Star Mage (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 3)

by R. K. Thorne

  Guards funneled in, followed by Derk and Wunik, and they lifted Ro not as carefully as Jaena might have liked, but they carried him outside.

  In spite of the sun nearing its zenith overhead, she followed numbly, like the moon trailing its way across the sky, unable to alter its path, locked in its endless pursuit of the horizon until it finally fell to its goal and achieved oblivion.

  “HAVE you reconsidered telling me what I want to know?”

  Miara looked up weakly. That’s right. I’m exhausted. I’m crushed. Come a little closer and gloat. Come see the broken shell you’ve left behind. Make the same mistake twice, you fool. Miara wouldn’t miss this time.

  Evana did take a step closer. Then another. “Tell me where the brand is.”

  “I don’t know,” Miara muttered, barely forming the words.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care what you believe,” Miara bit off.

  “Fine. We’ll continue where we left off yesterday. Send for my slave,” she said to someone at the door. Moments later, a shirtless and shackled Aven walked past. He caught her eye briefly, and his gaze flicked to his shoulder. The brand’s wound looked almost entirely healed. Strange. But he was still following her orders. She tore her gaze away; she couldn’t look too hard, not knowing what was to come.

  She covered her face with her hands to hide her grimace. She tried again to shift to a less painful position, but there wasn’t one. She hadn’t slept soundly in so, so long. Was this plan even a good idea? Was she even rational at this point? She’d hoped Evana would ask again, threaten, even gloat a little. Give her the chance she was looking for. But no. Evana was moving away, following him.

  Miara had to delay, draw her in. She owed Aven that much.

  “What kind of holy woman rapes a man?” Miara whispered at her back.

  Evana stopped still, clearly hearing the words in spite of the whisper. Then she whirled to face Miara, jaw jutted out, nostrils flaring, eyes flinty with barely repressed anger. “What did you say?”

  “You? A holy knight?” Miara said, louder now. “You’re no better than a tavern drunk.”

  Evana took a measured step closer. “You’re no one to judge who is holy and who is not.”

  Miara gritted her teeth, lurching awkwardly and painfully to her feet. “What, you can’t attract someone without having to enslave them first?” She leveled her most withering look at Evana and dared her to come closer.

  “How dare you—” Evana rushed forward.

  “You can claim noble birth, but how do you spend your time? Like the most low-brow thug.”

  Evana stopped short, eyes widening with cold, fierce rage. Miara’s heart surged, hope blossoming. It was working.

  “Is that why you couldn’t earn a kingdom of your own?” Miara inched up against the bars, raising her chin in challenge.

  Evana’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. She stepped closer again. She was barely more than an arm’s length away now. Almost enough. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re a peasant. A slave.”

  “Everyone can see right through your façade. Pretend all you like to be regal. You’re not fooling anyone.”

  Evana hardly moved, but the muscles in the knight’s neck twitched in barely restrained fury.

  “Nobility isn’t just about money,” Miara whispered. “To be truly noble is to be on the side of what is good. What is right. And you couldn’t be further from it.”

  “Shut up!” Evana’s voice was rough, brutal in its anger. “What do you know about what is right?” Evana stepped forward one more time. Just a little closer…

  “More than you.” Miara dropped her chin and narrowed her eyes, glaring through the bars.

  Evana seemed to understand she should resist, laugh it off, walk away, not step forward. But Miara’s words had struck the right weak point, and the knight was frozen, caught between moving forward and back again. Agonizingly slowly, the knight stepped forward again, arms tensed like she had half a mind to attack.

  Miara had a whole mind to do it, though. She thrust her arms through the bars and seized her, catching Evana just barely—by the thin silver chain of the queen’s necklace. While Evana was still surprised, Miara groped for something—anything—with her other hand to give her some advantage. She caught the top edge of Evana’s bodice, the rigid construction and lacing serving as an excellent handhold.

  She drew back viciously with all the force she could muster, slamming Evana’s face into the iron bars just inches from Miara’s. The knight cried out, trying to stumble back, but Miara held her, close as a lover. If lovers had bars between them.

  “You will pay for this, mage,” Evana growled, hot breath hitting Miara’s skin. Blue eyes burned as she clawed at the hand clutching her bodice, at Miara’s arms, but Miara held fast.

  “Not as dearly as you will,” Miara said. She tugged at the necklace, then flipped her hand, creating a twist in the chain closing around Evana’s throat. The chain cut into Evana’s skin, and the knight grabbed for her neck, but the twisted chain wasn’t having the strangling effect Miara’d hoped. She didn’t have the strength after all this imprisonment, nor the time for it. Dropping the chain, she thrust her fist forward, slamming Evana in the throat. Coughs and choking sounds sputtered out of the knight.

  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 a
ll 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.

  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.”