by Aaron Hodges
“Darnell?” Quinn growled. “You think her Stalkers have the skill to take on a warrior like Devon?”
“They had better,” the Tsar replied, his voice like ice, “or they’d best die trying.”
Sensing the conversation had come to an end, Quinn swallowed back his anger and nodded. “You know best, my liege,” he said stiffly.
“I do,” the Tsar replied, “and you’d do well not to forget it.”
Silence fell over the room, and a chill spread through Quinn’s stomach. Suddenly the Tsar laughed, a grin appearing on his face. “Besides, after everything the two of you have shared, I doubt you would have brought him back alive, Quinn.” His voice hardened, the smile falling from his lips. “And I would rather like to meet the man who thought he could steal my children from me.”
Despite himself, Quinn shivered at the glitter he saw in the Tsar’s eyes. Since the hammerman had first joined the army, he and Quinn had shared a mutual rivalry. And despite his magic, Quinn had far too often found himself finishing second-best to the giant warrior. Even while hunting him, Quinn had always been a step behind. Now though, no force in the Three Nations would compel him to switch places with the hammerman.
On the opposite sofa, the Tsar let out a long sigh and climbed to his feet. “Well, I have kept you long enough, my daughter,” he said, brushing the greying locks of his hair from his face. “There is much to be done and my attention is needed elsewhere. I will leave you in the tender care of your teacher.”
With that, he turned his back and left, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him. Alone now with Alana, Quinn swallowed as he found her staring at him. Looking into her eyes, he sought the girl he remembered, the one he had sat with for so many long evenings, who’d he’d trained and taught to use her powers.
“Is it truly you, Alana?” he asked quietly.
“Almost,” she whispered.
Chapter 12
Sitting on the couch facing Quinn, Alana had never experienced such turmoil. All her life she’d known exactly who and what she was—the Daughter of the Tsar, born to rule the Three Nations. Her father’s enemies were legion, and as his oldest child, one day they would be her enemies too. Weakness had never been an option.
Yet as she’d sat listening to her father discuss his plans for Devon and Kellian, she’d felt that other side of her stirring. A lead weight had settled in her stomach as they spoke of the capture of her former companions, her heartbeat quickening. She knew her father well, and it was unlikely either would be treated to a quick death.
They are nothing to you! she told herself.
They are important to me! another voice echoed from the depths of her soul.
Gritting her teeth, she turned her eyes inwards, finding the shivering consciousness of her other self hovering in the void of her mind. The spirit of the girl flinched back from her, but too slowly, and Alana’s magic swept out to encircle her.
You are nothing! she growled, watching in satisfaction as her magic dragged the other girl back down into the darkness.
The confusion went with the girl, and opening her eyes, she smiled at Quinn. His eyes were locked on her. The intensity in his gaze made the breath catch her throat.
“Is it truly you, Alana?” he asked.
Somewhere far away she could still hear a voice crying out, and for an instant the scraggly face of Devon drifted across her thoughts. Her rage flared and she tore the image away, hurling it into the abyss along with the foolish girl. Licking her lips, she looked across at Quinn.
“Almost,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
His eyes closed at her touch, but she paused, noticing the blood on the sleeve of her white cotton shirt. Realising she was still wearing the same clothes from when her magic had taken control, she cursed and stood. Quinn’s eyes snapped back open, but ignoring him now, she crossed to the trunk at the foot of her bed and pulled it open. She picked out a woollen jerkin and brown leather pants, and tossed them on the bed.
“I’m glad you’re back, Alana,” Quinn said, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.
She smiled, enjoying the warmth of his touch, but shrugged him off. Turning, she looked up at him. “It seems I am in your debt yet again, teacher,” she murmured. She drew circles on his chest with her finger, a sly smile coming to her lips. “How can I ever repay you?”
Quinn swallowed visibly, and she felt him trembling at her touch. When he said nothing, she laughed and took a step back. Slowly she began to unbutton her bloodstained shirt. His eyes widened.
“Alana, what are you doing?”
Alana’s smile broadened. Deep in her mind, she could hear the voice screaming again, and felt a slight stirring in her stomach, as though a part of her recoiled at the thought of Quinn’s touch. But it was weak, already fading. With a sense of triumph, she unclipped the last button and pulled off her shirt, tossing it to the floor.
Quinn stood open-mouthed before her, his eyes wide, drinking her in. Seven years her senior, Quinn had been like an older brother to her when she was young, having come to the citadel when he was a boy to dedicate himself to the Tsar’s service. He had taught her to climb and fight, to wield her magic against her enemies. Many were the bruises she’d sported from sparring with him, yet it had been Quinn who had given her the strength to withstand her father’s private lessons.
She had never thought of him as more than a mentor, even as she’d noticed his feelings changing as she’d grown older. A new light had come into his eyes, a fire that had driven him to chase her across the Three Nations and restore her to life. Thinking of that fire now, viewed through the memories of her…softer self, Alana felt a lust of her own.
More than that though, she wanted to restore her sense of self, to mark a line in the sand. Watching the flickering memories of the other Alana, she sensed the growing love she’d felt for the hammerman, Devon. It was a strange, distant sensation, and one she had never experienced before. She didn’t like it, didn’t like the way it stole away her control, as though her destiny was no longer her own.
But she knew how to kill it, knew how to crush the last hopes of her other self.
Half-naked now, Alana smiled up at Quinn, her eyelashes fluttering. “Do you not like what you see…teacher?”
There was naked lust in Quinn’s eyes as he looked on her, yet still he hesitated. “Alana…” he murmured, “what is this?”
Alana reached out and grabbed Quinn by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close. He had stopped shaking now, but a soft moan whispered from his throat as she moved against him. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his ear.
“You have always wanted me,” she whispered, her breath hot. “I see it now, watching my memories afresh, the burning in your eyes.”
“I…I…” Quinn’s words fell away as Alana’s fingers trailed down his front, plucking at his buttons as they went. He stiffened as she slid her hands inside his shirt, playing with the hair on his chest.
“You brought me back, Quinn,” Alana continued. “Saved me, stopped me from betraying everything we’ve worked for. How can I ever repay you?”
“Alana…”
“I think I know how to start.”
Her lips moved from his ear to his neck, and she nipped at his flesh, savouring the groan that rumbled up from his chest. Suddenly his arms were around her waist, drawing her in, gripping her tight. Feeling the warmth of his chest against her, she yanked his shirt open, tearing the remaining buttons clear. He released her then, dragging it from his shoulders and hurling it across the room.
Stepping back, Alana took a moment to savour his naked chest, her eyes lingering on his hulking shoulders, his chest, his arms. Then he was stepping in close again, leaning down, and she was lifting her mouth to meet his, and they were kissing. His hands pulled at hair, drawing her in deeper, and her tongue darted out, tasting, teasing. She shuddered as he cupped her breast, and groaned, feeling him harden against her. Gaspi
ng, she kissed him back, her lust rising with a fierce, violent need.
Suddenly an awful horror swept through her, a swirling disgust, and then Devon’s face exploded in her mind. She cried out, thrusting Quinn back from her as she staggered across the room. The strength went from her legs and she slid to the ground, the pain flaring as she felt again the cramping muscles of her weary body. Within, she sensed the other part of her rising, her revulsion sweeping out, filling her.
“Alana, are you okay?” Quinn shouted, his voice slicing through her thoughts.
“Get out!” Alana shrieked, hardly hearing him. Her power roared, chasing the girl back into the darkness.
She gasped as the girl’s emotions fled, leaving her feeling strangely, sickeningly alone. Tears stung her eyes and she quickly blinked them back. Shaking her head, she looked up and saw Quinn standing over her, bare-chested with open shock written across his face.
Rising, Alana shook her head, dismissing the last traces of the girl from her thoughts, and then stepped towards him. He retreated, lifting his hands as though to fend her off. “Alana, what was that?”
“Nothing.” She scowled. “Just the witch that took my body. She’s gone now.”
Before he could slip clear, she darted forward, catching him by the wrist. With a tug, she pulled him forward, so that they stood close together once more, mere inches separating them. But she could see the hesitation in his eyes now, the rejection on his lips. She gripped him tighter, her mind turning inwards. Her magic was still weak, but she allowed a trickle to touch him, muting his fears.
Quinn shivered, his eyes glazing for a moment, before he blinked, a grin coming to his face. Lifting a hand, he brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face. She could feel his desire, his need to take her, and savoured in it. With a sense of euphoria, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his, and felt the last of his barriers give way.
Locked together, they stumbled backwards across the room, until she felt the wall pressed up against her back. She gasped as Quinn moved his mouth to her neck, and felt the soft bite of his teeth. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and she drank in the pain she sensed in him. Then he paused, pulling back for a moment. She was surprised to see the concern in his eyes once more.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he murmured.
Alana only laughed. Gripping him tight, she pushed him backwards. He retreated, though this time she did not release him. She directed him towards the bed, waiting until he was close, then shoved him hard in the chest. He toppled backwards onto the soft mattress.
“Not yet,” she said, as she joined him.
Straddling him, she began to unbuckle his belt.
Chapter 13
“Damnit!”
Surging to his feet, Braidon stumbled and tripped over the candles scattered about the room. Two toppled to the floor and flickered out on the cold stone. Cursing again, he crouched and righted them, though his hands were shaking and it took two attempts to fit them back into their copper holders.
“You must have patience, young Braidon,” Enala said, her voice carrying across from where she still sat cross-legged on the floor.
He swung on her, teeth bared, angry words tumbling from him in a rush. “I’ve been patient!” he snapped, “but I can’t do it, it’s too much, it’s…impossible!”
Enala’s expression was untouched by his screams, her eyes shining in the candlelight. “It is not impossible,” she answered, rising to her feet. “Remember back in Lonia, when your magic was threatening to take control? You mastered it then, found the peace to turn it back. You can do so again.”
“That was different,” Braidon growled. “I hardly knew what I was doing. I didn’t know there was some…demon inside me, waiting to tear me apart.”
“It is nothing to you, Braidon,” Enala replied. “Why can you not see that? Only your fear makes it real.”
Braidon turned away, bitterness rising in his throat. All his life he’d lived in his sister’s shadow. She was the strong one, the warrior, their father’s favourite. Then had come his magic’s emergence, flickering into life on his sixteenth birthday, and everything had changed. His memories of that day were strangely blurred, indistinct, but he could remember feeling pride as his power came to life. Even the threat of persecution could not change the fact he finally possessed something his sister did not.
But even that had been a lie. The battle in Fort Fall had shown him the truth of things, had revealed the lie that was his magic. His power accounted to little more than circus tricks, illusions to fool the senses, ultimately worthless.
Braidon had thought to use his power to save his sister in Fort Fall. Instead, as always, she had been the one to save him. And she had been stolen for it. Even now, the knowledge ate at him.
Looking at Enala now, he felt lost. “I can’t do it.”
For a moment he glimpsed disappointment in the priest’s face. She quickly masked it with a shake of her head. There was a long pause, and then she smiled, the wrinkles falling from her cheeks. “We shall see, young Braidon. But for now, I think it best we take a break. Come, it is past time I showed you more of the city.”
Braidon had little desire to do anything but curl up in his bed and hide away from the world, but Enala was already moving away, and he had little choice but to follow her. Together they wandered from the stone chamber that served as their meditation room, out into the long corridors of the mountain city. The ground was smooth beneath their feet, seamless, as though the rock itself had been shaped by some immortal hand.
Enala led him deeper into the city, along pathways Braidon had never seen before. Those they encountered as they walked payed them little attention, though a few stopped to greet Enala. It was clear she was well-known here, a legend amongst the residents. Slowly the crowds grew denser, until at last they emerged into a grand cavern some three-hundred-feet wide. Two-hundred-foot walls towered over them, ending abruptly in open sky.
Braidon struggled to hide his shock. Before him was a marketplace that would rival even the bustling bazaars of Ardath and Lon. Alcoves cut into the walls boasted dozens of stalls, while others had been set up in rows spanning half the cavern. Their vendors lounged in hammocks behind the counters, many dozing as they waited for customers to find them.
Men and women thronged the alleyways between the stalls, pausing to purchase fresh bread and produce, meat and fish. Braidon could hardly believe the wealth of goods on hand. Amongst the stalls in sight, he could see blankets of Lonian wool, wooden furniture boasting of Trolan origin, even incense and spices from the south of Plorsea. Until now, he’d thought Northland to still be a poor nation, its development hindered by the centuries of strife under Archon’s rule. Never had he thought to see goods from his homeland so far north—yet now he could only marvel at the industry of it all.
“This way,” Enala called. Blinking, he found her waving from across the way.
Following her, they moved away from the market stalls and out into the open. The sky was bright and clear, and Braidon smiled as the sun’s rays touched him. The air was cool, but within the cavern they were protected from the winter winds. The ground sloped downwards, until it disappeared into the waters of a natural spring. Braidon was surprised to see a dozen children floating in the water, their youthful voices echoing loudly from the sheer cliffs.
“Aren’t they freezing?” he asked.
Enala laughed. “I think you’ll find the water quite pleasant. The spring is fed from deep inside the earth, where the natural fires keep it an agreeable temperature all year round.”
They had reached the edge of the pool now, and crouching down, Braidon ran his hand through the water to confirm the priest’s words. While not hot, it was a great deal warmer than the air outside the city. Straightening, he joined Enala where she had seated herself on the rocky shore.
“They’re like you, you know,” she said softly.
Braidon followed her gaze out to where the children were playing. He frowned. �
�What do you mean?”
“Most of them are Magickers, or the children of Magickers. All of them came here from the Three Nations to escape persecution by the Tsar. The Queen takes them in, gives them a home, helps them to master their powers.”
Braidon looked at the children with fresh eyes. There was a dozen in total, the oldest around eighteen, the youngest maybe ten. All wore broad smiles as they tossed a leather ball between them. There was a great splash as one of the older boys dove, catching the ball and then plunging beneath the water. Laughter followed as he surfaced spluttering.
Braidon grinned at the sight. Then a sadness crept over him, his thoughts turning to his own lonely childhood. For as long as he could remember, Alana had been his only companion, though she had often been…away with their father. He couldn’t recall ever playing with other children like this, though why…he could not remember.
“Would you like to join them?” Enala asked.
A lump formed in Braidon’s throat. Suddenly his heart was racing, his shoulders tense with anxiety at the thought of introducing himself to so many new faces. He clenched his fists against the stone, his eyes flickering between Enala and the crystal waters.
“I…” he started, but before he could complete the thought, a voice shouted from behind them.
“Enala!”
Braidon jumped, swinging towards the newcomer, his hands forming fists to fend off an attack. He lowered them again when he realised there was no one close by. A moment later, he spotted the speaker, still some fifty feet away, but closing in fast. It was a woman. Two men in chainmail shadowed her, swords sheathed at their sides. Braidon swallowed hard as he recognised the woman from his first night in the city. She wasn’t wearing the iron crown, but there was no mistaking the aura of authority she carried.
Beside him, Enala calmly rose to her feet as the Queen reached them. “Your majesty,” she said, “what brings you to the bazaar?”
The woman came to a stop before them, her green eyes flickering from Enala to Braidon. “Take him,” she snapped, gesturing at the men behind her.