by R. K. Thorne
One guard eyed her warily but did step out.
In the end, they did not produce Aven. A quarter of an hour later, Queen Elise arrived. Hmm, were they keeping him away from her, or was he simply busy with all the preparations and cleanup from the day? Again, a wave of frustration at being unable to help hit her.
“The guards said you had a question for Aven?” Elise asked. “I can take it to him.”
Miara blinked. Did they sincerely think she was a danger to him, or was it a show? “Yes, I was wondering if he would like to play Rooks and Pawns or a dice game.”
“Oh,” said Elise, clearly having expected something else.
“But you’ll do.” Miara confidently strode to the small corner game table and sat down, not looking at Elise and wondering if she would take the bait or take offense.
If you pretend to play, she whispered to Elise, I can give you my message. I can’t let the guards hear.
Elise joined her at the chess table, straightening her pale sky-blue dress as she sat. What is it? Elise was in some way even better than Aven, as she could send her thoughts back easily and with more control.
Terrible news. I just found a scroll on my bed, signed by the Dark Master and sealed with Kavanarian red wax. Appears authentic. It demands the location details of the Assembly vote in exchange for my family’s continued safety.
Elise’s eyes widened. How… how do they know?
The assassins that attacked Aven are likely disguised as ordinary servants, allowing them to overhear much. There are certainly others listening and reporting back too, including our dear Lord Alikar.
Elise picked up a piece. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”
“Feel free.” She continued to speak as Elise considered a move. The scroll says they will kill my sister if I don’t tell them. Or if the information is false, or if I tell anyone I’ve received the scroll.
Until that point, Elise had been managing it all with her typical composure. But at those words, she fumbled and looked up with wide eyes for a split second before continuing to make her first move. Tell anyone, like you’re doing right now?
Yes. Thus the secrecy. Can you tell Aven? I am not sure what they would prefer me to do. We cannot turn over the real location. Maybe there is a way around this, a way to save my sister. I thought Aven might be able to think of something.
And if he can’t?
We cannot tell them. My sister would not want to live with the deaths of innocents on her hands—
It’s the Masters who would have the deaths on their hands.
Either way there will be death, unless we figure a way around it. Two versus dozens? It’s hardly a choice.
Even when those two people are all the family you have in the world?
Miara picked up a piece. It was her turn, but she had trouble steadying her hand. A rising tide of anger came with those words. Must you remind me? Perhaps she was callous, secretly like her mother deep down. No. She was trying to do the right thing.
I’m sorry. Putting the good of all ahead of your personal happiness… is admirable.
She didn’t know how to respond. If anyone can find a way to appease both, it’s Aven.
Too true. There are only so many buildings with big enough meeting halls. Even if we lie, they could simply try them all. Elise was scowling at the board.
They could do that right now anyway. Tell me a location and time to tell them. A false one. I’ll send it back to them. Then, we can try to think of other options.
Elise remained silent, thinking about more than the game as they went through several turns.
I’ll talk to Wunik and Aven and get their opinion.
As secretly as possible, please.
Of course. A few minutes later, Elise rose, smoothing the dress’s pale blue linen with her palms. “I should get back to my duties, I hadn’t expected to stay long. Let’s continue this later, or—oh. You’ve won.”
Miara nodded and gave the queen a seated bow. “Thank you for taking a moment to entertain me, Your Majesty.”
Elise gave her an uneasy smile. “My pleasure. I’ll tell Aven he missed an excellent, although very quick, game.”
I will send word of what to reply before the end of the day. And then, she was gone, leaving Miara frowning at the game pieces.
Later that night, the reply came. Elise knocked, and a guard opened the door before Miara could even stand up from her seat.
“Aven asked me to send this. Of course, he chose the contents, not me.” Elise handed her a warm, red linen package. “He sends his regrets. He is busy with the trip’s preparations.”
“Of course,” Miara said, her voice faltering only a little. Elise took her leave.
Was he truly busy? Were they keeping him away?
She took the red linen package into the bedroom and unwrapped it on the bed, where fewer guards could see her. Steam wafted up from a warm, fresh apple dumpling. A small scroll, unmarked with any seal or signature, rested quietly underneath the next fold of the linen, likely holding whatever location and time Aven and Elise had chosen to tell the Dark Master. She slipped it to into her pocket with the other.
Taking a large bite of the dumpling, she strode to the desk and penned the details in her own hand. She folded the piece and sealed it with stormy Akarian blue-gray. She even found an ursine stamp to press into the hot wax.
Now it was just a matter of finding some poor bird and sending it into danger. War was not an easy thing. If only these people would wake up and realize they were in one. Luckily, she had a room with windows—and guards who frowned on watching her while she took a bath.
And opening the window.
In the end, her large bathroom window held only a smaller window that could be levered open, possibly for ventilation but more likely to aim an arrow through. It wasn’t much, but the scroll would fit.
She closed her eyes and spread her mind out across the mountainside, feeling a little guilty about asking any creature to fulfill this task.
A few sparrows flitted overhead. An eagle. A white hare jumped and rolled in the snow. A young falcon.
The falcon’s attention turned toward her even as she noticed it. More curious than usual, she could imagine it tilting its head, considering this foreign presence.
Can you help me?
She let the quiet desperation, the sadness, the regret seep into her words. She wasn’t entirely sure all creatures understood or even experienced such emotions, but she felt much better disclosing her regret and her dire need along with her request.
It—he—swooped down a ledge. He paused, listening for danger, then swooped closer. He landed in a small, steep snowbank and hopped a few inches up the slope.
For a moment, Miara saw the window from the outside. A dark eye peered out the leaded blue, green, and white glass window. Wisps of red hair teased by the wind swished in and out of view. The bird hopped closer.
She saw him now—small, powerful, elegant. The falcon inclined his head, as though waiting.
Miara held out the scroll, then thought of the location of Mage Hall and pushed it to the falcon’s mind. She thought of the Dark Master too, picturing his cursed face.
I need to get this scroll to this man, or he will harm my family. There, that should make sense to any creature. I can’t go myself. Can you take it for me? How can I reward your efforts? Although—I am concerned it could be dangerous to you.
The falcon hopped a few more steps forward and inclined his head the other way. Her mind and his mingled again, and she caught another glimpse of herself through the window. Strange, creatures usually kept more of a barrier between them.
The falcon found her… intriguing.
The thought of a reward flashed through her mind—food. Meat, in particular. Perhaps a nice tasty duck. Doves were nice.
Miara raised her eyebrows and tried to appear calm as she strode back into the bedroom. Good, her dinner remained, along with an untouched chicken leg. She snatched it, and brought it
back to the falcon.
Ripping the flesh from bone with surprising agility, the bird made short work of the chicken as Miara stared with round eyes. Then he hopped closer and extended his talons.
Miara reached out, and the bird took the missive.
I will return to you. More birds to eat would be good. I do things then. If you wish. The bird did not exactly speak in words, but his intentions were clear.
I may be in Panar. The city with the white towers in the south?
Recognition in the falcon’s mind. He’d already soared over the mountaintops. Your mind is bright. It can be found.
Huh. What a strange creature. She did hope she would see him again.
11
Drawing the Line
Tharomar said nothing as she stared at the parchment, only turned his gaze from her face to the drawing with a scowling brow. She could not read his expression. What did he disapprove of? What was he thinking? Did he regret offering her sanctuary in his home?
“Twenty—I—” She stumbled over the words, struggled to rise, but found herself only grabbing onto him and stumbling awkwardly instead. Panic pumped through her veins. Should she run? Were the Devoted still close by? Could she even get away from the likes of Tharomar?
Did she even want to? Destroying the brand was a noble goal, and she’d made a valiant attempt at revenge, but dying to feed orphaned children wasn’t the worst way to go. He could use the money for the temple. The damn womenfolk. Dekana might have even preferred that to revenge. Her sister would hardly have been disappointed by that end, right? If the Devoted were going to catch Jaena anyway, it’d be nice for someone worthwhile to benefit from it.
She had been so close to freedom, though. She couldn’t give up yet. She couldn’t let them have the brand back either. That would hurt more than her own death. She lurched to her feet and took a limping step forward.
“What are you doing?” He stepped right on after her and caught her elbow as she wobbled, supporting her weight. “They can’t be far. We need to be quiet.”
She met his gaze and tried to keep the fear from her eyes.
“They could come back. Someone will likely mention that you’re here. The others won’t think to—”
“To what?” she whispered.
“To omit that fact.”
“And why did you?”
His chin lifted slightly, but he didn’t immediately answer.
“Twenty thousand gold is a lot of coin for the womenfolk,” she whispered, daring him to sacrifice her to them.
“Do I really seem like someone who would do that? To you?” he whispered back harshly, finally showing a touch of anger.
“We’ve only just met. How do I know if I can trust what you say?”
“And yet, I’m already lying for you.”
“Have regrets? Call them back.”
Now he scowled even harder at her. Her eyes caught on the pendant around his neck and widened: the gold of the wheat had turned to silver. What strangeness was this?
“Why are they hunting you? What did you do?” His face was dark, as if he didn’t want to know but needed to.
“I escaped. And I stole something… valuable to them.”
“Why were you imprisoned?”
“Imprisoned? I wasn’t imprisoned. I’m a slave. Er—was a slave, I guess.” Well, if nothing else came of this, it felt good to say that.
“How did you become a slave?” he followed up quickly. Did the idea of slavery truly not disturb him at all? Or… did he already know? If he knew, why was he asking if she was imprisoned? “Were you a criminal?”
“No!” she snapped. “I was simply born a mage. They have an enchanted rod—a slave brand. Like they use for cattle. When they put it in the fire and brand us, we must do whatever they ask. And they never ask for anything good.” She pulled free just far enough to pull down the collar of her shirt and reveal her scar, wincing inwardly at the thought of him seeing its ugliness just as much as she wanted to throw its existence in his face. Although still there and plenty ugly, she realized Menaha had been right. It was actually starting to heal.
“If you were branded, then how did you escape?” He peered critically at it as if evaluating it. As if this were no surprise. His demands came quickly, although he kept his voice quiet. Wait—if he knew about the brand already, what was going on?
“Someone figured out how to break the spell and freed me.”
“What did you steal?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me—what did you steal?”
“I’m not telling you. I don’t trust you. And why do you even want to know, anyway?”
He looked taken aback, almost… hurt. “Because I’m not allowed to help you if you’re a criminal, and if you stole something, it sounds like you’re a criminal.”
A pause. “Help me?” She frowned at him. “By the gods, I’m not a criminal.”
“Then it shouldn’t be a problem to tell me what you stole. Coin? Jewels? What?”
She scowled at him. Was there a way out of this? His determined expression said likely there wasn’t.
“Wouldn’t I have turned you in already if I wanted to?”
“Well, you hadn’t seen that poster before.”
“Damn it, Jaena, I’m trying to help you,” he hissed, anger straining his voice as he struggled to keep quiet.
“What if I don’t need your help?”
He held up the poster, then gestured at the door, then her ankle. Gods, she hated being injured. She kept on frowning at him stubbornly. He sighed at her. “Fine, don’t tell me. You’re free to go. Stay. Whatever you wish. I was trying to help you.”
He turned to stalk away from her, toward the cabinet, and the floor seemed to shift out from under her at the sudden loss of his support.
“Wait,” she said.
He stilled, but did not turn.
“Fine. I stole the brand the Masters use to make slaves. I want to stop them.”
“You—” He turned wildly, his eyes flicking to her knapsack, then back to her face. She nodded. “You broke the spell—and stole… You stole it? That’s very brave.”
“And don’t forget stupid. And I didn’t get very far, as you can see.” She sighed, glaring down at her ankle.
He stopped for a moment, seeming to take it all in. “We have to get you—and it—out of here.” He immediately grabbed a leather saddlebag from a hook on the wall.
“What, no—”
“What are the chances none of the others mention you?” As he spoke, he began moving around the room and adding things. The salve. The bread. The Book of the Vigilant, another of the smallest tomes. Was he packing?
“Wait, go? How? You’ve seen I can’t walk.”
“The horse. We’ll take it and ride for Anonil—”
“Wait—we?”
He stopped and met her gaze.
“You want to come with me?”
He frowned again but a different one this time. He searched her face, but she had no idea what he was looking for or if he found it. “Yes. I’m coming with you.” He resumed packing, not looking at her as he went.
He seemed sincere. How could he be sincere? “But why? You can’t leave your smithy.”
“It will wait here for me until I get you to safety.”
She swallowed.
“Or another from the temple can inherit it. I’m sure. We’re going. Now.”
“Why are you willing to help me?”
“There’s no time to explain.”
“They could have ridden east. We could just be drawing attention to ourselves. Who in their right mind would be riding in this rain, in the middle of the night?”
“We will be. They won’t be looking for people because it’s a stupid time to ride.”
“There won’t be enough light to ride. We could wait till morning. They’ll have tired and returned home. More people will be on the roads to blend in with.”
“Or they’ll come back and search
harder because a neighbor mentioned two people were here.”
“But they left. Surely no one must have mentioned—”
“There were three scrawny little men with that damn lantern. They could have just as easily gone for reinforcements.”
“A lantern? What was it? And why didn’t they find me?” She had heard that strange clanking, and the Devoted had taken almost no time to look around. Why?
“They had a metal cage like a lantern, but instead of a candle or oil, it held a purple rock. Similar to those they wear around their necks, but orange in the center, like a burning ember. They only looked at it. Seemed like they were waiting for it to do something. I assume it detects magic.”
“Why didn’t it work?”
He shrugged, and his eyes darted away from her gaze. Something he almost never did. He was hiding something. But what?
“Where did you get that pendant?”
“Why?”
“Was it from your parents?”
“I never knew my parents. I grew up on the streets. The temple gave it to me.”
“So the priestesses gave it to you then?” Hmm. Interesting. Could they have known he was a mage somehow, found a way to protect him? Something similar to the magic-repression stones, but different in that they hid magic from detection instead of repressing it? Or perhaps it repressed the repressing stones, an idea so odd she’d laugh if she weren’t in this situation. Whatever it was, the pendant didn’t seem to be repressing him, with all the spellwork that swirled around them.
“We don’t have time for this. I don’t see why it matters.”
How could she tell him? How could she explain that he was a mage too if he didn’t already know? Should she, even? What if he didn’t want to know? But wouldn’t it be safer for him? If that pendant was all that protected him, and he lost it, he could end up in Mage Hall himself, especially living barely a day’s walk from it. And yet—he had a whole bowl of them. Why? He wasn’t telling her something.
“Look—we need to go,” he said cutting into her thoughts. “Now.”
She hesitated for a moment longer. She could not imagine what he could be hiding, but he had had every opportunity to turn her over to the Devoted. If he’d planned to, he could have done it already, more than once.