by Anna Holmes
With a tremendous amount of force, he propels himself from the floor and practically floats back to his feet. I jump backwards just in time to avoid being shoved back by the magic. So he is powerful. And cocky. "Hardly."
I glance to his boots. His left foot leans forward slightly. "Leg injury, then. Left leg."
He starts, but recovers quickly. He flings out a hand, and the door bars itself. "That's enough talking from you."
"Not an assassin," I muse. "You would have tried to kill me already."
"If I wanted to, you'd be dead already," he growls.
"I'd have to disagree." I raise my sword again. He is apparently unarmed, but still dangerous. His blue-gray eyes are wild and dark, his shoulders hunched forward. He is furious with me. I don't recall his face. He has the gaunt look of a Legion footsoldier. Probably killed someone he knew. Sorry, fish boy, but that is generally how war works if one wishes to survive. "Is it blackmail, then?"
"Shut up."
He looks around the room like an animal cornered. Oh, this is a hastily thought through sort of thing. Definitely revenge. I could end it now with a simple swing of the sword, but something has me curious. I want to know what would make a man in his condition scale a tower like this one. He is strong despite his gauntness, but I can see the fatigue in him. "Kidnapping," I venture.
"Would you—?"
I lower my sword, the slightest of smiles beginning in my mind and on my face. Up until this moment, all he’s seemed is hateful and ill-prepared, but now—now I’ve got him scared, because I’m right. "Oh, well, in that case, let's be off, shall we?"
Chapter Three
Alain
Well, shit.
I’d done everything right. I held onto my Plain disguise up until the moment I vanished in the bustle of the upper town. No one noticed me in my borrowed clothes and my borrowed appearance, and they definitely didn’t notice the lack of me once I turned invisible. From there, I sauntered—as much of a saunter as I can manage these days—straight over the drawbridge and through the castle garden. The only guard who noticed something amiss was quickly convinced that the rustling he heard belonged to an overzealous rabbit. I barely even had to plan this one-man invasion of mine, because I’d already done it once before.
The rebels retook the castle as though just daring us to breach it. The castle itself is built into the Regnant Mountains, difficult to scale even for nimble earthfolk. And worst of all, they swarmed over it like ants on a hill, filling the upper and lower towns with reinforcements in the guise of the regular folk we all assumed would be at work there. A stroke of brilliance, though I hate to admit it.
But I know now what I knew then. The princess would be located in a tall tower—not the tallest, as any animal treed would become an easy target. It would have a staircase hidden in the wall, so it could not have been the narrowest. And because royalty loves to remind itself of its sovereignty, there would be myriad windows to view her kingdom and all its lands. The third tallest tower, then, is widest and looks off to the east, over the whole of the basin all the way to the eastern sea. And it’s the third tower that I climbed.
My fingers clawed for the edges of the stone and the sturdiest of the trailing vines, and where I could find none, I focused all the magic from my core out to my fingers and toes, ensuring that I stuck to the wall like a crafty, invisible spider.
At least, that’s how I congratulated myself until I realized that my plan was and is still woefully incomplete.
For one thing, my leg has not stopped being injured. Very nearly to the top, it began to drag, falter. In one particularly frantic, arm-wheeling moment, I stopped concentrating on making myself invisible long enough to realize that I was one slip away from becoming a splatter in her well-restored garden. Magic firmly refused thereafter to do anything but keep me rooted to the tower.
Once I had the toe of my good leg and my hands firmly in holds again, I realized that I had no idea what to do when—or more likely, if—I made it in there. In the throes of righteous fury, it seemed so simple. All I’d need to do was walk into the castle, grab the princess, leave behind a note demanding the release of the prisoners as ransom, and hide out. Only now did it come back to me that the castle will have guards, I have neither paper nor pen let alone weapons, and I know of very few places in which to hide out.
The truth of the matter is that I had tried. I had tried to think all this through on the airship ride over following my escape. But every time I began to deconstruct how many guards to expect or tried to recall the hiding places I'd catalogued ahead of the siege, the ship moved gently over a cloud layer, and my eyes sagged heavy. Each time I woke, I vaguely remembered planning something, so I must have planned something, right?
Then it was a matter of getting the window open. I convinced the hinges with some magic that they really did want to let me inside before I was spotted clinging to the princess’ tower with the words PLEASE SHOOT ME appearing in the gathering clouds directly above me.
I barely have a moment to look around. The bed is draped in deep purples with gold embroidery, but still nowhere near as opulent as I expected. A dark wood vanity sits in the corner, a thin layer of dust disturbed where someone has displaced a hairbrush. Do princesses’ chambers gather dust? Oh, gods, we may have been wrong—
The next thing I know, my vision is a blur, I am knocked backwards, and suddenly the princess is standing on my shoulder.
It hurts, certainly, but all that runs through my mind is confusion.
This princess is lightfolk. I don't remember hearing a thing about that. She's prettier than I thought. I nearly retch with the thought. Thousands are dead in her name, she’s standing on me, and all I can think is that she’s pretty. And most strikingly, she doesn't seem at all upset about the fact that an intruder just stole his way into her supposedly secure tower. By the time she agrees to her own kidnapping, I am thoroughly out of surprise to feel and am left with a dull, throbbing confusion escalated by flashes of hot anger. She's nearly dancing around her chamber, if someone in padded leather and steel can dance. "What the hells are you doing?" I finally sputter.
"Making it look like there was a struggle. No one would take a struggle-free room seriously." She sweeps the vanity clear with an arm swung out wide, amber eyes sparkling in satisfaction. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do that."
"Maybe you didn't understand," I say, teeth clenched. "I am here to take you prisoner."
"Oh, yeah, I heard that." She upends a chair delicately, considers the angle, and repositions it. "Better."
"Are you at all interested in finding out why?"
"To tell you the truth, I think I've got it mostly figured. Would you like some paper for the ransom note?"
I stare, and this time, not because she's pretty. No, fury is boiling in my chest, my hands forming damp balls at my sides. "Do you now?"
"You're Legion. But not currently attached to any particular unit. No, you're an Elyssian." She doesn't even bother to look at me, far too busy strewing objects about the floor and pulling down the curtain from her bed. "You fought in the war, and now without a war, you need something to do with yourself, some way to release your frustration with the monarchy. Therefore, you climbed up a very tall tower—impressive, by the way—then brazenly—and thoughtlessly—tried to kidnap me. You're very lucky I'm in the mood for a good kidnap."
I can feel my eyebrows drawing together tightly. "You find this funny?"
"Oh, hardly. Now are you planning on writing a note or not?"
She toys with me. I can repress my rage no longer. "You have no idea with whom you're playing," I growl in a voice I barely recognize. I hardly need to will the mirror to explode, fragments flying directly toward her. She dodges ably. Now I turn my attention to her, sharpening the magic into a finer point than I’ve ever tried to before. In my brief training in the Legion Army those months ago, my mentor told me that invading the thoughts of others was the hardest sort of magic to do. During those exerc
ises I could feel the will of my subject straining and thrashing against mine. Their resistance was nothing compared to hers.
Sleep, I try to tell her. I hold out a hand in front of me to direct my concentration. My commander had been fond of this technique. I thought it looked ridiculous, but today I need it. My hand shakes in front of me as though I am straining to pull a very heavy object. My head begins to throb dully. I feel her mind pushing against mine, thrashing against the command. She couldn’t have magic of her own, could she? Magic is an odd thing, bumbling along family lines, skipping some, blessing others, elemental and Plain, man and woman, rich and poor. It’s not precisely known for its fairness. But this power in the hands of one ruler? I could well be sick.
My whole body trembles now. "Sleep," I say out loud.
This does it. Her body sags forward and slumps onto the floor, her head bent down. I move to collect her. If I can get her over my shoulder, I can move her, but to where? I reach to pick her up around the middle. Her elbow drives hard into my lower back.I land on my knees, the point of her sword held to my throat and the fingers of her left hand curled into my shoulder. "I think I have you figured," she says, a smile pushing at her lips, though her face is much more serious now. "You're powerful, I'll give you that. But your magic tricks are no good on me."
I swallow hard. The last time I was on the end of a rebel sword, I landed in a slave camp. This time, that would be too generous. "How—?"
She laughs, a bitter sound from somewhere in her armored chest. "You think that my lineage is unearned?" The point of the sword begins to bear down on my skin, a not so subtle reminder that that question is rhetorical. "Like my father and his father and his father before me, I am immune to the will of others. Try that once more and you will find out just how tall this tower is."
"Impossible," I gasp, straining to pull back from the blade. "No one is immune."
"Try me."
I do. I try to force her back, to relieve the weight on my shoulder, to let me stand. She only presses harder, only just keeping the edge of her blade from eating into my neck. I strain and plead and beg with the magic, but it seems to have abandoned me. At long last, she shoves me back away from her sword. The airiness to her voice has returned, but there is more of an edge behind it this time. "So. I'll ask you one last time. Are you leaving a note?"
***
I sit at her desk under her watchful eye. She very nearly dictates the thing herself. Only in the last paragraph do I get at my purpose. Her reddish gold eyebrows narrow. "Slaves. You're madder than I thought. Elyssia keeps no slaves."
I ignore her and finish off the note. She grabs it from the desktop and lays it in the midst of the debris from the mirror. A desperate tableau she's constructed indeed. A ploy for attention. My stomach sours. "If you're quite finished," I prod.
"Of course, of course." She reaches into the destroyed wardrobe door for a cloak, takes one last look around the room, and says, "I am impressed by your climb, but you're a damn idiot. You could well have come through the castle. Keep up."
With that, she shoves the heavy bar on the door aside and takes off. Numbly, I take stock of my options. I suppose it's well and good if her keepers think that she's been kidnapped, even if I am more of a hostage than she. I revise my appearance again, and follow along after.
In the hall I am given no more notice than I had been in the town, and for a second I have to wonder if I am in fact an idiot. She, on the other hand, is swimming in people who fall over themselves to bow to her. I try not to let my lip curl in disgust as I follow close. "You know who I am," she says, her voice low once we’ve passed the last of the boot-lickers. She’s barely given the Plain, boring me a second look. "I would know your name."
"That would be unwise of me," I answer.
"Let me make myself perfectly clear: unless your plan was to kill me, I am giving you precisely what you want," she points out, her voice still polite, in the way all nobles' voices stay even when irritated. It's unnerving. "Beyond that, I have neither killed your nor revealed you to the guard, either of which would be so, so simple."
She nods curtly, gesturing to a long, dark stone stairwell. My neck prickles as the hair on it stands up. This may well be her threat coming to pass. Her hand stays rested lightly on the hilt of her sword, an obvious reminder of the position I am in. I am her hostage when I had intended her to be mine. "My parents called me Alain, and that is all I will give you," I say. The Legion gave me another designation, one I am not eager to share with her.
"A first name is something." She gestures with a jerk of her head, messily braided hair flying. "On you get."
It is not to a dungeon I am led, but a stable. "What is this?"
"Are you planning on getting away successfully or aren't you?"
I suppose she has a point. She's looking at my leg, which makes me acutely uncomfortable. "How…" I begin clumsily. "How could you have known about my—?"
"The Resurgence trained me as a tactician."
"And that gives you all knowledge of all warriors?"
She pinches her lips together. "You were in the Legion Army, yes, but you are no warrior. I, however, am. Your weaknesses are a picture book."
The hot anger spreads across my cheeks again, but I say nothing. She waits until the stablehand steps away, and selects a broad, strong black horse and a delicate dappled mare. She throws two sets of tack over the strong horse's back. I move to take his reins, but she shakes her head. "You'll be riding Maribelle." I must wear my protest on my face, as she says, "Navigator is much too wild for an inexperienced rider."
I bluster, "Now how in the blazes would you know—?"
She appraises me again. "Seafolk, probably of the Northern Shore. The streets are far too narrow for horses, and I doubt you would have come here on foot if you knew how to ride." She squints at me. "Unless you're just stupid enough to come without a mount?"
I grimace. I am stupid. This whole thing from start to finish, a fool's errand. She's right—I am no warrior.
No. For all those who weren't able to escape, I must be more than that. "You'd best not try anything." My voice shakes at the end. Very convincing.
"Oh, don't you fret," she says, leading Navigator from his stall. He is monstrous, snorting and whipping his massive head around, and I'm glad suddenly of Maribelle's comparatively easygoing nature. "You're still the hostage keeper. You're in charge."
"Do you mock me?"
"Maybe a little," she says, lowering her voice to a whisper as she tucks Maribelle's bridle into my hand and leads us past an open barn door to a winding trail behind the castle. "Who thinks to kidnap a princess and comes so ill prepared?"
Words form halfway on my tongue and still others in my mind, and they collide midway between. It's valid. She's pleased enough with herself, however, so I'm not about to admit to that. We reach a thicket on the path from the stables, where she hastily saddles and bridles both horses. "Can you get on?"
"Not—not until you answer me. Why go with a stranger who hates you and intends to hold you hostage?"
She looks at the ground and sighs. "Now is not the time, fool. I know only your first name, and so I shall settle for Fool as your last name. Since you hate me, I will not feel badly about using it, either."
"I—"
The sword slides so neatly from its sheath that I almost don't see it. I manage to glide out of the way in time, but the blade still threatens me. "The horse," she says, her voice perfectly polite.
I balance tentatively on my bad leg and look at Maribelle. The stirrup seems impossibly high, but it's amazing what a sword to my back does for my willingness to try. I plant my right foot in the stirrup, wobble once, and then vault up into the saddle.
It's an unnatural way for my legs to bend, but the weight off my bad leg is a relief. Even with the unending days of labor in the colony, this is the most it's had to do since the injury. With no fuss at all the princess lands in her saddle atop her behemoth of a horse. "Keep up, or I'll call
the guard," she sings.
I should just push the horse to her utmost away from this place, away from her. Still, I don't doubt that her monster horse could catch us up in a second—and then eat us, probably. I follow her down the path from the stables, bouncing along stiffly on Maribelle through the scrubby mountain shrubs and the dust and mud the behemoth kicks up in his wake.
In my panic, I search the trail for someone—anyone—who might notice us. To what end, though? I tried to kidnap her. No one is going to save me from the princess. And even if someone were fool enough to try, there’s no one here. The ropes to either side of the trail make me think that this is some sort of private path. My nose wrinkles from the barrage of dirt flung backwards at me and from the idea that someone could lay ownership to a path. Was it worth the war? I want to demand of her. To be able to perch high in a tower above everyone else and ride on her very own stretch of dirt?
For what little it's worth, the princess was correct about this at least—this horse is gentle enough. By the end of the winding pass, I find myself almost fond of the beast. When we pause, I give her the smallest of pats to her broad gray neck. The princess lifts a reddish eyebrow, and I scowl in response. She holds a moment and frowns. "That's strange. By now we should have heard the warning bell."
I am torn between sharing her concern and sneering at it. "Precisely how many times have you tried running off?"
"Oh, every few weeks or so. Not for good; just—"
"Just trying to get attention."
For the first time, she seems genuinely put out, her face twisting as though she’s been slapped. "How dare you suggest—?"
"And what is it you're trying to do right now?"
The glow around her is intensified by the reddening of her face as her fists ball up. "That—that is taking it entirely out context! I am doing this for a very good reason, so—"