Kalik would ask him to deliver the death blow to the boy, as a test of his loyalty to Elzor. Rahne had become an instrument of death, with no more control over his own life than he'd had under Sekker's rule. He would have to kill this boy, who was little more than a child. If not, Kalik would order Rahne's execution as well. Of this, Rahne was equally certain.
He snapped out of his daze at the sound of Kalik's voice, saw him gesture at Jabel standing immediately to his left. Jabel raised his sword, ready to plunge it into the tall woman's back.
“Jabel,” Kalik said, “kill her.”
No.
This was wrong. This wasn't war. This was Elzor's lust for power. He had destroyed Agrus's army, killed the royal family, and ordered a school full of children to be burned down without batting an eye. Life meant nothing to him, only his greed.
What would Father say if he could see me now?
But what could he do? He couldn't possibly overpower all of Kalik's men. To show defiance wouldn't save these aliens, this woman, or himself. It would only get him killed.
He'd never felt so helpless in his life.
Jabel's muscles tensed, and his chest heaved as he prepared to deliver the killing blow.
“Stop!” the purple-haired woman screamed. “You want the Stone, you can have it!” She stepped forward, but was met by the sword-points of three men.
Kalik grinned. How Rahne had come to hate that sight. He watched as his captain gestured once again at Jabel, giving him the silent order to stand down. Rahne sighed in relief.
“Mom, no!” the kneeling boy with the fiery red hair said. “You can't!”
“Shut yer mouth, boy!” Kalik sneered, locking eyes briefly with Rahne.
“You leave him alone!” the alien woman shouted, stepping forward again.
Kalik swung his fist around, catching the woman in the mouth. She reeled back, but somehow remained on her feet. Even from this distance, Rahne could see the rage burning in her eyes and the blood beading on her lip.
“Get … me … the Stone,” Kalik seethed. “Or yer boy dies. Don't make me ask again.”
“Fine! It's on the ship. I'll get it for you.” She made a move to walk toward the craft, but Kalik jumped in front of her, barring her way with his sword. Two other men did the same.
“Not so fast,” Kalik said. “Yer a fool if ya think I'm sendin' ya in there alone.” He looked up, met Rahne's eyes. “Rahne, get over here.”
Rahne did as ordered. “Sir?”
Kalik pointed at the purple-haired woman. “She's gonna take ya to the Stone. If she tries anythin', kill her. Got that?”
“You're sending me?” Rahne gasped. “Why?”
“I ain't settin' foot on that beast.” He cast a wary eye at the craft. “And I ain't riskin' any of my soldiers in case ya walk into a trap.” He glared at the alien woman. “If ya ain't out in ten minutes, we kill both of 'em.”
Rahne also glanced at the alien woman, whose shoulders were slumped in apparent defeat. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“Don't test me, or I'll carve the boy up like a manza fruit,” he said to both of them.
The alien woman shot Kalik a look of such venom, Rahne was surprised it didn't kill Kalik on the spot. Finally, she nodded, and walked slowly toward the craft. Rahne, sword at the ready, followed behind her.
Rahne felt the strange sensation of metal under his feet as he ascended the ramp into the belly of the ship. It was all he could do not to look around in wide-eyed wonder as she led him down a short corridor and up a small flight of stairs.
A ship made entirely of metal, that could travel across the Above. It was too fantastic a concept for his mind to grasp. And yet, here he was, standing right in the middle of it, with a woman not of their world.
Strange odors drifted past his nostrils, defying his every attempt to identify them. The tiniest hum permeated the air itself, burrowing into his brain like an earworm and making his headache that much worse. Fighting the pain, he somehow kept his sword raised as the woman escorted him deeper inside.
At the top of the stairs, they proceeded through a doorway and into a room filled with long, rectangular objects that looked like beds, affixed to the walls of the room with metal arms; some low to the ground, some high. In the center of the room, the woman paused, and fell to her knees. Rahne heard a choked sob escape her mouth.
“So your name's Rahne?” the woman asked with a forced breath.
“Y-yes,” he stammered. He felt the metal walls close in on him, and his sword hand began to shake again. Taking a step back, he lowered the weapon until the tip rested on the floor. “I'm … I'm sorry about this.”
“Feh,” she spat, and began undoing what looked like metallic clasps protruding from the floor. “Your friends are going to kill us all, you know.”
“They're not my friends.”
“Why are you with them, then?”
“It's a long story.”
Her muscles tensed as she snapped open the clasps, including one that took a great deal of effort. Rahne jumped slightly as it flew open with a metallic clang. She lifted one of the metal panels in the floor free and set it on the nearest bed, revealing a small compartment underneath.
Rahne stepped forward, craning his neck to see around the woman. Inside the compartment lay a box, made from a glossy black metal that glinted under the room's lights like volcanic glass.
“Is the Stone in there?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “My name's Maeve, by the way. My son is Davin, and my tall friend is Runa.”
He couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. “Why did you come to Elystra?”
She inhaled sharply through her nose. “That's an even longer story.” She turned to face him, and her eyes, as exotically purple as her hair, burned right into him. “Please, Rahne.” Her voice, so full of anger before, had been reduced to a plaintive whisper. “I don't know what your captain told you, but there is so much more going on than you realize.”
“Obviously,” Rahne said. His legs felt weighted down as if by invisible manacles, so he took a seat on one of the bunks. His sword, which seemed to have tripled in weight in the last minute, fell from his grip onto the bed next to him.
Maeve eyed the sword but remained stationary. “You're not one of them, are you?”
He shook his head, sending a dagger of pain through it. He rubbed his temple, but the pressure in his skull would not abate. If anything, being within the claustrophobic confines of the ship seemed to make the pain worse. “I'm from Agrus. They're from Barju. They invaded my country.”
“And you joined them?” she asked, incredulous. “What kind of person does that?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said with an exhausted sigh. “They let me tag along, but I know they don't trust me. If I don't do what they say, they'll kill me.”
She smiled, a mirthless smile that reminded Rahne of his father, who would often scold him when he did something wrong. “You're an idiot,” she said.
He couldn't argue. They sat there, for several long moments, studying each other's faces. For an older woman—for a being from the Above—Maeve was quite attractive, and the bird pictures that peeked out from the uncovered parts of her skin were unlike anything he'd ever seen before. But then, the look on her face changed. She no longer stared at him with the reproaching glare of an adult reprimanding a child, but with … familiarity?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
She continued to stare for several moments before answering. “You look like someone I … never mind, it doesn't matter. I have a plan to get us out of this. But I need your help.”
He furrowed his brow. “What makes you trust me all of a sudden?”
“You're not a killer,” she stated. “I've met my share of them. You? Your hands are shaking, and there's indecision all over your face. Your captain, on the other hand? He's stone cold. He'll slaughter us as soon as he gets the Stone, and you know that.”
�
��Yeah,” Rahne said with a resigned nod. “He'll tell me to kill your son, and I won't be able to. Then he'll kill me too.” He scoffed. “What does it matter? Since my father died, my life's been one rotting pile of gurn dung.” He went on to give her a very brief recap of his last seven days: his trial, his liberation by Elzor, and the moral quagmire he now found himself in.
“Here,” he said, holding out his sword to her hilt-first. “Take it. Strike me dead.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“This isn't a trick. Take it.” He proffered the weapon again. “Use your alien magic. Save yourselves.”
Maeve made no move to take the sword from him. “I don't want your sword, Rahne. And I goddamn sure don't want the death of some stupid kid who made one bad decision on my hands.” She placed her palms on her hips, shooting him a glare that could melt pure machinite. “You want to make things right?”
He nodded, then regretted it. The ache had become intolerable. It felt like someone was driving a white-hot nail into his skull.
“Then pull your head out of your arse and help us!”
He gazed deep into her violet eyes, and something clicked. “What's your plan?”
Maeve brought the box out of the compartment and set it on the floor, running her hands over its smooth surface. “It's risky, but it just might end with us still breathing.”
She laid out her plan for him. His eyes widened in disbelief as she finished.
This woman is crazy. It'll never work. I am going to die.
This way, though, maybe my death will mean something. Maybe my soul won't be sent to the darkest part of the Great Veil.
Maeve stood up. “Time's up, Rahne. Whose side are you on?”
He sighed, rubbing his temple again, muttering a curse under his breath.
Father, give me strength.
“Yours.”
Then he stood up, balled up his fist and punched Maeve in the face with every ounce of power he had.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“I hear congratulations are in order, Master,” Sen said as Mizar entered his own study. He marked the spot in the medical journal he'd borrowed from the royal library, closed the cover, and stood up.
Sen had spent much of the day tending to the injuries inflicted upon him by Agedor. The swelling in his eye had gone down, and the cuts and bruises on his cheeks and ribcage had also been healed. All that remained was a tingly soreness that seemed to live beneath his skin, and he was confident that would go away by tomorrow.
“Oh?” Mizar said, removing his cloak and hanging it on a metal hook on the wall.
“Word has spread through the castle that you and King Aridor managed to broker an agreement that will protect the Ixtrayu.”
“That is correct. Largo and Torvin have also agreed to the proposal, as has Prince Zendak. Viceroy Callis, on the other hand, has cut all ties and rides back to Barju as we speak.” He harrumphed. “The rest of our royal visitors will return to their homelands within the hour. Then maybe the air within the castle will be breathable again.”
Sen chuckled at Mizar's jest. “What does Vaxi say?”
“She's understandably concerned. She left her people at the behest of her grandmother, and now she's returning home with no less than the King and the High Mage of Darad at her side. She's worried that the Protectress will consider her actions treasonable, and refuse all contact. I'm hoping that, as a fellow Wielder and a blood relative, I can persuade her to accept our protection.”
Sen felt his shoulder muscles tense up. “Aren't you worried, Master? Once you leave Darad, you'll be—”
“Powerless, I know. Which is why His Highness and I are being accompanied by two hundred of his best soldiers.”
“When will you return?”
“I don't know, Sen,” he said, taking a seat at the work table. “According to Vaxi, her village is three, possibly four days away by merych, and that's assuming we can maintain a good speed the entire time.”
Sen nodded. “When do you leave?”
“First thing tomorrow. It's imperative we reach the Ixtrayu before Elzor does, so we cannot delay.” He pointed lazily at Sen's face. “You're looking much better than you were this morning, Sen. Are you still in pain?”
“No, Master. Just a little sore.”
“Glad to hear it.” Mizar met his apprentice's gaze. “Are you going to say goodbye to Vaxi?”
A frozen fist closed around Sen's heart. The moment he hadn't wanted to think about was less than a day away; Vaxi would leave, and probably never return. Their brief friendship would soon only be a fond memory, and Sen would return to his lonely, studious life. “No, Master,” he whispered.
“Why ever not?” Mizar inquired. “I may be old, but I see the way you two look at each other. One would have to be blind not to. You consider her a friend, don't you?”
“Yes, of course, but …” He rose from the table and walked several paces away. “I fear that my feelings for her run deeper than that. Saying goodbye would only make her leaving worse.”
“So your solution is to avoid it altogether? Think this through, Sen. I know I taught you better than this.” Mizar shook his head at the stubbornness of youth. “You know, I'm sure the King would have no objections if you wanted to come with us. After all, it's an apprentice's job to follow wherever I go.”
Sen turned to face him. “If you order me to go, of course I will obey. But it's not just Vaxi, Master. There are other reasons I would prefer not to.”
Mizar crossed the room, standing right in front of Sen. “You mean your mother?”
Sen nodded. “If she were to reject me, again, I don't think I could bear it.”
Mizar stood still for several moments. “With Arantha's gifts, you can learn to heal almost anything, Sen. A broken heart is not one of them. Regret has no cure. Don't wake up one day and discover you are old and regretful.” He smiled at the boy he'd come to think of as his son. “You don't get to be my age without carrying a few regrets around. And unfortunately, they only get heavier with each passing year.”
He retrieved the medical journal from the table and handed it to Sen. “Why don't you continue your studies in your room? I have a long trip to prepare for. I will send for you if I require anything more.”
“Yes, Master.” Sen took the book, closed the study door behind him and headed for his room.
* * *
It was not uncommon for Sen's and Mizar's studies to keep them so occupied that they missed the scheduled mealtimes in the castle's dining hall. More often than not, a servant would bring their meals directly to them. Over the next several hours, during which he ate a healthy portion of roasted fowl, mashed tubers, and a loaf of chaska bread, Sen buried himself in the medical journal but had a hard time concentrating on the words.
Mizar did not disturb him for the rest of the evening, and neither did Vaxi. He imagined she was busy preparing for her journey as well. With nothing else to do, he removed his boots, blew out the lit candles and lay down on his bed.
For the next hour, he stared at the near-darkness of his ceiling, the only light coming from the fires burning on the castle battlements fifty yards from his window. At least, he thought it was an hour. Restlessness and an overactive mind made any concept of time impossible to grasp. He was too wound up as he wrestled with his decision to stay in Darad while the most important people in his life left without him.
Why am I so afraid? I spent the first sixteen years of my life being rejected. I should be used to it. If Vaxi rejects me, if my mother rejects me, what have I lost? I'm still a Wielder. I'm a healer, a really good one. Someday soon, I'll be a great one, and everyone will know it. I will spend my life easing the suffering of others. I can go to sleep every night, filled with the satisfaction that I've done what Arantha wants me to do.
Alone.
Sen pictured Vaxi, her beautiful face, her sun-kissed skin, her amazing, soulful eyes. He thought of their hug back in Thage; how his heart had raced as she pressed herself against him
. She'd been abused, just like him. She knew the same pain he'd tried to forget. It had connected them in a way he'd not thought possible.
Blag.
After several more agonizing minutes of tossing and turning, he swung his legs off his bed, slipping his feet back into his boots. He had to clear his head. And he knew the best place to do it. He grabbed a threadbare coat from a hook on the wall, threw it on, and tied it shut.
He took great care to make as little noise as possible as he stole past both Mizar's and Vaxi's rooms. The door at the end of the hall did not make a sound as he passed through it.
From there, he strolled down several walkways, moving methodically toward the eastern end of the castle. Mount Calabur rose up like a dark, sleeping behemoth on the other side of the fifteen-foot-high wall. He wondered if, thousands of feet above him, snow had started accumulating on the peak.
He walked through another door, ascending a spiral staircase and pushing a small trapdoor open. He emerged onto a roofless bartizan with a wall that came up to chest-level on him. Placing his hands on the stone, he stared out over the city of Dar. Even at night, many fires were always lit along the busiest streets. The city's taverns tended to be well populated until the wee hours of the morning.
Sen took a deep, cleansing breath of the crisp night air. This lonely battlement, located at the rear of the castle and thus rarely manned, was his favorite place to think and reflect. He hoped the distant cityscape would give him clarity, perspective on the life-altering decision he had to make.
His reverie was disturbed by footsteps coming up the staircase sounded behind him. He turned, expecting to see an angry guard poking his head through the opening in the floor, ready to expel him. But this was no guard.
Sen could only stare as Vaxi pulled herself up through the hole. She had changed from Twilla's green dress back into the white tunic she'd arrived in. Thankfully, it looked to have been laundered, and Sen wondered if she had her Ixtrayu hunting clothes underneath.
Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2) Page 30