by Aaron Hodges
“No…”
Then Alana’s magic flared, burning its way down her arm and into the other woman. A roaring sounded in Alana’s ears as the power poured into Krista, scorching its way through her mind, tearing and rending at her consciousness. The woman began to shake beneath Alana’s grip, her body growing taut, as though trying to flee. But there was nowhere left for her to run. Alana’s power was within her, and there was no escape.
The thrill of her own power filled Alana as she chased down the woman’s mind, harrying her spirit, tearing at the flickering light that was the teacher’s consciousness. With every blow, she watched memories spill out into the void, to be consumed by the flames of her magic. Krista’s spirit shrank, its flight slowing, allowing Alana’s magic to engulf it. Swallowing it whole, she washed away the last of the woman-who-had-been-Krista, until only the stark emptiness of the void remained.
Finally satisfied, Alana released Krista’s hand and stepped back. Her knees shook and a sudden weakness came over her. Gasping for breath, Alana staggered, and inwardly cursed her other self for wasting her power. Two days had now passed, and still her magic was as weak as a new-born fawn. Still, she was stronger than she’d been the day she woke, and more than strong enough to deal with one as weak as the teacher.
Smiling, Alana straightened and stepped up to the woman, inspecting her work. Krista stood there dumbly, her vacant eyes fixed on some distant point. Alana placed a hand on her shoulder, and the teacher blinked, the light slowly coming back into her eyes. Her brow creased as she found Alana standing in front of her.
“Who are you?” she asked. Then she staggered, clutching at her chest. “Who am I?”
Alana smiled to herself. To the woman, she said: “You are no one.” Her voice was cold, and she showed no emotion in the face of the woman’s distress. “And you should not be here.”
“I’m sorry,” Krista whispered, tears appearing in her eyes. “I don’t know how I got here. I think…I think I am lost.”
“Very lost,” Alana agreed.
Taking the woman by the shoulder, she shoved her in the direction of the exit. Krista stumbled a few steps, and then sank to her knees, tears streaming down her face. “Where am I?” she cried.
Her patience wearing thin, Alana grabbed the woman by the wrist and yanked her back up. “Come on,” she snapped.
Taking a firmer grip on the former teacher, she dragged her through the gardens, retracing her steps back inside. They wound their way through the citadel, Krista sobbing all the while, until they finally came to the gates leading out into the city.
The guards stood to attention when they saw Alana. “Your highness,” one said, his chainmail rattling as he stepped up to greet her. “What brings…the two of you here today?” His eyes flickered nervously at the crying teacher.
Alana flashed the guard a cold smile. “Open the gates,” she commanded. “Krista wishes to walk the city.”
The man hesitated. The smile fell from Alana’s face, and she stepped towards him. His face blanked, and she savoured his sudden look of fear; he was lifting the crossbar to the gates before she could take another step. The squeal of the steel hinges followed as the heavy wood and iron gates swung ponderously open.
Still with Krista in tow, Alana walker through, leaving the guards to stare after them. She led the former teacher several blocks through the cobbled streets before coming to a stop in a dark alley. The scent of urine wafted up from the stones beneath their feet, and not wanting to spend any more time in the filthy streets than necessary, Alana turned to Krista.
“This is where you belong, woman,” she said coldly, releasing the former teacher’s hand.
There was open fear in Krista’s eyes now. The sun was hidden by the tall walls of the alleyway, and the temperature had barely risen above freezing.
“Where will I go?” she whispered.
Alana shrugged and started to leave, her thoughts already turning to the children waiting for her return. She would have to work them doubly hard now, to make up for the damage Krista had done. But the former teacher reached out and grabbed her sleeve.
“Please! Please…can you at least tell me who I am?”
Alana watched the tears streaming down the woman’s pretty face. Her eyes were now shot with red, and her thin yellow dress would do nothing to fend off the winter cold. With her power bound deep within her, it was unlikely Krista would ever rediscover her magic. Without it, she wouldn’t last a week outside the citadel.
A wave of pity swept over Alana as she looked on the wreck she’d left of the former teacher, and for a second she considered reversing the spell.
“It didn’t have to be this way,” she murmured.
Krista stared back at her, confused and fearful, already started to tremble in the cold air.
Alana sighed. Shaking her head, she reached out to touch the woman, to undo what she’d done, when she sensed a wrongness within her. She frowned and turned her mind inwards, and found that other part of herself hovering in the void. Rage flared in her chest as she realised the girl’s weakness had been corrupting her. Summoning her magic, she drove the foolish girl back into the darkness, and the pity faded.
Looking back at Krista, she felt only disgust at the woman’s weakness. “Get out of my sight,” she spat.
With that, Alana turned away. A cry came from behind her, but Krista made no move to follow her. Within minutes Alana was marching back through the gates of the citadel, the woman’s sobs already a distant memory. Her mind was already on the task ahead, on the drills and punishments she would need to burn the weakness from her children.
She would begin with the blades, she decided. They would hack and slash at one another until their arms were dead and their bodies beaten black and blue. The first to drop would be sent before the Tsar, as an example to the others.
Alana was just crossing through into the first courtyard beyond the gates when she realised she’d forgotten something. She hailed the guards. “Gentlemen, be so good as to keep the riffraff out in future. I would be very displeased to see that woman back inside the citadel.”
The guards saluted without hesitation this time, and smiling, Alana walked away. Whistling a soft tune, she wandered back through the citadel, already savouring the thought of the torments she had in store for her new charges.
Chapter 18
Braidon paced quickly around the narrow room, the smooth stone walls seeming to draw closer with every lap he took. Flicking another glance at the steel panelled door, he wondered what was taking place behind it. Surely it couldn’t take this long to sort out the misunderstanding. After all, the accusation by the Plorsean emissaries was patently ridiculous—he wasn’t the son of the Tsar. His father was a…merchant.
He frowned, struggling to recall his past. The memories rose slowly, though they remained blurred and indistinct, as though viewed through a mist. He remembered his father as a giant of a man, a…traveller who he rarely saw. And then…nothing.
Groaning, he resumed his pacing. He’d been waiting more than an hour now, the pain of the blows he’d taken from the guards forgotten in the face of the Queen’s revelation. He still couldn’t believe she’d set her men on him—and on the word of some two-faced emissary! That she thought him capable of such deceit….
Braidon froze as the soft whisper of oiled hinges opening came from across the room. He spun, and watched in silence as the Queen and Enala entered the room. The Queen’s expression was unreadable, and Braidon turned his gaze on Enala, seeking to find some sign of their decision.
His heart sank as he saw the sadness in her eyes.
“It’s not true!” Before he could stop himself, his words were echoing through the chamber.
The Queen froze, and for a moment Braidon thought he saw uncertainty flicker across her face. Then the mask fell back into place, and she strode the rest of the way across the room.
“I’m afraid it is,” she said coldly. “Though I understand now it was not you wh
o practiced the deception, but your sister.”
“What are you talking about? Alana is the Tsar’s hostage!” Braidon shouted, his confusion turning to anger.
“That’s not true.” The Queen spoke over him, her eyes flashing a warning. Braidon bit his tongue, and she went on. “It seems Alana is a Magicker of some power. She used her magic to wipe your memory, to make you believe you were a simple commoner, instead of the Tsar’s only son.”
Braidon stood staring at them. “Wha…what?”
Her eyes shining, Enala knelt in front of him. “You are the son of the Tsar, Braidon,” she said. Then she was reaching out, pulling him into her arms, holding him tight.
His chest constricted, and Braidon found himself lost for breath. He clutched at the old woman’s back, struggling to make sense of the words, even as his mind began to spin. He saw again the images of his father, swirling in the mist, falling back into a void in the centre of his soul. And then he knew. The memories remained locked away, but he knew Enala’s words were the truth.
“No,” he whispered, clinging to Enala as though his life depended on it. “I…I don’t want it, I don’t.”
“It’s okay,” Enala breathed, pulling back from him for a moment. There were tears in her eyes, but she wiped them away.
A tremor swept through Braidon as he looked from her to the Queen. “I don’t want to go back.”
The Queen looked away. “You must.”
“Still you persist on this path, Merydith?” Enala stood. “Can’t you see the boy is terrified?”
The Queen did not back down. “I must!” she hissed. “If I refuse him, it will mean war. And we do not have the strength to stand against the Tsar’s powers!”
“For years you have given refuge to renegade Magickers. Ask them for their help. They will not deny you!”
“No, they would not. But I gave them sanctuary without obligation—not to make them into an army. It would make a mockery of everything we’ve worked for.”
“And this does not?” Enala snapped. “What makes Braidon any different from the others?”
“He does not face death,” the Queen answered, her voice sad. “The emissary says the spell was a mistake, that his sister will reverse it. He will become himself again.”
“No!” Braidon cried, scrambling back. “I won’t!”
“The boy does not wish to go, Merydith,” Enala said, stepping between them. “Will you truly take him by force?”
The Queen stared at Enala, fists clenched, eyes shimmering. “You would have me sacrifice a nation to save one life?” she whispered.
“I would have you hold to the morals your parents held so dear,” Enala replied.
“We cannot win,” the Queen said. “The Tsar commands tens-of-thousands, has Magickers and demons and dragons by the score. And then there is the man himself…”
“Northland is not without power,” Enala reminded her.
“No, but we have no standing army, and our population is too dispersed. It would take months to gather a force capable of matching him, longer still to train it.”
Enala sighed, her eyes taking on a haunted look. Gently, she gripped the Queen’s shoulder. “I cannot make this decision for you, Merydith. It is yours alone. But think on this—war is coming. If not today, then soon. The Tsar will not allow you to continue outside his rule. I know his mind. Sooner or later, he will seek to conquer the last bastion for magic.”
Braidon watched as a strained silence fell between the two women. His heart thumped hard in his chest, and he was still struggling to breathe. Even so, his thoughts were becoming clearer now, his mind working hard to follow the conversation.
“Have you heard any news of Devon?” he asked suddenly.
The two women jumped, as though surprised to find him still standing there. After a moment, Enala shook her head.
“I have heard nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Then I’ll go,” Braidon heard himself saying. The women’s eyes widened, and he pressed on before his courage abandoned him. “Not with the emissary, but I’ll go. If what you’re saying is true, and Alana is really…the Tsar’s daughter again, then Devon and Kellian are walking into a trap. We need to warn them.”
“It doesn’t need to be you, Braidon,” Enala replied gently.
“No.” Braidon paused, gathering his strength before continuing. “But I won’t remain here while my sister is…imprisoned. You say she is there by choice, but I cannot believe that. And if Devon can’t save her, it will have to be me.”
Silence answered his words. The two women watched him, their eyes shining in the candlelight. Unable to tell their thoughts, Braidon looked away, his stomach tight with worry.
“You are a brave man, Braidon.” He jumped as a hand settled on his shoulder. He was surprised to find the Queen standing over him. Gone was the hardness to her eyes, the anger and the fear. With a long sigh, she went on. “For what it’s worth, you may remain in Erachill if your mind changes. I will not betray you to the Plorseans.”
His throat tight, Braidon nodded his thanks, as Enala moved up alongside them. “She may not be the same woman you remember, Braidon.”
“I know,” he said, “but I still have to try.”
Enala nodded, her eyes tearing.
“I will go alone if I have to,” he said, a smile coming to his lips, “but it would be nice to have a dragon…”
The women blinked, then a grin split Enala’s face as she started to laugh. “You will have one,” she replied. “On one condition.”
“Name it,” Braidon answered.
“Master your magic, my child,” the old woman replied, “and I will take you to Ardath myself.”
Chapter 19
Alana sighed as she sank into the velvet sofa, a glass of Lonian Red in hand. She was just about to take a sip when a thump came from the outer door to her quarters, followed by the soft squeal of hinges as it swung open. Quinn appeared in the doorway, his eyes sweeping the room before settling on Alana.
“Quinn,” she said, a smile coming to her lips. After the long day she’d spent putting her new students through the wringer, he was just the man she wanted to see. “Come in, help yourself to some wine.”
Wearing a smile of his own, he crossed to a cabinet on the wall and took out a glass. He filled it generously from the bottle on the table, then joined her on the sofa. “So, I hear you didn’t waste much time…dealing with your replacement.”
Alana sipped her wine, savouring the rich earthliness of the vintage, and she slid closer to Quinn until their legs were touching. “The woman annoyed me,” she said simply.
Quinn laughed. “I’d best tread carefully then,” he said, resting his hand on her thigh. With the fire keeping the cold of winter at bay, she had already changed into a loose fitting black skirt, its intricately knitted hem riding up above her knees. “I can’t say I ever really liked her myself,” he finished.
“I’m surprised you didn’t deal with her yourself,” Alana replied, enjoying the warmth of his touch as his hand slid higher, “after her show of disrespect on the battlements.”
Quinn’s hand stilled. “You heard about that?”
“Of course.”
He sighed, glancing away for a moment. “Much as I might have liked to…remove her, I am not the Daughter of the Tsar,” he answered carefully. “I have other matters with which to concern myself with, without starting a war with the other Magickers in the citadel.”
Alana laughed. Leaning against him, she trailed her fingers up his chest, and looked up at him with playful eyes. “Has my father been keeping you busy?” she breathed. “Is that where you keep sneaking off too?”
Enjoying the slightly panicked look in his eyes, she lifted herself up until their faces were level, and pressed her lips to his. With a moan, he sank back into the sofa as she slid into his lap. Heat spread through her stomach as he stirred beneath her, his hands wrapping around her waist. Supressing a moan of her own, she bit his lip hard, the need
swelling within her.
He flinched from the pain, but she held him tight, and a trickle of her magic seeped into him. Relaxing again, his eyelids flickered as a distant look came over his eyes. She grinned, enjoying her power over the man, before drawing her magic back into herself. Groaning, he blinked, coming back to himself. He almost looked surprised to find her straddling him.
Then a stiffness came over his face, an almost primal look, and Alana gasped as he tossed her down on the sofa alongside him. Before she could think, his weight was on her, pinning her down. A shock raced down her spine as he kissed her neck, and she wanted to scream for him to hurry, to tear apart her clothes and take her…
She fumbled desperately at Quinn’s belt as he grabbed at her blouse and ripped it open. Buttons went scattering across the fur rug, and she moaned as his mouth slid down her body, his tongue circling her nipples.
Alana felt a rush of triumph as the belt came loose, then her hands were travelling down, gripping him tight, drawing him in…
Afterwards, they found themselves on Alana’s bed, chests heaving, cheeks flushed. Still hot from their exertions, Alana lay back, content for the moment. But slowly the gratification of her triumph faded, replaced by a sudden emptiness, and the smile faded from her lips.
Quinn curled up alongside her, his muscled arms enfolding her in an embrace. The show of affection took her off-guard, especially after the way he’d taken her at the end. There had been an animalistic gleam in his eyes as he threw her down on the bed and flipped her onto her stomach…but now, as he kissed her gently on the cheek, she saw only warmth in his expression.
Devon’s face drifted across her thoughts, and Alana felt a rush of irritation. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Wriggling clear of his arms, she struggled to keep her anger from showing. Within, she sensed no interference from her other self. Unable to pick the source of her disgruntlement, she lay back and stared at the mosaiced ceiling above her poster-bed.