“Unless you’re underground,” he grumbled. This explained why he always enjoyed the terrace—it hadn’t been just the monotony and the coldness in his bones. Or perhaps it was the coldness, but that had come from using his magic, not the damn stones. Fascinating. So much he didn’t know.
She shrugged. “Different mages have the advantage in different situations. It’s something to keep in mind—don’t go into situations where you will have the disadvantage. But how often is one underground?”
“I’ve lived nearly my whole life underground.” He glared.
“Oh.” She said nothing for a moment. “As an air mage, that must have… Did you like it there?”
“No.”
She watched him, seemingly unsure of what to say.
“I love my people. But I hate the mountain. It’s making more sense now, how miserable it felt. That’s why I would go out onto the terrace—where you found me. Only place there was much sunlight.”
She frowned, lost in thoughts he knew she wouldn’t share. She said nothing for a long while, and neither did he. His magic had led him to frequent the terrace, and being on the terrace had led him to her, and being with her had led him to his magic. Strange, indeed. It could be a coincidence. Or perhaps it was something more.
“You asked if it could be stopped,” she said eventually. “It can, but even if you’re sensitive to tiny fluctuations in your own energy levels, it can be tricky to notice at the start, which is when you need to stop it. And noticing it is like seeing the wind blow. Seeing the wind blowing and making the wind stop blowing are really not in the same realm at all, are they?”
He nodded. They were nearing a stream up ahead on the road.
“Let’s stop for a moment. The horses could use a short rest and a drink.” She led the horses off the road through a clearing in the trees and down to the water’s edge. She dismounted, and he took that as his cue as well. He stretched, then groaned. Hell. He wasn’t used to this much riding. How was she managing without a saddle?
She lumbered back up the hill to look up and down the road. Checking if anyone was following them? Her stride was awkward, so perhaps she wasn’t managing as well as he thought.
She turned back, heading for the water. Light from the creek cast lovely dappled light on her face and the trees around them. He wondered what she looked like with her hair down. He wondered what she looked like in a dress like his mother wore, of flowing gray silk. Or would she pick something different? He imagined her on the terrace at home, wearing such a dress with him. She would probably choose something more practical. Dark blue tunics, leathers like the royal guard? If she had lived in Estun, how might she have looked? He imagined her not as his kidnapper, but as something… else. As a woman. As a queen? That was what he was picturing, wasn’t it? Her riding leathers fit her in their own way, but what did she look like outside of this armored shell?
She must’ve felt him staring because she glanced at him. He would normally glance away immediately, but just this once, he held her brown eyes in his gaze for a split second longer. Then he turned toward the water. He lay down on the grass, stretched out his legs, and closed his eyes. The image of her in a gray silk gown hung in his mind—powerful and surprisingly detailed. She strode confidently among nobles, in between shafts of sunlight in the great hall. She sat at the tables among the lords and seemed no different than the others. Most were refined, but all were warriors nonetheless. He thought she would like it there.
It was probably a stupid fantasy. It was a stupid fantasy, he told himself. But of all the suitors that had come before, he’d never met one he could quite see as an Akarian. None he could really see as a queen. He’d never met anyone he could imagine… by his side.
He certainly wouldn’t have expected this to be the place to find such a woman.
As if sensing his thoughts, she came and sat beside him. She’d washed her face and drunk from the stream, and now they waited while the horses grazed. He couldn’t help but smile, though he hoped she wouldn’t notice.
She also looked out over the river, her keen eyes sharp. A sparrow fluttered down and hopped around on the grass before them. She glared at it. The sparrow flitted away.
“Someone is watching us,” she said flatly. Her eyes lost focus. She cocked her head slightly, listening. He could only hear the babbling of the water.
“Someone is coming,” she hissed, staggering to her feet. She grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up as well. Not letting go, she dragged him away from the water and across the road, heading up the hill and into the forest.
She slipped her dagger from her boot. Had the villagers pursued them? Took them long enough. She made for a large fallen tree just up ahead. She threw him down in its shadow, crouching beside him.
A gust of wind blew leaves furiously over their heads. Mara peered over the top of the tree from her crouch. Aven twisted so he could see a little.
Only swirling leaves and debris. Some kind of bizarre windstorm? But as the moments passed, an image began to form, figures made from blue-white light.
It was his mother—or, at least, her image traced in light. Two others flanked her. The broad-faced man with long, braided hair to her left he did not recognize, but Lord Beneral of Panar stood to her right, as regal and poised as always although minus his usual ebony staff. By the gods—was Beneral a mage too?
“Hold,” his mother’s voice rang out, strong and clear, the voice of a queen. But it was a silvery, echoing version of her voice—was he hearing it with his mind or his ears? Her golden hair was pure white light, her gown the faintest blue. The image swam strangely, as though she were underwater.
Mara’s blade was still drawn. She did not move, nor make any sign that she would run, either. She said nothing.
“Who are you?” his mother demanded.
Mara said nothing, dark eyes darting, measuring, calculating.
“I am Queen Elise of Akaria. You have my son as your captive. By all five mountains, I demand you tell me your name and release him immediately.”
Mara was breathing quickly. He saw her jaw tighten, then release, then tighten again, as she considered how to respond.
She called back simply, “I cannot.”
His mother’s lips pressed together as she frowned. “Don’t be stupid. This can be settled peacefully.”
She shrugged. “Different mages have the advantage in different situations. It’s something to keep in mind—don’t go into situations where you will have the disadvantage. But how often is one underground?”
“I’ve lived nearly my whole life underground.” He glared.
“Oh.” She said nothing for a moment. “As an air mage, that must have… Did you like it there?”
“No.”
She watched him, seemingly unsure of what to say.
“I love my people. But I hate the mountain. It’s making more sense now, how miserable it felt. That’s why I would go out onto the terrace—where you found me. Only place there was much sunlight.”
She frowned, lost in thoughts he knew she wouldn’t share. She said nothing for a long while, and neither did he. His magic had led him to frequent the terrace, and being on the terrace had led him to her, and being with her had led him to his magic. Strange, indeed. It could be a coincidence. Or perhaps it was something more.
“You asked if it could be stopped,” she said eventually. “It can, but even if you’re sensitive to tiny fluctuations in your own energy levels, it can be tricky to notice at the start, which is when you need to stop it. And noticing it is like seeing the wind blow. Seeing the wind blowing and making the wind stop blowing are really not in the same realm at all, are they?”
He nodded. They were nearing a stream up ahead on the road.
“Let’s stop for a moment. The horses could use a short rest and a drink.” She led the horses off the road through a clearing in the trees and down to the water’s edge. She dismounted, and he took that as his cue as well. He stretched, then groaned. Hell. He wasn’t used to this much riding. How was she managing without a saddle?
She lumbered back up the hill to look up and down the road. Checking if anyone was following them? Her stride was awkward, so perhaps she wasn’t managing as well as he thought.
She turned back, heading for the water. Light from the creek cast lovely dappled light on her face and the trees around them. He wondered what she looked like with her hair down. He wondered what she looked like in a dress like his mother wore, of flowing gray silk. Or would she pick something different? He imagined her on the terrace at home, wearing such a dress with him. She would probably choose something more practical. Dark blue tunics, leathers like the royal guard? If she had lived in Estun, how might she have looked? He imagined her not as his kidnapper, but as something… else. As a woman. As a queen? That was what he was picturing, wasn’t it? Her riding leathers fit her in their own way, but what did she look like outside of this armored shell?
She must’ve felt him staring because she glanced at him. He would normally glance away immediately, but just this once, he held her brown eyes in his gaze for a split second longer. Then he turned toward the water. He lay down on the grass, stretched out his legs, and closed his eyes. The image of her in a gray silk gown hung in his mind—powerful and surprisingly detailed. She strode confidently among nobles, in between shafts of sunlight in the great hall. She sat at the tables among the lords and seemed no different than the others. Most were refined, but all were warriors nonetheless. He thought she would like it there.
It was probably a stupid fantasy. It was a stupid fantasy, he told himself. But of all the suitors that had come before, he’d never met one he could quite see as an Akarian. None he could really see as a queen. He’d never met anyone he could imagine… by his side.
He certainly wouldn’t have expected this to be the place to find such a woman.
As if sensing his thoughts, she came and sat beside him. She’d washed her face and drunk from the stream, and now they waited while the horses grazed. He couldn’t help but smile, though he hoped she wouldn’t notice.
She also looked out over the river, her keen eyes sharp. A sparrow fluttered down and hopped around on the grass before them. She glared at it. The sparrow flitted away.
“Someone is watching us,” she said flatly. Her eyes lost focus. She cocked her head slightly, listening. He could only hear the babbling of the water.
“Someone is coming,” she hissed, staggering to her feet. She grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him up as well. Not letting go, she dragged him away from the water and across the road, heading up the hill and into the forest.
She slipped her dagger from her boot. Had the villagers pursued them? Took them long enough. She made for a large fallen tree just up ahead. She threw him down in its shadow, crouching beside him.
A gust of wind blew leaves furiously over their heads. Mara peered over the top of the tree from her crouch. Aven twisted so he could see a little.
Only swirling leaves and debris. Some kind of bizarre windstorm? But as the moments passed, an image began to form, figures made from blue-white light.
It was his mother—or, at least, her image traced in light. Two others flanked her. The broad-faced man with long, braided hair to her left he did not recognize, but Lord Beneral of Panar stood to her right, as regal and poised as always although minus his usual ebony staff. By the gods—was Beneral a mage too?
“Hold,” his mother’s voice rang out, strong and clear, the voice of a queen. But it was a silvery, echoing version of her voice—was he hearing it with his mind or his ears? Her golden hair was pure white light, her gown the faintest blue. The image swam strangely, as though she were underwater.
Mara’s blade was still drawn. She did not move, nor make any sign that she would run, either. She said nothing.
“Who are you?” his mother demanded.
Mara said nothing, dark eyes darting, measuring, calculating.
“I am Queen Elise of Akaria. You have my son as your captive. By all five mountains, I demand you tell me your name and release him immediately.”
Mara was breathing quickly. He saw her jaw tighten, then release, then tighten again, as she considered how to respond.
She called back simply, “I cannot.”
His mother’s lips pressed together as she frowned. “Don’t be stupid. This can be settled peacefully.”
