Page 41

SENARIA

“Mages travel by creating portals that collapse distance and time. The talent is not limited to mages. Draakons have the ability. And others we may not know about.”

—Quoted from Amund Wraithion’s private journal.

The horses raced through a dizzying sandstorm, only it wasn’t a storm.

More like a tunnel. The knight who’d pulled me onto his horse called it a portal.

Mages used portals to travel great distances in hours and not days.

But with all the moving sand, nothing felt solid, and my thoughts swirled with questions.

How far were we going? How long would it take men without magic to cover the same distance?

I expected nothing from Kion. He’d asked me not to leave, but I left anyway, without explaining my decision. In the middle of a battle with red priests, who were probably hunting for me. I worried over the men I cared about…Renwick, Fennor. Even Otar. Had they been harmed?

As for Kion, I couldn’t endure the anxiety. The last image I had of him was filled with anger. He’d charged across the bridge with death in his eyes. And Anneli’s face had been pale and blood-speckled when she joined us.

Now I rode with a knight holding me the way Kion once did. Only he wore the Stone Tower’s insignia, and what I knew about the tower held guilt.

Not a Silk-worthy guilt, but a child’s guilt over things she shouldn’t read.

Thales had banned every book about the Faded Lands. Only official texts were allowed. But when I’d been ten, I found a book in the back of a peddler's wagon, paid him a bit and turned page after crinkly page, too curious to stop reading.

The Stone Tower marked the halfway point on an ancient trading route between the Black City and the eastern frontier.

Built with stone and faced with polished red tiles, the tower crowned a hill and glittered like a beacon visible for miles.

The light marked the main pass through the snowy Nephele Mountains, the highest mountain range on the continent of Austera.

On the far side of the Nepheles was the eastern frontier, known for dangerous magic.

No one went there unless they were traders.

Protecting the tower was the town of Shiala, ruled by a queen.

A thick curtain wall and guarded gate opened to the stone buildings covering a steep hill, with cobbled roads zigzagging toward the castle.

From the castle grounds, a narrow bridge was the only access to the Stone Tower.

The bridge spanned a deep gorge, and it was said that those who crossed the narrow bridge fought the need to look down…

because if they were weak enough to look down, powerful ma ge magic would knock them from the edge, and they’d die on the rocks below.

It was also said the white bones in that gorge were more numerous than the rocks. It was a dangerous test by the powerful mages who ruled the tower.

But it was the narrow valley leading to Shiala that provided the best defense. Stretching for miles, the flat ground was called a killing field. A place of white flags, where approaching armies or traders alike faced the threat from the tower, and mages who launched magical attacks.

I’d never believed I would see the Stone Tower.

After so many centuries, it couldn’t exist. But as we reached the valley, the sandstorm dissolved, and the Malice Moon’s blue glow dominated the night sky.

The tower’s red tiles turned into ominous crimson, while slashes of light marked the staggered windows.

From the tower’s crenelated crown, balls of exploding sparks launched into the night.

Someone shouted, “Blue rain!”

The horses jolted into a gallop, with Anneli Zayas in the lead.

She raised her hand and energy ballooned around her.

The other knights did the same, creating protective shields as the rain sheeted down, hitting the magic with a pelting that made me flinch.

The sounds were horrendous, the sizzling, hissing, crackling when rain burrowed holes in the sand or turned spiky shrubs into torches.

An animal squealed—a mare raced behind us with her hooves tearing up the sand and white foam flying from her lips .

As the spare mount, she had no rider to protect her, and I shouted to the knight who held me. “Do something!”

He shook his head.

The mare stumbled, regained her footing, but she’d slowed her desperate run. Her nostrils flared. Bloody wounds bloomed each time the blue rain hit her unprotected back. Her eyes had whitened.

She was giving up, and I could no more leave her to be pelted to death than I could have allowed Sevyn to be tortured.

Leaning around the knight, I stretched my hand toward the horse. The burst of energy split my skin enough to bleed, but waves of magic swept out to surround the horse, shielding her until the blue rain moved in a different direction.

Minutes later, the knights dropped their magic shields. The horses funneled through the main gate into Shiala, then crowded through the zigzag streets, their iron-clad hooves clattering against the stone until we reached a courtyard beside the stable.

I slid to the ground and stood on unsteady legs. The knight who’d been my escort walked away, slapping his gloves against his thighs. Anneli had disappeared. I wasn’t even sure if she’d ridden to this stable or had gone somewhere else.

The poor mare stood trembling with her head lowered. When I slid my hands across her heaving sides, she settled.

“You’ve the touch, missy.”

The stable master moved to take my place, running his hands along the mare’s neck. Then her spine, before examining her legs. “Not a night to be outside,” the man said gruffly. “Poor creature, tore up like that. ”

“She had no rider to protect her.”

“I’d say she had you.”

I wasn’t sure how I’d managed it when I couldn’t resurrect the wooden bridge. But when his expression changed from kindness to caution, I turned to see what worried him.

A thin woman stood in the stable doorway. Her gown was a drift of blue brocade with a whisper of white lace, and I imagined a midnight sea. A storm and a tossing Davinicus ship. The hum of unholy magic.

“Your mother cared for mindless animals, too,” she said. “When Anoria was twelve, she tried to save a fox snared in a trap. I had the creature flayed, then sent the pelt to her room so she wouldn’t forget the lesson.”

All I could ask was, “What lesson was that?”

“The wounded do not survive.” The woman’s smile held distaste. “You’re covered in blood. Did Anneli Zayas teach you nothing?”

“This be our queen,” the stable master murmured, dipping his head with respect. “Halla Taja.”

I refused to wipe at the blood on my arms. I’d had enough of Tarian Ardalez, demanding respect through intimidation, and there’d been no tangible proof that my mother lived or thrived in this place.

My silence earned the queen’s frown. Her hair was the color of brown winter wood, and her features were flawless, other than the age lines bracketing her eyes. But imperial command entered her voice when she said, “Come.”

Since Anneli Zayas wasn’t around, but four guards were, I decided to follow the queen .

We marched through Shiala, not far. The double portcullis gate guarding the castle led to the inner courtyard. Blazing mage torches lit the night. I followed the queen up the wide stone steps, through a maze of halls, rooms, stairways, until we came to the small apartments.

“This was your mother’s room.” Halla Taja waited. The guard opened the door and stood aside. The message was clear: enter the room alone. “Someone will come when we’re ready.”

I entered the chamber and wasn’t surprised when the door closed. Nor was I alarmed when the key clicked in the lock. Keys were better than magic. People manipulated keys—and I was Silk. I could manipulate minds and leave whenever I wanted.

I wasn’t ready to leave, though. Curiosity held me in place.

Had my mother lived in this room? Had her life been like mine? Did she laugh, cry, or curl near a window, reading a forbidden book the way I had as a child in Thales?

Cautiously, I wandered through the chamber, searching for something I could connect to Anoria, since the word of a cold queen and a high mage who deserted me could not be trusted.

The darkened window hummed with magic. Stumpy candles flared as I passed, providing light.

Wood panels covered the walls. Faded pink upholstery covered two chairs.

The bed had four posts that were carved with vines and small animals, fanciful for a child, and when I sat on the mattress, the frame creaked .

The stone fireplace was bare, with dusty, soot-stained stones. A silent maid came with a sheaf of wood, lit a fire, and left without saying a word.

When I found the hidden door beside the wardrobe, I learned there was a bathing chamber, complete with a garderobe. The wardrobe held a few sad dresses covered in dust, and I closed the warped door, leaned against the wood.

This cage was like the cage in Tarian’s castle. Had my mother felt as trapped as I had? Suffocated enough to run away?

Sliding to the floor, I drew my knees up and waited.

No one came. Other than the silent maid who put food on the table.

I refused to eat.

The dried blood on my skin flaked away. The autumn-colored gown, so fresh when I’d put it on, rustled like dead leaves…and Essabeth’s advice echoed through my head.

It isn’t that you can’t. You’re making half an effort…living half a life…

I thought the memory meant I should do something, but I couldn’t work out what it was. Perhaps I’d thought of Essabeth because we’d been together that morning, moving pebbles, and I’d cheated.

Sleep was fitful. I dreamed of my mother, her scent. She was holding me, humming…and I woke to someone singing the same song in the hall. The jolt left me uneasy.