by Kara Jaynes
“Guess it’s good we took care of her first then.” Hydari’s gaze wandered to the back of Myyre’s smooth neck. “This is easier. Just the two of us. We won’t have to share the essence with anyone else.”
Myyre turned to smile at him. “Just the two of us.”
Hydari hunched over to look at the map again, smothering a laugh. Myyre was such a jealous woman. She’d been outraged to hear he’d invited the nomad female to Twyarinoth. True, he’d found the strange Adaryn attractive, but his interest had come more from curiosity about other magic users than for her personally.
His jaw tightened. Adaryn would pay for her arrogance. Fyrsil too. That he was related to the man he had no doubt. That would make them cousins. Fyrsil would be a dead cousin. He wouldn’t risk the man trying to steal Hydari’s kingdom.
“Hydari.” The prince blinked and looked up at his sister. “You weren’t listening this time. What are you thinking about?”
“Fyrsil.” No need to mention Adaryn. Myyre seemed touchy enough today. “We need to find him.”
“Agreed.” Myyre nodded. “But I was talking about Eletha. What happened to our scout?”
Hydari shrugged. Eletha was one of the several Twyli they’d sent out here to retrieve information about these lands. She had been sent to scout the northern lands. He twisted his body so he was lying on his side, propping himself up with one elbow. “Probably dead. We haven’t heard from her for over half a year.”
“Just as well.” Myyre sniffed. “She was an overly ambitious woman.”
Hydari stifled another grin. He traced a finger on the map from the location they were currently at to the heart of Ruis. Soon. Soon this land would be theirs. No one was strong enough to stop them.
13
Aaric
Stepping through a glowing arch made of what looked to be entirely of light, Aaric left the dragon's world of soft light and green woods. He blinked and found himself in a strangely familiar landscape of scattered stone buildings, windows and doorways empty.
The Tyrko Ruins. Aaric glanced up at the sky. The moon hung overhead, casting an eerie light over the land.
The night air was cool, but it was far warmer than the harsh, frozen terrain east of the mountains.
He began walking in the direction of Sen Altare. If he hurried, he could reach the city in a day. He’d need to find water soon though. Once the sun rose, things would warm up quickly despite the fact that it was winter.
It was still winter, wasn’t it? How long had he been in there? He frowned, contemplating. Perhaps it was now spring.
Magic. He felt it stir inside him. He swallowed, trying to ignore it. Shades alive, what had possessed the dragon to think Aaric needed enchantment? He was a rover now.
Not a rover, he told himself. A Twyli. Just not a corrupt one.
He thought of the last words the dragon had said to him. Merge with Adaryn. Find her spirit, her essence. It is invisible to the eye, little one, but you will sense it. Combine it with yours. Merge, and the Twyli will fall.
Aaric frowned, remembering. How he was supposed to do that was beyond him, but as he continued to walk, he firmly put thoughts of the magic aside, thinking of Sen Altare and its people. He had a plan. He didn’t know what the dragon had meant by merging, but he would go to Ruis regardless. If he could rally Sirius Archer and the Scholar’s Guild behind him, Ruis would stand a fighting chance.
14
Aaric
“No, Mr. Wright, I’m afraid that’s out of the question.” Sirius lounged in what was once Matias’ throne—Fyrsil, Aaric corrected himself—idly smoothing his gray mustache. “I understand your concern for your home city,” the Guild leader continued, “but we simply do not have the resources needed to lend you aid.” He paused, a thought coming to him. “And if these, what are they, again? Twyli? If these Twyli are really as dangerous as you claim, then we’ll need to prepare our own city for war.” He smiled blandly. “Thank you for the warning.”
Aaric tried to keep his face expressionless but anger simmered inside of him. “While Ruis could use the manpower,” he said, “if that isn’t possible, access to some explosion devices would still help our cause tremendously.”
Sirius shook his head. “Can’t do that either.” He arched a brow at the younger man. “Fortunately for Ruis, you know how to make them. You were the inventor, after all.”
“I don’t have the resources, Archer!” Aaric stood from the chair he’d been sitting in, his fists clenched. “And Ruis won’t have the time. Every moment that passes, the Twyli come closer to the northern city. If they fall, Harbor will be next. You will be third. Surely you want to stop that from happening.”
“I want to make sure we have every bit of protection available to us,” Sirius countered, shrugging. “That is why we’ll stay here.”
Aaric stared at the older man, disappointed. He’d once respected the man. “May I at least have a horse and supplies for my trip home? I lost mine in the journey.”
Sirius waved a hand dismissively, already turning to a stack of papers on a small table. “Yes, of course. Good day, Mr. Wright.”
Aaric strode out of the throne room, his mind moving on to new problems. He couldn’t expect any help from Sen Altare, so his next course of action would be to return to Ruis with all haste.
He turned around a corner, and found himself standing before the doors of the royal library. Aaric rolled his eyes, amused at himself. While wrapped up in his thoughts, his feet had automatically brought him here rather than the stables.
He turned to go then paused, turning back to the library. Matias had been a magic user. What if there were books on enchantment? Aaric could use all the help he could get, and books had yet to let him down. Even if he couldn’t find the exact answer he’d set out to find, he had always found himself better off for having read something.
He opened the double doors, breathing in the smell of dust, old pages, and ink. He would find something here, he was sure of it.
It didn’t take long for him to find an interesting book—as if books were ever uninteresting. An old leather-bound tome with gold letters stamped into it carried the title Mystic Powers. He chuckled at the blatant title, opened it and began to read.
15
Aaric
Saddling the horse he’d chosen, Aaric led the beast out of the stables, thinking. The book had held his interest longer than he’d meant it to. He needed to hurry.
“Mr. Wright?”
One hand guiding his horse by the reins, Aaric looked to the stable entrance. An older woman hurried toward him, her skirts lifted slightly above her ankles. She looked familiar. She slowed as she approached, a wide smile on her face. “It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken.”
Aaric remembered. “Luna.”
“The one and only.” The woman dipped her head in acknowledgement. “How is Grace?”
“She was well the last time I saw her.” Aaric frowned. When was the last time he’d seen her?
“That’s nice.” Luna jerked her head in the direction of the palace. “I just spoke with Sirius. He told me why you came. I’m sorry. I agree with you, but once that old turtle’s mind is made up, there’s no changing it.”
“It’s all right.” Aaric squinted, peering in the sun’s direction. If he hurried, he could make fair progress before nightfall.
Luna followed his line of sight and nodded. “Give me an hour. I’m coming with you.”
“What?” Aaric’s eyes snapped back to the woman. “That can hardly be proper, Ms. Flores.”
“Drop the formalities,” Luna chortled. “I’m old enough to be your mother, boy. If Grace is in danger, I need to be there. Besides, it’s been too long since I’ve seen my brother. Give me an hour, I’ll have everything I need, plus the servants Grace left behind when she went gallivanting off with you and the others. Roon was beside himself with worry.”
Aaric hesitated a moment before nodding. “All right. But one hour, Luna.”
Th
e older woman grinned and dashed away at a speed that surprised Aaric.
He frowned at her retreating figure, his thoughts elsewhere. The book had spoken of magic users ‘merging’ their powers, but hadn’t said how to do it. Based on what the dragon had said, he was sure it was the key to defeating the Twyli, but if the book didn’t give instruction, how would he manage it?
16
Grace
Light flooded into Grace’s vision, as she opened her eyes. She frowned, confused. What was she doing in bed?
She tried to move her arm and whimpered. It hurt. Everything hurt. Why?
“You’re awake! Thank goodness, sweetie!” Grace’s mother rose from a chair, and hurried over to her bedside, anxiety painting her expression. She reached out a slim white hand, smoothing wayward curls from Grace’s face. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m . . .” Grace frowned. “What’s wrong? Why am I in bed?” She shifted a leg and winced. “Why do I hurt?”
“You were attacked, sweetheart.” Unshed tears glistened in her mother’s eyes. “I was so worried about you.”
“What happened?”
“We’re not sure. The young nomad carried you here after he found you harmed, but no one saw the attacker.”
Grace shook her head groggily, trying to recall her memories. She remembered walking down the dark, grimy streets, trying to find Annabelle’s house, then—
The door to her bedroom opened, and her father appeared. The magistrate smiled warmly at his daughter. “Thank the heavens, I was beginning to worry you might not make it.” He crossed the room in a few easy strides and knelt by his daughter’s bed, taking her hand in his. “It was beyond lucky Fyrsil was here to heal you.”
“Fyrsil?” Grace frowned. That name sounded familiar. “Have I met him?”
“He lived in Sen Altare, from what I gathered,” her father replied. “Bran seemed to know him, though they don’t appear to be on friendly terms.”
Matias. Grace’s memories came crashing back in a flood of images. She clutched her father’s arm. “I know who’s been taking the children.”
“You do?” Her father studied her face intently. “Is it the same man who attacked you? Was it that Donell fellow?”
“No.” Grace shook her head. “A woman. A magic user, father. I’d never seen her before. She’s the one who’s been stealing the children, I’m sure of it. I thought it was Fyrsil, but I was wrong. Where’s Bran?” She tried to sit up, and gasped as pain shot through her back. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Lie down.” Her father’s tone turned soothing. “Don’t fret, Gracie. What’s important right now is that you get better.”
“How long have I been unconscious?” Grace didn’t like the look her parents exchanged. “What?”
“It’s been over two weeks, sweetie,” her mother said. “We’ve been so worried.”
Two weeks. More than two weeks.
“Have there been more kidnappings?”
“There’s no reason for you to involve yourself in this matter any longer,” her father said firmly. He stood. “Get some rest. The sooner you get better the sooner you can get back to being yourself again.”
Grace clenched her fists. Even that movement felt weak. She was so tired. “Where’s Bran?” she asked her mother after Father had left.
Mother’s lips pinched together in a grim line. “He’s here.” Her pale brow creased in worry. “Are you sure about him, Grace? Your father told me of your interests. There are so many fine young men here in Ruis, Grace. You could have any one of them.”
‘None of them are Bran,” Grace chortled. She’d have to be a stone-blind fool to pick anyone but Bran.
Her mother shook her head, but dropped the subject. She left the room shortly after so Grace could rest. She found herself idly picking at the stitching on her quilt. How many more children had gone missing? Something had to be done. Ruis was unraveling.
17
Adaryn
“So, what’s the plan?” Taking a seat across the table from me, Bran shoveled porridge into his mouth at a speed that had me worried he’d choke.
I’d already given him the news of Aaric and my travels across the mountain. He was now all too aware of the threat of the Twyli invasion as promised by the prince of Twyarinoth. “We can try to survive,” I said simply. “If we're lucky, we’ll succeed in that.” I held Dahlia in my lap. It was just past dawn, and she was still half asleep.
Bran rolled his eyes. “I can handle them. I can probably handle the whole blasted army.”
I tried to push down my rising irritation. “I don’t think you realize the severity of the situation, Bran.”
“No, I do,” the tall nomad protested. “But I have the sky jewel, remember? As long as I have it, I’m invincible.” A shadow crossed his face and I knew he was thinking of Grace. Almost invincible, anyway.
“How is she?” I asked gently. I didn’t need to say who. It’d been over two weeks since Grace was injured.
“I haven’t been allowed to see her,” Bran said, clearly irritated with the situation. “Lord Flores informed me that she woke today, and that she saw who’s been taking the children, but didn’t recognize her. The magistrate says she still needs rest.” He sighed. “Hopefully she’ll be up soon.”
“That’s great, Bran.” I smiled, hoping I sounded encouraging. “A ‘she,’ has been taking the children?” I couldn’t guess who it was, but I was certain she was Twyli.
The door to the Flores dining room opened and Fyrsil sauntered in. He held two bowls of porridge topped with fruit and handed one to me. “Since your boyfriend didn’t get you one.”
“Bran’s not my boyfriend.” I rolled my eyes but accepted the porridge. I inspected the fruit more closely. Blueberries. I took a bite and smiled at the pleasant combination of oats, milk, and berries.
“Whatever.” Fyrsil took the chair next to mine and started wolfing down his meal even faster than Bran had. His servant Zero, stood behind him, silent. He followed Fyrsil like a shadow. What compelled the man’s loyalty, I wasn’t sure.
Bran frowned at him and then stood. “I’m going to go check on Grace. Or try to. Her mother always seems to be there.”
After he left, Fyrsil turned to me. “I thought Ruis hated magic users.”
“Most of them do,” I said. Dahlia was looking more awake, and I fed her a spoonful of porridge. “Fortunately for the city, Lord Flores isn’t a complete fool. He knows the only reason his daughter’s still alive is because of us.”
“Alive because of me,” Fyrsil said, which led me to the question I’d been meaning to ask him.
“Why didn’t you bargain with Bran?” I asked. “You had to know Bran would have given the sky jewel to you if you’d pushed harder. You could have used Grace’s condition against him.”
Fyrsil shrugged. “If there’d been more time, I would have.” He looked at me, his eyes as blue as my own. “Grace was this close to dying.” He held up a thumb and forefinger. “If I’d waited, even seconds longer, we would’ve lost her. Yes, I wanted the sky jewel, but I consider myself a healer too. I couldn’t sit back and watch her die.”
I pondered his response. Each time I thought I’d figured him out, Fyrsil revealed a new facet of his character. A complicated man.
“Has Lord Flores talked to the other magistrates about their approaching doom then?” Fyrsil asked and I nodded. “He says they are divided on what to do, so no serious decisions have been made.”
Fyrsil smirked. “They’re cherries ripe for the picking, Adaryn. I’d admire your pluck coming all the way out here, but you’re wasting your time. I’ve looked at their walls and their barracks. Ruis doesn’t stand a chance.”
“They have Bran,” I countered. “And he has the sky jewel.”
The brigand king nodded. “True. But you and I have both felt the strength of the Twyli’s power. They are not going to be easy to defeat.”
I nodded. “I know. But we must. Somehow.”
; 18
Grace
“Are you sure about this man, dearie?” Lady Flores walked into the family library, taking a seat on the sofa next to her daughter. “He’s a nomad, Grace. I understand he’s . . . different, from the others, but a rover just the same.”
Grace sighed, putting her book aside. It was a picture book her father had given to her many years ago, filled with detailed pictures of various animals. She still liked to look at it when she needed to calm and clear her mind. “Yes, Mother. And I’m ready to see Bran. I know you and Father are worried about my health, but I am quite sure I’m well enough to see friends.” She glanced over at the older woman. Lady Flores was biting her upper lip; a habit of hers when she was clearly unhappy.
“Don’t fret, Mother. He’s a good man. Bran’s saved my life on numerous occasions.”
“Your life didn’t need to be saved until you met him, Grace.”
Grace tried to stifle her laughter. A true statement, she wouldn’t argue that. She tried a different approach. “You always told me that while money and fortune were important, love is even more so. Like you and father.”
Lady Flores shook her head. “Yes, Grace, but your father is a respected man of Ruis, not a hot-headed boy from the forest.”
Hot-headed boy from the forest, was he? Grace rather liked that description. “Love, above all else. For me. I don’t care—” She paused. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t care about her fine dresses and jewelry, but she definitely cared more for the young, solemn-eyed nomad. “I choose him, Mother.”
Lady Flores nodded, clearly disappointed. “Your father said as much. Just remember, despite your choice, Grace, that we love you, and that you’ll always have a home here, should you wish it.” She smiled at her daughter, tears in her eyes. She stood and left the library.
Affection surged in Grace’s heart as she watched her go. Mother didn’t agree, but she still loved her daughter. Grace felt something loosen in her heart, an apprehension she had carried for too long.