Page 17 of War Mage (The War Brides of Adrik #4)
Urim
“I just unburned you!” hisses Adara, incredulously. “Why would I undo that hard work?”
“I appreciate your compassion,” I say steadily. “But if this brand looks too healed tomorrow night when the magistrate feeds again, he’ll just brand me again and he’ll have questions we don’t want to answer about how it healed so quickly in the first place.”
Adara’s lips twist, obviously angry. “Why don’t you use your glamour rune to make it look more burnt than it is? You can make small changes to your appearance can’t you?”
But I’ve already thought of that option. I shake my head. “If the issue was merely appearance, that would be one thing, but this rune has the effect of making a vampire’s bite painful and increasing pain. Since you mostly healed it, I worry that it will not work as intended and the magistrate will notice that when he next feeds. He says that he can taste the pain in my blood and he may notice a difference. We must reactivate the rune if we wish to hide your powers from him.”
She sighs. “I can see what you mean. But, you were in such pain, barely responsive. What if . . .”
“It’ll be alright,” I respond. “I know it probably looked bad, but I was fine. I was in my sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary?” questions the mage. “What in the Nether is that?”
“It is a mental defense against torture that I have been trained in,” I tell her. “While my body experiences the torture, my mind goes to a place of peace. It allows me to withstand even the worst torment without breaking. The magistrate can do what he wants to me, but he will not be able to touch my mind.”
“That must be why I didn't feel any pain or distress in the bond while you were away,” muses Adara. “But what if that’s what he wants? What if he gets bored of you not reacting and escalates? He could end up killing you by going too far.”
“He could end up killing me anyway,” I say, though I am glad that she could not feel my agony in the bond. “This way our mission is safe and I won’t be begging or babbling secrets to try to get him to stop what he’s doing.”
Adara hesitates as she considers what I’m saying, then argues. “I can’t burn you anyway. What about my shackling spell? It won’t work.”
“Intent matters with that spell,” I tell her, revealing its secret. It shows that I have grown to trust the mage somewhat if I am telling her a workaround to the shackling spell. “It keeps you from harming the queen or any of her allies, but harm is subjective. If you were trying to hurt me with your fire, it would not work, but if you are trying to help me, like when you were healing me, that is something different. And you reburning the brand will help me and the mission.”
Adara bites her lip, still hesitant to reburn me. “I have never tortured someone before,” she reveals. “I . . . I don’t know if I have the stomach for it.”
“Do not think of it as torture,” I tell her. “Think of it as drawing on me with fire. You’ll need to trace the confines of the brand again so that the wound is fresh.”
The mage looks loath to do as I say, but finally asks, “Will you go to your sanctuary, then, while I’m burning you? I don’t like the thought of hurting you for no reason.”
“You will not hurt me any worse than I have already been injured,” I tell her. “But when you reactivate the rune’s magic it will make me more susceptible to pain, so I may have to retreat to my sanctuary to deal with the heightened sensation. So, yes, I’ll be in my sanctuary and the pain will be far from my inner self.”
Adara considers what I’m saying and then nods resolutely as if firming her resolve. “Alright. Lean back. I’ll try to be quick.”
“Just think of this as payback for your time in the anti-mage chamber,” I remind her as I brace myself against the side of the wagon, leaning back like she told me to.
Her lips quirk at my words, though it doesn’t quite make it to her eyes, which look guilty and worried. “A good reminder. You do still owe me my pound of flesh for that.”
“Then do it, Adara,” I say. “And remember that you are helping me and protecting the mission by doing this.”
The mage nods again and then she leans over me, her long hair brushing lightly along my arm as she gets close, the ghost of a touch stroking up my skin. I close my eyes, centering myself and letting myself detach from my body. Her finger touches my brand, burning me with pain bright and clear, but it is as if from far away. I retreat to the sanctuary of my mind, a place of peace I designed long ago.
In my mind’s eye, I see my rooms back at Castle Ilustan. A place where I have always been safe and comfortable. A fire crackles welcomingly in my hearth and my furs, hunted and treated with my own hands, lie on the bed. My walls are lined with shelves with tomes and scrolls, histories and epic poems in their pages that I have read many times. Normally, when I am in my sanctuary, I am alone and free to explore the space as I please, but today another is in the room. Adara .
She looks different than she is in real life, clean, and obviously well taken care of. Her long dark hair is luminous in the firelight, her tan skin supple and unblemished. She wears a welcoming smile on her face, happiness dancing in her eyes in a way I have never seen in reality.
“Welcome home, commander,” she says, her voice throaty and full of promise.
I pause at the vision of Adara, at the longing those imagined words bring to me. Is this truly what I want? The mage in my space, invading my place of peace? Why does it feel more complete than it has in the past with her here? In my vision, my eyes glance to her wrist, where my mating bite is clearly visible, instead of hidden under her manacles. In the edges of my awareness, my Mating Instinct rumbles with approval at the sight and urges me to make this a reality. Then, before I have a chance to wonder what it all means, as if from a great distance away, I feel a gentle touch on my cheek and the absence of the painful touch on my chest, which brings my mind back to the present.
Adara is in front of me, worry on her face, her hand cupping my cheek as she searches my face. Her long hair still tickles against my arm and her other hand is on my thigh to steady herself. “I’m finished. Are you well?”
My mind is still full of thoughts of her, troubled that apparently to feel at peace my mind must conjure her, but I mentally shake off my unquiet. I also ignore how right it feels to have her touch me, to have her physical presence so close. “I am well. I was in my sanctuary and didn’t feel you as you worked.” I do not mention that a vision of her was in my sanctuary as well, a version of her where she was truly mine.
Now that I am back to my senses though, the newly burned brand throbs and aches deeply on my chest. The agony of the brand serves to distract me from my realization that I subconsciously long for the mage. I can feel that its effect has reactivated as well, my pain heightened from what it should be. The brand and my other wounds, like the bites on my neck and wrist, threaten to take my breath. But I know that any change in my breathing or sound of pain would distress Adara, who already did not want to burn me, so I use my iron control to keep silent and my breathing even.
She murmurs, oblivious to my thoughts, “I tried to go quickly and not burn you more than necessary, but—”
“You did well, Adara,” I interrupt her guilty speech. “You did what had to be done and that’s all that matters.”
“I’ve killed on the battlefield before,” she says, her voice shaking. “But that was always from a distance and unavoidable. Kill or be killed. And I gave them as quick of deaths I could manage. I’ve never harmed another creature so deliberately. I—”
“It wasn’t harm,” I break in again, my voice firm, even as the symbol on my chest throbs, even the air touching it seeming like too much. “You wouldn’t have been able to use your powers on me if it was, remember? This was necessary to protect your secret and the mission. I am strong enough to bear it.”
That statement seems to distract her from her guilt and horror for a moment as she rolls her eyes at me. “Has this all been about how strong you are? I already knew orcs were strong; you didn’t have to prove it.”
“Unfortunately,” I reply gravely, “I think I’ll have to prove it many more times before this journey is through.”
I regret my observation though as soon as I say it, as it sobers Adara again, that teasing light going out of her eyes.
“Will he brand you again, do you think?” Adara finally asks, her face still close to mine, her gaze holding mine.
I shake my head. “He said that the brand’s magic will be active as long as it's fresh and brands take a long while to heal. Six weeks at least on most creatures. As an orc I might heal a little faster, but we are only a week of travel away from Evernight. Once we get there, we’ll execute the mission and escape, so this brand should be the only one he gives me, gods willing.”
“But he is a sadist,” the mage points out. “He could give you another just because he can.”
“Then I will handle that when it happens,” I reply. “I am a trained agent of the Crown, I can bear a little pain.”
Though, this is more than a little pain and we both know it. We are silent for a few moments, our situation hanging heavy between us, so I change the subject.
“You should practice picking your lock some more,” I say, still mindful to be quiet, even though I can’t hear any guards close to the wagon. “Before we try to sleep. You need to master it before we get to Evernight.”
“I succeeded earlier while you were incapacitated,” she retorts, pushing her delicate ankle out from under her skirts to show it to me. I try not to think too hard about how arousing her bare ankle is to me, her dark tan skin smooth and unblemished. My Mating Instinct is going to drive me insane if I am so drawn to even her ankle.
“That was well done,” I say, banishing my wayward thoughts. “But you need to master picking the lock so that you can do it like it's second nature, not rely on luck. You need it to be a reliable skill that you can do quickly, even in suboptimal circumstances.”
Adara frowns at my words. “Fine. I’ll practice. But just to show you that I can do it.”
“I would be more than happy for you to show me that,” I say honestly.
Adara pulls the open cuff out from under her skirt, before wrapping it once more around her ankle and closing it. I dislike seeing the proof of her imprisonment on her body, but I don’t react as she starts trying to pick the lock once more with the two pieces of wire. When it doesn’t immediately open with her fiddling, she grunts in annoyance.
“I swear to the gods, it opened before when I twisted it like this . . .” she trails off as she focuses on her shackle.
I observe her technique for a moment and then shake my head. “You need to keep the first piece still until you’ve lifted the pins, then you twist. If you twist from the beginning you are just getting in the way of the other wire.”
“I bet this would be easier if you had actual lock picks,” grouses the mage as she takes my correction. “If you were going to smuggle in a tool, why didn't you just bring in the real thing?”
“Lock picks are a crutch,” I return evenly, not offended by her frustration. “They are unnecessary for most simple locks. Two pieces of wire are easier to hide because they can mold with the shape of your clothing or hair. And if they are found during a search, wire is a lot more innocuous and easily explained than a set of lock picks.”
“Alright, fine,” she retorts. “You win, spymaster. Doesn’t change the fact that it’s difficult to do with just these little bits.”
“You’ll get the hang of it,” I say logically. “You are clever and your fingers nimble. It’s just a matter of practice.”
“Hmm . . .” grunts Adara, digging one piece of wire into where the pins and tumblers are. This time she keeps the piece that she’s using as a torsion wrench still as she moves the pins. After a moment there’s a slight click and the cuff falls off.
“I did it!” she exclaims quietly, but with clear triumph.
“Good,” I praise. “Now, again.”