by R. K. Thorne
This was all too much to share with his mother just yet. Perhaps ever. She wasn’t even sure how to share it with Aven. “You have no… personal objections?” she said instead.
Elise paused. “I know my son,” she said eventually. “He is an excellent judge of character. That is one thing I would never doubt in him. I also want him to be happy. What objections would I have? You are no noble, that’s true, but you are intelligent, strong, defiant even. You showed me honesty at times when lies would have been much more convenient. And you are no fragile bird in a gilded cage. You know the suffering of the people. You know the impact a ruler’s decisions can have.”
“Then why did you take so long to answer?”
“So that you didn’t think I took this lightly.”
A smile crept onto Miara’s face. Elise smiled back, a smile of small secrets, the kind between two people recognizing something of themselves in each other. They were both the kind of people that managed what others thought of them, deliberately, with elaborate planning if necessary.
“A capable and reliable partner has always been one of the things Aven most wanted in a wife. And he’s wise for that. And I think you will offer more than one unexpected advantage of your own. No, you needn’t be concerned about me. What I am concerned about—and you should be too—is everyone else. The king… has not seen or heard as much of you as I have. And there are those who might care less for Aven’s personal happiness or the caretaking of this kingdom and quite a bit more for their own agendas and prejudices.”
Miara opened her mouth to ask what advantage, and what did she mean by that, and who exactly might she be referring to? But a knock sounded at the door, announcing the arrival of the tea.
“Ah, Camil,” Elise called. “Come in. Miara, I’m sure you’re famished from your journey. We have apple dumplings, Corovan cheese, and some excellent Pyoramwan tea.”
The king’s meeting chamber emptied of people all too slowly. Exhaustion hit Aven, hard and sudden, now that the drama was mostly over. For now. He hoped. He didn’t yet know what visitor his father referred to, so perhaps more trouble was in store. Also, what were his mother and Miara doing? What room had Fayton assigned her? Not knowing exactly where she was yet again did not sit well with him, especially twice so quickly after arriving in Estun. Had they even been there an hour yet?
The last few stragglers hesitated and were shooed away by two of his father’s scribes.
“Do you think she’ll try to kill her?” Aven mused.
“Your friend kill the queen? I should—”
“No, no, Mother. Mother kill my… friend.”
His father grinned at his hesitation. “Your mother has watched you, mostly helplessly, traipse across half the continent with this woman and then risk your very life to save her. I’m not surprised she’s interested in a conversation or two.”
“I just hope that’s all she’s interested in.”
“Your mother has never had a violent streak. I swear some of the lords wish she had more of one. And your ‘friend’ is a competent mage. Probably more competent than your mother, don’t you think?”
“Don’t tell Mother that.”
“I’m sure you’ll have nothing to worry about even if they do come to blows.”
“Probably more like claws or talons, from what I’ve seen.”
“That does sound a bit more your mother’s style. At any rate, now that we’re alone, there is one bit of news you won’t relish.” Aven inclined his head in question. “Another suitor arrived for you yesterday.”
“I don’t need a suitor, I have—”
“I understand that. But your mother and I had thought you might want to take a little time before you crown your new mage as queen.”
Aven frowned. “Well, obviously Mother is queen—”
“You know what I mean.”
His blood ran cold. “What’s the hesitation?”
“Miara is an outsider. Not to mention technically someone who recently committed high treason.”
“That’s hardly a fair way to describe what happened.”
His father held up a palm. “Let’s deal with this suitor first. I simply request you receive her in a polite, diplomatic greeting. You can leave right away, since you’ve just returned, but the Code calls for—”
“I know what it calls for,” Aven growled. He sighed. If his principles were easy to live by, they probably weren’t doing him much good. “Where does she hail from?”
As they walked, his father gave him background on the woman, a minor noble from Esengard. She had been deliberately kept in the dark about his return to the castle. Enough turmoil without that. They found her in the library, reclined and reading a book.
Did Miara like to read? At least this one was literate. He stifled an inward groan at the thought. Why was he evaluating her? He had Miara.
The woman rose with slow, regal grace as they approached. His father spoke first. “My son, may I present to you Renala Lorava, Dvora of the southern lands of Esengard.”
“King Samul, Prince Aven. I’m flattered to see you so soon upon your return.” As she spoke, she swept into a low curtsy. Aven bowed in return. He realized too late that he hadn’t reached for her hand to kiss as he usually did. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have expected it. Just as well—too romantic of a greeting anyway. He had to take every opportunity to come across as taken, something he unfortunately had zero practice at conveying.
She straightened. Oaken hair, the color of straw but slightly darker, fell down her back, and a lavender dress hugged her every curve perfectly with carefully orchestrated rows of laces to ensure an ideal fit. How did women get such things on? He should ask Miara.
Actually, did she know? Had she ever worn such a dress? They did not look practical for either caring for horses or kidnapping men. Perhaps her spying had sometimes been in a courtly context, though? Back to the task at hand. It was his turn to say something.
“I’m flattered by your consideration, my lady.” Ugh, too amorous. He stifled a wince and hoped she hadn’t noticed.
“Have you had a long journey?” She clasped her hands in front, still holding her book.
“Er, yes.” Two weeks was not terribly long, but getting kidnapped, tortured, and nearly enslaved twice did add difficulty to a jaunt. He didn’t think she was interested in hearing stories of torture just now. Or possibly ever. Good thing he had Miara to tell them to. “It was a bit… hastily undertaken, so that didn’t help matters. So please forgive me if I retire shortly.”
“Oh, of course,” she said, suddenly blushing. A delicate rose spread across her features. Afraid she was imposing already? That was sweet. It was hardly her fault, and there was no perceived slight, but he’d been courted by plenty of women who blindly demanded his attention and time without context, as if finding a mate and producing an heir obviously trumped any other task in importance. And perhaps in some circles that was the case, but not for him. A lady that was more respectful of a prince’s other duties was refreshing.
Not that it mattered or changed anything.
She eyed his shoulder. “Forgive my intrusion,” she said quietly, “but were you in battle, my lord? You look… injured.” Her eyes held a mixture of fear and intrigue. My, she was a timid one, but the interest in her eyes said perhaps there was more to her than that surface fear.
“We do not shy away from battle here,” he said, skirting her question. “Perhaps that is part of why you’ve chosen Akaria to visit?”
Her gaze snapped to meet his in surprise, and her face told the truth of his words. “I—uh—I apologize, my lord.”
“What is there to apologize for?” his father said.
“As a lady, I should not express interest in such things.”
“Nonsense. Women draw sword here just as the men do.” His tone was more fatherly than kingly as he smiled at her.
The way she side-eyed the king levelly told Aven she had indeed already known this. “I had heard, but I tho
ught perhaps it was only a rumor.”
Aven shrugged. “We’re a practical people. The more of us that can fight, the better, which is especially true in matters of defense. Of course, not everyone is fit for every weapon or every military position, but that’s true beyond men and women, young and old.”
“Never saw much reason to encourage my wife to cower in fear rather than pick up a bow if I’m the one getting attacked by the sword. And in that case, I’d prefer her aim to be good.” Samul smiled. Aven agreed; he had no idea why other kingdoms hobbled themselves so. Perhaps Renala couldn’t lift a claymore, but there were plenty of weapons he’d be glad she could wield if assassins chose that moment to strike. Assuming she was on his side, of course.
“Devol, our master at arms, would likely give you a lesson during your visit, if desired, my lady,” Aven added.
She gazed off into the bookshelves with a pained expression. “I don’t think my brothers would approve.”
Samul surprised Aven—and Renala, too, it seemed—with a rough clap on her shoulder. “They are not here, I believe. And I don’t know how word would get back to them. Don’t they plan to marry you away from Esengard anyway? So… perhaps their opinion does not matter so much.” Oh, devious man, sowing familial discord. Of course, Aven agreed with him, but still. Aven smiled sideways at the wide saucers of Renala’s eyes. Was that at the shoulder clap or his suggestion? A timid mouse, as many suitors had been, but at least an honest one with her own opinions. “Talk with our head steward, Fayton, he can help you arrange it. And now, if you’ll excuse my son, I don’t want his sense of duty to keep him any longer.”
“Of course!” She curtsied deeply again, so much so that he thought she might just sit down on the bench behind her.
At this point, he would have usually made some romantic gesture, or made plans to seek her out later, or offered some poetic turn of phrase. But gladly, no inspiration came to him. Aven simply bowed again, gave her a small but friendly smile, and scampered out.
Jaena missed the blast with her staff. Her body spun sideways, off-balance, and she cursed as she went down. She’d blocked the last dozen, but one had finally gotten through. Damn.
Face in the dirt. Hell. That would be the last time. She let herself indulge in the soft vibrations of energy emanating from the soil for just a brief moment. Just to recharge. Not that she needed it. She wasn’t tired. She was fine.
She sighed. Her sister would not have fallen. She had rarely made mistakes like these. But then again, Dekana had been a natural at everything. Jaena was not much like her in that respect.
It didn’t matter. She had determination and little else. She would be a great fighter or die trying. Someone would pay for what had happened to Dekana.
She spread her fingers as though readying to push herself up, only slightly nestling them into the calm reassurance of the soil. The bark-colored, packed earth of the training grounds had more clay than most, leaving it not quite as dark as her skin, but close.
Steps approached. She scrambled to her feet but not fast enough. She adjusted her tawny leather vest and the white tunic underneath, brushing off the dust with her fingers. Much as she loved the earth, she didn’t love it on her outfit. Sorin, their teacher, stopped in front of her. Wherever he’d been a few days ago, he’d returned with a fire under his arse. She straightened to her full height and looked down her nose at him. Although he was tall, she was still a good two fingers taller.
“Back at it, Farsai.”
He turned on a heel and stalked away. She scowled after him. Ignorant bastard. He liked to throw around epithets, a pathetic attempt at intimidation that only proved what an idiot he was. She wasn’t even from Farsa. If he actually listened to a word she said, he would hear no accent. But she wasn’t holding her breath for that to happen.
Kae gave her a sheepish shrug and mouthed a silent “Sorry.” Although similarly blond and pale, Kae couldn’t be more different from their teacher. She waved off his concern. Her friend was just doing his job. After dozens of practice blasts, she was bound to miss one or two. And how would she get better if he didn’t push her? If it were a real battle, those one or two blasts could be deadly.
It was good to have goals. Like revenge. And not missing another volley for the rest of the day. And maybe deflecting one at Sorin’s backside.
Kae had far less interest in buffeting her with blasts of energy than she had in deflecting them. At least for her it was a practical skill. Earth mages did not take so easily to combat as air mages like Kae. If they took to it at all. But she would. She had to.
“Again,” barked Sorin. He was pacing up and down the rows of practicing mages, observing and “correcting” but mostly just being a nuisance.
She placed one hand on the staff two handbreadths above the other, sunk down into horse stance, and held the weapon straight in a plumb line to the earth, listening for its rhythm, making the connection as quickly and instinctively as possible. This wasn’t just any staff, but one spelled to defend against air attacks in particular, or else she couldn’t have managed. Fortunately, there was little disadvantage to relying on a weapon beyond the fact that you could lose it.
Supposedly they would also learn how to fight back eventually. Every morning she hoped that was the day, but they hadn’t gotten to it yet. If they ever would.
Kae sent another wave of energy, a shock of lightning this time, and this one she managed to capture and channel down into the welcoming earth in spite of her wandering thoughts. Good. It was becoming more automatic.
Sorin had reached the far end of the mages, as far out of earshot as he would get, and Kae seemed to be waiting for him to do so, eying their teacher over his shoulder every few moments. “Have you heard the rumors?” He cupped his hand and kept his voice low, otherwise putting all his body language into readying another blast.
“What?” The next wave hit. The gentler gust of wind sent her a little off-balance to the left, but she worked with it, spinning a little and righting herself quickly. Back in position.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Kae eyed Sorin’s position again, hesitating. “Rumor is a mage escaped.” Her eyes widened, and he grinned. “See, I thought you’d like that. Was surprised you wasn’t the one telling me.” Kae, unlike her, did have an accent, some kind of backcountry farm dialect. Refreshing, when those who talked like her mostly had nothing nice to say.
Len, a mage to his left, shot him a dangerous look. “Don’t go spreading lies, Kae.”
“No lie, if it’s true.”
“You don’t know that.”
“How you think they could do such a thing?”
Len shrugged, sending his next volley at his earth mage partner to Jaena’s left. “It matters not.”
“But—” Kae started, but Sorin turned and was making his way back down the row, one eyebrow raised. Kae shut up.
Escaped? How strange. Everyone knew such a thing was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
She shoved a surge of hope back down. It was probably all foolish, childish rumors. Lies. Kids not knowing any better, not understanding how the lure of hope could crush your spirit each time you discovered afresh that you had absolutely no hope of escape. It was all foolish and impossible.
In the tense silence that followed, she struggled to keep her thoughts on Kae’s attempts—thankfully all failures—to knock her on her ass. But his words niggled at her, as he’d probably known they would.
Jaena would never get used to being a slave. She didn’t know how anyone did, but some seemed to. Or perhaps they just got tired.
Well, she was not tired yet. Especially not after watching the way their capture had crushed her sister, until she could no longer stand it. Until she’d thrown herself from the north tower—or someone had pushed her. Supposedly mage slaves weren’t supposed to be able to kill themselves. But Dekana had been physically stronger than most men Jaena knew. Inside, though… Jaena did not believe it had been anything but despair that had
killed her sister.
Three years ago, the two of them had been kidnapped and brought here. As daughters of a Hepani diplomat, they hadn’t been nobles in Hepan and had been obligated to political marriages on their family’s behalf. But Jaena had counted such a fate lucky by most Hepani standards. Her marriage would likely have been more advantageous for her than for her husband. Many nobles tended to choose brides from the diplomatic and merchant class. She’d also harbored a hope that perhaps she could avoid marriage. It happened once in a while.
Poor Hepani women often remained unmarried but also had the least resources to take advantage of such a state. As someone near the middle of the social hierarchy, as the younger sibling, she’d had the most chance at carving out something for herself between the lines of Hepani society. She’d plotted to dodge a husband and become a merchant, open a shop of some kind. Stones, to be honest, she had wanted to sell stones. Precious as emeralds and opals or common as quartz and hematite. In hindsight, her fixation on stones made sense, but she hadn’t thought much of it at the time. It hurt to remember the dream, partly because of its innocence. Her most likely destiny, a political marriage, had not seemed so bad. Perhaps an intellectual merchant from southern Akaria who could sweep her off to the White City, or a daring Takaran seafarer who’d be away half the year anyway?
She had accepted that her family’s position and her father’s determined machinations would limit her, but she had still thought it likely she’d have some hand in her fate. She had still had hope.
She could never have imagined this.
It had all ended abruptly. Her family had been attacked on the road by those damned Devoted, and she’d found herself here. A slave. Sometimes a serving girl, sometimes a blacksmith’s assistant. Perhaps a warrior, if she responded to their training. The Masters would see. The Masters would determine. She hadn’t even known that she and her sister were mages. She didn’t regret learning of her power, but it had not been worth the cost. She’d trade her magic for her freedom in a heartbeat.