Mistake of Magic

by Alex Lidell

  Stars.

  “Come here, River,” Klarissa’s silky voice orders.

  I watch, my breath catching in my throat, as the prince rises to his feet and strides to the female, baring his neck to her flaming touch. Fear cold enough to seize my spine holds me in place, my heart leaping into a racing, tripping gallop.

  “Come here, Leralynn.” Beynoir’s voice pierces my chest, even as I hear the others summon their respective victims. “Leralynn?”

  I rise, my beautiful blue dress giving me no more courage than rags would have. My hands tremble and I nearly trip over my own feet while taking the five steps to the dais. But I do take them, and I present myself before the elder, my chin held high despite my pounding pulse.

  Beynoir’s hand is gentler than I expected as he tilts my head and moves my thick hair off the side of my neck. His finger brushes my skin, and for a second I think that the flame I saw was little but an illusion. Perhaps whatever is about to happen—

  My thoughts scatter as a hot brand presses against my neck, the stench of burning flesh making bile mix with my echoing screams.

  Beynoir’s free hand rushes forward, grabbing my shoulder before I can fall. The brand still presses into me, a white-hot agony. The runes don’t just burn my skin—they scourge everything inside me as if forging a chain of flaming iron that runs all the way into my heart. Even with the support of the elder’s arm, my knees buckle, the world fading in and out of focus in bursts of pain.

  “This is off to a grand start,” Klarissa says, though it’s a miracle anyone can hear the female’s words over my howl.

  A snarl echoes through the domed chamber, the smell of fur filling my lungs right before powerful arms pull me against a familiar, taut body. “I have you,” Shade says, his voice tight. “I have you.” The male’s cool palm rests between my shoulder blades, a thin thread of magic rippling through me, coaxing my lungs to fill with air.

  I try to smile at the image, but it comes as a wince.

  Shade tips my head slightly, his touch featherlight along the still-throbbing marks. “A knot woven of four cords. Interesting. The first time around, we had a jackrabbit.”

  “Initiates of the Citadel”—Beynoir’s voice is a bare rumble over Shade’s scent—“welcome to the start of your training. I will assign a senior quint to assist you in getting settled and learning—or ignoring—the rules. I would ask for questions at this point, but I imagine that at least three of you are familiar enough with the Citadel and its rules to be able to lead the lecture yourself.”

  “Three?” The word is out of my mouth before I can catch it.

  “There is some debate as to whether Tye is incapable of understanding rules or simply cannot fathom a reason to follow them,” Beynoir says dryly. “But do not worry, young Leralynn. What that male lacks in comprehension of rules, he makes up for in comprehension of penalties. In short, it is fortunate that one of your quint mates has a healing gift.” The elder raises his face to survey our group. “Now, if there are no additional matters to address—”

  River takes a step forward and bows. “There is one matter, sir. If the council will indulge me.”

  The sphere in Beynoir’s hand lowers back without making a sound, and the elder sighs. “Yes?”

  “My quint requests to face its first trial immediately.”

  8

  Lera

  Immediately turns out to be tomorrow morning, with Klarissa, of all beings, insisting that the five of us at least get a full night’s sleep before stepping into the arena.

  Putting on a brave front, I follow River and the others out the door to the never-ending spiral staircase, making it all of three steps before a pair of strong arms lifts me into the air. Shade’s earthy scent fills my nose as he cradles me against his hard chest, his cheek resting on the crown of my head.

  I wriggle. “I can walk.”

  “I can’t,” Shade says, pulling me closer to his chest, which feels like steel wrapped in velvet under my cheek. His heart is beating hard enough that I feel its vibrations. Shade takes a deep whiff of my scent. “I need you here just now, cub. Please.”

  My protests die away, my fingers tracing the three runes on his neck, the marks that have just burned our commitment into the fabric of the world. The bard’s tale made real. Around us, Tye, Coal, and River keep a tighter pattern than usual. The latter doing such a good job not looking at me that he might as well be staring.

  Reaching the bottom landing, River opens the door, propelling the five of us into the bright sun. My head spins as Shade reluctantly sets me on my feet, the enormity of the past quarter hour hitting me as brightly as the light. What in the bloody stars have I done, swearing to be a warrior that I can never become? A shiver runs down my spine. What if we never leave the Citadel, the males trapped here like caged animals because of me?

  “I can live with a few weeks here,” Tye says, sticking his hands in his pockets. Shaking his red hair to try—and fail—to clear it from his eyes, he gives me an encouraging grin, his voice forcibly light. “Citadel grapes make some of the best wine in Lunos. A few words in the right—”

  “Stop talking.” Coal glowers at Tye before twisting to face me, his clear blue eyes seeming to penetrate my thoughts. “We will train, mortal. And we will walk out of here. All of us.”

  “We’ll train between now and tomorrow morning?” My voice rises in spite of itself and I must stop to force air into my lungs. I wrap my arms tightly around myself.

  River turns, his voice too damn matter-of-fact. “The first trial is a quint-versus-quint challenge that tests a new group’s ability to work together. With three centuries of experience, I don’t imagine a few more weeks would make a notable difference.”

  “You have three centuries of experience,” I say. “I have two weeks. Flattered as I am that you imagine I can battle five immortals, I’m not sure Coal would agree.”

  “I don’t,” Coal confirms. “Which is why you won’t be doing any of the fighting.”

  “Coal is right, cub,” Shade says, rubbing his warm hands down my bare shoulders. “You’ve been brave enough. Let us take care of tomorrow.”

  “Is there someone else coming out that door after you?” The familiar female voice makes me jump as Kora steps up to the group. Her short dark-brown hair is tucked behind one pointed ear, which, I notice for the first time, bears a tiny emerald stud. “Or am I finding myself at the ass end of a second jest today?”

  “I see Klarissa is as efficient as ever,” River murmurs, tilting his head to show Kora the runes. “If you are looking for the first trials you’ve been assigned to herd, then you’ve found them.”

  Kora stares at River’s neck, then his face. “That is asinine, sir,” she says finally. “If you’ll forgive my language.”

  “I’ve heard worse,” River says. “You should also get out of the habit of using that title, Kora, given that you are our superior now—we all have enough of a mess on our hands without violating the Citadel’s proprieties.”

  Kora sighs, shaking her head. “Well, let’s take you on the introductory tour.”

  “I expected a barren room with stacked wooden cots,” I say, running my hand over upholstered walls rich enough to give the Slait Palace competition. The suite our quint has been assigned has its own entrance on the bottom floor of a long two-story building, complete with a thick, ornately carved wooden door and a small, rose-bush-lined walkway. The suite itself has five sleeping chambers, four on one side of a common room and one—which Coal immediately claimed for himself—on the other. The armchair I sink into is soft and finely made, and someone has built a cheery fire in the hearth. “Is this not a bit . . . excessive?”

  “It’s a message, like everything else,” River says, settling on the wide leather couch, the low mahogany table before it laden with fruit, cheese, and delicate finger sandwiches. “Power of opposites. Show the quints they are elite, but must bow completely to the Citadel’s rule. Make plain both the reward and penalties of t
his life.”

  I consider the pile of new clothing now lying atop the grand four-poster bed in my room. Uniforms, yes, but of the finest quality cloth. The quartermaster complained about my abnormally small size as if it were part of a grand conspiracy to make his tailoring difficult, even as he heaped rich burgundy tunics, wide matching sashes, and several fitted black pants on the counter before me.

  More games. More rules. More symbols. From the grandeur of the Elders Council to the arbitrary challenges in the arena, and the ironclad hierarchy of the trainees.

  “Don’t listen to him, Lilac Girl.” Tye grins at me, snatching me up and putting me back down on his lap. “The Citadel simply has more gold than it knows what to do with, so it hires servants to embroider chairs—as if anyone’s arse cares what manner of quilted flowers it’s sitting on.”

  I smile. Try to smile. Try to ask about the trials too. But with Tye’s pine-and-citrus scent caressing my body, his muscled thighs and arms wrapped securely around me, his nose gently nuzzling my ear, I suddenly find my eyelids too heavy to fight any longer.

  Strong arms lift me from Tye’s lap, the scent of rain surrounding me. Shade presses his lips to mine as he lowers me onto my soft bed, his dark hair falling around us. I open my mouth under his and kiss him back, eyes still closed, and I fall asleep to a warm, furry body pressed against mine, gentle wolf breaths fluttering over my neck.

  The following morning there is no time for nerves, with Kora appearing at dawn to inform River that the arena is ready for our first trial. I barely manage to pull on my uniform and accept a meat pie that River somehow acquired before discovering that the whole damn Citadel is heading to the same place we are.

  “You won’t be able to see the spectators from inside,” Kora says, following my gaze to a cluster of no less than ten quints, who I swear are exchanging bets. “If that helps.”

  It doesn’t.

  “Stop gawking around and pay attention, mortal,” Coal says, shouldering his way up to walk beside me, the large bowl-like structure beside the council tower growing larger with each step. “If you couldn’t deign to stay awake long enough to hear the rules last night, you sure as hell are going to listen now.”

  I glance at Coal warily as Kora clears her throat and suddenly finds herself needed elsewhere.

  “There are three trials,” Coal says. “Quint, Individual, and Field, traditionally completed in that order—though this isn’t strictly required. The quints may call for the trials at will, but each can be attempted no more than twice.”

  “What happens after two failures?” I ask, though my gut says I little want to know the answer.

  “The quint dies,” Coal says, tapping the runes on his neck and making me hate his honesty for a moment. “In the Quint Trial, two quints face off against each other to secure possession of the other’s flag. The battle is over when a flag is retrieved or when one of the quint commanders sends up a surrender signal. The second trial is a one-on-one duel with another quint’s warriors to test individual ability. And the final trial is outside the arena. Your quint is kidnapped and must reconnect and fight its way back to the Citadel.”

  “Brilliant,” I say under my breath.

  “You should have asked me to explain,” Tye says, inviting himself to walk at my other shoulder. “I would have made it sound a lot better.”

  “Let’s move,” River calls, picking up the pace to a door at the base of the great bowl, which opens into a chamber that must be Coal’s notion of paradise.

  Weapons and armor fill the walls in neat rows, ordered by size and type. Little cubbies and clear glass drawers filled with everything from bandages to spare buckles rise to the ceiling. A wide wooden table sits in the middle, high enough to work standing up. A lower table in one corner has plenty of water for both drinking and washing, and there is a space in another corner outfitted with weights and practice dummies, in case someone needs a moment to warm up or channel nervous energy.

  Shade paces around the room with flared nostrils, running his hands along the walls and benches.

  “You aren’t going to piss in the corners, are you?” I ask.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Shade murmurs without a hint of humor, before turning to River. “I still dislike taking her in there.”

  “I don’t see what choice we have,” River says.

  Shade growls and, as if obeying some instinct beyond his control, stops pacing and strides straight to me. His deep-red uniform shirt is rolled up, revealing corded forearms that go around me at once. Tucking my back against his body, the male buries his face in my neck, his deep breaths tickling my skin. His heart, right behind my ear, beats as quickly as my own.

  I turn into Shade, resting my cheek against his muscled chest for a moment before rising onto my toes to link my arms around his neck.

  Shade lifts me easily, moving one arm beneath my backside, the other coaxing my thighs until I wrap my legs obediently around his waist.

  “It’ll be okay, Shade,” I whisper, hoping that he’ll believe me even if I don’t. “I’ll be okay.”

  His hold only tightens in response, his face pressing deeper into my neck.

  “Helpful as this is,” Coal says, “if you keep it up, the mortal will be walking into the arena naked.”

  A wave of heat washes over Shade’s skin as he sets me back on the floor, turning me reluctantly over to Coal’s care.

  Having laid out various pieces of leather armor that I assume somehow fit onto a body, Coal motions me to him. He takes one look at my befuddled expression and, with typical Coal efficiency, manhandles me into a loose stance, my arms raised slightly from my sides. His competent hands slide over my back, smoothing out my shirt before laying a piece of padded leather atop my shoulders, securing it in place. A trail of warmth stays on my skin long after his fingers leave, my body longing to lean into Coal’s. I turn my head to look at Tye instead, waiting for the redhead to make one of his signature comments.

  He doesn’t. Tye’s eyes, typically resting comfortably on my breasts or hips, are now drawn intently to my neck. A four-corded knot. Four, not five. I rub the skin. “You’d think a warrior quint would at least get something mildly ferocious for a rune,” I say to Tye. “At this point, a mosquito would be an improvement.”

  “Are you listening?” Coal asks.

  “When did you start talking?”

  Growling, Coal grasps my hips and twists me around so he can tie the back laces of my new chest protector. His strong fingers move efficiently, tying the reinforced leather just tight enough that I can still breathe. “The entire trial will take place in the Light, so you need not worry about getting sucked into the Gloom during the fighting. Tye will carry our flag and draw the opponents’ attention while Shade and I go after the enemy flag. You’ll stay with River. Once we have control of the flag, the trial ends.”

  “All right.” I nod. “We win if we get control of the flag. How do we lose?”

  “We don’t. We’re the most combat-ready quint on this mountain,” Coal says. “But the three theoretical options are losing our flag, surrender, or death. The weapons are dulled, so the latter rarely happens in the first trial unless by the loser’s pride. Losing is inevitable for one side or the other, but the humiliation of surrender is something else. Many, especially in the heat of the moment, stop thinking clearly.”

  “There are so many problems with this set-up, I don’t even know where to begin,” I say.

  “Are you ready?” River asks, coming up beside me to check the buckles Coal just finished tightening. A wicked-looking sword is strapped down River’s back. Though its edges are dulled in deference to the trial, the sheer weight and size of it would be enough to crack open a skull.

  I put on as brave a face as I can muster. “Of course.”

  “You are a terrible liar.” River crouches beside me—which, given how large he is, pretty much brings his face in line with mine. The uniform stretches tight over his muscled thighs and biceps, and I have to forc
e my eyes away. The male’s hands, calloused from weapons training, are warm against my cheeks. He holds my face in place so I can’t look away, but I’d be helpless to look away anyway. His deep gray eyes and the smooth planes of his face are entrancing this close up. His scent washes over me as if on purpose, calming my frayed nerves. Each of them, in their own way, is doing his best to calm my nerves. “The most important thing in that arena is you, Leralynn. Not the bloody flag. We aren’t going to set a record or show a third trial what three hundred years of field experience does for a quint. We are going to walk in there and come out safely. With you. Understand?”

  I nod, the knot in my stomach easing slightly, but only until the sounding of a gong summons us to the arena sands.

  9

  Lera

  I blink at the sun, which is brighter and hotter than it should be, the sand that spreads into a neat forever. With its smooth bowl-shaped sides, the three-hundred-foot arena has no clear demarcation of end and beginning, the wards designed to contain magic making it impossible to see beyond the sand’s edges. The council is watching us from the upper rim of the arena, I know that much. The whole damn complement of the Citadel is likely watching. But from down here, it looks as though we’re alone.

  Us and the orange-clad quint filing in through the door on the far end. Malikai and his quint brothers. From this distance, I can’t see their expressions, but I hope the prospect of facing Coal again is turning their bowels to mush. A bright orange flag, a sibling to the dark red one in Tye’s hands, wavers amidst the males in Malikai’s quint as they affix it to the tallest warrior’s arm.

  A second gong sounds, and Klarissa’s disembodied voice echoes over the arena. “The trial has begun.”