That was just the distraction, though. Vines had twined around his ankles and were swirling up his calves and rooting him in place. By the ancients, what power! It took his breath away for a moment and would have frozen him in his tracks with or without the vines. He knew so little. Could his mother do things like this? He could hardly imagine it, but she must be able to. No wonder she had hesitated to give up magic to be queen.
He tried to look behind him but couldn’t turn far enough. He stopped trying and just waited. Her approach was very quiet, as if there were no leaves crunching under her feet, but the jingling of the golden horse’s bridle let him know they approached.
She came around in front of him and faced him. “Nice try,” she said, a crooked smile on her face. “You’re far from out of shape.” Well, she had seen that for herself before he’d gotten his clothes back, hadn’t she? She reached down and grasped the shackle’s chain—the one that had fallen through his fingers and his shirt—and twisted it like she was tying a knot. And then suddenly there was another chain coming away from the center of the first. She looked up at him, eyes twinkling.
“No more of that. I hope you see that you can’t get away. Now, on the horse with you.” The vines curled away from his feet and back into the ground. The bramble barrier remained.
“Tell me your name, and I will,” he demanded.
“We are not trading—just do it.” She jerked the chain toward the horse.
He stalled, trying to think of something to convince her. “Please?”
She frowned at him but did not immediately say no. Perhaps she was weighing the potential cost of telling him her name against a reward of more cooperation—and if telling him her name would really get her that. But at this point, he just genuinely wanted to know. He felt a slight, gentle breeze that he often projected when he was desperately curious. Her eyes flicked around. The unnaturalness of the air’s movement wasn’t lost on her, although its meaning was probably unclear. It was rarely clear even to him.
“If I tell you, you’ll shut up, get on the horse, and do as I tell you?” It was part question, part demand.
He nodded.
“Mara,” she said gruffly. “Now get on.”
“Aven,” he said back, holding out his hand. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment but finally shook his hand. Strong grip. His thumb felt the smooth back of her hand, but her palms told a different story—rough and callused. She worked with her hands.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said with possibly not enough sarcasm in his voice. He hoped he was maintaining an offended exterior, but the fact was that her astounding power and loveliness were making him more cooperative every minute.
He turned and willingly got on the horse. Damn, he was a fool.
This prince was not what she’d expected. This begged the question of what in fact she had expected, but try as she might, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Just, not this.
For one, he was rather light for an Akarian—his light hair and green eyes had caught her off guard in more ways than one. For another, he was a damn mage. Or at least he had the power—he hadn’t shown much ability so far and had made no attempt to stop her. She’d expected a showdown of some sort when he woke up, and she had not been looking forward to it. Air mages had spells that were far more deadly at far longer ranges than creature spells. It didn’t matter what she transformed herself into or what creature she summoned from the earth if her opponent struck her with lightning from a mile away. No one said magic was fair.
And yet, he’d done none of that. Perhaps he knew nothing about combat or was saving his skills for some special moment. Or maybe for some insane reason, he’d chosen not to use them. The only magic he seemed to use came in the form of a vague swirling wind with little purpose. Did he mean to scare her? To intimidate her? Was he trying to show off his power in some feeble way? What in the world did he mean to accomplish by it? She had no idea, but it was more pitiful than threatening.
Add to that his playful insistence on polite and proper introductions, and well, he was a strange one to say the least. If she’d been tackled, transformed, scooped up, and ditched naked in a field, she’d be a bit more pissed off. Perhaps she just wasn’t as well-bred as an Akarian royal. Although Anara knew her experiences with her own Kavanar royals had done nothing to suggest that royal breeding produced politeness.
His request for her name had caught her unprepared, and the fake name she’d given him was a little pathetic. But her real name had seemed too personal. And weren’t kidnappers supposed to hide their identities? A good kidnapper would probably have clubbed him and refused to give him a name, though.
She rode Cora bareback. She’d have to get a saddle somewhere, but that was cheaper than a whole horse. Luring Cora away made her worry a lot less that she’d run out of coin. Kres followed beside her, the prince on his back. She held the reins of both horses, although she didn’t need to. Neither horse was being led by its rider, but she wanted her control to be clear. She’d had enough escape attempts for one morning.
But she’d gotten him out of Estun and onto a horse. It was good start to say the least.
They certainly couldn’t go back past the town she’d rescued Cora from, so they rode east through the forest at a quick walk. They probably wouldn’t make it to the next town that night, and perhaps that was for the best. Handling him one-on-one was simpler than with a bunch of other folk about. She could ease into this kidnapping thing.
Occasionally, he tried to make conversation.
“Where are we headed?” he asked.
“East,” she said, refusing any more than that.
“Well, I know that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
He groaned and tried again, but she said nothing more.
They rode for another few hours with smatterings of conversation and short breaks. She gave him some food and water once and let him relieve himself. He did not try to run again, so perhaps her show of power with the brambles had been effective. An hour before dark, she finally stopped them. It was time to make camp.
The woman—Mara—ordered him to pick up branches for a fire, and he did as he was told. On a practical level, it would be dark soon, and he didn’t want to be cold, either. He wasn’t above manual labor. As long as she wasn’t planning to burn him along with the sticks, he didn’t really mind. He felt fairly certain she hadn’t gone to all this trouble just to barbeque him now. In spite of all of his failed attempts at conversation through the day, he was growing confident that she was taking him somewhere. The questions now were where, how far away, and why.
He tried to look behind him but couldn’t turn far enough. He stopped trying and just waited. Her approach was very quiet, as if there were no leaves crunching under her feet, but the jingling of the golden horse’s bridle let him know they approached.
She came around in front of him and faced him. “Nice try,” she said, a crooked smile on her face. “You’re far from out of shape.” Well, she had seen that for herself before he’d gotten his clothes back, hadn’t she? She reached down and grasped the shackle’s chain—the one that had fallen through his fingers and his shirt—and twisted it like she was tying a knot. And then suddenly there was another chain coming away from the center of the first. She looked up at him, eyes twinkling.
“No more of that. I hope you see that you can’t get away. Now, on the horse with you.” The vines curled away from his feet and back into the ground. The bramble barrier remained.
“Tell me your name, and I will,” he demanded.
“We are not trading—just do it.” She jerked the chain toward the horse.
He stalled, trying to think of something to convince her. “Please?”
She frowned at him but did not immediately say no. Perhaps she was weighing the potential cost of telling him her name against a reward of more cooperation—and if telling him her name would really get her that. But at this point, he just genuinely wanted to know. He felt a slight, gentle breeze that he often projected when he was desperately curious. Her eyes flicked around. The unnaturalness of the air’s movement wasn’t lost on her, although its meaning was probably unclear. It was rarely clear even to him.
“If I tell you, you’ll shut up, get on the horse, and do as I tell you?” It was part question, part demand.
He nodded.
“Mara,” she said gruffly. “Now get on.”
“Aven,” he said back, holding out his hand. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment but finally shook his hand. Strong grip. His thumb felt the smooth back of her hand, but her palms told a different story—rough and callused. She worked with her hands.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said with possibly not enough sarcasm in his voice. He hoped he was maintaining an offended exterior, but the fact was that her astounding power and loveliness were making him more cooperative every minute.
He turned and willingly got on the horse. Damn, he was a fool.
This prince was not what she’d expected. This begged the question of what in fact she had expected, but try as she might, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Just, not this.
For one, he was rather light for an Akarian—his light hair and green eyes had caught her off guard in more ways than one. For another, he was a damn mage. Or at least he had the power—he hadn’t shown much ability so far and had made no attempt to stop her. She’d expected a showdown of some sort when he woke up, and she had not been looking forward to it. Air mages had spells that were far more deadly at far longer ranges than creature spells. It didn’t matter what she transformed herself into or what creature she summoned from the earth if her opponent struck her with lightning from a mile away. No one said magic was fair.
And yet, he’d done none of that. Perhaps he knew nothing about combat or was saving his skills for some special moment. Or maybe for some insane reason, he’d chosen not to use them. The only magic he seemed to use came in the form of a vague swirling wind with little purpose. Did he mean to scare her? To intimidate her? Was he trying to show off his power in some feeble way? What in the world did he mean to accomplish by it? She had no idea, but it was more pitiful than threatening.
Add to that his playful insistence on polite and proper introductions, and well, he was a strange one to say the least. If she’d been tackled, transformed, scooped up, and ditched naked in a field, she’d be a bit more pissed off. Perhaps she just wasn’t as well-bred as an Akarian royal. Although Anara knew her experiences with her own Kavanar royals had done nothing to suggest that royal breeding produced politeness.
His request for her name had caught her unprepared, and the fake name she’d given him was a little pathetic. But her real name had seemed too personal. And weren’t kidnappers supposed to hide their identities? A good kidnapper would probably have clubbed him and refused to give him a name, though.
She rode Cora bareback. She’d have to get a saddle somewhere, but that was cheaper than a whole horse. Luring Cora away made her worry a lot less that she’d run out of coin. Kres followed beside her, the prince on his back. She held the reins of both horses, although she didn’t need to. Neither horse was being led by its rider, but she wanted her control to be clear. She’d had enough escape attempts for one morning.
But she’d gotten him out of Estun and onto a horse. It was good start to say the least.
They certainly couldn’t go back past the town she’d rescued Cora from, so they rode east through the forest at a quick walk. They probably wouldn’t make it to the next town that night, and perhaps that was for the best. Handling him one-on-one was simpler than with a bunch of other folk about. She could ease into this kidnapping thing.
Occasionally, he tried to make conversation.
“Where are we headed?” he asked.
“East,” she said, refusing any more than that.
“Well, I know that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
He groaned and tried again, but she said nothing more.
They rode for another few hours with smatterings of conversation and short breaks. She gave him some food and water once and let him relieve himself. He did not try to run again, so perhaps her show of power with the brambles had been effective. An hour before dark, she finally stopped them. It was time to make camp.
The woman—Mara—ordered him to pick up branches for a fire, and he did as he was told. On a practical level, it would be dark soon, and he didn’t want to be cold, either. He wasn’t above manual labor. As long as she wasn’t planning to burn him along with the sticks, he didn’t really mind. He felt fairly certain she hadn’t gone to all this trouble just to barbeque him now. In spite of all of his failed attempts at conversation through the day, he was growing confident that she was taking him somewhere. The questions now were where, how far away, and why.
