The Complete Enslaved Chronicles

by R. K. Thorne

  Now that was more like it.

  Evana’s nails dug even harder into her forearm, but Miara ignored the pain. What was one more pain at this point? She groped down Evana’s form, searching for the key. Just one… more… moment. She dodged as the knight reached through the bars herself, nails slashing at Miara’s face. She leaned her head back as far as possible, ducking while still groping for the key.

  Not finding it, Miara thrust Evana away from her a foot, then drew her back again, slamming her against the bars a second time. Evana staggered, gripping the iron. Her nails found Miara’s wrist and dug deep.

  Miara’s grip faltered, loosening and losing an inch before grabbing on again.

  Groping desperately, Miara’s fingers brushed a leather pouch along Evana’s belt. She might not get another chance. Her hands feeling more like tangled thread than useful tools, she awkwardly fought the stupid clasp and ripped open the pouch, delving frantically inside.

  Cool metal hit her knuckle. There—there!

  Just as Miara twisted her hand around, struggling to reach the key, Evana recovered and swept an arm down viciously. Something struck Miara’s searching hand. Her forearm slammed into the heavy iron bar, and she cried out. Then, the knight lunged for Miara’s neck through the bars.

  Miara didn’t have much more time. She had to do this now if this was going to work. In a last-ditch effort, Miara dropped down, squatting while still holding onto Evana’s dress as best she could. She spotted the pouch dead ahead of her, and she dove at it, again groping for the key. The pouch ripped half open.

  Her fingers closed around metal.

  Miara jumped to her feet as she shoved Evana away with all the power that arm had left. Shaking now, she searched frantically for the lock and jammed the key inside.

  It turned. And clicked.

  Miara forced the door open with a shoulder, staggering out.

  Evana’s icy eyes locked with hers, widening briefly. Then they narrowed slowly as she shouted, “Archers!”

  Glancing at the door, Miara dashed blindly in the opposite direction. Eyes searching the room, she discovered little. Nothing but the bed and a low balcony lay out of sight.

  She faltered, tripping over her own feet. The man still slept in the bed, the chains on his wrists familiar. But it was not Aven. Not any longer.

  A trick. By the gods. It had all been a trick. That was why he hadn’t understood what she’d tried to say to him. That bitch—all a cruel deception. A devious, perfect trick.

  A shrill cry from Scri brought her attention back to the balcony. He’d settled there on the ledge and beckoned her. She sprinted toward him.

  His alarmed dive was all the warning she had. An arrow sailed by and out into the empty air. She whirled, the fabric of her dress swishing around her. A dozen archers had assembled at the doorway to the suite, Evana beside them, a jewel-encrusted bow in hand.

  Miara dashed back toward the balcony edge. How far would the drop be? Would she be far enough from the stone to use her magic at all? Did she have any energy, or would she need to steal some?

  Reaching the ledge, she glanced down and reeled back before she could stop herself. The drop was hundreds of feet. Hundreds. Pine forests stretched out to a lake in the distance. Where the hell were they?

  She reached for her magic. It was there—but weak. Much too weak. She needed more energy to do anything, and yet she could still feel the oppression of the stone, like the sun’s glare in her eyes, pulling her down and away.

  Evana laughed bitterly, striding toward Miara while keeping her bow drawn. “You know, I had envisioned a different end for you. Something a little more painful for our dear prince to suffer through.”

  “King,” Miara said, calmly as she could. She reached out for their energy to steal. Evana was close to the stone now—maybe if she tried the farthest archers, she could work around the stone. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Scri alighted on a side window and hopped forward toward the table beside the bed.

  Evana smiled. “Not going to be king for long. It’s about time some blood is spilled. I must balance the corruption you two have brought to this world.”

  “This is not the Way,” Miara whispered. “How can you justify this?” To the side, Scri leapt into the air, wings flapping. Energy was funneling into Miara now, a slow, syrupy drip rather than the usual torrent, but it was something. She tugged harder, and one of the archers further back collapsed. The mage, even asleep, was a greater danger; she sapped his energy next, as low as she dared. Still not enough. The transformation into Aven had drained him.

  “Nefrana commands it. Who am I to question the gods?” Evana narrowed her eyes and continued forward in earnest.

  With blazing speed, the falcon shot between Miara and the knight. Metal glinted and slid past her feet. Miara dove, groping for it. The dive somewhat saved her, as the next volley of arrows peppered the path behind her. Agony flared from one that caught her in the calf.

  The dagger Scri had tried to toss her slid off the end of the balcony and into the sky.

  Miara cursed, turning back to face Evana even as she pulled harder on the archer’s magic. She didn’t look straight at them, but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted two more go down. Scri dove after the falling weapon.

  “You don’t know the gods’ will,” Miara whispered.

  “Yes, I do.”

  The cold certainty in her voice almost made Miara believe her. Almost.

  “No one can.”

  “I do.” Evana’s eyes narrowed viciously down the length of her arrow, and her voice rose, dripping with cold, bitter hate. “You are a mockery to their honor. You are an aberration in their glorious plan, and I am so, so honored to kill you in Nefrana’s name. Your evil comes to an end.” She drew her bowstring taut.

  Miara tucked her feet under her and rolled to a crouch, coiled and ready to make one last dodge. She’d almost enough energy to feel normal now, but the final archers closest to the stone were proving more difficult. The new energy had slowed to a trickle, and she still did not have quite enough to be sure she could fall from such a great height and survive. If she could dodge this blow, get herself just a little longer, or drain Evana even… She tightened every muscle down to her core, ready to spring, and she narrowed her eyes at Evana.

  “I’d rather be born evil than become it,” Miara whispered.

  Wings flapped behind her suddenly, and she instinctively ducked. Evana, too, was thrown off, glancing up, her aim rising ever so slightly.

  The dagger fell and landed a handspan before Miara’s feet. She lunged for it and caught the dagger’s blade as it sliced into her left palm. She frantically groped for it with her right hand, seizing the hilt point down over the pommel. Then she winced, bracing herself—it’d taken too long, there was no time left to dodge the arrow.

  Except it never did come. The vibration of the bowstring still rang in Miara’s ears, then the shrill avian cry. Mental pain slammed into her, unbidden and unintended to be shared. No, she thought, not Scri—he doesn’t deserve this. He was only trying to help.

  Her friend crashed to the ground beside her, Evana’s arrow piercing his wing near the shoulder. He wouldn’t fly again like that.

  Miara staggered to her feet and charged toward Evana. The knight hadn’t yet drawn another arrow and moved to block Miara with her bow. Seizing the delicate wood with her bloodied palm, Miara twisted and yanked, hoping to catch Evana off guard. Indeed, her blue eyes widened in surprise as the top of the bow swept away but it didn’t leave her grip. Miara didn’t hesitate, plunging the dagger into the gap between her chest and her arm, aiming inward for her heart. If the knight even had one.

  Evana screamed. No, more a growl of rage. The bow clattered to the floor. Even then, she lunged for Miara. The dagger was still tight in Miara’s grip, and she drove it further into the woman’s chest.

  Warm blood flowed from the wound. Miara scampered back, squeezing the last energy she could from the archers.
A quick glance showed only two Devoted remaining, and those were checking on their fellows, highly alarmed. She wrenched the blade free and shoved Evana back, leaving her staggering, gasping for breath.

  Evana collapsed back on the ground near the stone. That was no small wound Miara’d inflicted. She hadn’t wasted her chance. There’d be no recovering from it, not without magic.

  Evana clearly didn’t want that. And the stone would have prevented Miara from helping anyway.

  She scooped Scri’s body into her arms, a faint flicker of life still beating slowly through him. She’d failed to free that raven so long ago in Mage Hall; she wouldn’t fail this time. She would save him. She had to. She lunged toward the balcony edge.

  Damn it all, the queen’s pendant.

  Hastily, she dashed back to Evana’s side. The icy eyes were empty now, coldly staring into nothingness, the pool of blood growing. She gripped the emerald pendant and yanked with all the force her unbloodied arm could muster.

  The chain finally snapped.

  She sprinted toward the balcony, Scri under one arm, the queen’s pendant clutched in the other. She leapt atop the low railing and gasped, the treetops looming tiny below her. There was no time, no time to hesitate or fear.

  She jumped up and dove outward, plummeting from the cliff into the open sky.

  Chapter 15

  Returns

  To his surprise, Tharomar opened his eyes to a familiar stone ceiling and late-morning sun streaming through the windows. Jaena’s scent surrounded him, and he breathed it in, heady, heady stuff, and he could smell baked breads and spices too, calling to mind cinnamon, apple, clove, honey. A familiar, shockingly soft bed cradled him, warm under the lush blankets of Ranok. A fire crackled. Birds sang. The wind whistled somewhere in the higher arches.

  Everything was perfect. Beautiful. The best way he could have ever imagined to wake up, save for a home of his own someday. That would be better. With Jaena by his side. But this, this was suspiciously perfect.

  Jaena’s face leaned over him, and without saying a word or acknowledging he was awake, she kissed him softly, just for a heartbeat or two. Then she smiled. The brightest smile, brighter than the sun.

  “Am I dead?” he said softly.

  She snorted. “Does this look like Nefrana’s golden fields to you?”

  “Yes.” He was still staring at her, taking in every curve of her face, the way the sun played across her beautiful skin, her twinkling eyes.

  “Well, if so, Nefrana’s fields must have stolen the chef from Ranok along with you, my holy knight, my sweet love, because this heaven comes with tea and dumplings and Corovan cheese. Would you like some? Can you sit up?”

  He tried. He managed. He took the cup of tea.

  “You lost a lot of blood,” she said softly. “You almost scared me down to the seventh hell all by yourself.”

  He simply gazed at her. She’d worried? Thought he was dead? What had happened? But he couldn’t bring himself to speak, to ruin the heaven he’d found himself in.

  “Here.” She maneuvered a small tray over the bed and set it in his lap. “Eat up. Elise tells me you’ll need to after the blood you lost.”

  He nodded. He ate.

  There were fluffy apple dumplings, and he demolished two quickly, discovering that he was suddenly ravenous. But there were also beef and pork and cherry, and fairly soon he’d emptied the tray.

  She was smiling, her eyebrows raised, evidently delighted at the effort he’d put forth. “You didn’t hold back, did you?”

  He shook his head.

  She took the tray away and then eased to a seat on the bed, sliding her arms around him. She rested her head against his chest, her braids pressing into him, a wonderfully ever-present reminder that she was real, and she was there. Feelings and thoughts welled up in him, longing to be expressed, but he couldn’t form the words. Couldn’t say anything, lest it shatter this moment he’d never thought he’d have.

  Unfortunately, a knock on the door handled that for him.

  “Sorry to bother you, my lady, but there’s a fellow here asking for you at the front gate who’s quite persistent. I thought it might be one of those recruits and told him to come back this afternoon, but he said it can’t wait. Said his name was Tay or Kay or something.”

  “Kae!” Jaena exclaimed. “I do know him. I never expected to see him here. Yes, please send him up.”

  “Someone you know?” Ro said as she sank back down beside him.

  “An old friend from Mage Hall, freed by Aven before they cracked down too tightly. I don’t know how he got out, though.”

  Ro frowned. “What kind of friend?”

  She tilted her head, confused. “What kinds of friends are there?”

  “I’m your friend.” Or he had been, once upon a time.

  She snorted, shaking her head. “You are much more than a friend. Don’t be silly.”

  Still, she didn’t complain when he managed to snag her and draw her into his arms this time. They sat quietly in the warm sunlight until the knock sounded again.

  “Kae!” she said as she opened the door. He couldn’t see their visitor until she was throwing her arms around a young, blond man who was covered in the most insanely bizarre collection of cloaks, furs, and rags he’d ever seen. Aside from his fresh, almost innocent-looking face and golden hair, the rest of him looked like he could have been a monster from the woods in a child’s nightmare.

  “Jaena! I’m so glad to see you,” he said, in a lilting northern farm accent, with sincere warmth in his voice. It didn’t help Ro like him more.

  “You made it!” Jaena exclaimed, laughing. “You got free! How did you know to head here?”

  “I ran into someone lucky.”

  “Who?”

  “An Akarian prince.”

  “An Akarian prince! Prince Thel?”

  “Yes, actually.” Kae frowned. “How did you know?”

  “He was captured by Lord Alikar. So he’s escaped? Was he okay? Why isn’t he with you?”

  “We were separated at Anonil, unfortunately. Some mages came after me, and I had to make a run for it without warning them. Hopefully they will be right behind me.”

  “How did you come all this way?”

  “I walked,” said Kae, shrugging.

  Feeling forgotten, Ro cleared his throat. “You walked all that way?”

  “I walked to Anonil. I managed to get a ride on a wagon going south the last few days.”

  “That’s still quite a walk,” said Jaena.

  “I grew up far from other people. Used to it, I suppose.”

  “I’m so relieved you’re here.” Jaena ushered him into the room and finally shut the door.

  “Thanks. Frankly, so am I.” He started shedding some of his many bizarre layers by the fire. Ro wanted to tell him not to, that this was his heaven. That he wasn’t invited. “But boy, I’ve got something to show you,” Kae was saying.

  “What?” Jaena approached and was helping him with a cloak caught on a button of something else entirely.

  “Is there somewhere more private we could talk?” He glanced at Ro pointedly.

  Ro narrowed his eyes. Kae regarded him evenly and, to his credit, didn’t flinch.

  “Oh, anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of him. This is Tharomar Revendel. We’re…” She faltered, as if unsure how to define them. His heart lurched. Or was it that she wasn’t sure she wanted this man to know?

  “We’re going to be married,” she said abruptly, snapping him out of his wallowing. She met his gaze, smiling almost shyly.

  “We are?” he said. “I mean, we are.”

  “Later today, in fact,” she said, to Kae. Ro’s eyebrows crept even higher. “If he’s up for it…” She was staring at him now, an unexpected vulnerability in her eyes.

  “What’s a little blood loss?” he said. “It can’t keep me away from you.”

  “Clearly,” she said, laughing.

  “Well, c
ongratulations, then! But blood loss?” said Kae. “Something happened?”

  “We had some… violent adventures yesterday. Nothing a creature mage couldn’t fix.” The way she said it, though, the way her voice shook a little over the words, he knew it had hardly been that casual. But this was enough of an intrusion. Kae didn’t need every damn detail.

  Kae had shed the last of his many layers and looked much more the farm boy underneath it all in a simple, rough, brown tunic and trousers. He bent down amid all the things he’d shed and drew out a book. The leather cover looked like it had been black to start with, but now it was burned, rough, and warped. Old and beaten.

  “That binding is old,” Ro mused. And maybe he was hoping to point out his usefulness a little more. “Old as Zaera, at least.”

  Kae raised an eyebrow. “Funny you should mention that, ’cause I’d guess she or a friend of hers wrote this book. Here, take a look.” He handed the book to Jaena, who brought it to Ro’s side and opened it. The pages crinkled and complained, warped from water damage. The burned edges left soot on her fingers as she turned the pages.

  “What happened to this thing?” said Ro.

  He hadn’t really expected an answer, but suddenly Kae looked sheepish. “Well, I was set by the Dark Master to find a way to make a supposed second brand, see? But I was already free then. So I hurried to find something faster than my fellows, and I was determined to destroy it. But then after I’d lobbed it into the fire, it occurred to me, maybe Jaena took the brand, maybe that’s why we were all locked down, maybe that’s why they had me really looking for this. Not to make a second one but to make a replacement. And then I thought—maybe Jaena needs this to unmake the thing, too. So did you? Do you?” He smiled hopefully.