Page 36 of The Malice of Moons and Mages (The Broken Bonds of Magic #1)

Thirty- Six

Traq

T he rhythmic dance of Wren’s braid teased the top of her horse’s hips and repeatedly drew Traq’s gaze.

The clouds had dissipated in the higher elevations allowing the party to appreciate the bright sky and shimmer of Raia’s ring. Durin had taken the quietude as an opportunity to share his knowledge of the topographical and historical regional events.

Traq seethed as the older mage droned on about the Starling-Moon battles and the supposed liberation of the Westerners. He didn’t talk about the villages that had been mercilessly butchered or the people who’d vanished under the control of the Starlings. By most calculations, nearly a third of the population had been forced into exile or servitude in the southern deserts after their ‘liberation,’ never to return. As for those who willingly joined the Starlings, like Traq and Liasa, they had to endure both tribes’ hatred simply to survive.

Audra’s focus on finding the jade eventually conflicted with Traq’s desire to find their missing people. Those differences had divided them. After hearing a few of Liasa’s stories about her lost kin, he suspected her reasoning was similar. He was scheduled to return to the barracks in Siyah, the Starling capitol, after this mission and hoped to learn more then.

Durin had been young during his first battles. He might not have even known why they were fighting. Traq suspected the long passage of time had muddled the Rajav’s original motivations for assaulting the Westerners, and that the Starlings had been nothing more than opportunists when they finally intervened. All that mattered in the end was that the Starlings had won, and the Moons had shuttered themselves back in their cold north after the dragons had disappeared.

Until now.

“Did you ever see one?” Liasa asked, riding beside Durin.

His face lit like he’d caught a fish after a long morning with an empty hook. “Once when I was a boy. Magnificent beast. Shining red with enormous wings. It took up half the sky.”

“Where was it?”

“North of here, I believe. My mother was a merchant and travelled over borders and seas without restriction. When she was a child, there were dozens of dragons—red, gold, black, and green. She saw the water dragons when she travelled to the islands. With silvery scales, long whiskers, and giant obsidian eyes, she said they kept her ship from being pulled into the edge waters more than once.”

“What do you think happened to them? And to the Western mages?” Liasa asked.

“That’s the mystery, isn’t it? I think?—”

Wren cut him off. “They’re gone for a reason. Quit speculating.”

Traq snorted.

“What?” Wren asked.

“Didn’t know that would be the conversation that irritated you,” he said. The rest of the group went awkwardly quiet.

“Didn’t hear you correcting him about his war details,” Wren countered.

He dropped his voice. “I’ve spent years trying to integrate and learned to hold my tongue a long time ago. People believe what they’re told, and they repeat it. I know the truth, and that’s all that matters.”

“That’s like what my father always says,” Wren said thoughtfully. “You’ll meet him in Siyah when we cast for our stars. ”

“He’ll be attending?” Traq asked.

“He’ll be judging.”

He wondered if she was joking.

“Lord Ijion must be quite proud of his daughter,” Durin said. Stifled gasps escaped from the surrounding soldiers. “I hear Sechen is quite talented, as well. Though she’s better known for her charms, isn’t she?”

Wren’s eyes simmered dangerously.

“Lord Ijion is your father?” Traq had only seen the Starling leader a handful of times. An imposing man—tall and thick with white hair, not that uncommon for the southern tribespeople, but the warm umber tone of his skin was similar to Wren’s. And she had the same noble air about her, as if all future success were predetermined. Sechen’s complexion was a shade lighter, her hair closer to black.

“He is.” The look she threw at Durin would have killed if she’d added magic. “But no favors have been given. I’ve had to work twice as hard as my peers because old buggers like to dig at my lineage and whisper snide comments.” Her tone held an animosity that made the old man stiffen. “I suggest you keep my sister’s name out of your mouth, Durin. Sechen has more talent than all of us combined. Do you have something to say?” Her gaze slid toward Traq.

“No. I didn’t know,” he said. It was interesting that neither sister had spoken of their father in the time he’d known them. Wren settled into her seat, shoulders slightly defeated. He cleared his throat. “My parents died with mountain pox before my third birthday. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, my siblings all died in the following years from illness or the last incursions. Everyone who knew them died when our village fell. I’ve often wondered if any of them were mages.” Her eyes shifted toward him. “I wish I knew more about my lineage. I like to think I’d be proud of it.”

The corners of her lips twitched upward, but she sighed after a moment. “It’s complicated. There were plenty of times I wish I’d been judged on my own merit, not for who stood behind me. And as demanding as he is as a leader, having him as a father is more challenging than you can imagine. There are expectations, inherited responsibilities that I have to accept or they’ll fall on Sechen. ”

“Trust me, it’s hard not having anyone in your corner. Having to scrap for every ounce of respect,” Traq said.

“But if you fail, you’ll only disappoint yourself. You don’t have the entire world waiting for you to fall, knowing they’ll cheer when it happens. Sechen already gets the brunt of it, through no fault of her own.”

He measured his words. “No one of any worth would celebrate either of your failures. You’re the best mage I know and certainly one of the strongest. Your father wouldn’t risk you if he didn’t have faith in your abilities.”

Her expression warmed. Though Wren never spoke of gratitude—he didn’t know if she knew how—the way she looked at him said more than words could have. Traq’s recent consideration of something more between them died with the knowledge of who her status. Lord Ijion was known for his contempt of Westerners, and he wouldn’t tolerate his daughter’s attachment.

When a scout reported signs of activity at the Western monastery ruins, they’d hastened to the scene. Horse tracks had stamped down the ground, and one tower had fallen too recently to have collected weeds or leaves. Bits of shredded roof and broken stones littered the landscape.

“Traq takes lead,” Wren said. Durin looked relieved at the slight to him. Traq and five soldiers circled the ruins and explored the grounds while the rest of their group waited. Instinct moved him into the main building. Eventually, he signaled for the others to join them.

Wren and Durin grimaced as they both dismounted. The stench of decay and rotting eggs spun in the air, but the soldiers were unaffected.

“It’s worse inside,” Traq said.

They climbed winding stairs to the remains of a broken tower. Behind a battered door was a small room with an overturned table and chairs. Fallen stones scattered across the floor and, though it had been swept, dusty ashes remained. The acrid scent of dark power clung like tar to the walls.

Traq caught a small piece of ash against his fingers. Though every bit of magic in him was repulsed, he brought it to Wren. Her low curse confirmed his suspicions.

Durin’s voice was ripe with trepidation. “Who exactly are we after? ”

Wren rubbed the ash between her fingers until it dissolved. It stained her fingertips gray. “A Moon mage anchored.”

“Anchored? That’s illegal. Deadly to both parties.”

She arched one eyebrow. “Only illegal for Starlings. But this feels like something more. What happened here?” She examined the broken walls and furniture.

“If I may?” Traq asked, not waiting for a response. “I think we’re looking for two separate groups.”

Wren nodded. “It would explain some discrepancies we’ve encountered so far. Two Moon groups?”

“Why would the Moon tribes be warring with each other?” Durin asked. He rubbed his chin.

“This is bigger than us. Powerful forces are at odds within the Moon tribes, and now they’re killing their own,” Wren said.

“If we can find the second party, the one with the losses, we might get answers before they cross the border,” Traq said.

“This is ridiculous.” Durin spat. “Let them kill themselves. Send word to Lord Ijion. We should go back. If they’d do this to their own people, imagine what they’d do to ours.”

“They’ve already done it,” Traq said. “Remember the fishing villagers? This all started at sea.”

Liasa gave a small bow from the doorway. “We’ve found something. Remains, maybe.”

“How many?” Wren asked.

“Four that we can make out. The rest are too...” She trailed off with a visible shudder.

Wren nodded. “Don’t let anyone touch anything, I’ll be there momentarily.”

“We should send word,” Durin repeated, his eyes flicked between his peers.

Traq’s expression was stony. Durin was right: this was more than they could handle. But he wanted to go on.

“I’ll consider your council after we’ve seen the rest, Durin. Even if we send word, it will take a week or more for anyone to reach them, and the Moons will be past the border by then,” Wren said.

The implication of her words settled amongst them. Durin squeezed his eyes shut. “You think it better to follow,” he said. “Even though they’ve committed such horrors toward their own people.”

Her face hardened. “Can you imagine what they’d do to ours if left unchecked? If this gets out, what happened with the fishing village and here, the international stress could ignite another war.”

“But if we manage it quietly,” Traq said.

“Maybe we can stop things from escalating further.”

Durin muttered a curse about Taiyang’s balls.

“We’ll still need to send a message though,” Wren offered. “Sending an experienced mage to ensure Lord Ijion receives it would be appropriate.”

Durin rubbed his face and eventually shook his head. “No. Send a soldier or two. I’m not leaving you.” With heavy steps, he turned and left the room.

Traq watched him with a sympathetic heart. He started to follow, but Wren gripped his arm and spun him around.

“Tell me everything about your friend. Where she’s from, who her family was. Everything .”

“There’s not much to tell,” he lied. But where should he begin? Another orphan, hostile aunt, spell-damaged brother. That she’d spent years reclaiming Western artifacts and was a wanted thief.

Wren sent a little shock into his skin, enough to add weight to her words. “If she and that mage are responsible for this, we’re all in danger. Believe it or not, I want everyone to make it home. If your little friend has to die for that to happen, then so be it.” She turned to leave, her braid whipping sharply behind her. “Despite your feelings for her.”