by R. K. Thorne
Other mages grew flowers and cleared thunderstorms. She made mud monsters. Not exactly what she’d hoped to excel at, studying to be a warrior mage, but she wasn’t complaining.
Miara found a fruit bat hanging high in the tree. Good. One more, and that should be enough. Hello, there, she cooed. Might you be able to stand watch for a friend and I while you hunt? Just keep your eyes open and tell me if there are dangers in the area. New humans, wolves, the like. I have some dried berries you can have in exchange.
It made an audible squeak of delight. It was happy to alert her—and also to scoop up her berries.
Miara heaved a sigh of relief. She had begged the help of six separate animals now, and this fruit bat should be enough. She and Samul could have veered into town a few hours ago and looked for an inn, but she hadn’t wanted to risk it. Too predictable. If those mages searched for them, the nearest inn would be the most obvious destination and therefore the first place to look.
So instead they would camp in the woods, where the trees stretched for miles and offered a million hiding places, so many that it would be impossible to search them all. She hoped the pursuing mages were either smart enough to realize they couldn’t search every corner and nook of this dismal forest, or stupid enough to try looking, because it would take them forever.
“It’s set. I have a fox, a deer, an owl, a bat, a mole, and a cougar, all on the look out to alert us for danger.” She spread out nuts and berries she’d foraged from the destroyed carriage and from her pack as her offering for those that helped. The cougar, luckily, had eaten not long ago.
“A mole?” Something about his tone made her think he might doubt whether she actually had any animal on alert. She almost shook her head. His suspicion knew no bounds.
“All of that, and that’s the one you pick on?”
He shrugged but said nothing. Yes, very unlike his son. Not that Samul was stoic or wordless, but Aven never missed an opportunity to talk.
“I will stand guard as well. But you should rest and heal.”
“I’m fine.” Samul waved her off. “I can watch part of the night too.”
Miara had no idea if this was some kind of test or how to pass it and was too tired to care. “What part of the night do you want? First or second or… ?” Perhaps offering him the choice would allay his mistrust.
“I can watch first. You were the one working magic all day.”
Her turn to shrug. “There’s plenty of life around here to replenish energy.” But in truth, she was tired. No, after so much time with them both as fish, she was utterly exhausted. She’d spent as long as they dared, long enough that part of her had been afraid the king had forgotten he was not a fish nor had ever been one. They’d also traveled as humans, a pair of foxes, and as blue jays—sometimes perched on Lukor’s back, although that hadn’t been as restful as she’d hoped.
Samul had been fashioning a fire pit, which looked a lot easier now that his leg was healed, but she didn’t remind him of that fact. “You don’t have a flint, do you?”
“Of course I do.” She withdrew the flint and dagger from her belt. Samul’s eyebrows rose a bit, but she had no idea how to interpret the expression.
Samul was a much quieter companion than Aven had been. He lit the fire without much commentary and settled back into his seat. Perhaps he was just lost in thought. Or perhaps this was not his usual self, but a different him spawned by his near death. Maybe he was contemplating the irony that her disobedience of his orders had saved his life. She hoped he was.
Mostly, though, he watched her every move, seeming to judge each choice.
It didn’t change anything. Judge all you want, old man. She had things to do to make sure they didn’t die out here.
“Fine, I’ll sleep first. Wake me when the moon has moved a few fingers, and I’ll watch.”
“That’s hardly the midpoint of the night.”
“I know.”
He met her gaze for a few seconds, then shrugged again. Whatever was he thinking about? It was almost tempting to dip into his thoughts again to find out.
She lay down on the makeshift bed, contrived from a saddle blanket and the one fur that had remained in the stable from her earlier pack. Why had she even unpacked the old one? She should have kept it ready for an emergency, by the door. Then she remembered—Fayton. He was the charitable soul who’d helped her so… unhelpfully unpack everything so that now she didn’t have most of it. She smiled a little to herself anyway. He’d meant well, and with Aven’s map, she’d come out of there with some supplies, at least.
Had Samul and Elise ever camped like this together? Had they ever traveled across the realm, alone with just each other and the wilderness? She couldn’t much imagine it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
She missed Aven, with a sudden, heavy weight. If only she had been with them during the attack. But then again, by following behind later, she’d been able to find Samul when the other Akarians had failed.
Her separate journey would be a boon if she and Samul survived. If they got mauled by a bear, well… And while she hadn’t found one in the area—a fact that certainly helped encourage her sleep—they were still close enough to the mountains for an ursine visitor.
She tried to close her eyes and sleep, but the image of Sorin creeping up over top of her on the bed flashed before her. Her eyes snapped open. Perhaps sleep would be harder to come by than she’d thought.
When she finally drifted off, Miara’s light slumber was not restful. She tossed and turned and kept waking, thinking she’d heard something—a stick breaking, a door creaking open, soft footsteps on a stone floor? Other times, she dreamed.
She was back in Mage Hall again, standing before the Masters, awaiting orders. Sometimes she just stood and stood, the hours passing, interminable waiting for something that she just knew wouldn’t be good. Sometimes they’d order her to kidnap Aven, and she’d march off dutifully. Her legs moved against her will, and she couldn’t even feel them.
Sometimes, worst of all, her father and Luha stood with her. Daes would slowly approach each of them. He’d scowl into her eyes, then into her father’s, then lean down to scowl into Luha’s, then side-eye Miara. He’d step back like he was preparing something, but what, she wasn’t sure. She’d be overcome with the need to rush forward. To stop him from whatever he planned to do to her family. To knock him out of the way and run.
Each time, she never achieved it. Her body was always still, frozen, stuck—still enslaved, nothing more than a prison that held her mind.
After yet another of these dreams, she sat up, panting with the effort to resist the irresistible orders of the brand.
It’s all right. It’s not real. You’re free. She repeated it over and over in her mind.
“You all right?” Samul asked.
She shook her head, then propped her elbows on her knees and hung her head in her hands. She pressed her palms to her eyes. Why, why, why would her mind not rest? It’s all right, it’s not real, you’re free now, it’s all a dream. Why must it torture her so?
“Are you going back to sleep, or can I make you some tea?”
Miara peered over her shoulder at the king. “You… make tea for people?”
He smirked. “Like Aven, I wasn’t always a king.”
“Well, okay. Tea would be nice. Then you can rest some before we take to the road.”
She sat silently, staring with round eyes into the surrounding woods but not seeing them, while he made use of the pot and tea and water she’d stolen against his orders before leaving Estun. She was free, and the Masters were far, far away. They couldn’t hurt her—at least not right now. She was sitting with the damn king of Akaria, of all people. Not something she could have foreseen even a few months ago.
“Here you go,” Samul said, handing her the tea. “I believe I owe you an apology. Perhaps tea will make it go down easier.”
She accepted it awkwardly, bracing herself for what was to come. True, he
did owe her an apology, but she was a bit shaken at the moment to receive it.
“I was wrong to forbid you to come with us,” he said slowly.
Part of the tension in her eased. While that didn’t exactly change things, many people simply could not admit they were wrong, even when it was obvious. “Your mistake seems to have worked out in your favor.”
He winced a little. Her words might have sounded harsher than she’d meant them. “That’s not lost on me. The Balance has a way of occasionally throwing such things in our faces, I guess. But I hope you can accept my apology.”
“I do,” she said, nearly sure her words were true.
“You have clearly proven my suspicions unfounded. As Aven reminded me, you’d proven that to him repeatedly, but apparently, I had to see it for myself to understand.”
“Much as I might have tried to convince you, I can’t blame you for being cautious.”
“Well, perhaps you can blame me for not wanting you present at the vote?”
She pursed her lips. “Hmm. Perhaps.”
“I can’t say I regret that choice. I still believe you could destabilize the situation. But Aven made a long list of good reasons why you were worth having there anyway. Even if I wasn’t ready to accept them at the time.” His voice was tinged with regret. She took a sip of the tea, having somewhat forgotten it. “But I should have explained better. If you set my ultimately false suspicions aside, I was not really concerned about you in particular. I was only trying to look out for Aven, in my way.”
She gazed at the tea, not meeting his eyes.
“He has worked hard for the throne his whole life. I don’t know what he would do if it slipped from his grasp.”
She swallowed another sip of tea. A sudden determination to make sure that didn’t happen filled her. “He will be a great king,” she said solemnly.
“He’s a natural.” Samul sighed, a smile cracking his lips for the first time. “He takes to the crown readily. Not everyone is so… graceful about it. I’ve never gotten used to the throne, personally.”
She raised an eyebrow, catching his eye. “What?”
“I always feel like I’m making a mistake. And frequently do, as you’ve seen.”
“I’ve never heard anyone consider you anything but a great king. Trust me, I’ve seen King Demikin. I don’t think you need to worry.”
“Coming from you, the subject of my latest mistake, that does ease my heart.”
“I had many missions eavesdropping on those royal halls for—” No, she would not call them the Masters any longer. They were not her Masters anymore. “For Daes and the others. Demikin is a worthless monarch, deaf to the cries of his people. Everyone acknowledges this. Not that it’s much of a comparison. I haven’t watched you order Aven’s death, so he’ll always be quite worse in my book.”
The way Samul’s expression darkened and his fists clenched chilled her.
“I’m gathering Aven didn’t mention that part of our journey.”
“No. Apparently, he skipped over that little detail. I suppose it was implied.”
“It’s Daes, the Dark Master, in control of everything anyway. He plays like he is listening to the king, but he seems to be holding all the puppet strings. He uses the mages as valuable capital for trade.”
“You honor Aven more and more, my dear.”
She blinked. “I don’t follow, my lord.”
“He argued quite fiercely on your behalf, the value of your knowledge about Kavanar. I didn’t give him enough credit. Rather… harsh words were said.”
“I gathered that,” she said before she froze, realizing what she gave away. Her stomach dropped.
But Samul smiled, an eyebrow raised. “He came to see you, didn’t he.”
She looked down into the fire, then back up, her eyes revealing everything.
Samul snorted. “Boy is as rash as he is noble.”
“He’s no boy,” she said quietly.
He stilled, looking at her more deeply, it seemed.
“I know you love him, I see that now,” Samul said slowly. “But I also see your hesitation. You’re a hard one to read, and so the fact that I can see some fear in you is telling. It certainly didn’t ease my suspicions. I didn’t expect either of you to so forcefully object, honestly. I thought the time apart might help your mind… settle some things.”
“Like what?” she said coldly, more exposed than she’d like at the moment. A fierce desire to stay by Aven’s side, to rule with him, had kindled within her. She didn’t like to focus on the fear and doubt that lingered, not after she’d promised him she was certain, that of course she wanted to always be by his side.
“You want the man, but you’re not sure about the throne that comes with him.”
She gaped at him. Hmm. Apparently Samul could be almost painfully frank too. It must run in the family. Her turn. “I don’t not want it. I just… don’t want to disappoint him in it. And I’m not sure I’m cut out for the role. Look at Renala. One glance at her shouts her nobility. No one would be surprised to find out she was a queen. Me they’d probably mistake for a royal guard. If I’m lucky. A stable hand, more likely. And Elise. They are all so amiable and elegant and diplomatic and…”
“And what?”
“And I am not.”
Samul shrugged. “Aven has more skill at diplomacy than ten men need. He doesn’t need any of that.”
She leaned forward, setting down the empty cup. “I’ve spent my life doing three things, my lord. Healing horses, learning magic, and not being seen. I don’t think any of those have given me any helpful qualities for the role of queen.”
“Aven seems to disagree. You know, many who have held the throne have thought themselves unsuitable for it at times. I know I have.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Sometimes it’s easier to see our flaws than our strengths. You worry if you are suitable. If you are good enough. Well, so do I. Since it hasn’t gone away with age, I have decided that it’s a desirable attribute in a ruler. It keeps me trying to be better. I keep wondering when they will realize that I’m just another man, just like any of them, and that there’s nothing special or ‘kingly’ about me. I have wondered for years when they will realize it’s only luck and chance that made me a king and not a shepherd.”
She blinked. The fire cracked as a log popped and embers flitted into the early morning sky. If he didn’t rest soon, they would talk all their time away. Perhaps he was concerned what dreams awaited him as well.
“I keep wondering when they will throw me out for someone who won’t make so many mistakes,” he said.
She ducked her head, not wanting him to see the emotion on her face.
“You may never feel you are good enough. I certainly don’t feel like I am much of the time. That does not, however, mean that the idea is true.”
She searched his face for judgment, some hint of his own estimation of her for the role, but found nothing. “You should rest,” she said softly. “Before morning comes.”
“You’re right. Let’s see what can be done.”
They switched places, and she quietly made herself another cup of the tea, hoping it would give her the energy that sleep hadn’t. She rubbed a palm over her face as he settled in. That man. You wouldn’t really know he was a king, if not for the weight of the world creasing his brow. She struggled to digest what he’d said.
She had never felt good enough when the Masters gave her missions. Yet she’d always found a way. Daes had always been gleefully, defiantly confident in her abilities. And he’d been right, she grudgingly admitted. She’d always achieved her goals, some of them more easily than she could have ever expected. To this day, most of the tasks she’d already completed still sounded daunting, if not impossible. The only thing that had ever come naturally to her had been tending horses, and how much of that was she doing these days?
Speaking of which, she wandered over to Lukor to check on him. He had roused and was happily cho
mping on some nearby foliage. She ran her fingers over his pale mane and thought of her father, of Luha, of Kres. She’d probably never see Kres again, never get him out of that awful place. She sighed. She doubted she’d even free her family at this rate, unless they split Mage Hall clean open with a full-frontal assault and leveled the place.
Such an attack sounded like an idea almost as crazy and impossible as kidnapping an Akarian prince or stealing from King Demikin. Both things she had done if not with ease, then nearly so. Perhaps things were not so impossible as they seemed. Or impossible things could sometimes surprise you. Maybe Samul was right. Was it her fear speaking, rather than logic or knowledge?
Did she know she’d make a bad queen, or did she simply fear she might? But even as she asked the question, she knew—it was impossible to be certain until it happened. Samul was right. But… there was one more thing.
“My lord, are you awake?”
“Yes. What is it?” He didn’t turn, simply speaking into the darkness, his back to her and the firelight.
“Do you really think they would accept me? A foreigner, a commoner, a… woman not very skilled in the courtly arts of dresses and meals and subtle turns of phrase? Tending horses and concealing myself from enemies did not require these sorts of skills.”
He twisted to his back to study her face now. “My concerns have rested primarily with your magic and your loyalty. The former remains, but how the Assembly votes on Aven should illuminate that point. But otherwise, skills can be learned.”
Miara hesitated, wondering if he really understood.
“Also, expert advisors can be sought. Or did you think I handle every decision of the realm all alone? Ha, far from it.” He grinned.
“Queens get attention,” she said softly. “I am very skilled at evading people’s attention.”
“You did just fine with that demonstration of magic.”
“I had a willing attention magnet in Derk.”
Samul laughed. “And you think Aven is less of one?”
She snorted. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I think you’ll be fine.” He turned his back to the fire again.