Instead, her neck was suddenly cold. The wolf gingerly released her and backed off.
She opened her eyes to see it looking at her. Two others stood behind it, watching, as did another out of the corner of her eye—Aven. No— No, don’t—
The man you hold is good. His mother is justified in protecting her cub. But we cannot kill you. That would be against the Balance, too. We will not bear either debt.
There is no other way to free him.
There is always another way if it is against the Balance. The wolf’s eyes narrowed and glittered yellow as it regarded her for a moment. Then it turned with a huff and a nod and trotted out.
Aven rushed toward her now and crouched down. “What the hell was that? You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”
The fool hadn’t run. He was more concerned about her injuries. Damn it all to hell. The wolves and his mother were right. For the first time in her life, she wished she were dead. Bastard wolves and their moral standards. Damn it all.
She pulled energy from him again, this time to heal her wounds, as she found a rag in her belt pouch.
“Hey! I felt that,” he said, glaring mockingly at her.
“Very good. Getting better. You’re not hopeless, I guess.”
She shut her eyes for a moment, feeding the energy to her neck, her shoulders, her throbbing head, where her wrists had slammed against the stone. She felt him take the rag from her hands and dab at the blood on her neck. He caught his breath as he saw the wounds close.
“You’re not afraid of blood, I see,” she whispered as she opened her eyes.
“You’re not afraid of anything, it seems.”
“That’s not at all true.”
“Akarians are warriors. Warriors bleed. What kind of Akarian would I be if I were afraid of a little blood?”
Still quite a good one, she suspected. She reached up and covered his hand with hers, stopping him from wiping blood from healed skin for a moment. His skin felt rough, strange, electric. “Enough. I’m fine. Don’t be kind to me. I don’t deserve it.”
He gave her the rag but shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He turned and knelt before the altar to pray.
“What are you doing?”
“Praying to my ancestors. For guidance. The Code decrees I must pay homage if I’m near a temple like this. But also—I could use some. If I’m going to survive your training.” He gave her a sideways smile.
She knelt beside him. She didn’t know if any of her ancestors would even be on her side. But guidance didn’t sound like a bad idea.
“How will we know when she’s dead?” Seulka asked him. They’d been simply eating their lunch, and then out of the blue, this. How long had she been thinking of asking? “She’s probably lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and we’re just sitting here waiting like a patient dog for its master to return.”
Daes snorted at that analogy. “How can you be so sure? Perhaps she has him or at least has reached her objective.”
She made a disgusted noise. “Please. We should check. Are we just going to wait for them to declare war? What if she was somehow extra subtle about it? What if we have to do something more to provoke them?”
“When did you get such a thirst for battle? I thought that was my job.” He grinned at her, and she scowled back.
“It’s only been a few days. Give it time. Even if she’s captured him, Akaria will have to determine how to respond. She’s just one mage.” He hadn’t spoken much about it to Seulka, but he’d begun training units of them together. He had big hopes for what he could accomplish with four times the power and a complementary variety of skills assembled. But she worried too much. He would tell her of his units when he had an imminent, easy victory for them.
She was eating angrily, cutting her fowl into viciously tiny pieces.
“Well, there’s no need to be in a huff,” he said. “We can look in on her, if it would make you feel better.” He had been planning to check the mage’s progress today or tomorrow anyway—might as well let Seulka think it was her idea.
She stopped, then gave a curt, but relieved nod. “Summon a farseer, we are in need of their services,” she called to the guards.
He and Seulka ate in silence while they waited, he relieved, she far less vicious.
A guard announced the air mage’s arrival. A slender, blond man approached the dais and bowed.
“You are one of Brother Lithan’s pupils, if I recall,” Daes said.
The air mage nodded with another somber bow. So this one was not the rebellious type. Brother Lithan was in line to be the head priest of Nefrana in the region, and only his never-ending quarrels with Brother Sefim had held him back so far. Lithan was also one of the most dogmatic, self-hating zealots Daes had ever met, and his students tended to admire these qualities. While Daes knew he ought to prefer the logic of obedience, he found himself disliking the air mage a little. Perhaps the creature mage was stupid to resist her fate—but she was strong. By contrast, she made this air mage look a little pathetic to bow so willingly, to embrace the dogma of hating the self so readily.
Was he going mad? How had she gotten into his head so? All resistance was foolish, and no one was going to convince him otherwise.
“Your name,” Daes demanded.
“Sorin, sir,” the mage replied.
“Sorin, I am glad you take Lithan’s words to heart. Many do not want to believe that evil can come from within their own heart, but wishing does not make it untrue.” Daes used his name this time as a compliment. It was not the typical way they addressed mage slaves. He said the usual spiel, but the words felt hollow. Truthfully, deep down, Daes did not care if magic was evil or not, only that this power was his to wield.
“Well said, sir,” he replied.
“Mage, we wish to see another mage,” said Seulka.
“Who, Mistress?”
“The creature mage Miara. She is in Akaria, or should be, on our command.”
There was a subtle change in his expression, but Daes could not quite decipher it. This mage knew Miara and had some sort of connection to her. But what? Did he disapprove of her? Or was it in fact the opposite? Men sought to hide many things, but infatuation was among the most difficult conceal.
“I reviewed her maps before she left, Mistress, so it should be quick if she’s on the routes she planned to take.”
She opened her eyes to see it looking at her. Two others stood behind it, watching, as did another out of the corner of her eye—Aven. No— No, don’t—
The man you hold is good. His mother is justified in protecting her cub. But we cannot kill you. That would be against the Balance, too. We will not bear either debt.
There is no other way to free him.
There is always another way if it is against the Balance. The wolf’s eyes narrowed and glittered yellow as it regarded her for a moment. Then it turned with a huff and a nod and trotted out.
Aven rushed toward her now and crouched down. “What the hell was that? You’re bleeding. Are you okay?”
The fool hadn’t run. He was more concerned about her injuries. Damn it all to hell. The wolves and his mother were right. For the first time in her life, she wished she were dead. Bastard wolves and their moral standards. Damn it all.
She pulled energy from him again, this time to heal her wounds, as she found a rag in her belt pouch.
“Hey! I felt that,” he said, glaring mockingly at her.
“Very good. Getting better. You’re not hopeless, I guess.”
She shut her eyes for a moment, feeding the energy to her neck, her shoulders, her throbbing head, where her wrists had slammed against the stone. She felt him take the rag from her hands and dab at the blood on her neck. He caught his breath as he saw the wounds close.
“You’re not afraid of blood, I see,” she whispered as she opened her eyes.
“You’re not afraid of anything, it seems.”
“That’s not at all true.”
“Akarians are warriors. Warriors bleed. What kind of Akarian would I be if I were afraid of a little blood?”
Still quite a good one, she suspected. She reached up and covered his hand with hers, stopping him from wiping blood from healed skin for a moment. His skin felt rough, strange, electric. “Enough. I’m fine. Don’t be kind to me. I don’t deserve it.”
He gave her the rag but shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He turned and knelt before the altar to pray.
“What are you doing?”
“Praying to my ancestors. For guidance. The Code decrees I must pay homage if I’m near a temple like this. But also—I could use some. If I’m going to survive your training.” He gave her a sideways smile.
She knelt beside him. She didn’t know if any of her ancestors would even be on her side. But guidance didn’t sound like a bad idea.
“How will we know when she’s dead?” Seulka asked him. They’d been simply eating their lunch, and then out of the blue, this. How long had she been thinking of asking? “She’s probably lying dead in a ditch somewhere, and we’re just sitting here waiting like a patient dog for its master to return.”
Daes snorted at that analogy. “How can you be so sure? Perhaps she has him or at least has reached her objective.”
She made a disgusted noise. “Please. We should check. Are we just going to wait for them to declare war? What if she was somehow extra subtle about it? What if we have to do something more to provoke them?”
“When did you get such a thirst for battle? I thought that was my job.” He grinned at her, and she scowled back.
“It’s only been a few days. Give it time. Even if she’s captured him, Akaria will have to determine how to respond. She’s just one mage.” He hadn’t spoken much about it to Seulka, but he’d begun training units of them together. He had big hopes for what he could accomplish with four times the power and a complementary variety of skills assembled. But she worried too much. He would tell her of his units when he had an imminent, easy victory for them.
She was eating angrily, cutting her fowl into viciously tiny pieces.
“Well, there’s no need to be in a huff,” he said. “We can look in on her, if it would make you feel better.” He had been planning to check the mage’s progress today or tomorrow anyway—might as well let Seulka think it was her idea.
She stopped, then gave a curt, but relieved nod. “Summon a farseer, we are in need of their services,” she called to the guards.
He and Seulka ate in silence while they waited, he relieved, she far less vicious.
A guard announced the air mage’s arrival. A slender, blond man approached the dais and bowed.
“You are one of Brother Lithan’s pupils, if I recall,” Daes said.
The air mage nodded with another somber bow. So this one was not the rebellious type. Brother Lithan was in line to be the head priest of Nefrana in the region, and only his never-ending quarrels with Brother Sefim had held him back so far. Lithan was also one of the most dogmatic, self-hating zealots Daes had ever met, and his students tended to admire these qualities. While Daes knew he ought to prefer the logic of obedience, he found himself disliking the air mage a little. Perhaps the creature mage was stupid to resist her fate—but she was strong. By contrast, she made this air mage look a little pathetic to bow so willingly, to embrace the dogma of hating the self so readily.
Was he going mad? How had she gotten into his head so? All resistance was foolish, and no one was going to convince him otherwise.
“Your name,” Daes demanded.
“Sorin, sir,” the mage replied.
“Sorin, I am glad you take Lithan’s words to heart. Many do not want to believe that evil can come from within their own heart, but wishing does not make it untrue.” Daes used his name this time as a compliment. It was not the typical way they addressed mage slaves. He said the usual spiel, but the words felt hollow. Truthfully, deep down, Daes did not care if magic was evil or not, only that this power was his to wield.
“Well said, sir,” he replied.
“Mage, we wish to see another mage,” said Seulka.
“Who, Mistress?”
“The creature mage Miara. She is in Akaria, or should be, on our command.”
There was a subtle change in his expression, but Daes could not quite decipher it. This mage knew Miara and had some sort of connection to her. But what? Did he disapprove of her? Or was it in fact the opposite? Men sought to hide many things, but infatuation was among the most difficult conceal.
“I reviewed her maps before she left, Mistress, so it should be quick if she’s on the routes she planned to take.”
