Shielded

by KayLynn Flanders

  I tore my gaze from him, my face frozen somewhere between happy and complacent. It was too late—we’d never have a first dance. My heart beat faster as I realized how close the end really was. The end of the celebration. The end of my childhood.

  My father put his arm around me. This was my duty. I would perform it to exactness, and Hálendi’s troops would get the support they needed. But every stare, every conversation, pressed down on me as I focused on the opposite wall.

  My father’s tether thrummed with anxiety, but also with something softer. He cleared his throat and raised the arm that wasn’t around my shoulders.

  “Please join me in toasting not only the princess’s birthday, but her betrothal, and the strengthening of Hálendi!”

  As the masses clapped and cheered, I lifted my chin and smiled like I had just conquered the world. But inside, I was crumbling. My father knew about my magic. A traitor was hiding somewhere in the castle. Ren would soon be on the front lines facing magic he might not be able to fend off. Tomorrow I’d be gone.

  Alone. To face an entire kingdom on my own.

  My carriage swayed one way, then the other, in a strange sort of dance to the beat of muffled hoofbeats against cobblestone. In twelve days, I’d be in a new home watching strangers unpack my belongings.

  The journey wasn’t long enough to fill in all the gaps, but I’d spent my life reading about the world beyond Hálenborg, and I was finally getting to experience it on my own. Well, without an entire kingdom watching, anyway.

  “Princess,” Aleinn admonished for the third time as the carriage rumbled over the main road out of Hálenborg. “They will see you gawking at them.”

  I pulled away from the narrow pane of glass a little, but my eyes never left the streets outside. “What if this is the last time I see my city? My home?”

  She rested her hand on my knee. “I’m sure you’ll return.”

  The stark image of my room as I’d left it played in my mind. Bits and pieces of my life not deemed worthy to accompany me to Turia in scattered mounds. The sputtering fire in the blackened grate losing the fight against the unusually cold morning. I bit my lip. “It won’t be the same.”

  Aleinn sat back again, burrowing into the cushions. “Nothing is ever the same, even from one day to the next.”

  But I’d caught her taking one last look at the sights as well. Early this morning, she’d said goodbye to her brother and given him a letter to give to their parents. She’d squeezed him tight and told him to mind the stable master. Her hands were trembling when she’d let him go.

  She was accompanying me only until I was settled. Then she’d return. Then I’d let her go.

  “I guess you’re right,” I said with a small smile. “But I still don’t want to miss it.”

  She sighed and took up some mending while I watched the city awaken. Seeing the early stirrings was new for me, as I’d only been allowed into Hálenborg a few times, on big market days and for the celebrations of first and last frost after I’d turned eleven.

  Doorways flicked by, brightly painted smears in a wash of gray buildings that merged with a blanket of gray clouds in the sky. Spring’s first flowers struggling against the extra chill peeked out of window boxes. I caught snippets of men and women bundled in thick coats, their fair hair covered with warm hats, working at one task or another to prepare for the day. It was only a flash of their life as our caravan passed, a slice of who they were.

  We passed a bold yellow door, and I sat forward, craning my neck until the door was out of sight. I let loose a little whoop. Aleinn raised her eyebrows, her needle paused midstitch.

  My breath fogged a corner of the window. “This is the farthest I’ve been from the castle since my mother died.”

  Aleinn’s lips pursed like she was trying not to smile. She finally set her mending aside with a shake of her head and leaned closer so we could look out the window together. “And now this is the farthest,” she said, and bumped my shoulder with hers.

  I chuckled. “You’re full of wisdom today, aren’t you?”

  She tilted her head. “I’m always full of wisdom. You are just too busy swinging a sword or running to the library to notice.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but I had no rebuttal. She wasn’t wrong.

  We were both so engrossed in the passing view, we both squeaked when a dark shape darted by. A horse and rider—Cris. My cheeks heated, but he didn’t look in. Of course he wouldn’t. Earlier this morning before we’d left, I’d caught his eye and sent him a tight smile. He’d looked away as if he hadn’t seen.

  The courtyard of the castle was brimming for our departure—with horses snorting white puffs and churning up the new grass, men and women calling to each other, runners going back into the castle for that last item that hadn’t been packed. My father stood back, studying the chaos from afar. He’d given me a stiff hug and handed me into the carriage, formal to the last.

  “Look!” Aleinn pointed with a laugh. A dog with curly black hair and his tongue hanging from the side of his mouth trotted next to the carriage, barking and leaping at our entourage. I pressed my face to the glass to keep him in sight longer. I silently cursed the barrier between me and the world, and vowed I wouldn’t spend every day of our travels behind yet another wall.

  * * *

  The city was long behind us when we stopped for our midday meal. There was no village nearby, so we pulled to the side of the road. I opened the door and hopped from the carriage before it stopped rolling. A sharp wind whipped through my braid as I filled my lungs and stretched under the open sky.

  I turned in a slow circle, marveling at the vastness, at the emptiness extending in every direction. Only a few patches of low, scrubby trees stood in the whole landscape. Jagged rocks and tiny purple-and-white wildflowers stuck up from the yellowed grasses still bent with the weight of winter. Gently rolling hills mirrored the clouds, a sea of waves above and below. In the deepest shadows, bits of crusty snow hid from spring’s grasp. Our party, which had clogged the streets of Hálenborg and filled the castle grounds with enough noise to make the dogs howl, was only a speck here.

  The sense of freedom was intoxicating. But if I wanted to be free of my barriers when we started traveling again, I’d need permission.

  General Leland stood chatting with Master Hafa, Ren, and Cris. The general never seemed to be alone, so if I wanted to ask, I’d have to interrupt their conversation.

  “May I ride Gentry instead of in the carriage?” I asked the general, as I was eager to get on my palomino.

  Everyone except Cris stared at me; he found something near his boot to inspect, adding a sheen of awkwardness to the answering silence.

  My insides twisted and squirmed. I sounded like a five-year-old asking to play in the snow, but a half day of being cooped up was enough. I was finally out of the castle, and I wanted to breathe the world in—the wind freezing my ears, the brisk pine scent, the dappled shadows and bright sunlight. Everything.

  General Leland took off his riding gloves and rubbed his jaw. “It would be an easier journey if you stayed in the carriage.”

  Easier for me or for them? I folded my arms, careful not to shiver as a gust of wind lifted the skirt of my dress. “I won’t slow anyone down. I won’t complain.”

  Ren’s tether sparked with a bouncing feeling that always made me think he was laughing inside.

  “Yes,” Master Hafa interjected. “It would be best if you remained where you were.”

  “You’ll stand out in all that finery,” Leland added, to get in the last word. He motioned to the dress and cloak Aleinn had chosen for me.

  “I’ll wear a guards’ uniform,” I replied. “Surely someone has an extra.”

  The others in the party wore a finely woven undershirt below a thick wool shirt, and a heavy tunic overtop belted over thick trousers, with a cloak to p
rotect from the weather. I tamped down the smirk fighting to emerge—their clothing was much more suited to traveling.

  “She’s fooling us all, you know,” my brother cut in. “She doesn’t care about riding. She just wants to wear trousers.”

  I jabbed my elbow into Ren as he and his best friend snickered. Cris’s laugh had an edge that hadn’t been there before. My teeth ground together. None of this was my fault. I was tired of everyone acting like it was.

  “My brother will ride by my side,” I offered. Ren started to protest, and I glared at him. “He owes me a favor,” I said slowly, enunciating each word. The sting of his knowing about my betrothal before I did was still there; he owed me about a thousand favors.

  Ren swatted his gloves against his trousers and nodded once. “I’ll stay with her.”

  Leland couldn’t contradict the prince heir, but he frowned with fatherly concern. “You must ride close to the carriage,” he said. “I won’t have you getting lost.”

  I clasped my hands together, my head bobbing.

  Master Hafa folded his arms across his chest but didn’t object, and I breathed a tiny sigh of relief. No one ever contradicted Hafa, not even my father. I didn’t think any amount of pleading would get him to change his mind once it was set.

  General Leland reached out his hand to strike a bargain. He tightened his grip before I could let go. “Your father wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  I tightened my own grip. “I’ll be fine, General, but thank you for your concern.”

  * * *

  Gentry danced under me as we resumed our trek south. I patted her golden neck and breathed deep, settling my own excitement. The carriage lumbered along in front of us, and a persistent breeze nipped at my cheeks.

  “I owe you?” Ren asked as he brought his horse next to mine. The others gave us our space, riding several lengths away.

  I raised my eyebrows and shrugged. “You owe me a lot of favors. I’m just cashing in now. I figured you’d be happy to escort me as we ride toward my betrothed.”

  He chuckled, and clucked for his stallion to match the carriage’s pace. Gentry followed his lead, leaving me free to close my eyes and tilt my face to the sky. I’d always wondered if I’d feel different away from home, truly free from the castle walls that kept me contained.

  The answer was more complicated than I’d expected. I was still me, but I’d expanded as well, to fit more of the world inside.

  “You won’t be smiling by the end of the day, you know,” Ren said. He shifted in his saddle.

  I grinned wider. “I don’t care if I’m smiling or not, as long as I don’t have to get back in the carriage.” Huge black birds circled high above, but other than the grasses in the wind, the entire landscape remained still. I glanced behind us. “Can…can we talk?”

  Ren smirked. “The day would be long indeed if we didn’t converse at least a little.”

  I rolled my eyes and lowered my voice until it barely carried beyond the dirt crunching beneath our horse’s hooves. “Father knew—I mean, he knows about my magic.”

  Ren’s head jerked. He blinked and adjusted the reins in his grip, resettling his prancing horse. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “He told me when he gave me Mother’s sword and ring.”

  He flapped his mouth a few times, looking for a response. “I…Glaciers.”

  “Yeah. But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the gifts. He said the ring could absorb magic, and the sword could wield it. But the tethers—”

  “Aren’t really something you can manipulate,” he finished for me. He rubbed his jaw with one hand.

  “What does healing feel like for you?”

  My brother’s magic, though a big part of his life, was a taboo topic between us. We’d been so young when I’d plied him for information. I’d thought that since he was the heir and I was technically his competition, he’d been confusing on purpose, and I hadn’t asked again.

  He’d healed my arm once when I’d broken it after he dared me to jump from a tree, but other than having felt the searing heat from his hand over my bone, I knew only what I could glean from the courtiers’ gossip. But now, after my father had told me everyone experiences magic differently, I was desperate to learn more.

  “It feels…” He touched his torso, between his heart and his stomach. “It feels like rushing.”

  “Rushing?” I asked.

  He returned both hands to the reins. “Like when you’re galloping as fast as you can? Or when you get the final hit on a tough opponent?”

  I nodded slowly. There was no better feeling than winning a sparring match.

  “It’s like that, but more focused.”

  “When did you first notice it? And how did you know what type of magic you had? Why—”

  “Whoa,” he said, and his horse flicked his ears back and jerked to a stop.

  My laugh rang out. Ren settled back in his saddle and grumbled something under his breath about sisters.

  “Not a word,” he muttered when he caught up to me. My laugh turned to a cough, and I pressed my lips together. He dragged the silence out.

  “Come on,” I said. “You know you want to tell me.”

  He hid his smile and raised his eyebrows dramatically. “The first time I used magic was an accident.”

  My awareness of the rest of the party, of the wind riffling the grasses and my hair, faded to nothing.

  “I’d scraped my knee after Father’s horse tossed me—”

  I snorted. “The one you were forbidden to ride?”

  “Exactly,” he said, chuckling. “I sat on the ground, stunned, with a bleeding knee, and something moved inside me. I thought I was going to be sick, but instead, this rushing, twisting feeling spread to my knees. My skin knit itself back together faster than Hafa could best Lady Isarr.”

  I snorted and adjusted my seat to relieve my already aching hips. “Okay, but then how did you figure out how to heal others?”

  He shrugged, a little put out I hadn’t made the proper exclamations of wonder. “Father encouraged me to practice with it, and once I was fully aware of the magic within me, it became easy to focus and direct it.”

  Of course it would be easy for him. I shook the bitterness away, keeping my features smooth. “But you still had to train?”

  He swatted at a bug buzzing near his face. “Father once said it’s like a muscle, one you have to exercise to improve.”

  We rode in silence a few paces. I played with the end of my braid. “So Father can’t end the fighting at the border on his own?”

  Ren nodded, shoulders drooping. “Father asked me to try to do other sorts of magic, working with the elements, like he can, or moving objects. But nothing came as naturally as healing.”

  My mind churned over this new information. “But you could do other things?”

  “Not very well. Father said that some things were more willing to change than others, and that some things responded better to a certain person than others. A lot of knowledge about magic has been lost over time—we have only bits and pieces of what used to be known. Father told me of a historian who studied magic, but most of his works aren’t in our library.”

  We were the kingdom known for our magic; why weren’t they in our library? I guided my horse around a patch of mud. Maybe it was good they weren’t—I didn’t know when I’d get to return home. Would Turia’s library have more than a row or two of books on magic?

  My stomach dropped like a falling icicle. The palace awaiting me at the end of these twelve days—specifically the prince who lived in the palace—was not something I wanted to dwell on.

  The wind picked up, brushing my braid over my shoulder, and a few drops of water splashed onto my cheek.

  “Oh, you’ve done it now, Jenna,” my brother said as he snatched the
hood of his cloak and jammed it over his head. “You think Hafa will let me ride in the carriage?”

  I raised my own hood as the rain began to pound down so hard I had to speak louder to be heard. “Hafa would let you, but I doubt Aleinn would.”

  My brother directed his horse closer to mine, so that we rode knee to knee. “I’d rather be out here anyway,” he said in a low voice as I wiped rain from my face and tugged my hood lower.

  Twelve days. Only one more with Ren.

  For the first time, I wished I could send my emotions back through the tethers so my brother and father could feel all my love. “Me too,” I murmured.

  * * *

  When you had to stay within the outer walls of the castle, there wasn’t much motivation to perfect the art of riding. Ren was right—by the time evening fell, I desperately wanted to get off my horse.

  The rain finally let up an hour before we came to a small town of thatch-covered roundhouses. Ren and I had talked of everything and nothing, reliving memories for as long as we could, avoiding the uncertain future that sprawled before us. We didn’t speak of North Watch or the note.

  We’d passed a few villages, tucked into valleys away from the incessant wind. There were also cattle ranges and glimpses of small farms. Old-fashioned turf houses—their bright doors peeking out from the mounds that hid them—dotted the countryside the closer we came to the town.

  When Leland finally called us to a halt in front of a tiny roundhouse with a beautifully carved sign planted in front of it, I almost fell off my horse in my haste to dismount. I leaned on Gentry, patting her side while surreptitiously stretching my back.

  “Told you,” Ren whispered as he led his horse to the stables in the back. I was too tired to kick mud at him.

  Instead, I let the inn’s groom take Gentry’s reins and lead her away. The scents of roasted meat and onions and carrots and spices—sure to be a warm stew—wafted through the open door, and a warm orange glow beckoned.