Mage Strike (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 2)

by R. K. Thorne

  Devol scowled and strode away. “Well, either it wasn’t her, or she’s a better actress than I’ve ever seen.”

  Renala glanced up quickly, hope in her wet eyes.

  Aven nodded. “Excuse our accusation, my lady, but we needed to be careful. Two attackers tried to kill me just a short while ago. They were both disguised as Miara, using magic.”

  “The attackers wielded the weapons Miara tried at the Proving Grounds the day you were there,” Devol said. “So we believe they must have been there that day.”

  “But you were only learning.” Renala spoke as if only to Miara.

  Miara shrugged. “Indeed, I know how to use a dagger, but I’m not much with those weapons, certainly not good enough to defeat Aven.”

  “We’re trying to figure out who’s behind this,” said Aven. “There weren’t many other people there that day. I can’t think that Thel would have anything to do with it—”

  Renala’s body went suddenly rigid.

  “What is it?” Miara said. “Did Thel say something?”

  “Oh, no. But my maid was with us—Pyandra.”

  “So?”

  “She arrived yesterday. I thought it odd my brothers would send help after me, but her details seemed to fit. They’ve never sent anyone to tend to me before, although I had servants at home. Perhaps—” She stopped and stared off into space for a moment, face pale.

  “Perhaps they didn’t send her?” Miara finished for her.

  Renala’s eyes came back into focus as she met her gaze. “Yes.”

  “But how would someone know our dvora was here, to pretend to be a servant for her?” Devol asked.

  “Someone in disguise among one of the attendant noble parties would know. They could leave and return in a new disguise, knowing more than any arriving outsider should know.” Aven scratched his jaw, thinking.

  “We need to find this Pyandra. And fast. What if she’s realized we’re onto her because we’re talking to Renala? Was she there when Devol came by?” Miara asked.

  Renala nodded. Aven swore.

  “Then we don’t have another moment to lose,” Aven said. “Let’s go.”

  The three of them hurried off, leaving Miara alone yet again. She was just starting to feel bitter about it when they returned—entirely too quickly and alone.

  “She’s gone,” Devol groaned as he came panting into view.

  “Along with her things,” added Renala, frowning. “My lord, I’m so sorry I let her inside. I must repay you somehow for this grave mistake.”

  Aven waved her off, then sat down on the bench beside Miara and scratched his jaw. “They were likely already inside, if our theory is correct. The more important matter is, what are we going to do now?”

  Aven escorted Renala back to her rooms. The tension of unspoken questions was thick in the air.

  Perhaps he should just be straight with her and let her go home. It was cruel to lead her on like this, although it might be equally cruel to reject her at this down moment. With the way the day had been going, and preparations to leave for Panar nearing completion, he might not have another good chance.

  “I apologize again for accusing you, dvora,” Aven said.

  “It’s all right. An attempt on your life is a serious matter.”

  “It’s got me thinking…” How could he broach this subject? “I don’t want to waste your time here. But I just… I don’t think this is going to be a good match.”

  “Oh.” She paused.

  He studied her intently. Her face was placid, almost relaxed. If his words had hurt her, she showed no sign.

  “You should just tell her, you know,” she said.

  “Tell her what? Who?”

  “I think you know. Miara. The Kavanarian you brought back with you.”

  Aven blinked in surprise. Was it obvious to everyone?

  “I had figured you would say this eventually. You clearly love her. You should just tell her. I would not want to stand in the way of that. And to think, a commoner as queen? I rather like that idea. I’ve known enough nobles to know the status is not synonymous with virtue or skill.”

  “I—ah—”

  “You do love her, don’t you? I see the way you look at her.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Perhaps I have had incentive to look harder than most.”

  “Or—”

  “Or perhaps, yes, it is that obvious. Your face lights up at the sight of her.”

  He looked down, struggling to stifle a boyish grin and failing. “You are very perceptive, Renala of Esengard. It’s supposed to be secret. For now.”

  “Oh, she knows? Returns your affections?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Then why the secrecy? Because she’s a commoner? Many great kings have had mistresses—”

  “No,” Aven said harshly. “No, not that. Miara will make a great queen.”

  “Not because of me, I hope?”

  “No. She’s just so new to this place, and of the enemy. We thought, well, the king suggested perhaps it’d be best if she earned more of a place first. Became more one of us.”

  She nodded. “I thought you were only just falling for her, so perhaps that plan is working.” She paused. “Gods, I’m so relieved.”

  “Relieved?” He hadn’t expected that, and he let out a laugh.

  “Yes. I don’t want to marry.” There was more she wasn’t telling him, something she left out. “My brothers sent me here. Busy with their new wives.”

  “New wives?”

  “They want me out of the way. I’ve been running my father’s household since my mother passed away. But now the eldest’s wife will take over. And both my younger brothers have wives as well, fighting for lesser duties. I guess they didn’t want me to add to the fray. All those years running things for them, and I’m left with nothing but my marriage prospects.”

  “Which you don’t want.”

  “Precisely. I don’t want to marry at all. But what can I do? I have no other skills. They wouldn’t let me learn any. What am I to do, sell embroidery?”

  He nodded solemnly. “That’s not an impossible idea, honestly. I’m sure you have other skills you haven’t realized. You’re welcome to stay here while you figure it out. Just because I’ve said we’re not a great match doesn’t mean you have to leave.”

  “I’m sure they have a list of visits for me to make.”

  “Perhaps you can figure out something else here. We won’t be sending any formal declarations of the failure of our union to your brothers. We have enough else going on. And hey, the Takarans are still here, you’re not even coming close to the length of their stay, eh?”

  She laughed. “I heard they were staying permanently.”

  “Perhaps. That might be the case.” He was noncommittal, grinning.

  They strolled in silence awhile.

  “Thank you for being so understanding, Renala. I hope you can find a man someday that is perfect for you.”

  “Indeed. I hope I can find… someone some day. Yes.” There was meaning to the pause, but he was not sure what it was. Perhaps a man was not what she was looking for. Was that why she was so determined not to marry? With no independent money to rely on or skills, she had a hard path ahead. Perhaps Fayton could walk her through what skills she had. She might not realize some were actually marketable.

  They reached her rooms. “Again—stay as long as you need. I won’t even mention anything beyond us for now. But after all this, I wanted you to know.”

  “I should be the one thanking you, Aven Lanuken.” She smiled and drifted into her rooms.

  He bowed and fled before he revealed any more secrets to any foreign dignitaries.

  The heavy pound of hooves outside. Jaena knew those sounds. Something about them told her this was no farmer and his wagon, no Nemin returning from the city.

  The Devoted.

  At least there seemed to be no dogs this time. Tharomar was sprawled on the fur at her feet, studyi
ng some leather-bound book she hadn’t recognized. She sat as close as she’d dared to the fire—it was freezing when you couldn’t get up and move around.

  The horses stopped outside. Ro hadn’t moved, but his eyes had lifted, head tilted slightly. He, too, was listening carefully. The sound of men dismounting, footsteps approaching.

  Gods.

  Someone knocked on the door. Tharomar stood and strode toward it. She was out of his sight but not that of someone standing outside.

  She threw herself out of the chair and onto the floor. She gritted her teeth to the pain and rolled into the only hiding place: under the bed.

  Oblivious, Ro opened the door.

  Seven hells. She could see their boots. This was it. They had found her. At least three Devoted waited outside in the rain.

  “We’re continuing our search for the renegade mage. Stand aside. How many here.” The words were more demand than question.

  “Be my guest,” Ro said, turning away and making room for them. His feet moved as he turned toward her chair and seemed to freeze for just a split second as he saw it empty.

  He would know what her disappearance meant. That she was the mage they were looking for. Without intending it, she’d just let her secret out. Not that she had much choice in the matter.

  “How many,” the knight demanded.

  “I live alone,” Tharomar said.

  Her heart leapt in her chest. Not a lie. Also not the truth. But—he was covering for her.

  “Hrm.” One knight moved carefully around the room. He seemed to be carrying something magical, like the repression stones they wore—but different. She longed to move just a hair closer and sneak a peak at it. But—no, it wasn’t worth the risk. Could it be what they had used to detect her presence near the bridge?

  None of the other knights moved. They didn’t turn over everything looking for her. But they were looking for a mage—any mage. Ro was standing right in front of them, although he didn’t know it. He believed he had nothing to hide.

  “It says all clear. No mages here.”

  How were they missing him? And her, for that matter?

  “There’s a slight vibration—you may have purchased a charmed salve or herb without realizing it. Might be wise to replace such things, if you value your soul.”

  Tharomar said nothing. He must had nodded or acknowledged them somehow because they seemed satisfied and turned to leave.

  “Be on the lookout for this rogue mage. Here. She is dangerous and not to be trifled with. King’s permission to kill on sight.”

  “You said as much before,” Tharomar replied, his voice cold.

  “We’ll be back through tomorrow if you see anything.”

  “Nefrana bless your journey.”

  The door shut. At first, his boots just stayed near the door, unmoving. She heard a piece of paper unfold, and a chill shot through her.

  I’m at his mercy, she thought. All he has to do is call them back in. But worse, what was he going to think? His half smile flashed through her mind, his implication that he cared for her to return here. That would likely be gone now. He apparently didn’t want to give her up to the Devoted, at least not yet, but would he cast her out into the rain?

  She was evil, Nefrana-cursed, an aberration, a danger to his soul. Not someone to be cared about. And he was a good man, a holy one—or as close to it as she had ever known.

  Other knocks sounded. Other doors opened, closed. He remained by the door, unmoving. She remained under the bed.

  Finally, the jangling of bridles and reins. Men’s shouting voices. Then, hooves pounding.

  The Devoted rode away. She was still here, albeit with her damn lame ankle. She could hardly believe it.

  Silence for a moment. Then he strode straight to the bed and bent down. There certainly weren’t many other places to hide.

  His brown eyes were only concerned. He extended an arm, reaching a hand out to her. “Can I help you up?”

  She stared at him for a moment, like a caged animal, unsure if she should bite or flee. Her eyes flitted around, then locked on his. He, who had shown her nothing but kindness. He, who had offered her shelter and food and medicine and warmth and asked for nothing in return. He, who possessed a pair of beautiful, shining, too-intelligent eyes that regarded her with only empathy at the moment. He, who had just lied on her behalf.

  She reached out and took his hand. Scooting out and shimmying on her stomach hurt, but it could have been a lot worse. Once free of the bed, she pushed herself up to her knees, just as he was. Her face was barely inches from his, their bodies close, and his musky, earthy scent enchanted her.

  Their eyes locked for a moment. He did not turn away.

  She tore her eyes away, however, the intensity too much. It had almost seemed like— Was he thinking of— No, he couldn’t be thinking of kissing her. Not now. Likely not ever, with what he had just learned. A ridiculous fantasy on her part.

  She was smoothing her tunic with her sweaty palms, nervously straightening herself, when she glanced down and saw the paper unfolded in his hand. A rough parchment bore a drawing of her, painstakingly rendered and fairly accurate. A large bounty was scrawled below it.

  “Oh, gods,” she whispered. “Twenty thousand gold.”

  Miara read on her couch for several hours. Everyone was busy with the final preparations for the trip to Panar, even Camil. And who knew how they were handling the devastation of the cave-in. She would rather have been helping, but she didn’t mind the time alone after all that mess. If only it had been by choice. It stung to lose that cherished freedom so quickly, but even this was a curious experiment. She had long been a slave but rarely if ever imprisoned. She’d hardly been free but never physically bound. Now she was technically still free—but her freedom had shrunk to three designated rooms.

  Only the guards stood watch, watching her while she restlessly drifted about her rooms before returning to her book again. Camil finally delivered dinner to her room with an apologetic shrug.

  After dinner, she took a bath, tossing rosemary and mint from her garden into the water. Camil had already scented it with lavender too, and the heat of the water did melt away some stress of the day. She stayed in much longer than she might have planned, with no reason to rush out. But finally she rose, dried herself, and found a warm, pale blue tunic and soft trousers that she didn’t think were meant for sleeping, but she intended to use them that way. After everything that had happened today, she wasn’t sleeping in the giant sack of a sleep shift, which was like wearing a sail from a boat so big it must be designed to catch the wind. The shifts also made it much more awkward to strap her dagger to her calf, but the trousers were better.

  As she twisted her hair into a bun for the time being, her eyes spotted a scroll of parchment on the bed, and she froze.

  What the hell… ?

  Could it be from Aven? Some secret message? Any legitimate message would have been delivered by Camil or Fayton, and they would have announced its arrival. This had to be… something else.

  She inspected the scroll carefully. Red wax sealed it shut, the symbol pressed into it reminding her of the twisting mage-knots. Gods. That could not be good. She investigated it for anything strange looking but found nothing, so she broke the seal and unrolled the strange scroll. It read:

  Miara Floren,

  You know that I have your father and sister. I know that you have the location of the upcoming Assembly of Akaria.

  Send me via bird the exact building, room, and time to ensure your family’s continued safety. Tell no one.

  If the information you provide turns out to be false, or you share this with anyone, consider your sister dead. Your father will watch.

  Daes Cavalion

  She dropped the parchment on the bed, her heart pounding. She had to tell Aven. But how had this scroll gotten here? Could it have been Camil? Someone else? Who would have access to this room and be willing to do this? What else might they be planning to do? Damn, she
wasn’t safe even here, by the gods. Not that she had entirely expected to be, she was no fool.

  The Masters obviously had someone on the inside. She couldn’t be certain, but the same person would likely know if she shared this information with Aven.

  She had to find some way to tell him anyway, some way to figure out what to do together. Even as her heart ached in her chest, she knew she could not betray the true location. Her father and Luha would not want that, either. The blood of likely dozens of innocents hung in the balance, blood they would not want on their hands. The Assembly meeting would contain not only the members of the Assembly themselves, but their trusted advisors, family members, and lesser officials. An attack on the Assembly would cut off the head of Akaria in one blow.

  Which was precisely the plan.

  Those innocents were also the people in the world most likely to be convinced to fight for the freedom of mages everywhere, making such a betrayal all the more abhorrent. No, no, she couldn’t do it. There was no way. Hands shaking, she picked up the parchment again. Perhaps there was some way out of this trap. Perhaps they could figure out a way to save Luha before the meeting. She needed to talk to Aven. He could think clearly. He could think of something.

  She scrutinized the parchment for clues. Was it genuine? Could it somehow have been faked? That didn’t help. Even if it were, if she put the information onto a bird and sent it off to Mage Hall, the result would be the same. The Dark Master would be just as delighted. She was familiar enough with official missives of Kavanar, having stolen a few different letters and scrolls and replaced them with fakes during her years in his service. The seal wax was the appropriate scarlet color and consistency, the parchment a common thickness.

  She rolled the scroll, folded it flat, and slipped it into her pocket.

  Hurrying into the outer room, she approached one of her guards. She would give them nothing to be suspicious of.

  “Can you possibly send for the prince for me? Or for Camil, so she can summon him? I grow bored.”