Page 7 of The Malice of Moons and Mages (The Broken Bonds of Magic #1)

Seven

Lua

R aani Amala gazed up at Lua from beneath rich burgundy blankets. His mother had been beautiful once, long ago, but her face had become nightmarishly hollow over the decades as the bones beneath her skin crumbled to dust. Tangled white hair was strewn across the pillow, knotted like magical threads. Her cracked lips mouthed soft pleas that the dream wouldn’t let him hear again. With trembling hands, he held her as she wept.

Lua sat up, wincing at the protest of his sore back. The world spun and threatened to darken, but he closed his eyes and focused on his breath, the way his mother had taught him when he was a boy. He wiped the guilt from his eyes. No one deserved to suffer like she had.

The bolt spewed soft smoke in the corner. Though its death brought a sense of satisfaction, the knowledge of whom its thread had returned to was concerning.

He had to give Selene credit this time, it was clever magic. He’d never have created something so ruthless. But she’d always been more like their father than either of them would ever say aloud. She was a true Koray, whereas Lua had often been accused of taking after their mother.

Xiang, and whoever else Selene entrusted, would track the bolt quickly once the storm cleared. They’d probably already found threads to lead them. He took a breath and searched for any remains of Dain’s bond. Although it had dissipated, he shifted uncomfortably. Something was different. A series of foreign emotions whispered through his skin. An unfamiliar thread spun from him and wound through the ship’s interior to settle in an unknown person.

He squeezed his eyes, trying to remember what happened after the sea dragon’s tail came down. It was a blur of storms and waves until he met a pair of furious brown eyes. The short-haired woman they belonged to had struck him repeatedly. He grimaced at the humiliating memory.

What kind of audacity does it take to punch an injured man? An Oji of the moon tribe, no less. But she’d touched him and lived. Then they’d been suspended in the air. Lightning dazzled. Song smiled. His magic reached out and?—

“Shit.”

It wasn’t possible. There were time-honored rituals involving mutual consent. The bond had to be specifically woven for stability. It was the same in both moons’ monasteries. That was how anchoring worked, so no one could force the bond on another. Even though Lua had suspected that a similar event might have occurred in the past, his sister and the Song moon elders emphatically denied it.

This didn’t feel right. She didn’t feel right. She was weak and, despite the beating she’d given a semi-conscious man, probably useless in a fight. Her spirit was fatigued. A terrible anchor from every angle. He cursed again. This bond couldn’t be broken anytime soon. He was depleted and too far from home. This woman would be useful for keeping him alive and nothing more.

When he reached out, her emotions were readily accessible, though her thoughts were strangely silent. He tried again, clawing at the person he’d have to tolerate but only received a name—Audra Shan. An old Western name. Perhaps accessing her mind would improve over time. She’d never trained to be an anchor, obviously. He glanced at the golden triangle on the floor. If she didn’t cooperate, he’d have to force her into compliance.

Though her weakness made him vulnerable, her life would at least sustain him until the monks could separate them at the monastery. He’d need to keep her well until then. Pulling on her energy would take restraint to keep from draining her. He rubbed his neck in annoyance.

In contrast with her obvious physical limitations, her will felt too strong. A good anchor was physically tough, their personality pliable, and followed their mages’ orders without hesitation. Dread settled in his gut. This wasn’t good. Weak and stubborn was a terrible combination. If she grew stronger, maybe they’d survive until they reached the Silence monastery.

Outpacing Xiang would be a challenge. And if Selene and her anchor came for him, he’d be doomed.

His lips were salty, and he closed his eyes again. Thrumming the thread between them, he cursed its strength. Her sharp resistance startled him.

This was going to be like training a feral cat.