Mage Strike (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 2)

by R. K. Thorne

  The dvora.

  Of course. The suitor the queen had referred to. Her… competition?

  The dvora looked every bit a member of the nobility, minor though she might be, and her soft gold hair fell all the way down her back in twisting, elegant curls. A cobalt-blue gown ten times more expensive than anything Miara had ever worn fit her perfectly. Miara glanced down again at her own choice for the evening, the mossy green strikingly different. Around the dvora’s throat, silver and sapphires the size of cherries glittered. King Samul led her to a seat at the head table, the second seat away from the throne.

  The only seat between her and the throne was likely for Aven. The dvora was being seated next to Aven. While Miara sat down here.

  She gritted her teeth, struggling to ignore a sudden and unexpected wave of emotion. What even was that feeling—panic, suspicion, jealousy, fear? All of them? Was this whole idea to keep their relationship secret an elaborate ruse to buy time for Aven to rethink his fixation on Miara? Miara groped for a reason why this was not the case but came up with nothing. Indeed, if she were in their shoes, it seemed like a reasonable plan. What could Miara offer the realm that this dvora could not?

  This was all a mistake. She would pack her few things and leave tomorrow. He would be better off without her, and she… well, she would have her freedom. Certainly the steward could loan her a horse—

  But she knew she would not ask the steward for a horse. Selfishly, she didn’t care how little or how much she had to offer the realm. Aven loved her, and she loved him back, and that was rare enough to find in this world. How could she give him up after all they’d been through?

  She would not.

  She took a steadying breath. She knew nothing about this woman except that she wore the fine mantel of the upper class. The fact that she wore the costume of a queen did not make her a better potential queen than Miara. In fact, the opposite could be true. She was not being rational; it was only fear talking. Another deep breath.

  Aven had given her no reason to doubt him. He’d willingly gone into hell and back for her. And if anyone had rescued anyone, he had rescued her. She tried to put the worry out of her mind.

  She studied the crowd as more people paraded in. Aven’s brothers, Thel and Dom, entered together. Like Aven, Dom was stocky and muscular but shorter and with the dark hair of the king. Thel was indeed was quite different from Aven, with a lanky frame, a bit of a crooked nose a little too long for his face, and longish blond hair. He did share Aven’s disposition, though, as he gave her a friendly wave.

  He mustn’t be too upset about what she’d told him. While the others had crowded around the table for the meeting, the middle prince had pulled Miara from the room by the arm, though still close enough to watch as some kind of argument broke out.

  “I need to—” She had yanked her arm from his grasp.

  “It’ll just take a second,” he said hastily. He lowered his voice. “Quickly. You’re the mage, right? The one who’s stolen my brother’s heart? Can you tell me if I’m a mage too?”

  “Your—what?” That wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

  “Can you tell if I am a mage too?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “It will be easier for him if I just know.”

  “What will be easier?”

  Thel glanced nervously at the chamber. “Some of them are sure to call for me to take his place as heir. But how do they know I’m not a mage too? I’d rather know before they do.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. What would the answer mean to him? Could this be a trick?

  “Look, I don’t want to be king. I’m nothing like Aven. I would hate to deal with these kinds of machinations day in and day out. I much prefer books to men.”

  “Why don’t you ask your mother?”

  He made a face. “I asked years ago. She won’t tell me. Said it’s better for me not to know, if it’s not obvious like it is with Aven. Well, look how that turned out. Can you tell me or not?”

  “Fine,” she said, giving him a sharp nod. She reached out, and there it was—the taste of earth, nitrous and calm, deep and still.

  She glanced back at him but then kept her eyes on the crowd, watching for any signs that they might be overheard. “Aven told me you’re an academic. You’re drawn to books. But you don’t just like the books, do you? You like the libraries, the deep libraries of Estun. The underground, the darkness feeds you. The mountain is like your lifeblood. Locks open for you that were stuck or closed to others. Your hearths stay warmer than they should in the night and need less tending. You never feel cold here anyway. Others think the mountain is dead, but you know better.” She turned to meet his wide eyes, as though she’d stolen thoughts from his head. She didn’t need to, though. “I think you have your answer,” she said. “You’ve always known.”

  In the dinner procession, one of the tall, dark-skinned lords from the king’s chambers caught her eye and brought her out of her reverie. Aven had introduced him as Lord Beneral, but she’d thought she’d seen his face before. Wasn’t he one of the mages who’d accompanied the queen to confront Miara while she still held Aven captive? Did he know their secret? Or, perhaps she was the one who knew his secret.

  She felt eyes watching her again—this time, Aven’s, as he entered arm and arm with his mother. He’d shaved and wore a midnight-colored doublet, a black cloak with a mantle of black and silvered fur around his shoulders, and a simple silver ring for a crown.

  By the gods, she was staring. Was she revealing something by staring? No, no—everyone was staring simply because they were being attentive, although perhaps not as wide-eyed as she.

  This was the man who wanted her? It was one thing to kiss the tousled, battle-torn warrior she’d come to know over the last few weeks. This man seemed like quite another thing altogether.

  His gray-green eyes lit up when they caught hers. Did his eyebrows rise slightly as his gaze slid across her, or was that her imagination? If they had, was that a flicker of approval or concern? He flashed her a grin. She bowed her head in what seemed like an appropriate acknowledgment.

  “That the prince?” Derk asked. “The one all this ruckus is about?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “That’s the one.” Damn, her voice was husky. Get it together, Miara. At least he hadn’t escorted the dvora himself. Perhaps she could convince herself that meant something.

  “So you say you’re a healer. Creature mage then?” Derk asked her.

  She nodded, glancing at him as briefly as possible before returning her eyes to Aven. He’d sat down by the dvora and was no longer returning her gaze. Finally, everyone was seated. Every noble on the dais wore some shade of blue, from a bright vibrant hue to Aven’s dark midnight shade. Even the Dvora. Miara frowned. Through her deft choice in wardrobe, the Esengard noble easily blended in as one of them. She looked as if she belonged there, in that seat. The gown was an artful, clever selection and a move that hadn’t even occurred to Miara. Damn.

  She watched him covertly while they ate and tried to think of other things. She was rather good at watching people without letting on. Perhaps she had some skills suited to court life after all.

  And come to think of it… she needed to figure out something for that damned demonstration. “Wunik, do you think you can help me with a magic lesson for the king and his Assembly?”

  “I’ll help you,” Derk’s overeager voice chimed in. Beyond him, Siliana snorted.

  Miara opened her mouth to reject the offer, but Wunik spoke first. “I think he’d be a great help to you. Show these men what a young, strapping boy can do.”

  “Boy! Please—”

  “You’re more experienced, sir.”

  “I’d also rather save my energy for the real work of finding and freeing mages, if you don’t mind,” Wunik muttered.

  Derk’s sidelong glare said he had heard that slight but chose to ignore it. “What do you need to do?”

  “Well, I’ll need a range of mages to
show off certain abilities, although we don’t seem to have any earth mages at all. Ironic, with everyone living in this damn cave.”

  “It is oppressive, isn’t it?” Siliana finally chimed in for a moment, and everyone nodded.

  “And I could use advice on what we should show them.”

  “We should show them healing.” Siliana leaned around Derk.

  “Hey, I thought you were ignoring all of us,” Derk said.

  Siliana ignored him. “All Akarians are warriors, deep down, or they care about one. And part of that is getting thumped. Struck. Stabbed. Sometimes, killed. We show them how much we can do on that front, it should be a powerful motivator.”

  Miara nodded. “That’s good. And that means we’re going to need injuries to heal, won’t we?”

  “Lucky us.” Siliana smiled defiantly. “We can take it.”

  “I’d suggest you don’t use any spell specifically to injure,” Wunik mused.

  “That’s not our strength anyway, right?” Derk leaned back farther as it seemed like Siliana was not leaving the conversation anytime soon.

  “Maybe Aven can help us find someone to wield a traditional weapon for our injuries.” Miara bit her lip, thinking. “Or… we can wield it ourselves.”

  “Not sure I’m up for that,” Siliana said, “but you’re welcome to.”

  Miara only half listened to the other woman as she chewed over an idea. How many of those Assembly members were seasoned veterans? How many of them would have the fortitude to stab themselves and then heal themselves again? If they even could. If she had to look dangerous, perhaps she could make a different kind of good impression on them. A fierce one. Miara glanced at Aven and the dvora, who were politely talking and not looking in her direction. Neither of them looked particularly rapt. The ability, both mental and physical, to wound herself just to show she could heal the wound… Well, that was one thing Miara offered that the damn dvora couldn’t. At least, she hoped. Guts. Bravery. Possibly a certain kind of stupidity. She shrugged to herself.

  “What about air? What should we do with air?”

  Derk and Wunik threw ideas out, from the too mild to the too destructive, and the creature mages provided critique. Setting the stables on fire was probably too much, and they had little magic to rebuild buildings anyway. Snuffing out a candle was far too practical and mundane. Turning a bit of beach into glass—where did they think they were, the Gulf of Panar?

  Still, Miara was glad to plan with them. It gave her something to take her mind off the fact that Aven talked only to the dvora for the entire meal.

  Once or twice, he would feel her gaze and toss her a smile. She would nod back, and she made an effort to look very engaged in the conversation with Derk and Wunik and not at all miserable.

  Stop worrying about this. Nothing could be done to change the situation in the short term anyway, except maybe employing one of those dresses that reminded her of the Mistress and seeing what effect it might have. Damn that woman, why should the Mistress ruin an entire category of clothing for the rest of Miara’s life anyway? But no. Miara was not going to earn the respect and acceptance of these people based on what she looked like. This dvora had a head start on her anyway in that arena, and since when did looks alone win loyalty?

  She would win them over with what she did. And if that involved slicing herself open just so she could heal up the wound, so be it.

  Eventually, they’d detailed much of their plans, and the conversation drifted to other topics, such as how magical skills were taught in Mage Hall. Miara had expected that comparing notes with them would reveal very different spells and strategies, but in fact they used mostly the same techniques. After a few generations of practicing in isolation, she would have thought the spells would have diverged and evolved more, but apparently not.

  Wine-poached pears appeared to signify that the meal was nearly over. The tangy, sweet, cinnamony smell overtook the room. Oh, by the gods, what a beautiful dish. She had marveled at how well appointed Estun was, and how comfortable, and clean… A lot of these things felt like luxuries, like things she didn’t deserve, to the point of discomfort. She doubted she would ever feel comfortable with a servant waiting on her… But this. This she could get used to. This was bliss. She took a huge bite.

  “Still hungry, huh?”

  Mouth too full, she glanced up and saw Aven standing before them. Oh, wasn’t that great timing.

  “After all this? How are you all faring this evening?”

  Wunik saved her from having to speak. “Most excellent, my lord. I’m just draining your mage here of what knowledge I can glean of Kavanarian advances in magic. I think she’s started taking overzealous bites to save herself from my incessant questions.”

  Your mage? What did Wunik know about them? The slightest shift in Derk’s posture told her he had noticed the turn of phrase too.

  Aven leaned forward, the knuckles of his fists on the table. “This dinner is going to go on for hours. Are you two ready to retire soon?”

  “Now would be excellent. I thought you’d never ask.” Wunik began folding his napkin as if he couldn’t stand to wait a moment longer.

  “What about us?” Derk said with an indignant frown.

  “I’m sure you’re both quite tired and wish to get some rest after our journey. You can join us tomorrow,” said Wunik in the voice of a teacher who was not about to bargain. Derk grumbled and took a bite, turning away to Siliana, who only seemed to care because now she had to deal with Derk alone.

  Aven and Wunik were staring at her, she realized. Miara nodded vigorously and tried to wash the rest of the pear down with a swallow of wine.

  “You two finish up and head just outside the hall, and I’ll meet you out there?” Aven looked relieved. Why should he look relieved?

  Wunik nodded. She mimicked him. Aven swept back to the head table with a majestic flourish of his cloak. It was damn cold in here. She needed to add a cloak or something tomorrow. Perhaps where they were going would be warmer.

  She caught herself staring after him and tore her eyes away. How strange to see someone she felt she knew so well—or at least was beginning to—in such a new light. He had always been chivalrous, polite, and rather dashing. But nothing like a crown and the trappings of royalty to reinforce that this was a man who would someday be a king. She had thought she’d seen it in that commanding voice and strong jaw, but it had been only a glimpse of the reality. His eventual power was not something she’d fully understood. She knew Aven the man, but she was catching many more glimpses now of Aven the prince. Aven the king.

  She bit off another dreamily delicious hunk of pear and chewed thoughtfully.

  Even before they’d hunted down any dinner, Jaena dragged Kae around from the bathhouse to the weapons hall, hoping to find Menaha. As if to mock their grumbling bellies, they finally found her in the dining hall. It was full-on dark by then. They’d endured the compulsory evening prayers just outside, and by now they were starving. They heaped cold bacon, cheese, and turnips onto a trencher and joined her. Another senior warrior mage Jaena did not know ate with her.

  “I didn’t expect to run into you two here.” Menaha’s smile was sweet, but she clearly knew they wanted something. “How are your lessons going?”

  Kae rattled on excitedly for a few minutes. Menaha was an air mage like him, so he could explain the various offensive techniques he had mastered. It was not nearly so exciting to explain that she’d mastered not getting knocked on her ass. But no matter. The other woman finished eating, said goodbye, and left them as he detailed every bit of his recent training. Kae rather adored Menaha in his own way, and she nodded and smiled and gave him a few tips.

  When the other mage left, though, he slowed his tale and gave Jaena a long look. Ah, so he hadn’t forgotten the purpose of their visit amidst his rambling. He’d simply seized the opportunity to bore the other mage to tears. Now he wanted her to take the lead.

  Jaena cleared her throat. “Menaha, we heard
a rumor.”

  The older woman raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her seat. “Is that so? Care to share?”

  “Are you the gossiping type?” Jaena asked. She hoped the leading tone to her voice would convey that she meant more than what she was saying.

  “I am. At times.”

  Jaena nodded to Kae, as she’d felt him staring at her, hoping to chime in. “We heard some mages escaped,” he said, quick and low. He glanced around, looking highly suspicious. Hell, no one would ever suspect him of being a spy. Or would suggest such a thing either. “Or, one mage, at least.”

  Menaha raised both eyebrows now. “That is quite the rumor.”

  “Do you know if it’s true?” said Jaena quickly. “Or where we could find out?”

  Menaha surveyed the room around them much more naturally than Kae, but only chatty mages sat on all sides, busy with their own conversations. Then she leaned forward, both elbows on the table beneath folded arms, and spoke in a low voice. “I know of a mage who has disappeared.”

  Jaena glanced at Kae, then back at Menaha. The hope in her chest threatened to swell and envelop her—did she dare let it? “Who?”

  “The mage Miara.”

  “The healer?”

  “And the spy. When she returned from her last mission, I saw her in the bathhouse.”

  “And?”

  “The brand on her shoulder looked like it was healing.”

  “Healing!” Kae exclaimed. The two women silenced him with simultaneous glares.

  Menaha nodded. “I haven’t seen her since. I went to her rooms, and guards stand at the doors. Her father and sister have not returned to their jobs, nor has she. I do believe at least Pytor—her father—is still in the apartment but under guard for some reason.”

  “How?” Jaena breathed. “How is it possible?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I had asked her more. But it must have had something to do with her last mission. She had not been working in the stables. She’d just returned and was off duty for a few days.”