Page 18 of The Malice of Moons and Mages (The Broken Bonds of Magic #1)

Eighteen

Traq

Starling Mage

D espite the windowless room the mages shared on the boat, a thin stream of moonlight whispered through the planks above Traq’s head and slid onto his pillow. The lower ranks were given the top bunks for situations like these. He should have hung a sheet or scarf just in case, but he’d forgotten. It hadn’t been that long ago that the moons hadn’t affected him at all. But that was the price of Starling magic.

Durin snored softly below him. Though the older Quinta, five star, exuded a gentleness that drew people in, he fumbled spells occasionally and drifted into stories without end. He had less than a year until he retired to Callaway with his husband. He’d introduced the eccentric man before they’d left the island. Traq hoped to take Durin’s place when he retired, even if that meant he had to test for two more stars before then.

Septra Wren was seven stars and the highest ranking in their triad. She slept on a single bunk with her back to them. Her white braid hung off the bed, brushing the floor with the ship’s gentle rock. Rumor said she’d begun training in childhood, a documented tenth generation mage from esteemed lineage, but she never spoke of family other than her sister. If it were true, she’d had no other choice in life than this. Although she was only a few years older than Traq, she’d be testing for her eighth soon.

As the boat shifted, moonlight slipped off his pillow and crept across the floor. It danced on the tip of Wren’s braid. One of her slender hands reached out and tucked it beneath the covers. Wren’s beauty was intimidating, and she had a natural charisma that drew the eyes of potential lovers. Yet in the two years they’d been in the same squadron, she’d only taken one lover and quickly discarded them. Durin whispered that someone already had her heart, but why she didn’t pursue them was none of Traq’s business.

He rolled over and sighed. Audra had looked thin. He didn’t like her hair chopped off, not that he’d ever say something so foolish to her. Hearing her say she didn’t care about his opinion would bother him more. He’d hoped after enlisting that she’d come around, but that would never happen. It’s not that she’d lied to him, more like he had lied to himself. She’d always been honest with him.

When she’d found him on Callaway before their vessel departed, his feelings and those damn hopes had swayed him. If he’d been caught smuggling the jade for her, Lord Ijion would have ordered a star stripped from him—a painful process from what he’d heard. Being a Westerner in Starling robes was difficult enough as it was, and he shouldn’t have risked making his situation worse, not until he found what he was looking for in the southern lands.

He’d always known that Ferin came first to Audra but seeing her with someone else stung. Although Audra had introduced the man as Chon, a typical islander name, the man looked northern, too pale beneath his woven hat. He’d burn pink under the mountain sky. Traq smiled. The man’s hair had been tucked beneath his hat and robes, but he looked common enough. Maybe it was only jealousy, but something struck him wrong about the whole thing. He’d been too offended when he caught them together to realize what it was. Audra didn’t trust anyone other than himself and Zin. She’d once told him she’d rather travel alone than listen to someone prattle on. Yet there she was, sneaking around with some common man when she should have been waiting for him.

Traq exhaled in self-admonishment. Audra wouldn’t wait for anyone. It would be like trapping her in a cage. She’d do anything to get out.

Zin might kill Chon if she met him. Traq chuckled to himself.

“Traq?” Wren didn’t bother whispering. It took a couple of hard shoves to ever wake Durin. Being the highest rank, she had the authority to address either he or Durin by their names or titles, depending on her mood. However, both of them were required to refer to her by her ranking.

“Yes, Septra?”

“If you can’t be quiet, I’ll send you to sleep on deck beneath the silks.” She rolled enough to peer at him over one shoulder. “Understood?”

He shifted awkwardly. Sleeping on deck without proper covering would ensure a miserable night since the moonslight would sting every time it brushed over his skin. “Yes, Septra.”

T he three mages stood beneath a clear morning sky studying the remaining shadow of violence in the surrounding water. Luck had it that there’d been no storms in a couple of days, and the waves had carried some of the wreckage to the shoreline in the distance.

The crew pulled boards from the sea and piled them on the deck. The edges were burned black. After hauling an examination table from storage, they placed a man’s torso on top of it. Chunks of flesh had been nibbled away, exposing white, jagged ribs. As Traq stepped closer to examine it, a sea worm wriggled free from the remaining chest muscle and raised its flat head in the light. Wren pinched it between two fingers until it popped. She wiped her fingers on the table’s surface before wrinkling her nose at the shifting wind. The fetor of decay wafted over them.

Durin gagged and stepped back. But Traq swallowed his bile and stayed firm. No good would come from showing weakness here.

Wren’s gaze moved swiftly across the boards. “What do you see, Tresa?”

Traq held his breath as the wind hit his face. “These ships weren’t burned by magic. Maybe the body was attacked, or at least made to look like it.” He paused until Wren nodded for him to continue. “The wood might have been hit with a fire cannon, but the markings seem a bit too even, like it was burned after.”

Durin scrunched his eyes and leaned closer to the wood. “The damage reminds me of my mother’s tales, when the Western dragons attacked vessels for drawing too near their territory in the mountains.”

“It was probably made to look that way,” Wren said. “Do you detect any magic at all?”

Durin turned away. With his retirement so near, he’d lost interest in reaching for a sixth star.

Traq’s thread skimmed over the boards and found nothing. Then it searched the rotting flesh only to find more worms squirming within. As the thread drew back, he paused. A subtle hint of magic drifted in the air, dissipating slowly.

He met Wren’s gaze. “On the wind.”

She smiled. “Very good, Tresa. Mage wind carried the fire. The bodies were hacked up individually. It must have been gruesome work for whoever did it.”

Traq’s mouth was dry. All Starling mages were registered, their whereabouts logged with careful detail to prevent anything like this from happening. They’d checked the log before leaving Oxton. No Starling mage had been in this vicinity in nearly a month. “Who could’ve done this?”

Wren’s countenance was reserved as she ordered the captain to take them to shore where several villagers picked through the corpses, searching for their missing.

Sand gave beneath Traq’s boots as he followed Wren and a handful of soldiers from one of the row boats. Durin stayed back, it was regimental form to keep one mage with the ship, and he’d been happy to volunteer.

An elderly man with knobby knees leaned on a younger woman as they hunched over part of a corpse, its bloated face was purple and green. Another woman held a small, crying child on her hip as she walked slowly amongst the carnage with tears staining her face.

An old woman reminded Traq of his grandmother, face weathered by salt and starling, revealing a hard history. She was lean, had probably never known a day of rest in her entire life. Her calloused hands turned over boards and sifted handfuls of sand. She looked up at Raia and mumbled a prayer Traq knew by heart, but he kept his lips tight. A moment later, she hobbled into the thicker brush.

Wren was talking to the old man, Traq winced at her attempts at the rural Western dialect. Though the language was essentially the same, the inflection and change in certain words could cause confusion or offense if not spoken thoughtfully. The soldiers spread out along the shore, turning over wreckage and placing those bodies with heads face up for easier identification.

A wail erupted from the brush. Traq found the older woman squatting beside a corpse, fat tears streamed down her cheeks. The body was face down, its limbs half covered in sand. Small crabs had picked at flesh before scuttling away. A black fletched arrow jutted from the base of his neck toward the sky. Only one tribe used arrows so black.

He turned at Wren’s sharp intake of breath. They exchanged a small look before the old woman leaned into Traq and sobbed. He wrapped an arm around her bony shoulders and allowed her to beat his chest until her arms wearied. When the soldiers claimed the body, he gently guided her toward the woman with the child.

“We should leave him,” he said, watching the men carry the body toward the boat. “Won’t the arrow be enough?”

Wren’s lips pursed. “It would be best to examine everything intact.” She glanced at the old woman. “Tell her we’ll give him a warrior’s burn when we’re done.”

Traq lowered himself as he spoke to the woman. Wren didn’t know, but Western traditions cared nothing about warrior burns. They cared about their life mattering somehow, and that included their deaths. Life could grow from tragedy by feeding the ground, insects, or animals. No death need be wasted. Everything was connected. But the Southerners didn’t understand that, and this wasn’t the time to explain.

The old woman begged. This was her only grandchild. She’d raised him after her daughter died. He’d be a father soon. She wanted to take the body home. If they took him, he’d be gone forever. He calmed her by holding her hands and promising to find the killers.

“Do you swear on your life?” she asked.

Even her dark eyes were like his grandmother, who’d buried six children between disease and battles and been fortunate enough to die before seeing all but one of her grandchildren slaughtered during the Moon’s last insurgence. “I swear.”

The old woman stood on the shore until they had secured their boat to the Starling vessel, watching them raise her grandson’s corpse onto the deck. Then she disappeared into the brush, taking her grief with her. The back of Traq’s throat quivered with restrained emotions.

Wren stood beside him, distant enough to be respectful. Her voice was thick, tone difficult to discern. “At least we know who we are dealing with.”

Traq leaned on the rail and stared out at the sea, wondering if she was right.