by Cara Coe
Seth lay still - only his eyes roved as he traced the patterns in the wood. The moonlight streaming into the room was briefly interrupted as a figure dropped quietly through the window. Seth's body pulsed with shock then went rigid with training. He lay stone still trying to get a feel for the intruder’s purpose as he crept around the room. He approached the silent prince cautiously.
Seth’s training also kept his sword by his side which is why a clang rang through quiet when he quickly raised it to meet the assailant's attack. The two swords crisscrossed in front of Seth's face. The intruder was striking to kill.
That Seth was awake caught the assailant off guard and Seth took advantage of his stunned surprise and smashed a heavy boot into his gut. With a quick swirl to get the sword situated in his hands, he towered over the man and plunged it deep into his attacker’s shoulder. The sword tip sank into the soft wood floor below, pinning him.
"Who are you?" Seth demanded.
The man just whimpered and upon closer inspection in the moonlight Seth could see it was a very young man, no older than one ready to apprentice. Seth cocked his questioningly at him. What could he possibly be doing here? That moment of speculation cost him as the man produced a knife from his shirt and stabbed at Seth. Seth dodged, missing the blow but not entirely as it sliced shallowly across his arm. He grabbed the knife and threw it across the room.
A scream somewhere in the convent snapped the prince's attention away from his attacker and his body twitched with defense. He withdrew his sword from the man's soldier and used to the handle to place a knockout blow to the head. He couldn't kill him. He was far too young and also needed for information but he couldn't let him get up and become another adversary again.
Seth followed the screams down the hallway to the small dining hall where he'd eaten supper hours earlier. He found Millie there, herding the nuns into the kitchen behind, a quiver strapped to her back.
She spun around, met Seth's eye, and wasted no time reporting.
"One of the nuns has been struck down. I have the rest here. I took out two men in the parlor but I don't know how many more there are or how well my hits were. The one with the arrow in the head should be done, but the other one got a glancing blow to the neck. The attack was sudden."
Seth's mind was a steel focus.
"Where..." he could barely choke out the word.
"Her room is on the opposite end. I haven't seen her."
"Are you all right if-"
"Go now or I'll use the last of my arrows on you." Seth left the only other weapon he had - his side knife - with her and raced to the other end of the convent.
Chapter 42
Amelie
Rankor loomed in the doorway, his dark eyes taking her in.
Amelie’s instincts spun her body to the side table under her window where her knives were sheathed in her gear. She snatched her daggers from their position and turned fluidly to face her attacker.
His laugh was low and fearsome. It shook his broad shoulders. “Hidden Princess. I am so glad we have a chance to face each other in the flesh.”
“Rankor.” Amelie repeated. She had never met the man, but the magic rolling off his body was stifling the room. His smile returned. He seemed pleased with their tense exchange.
“I have been hunting you, little one. We have business.”
“The only business I have with you is deciding which knife to use to disembowel your gut.” She held one of the hilts up where he could see the iron work designs embedded in the ivory handle. “This one is lovely, though the blood may stain. But that would be a pleasant reminder of our dealings.” It was her turn to give a humorless smile. Rankor set his face in a hard line.
“You may have dispatched my men successfully thus far, but all you’ve taught me is never send a soldier to retrieve a mage. No, what you need is a stronger mage.”
With that he held out his hand and a zap of lightening shot across the room, hitting Amelie in the chest. The bolt held, tethering the two of them in a line of static and sparks. Amelie’s body seized, her back arched forward, her feet slightly off the ground, the daggers clattering to the floor. Her teeth ground together in pain.
“Right now my men are ripping apart your nuns and that weakling Draeden prince of yours.” His eyes flicked to the crumpled King’s form on the floor. “And your king is an unexpected bonus.”
Amelie did not answer. She couldn’t speak. Her eyes rolled into her head.
“You will come with me now, Princess, we have much to do. You will come with me or I will take your golden-haired sidekick and make you watch as I cut off her limbs each time you defy me.”
A guttural cry came from King Byron as he pushed up off the floor and hurled himself into the stream of current. Amelie dropped to the ground heaving and trembling.
Rankor returned the cry with a furious scream of his own and brought both hands together as he surged a hotter, more intense stream of lightning into King Byron’s gut. The king flew backwards and struck the stone wall with a sickening crack.
Amelie did not have time to recover her fight stance. Still lying on the ground, she snatched one of her fallen daggers and rolled quickly to where Rankor stood, plunging the blade deep into the top of his foot and twisting vigorously back and forth. An inhuman howl erupted from his throat as he flailed backwards. Dragging the blade, she slit open the top of his foot and quickly leapt to her feet. She grabbed his fallen staff just as he sent another stream of current. To Amelie’s surprise, Rankor’s staff absorbed it but the effort shook her violently and her teeth ground together in pain. Rankor ceased his attack and narrowed his eyes. Amelie tried to swipe him with the end of the staff but he was too quick, even injured, and knocked it from her grasp with one of his large arms. His thick hand enclosed around her throat and he lifted her off the ground until she was eye level with him, flailing her legs wildly in the air.
“You’ve seen my first power,” Rankor said with a sickening grin. “Now let me show you my second.”
He began to suck in large amounts of air. At first all Amelie could feel was how little oxygen she was getting into her lungs with Rankor’s hand clutching her throat. Then she began to feel it. Her magic was seeping from her, going into his mouth. His eyes lit up and danced with orange fire. This sudden loss was worse than the lack of air. Worse than the pain she bore from his currents of power. She screamed inside as her vision began to fade to black.
Rankor stopped and dropped her and her vision cleared. She felt weak but she could tell he did too. He leaned over with his hands on his knees and swayed.
“Do not fear, little Princess,” he huffed. “I cannot take it all. Not now. We will have more time to finish this.”
Amelie picked up a fallen dagger and threw it. It wildly missed her target, bouncing off her cot in the corner.
“You can’t be serious,” Rankor mused, straightening. His eyes held amusement. He seemed to be recovering more quickly than she. “A fighter to the end, eh? Come.”
He grabbed her upper arm but Amelie twisted her body sharply and felt a shudder of satisfaction when she heard him scream. She hoped the force was enough for a break
“You little urchin!” he yelled, grabbing her by the hair with his good hand.
Prince Seth crashed through doorframe as if he’d been barreling down the hall and almost missed the room. His forehead was sheen with sweat and a red line of blood seeped from the white sleeve of his shirt.
“Amelie!” His eyes quickly took in the scene in the bedroom before he swung his sword at the intruder’s neck.
Rankor dropped the princess and sent a shot of energy at the prince. To Amelie’s surprise he bore it into his chest while glaring at the mage. Rankor’s eyes widened in surprise.
“It can’t be,” he whispered, stopping his attack. Prince Seth took the opportunity to deftly swing his sword. Rankor ducked under the blow, narrowly escaping decapitation. He scooped his staff from the ground and used it to block the prince’s att
ack.
Amelie’s body began to tremble with pain. She let out a scream to which the prince afforded a concerned glance. The moment cost him more blood from his already cut arm.
“Amelie!” he shouted.
Amelie held up a hand and shook her head, unable to speak. The prince’s movements grew more desperate. It was costing him the win and Rankor regained strength after each blow.
Amelie knew the source of her pain. The king emitted a low, tortured moan. Amelie’s back burned with his agony. She crawled to him and stretched out her hands.
With her hands on his back, she pressed. Her skin heated. She cried out again as the king writhed in pain. Slowly, his pain melted from his spine and pooled in Amelie’s backside. She began shaking violently as she took it. Her magic revolted, turning on her suddenly and breaking the healing connection. The king grew still, his eyes closed and heavy. His breathing was labored. Amelie curled into herself, sweat slicking the hair on the back of her neck. Waves of heat rolled through her. She began to lose consciousness. But not before she felt Rankor’s massive hands grab her hair and pull her to her feet. Her legs wobbled with the effort to support her body.
“Remain where you are, prince,” Rankor ordered pressing one of Amelie’s daggers to her throat. Prince Seth lay sprawled against the door as if he’d been thrown. A reddened area covered an angry lump forming on one side of his forehead. “You have been a thorn in my side. Stopping the progress I’ve been making in collecting powers. You send the humans with watered down powers into hiding." The dagger pressed into Amelie’s neck on that emphasis, pricking it. “Hers is strong. It will take weeks to drain her power, but I’m a patient man. If you follow me, she dies. I don’t need her that badly. If you are patient, she will be returned to you in due time. Powerless but intact.” He nudged a chain near his feet - the one that linked Amelie in captivity to the man she eventually grew to love- that's the one Rankor pushed towards Prince Seth.
“Take that, prince. Chain it on your ankle.”
The prince scowled at him. Rankor drove his knife into Amelie’s shoulder. Her cries cut through Seth’s heart. “Next I’ll remove one of her useless fingers. Chain your ankle.”
Glaring, Seth did as he was told.
“Attach the other end to the king. Now!” He yelled, frustrated at the prince’s slow movements. Once the two men were secured, Rankor had the prince slide the key over to him which he pocketed gleefully.
“Now you tell Queen Gala to meet my men at the edge of White Forest. Tell her…” he paused and smiled. “Tell her the location will be where the sun meets the water. She will know what I speak of. She must come alone.”
Chapter 43
Amelie
For the second time in a matter of months, Amelie was tied and taken by force on horseback. She was slung over the speeding horse on her stomach without much care to the blood pooling in her head, creating a pressure that caused her senses to dull. She still burned and kept slipping in and out of consciousness. The slash in her shoulder was an unrelenting throb. At one time when she was lucid enough to struggle a bit, she twisted to look up at Rankor and instead saw the face of a young man without a trace of a beard. His hair was silver streaked and his eyes piercing blue. A low whisper carried words from his mouth in a foreign tongue. He glanced down at her, then back up again. He pressed a painful hand to her back which clearly carried the message to stop struggling. She blacked out.
When she awoke again, they were in a clearing in the forest. Tents were set up around them. She was stretched out on lambskin and felt weariness in her bones. She was still painfully hot and her shoulder ached. Upon inspection, she was surprised to find several expert stitches holding the cut closed and a green paste smeared on and around it.
“Your healing powers are new,” the silver haired man said, crouching nearby and slicing chunks off an apple. “That’s why you have the discomfort now. You’re unskilled.”
“Who are you?” Amelie croaked out.
The man’s grin stretched wide. “I’m still Rankor. Same mage, different face. I’m a taker. That’s my power. I take the powers of other mages. I had the good fortune of encountering a mage who shape-shifted. It has been an extremely useful tool.”
“How do I know you’re speaking the truth?”
“You don’t and I don’t care if you believe me. All I care about is taking the rest of your persuasive power.”
Amelie looked around groggily. She tried sitting up, but it was unsuccessful. She was still too drained.
“It won’t get better unless you rest. You’re so weak, I don’t even need to bind you. How is it you have two powers?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Rankor huffed an irritated breath as if he had to explain the obvious. “Most half-bloods only have one power and not as strong as yours. I was rather intrigued to learn of your existence. Half-bloods are rare. The only mixed blood these days are those sorry excuses for humans running around with barely wink of mage blood in their systems. Hardly any skill whatsoever. You’re the first satisfying drink I’ve had in a very long time.”
“Glad I could help,” she muttered bitterly.
He chuckled at her sarcastic response. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to join my side? I’d rather have an ally than drain your magic and leave you an empty human husk.”
Amelie glared at him.
“I don’t even know what your side is. I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Working for the greater good.”
“What will you do with my mother when she gets here?”
“I plan to extract information then kill her. I’ll use you as a bargaining piece. You don’t have to die. Your pining prince may have you back, I don’t care.”
“Why does she have to die?”
He didn’t answer. He tossed an apple to her. It thudded in the dirt.
“Eat.”
“No.”
“It does not pay to be difficult.”
“You need me to be healthy. You need my power.”
“So you would rather die than give up your power?” Rankor chuckled. “You are a woman of extremes.”
“My power is dangerous in the wrong hands.”
The humor left his eyes. They narrowed on her. “I don’t like you.”
“Likewise.”
Nothing more was said and Rankor did end up binding her. He limped on his bad foot as he did so and Amelie drew some small satisfaction from this. He left her to rest on a small pallet in the care of a large dark-skinned man who looked like he could be from Grantham with beads decorating his beard.
“What’s your name?” she asked him.
He grunted. “Just get your rest. You look like the angels cast vengeance on you.”
Amelie felt his description in her bones. She looked around, trying to get her bearings on location. Thick foliage, the crushing sound of a waterfalls slamming on rocks roared nearby. The land around her was her home. Her travels through her kingdom were extensive so she knew immediately where they were. South Candor. They’d made two days travel in one though she couldn’t be sure how long she was on that horse as she faded in and out of consciousness.
The pallet Rankor provided was thick and soothed her soreness. She scarcely had time to pass that thought before sleep drank her in.
Chapter 44
Amelie
She approached the door cautiously. Her mind, wary of what her brother had become, warred with the heart that loved him dearly. He’d been in tears. Sobbing like a man whose sanity was pulled taut. She could see need in his eye but it wasn’t the frightening one she’d experienced earlier. It wasn’t the desperate need that radiated from him as he tried to rape her. It was a sad need, a longing. She couldn’t ignore it.
She’d stayed in her room for three days. The door was locked and several ridiculous items barricaded it – the ones she could move such as her ottoman and piles of books. Laughable barriers that would scatter as soon as someone w
ith a key had the determination to enter. She was wildly scared and hurt and confused. King Byron loved his firstborn son more than anything in the world so she thought he’d hardly believe her if she spoke about the events. Her mother was not due to return from a meeting of nobles in the east until week’s end.
The key that finally opened that door was Phillip’s. She watched it turn from the corner of her room.
He peered into her room for some time before speaking two words.” I’m sorry.”
That’s all he said before he fled.
It took Amelie hours, but she finally followed his path to his room. To his own closed door. She took a deep breath.
She would not enter. She would stand in the frame. She would ask him what was supposed to happen next. She would give him a chance to be the brother she knew.
But he was not the brother she knew when she opened the door.
He was a purpled, bloated, hanging version of it. She emptied her stomach right there on his floor before picking up one of his swords and pitifully attempting to cut him down. This she did for several moments before the screams started leaving her in shrill, desperate bursts. Those sounds finally triggered help but there wasn’t any amount of help that could undo his decision. He was gone.
Rankor was next to her when she awoke. She had been moved to an enclosed tent. Her fever was gone. The dream was groggy, more like swirling memories than an actual dream. She was stretched out on a softer pallet than the one that pulled her to sleep next to the bearded man. Rankor was lying next to her on his back with his eyes closed.
She put some distance between them. Without opening his eyes, he closed it by shifting into the space she had just vacated.