The door handle jiggled. All three of them froze, staring with wide eyes. Someone started to pound on the door, and they drew away, closer to the window. Climbing out was starting to sound like a better idea with every passing second.
“This is the Magistrate's law enforcement,” a voice growled from the other side. “Open the door and surrender yourselves to arrest.”
Was he telling the truth? If he was a cop, then there would be no help coming from the outside. Sylvia licked her lips, turning to the window. Her heart sank when she saw that the other man from yesterday’s attack was on the street. If they did get down, he’d just kill them. She let out a small cry of fear, holding Avas closer. There had to be a way to save him, at least. These people wouldn’t kill a child… would they?
“The future.” Sylvia turned to Myleesa. “We have to go to the future. We go there, and then we contact Volcant to get the portal schedule. And we’d be able to tell Indulf what happened.”
“But I don’t know the spells,” Myleesa protested. “And even if I did, I don’t have that sort of strength.”
Sylvia yanked her cellphone from her pocket and pulled the battery out. It still brimmed with magical energy. She thrust it into Myleesa’s hands. “We have to try. Otherwise, we’re just going to be murdered here.”
Avas let out a soft cry. His young face twisted in fear even as he pulled a small dagger from his belt. Myleesa glanced at him briefly before she turned back to Sylvia, her face twisted with determination as she nodded. Sylvia tried to recall the look of the portals, of how it felt when she traveled through one. She closed her eyes. Myleesa started muttering a spell—what for, Sylvia wasn’t sure—as she imagined a portal opening before her.
Myleesa took her hand and Sylvia felt a surge of energy go through her. A rushing noise filled the room. Sylvia’s eyes snapped open. A portal stood in front of her, swirling with a rainbow of colors on the outside as it crackled. The image of her living room was clear in the middle of it.
“Avas,” Sylvia grunted.
The boy shivered as he stared at the portal. Taking a deep breath, he jumped through. It was like fifty pounds being dropped on her arms. Sylvia stumbled with the effort of keeping the portal active. She felt more than saw Avas land and turned to Myleesa.
“Go!”
Myleesa’s face was covered in sweat as she clamped the battery between her hands. “No,” she gasped out. “We know I’m not going to die—I haven’t gone to your Victorian Era yet. You go. I’ll live. You might not if you stay.”
Sylvia wanted to argue, but the pounding on the door was getting louder, and there was no time. With one final, desperate look at Myleesa, she severed her connection with the portal. Myleesa groaned, and the portal became jagged at the edges. The door burst open, splinters flying every which way as the assassins burst into the room. Sylvia hurled herself headfirst into a confusing mix of sound, light, and color.
It was rougher than when she had first gone through a portal. The colors tore at her eyes, sound clawing at her ears. Heat swept across her skin and the feeling of being torn apart at the joints made her throw her head back and scream.
She landed in a clatter of bones on a hard surface. Darkness swirled before her eyes as sickness bubbled in her stomach. Every inch of her felt bruised as she lifted her head weakly. Avas was nearby, his dark skin looking paler than usual but not seeming harmed. Sylvia pushed herself to her hands and knees, glancing around.
Relief poured over her as she recognized the living room of the house she shared with her roommates. Her legs shook too much to stand, so she crawled over to Avas and helped him into a sitting position.
“Are you okay?”
The boy gave her a shaky nod. “I think so.”
Sylvia nodded. She closed her eyes, gathering her strength. When she opened them again, she glanced at where the portal had been. There was no sign of it. Even though she knew not to expect anything, her stomach still twisted in on itself. Would Myleesa be okay? She felt sick just thinking about what the assassins might do to her.
Maybe she can open a new portal, Sylvia thought desperately. Maybe that’s how she ends up in the Victorian Era.
She had the battery. Maybe, just maybe she could open a portal by herself… Sylvia held her breath, sounds coming at her from every side. At first, she thought it was a leftover from the portal, but then she started to recognize individual sounds. The ticking of a clock. The buzz of the fridge from the kitchen. Cars passing by outside. Even a faint hum from the lights.
No new portal opened. Why had she left Myleesa behind? They didn’t know for certain that she was Sylvia’s ancestor, so they couldn’t know for sure that she’d survive…
Avas curled under her arm, shivering. “How will Papa know to find us?”
“We’ll get back to Byrelmore, and Indulf will send someone to help him,” Sylvia said, hoping that Avas wouldn’t notice she didn’t answer the question. “We just have to contact Volcant and find out when the next portal is being opened.”
She got to her feet shakily and reached to help him. Her stomach growled hollowly, and she heard an echoing growl from his stomach. Well, she didn’t have a battery for her phone, so she couldn’t call Misty just yet. First things first, it seemed. Neither of them were going to do much good if they collapsed with hunger, so she headed for the kitchen.
As she opened the fridge door, she felt a curious sensation in her blood. Like strength seeping out of her. She paused, staring at her hand while the cool air of the fridge brushed against her skin. What was that? Was it… Her eyes widened. Her magic. It was still there but being dampened. Her heart started to beat faster. If she still had this much magic here… maybe there was a way to keep it?
I’ll figure that out later, she told herself firmly. First things first; get back to Byrelmore and send help to Hendric, Myleesa, and Warmund. If they could just hold off the assassins long enough for Indulf to send reinforcements…
“Hello?” A sleepy voice called from down the hall.
Sylvia turned, letting the door shut. Penny. Relief washed over her. Penny was always willing to help. “Pens, it’s Sylvia.”
There was a moment of silence and then footsteps pattering on the carpet. Penny rounded the corner. “Sylvia! My God, it is you. I thought you’d decided to live in Byrelmore.”
Sylvia’s eyes widened. She hardly heard what Penny said, her gaze locked on the distended pregnant belly her friend was sporting. It had only been a month at most that she had been in Byrelmore. Hadn’t it? Taking a deep breath, she looked up to meet Penny’s gaze.
“How long have I been gone?”
“About four months… are you okay?” Penny’s brow furrowed, and she glanced at Avas. “And who is this?”
Sylvia sank into a chair, her mind whirling. “It’s a long story...”
Chapter Twelve
Hendric
If Sylvia or Avas got hurt because Warmund was blind to his father’s love, Hendric was going to kill him. That went for Myleesa, as well. Having to leave them alone while he went after the prince again? This was becoming a dangerous habit.
When—if—this happened again, then no matter Hendric’s loyalty to Indulf, he would have no choice but to leave Warmund behind. He couldn’t keep risking innocent lives like this.
Hendric hopped over a fallen log, teeth bared, as he caught sight of a series of ragged sword chops in a tree, right at head height. Like someone was trying to take off another person’s head but wasn’t successful. He pushed himself harder, following a well-defined path. Scuffs of dirt, torn up plants showed dragon claws. Soon, blood filled his nostrils. He drew his sword and proceeded more cautiously.
There was a grunt ahead of him, and Warmund threw himself out from behind a huge tree, right at him. Hendric lifted his sword to parry Warmund’s. The prince stumbled, blood dripping from a hastily-bound wound on his arm. His eyes gleamed, and smoke curled from his nostrils. Hendric grumbled to himself, his own fires spiking as he block
ed Warmund’s attack.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as he parried another blow.
Warmund growled, fell back a step and redoubled his attack. Despite his injuries, he was so quick and his strikes so strong that Hendric had a hard time keeping him off. He relented ground, keeping himself in defensive mode only. His fires grew hotter, and a growl burst from his throat. By the Gods, he would have liked to teach this whelp a lesson. But that would not make Warmund trust him.
“I know that you were sent to kill me,” Warmund shouted at him, bringing his sword down at Hendric’s face with both hands. Hendric sidestepped, not taking the opening that Warmund gave him. “I know that you—”
“If I was sent to kill you, you’d be dead.”
“Then you’re going to bring me back for my execution.”
Hendric’s sword slipped as he blocked the next blow, allowing Warmund’s blade to cut into his arm. Hendric snarled with pain and threw him back. This was why he had left the others? Myleesa, a mage who didn’t have enough magic to even protect herself. Sylvia, a visitor to this world that didn’t understand the costs and risks, his wife. Avas, his son. His precious, precious boy. If anything happened to them...
“And I had to leave them for a whelp of a prince who is so intent on pitying himself that he refuses to think clearly?” Hendric roared as he struck aside Warmund’s blade. He shifted position, going from defensive to offensive. He raised a flurry of strikes on Warmund, making the other dragon grunt and fall back a step. Smoke billowed into the air, blinding them both. Hendric snarled again. “Do you really think the world revolves around you, boy? Do you really think that you are worth all this trouble?”
Warmund found an opening and nearly skewered Hendric. “I saw the message.”
“Which was clearly fake. You’d know that if you used half a brain! Why would Indulf go to all this trouble to kill you when it would be far easier to just leave you here? Why would he send me if he didn’t want you back?”
They broke apart, both eyeing the other warily. Warmund leaned against a tree, his sword still up but a furious expression on his face. “What is it, then? I’m not worth the effort or my father wants me back?”
“Both. He wants you back. He’d be here himself if he could be. I know, I’ve seen the grief and worry in his eyes.” Hendric shook his head, shoulders slumping now. He understood that desperation now. How much did he want to just abandon his duty and go to his son, protect him over everything else? But he had to trust that, together, Myleesa and Sylvia’s magic would be enough.
And Sylvia. He hadn’t intended for his feelings to get so deep. Now the gold band on his hand was a constant reminder of just how deep he had gotten. He trembled as he thought about losing her now. Not just to the assassins but when they got back to the palace and she wanted to break the marriage. How was he meant to let her go?
He would, if that was what she wanted, but it might just kill him.
Hendric fell back a step and lowered his sword, hoping that Warmund wouldn’t take it as an invitation to attack. “Why would I allow my wife and son to be in so much danger if it wasn’t because your father cared? How many times do you need to hear it before you believe it?”
Warmund hesitated a moment before he lowered his sword as well. “You only married her to stop the magistrate from taking her away from you. And now I see you’ve seduced her.”
“And instead of dealing with your own problems, you are going to focus on mine?”
Warmund glared at him. “Will you still break your marriage with her if you’ve gone and gotten her pregnant? You already have one motherless child, what’s another to add to your collection?”
Hendric sucked in a deep breath. His fires leapt high, but he swallowed down his smoke. Duty still warred with the desire to go back to the others and let Warmund deal with his own nonsense. But he was here. He owed Indulf one more try, didn’t he?
“Don’t try to make this about me, Warmund. Whatever there is between Sylvia and me—” And I will need to figure this out. We need to talk about what we are. “—it has nothing to do with you. Your father wants you back. He loves you. And this after you tried to kill him. You aren’t worthy of his love, and you know that. That’s why you keep thinking that I must be lying when I tell you why he sent me here.”
“I never tried to kill him.” Warmund lifted his sword again. “I never wanted him dead. I just wanted him to stand down. To let me do the right thing and—”
Hendric let out a choked laugh. “The right thing? You mean the selfish thing. A king must think about more than himself, more than what he wants. Indulf knows this, but you have never understood it.”
“How is it the right thing to...” Warmund trailed off, his head dropping.
Hendric started forward, concerned that he had been injured worse than he let on. When he reached the prince, Warmund weakly swatted at him with his sword. Hendric merely took it and tossed it to the forest floor. He checked over the prince for more, worse wounds. His arm wasn’t hurt as badly as he had thought. He frowned as he stepped back.
“I want to go home,” Warmund whispered. “I want my father.”
“Then come home,” Hendric put a bracing hand on his shoulder. “Stop thinking of all the reasons why Indulf shouldn't love you, and just accept the fact that he does. You’re his son. Nothing could ever stop him from loving you.”
Warmund looked up at him with eyes clouded with distrust and pain, but he nodded. Hendric picked up the sword again and handed it to him.
“And you had better stay this time,” he warned the fallen prince. “Because if you leave again, I am not going to come after you. Not when it continually puts my wife, son and charge in danger.”
Warmund nodded solemnly. They started walking, slowly for Warmund’s wounds. It was infuriating, but as time went on, Warmund would heal and get stronger.
“Your wife,” he said abruptly. “Sylvia. You only married her to protect her.”
“I’m not discussing this with—”
“But it’s become more than that. At least for you.”
Hendric gave Warmund a brief glare but couldn’t deny it. He held his breath for a moment before he nodded. “Yes. It’s more than that for me. And I know there is the possibility that I have gotten her with child—” The image of Sylvia big with his child, the thought of her nursing his son or daughter at her breast, filled him with a warmth and joy he hadn’t felt since holding his son for the first time. “But if that is the case, then she and I will figure it out together. It is not your concern.”
Warmund snorted but didn’t continue.
***
Hendric knew that something was wrong as they approached the room where he had left Sylvia, Avas, and Myleesa. A shiver ran down his spine as a scent of fire and blood curled into his nostrils. He tensed, glancing quickly at Warmund. The other dragon met his eye and gave one small nod. Together, they raced down the hallway and kicked open the door to the room.
Inside were half a dozen men. There was a whimper of pain somewhere to one side, but Hendric didn’t take the time to see who it was.
An assassin leapt at him, and he parried the blow, using his sword one-handed while the other flew at the assassin’s face. The man stumbled back as his nose scrunched. Another of them jumped at him from behind, but Warmund was there, slicing the assassin across the chest without a sound. The one with the bleeding nose regained his footing and dashed forward, the remaining four joining him in his charge.
The assassins spread around Hendric and Warmund, drawing knives more suitable for this small space. Hendric sucked in a breath, drawing his fires higher and allowed his dragon to shift forward. His skin covered in scales. The assassins’s eyes widened when they saw the smoke curl from his nose—good. Hendric growled as he attacked, tearing through the two that attacked him with ease.
Within moments, the assassins were groaning on the floor. Warmund dispatched the second one he was fighting and turn
ed. He made a move to run through one of the fallen assassins, but Hendric stopped him.
“We need answers,” he growled.
Warmund growled back but reluctantly stepped back. “Fine. But don’t expect any.”
He went about tying the assassins up with strips of their own clothes, and Hendric looked around anxiously. There was no sign of Sylvia and Avas. Myleesa, however, was in the corner. Her face was covered in bruises and blood, her clothes soaked with yet more blood. Her eyes fluttered when Hendric dropped to his knees beside her.
“Myleesa,” he said urgently, shaking her gently. She moaned but did not return to consciousness. Now that the situation was under control, panic started crawling up his throat. With a roar, he turned on the assassins that had been captured. He seized one and shook him hard, smoking billowing from his mouth. “Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are my wife and son?”
Chapter Thirteen
Sylvia
Sylvia gently closed the door to her bedroom, where Avas would be sleeping tonight. The boy was overwhelmed with everything, just as Sylvia was, and she hoped that he’d be able to sleep in this strange and alien world. It was odd enough for her to be here, back in what should have been familiar. After her time in Byrelmore, though, it was anything but normal.
Four months. She didn’t know how long she’d been in Byrelmore, but it was no four months. Even though the thought of all that lost time made her shudder, she was just glad that it wasn’t worse than that. It was a miracle that she and Myleesa got the portal open, that it was so close to the time when she left and that it hadn’t torn her and Avas apart.
That was what she was forcing herself to focus on. Not that she couldn’t have a proper discussion of what happened with her family, who had all demanded to know why she hadn’t called or written in four months. Not that when she did manage to get back to Byrelmore, she didn’t know how much time would have passed since she had left. Not that she didn’t know if Hendric, Myleesa, and Warmund were alive or dead. Not that she didn’t have a job in this world anymore, or that her room hadn’t been rented out simply because Indulf was paying her rent for her.
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