by R. K. Thorne
It redoubled when he was close enough to see their eyes. Suddenly it seemed less paranoid.
Reaching them, he didn’t dismount, just stopped.
His mother opened her mouth but didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at him, the sadness growing.
“Where is she?” he said softly.
Dom looked down at the horse’s hooves, clenching his fists at his side. Elise closed her mouth, then opened it again, but still nothing.
“What happened,” he demanded. He felt stiff, frozen, like he couldn’t have gotten off his horse if he’d tried. His fingers tightened around the leather of the reins in his hands, and he was glad they couldn’t tell.
Dom glared at Elise for a long moment, then met Aven’s eyes with a smoldering, angry glare. “She’s missing. We don’t know exactly what happened. Someone tried to fake her death.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t let them,” his mother said softly.
“Why?” He barely kept the anger from his voice.
“I wanted to look for her first,” she replied. “I thought maybe we’d find her, and then you wouldn’t have to worry.”
“What do you mean fake her death?” Maybe this wasn’t the time to ask for details. Maybe he couldn’t handle it, on top of everything else.
“Someone killed the healer Nyor and transformed his body to look like her. But we haven’t been able to…”
Dom kept talking, but Aven wasn’t hearing him anymore. He stared off over their heads into the city, forcing himself to take deep breaths, but his heart was racing.
She’s disappeared before, he told himself. The last time it was because she knew best. And there was a body that time too. Surely nothing horrible’s happened. Miara’s tough. She can defend herself, she can survive anything, she can—
But of course, no one could survive everything. Why had he left her here? He had been a fool, and now Miara was paying the price.
Just like his soldiers had paid the price—the ultimate one. He should have known this would happen, should have done better, should have done something differently.
He wasn’t sure when the horse started walking, and if it started on its own or if his boots had subconsciously flinched and urged it forward, but at some point the creature wandered forth. Dom was still trying to talk to him, his mother adding things in Dom’s wake, but nothing got through the thick fog that seemed to have settled over Aven’s thoughts.
He just rode toward Ranok, less riding than letting the horse carry him home, not responding. Eventually they gave up and followed him. Still the mental fog didn’t lift, words rolled over him, in one ear and out the other and he merely drifted through the motions of getting off his horse, getting inside, getting out of his filthy clothes.
The star magic. Was this the price he paid to the Balance for using it? Had he truly had no choice, no other way? No, it couldn’t be; he’d been saving his soldiers, saving Dyon and Siliana. He couldn’t have just left them there.
At the door to his rooms, he shut the door behind him, cutting them off. He didn’t answer whatever Perik asked him.
Hot water waited for him, and for the first time he wondered if he deserved it. Why not Dom? Why not a thousand others? Why should Aven be a king and not a slave?
Maybe someone else could have kept everyone alive. Maybe someone else wouldn’t have utterly failed nearly everyone they’d ever loved. Maybe someone else could have not been a mage in the first place, not started any of this trouble, not even been tipped off to the tragedy occurring a nation away. Maybe someone else could have blissfully ignored it all.
He splashed the water on his face, ignoring the voice. For better or worse, it came down to him. He was the king, he’d been singled out, and he had to make his choices and play his hand.
Truth be told, he didn’t know that she was dead. She could be alive. When she had disappeared from Estun, it had worked out all right. But then she had been planning to make the journey. It’d made sense that she’d disappeared. This? This didn’t make sense. He should wait to grieve—and panic and despair—until he knew the truth, but that was more easily said than done.
The logical part of his mind knew to be patient. To wait and see. The rest of him was in control, however, and it dragged him half awake into his bed, where he collapsed weakly. But again he couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t calm down. He stared at the ceiling, unblinking and unfeeling and at the same time raw.
He remembered that last kiss, the way her fingers had dug into his arms like talons, the way it’d ended too quickly just as he was trying to memorize her taste in case he never returned.
It hadn’t occurred to him that he could return and still lose her.
16
PROMISES
Miara awoke and clutched at her neck. The emerald was gone. So was… well, everything else. Rough burlap scratched across her skin, and straw crunched underneath her. A far cry from Ranok or Estun, that was for sure.
She raised her head and scanned the room quickly. Her things were nowhere in sight. The ragged bed was broad enough for at least two, if not more, and nothing else filled the dim room. The only light came in under a dark door, dim, like firelight from a hearth.
A foggy memory of the home she and her parents had shared before the betrayal, before the Devoted, before Mage Hall, reared up and tightened her throat. She shoved it away and clutched the rough burlap as she sat up. The room was as empty and as poor as a room could be.
She swung her legs to the floor and winced when her ankle slammed into a stool, pain shooting through it. She reached down to rub the pain away, nudging the stool aside. It scraped loudly across the floor, and she winced again.
And to think, she prided herself on her stealth.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Miara caught her breath, clutching the blanket harder and tensing for whoever might open that door. A lock clicked open, pouring ice into her veins. She anchored her feet against the floor, ready for a fight with whomever would steal the queen’s pendant and lock her in this dark room.
She needed to get back to Aven, and if Evana hadn’t stopped her, this certainly wasn’t going to either. Whatever it was.
Warm firelight poured in and revealed the silhouette of what looked to be a pale-haired woman—and a veritable herd of children clutching her skirts. Behind her, two older girls peered curiously over their mother’s shoulder near a far wall. A boy of maybe fifteen eyed her more warily, face stony and eyes narrowed.
“You’re awake, my lady?” said the woman, in a voice sweet and lilting.
Miara blinked. Well, this was not exactly what she’d expected. “Where are my things?”
“Just out here. My girls and I washed them for you. Dress is almost dry. The emerald is lying on the table where we’ve all been admiring it. I hope you’ll pardon us the violation, but the rain had gotten them muddy as a pig in his sty.”
“Why did you lock the door?” she said, a note of warning in her voice. A lock hung from the latch on the outside—it wasn’t even built into the knob. In fact, the door had no knob, or even a handle.
The woman glanced over her shoulder, revealing for a moment rosy cheeks and full features, a blond braid swinging over her shoulder. “I beg your pardon again, my lady, but our constable, if he found you…” she trailed off.
“What about him?”
A long, tense silence settled around them.
“We don’t know what he’d do,” said the boy by the fire.
“Aye, that’s a fair description of it. Thought it best in case he came nosing around, but he hasn’t. Can we get you some food, my lady? Meager as it is, I figure you must have been quite ill to collapse like that. Are you feeling well?”
“Quite better now,” Miara said. In truth, magic and sleep had worked wonders. Her stomach growled as if to willfully spite her. “But, uh, I am a little hungry.” She hated to even admit it, what with the number of them and the look of the house. They couldn�
��t have much to spare.
The mother looked back, and one of the girls scurried out of view. “All right, you’ve got your chance to gawk, my sweet ones. Go play and leave the fine lady alone.”
“I’m no fine lady,” Miara said reflexively, and then winced. That was really no longer true, but she didn’t want them to think of her as above them. She’d spent her life in just this sort of situation. Even if Mage Hall had had food and shelter to go around, it had still starved and tortured the soul.
“I beg your pardon again, but I’ve never met someone who wore silk dresses in the rain or emeralds around her throat who wasn’t a fine lady.”
“Thank you for bringing me back here,” Miara said softly, remembering herself. “I, uh, I have come into those things only recently. I suppose you are right. But there’s no need for such deference. I’m not so different from you.”
The woman stepped aside, the light from the fire revealing sharp, dark eyes and a stained, amber apron over a dress brown as soil. One of the girls came through and brought a hunk of bread and stew Miara quickly discovered was more water than anything else.
“Check her dress, sweet,” the woman said to one of her horde, turning her eyes back to Miara. “I’m sure you’d like to be back in your own things. I am Vayna.” She bowed now, the children studying her. “And you might be…”
“You can call me Miara,” she said.
“Only that, my lady?”
Miara hesitated, unsure exactly what answer she preferred to give anymore. Vayna wanted to know not her name, but her station. She was unpracticed at her new truth, but even Vayna knew she was no average woman. She weighed whether there was a risk in the truth, but there were too many unknowns to be sure. They’d brought her back here and hadn’t killed or hurt her, so she’d just have to hope they were worthy of her trust.
“Miara Floren, arms master of the realm and… betrothed to the king.”
Vayna’s eyebrows flew up as a flurry of murmurs swept the children. Only the boy didn’t react much, narrowing his eyes at her.
“That is, if we are still in Akaria?” said Miara slowly.
“Yes, of course we are.”
“Where are we exactly?”
Vayna frowned. “Faeren territory, near the northern border to Shansaren. The deep forests begin not ten miles to the north.”
Good thing Miara had decided to go south, then. “And how far from Panar?”
“I couldn’t say precisely, my lady. I’ve never been. I believe four days’ ride. Maybe five.”
Thankfully still a flight she could make in a few hours. That made sense; the Devoted couldn’t have taken her far. Thank the gods she wasn’t in Takar. She’d feared perhaps they were near the main Devoted monastery. It must have been some monastery, just not the important one.
“If you’re an arms master, why weren’t you armed?” said the boy, eying her like a wolf in the forest.
“My weapons were stolen.”
“But not your emerald?”
“I grabbed that on the way out.” She smiled wolfishly at him and ripped up an unladylike hunk off the bread with her teeth. She was too tired and too starving to be bothered with manners here.
“Is it— You said betrothed to the king?” said Vayna.
“It’s the queen’s emerald, yes,” Miara said matter-of-factly.
Even the boy’s eyes widened this time.
“It’s dry, Mum,” said the girl, approaching.
“I, uh, yes,” Vayna muttered, looking flushed. Miara tore off another hunk of bread and chewed it, eying her. “Well, then. That is something. Um, here—you put this on and come out, and we can eat and talk like civilized folk.” Vayna smiled, bowing again. She sat the dress beside Miara on the bed and scurried out, pulling the door shut behind her by its top edge.
Setting the bread and bowl on the stool, Miara cast aside the rough blanket and dressed quickly. The dress was indeed in better shape, cleaner and softer, although no washing was going to hide the tattered hems or the extra gash or two she’d picked up.
Murmurs from the children and the sound of a flute drifted in, and Miara paused to listen for any cause for concern. For once, she found none.
Wolfing down the rest of the bread, she picked up the bowl and swung the door open cautiously, but sure enough she bumped it into a small child anyway. A little girl as high as her hip laughed once and skittered away.
“It’s here,” came Vayna’s voice.
Most of the children were gathered around a large table, peering down at the emerald that lay quiet and inconspicuous on the dark wood.
“Thank you,” she said softly, quickly drawing it up and reclasping it as best she could around her neck. She took a deep breath, and indeed it did feel better to have her things back. How odd that such fine things were hers, and that they provided any comfort just from their familiarity. “I need to get back to Panar,” she said quickly. “If you have things I could borrow, I can pay you now or send payment when I reach the city.”
“Do you have news from the city?” Vayna said softly, not reacting to her other words. “We’ve heard civil war is imminent, the prince deposed, the lords at war with each other.”
“Did you now?” Miara couldn’t help but smile. “From Lord Sven, no doubt.”
Vayna nodded slowly. “Well, from the constable. But he gets all the official word from the city. Is that not true?”
“It’s not. The Akarian Assembly voted in favor of Prince Aven’s ascension to king. Unfortunately, King Samul has been gravely injured. He’s chosen to abdicate, so Prince Aven has been crowned king. I know not what he’ll make of Lord Sven, but I can’t imagine he’ll forget his lack of support.”
“The prince is king?” Vayna said slowly. “And pardon me, my lady, but, did you say—”
“She can’t be,” the boy cut in, glaring at Miara. “Lies. What would a future queen be doing out here in Faeren anyway?”
Miara narrowed her eyes and scowled right back. “I don’t need to convince you,” she said, surprising herself with the touch of disdain in her voice. She’d been through enough, though, she had no interest in convincing anyone of anything. “I just need boots and a cloak to get back to Panar.”
“Just boots and a cloak?” the boy shot back. “For a four-day ride, with no horse? You’ll freeze to death, fool woman.”
Vayna caught her breath.
Miara scowled harder but ignored the comment. “If you have a dagger, that might come in handy.”
“I might. But that won’t keep you alive in the snow.”
“I’m not worried about snow.”
He scoffed. “It’ll be here any day now.”
“I’m sure I can find some boots,” Vayna said, nervous.
“That’s all right. I’ll be back in Panar in a day.” Although, she’d likely need to take breaks to rest and eat between flights, especially with her recent troubles. And night was not far away. Perhaps it’d be more like two days.
“You can’t walk to Panar in a day,” he snapped.
“You’re right, I can’t.”
He blinked. “Then how—”
“I’m going to fly.”
His mouth dropped open, eyes round like an owl’s. Miara smiled at him and turned back to Vayna, who mirrored a similar expression. “A cloak, my lady?”
Flustered, Vayna jumped to her feet and started hunting through her things.
Bare minutes later, a threadbare cloak graced Miara’s shoulders. The boots were a little big but better than nothing, and she’d be transforming into some other form in a few minutes anyway.
“Uh, my lady, pardon me but…” Vayna started.
Miara raised an eyebrow.
“Your hair… One piece is shorter than the others.”
She looked down. Ah, yes. Evana and her dagger. “Ah, I forgot. Thank you. You couldn’t… trim it for me, could you?”
“Are you sure?”
“It will grow back.”
As Vayna buzz
ed around Miara’s head, nervously wielding their one dagger, Miara hoped she hadn’t put her trust in the wrong place. But crooked would be better than a chunk missing. She glanced at the boy, who’d returned to glowering suspiciously at her.
“Are you willing to sell your dagger or no? I hear arms masters should be armed.”
“How did you get to Faeren?” he said instead.
“I was kidnapped,” she said plainly. “I escaped, though. Where is my bird, by the way?”
“Oh, you’re the reason that falcon keeps diving at me at the door?”
She sighed and smiled in spite of herself. “Oh, good, I’m glad he’s all right. Nearly died in the process.”
“All right is a matter of opinion I guess.” The boy rubbed his neck absently. “How are you going to fly? Ride the falcon?”
“I’m a mage,” she said simply. If they were ever going to make it safe to be a mage, this seemed like a good place to start. “I won’t ride the falcon. I’ll transform into one. Or maybe an eagle. I prefer their size.”
“You’re serious,” he said incredulously.
“Yes. Now, dagger or no? I need to be on my way.”
“Uh, what are you willing to trade for it?”
Miara looked to Vayna. “What do you all live on?”
“We’ve got a field for turnips and potatoes, but it hasn’t been the best since my husband ran off last spring.” Ah, that explained the boy’s attitude then. He knew someone should be playing the role of protector but wasn’t quite sure how to do it himself. “We forage in the forest when we have to. Which we were doing when we found you, if that tells you much. We don’t have much saved for the winter.”
“It’ll be enough,” the boy said sharply.
“Not at this rate,” she shot back quickly. “We can’t be stubborn about this, Serol, or we’ll starve to death.”
“Where is the field?” Miara said briskly.
Serol jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Out back. Now, back to this trade of yours. Since you don’t seem to have anything—”
Miara held up a palm as she groped for the soil of the field, sensing the few struggling turnips remaining in the ground, perhaps missed or perhaps not worth harvesting just yet. “One moment.” Yes, she could make this field work. It was overgrown a bit, the soil overworked. Hmm, what did the gardeners at Mage Hall follow potatoes and turnips with? “Can you grow other things?”