Mage Strike (The Enslaved Chronicles Book 2)

by R. K. Thorne

  “No. Aven has spent his whole life preparing to be king. I will not have it stolen away by a woman he’s known for barely a fortnight.”

  She flinched again at those words. “It’s been almost a month,” she muttered.

  He turned to leave.

  “I thought this was a kingdom of laws,” she said to his back, some strength returning. Or perhaps that feeling was despair. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You—or a woman who looked exactly like you—attempted to murder the heir to the throne of this realm, in multiple ways, in front of multiple witnesses. We do have a law against murder, I’m afraid, and assassination in particular.”

  “Wait—I can’t even say goodbye?”

  “No. This has gone on long enough. This is where I draw the line.” Then he stalked away, and the door shut behind him.

  She stared at the polished oak of the door. She could not let Aven go to Panar alone. Hard to believe that the king and his lords did not see through this ruse, that they might actually believe it had been her, in spite of what the queen or any of the others might say. Being fooled by this trick showed how unprepared they were to deal with the threat of magic of any kind, let alone a mage army.

  If the Akarians went to Panar without her, what mages would they bring? Just Queen Elise? Would they take Wunik? Even two or three of them could not be everywhere at every time, not to mention that neither of them was familiar with using magic for war.

  She gritted her teeth. She should be at Aven’s side. Now her moments of self-doubt about being a queen seemed foolish, juvenile. She had the skills, the knowledge, the temperament to help him better than anyone they knew. She was better suited to help him through all of this than most, and her loyalty to him was unmatched. He’d known that all along, but she hadn’t known herself as clearly.

  She sighed. Of course, when she thought becoming queen was a certainty to be feared, she’d questioned if she were up to it, if she would be happy. Now that the crown seemed more distant than ever, a fierce need rose in her. She might not be a charmer or an elegant diplomat, but she could stand by Aven’s side and glower while he took care of those things.

  But if Samul didn’t let her be in the same city as his son, that was not going to happen.

  No matter. Samul had told her when they would leave. She would just have to escape and go after them anyway.

  If she could get out of Mage Hall, this should be nothing.

  Aven was tempted to throw open the door to his father’s meeting chambers. After the insane events of the day, who cared who the king was talking to? But Aven knew it would not help him convince the king how utterly wrong he was, so he settled for pounding on the door with his fist instead.

  His father called him from inside, and Aven stepped in.

  Fayton and two apprentice stewards stood by the king’s desk, going down lists of parchment.

  “What is it, Aven?”

  “I think you know. We need to talk,” he replied through gritted teeth.

  Samul raised an eyebrow and took his pipe from his mouth for a moment. “I presume this is about Miara.” His father beckoned for him to enter. “Do you have what you need to finish the preparations without me, Fayton?”

  The steward nodded. “Things should be complete by morning, my lord.” The stewards left and shut the door, leaving them alone.

  “What the hell is this about?” Aven said coldly, surprising himself at the harshness of his voice.

  Samul tilted his head forward, biting down on his pipe. “I believe you know exactly what it’s about. Come, sit by the fire with me.”

  Aven didn’t want to sit, or meekly obey commands. He wanted to pace. Maybe slam things. But he sat anyway. Expressions of rage did not help convince anyone of anything, least of all his father. He settled for the small rebellion of plopping violently into a chair.

  “I see you’re wearing your sword again,” Samul began.

  Aven nodded curtly. “It seemed prudent.”

  “I understand you’re angry,” his father said. “But I have good reasons for this.”

  Aven glared at him. Here came the patronizing parental voice, the “I understand you want a horse of your very own, to go to war with the men, to eat all thirty-five cakes, but you can’t because you’re only six” voice. He recalled it thoroughly from when Dom was young, if not from his own childhood.

  But he was not a child anymore.

  “She is not guilty of the crime you hold her on,” Aven said, trying logic first. “If you can’t trust the word of Devol and Mother, who can you trust?”

  “She has not been proven innocent either.” Samul narrowed his eyes at Aven.

  “Are you saying you don’t trust them?”

  “I frankly don’t care if it was her or not, we aren’t going to sort it out before sunrise. There’s not enough evidence to prove anything either way. But if it was her, she can’t attack you again if she’s here.”

  “You can’t seriously think that likely.”

  “It doesn’t matter if it’s likely. If I make it impossible, we won’t have to consider it. I’m taking that chance off the table.”

  “Miara has the most knowledge of Kavanar’s magic and war plans. What if they attack while we’re in Panar and she’s here? We’ll have hamstrung ourselves unnecessarily.”

  “We can’t trust her knowledge, much as you might be wont to.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You’ve barely known her for a month, how do you know she doesn’t still have some other enchantment on her? Or bribe? You know they hold her family now. She has that motive alone or many others we don’t know about, and she’s the perfect person at this point to sabotage us from the inside.”

  Should Aven mention the scroll Daes had sent? Would that help or hurt his case? “I’ve been through hell and back with her. She’s had every opportunity to betray me and not taken it. She would never—”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “Neither can you! With that logic, we can’t know for sure Mother couldn’t be bribed.” The hell with sitting. He got up and started pacing.

  “I am a year older than my father was when he died, you know.”

  Aven stopped and rounded on him, scowling. “And you’re bringing that up now because… ?”

  “It is very real to me that you could become king. Will become king. More real than it is to you because it’s happened to me already.”

  “You think I don’t take this seriously? That I don’t understand what’s on the line?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what’s your point? I don’t see what this has to do with Miara.”

  “I want them to vote on you. And you alone.”

  Ah, so that was it. Aven gritted his teeth as he resumed his pacing. “But it’s not me and me alone. If they get me, they get her too. They should know the truth.” Hmm, perhaps Lady Toyl was not entirely wrong when she called a secret a lie by implication. For some secrets, anyway. If you let them stand.

  “The Assembly members have had no time to get to know her as you have. You they have known their whole lives. Most of them, anyway. Which judgment do you think will be more fair, more well informed?”

  Aven wanted to groan. Of course, his father was right in the sense that he was correct. Aven alone would be judged more fairly. But he wasn’t right in the moral sense. They deserved to know, as Lady Toyl had so eloquently pointed out. Aven said nothing, pacing, thinking, searching for a way to throw why he was so wrong in his father’s face.

  “They do not understand her yet,” his father continued. “They do not trust her. Hell, I don’t trust her yet.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “She’s a hard one to read, Aven. I trust your impression of people, but it’s hard to see it myself. She’s closed off. As someone with her skills and expertise probably should be.”

  “She hasn’t had much incentive to develop an open and inviting personality,” Aven grumbled. “
Slavery doesn’t exactly engender that in people, you know. And now we’ve locked her up, even though she was with Mother the entire time the attack was taking place.”

  Samul rose to his feet and stepped in front of Aven, blocking his pacing. “We cannot afford for the complexity of her situation to muddle a vote that could change your life and the lives of your brothers, and potentially start a civil war while we’re at it. If they vote against you, neither Thel nor Dom will have a chance. Peaceful jockeying for a new heir would be lucky. More likely, the whole kingdom would fall back to warring cities and tribes. Our line would be destroyed. Hundreds if not thousands of lives could be lost. Do you hear me? If you’re willing to risk all that over whether or not your woman is in the same city with you, you’re not half as ready to be king as I thought you were.”

  Aven shook with barely restrained rage. “That woman has considerably more training in using magic for combat than anyone else we have. Not to mention she’s the source of nearly all the intelligence we’ve been able to acquire, save my own. As to her loyalty, I don’t see any of us stabbing ourselves in the gut just to get it through our thick heads that magic is seriously dangerous. This is war, and we’re throwing our most powerful weapon aside. If you think this attack and this cave-in are the last things the Kavanarians will attempt, then you’re not the king I thought you were.”

  From the look in Samul’s eyes, Aven thought his father might beat him senseless. He braced himself, but it didn’t come. He should back down now. He was way over the line, and this was a line he never toed.

  But he didn’t back down. He couldn’t. Too much was on the line. Aven continued, “If we’re to present a strong and unified front against Kavanar, we can’t win the Assembly’s support with lies and altercations. I am going to marry Miara, you’re not going to stop me, and they should know the truth about it when they make their decision. If not, they’ll feel betrayed again when they find out the truth.”

  “Not if you manage it right—”

  “Please. And if we fail to ‘manage’ it right? What then?”

  “Your idealism will be the death of us.”

  “You were the one who taught me the Code. You were the one who told me that principles matter. You were the one who explained that we must follow our principles, especially when they are inconvenient. And yet, you’re going to stand here and tell me to throw it all out when the swords are drawn?”

  His father said nothing. His body shook underneath his scowl, fists clenched at his sides, just as Aven’s were.

  “I thought that’s when our principles were needed most,” Aven said coldly.

  Samul was silent, their hostile gazes locked with each other.

  “This is not about idealism anyway,” Aven said, more softly now. “War is coming. Whether we like it or not. Shutting Miara out weakens us. It’s a poor choice, tactically, morally, and politically. It’s your decision, but—”

  “It is my decision. And I’ve made it. We’re not going to resolve this now.”

  “I’m going to ask you one last time—”

  “The answer is no. I forbid you to see her until after the vote has taken place.”

  Aven’s scowl deepened. “You’re wrong about this. You’ll see.”

  He stormed out of the king’s meeting chambers, then down the hallway, a spiraling staircase, and another bleak hall. Nearly everyone was already asleep in their quarters, everyone who was leaving for Panar anyway, which was most of them. He tried to collect himself as he stalked back to his rooms. Years had passed since he’d fought with his father like that, and it’d never been over something so deeply important. How had he missed the depth of his father’s mistrust, his misgivings? Could he have done anything about it, if he’d noticed? A fresh wave of anger swept through him over the decision, the somewhat irrational feeling of betrayal. He’d been so focused on convincing others of his own worth, he hadn’t thought he needed to tell his father what he thought was obvious. Could the Akarians succeed against Kavanar without her help and the help she’d already given them? Aven honestly wasn’t sure.

  When he got to the next corridor, he stopped. His rooms were to the left, back in the direction of the king’s but a few floors down. The hall to the guest quarters waited to his right.

  The king’s words echoed in his head. Tomorrow, Aven and half the household would leave for Panar, and Miara would stay here in Estun with at least two assassins. Unless, of course, they tagged along with Aven. One or both of them would be left to face that threat alone, and probably others.

  He regretted nothing he had said to his father. But Aven was tired of going against his own intuition. Of doing what he was told, every single time.

  He knew what he needed to do.

  Aven turned down the hallway to the right. He would see her whether his father liked it or not.

  Reaching her rooms, he knocked. The guard opened the door without even asking who it was. “Shouldn’t you ask your charge if she wants to see the visitor, not just let everyone in?” Aven’s scowl hadn’t left him, so he turned it on this guard.

  “Prisoners are usually required to see members of the royal family, my lord. But I apologize.” The guard glared back, his words insincere. “She’s asleep.”

  “And you still let me in?” Aven didn’t care. He stormed past the fool and made straight for the bedroom.

  He slammed the door behind him, shutting out the guards and the rest of the whole damn world.

  Miara looked up in surprise from where she sat at the writing desk, clearly not asleep. A pale blue tunic hugged her curves, a robe thrown over that and her wild hair hanging free and mingling with thin braids.

  They were alone. Completely, actually alone.

  He froze in the doorway for a moment, remembering a time not so long ago when they’d regarded each other this way. The music of flute and drum floated through his memory.

  “You once told me to get as far away from you as I could,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Do you remember?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide, lips parted.

  “I’m apparently very bad at following orders.”

  “Aven—” she started, standing as he rushed toward her. He took her face in his hands, kissing her hungrily, like there might not be another chance. The entire world be damned. He would have this moment, at the very least, with her. Her lips parted, opening beneath him and kissing him ardently in return. The taste of her was familiar, and yet not familiar enough.

  I thought—your father said you were forbidden to— she started.

  I am. He did say that. I’m here anyway.

  Oh. I see. Following orders. It’s good to see you too. She broke away for a moment, stealing a breath with a small smile.

  “Do you have something to write on?” he asked.

  Frowning and smiling at the same time, she reached for a sheet of parchment and placed it before him on the desk. He started drawing, her arm still wrapped around the small of his back.

  “What is this?”

  He tapped his temple to make sure she was listening. It’s a secret emergency path out of Estun. It goes past the cellars, where there are supplies.

  Am I going somewhere? Her mind’s voice shook with laughter.

  I want you to come. To follow us. Something.

  I was already planning on it.

  Of course she was. That’s why I love you. He roped her in for another long kiss before he continued his map creation.

  Because I disobey my king? Because I’m good at escaping from places?

  Because you do the right thing, even when it’s difficult.

  You give me too much credit. It would be harder to stay away from you. I have to follow. I have to know you’re all safe.

  Got one more sheet?

  She handed him another. What will your father say when he finds out you came here?

  I don’t know. Or care. He paused for a moment, remembering the fight, wondering if recalling those moments would be enough t
o explain to her generally what had transpired.

  Oh. I’m so sorry I—

  Don’t be sorry. I’m not.

  “What are you drawing now?” she whispered.

  The roads to Panar. Do you think you can follow this?

  Yes. But what is that?

  This is Lake Senokin. If for some reason we can’t meet in Panar, I want you to come here. What do you think?

  A secondary meeting place is smart.

  He pulled her close and kissed her again now, turning over the idea that had taken root in his mind. Was this the right time? The right way?

  What if they never got another?

  It’s also one of the sacred lakes where by tradition Akarian kings and queens have married. The ritual requires two lovers, alone at night under the silent moon, and only a priestess in attendance. No grand state affairs, at least not till later.

  She broke away from his kiss, eyes wide.

  When this is all over, will you meet me there? Marry me, Miara. Not someday, not maybe—as soon as humanly possible. As soon as the vote is finished, we’ll go straight there.

  Her eyes widened further for a split second, and he felt none of that connection that had scared him so, that fear of being queen. Perhaps he asked too much, perhaps he and his father had ruined her trust in Akaria already. His heart jumped to double, then triple time.

  If you’ll still have me, he added, not even sure if she was listening. If you think you can stand to be queen.

  “Oh, of course,” she whispered, snapping out of her daze. Ah, she was only surprised, not trying to figure out how to throw him out of the room. Thank goodness. She dove into his kiss again. Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry you thought I doubted you.

  He guided her away from the desk and toward the wall, pressing her against the climbing vines, roses blooming around them as their lips met again, feverish. He had held this back for so long… and soon enough he’d be leaving again. Tell me what you’re planning. We don’t have much time.