As he climbed the stairs, a feeling of dread filled him. He entered the corridor cautiously, unsure why he felt wary. Halfway to her room, something shiny lay on the floor. His heart skipped a beat. He approached, and his whole world fell out from under him.
There lay her Sage’s diadem, and a small pool of blood. “No,” he gasped, disbelief and desperation mingling in his voice. “No.” Unsure what to do, he pounded on her bedroom door. “AMARICE!” he yelled, but there was no answer, of course. He tried the doorknob; it was unlocked. She was gone, and it did not appear she had ever made it back from the party. Her dress from earlier lay in a pile on the floor, her satchel thrown carelessly on the bed. “Oh no,” a sob caught in his throat. He took the diadem and ran back to the party.
“King Roland!” He rushed over to the King, interrupting his conversation. The King looked up at him, taken aback by his lack of decorum. Quinn held out the diadem, dripping blood onto the marble floor. “She’s gone.”
The King’s eyes grew wide, and the guests surrounding him gasped in panic. Raymond signaled to one of the few guards; security was more of a formality in Elandria. “Lock down the palace. No one leaves. Find the Sage.” The King gave instruction to send the Chief Inquisitor to his study, then beckoned for Quinn and Raymond to follow him. Quinn followed, his hands shaking, still holding the bloody diadem. If only I had insisted on escorting her, he thought. He felt guilty and powerless. He wanted to run and find her, to question every one. But he maintained enough composure to know they needed to conduct a systematic search.
The King sat silently behind his desk. Raymond paced the study up and down, swearing at no one. Quinn sat on the sofa because he could do nothing else. The only light in the study was the fireplace and the moonlight through the window. No one bothered to light the lamps.
The Chief Inquisitor, Marcus, brought regular updates. It was clear she was not in the palace. No more blood hand been found. Hours passed. A stableman had been found unconscious near the carriages. Another hour passed. The palace Healer had roused the man. Four men, one dressed as a servant that he had never seen before, had placed the unconscious Sage in a nondescript wagon with a black horse before hitting him upside the head. Two hours passed. The Inquisitors found the city’s gate guards that had been on watch. The southern gate guard was the only who had seen a wagon with a black horse.
“We have to go now, Father!” Raymond exclaimed. “They are already hours away.” Quinn nodded vehemently in agreement.
“We don’t know which way they went. They may have headed south, but they may be off the road. They may have veered to the east or west to throw us off their trail.” The King placed his head in his hands. “We’ll send out soldiers to question anyone who might have seen anything, and once we know more, we will send a search party.”
Raymond swore violently. Quinn felt the urge to hit something. But the King was right. If they headed out in the wrong direction, they would lose even more valuable time to find Amarice. For now, there was nothing to do but wait.
Chapter Nineteen
Amarice woke, but did not open her eyes. Her head pounded in pain. She took a quick inventory of herself and her surroundings. She was quite sure she was bleeding from multiple parts of her body. She listened; she was moving and she could only hear the hooves of one horse. She thought it was light outside, but refrained from opening her eyes to make sure. She stifled a groan of pain.
As her senses came back to her, she made out the voices of men. It took some time to be certain, but she counted four men’s voices. She tried to stay still, to make them think she still slept. That was not hard; her head felt as if it had been split in two. She forced herself to listen to their conversation.
One kicked her in the gut. “How much did you slip in her drink, Blake? Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” His voice was gruff.
Another man responded. “Two drops.” Blake, she thought. Now if I can get the others to say their names.
A third man spoke. “Better she’s out. Don’t want her castin’ spells on us. Shoulda gagged her. Too late now. She might wake up. Idiots.” The men bickered a bit about who was actually an idiot. Then the conversation turned to how evil the Sage was; at least they all agreed on that much. The words “demon” and “sorcerer” featured heavily in the conversation, along with “bitch who doesn’t know her place” and “Deyoni mutt.” Amarice felt the situation declining by the minute. And damn, her head ached.
“How long till we get to Charles?” Blake asked.
The man who wanted to gag her responded. “If we rest the horse, then buy a new one in the village tomorra’, it’ll be three more days.” He said nothing for a few minutes. “Can’t wait to deliver her to answer for her sins.”
“Think he’ll do what we done to the last couple? Demon or not, I’d like to see this one stripped down before she’s hung.”
Amarice felt a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the poison. “Lust not after demons though disguised as angels,” the gruff man quoted. “That’s what Charles says.” Who the fuck is Charles? Amarice thought.
The fourth man spoke. “He’ll make a much bigger example of this one. She’s the worst of the lot, and she’ll get the King’s attention.” He spat, and Amarice felt a large blob of saliva fall on her arm. She pushed aside the urge to gag.
The men said no more for some time. Amarice allowed herself to drift back into sleep. Her head ached, and she still felt groggy from whatever Blake had put in her drink. She also suspected she had lost a fair share of blood. She fell to sleep and dreamed a vast darkness lay between her and Quinn. It was a terrible dream, but she could see his face, which it made it far better than her current reality.
***
Quinn had not slept all night. He was still in the King’s study, sitting in the same position on the sofa. The King had dozed for a couple hours, snoring upright in his chair. Raymond had at least stopped pacing to lay on the sofa opposite Quinn, but he was unsure if the Prince had slept.
A maid brought up a tray of pastries and fruit for breakfast. The King ate, but Raymond and Quinn declined the food. They only wanted one thing—to know where Amarice was. Just past eight o’clock, Marcus returned with an update.
“They definitely went south on the road for several miles before heading off-road. My Inquisitors have spread out to question as many as they can. It’s daylight. We’ll find a witness. If they don’t buy a second horse, they will have to stop at some point.”
The King nodded. “Send Messengers to all the village between here and the next fifty miles. Tell them no one sells a horse to anyone on my orders.” The Chief Inquisitor nodded and left the study. The room fell silent again.
The powerlessness killed Quinn, little by little. He felt he must do something, but there was nothing to do. The King had dispatched every resource at his disposal to find Amarice; the Inquisitors and Guards had already made considerable progress.
Quinn thought of Amarice, and his heart ached. He felt an overwhelming sense of fear, and tried to remain confident she still lived. He could not imagine a world without her. Elandria could not imagine a world without her; no Sage had ever been attacked before. The country had just passed three centuries of complete peace. What would the kidnapping of the Sage begin? He felt guilty, for not escorting her to her room. And most significantly, he felt helpless that he could do nothing to save the woman he loved.
The clocked ticked; another hour passed. The Prince began pacing and swearing under his breath again. The King busied himself with writing correspondence, stopping every few minutes to sigh and press his hands to his eyes. Quinn just turned the diadem over and over in his hands.
The Chief Inquisitor returned shortly before ten o’clock. “A farmer saw the wagon pass his fields at the edge of the Southern Moorlands early this morning. They are headed southeast. On fast horses, we can catch up with them in less than a day and a half.”
The King and Raymond began planning a search party. Raymond a
nd the Chief Inquisitor would lead it. They would take a party of twenty on Messenger horses who were fit to travel long distances without stopping. They began naming which guards and Inquisitors they would take with them. When they finished their discussion, Quinn spoke for the first time in hours.
“I’m going, too.” The three men looked at him. He had not asked, but told the King that he would be joining the search party. Raymond looked offended.
“No, lad.” The King’s voice was soft. “I think it best you stay here.”
Quinn shook his head. “I need to be there.”
Raymond spoke. “Quinn, you have no combat training, no experience with anything like this. You’ll be more of a hindrance than a help. We don’t need to protect a second person.”
Anger flew over Quinn. The woman he loved more than anything was out there, hurting and possibly on her way to some fate that Quinn did not want to imagine. He stared at the Prince, silently challenging him. Raymond shifted his posture unconsciously to seem taller, more intimidating. The fire crackled.
Without removing his glare, Quinn lifted a hand toward the fireplace. The flames roared out of the hearth and into the study. He kept the flames balanced in the air, moving them in a controlled circle of fire, then sent them back in the fireplace.
“I think I can handle myself.”
The King and the Prince gaped. The Chief Inquisitor looked frightened. He spoke first. “Brigitte’s tit. My boy, did you just threaten the Prince?”
Shit, Quinn thought. Now I’ll end up in a cell while they go find Amarice.
But the King spoke. “Don’t be ridiculous, Marcus. He was simply demonstrating that he does not need to wield a sword to protect himself.” Quinn gave him a grateful nod. “I think you can find a horse for Mr. Atwell.”
Raymond told Quinn to change, eat something, and meet them at the stables in an hour. Quinn did, and he found a saddlebag waiting on his horse. Raymond approached him. “Water and food rations. Sugar cubes for the horse. And a healer’s kit. Who knows what shape we will find her in? I’m technically a Scholar, but I’m a very weak one, and I was always terrible at medicine. So, the healing falls to you.” Quinn nodded. “Can you ride?”
“I grew up on a farm,” Quinn replied. “I’m familiar with horses.” He mounted the brown mare he had been loaned. Raymond grunted in response and mounted his own horse.
“Let’s go,” Raymond called to the group. “Hyah!”
Twenty horses thundered from the stables and into the city. They passed through the southern gates and onto the road. Quinn breathed in the air, relieved to finally have some action to take. He kept pace easily; this horse was fast and strong. The Messenger horses were used to traveling some eighty miles in a day without stopping.
They reached the edge of the southern moorlands by nightfall. “We’ll camp here,” Raymond ordered. “And be gone at first light.” Quinn wanted badly to continue, but there was no use in the dark. They would lose their way and not be able to see any sign of Amarice. The feeling of helplessness returned as he ate the dried meat and stale bread from his pouch. He stayed silent, not joining in the banter of the guards around the fire.
Raymond came to sit next to him. Quinn nodded at him in greeting. He felt they were past the formalities, here in the middle of nowhere at night, looking for Amarice; if they were not, he did not care. The Prince said nothing for several minutes. Finally, he spoke.
“I love her, you know.” His voice was sad. Quinn turned to look at him. “I kept hoping for years that she would change her mind, that she would agree to marry me. She could be Sage and Princess, and she would rule with me one day. But then,” he paused, clearing his throat. “Then I met you. And I knew I had no chance.” Quinn opened his mouth to speak, but Raymond held up his hand. “I know, you are not together yet. But she looks at you in a way she never looked at me.”
Quinn said nothing and stared into the fire. As the flames danced, he thought of Amarice dancing at the Feast of Fire. It seemed so long ago. He thought of her, last night, as he fastened her necklace and kissed her shoulder, as they danced in the ballroom. A single tear ran down his cheek.
“We’ll find her,” Raymond said. “We’ll find her, and we’ll make whoever did this pay.”
Quinn nodded once, and Raymond said no more. The guards decided on first watch amongst themselves, and Quinn opened his bedroll. He stared at the millions of stars overhead before falling into a dreamless slumber.
Chapter Twenty
The wagon had only stopped briefly before now. Amarice feigned sleep often, and the kidnappers began to worry she was dying. “She best not die on us,” the man she had determined to be the leader threatened the others. “Charles’ll kill us.” When she did open her eyes the first time, they had gagged her and ceased all conversation. She needed to gather as much information as possible, so she kept her eyes closed most of the trip.
But now, the wagon had been stopped for a while to rest the horse. Before nightfall, they had stopped in a small town to buy a new one. No one would sell them so much as a lame mule. They went one by one into the town, keeping the wagon on the outskirts so no one saw the Sage. They could not find anyone willing to sell or trade horses. By the time the fourth one of them had asked, the townsfolk appeared wary, and they decided to keep going.
It was early the next morning, and the horse could barely walk. The kidnappers decided they were far enough away from Teleah to stop for a few hours. Amarice waited to make sure none of them remained in the wagon before opening her eyes.
She had kept her eyes closed for so long, it took her several minutes to focus. Her head still throbbed. She raised a hand to touch the center of pain; it was sticky with blood. She looked herself over. Her arm was bleeding. She knew she would feel light-headed upon sitting; she appeared to have lost a fair share of blood. The front of her dress was covered in vomit. When had that happened? She wondered. What sort of poison did they give me? By this point, she had also wet herself hours ago, and became aware of her malodor.
Amarice shifted her position and stifled a groan. Everything hurt. It took great effort but she pulled herself to the side of the wagon and peered over the edge.
She was in moorlands; although she was unsure how long she had initially been unconscious and how long she had slept in spurts since then, she figured they were no more than two and a half days into the journey. That meant, she forced her aching mind to recall her knowledge of geography, she was either west or south of the capital. She felt she would have remembered if they had crossed the River Nyva; it would have been too loud to sleep through. South, she determined.
The four men were about fifty yards away, huddled around a small fire. She peered over the other side of the wagon. A wooded area lay about a hundred yards from her. If she could just sneak over there, maybe she could lose them. Unfortunately, she had not yet dared to sit up, let alone walk in stealth. If I can just get to the ground, I can refill my magic enough to walk. She inched her way up, continually checking to make sure none of the kidnappers looked her way.
She hoisted herself over the edge of the wagon, and dropped to the ground. She had to fight off the urge to cry out in pain. She felt a large bruise across her abdomen, likely where the one man had kicked her. She folded over in pain behind the wagon wheel. Please, don’t see me, she willed. She focused on pulling the magic from the earth. Though the pain still made her want to cry, she could feel strength returning. She began to crawl toward the wood, filling herself with the Gift of the Earth. Power surged through her veins. She stood and began to run. Just a little further, she thought.
“HEY! COME BACK HERE!”
She continued to run, but the men were faster. The gruff man reached her first, and threw her to the ground and kicked her again. She cried out in agony. She had to fight back. She tried to crawl away, but he pulled her hair and dragged her backward. “Come back, you whore!”
Amarice tried to focus. The ground began to shake. “Don’t let her cast
a spell!” Another called. “Don’t let her speak!”
“She’s not speaking!” the gruff man yelled back. He kicked her again. Clouds rushed into the area, and the sky turned dark. Thunder rumbled. Amarice pulled away as the man looked up at the sky that had previously been blue. Now was her chance. She made the earth shake, hard, and knocked him to his feet. She held a hand out and green streams of magic flowed from her fingertips. The grass began to grow rapidly, lashing him to the ground like ropes. He screamed, and the others stopped running as they watched their friend struggle.
The grass bound his legs and his chest. Then it grew over his neck, suffocating him. He could no longer scream. Amarice watched as the man turned purple, eyes bulging from his ugly face. She did not stop the grass until he was dead.
The youngest of the men, Blake, screamed and ran the opposite direction. The other two men started toward Amarice. She focused on the earth again, and the ground split, forming a deep crevice. One of the men caught his leg in the crack, and she could hear the bone in his leg snap. He cried out in pain. The other man, the leader, turned toward him, stunned.
Amarice stood and raised her hand to the sky. A bolt of lightning flashed, and struck the man where he lay with his leg broken, screaming in pain. He screamed one last time before he fell silent. His clothes smoked, and he fell forward, leg still stuck. His eyes were open, and red welts spread over his face.
The last man turned to face her, a determined anger on his face. Amarice ran toward the woods. She could feel her strength draining and tried to pull more magic from the earth as her feet pounded hard against the ground. The man drew nearer. She reached the trees. But this was not a wood for hiding, and she had no strength to continue running. She froze, unsure what to do next.
“I’ll KILL YOU, YOU DEMON BITCH!”
Amarice’s eyes searched her surroundings and caught on a tree. The man would run straight past it. She took two steps nearer and focused all her energy on that tree. Please, she begged silently. The man approached. She had to time this perfectly. She steadied her breathing.
The Sage's Consort (The Scholars of Elandria Book 1) Page 15