snow just outside their ring of warmth. Perhaps lost in thought. Perhaps not listening. “Sorry to hear all that,” Thel muttered, feeling like he should have said something and missed his cue.

  “Sorry to tell you it,” said Kae, smiling slightly again. “Now, here’s something you might prefer to hear. About those manacles…”

  Thel glanced down at them. “What about them?”

  “Where does iron come from, you think?” Kae smiled more broadly.

  “Mines,” said Thel slowly. Then it hit him. “By the gods, you’re joking.”

  Kae shook his head. “Not joking.” He made a gesture like he held both sides of one manacle and cracked it in two.

  Niat was frowning and looking back and forth between them.

  Grumbling to himself, Thel grabbed the book from his jerkin and started viciously flipping through the pages. There, in the very last chapter—how to manipulate metal. What kind of fool didn’t put a basic summary of what earth mages could control at the beginning of the book? By all the gods’ dreams. If he ever made it back to Estun, he’d have to write his own damn book.

  Kae cleared his throat. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to hunt for a bit of food around here. Hungry?”

  Thel nodded vigorously, still paging through the book. “Our escape wasn’t exactly something we could plan.”

  “All right then, let’s see what I can rustle up. I can’t promise it’ll taste good, but it will keep you alive. For one more day, at least.” He wandered off into the woods, whistling. The fire continued to burn, the smoke from it pouring out to one side instead of up and then dissipating over the wide forest floor.

  Niat came and sat next to him again. He didn’t look at her, just stared into the fire. All the discussion of Mage Hall had reminded him of the danger in hatred like hers, a danger that was very, very real.