by Cara Coe
“Your power feels nice. It hums. Something I didn’t notice in the ruckus at the convent.” He opened his eyes and snaked a look in her direction before closing them again. “I won’t lie here long. I can’t enjoy it too much. Your persuasion will take me.”
Still tired, Amelie rested her head again on the pallet and watched him. “If it was my mother you wanted, why isn’t she here?”
“I wanted you too, halfling. Your discovery was most surprising. I sent assassins to the castle to acquire your mother. They always failed. I value my life. I’m not going to risk it going into the palace.”
“You could have changed your appearance. Waltzed in as an invited dignitary.”
“I can only become the image of those whose power I’ve tasted. And like I said, the effort expended is large. It is much easier to ward off a group of nuns when weakened than a whole palace garrison. Learning of your convent was quite beneficial. I may not be willing to risk my life to get hold of the fake queen, but she will risk hers coming to your aid. Tell me. Why is a princess left so unguarded in the company of defenseless nuns?”
“It was an adequate hiding place for a while. The presence of guards would destroy the secrecy. And most men succumb to my powers. I can’t be near them.”
“Yes. My dislike for you is turning into desire. It’s an interesting experience. I shall enjoy flexing this power once it is mine.” He rapped three times on the tent pole next to them and Bearded Man entered through the flap.
“Hold her,” Rankor instructed. Amelie tensed. Bearded man pulled her arms behind her back and held fast. Rankor took her chin in his hand and stroked it thoughtfully.
“Your eyes search deeper than most humans. What are you looking for?”
“Get on with it, you wretched excuse for a mage,” she spat in return.
Rankor sucked in deeply. The suffocation Amelie felt at the convent returned, blackening the vision around her eyes. Her trained response to fight kicked in and she threw her head back, catching the hard, round area of the back of her skull onto the bridge of Bearded Man’s nose. He cried out, releasing her. Her leg swung up to kick him in his private folds, her boot solidly connecting with his sensitive tissue. Rankor staggered back at their broken connection. She moved to undercut him with a low kick but he recovered quickly and blasted a small energy stream into her side. He kept it steady until a second man entered the tent to see what all the commotion was about.
“Bring the shackles I constructed and bind her,” he ordered, never wavering on his stream of magic. Amelie grit her teeth through the pain.
He stopped pulsing as a set of shackles were placed around her ankles. They burned. Amelie shuddered with a familiar pain.
Rankor smiled. “Yes. It takes some getting used to. That’s amber my dear. It inhibits magic. That’s the burn you feel. Your ankle will be irritated, but it’s not permanent. As soon as the amber is removed, your magic is restored. A wonderful tool, especially for mages with persuasive powers. I can’t have you convincing my camp to slit my throat and put you on a horse to freedom.”
Amelie remembered the sting of Lord Lennox’s pendant and she felt the anger of that night all over again. “Makes it hard to steal my power, doesn’t it?” she asked angrily.
“It makes it impossible, yes. It will need to be removed during our sessions but for now, let’s make sure you don’t cause any more trouble.”
Amelie struggled to sit up and leaned against one of the barrels in the tent. What it held, she didn’t know. Rankor offered her water and she shook her head defiantly. He shrugged and began to drink.
“How did you become so evil?” Amelie asked.
“Evil is a matter of opinion. Perhaps I must do unsavory things in order to subdue a greater evil.”
“What is more evil than killing and robbing mages of their powers?”
“There is one whose evil is beyond comparison,” Rankor said venomously.
“And what is the larger evil? Humans have lived peacefully for two hundred years.”
“The White Queen. She rules the mage world.”
“I know of her,” Amelie replied haughtily yet hungry inside for more information.
“Then you know she exterminates mages at will. If it doesn’t suit her majesty, there is no trial. There is no argument. There is her ruling hand and she can snuff out a lineage if she so pleases. No mage can stand against the immortal. Except…”
Amelie’s mind snapped to realization. “Except you.”
“A mage who has the Taking power is a great threat indeed,” Rankor confirmed. His eyes cast a doubtful glance in her direction. “I wonder just how much you know about the White Royal. Did you know that she has royal readers? They attend the birth of every child in the land. If one has a power that helps the White Queen, she takes them as infants and they grow up in the palace to serve. If one has a power that threatens her Majesty-” Rankor spoke the title with a sneer. “She kills the child. Being born a Taker is a death sentence. My mother was a royal reader. She was so talented, she could read powers in the womb. She smuggled me to safety to the human world and faked a miscarriage.”
“That’s terrible,” Amelie breathed without thinking.
“What’s even more terrible, halfling, is that the White Queen plotted to kill her own daughter. If it weren’t for my mother and that mule tutor of hers, it’s certain a royal accident would have occurred.”
“Mule?”
“A mage born without powers. It happens sometimes.”
He stared absently out of the tent for a moment before looking back at her. His expression held questions. “Your sessions are the shortest I’ve experienced. I wonder if it’s because you’re half human. When I draw in your power, I draw in your weakness in holding that power as well.”
“You insult the very abilities you’re stealing from me? How gentlemanly of you,” Amelie said, scowling.
Rankor could not hold in his laugh. “Quite right. My apologies. I’m surprised you haven’t been trained, holding a power that strong. When a mage gives energy, like your persuasiveness or my energy streams, the mage is left cold. That’s what you feel afterwards, yes?”
Amelie grudgingly nodded yes. She didn’t like how easy lapsing into conversation with Rankor was but she was desperate to know more about the mage side of her.
“For a while, you lose a piece of yourself,” Rankor explained. “The coldness fills in where the magic was. No amount of cloaks or fire can tame it. Only the restoration of your magic. You must pace yourself, pull it from different parts of you. The magic is everywhere inside you. If you draw it from your center – which no doubt you do – it’s the easiest to tap into but you leave a hole there.” He poked her lightly in her stomach. Amelie was too enthralled to wince at the contact.
“And when you heal,” Rankor continued. “You are taking. Taking is the opposite. It makes you hot. There’s too much inside you and the energy heats. The heat won’t leave until it settles around inside you. You take pain where the pain is. Head to head. Hand to hand. You direct it in one spot and your body responds by overheating. It’s the same principle. The effect is lessened if you spread it about.
“I won’t take your healing power, so heed this advice. When you heal, you take from them what ails their body. If you take too much, too mortal a wound, it will kill you. You will first be drawn to heal as the power in a mage demands to be wielded. But power also knows self-preservation and will have a natural reaction to stop. Don’t fight it.”
“You must run very hot,” Amelie observed. He looked at her a while, as if assessing her.
Finally he responded. “That is true, though I am more tolerant than I once was. It takes me a few days to take a human’s weak mage power. It takes a couple weeks to take a mage’s. This makes my plan to overthrow the White Queen a lengthily one. If, however, I have some of this elusive moon powder that you claim to know nothing of, it could speed that up greatly.”
“I can’t help you, nor would I wan
t to. I don’t know how I came to be.”
“The White Queen’s tyranny has yet to touch you. Pray it never will. But if it ever does, you will have found an ally in me.”
Amelie shook her head. “There are other ways. Human lives don’t have to be the cost. My kidnapping should not have to take place. There are ways to right a wrong without using more wrongs.”
“Not when your fight is with immortality,” Rankor argued, his eyes flashing. “Strange words from a seductive assassin.”
Amelie bristled. Her cheeks grew hot. “They were not innocent.”
“Innocence is relative, dear.” He smiled slowly and waved a dismissive hand. “It is all right, Princess. Keep your precious morals. We need not agree. That’s where your mother comes in. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her since I discovered your existence. Get some rest. We will resume our travel tomorrow.”
He took one last swig from the water bag and then left it in her reach before exiting the tent.
Chapter 45
Amelie
Travel with Rankor mirrored her hurried pace out of Draeden back to Candor rather than the lazy journey she’d taken into the kingdom with Prince Seth. Clearly, that’s where they were headed. They crossed into Draeden on the fourth day, keeping a track along the plains parallel to the mountain ridge. Her lucidity was returned and she knew they were going to the south tip of the range where it met the sea in a brilliance of white foam and the heady scent of sea salt. She’d been drawn there once before when the call of the mountains were too great and her assignment took her too close. She’d stared out at the sea, trying to answer the call and feeling wholly unsatisfied.
The wind blew her hair unnaturally toward the mountains now as it always did and Rankor registered the small phenomenon with a curious look but pressed on, running their horses through tall stalks of grass that created a sea of its own in green blades.
Day and night her ankles burned with the amber shackles. Her only reprieve were the dusky hours when the group broke travel for the night and prepared to rest. Then she was allowed to wash, drink water, and eat whatever vegetation she found around camp. Rankor never left her side, watching her with amused eyes.
“You were trained well for captivity,” he said, genuine admiration coloring his voice. “You are the most capable human I’ve ever met.”
“No,” she replied thinking wistfully of Seth. “Not that you’ve ever met. Just that you’ve spent time with.”
Rankor didn’t argue and Amelie didn’t know if it was because he agreed with her or didn’t care to contradict her and she wasted no time pondering on the matter since his opinion was of no consequence to her. He removed her shackles and drew in her power. Short bursts and only a handful. It made his taking more bearable but Amelie knew that wasn’t why he employed the method. He looked drained and tired. Sweat prickled his brow. They still had a ways to go if Amelie was correct about their destination. She had a feeling his method of taking her power would change for the worse once they no longer had to move quickly. When he was finished, she was locked in amber once again and made to rest near the Grantham soldier that refused to reveal his name.
* * *
The group had made their arrival to a well-established camp on the seventh day of Amelie’s abduction. It looked like they’d been set up for weeks. A scattering of men from several kingdoms greeted them as they rode in, moving about without needing to communicate to one another how to get things done. They’d worked together for a while it seemed.
Now it was nighttime and the bustling activities surrounding the arrival had died down. Amelie sat on the edge of camp amongst the trees. The glow of firelight spotted the tents and she could hear laughter rising, getting louder as the men got drunker. Rankor relegated her to the outskirts of their temporary settlements. He was proud of his shackles but not wholly confident they could completely subdue her power.
A man brought her guard some chicken and wine for dinner. She was offered some chicken as well, but Amelie shook her head. She did not know what herbs Rankor knew of to affect her so she stuck to only water and the natural vegetation Rankor allowed her to scavenge for. She would eat only when she ran out of options. Sir Duncan’s training had included starving her for a few days to find out at what point her functioning became useless. He always wanted to fold far before she let him. She had pushed herself to collapse while training knowing she had the luxury to recover from it. She had faltered on her training that night at Lennox’s manor when she failed to detect the poison in her drink. She would not fail it tonight.
Amelie removed the pendant from beneath her shirt and fingered the blue diamond. Its smooth edges reflected the moonlight making the hues in the stone glimmer. She sucked in a sharp breath and prayed to the angels that it would do what she needed it to do.
She placed the one of the diamond’s sharp planes against the amber shackle on her ankle and began to rub. Nothing happened so she pressed harder and was surprised at her reluctance for fear that she may damage the pendant.
“This is for both of us, Mother,” she whispered and put the force of her arm and shoulder into her effort. The stones scraped together angrily and small bits of amber dust fluttered into the dirt below. Amelie paused and ran a finger through the now glittering dirt, looking at in awe. Hurriedly, she pocketed the dirt while her guard glanced away at the camp and tossed chicken bones towards the sounds of laughter. He was obviously put out at having his current duty. Amelie suppressed a small smile and continued to scrape madly.
“That won’t do you a bit of good,” the guard said, turning his attention back to her. “That clamp is several inches thick. You won’t be around long enough for the time it’ll take you to break through.”
“Then take a nap,” Amelie snapped, not looking up from her work.
The guard chuckled. “Feisty bitch.” But despite his claims at futility he watched her intently for a long while and Amelie had to wait until he shuffled around to the other side of the tree to relieve himself of the wine before she could place the dust in her pocket and roll on her side to get some sleep.
Chapter 46
Amelie
The Grantham guard kept a rough hand on her upper arm until he shoved her into the open tent flap. He did this daily and to the same arm. Amelie was forming a bruise there she figured would become permanent with the frequency. His hold on her when Rankor commenced in taking her power was so tight, it rivaled the misery of suffocation she felt as her power left her. Her punishment for breaking his nose the first time he held her.
Today when the Grantham guard brought her in, Rankor shook his head slightly.
“There is no need to bruise and manhandle her until she gives you cause to do so. Your need to exert power over something is concerning. Squash it or face consequences.”
The guard bowed and stepped backward out of the tent without a word.
“What’s his name?” Amelie asked.
“What did he tell you when you asked him?” Rankor set about the tent picking up whatever project he’d been tinkering with that involved plants.
“He said, ‘it’s not for you to know.’ ” Amelie paused. “It’s a rather long name in my opinion and he looks more like a Robert or a Gerhan to me.”
“Such a clever tongue,” Rankor admired appreciatively. He put away the last of the jars. “He is following orders my dear. No one here will give you their name save me. There is power in knowing someone’s name. Words become more personal. Relationships form more easily. I’ve learned to do without them when necessary to keep control.” He gestured to the blanket on the ground. “Please. Sit.”
Amelie stood stone still.
“All right. Stand and collapse when the weakness comes if you wish.”
“No help today?” she sneered.
“The men are good for transport only. Taking you from tent to tent. I find all the magic swirling around their human heads makes them too fuzzy, prone to your attacks. That guard is still nursing his groi
n.” Rankor clamped iron cuffs to her wrists which were laced through a thick root protruding through the ground underneath Rankor’s tent. “So when I found these iron darlings, I released them from the duty.” He removed her amber shackles. The relief flooded her body. Her magic sang.
The moment was short lived as Rankor began to draw it in. The blinding suffocation squeezed her senses and she tightened in fear. Her power resisted and tried to cling to her but it was no match for him. He continued to draw, sucking air into his mouth. His eyes lost focus.
Amelie felt the desperate need to cease his taking as she always did. Instinct caused her to struggle. Without the added pain of the Grantham guard’s grip, Amelie’s awareness lit up. Somewhere, in the haze that clouded her mind, she was able to grasp onto a piece of information Rankor had shared with her. Her power was all over her body and in her control. Rankor was taking from her center. She searched her limbs, her head, her skin for her healing power. She latched onto it. A small smile broke through her terror. She began to feed it to Rankor.
He broke the connection immediately. His eyes narrowed as he gasped for air.
“What…” he couldn’t finish the question as he doubled over, looking ill. It was some time before he righted himself and turned a glare on her. “What are you doing?”
“Defending myself.” Amelie spoke defiantly, though she was weak. Her body was slumped over, her forehead pressed into the gnarls of the root. “You want my power? You take it all, the healing one too. I have no need for it. It screams at me anytime someone’s in pain and leaves me drained and defenseless. You will take my burden with your prize.”
“No,” Rankor said, but nothing followed it. Amelie glanced up weakly and saw his eyes shifting from side to side as he puzzled out how to overcome this. She used this time to catch her breath and nearly fell asleep in her position on the uncomfortable tree root before he yelled for someone to take her back to the edge of camp.