Sundered

by Bethany Adams

  Arlyn cracked one eye open to catch a glimpse of her teacher’s face. “Do mages seriously do this every time they use magic?”

  Selia chuckled. “Of course not. After a century or two, these things become natural.”

  “Right.”

  Though Arlyn had begun to settle into life on Moranaia, she still had difficulty thinking of time in such a broad sense. She’d known from an early age that her father was elven, but she hadn’t considered what that might mean for her own lifespan. How long would it take to get used to the casual mention of centuries? According to the healer, her body used magical energy to regenerate the same as full-blooded elves, so she supposed she would have more than enough time to find out.

  Arlyn scrunched both eyes closed and tried again to shove aside her stray thoughts. But dammit, the two other times she’d used her magic had been an accident. She hadn’t had to know how to teleport Kai to safety or how to convert iron. She’d willed those things to happen...and they had. Over the last month, Selia had worked with her on pulling in and grounding energy as well as basic shielding. Now she worried so much about using her magic with intent that it was tough to remember any of her lessons.

  With her hands shoved in her lap to hide their trembling, Arlyn felt for the spell that gave her access to their home. With it came a mental map of the estate, locations of all guardians on duty, and access to the magical shielding that protected the area from attack. Since the murder attempts on Kai and Allafon’s betrayal the month before, her father had added spells designed to detect and alert them of anyone who didn’t belong on the estate.

  “I have it,” Arlyn said.

  “Good. Now take my hands.”

  Arlyn reached for her teacher, sitting on another mat in front of her. As she had learned to do over the past month, she opened her mind to Selia, just enough to form a magical connection and speak telepathically. Though the other woman wasn’t keyed to the protection spell and couldn’t alter it, she could watch and guide Arlyn.

  “I want you to examine the shield. See if you can find some hole or anything that seems wrong. If you do, then we’ll fix it.”

  Mornings, when Lyr could manage it, were for combat training. Though his wound still pained him, he’d returned to sword work the week before. Sometimes he sparred with Kai or trained Arlyn, but after nights like the one prior, he trained alone. He could find no other catharsis like the dance of body and blade. After all the loss, it was the only time he felt complete.

  Lyr shifted through the positions over and over. His magic flowed to augment his speed and senses until he could feel the whisper of the air and the movement of the grass on the practice field. As he thrust and parried, he could pretend that he fought the jumbled emotions inside him. All his anger and all his fear stood before his whirling blade, but like the wind, they evaded him. There would be no release once he stopped.

  After half a mark, Lyr sheathed his blade and crossed to the fountain, a series of stone basins connected to a small spring at the edge of the field. He dunked a cloth in the lowest basin and wiped the sweat from his face before dipping a cup into the upper portion. He drank deep and then poured another cupful over his head. Though they were fast approaching early autumn, the heat still clung to the skin. The only time worse than the season of Toren for practicing was Pioren, the month or two of ice that fell before the spring. Even he tended to stay inside then.

  Lyr stilled in surprise at the sight of Teyark approaching. Had the prince actually come to train? Of the four royal children, he was the only one who possessed combat magic similar to Lyr’s, but the prince was more than experienced enough not to have to practice when he was away from home. And he hadn’t been formally presented to the household, so most potential partners would avoid him out of courtesy.

  Teyark smiled as he reached Lyr. “Good morn to you.”

  Had it been Kai greeting him, Lyr would have given a wry retort on the true quality of the morning, but he only smiled in return. “And to you, Prince Teyark.”

  “I was hoping you’d be out here.” Teyark’s gaze scanned the practice field and the handful of warriors training. “I don’t see anyone else with our type of magic. I’ve been longing for a true challenge.”

  Lyr nodded, although his limbs were heavy with exhaustion and his barely healed wound burned from his first practice. There was no graceful way to dodge the sparring session without revealing his weakness. Teyark probably wouldn’t hold it against him, but…Lyr had already failed once in his role as Myern. He refused to falter again.

  As they proceeded to the center of the field, he wanted to curse. Training with someone as powerful as the prince was a rare opportunity, and Lyr couldn’t even enjoy it in his current state. Even better, the others on the field stopped their own training to watch. Just what he needed—an audience.

  Resigned, he set the spell to protect against serious injury and fell into position. His wound burned harder as he let his combat magic flow through his body unhindered. Well, almost unhindered. The iron flakes within the half-healed slash pulsed against his power, but he forced the discomfort from his mind. The dance of blade eclipsed all thought.

  Teyark paused for a moment before springing into action, his first attack direct. Each possible counter flickered through Lyr’s mind, but he was long accustomed to processing such information. He parried low and then danced to the side, cutting upward toward the other’s belly. He was not surprised to find his blade parried at once, the return attack faster than the eye could process.

  Back and forth they flowed across the field, neither able to gain a true advantage over the other. Still, if not for the protection spell, Lyr knew he would have quite a few cuts while the prince would have none. Teyark had trained for a good eight hundred years longer, and his power was intense.

  Then Lyr faltered.

  His breath hissed out in surprise as his power stuttered, then dispelled. Only training saved him from serious injury, protection spell or no. Lyr countered the next swing out of reflex even as his muscles began to shake. His free hand darted up to clutch at the burning wound on his chest, and he stumbled through a few more moves before Teyark motioned for a halt.

  The prince’s brow furrowed. “Lyr?”

  “A moment,” Lyr gasped out.

  Fumbling, he sheathed his sword and bent at the waist, hands on his knees, until he could catch his breath. Gods, Lyr hoped the prince couldn’t see how his whole body trembled. Bile rose up his throat, and he straightened in a vain attempt to ease the feeling. But no position could change the sick shame of yet another failure.

  “I…I fear I am not as recovered as I’d thought.”

  Teyark relaxed, but a hint of regret flickered through his eyes. “I should have considered your recent injury.”

  “It was my own error.” Lyr forced a small smile to his lips. “You found me here training, after all.”

  A movement behind Teyark caught Lyr’s attention, and he blinked at the sight of Eri skipping along the trail that bordered the training field. A grin lit her face as she met his gaze. What was she doing out here? Her father, Ralan, had warned her not to approach the field during training hours unless he was with her. A six-year-old had no business playing near sparring soldiers. Yet here she was, skipping through the break in the stone fence and past a trio of shocked warriors.

  “You might want to duck now,” she sang into Lyr’s head, her mind meeting his without seeking consent.

  Arlyn’s breath caught at the complex beauty of the estate’s protection spell. Though she’d expected the sacred tree to provide the energy for it, the source seemed to be a spring so deep underground that she never would have known about it without searching. From there, the magic was built, layer woven deftly into layer. The techniques used to create such a thing were so far beyond her rudimentary skills that she barely understood a fraction of what she saw.

  The only thing Arlyn truly recognized was her magical “key.” Meshed into the inside layer, it was co
nnected to every location and every person on the estate. She cast her senses outward to search every part of the spell but found nothing amiss. As best she could tell with her limited training, the protections hadn’t been breached. The strange disturbance she’d felt yesterday must not have affected them. Perhaps she’d imagined it after all?

  Arlyn began to pull her essence back into her own body as Selia had taught her. Just before she disconnected from the estate’s shields, a current of energy washed over her. She shivered at the odd, cold sensation as she searched for the source of the disturbance—only to find it wasn’t from the shield set to detect those who didn’t belong. It had nothing to do with the protection spell at all.

  Like a beacon, the spark of foreign energy glowed against her senses for a heartbeat longer before fading away. But Arlyn knew the flavor of it.

  It felt like Earth.

  In contrast to her cheerful face, Eri’s words were delivered with such force that Lyr instinctively obeyed. As he dropped to the ground, he caught a glimpse of Teyark doing the same. And just in time. The sluggish energy that Lyr had managed to gather after his magic’s collapse fragmented away again just as a thud sounded overhead. He looked up to see an iron dagger imbedded in the tree behind him.

  “Clechtan,” Lyr muttered, trying to gather more energy but failing in the presence of so much iron.

  Lyr pulled himself to a crouch, his boot dagger already in hand, as his soldier’s shouts filled the training field. He slipped his sword from its sheath and scanned the clearing for signs of his attacker. Warriors rushed the area with blades drawn, but there was no sign of an intruder. No one out of place except for Eri, who skipped back toward the stone wall as though she didn’t have a care.

  “What is she doing?” Teyark muttered, his own weapons in hand.

  “I’ll warn her,” Lyr said aloud. Then he tuned his mind to hers. “Eri! Seek cover.”

  The girl tossed a glance over her shoulder, and a hint of power sparked in her eyes. “No need.”

  Lyr’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. She was right. Teyark’s loreln circled the area, casting spells of revealing, but no hint of the attacker appeared. One glance at the crest engraved in the hilt of the dagger confirmed his worst fears. Whoever had attacked Kai and then disappeared over a month before was back. And this time, they couldn’t have been sent by Allafon.

  May iron pierce his rotten soul. Lyr tried to pull in more power to do his own search but hissed out a breath at the flare of pain in his chest. “Miaran,” he cursed softly.

  Teyark studied Lyr. “Did you see something?”

  “Only my own weakness.” Eri caught Lyr’s gaze from where she’d settled on the low stone wall. Her expression was calm, a smile now tilting her lips. “Ralan gave no warning of any possible attack. How did she know there was a problem? My own wards detected no breach.”

  “She’s Ralan’s child, for certain.” The prince gave a mock grimace. “He used to do the same sort of thing when he was young no matter how often our great-aunt scolded him for using his sight carelessly. Good to see it was merely punishment delayed.”

  Despite the situation, Lyr smiled. “Indeed.”

  Chapter 6

  Lyr had his servants, young elves earning coin as they trained their respective gifts, bring an early luncheon to the garden dining room. His stomach ached with tension, making food seem unappealing, but he knew that eating would help restore some of the energy the iron had stripped away. Besides, it was the most practical place to discuss the latest attack.

  Lyr had included not just his family in the meeting but also each of his houseguests. To his right sat Arlyn and to his left Kai. Along his daughter’s side of the table were Selia, her son Iren, and Eri. Teyark, followed by Corath, had chosen the seat by Kai, and Ralan took the last place across from his daughter. Lyr had kept his eyes on his plate as his mother settled into her seat at the end of the table. His emotions were jumbled enough without watching her struggle.

  The captain of the loreln frowned at Lyr from his place outside the window. Whether it was from being forbidden entry once more or from their highly informal seating arrangement, he neither knew nor cared. In a court setting—indeed, in most settings—the princes would have been afforded the highest honor. Here, they sat as friends. Lyr expected such casual behavior from Ralan, but Teyark had surprised him by insisting on informality as well. They passed the trays of bread, cheese, and water fowl with an easy disregard of place.

  Lyr frowned at the relative calm of the room, a sad sign of how often attacks had occurred. Perhaps he was the only one whose muscles knotted with tension. But then, they hadn’t been searching for almost thirty years for the source of that crest. It had been on the pommel of the sword sticking out of his father’s back and the dagger used on Kai. And now a third knife with the same. How long was this going to haunt him? Lyr forced each bite of food around the lump in his throat and waited until the others were near to finishing their meal.

  “Forgive me for my haste,” Lyr began. Accustomed to the speed of humans, Arlyn rolled her eyes at him and grinned. He returned a brief smile before glancing around the table. “But I can no longer delay discussing this attack.”

  Kai shook his head. “There isn’t much to discuss. The only clue we have is the dagger.”

  “Actually, bonded, that isn’t quite true. I haven’t had a chance to tell you.” Arlyn exchanged a look with her teacher. “Selia was guiding me through an exercise when the attack happened. As I examined the shields looking for the strange breach I thought I’d felt, I sensed something else. Whoever it is can somehow cloak themselves, but…once that cloak is removed, I can detect them.”

  Teyark lowered the bread in his hand and gave her a skeptical look. “Yet no one else felt their energy?”

  “It’s like a beacon. Maybe it’s supposed to catch the attention of humans or other half-bloods,” Arlyn said.

  Lyr’s heart gave a hard thump at her words. Would she be in danger now? “Do you think they know you’re here and able to sense it?”

  “You’d have to ask them that,” she answered with a shrug.

  Selia’s brow furrowed as she met Lyr’s eyes. “It was very…human, the spell. I watched how it affected Arlyn, and it seemed to identify that part of her. However, the hint of illusion I caught reminded me greatly of my own training in illusions. One of our kind is involved—possibly even a Moranaian.”

  Eri, who’d been whispering to Iren between bites of food, looked up and laughed. “The mystery shouldn’t take much longer to solve.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Sure, less than a month. Practically nothing.”

  Ralan’s attention snapped to Eri, his brows lowering. Even those who knew of Eri’s abilities as a seer paused to stare, though she seemed unconcerned. All at once, the feeling of being guided grew within Lyr along with anger. If the gods had taken enough interest in him to bring two seers to his table, then why couldn’t the events of the last few months have been stopped? It wasn’t Ralan or Eri’s fault—Lyr knew it wasn’t. But he couldn’t hold back the rage that shook his body.

  “I tire of this,” Lyr snapped. “Your warning today was moments from being too late, and the next might not come at all. Just tell me what you know.”

  Ralan’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood. “I’ll not have you intimidate or pressure my daughter.”

  “And where were you today, Ralan? For a seer of some renown, you have done little but entangle us in more problems,” Lyr said, turning his glare on the prince.

  “I use my talents at no one’s command.” Ralan leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. “But if you must know, I try not to examine the futures of those closest to me. Unless a vision comes to me, as did with the Neoran issue, then I do not look. What would you do if we weren’t here?”

  “Enough!” Lynia snapped, her narrow-eyed gaze flicking between the two. “We do not need more discord here, at this table or in this ho
use.”

  Even after five hundred years, Lyr winced at his mother’s rebuke. But she was right. What was wrong with him? He’d been friends with Ralan for centuries and never expected him to share prophecies before. “Forgive me, Ralan. This situation has me on edge.”

  The prince gave a nod and eased back into his seat, but a glint of anger still hardened his eyes. “Likewise.”

  Suddenly weary, Lyr forced himself to sit tall. They needed him to stay strong. To lead. And not just the people at this table—everyone under his dominion. All else had to be shoved aside. With that thought in mind, he addressed Selia. “Do you believe you could add some kind of ward to detect the magic Arlyn sensed?”

  Selia gave a considering frown. “Perhaps. I’ll work with her on the problem later today.”

  “Thank you,” Lyr said. “Until then, I bid you all to be careful.”

  Arlyn leaned forward. “I could say the same to you. You haven’t been…”

  Her voice trailed off, and she bit her bottom lip. Was that worry in her eyes? His shoulders went taut. Surely, she hadn’t guessed how close to the edge he was. “What is it?” Lyr asked softly.

  Arlyn’s lips parted, but after a quick glance around the table, she shook her head. “Just watch out for danger. Okay?”

  The mist flowed thick around Meli’s ankles, pulling at her until each step felt like an eternity. No longer merely chaotic, the fog coiled around them like a physical force. Had the spell in her necklace not kept them all together, the others would have been lost long ago. She fought against the mist as best she could, ever following the emerald green strand.

  Beside her, Pol fidgeted. He crossed his arms. Then uncrossed them. He tilted his head back to stare at the all-encompassing mists. Then turned his gaze to Meli. Every movement caught her eye, distracting her. By Freyr, was he bored?

  Finally, he spoke. “Could you hurry this up, please? We are almost out of food.”

  Meli froze. She had to take a few deep breaths before she could face him without shouting. But despite his harried words, a smile lit his face. “I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your plans,” she snapped. “If I had the first clue how, I assure you we would have long ago arrived. I am not a mistwalker.”