by R. K. Thorne
There—Asten had already spotted them. Aven found her fiery red hair, tied neatly back, and the glint of his father’s pauldrons. Something was… very strange about their horse.
The men that followed them surged forward too, probably on orders not to let Aven be the first one on the field of battle. If they could do it, fine, but he wasn’t slowing down for them, not in the slightest.
Another mage on horseback followed behind them, arrow trained on his father. Aven slowed his horse, drawing his own bow now. The others would be closer, so he would be steadier. He nocked an arrow and carefully aimed, but waited a blink, another, to see if they would fire first and true.
Asten’s arrow found its mark in the mage’s neck, and strangely, he seemed surprised. He must have been so intent on Miara and the king that he hadn’t noticed additional company. The man lost the saddle and tumbled to the earth, his own shot flying wide. Blood spurted as he went down, and Aven had the sick certainty that he would quickly be dead.
The others all turned their horses, narrowing in on Miara and the king. But to Aven’s shock, he watched as the enemy mage’s horse itself started to suddenly twist.
It was transforming. Gods, it wasn’t a horse at all.
Even as the blond woman began to take shape, Aven fired. Asten’s eyes caught on his shot, and she nocked a new arrow of her own, turning back to the mess.
The creature mage was only half human, half equine. She yanked Aven’s arrow from where it hit her in the thigh, which seemed like a foolish move, although perhaps she planned to heal herself. First, though, her hands melted from hooves to fingers as she drew her own bow up and back and—
Asten’s arrow flew, and the creature mage fell, a crumpled mess beside the first.
Miara’s horse had nearly reached him. “Aven!” she shouted.
“Are they dead?” he called. Would she hate him for killing them? Perhaps he should have found some other way to stop them. As slaves, they likely had had no choice but to pursue. They hadn’t chosen this fate.
She paused, checking. “Yes.” Nothing in her voice held reproach or regret.
He steered his mount over to her and his father. The old man’s face was white, and he leaned heavily on Miara. An arrow protruded from his thigh near Aven’s face as well as his lower back. “Is he… ?”
“He’s not dead yet, but I’m not sure how long we have. Is Siliana with you? I can’t—”
“Of course. We’ll lead you to her.” He turned to their escort. “Surround them,” he ordered. “No gaps.”
The men needed no encouragement. The horses sidled as close as possible to the brave—and apparently armored like a turtle—steed that bore two of the most precious people in Aven’s world.
When this all blew over, he’d have to get that horse a carrot. An apple, even.
He snorted at himself. What an inane thought to have at a moment like this.
As they entered the city’s walls, the boom and whistle of another catapult launch echoed off the empty streets. The volleys were aimed at the west side of the city right now, but Aven urged them along faster anyway. Who knew when they might change direction?
“What was that?” Miara asked.
“Catapults,” Asten replied.
“But—we didn’t see any close enough—”
“They’re using mages to extend the range,” said Asten, voice hard.
Miara winced.
“Asten, can you ride ahead and warn Siliana? And the queen. Get a bed ready or—”
“Yes, my lord.” Her horse galloped the last few blocks remaining ahead of them.
“Are you hurt?” Aven said.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” Miara managed a brief smile.
They reached the cellar just as Siliana and Elise charged back up the stairs. His mother’s face paled. Aven jumped off his horse and helped Siliana get his father down, with more than a few groans. It took two more men to help him inside and down the stairs.
“Make way for the king!” Miara bellowed from behind them.
The corner of his mouth twisted into the slightest of smiles at that. He’d be glad to toss off the title if it meant the old bastard would live, especially hearing Miara say it. But would he live? He’d feel less anxious when the old fool wasn’t bleeding, full of holes, and semi-conscious. They reached the table Asten had cleared to serve as a makeshift bed. The cellar wasn’t meant for supporting troops in battle.
“Get the arrows out,” Miara ordered, collapsing onto a bench against the wall. Elise joined Siliana at the other side of the table as they prepared to work. “Asten, you and Aven do it, let the healers save their energy. Count of three, ready?”
Miara counted, and they pulled, Aven gripping the arrow at the thigh and Asten at the back. Samul let out something between a groan and a howl. They lowered him to the table, and cloths from unseen hands were pressed into the wounds. Siliana and Elise leaned over him, eyes searching, intense, then closed.
He could feel them working now, though it was different than his own magic. He realized numbly he was getting more sensitive to it.
Samul let out a tortured wail, and Aven staggered back. They were working now. Good. Nothing else he could do.
He slumped down on the bench where Miara had been only to discover she was no longer there. Gods—where had she gone? He couldn’t lose her again, not so quickly. Why was he always losing her—
As he lurched to his feet, searching for her, he caught sight of his hands. They were covered in blood.
His father’s blood.
Everything around him froze for a moment. Somewhere, another boom shook the building. Somewhere, someone shouted, screamed. Somewhere, he needed to do something—help someone—stop all this. But for a moment—he just stared at his hands.
Hands joined his. Wet cloth slid over his palms, wiping them clean. He looked up.
It was her. Of course it was her. Of course she would make it to a moment like this, to a place like this with him. Of course she was steady. Of course she was calm.
“You made it,” he whispered.
Her gaze fed him, fortified him, those brown eyes silently, patiently studying his own. Those eyes that said, I know. I did.
Samul cried out again, and Miara ordered someone to—he wasn’t sure. He just focused on cleaning the blood off. He glanced up. She was sending for more water now, ordering them to shut the doors, board the cellar windows.
She returned to his side, again a pillar of calm, the shouting complete. She led him to the next room with her hand in his. A basin filled with icy water waited, and he washed off the rest of the blood. Asten’s voice cut through the fog around him as she shouted directions to someone. She was glued to Wunik’s side now, obsessed with the view of the catapults and troops attacking in the circle of light. What was she saying again?
“Our riders have almost reached the catapults. Half a mile more, maybe. Tell those mages upstairs to keep it up!”
His eyes caught on Miara now. Her usual leathers were also soaked with blood, torn in the shoulder and the thigh. The shoulder, she’d healed; smooth skin peaked through the torn leather. Her thigh was still wounded but didn’t seem to be gushing blood.
He threw his arms around her and crushed her body and the soft leather against him, burying his face against her neck. Huh. Still lavender under all that blood, sweat, smoke. Her arms tightened around him.
Someone cleared a throat. Oh. They were standing a bit awkwardly close to the officers working… Asten was staring now, eyebrows raised, Wunik looking amused.
Aven withdrew, pulling them away from their audience as short a distance as he could manage before turning back.
Her lips covered his with a kiss. He pressed hungrily against her, and her mouth opened eagerly, their bodies molding together. For a long moment, he forgot everything around them, everything that was wrong, everything that he needed to do, every obstacle they faced. There was nothing but the two of them and that kiss.
How c
ould he have come so close to losing her? He had to make sure such a thing never, ever happened again.
The thunder of another crash shook the building above them. Voices shouted outside.
“That one was close—”
“By the gods, are the riders nearly there?”
“A quarter left—”
Another boom thundered, but this one was followed by a strange sprinkling, almost like hail in a rainstorm.
He eyed the ceiling, then her again. He moved one hand to stroke her cheek, chasing the line of her jaw, the edge of her scar with his thumb. She mirrored the gesture, cradling his face in her hand. She leaned her forehead to touch his.
“I thought—”
“Shh.”
“I thought you might be dead.”
“I’m not.” She pressed her lips together. “But I thought the same.”
“That you’d be dead?”
“No. Well, yes, that too. But I saw the carriage, the lightning strikes.”
“Oh.” Had she figured out he’d killed a man with them then? Maybe more than one? Did she care? “Then you saw—”
“Let’s just say if that damn demonstration happens again tomorrow, you are not getting out of it this time.”
He let out the slightest snort of laughter but quickly sobered. “They said a… body was in your room? Two bodies?”
“Sorin,” she whispered. His eyes widened, even as he felt a sudden rush of rage. “But I left the other one alive.”
“Wait, did he… hurt you?”
“Nothing like I hurt him, that’s for sure.”
He drew her close to him again, burying his face in her neck and her scent for just one more moment. Another boom thundered. The strange hail followed.
“Is that… the catapults?”
He nodded, not releasing her. “Yes.”
“We should try to stop them.”
“Riders are on their way. Oh, and Jaena—”
“Jaena reached you?”
“Oh, yes. And she brought—”
Another thunderous boom and more hail cut him off for a moment. “Wait—what about her?”
“Her, Derk, and Tharomar are trying to do something to hold the catapults back—”
“Do what?”
“I don’t know exactly. The king needs to be directing the action, not off in some tower—”
Her eyes widened as she processed the events in her mind. “Wait—the king?”
“Yes…” No, gods, no. The fear still lurked there in her eyes. “Having… uh, second thoughts?”
“If Samul lives, will you still be the king?”
“If I am, does it change anything?” He felt fear shoot through him now too. Any other woman would jump at this chance. How many suitors had been after him for this reason, for exactly this power he’d been born into? Not her.
She loved him. She’d said she wanted to marry him. Had the last few days convinced her she needed not to be queen more?
What could his father have said to her?
His heart skipped a beat as the moments passed, growing his fears.
Her mouth opened, then closed, and she pulled away slightly. She glanced around the room. He ignored it, only intent on her. His instinct said to pull her back against him, tighten his grip around her, but he fought it. He could never make her stay, even if he wanted to. If she walked away now, though, what would he do? King or no king, he might collapse just as soon as she was out that door.
Her eyes met his again, an unexpected hardness in them that he didn’t know how to interpret. She’s still here, he realized. She hasn’t run off yet.
“If I am, does it change anything?” he said again, softer but more urgent this time.
Something shifted in her shoulders, and her chin lifted. Here comes the fatal blow, he thought.
“It might change a few things.”
What for the love of Anara did that mean? “Like what?”
“Well, maybe we better get to our lake sooner, rather than later. Don’t you think?” The corner of her mouth turned up in a half smile. We. Our.
Gods.
He kissed her again, softer this time, awash in relief and joy. After a moment, she pushed him away firmly. “Why are you so surprised? Did you really think I could walk away from you?”
“I just—I feared the worst.”
“Don’t.” She kissed him again, gently this time.
“I’m a king, it’s my job to worry.” He tried a comic shrug and earned a slight laugh. Relief washed over him. If they could joke about it, it would probably be all right.
“If I’m to be your queen, I believe it’s my job to order you not to. But that’s for later. Come, we have work to do.” She swept a hand out, indicating the chaos surrounding them.
“Right. Let me check on Wunik.”
“I’ll get someone to fetch towels.”
Aven trotted back in to see if Wunik needed assistance, but it was clear Asten was doting on the old man like a prized warhorse. Through the window of light, he could see the horsemen had just reached the catapults, but mages on foot had emerged to engage them.
He didn’t want to be separated from Miara for long, so he jogged out to find her again. His father was stabilizing somewhat, although his mother looked pale and almost… frail. Gods.
Miara strode up. “Come on. Things are stable down here. Let’s figure out if Jaena and the others need help.”
18
Titles
Miara took the steps up the tower two at a time, thigh aching and Aven following behind her. The air of the tower felt especially cold, having just left his arms, and part of her wanted to turn back and kiss him, to finally rest, but the mages might need their help. Another thunderous boom and tinkling rain filled the air as they neared the passage onto the ramparts. Derk, Jaena, and a man with a white streak in his black hair that Miara didn’t recognize came into view. The man’s arms were circling Jaena’s waist as she leaned against him, eyes closed.
“Jaena!” Miara called.
Her eyes opened. “Miara!” Jaena left the man for a moment and threw her arms around Miara in an embrace.
“You made it, thank the gods. What are you two doing?”
“Her idea,” Derk grunted. “We’re slowing down or deflecting their shots.”
“And shattering them, when I’m able,” Jaena said with a determined smile.
“It should be almost over,” Aven said. “The riders should have reached the catapults. Do you need our help?”
“Me? Need help?” Derk smirked at him, then stopped. His eyes flicked to their clasped hands, then back to Aven’s for a long moment. “Yeah, actually, I could use some help.”
Aven snorted, squeezed Miara’s hand, and joined Derk near the wall as he explained what to do.
“Another one’s coming—hold on.” Jaena gazed out over the city for another moment. Sure enough, a huge stone came hurling toward the city, off to the left of their tower.
“Let’s send this one back at them this time,” Derk said, voice strained. “You’re so good at blowing hot air, why don’t you put that to some practical use, eh?”
As the boulder crossed high above the city wall and reached its zenith, it slowed unnaturally, almost stopped. Then, slowly, it reversed. “Think we can light it up?” Aven said.
“Try it,” Derk grunted. As the boulder picked up speed, it burst into flame, hurtling back toward the catapults faster than it had approached.
“Watch the riders,” Miara barked, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah,” Derk grumbled.
They all stood holding their breaths as the fiery rock plummeted to the earth, smashing into the back two rows of catapults that the Panaran riders had not yet reached. At least five catapults splintered into flying shards of burning wood and scraps of metal.
“Another!” growled Aven.
“I’m Tharomar,” said the unknown man, bowing slightly.
“Miara. Mage, formerly of Kavanar.”
/> “I…” Tharomar frowned, searching for how exactly to introduce himself. “I’m a blacksmith, among other things,” he said with a glance in Jaena’s direction.
Miara raised an eyebrow as her smile grew to a grin. Among other things? She had a feeling she would be interested to find out what those “other things” were.
Jaena returned from the edge of the wall. “You won’t believe this,” she said, her voice low and clearly only for Miara. “After you freed me, I was working in the smithy the next day, like we’d planned. They brought in a new mage to enslave, but he fought them and ran. I was knocked aside and found the brand not three feet from me.”
Miara cocked her head. “And?”
“I grabbed it and ran,” she said, nearly a whisper now. “That’s why I had to escape early.”
“What… ? Gods.”
“Later. You’ll see. Hold on, one moment.”
The mages slowed another boulder and volleyed it back at the catapults. “I think that’s the last of them,” Derk muttered. “I hope.”
“Looks like the riders are making short work of the Kavanarian forces. I think he’s right, that’s the last boulder we’ll be seeing from them,” said Aven. “Should we go back down? Miara, I think we may have some more good news for you.”
Miara frowned even as he came and took her hand again. “The vote? The vote! Did it happen?”
Aven nodded.
“What happened?”
“Everybody voted for him except those two trash-eating worms,” Derk interjected from behind Aven.
“And then one of the Assemblywomen accused the vicious one of high treason. It was great!” Jaena laughed, but then sobered. “Well… until the catapult hit before we were able to imprison him.”
“We’ll find him, don’t worry,” said Aven. “But that’s not the good news. Come on downstairs.” As they began to head down the steps, Aven leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I also told them all I’m going to marry you, like it or not.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Before or after they voted for you?”
“Before.”
“Fool,” she said, smiling.
“You seem to inspire a lot of very foolish behavior, what can I say?” He shrugged.