Dawn of Magic: Sea of Flames Page 12

  He crouched again, this time closer. So close she could smell his stale hot breath. “When the barrier fell, we became what we once were, something akin to gods. Gods capable of traveling between realms, of shifting the very fabric of reality. Once war has ravaged the land, those remaining will need someone to guide them. Someone to create a new, and better, kingdom.”

  She knew the Travelers were mad, but she had never guessed just how far they would go. “And let me guess. In this new kingdom, you will be king?”

  “Now there’s my good sorceress. I knew you would catch on eventually.” He stood, then gestured to the surrounding Aos Sí. “Bring her to my tent for interrogation. Leave the mortal where he lay.”

  Her arms were grabbed by Aos Sí on either side of her, hoisting her up, then dragging her along. She clenched her jaw, not bothering to fight. If she were to escape this, she’d have to wait for the exact right moment, and now was not the time. Let Niklas interrogate her. It would be a waste of his energy. Though she’d once prided herself on her far-sight and wisdom, now—well now, she was quite sure she wouldn’t be telling Niklas anything he didn’t already know. She’d fallen far from the woman she once was.

  She glowered as the Aos Sí tossed her unceremoniously into the tent, gritting her teeth as her shoulder hit hard-packed dirt. This is what she got for finally growing a heart.

  Finn

  The hard chair back dug into Finn’s shoulder blades. The room—meant for newly recruited mages—was far from the comfort she’d grown accustomed to in her chambers. Àed had been offered better furnishings once it was clear he intended to stay, but he had refused them, choosing to spend much of his time in the barren, uncomfortable room. It was almost as if he wanted to suffer.

  She waited while one of the new mages, tasked by Sage with menial chores, served them hot tea then left the room.

  Cupping her hands around her warm wooden mug, she looked Àed over. His skin seemed to sag from his bones, especially around his eyes, the orbs the things least affected by his aging. They still remained a light blue, filled with intelligence—if a little less gleaming than before.

  She took a long breath, inhaling the gentle scent of oatstraw and nettle tea, then leaned her back more heavily against her chair. “Some of the scouts returned from the North this morning, but there was no word of Keiren. Slàine’s assassins are venturing further into reiver territory, but it may be some time yet before we hear from them.”

  Àed sipped his tea, then lowered the small wooden mug. “If ye hear from them at all, lass. I wouldnae depend on it.”

  She hung her head, her tea forgotten in her hands. “I am sorry. I do not know if we’ll find Keiren.”

  Àed watched her for a moment, his brow furrowed. “Ye know, I regret livin’ long enough to see the land in such a state. I would have been wise to pass on when I knew ye were safe. Keiren, I know she’ll survive, she always do. But yer like a daughter to me too. I wish I could leave this life knowin’ yer happy.”

  She straightened abruptly, sloshing hot tea onto her hand. “But I am happy! I have Iseult, Kai, and Anna. Eywen and Bedelia. Even if I must lose you, and you truly are a father to me, and my mother is long since gone, I still have a family. It is more than I could have ever hoped for.”

  “And this dragon magic in ye?”

  She winced. She’d needed to talk to someone, and she felt, knowing all he knew, that Àed would not look at her any differently. “I do not know. I suppose I must learn to control it. For now, we have a plan.” Her throat tightened. “A plan that must be enacted within the next five days.”

  They were running out of time. With the help of the pixies, word had spread quickly that any who agreed to serve her would not have their magic drained, and would be granted freedom once the war was over. But there was still much to navigate. Namely, figuring out how to ensnare Belenus long enough to defeat him—but not kill him—so they could give him to Ashclaw.

  Àed watched the thoughts play across her face. “Ye should go, lass. Ye’ve much to do, and ye don’t need to be wastin’ yer time worryin’ about me.”

  She agreed, she should go, but the thought wracked her with guilt. He seemed so aged, so feeble, she was not sure how long he would last.

  Her decision was made for her by a knock at the door. She set aside her tea, then rose and answered it, finding Iseult outside.

  He glanced her over quickly, assessing every detail for signs of emotional pain. “Branwen has returned. She’s being guarded.”

  A spark of hope flickered through her. Honestly, she had not expected Branwen to return. Her hand on the door, she looked to Àed. “I asked Branwen to search for Keiren. Perhaps she has news.”

  He waved her off. “It’s fine either way, lass. Go do what ye must.”

  She watched him a moment, so frail and weak. What if he passed away while she was gone? “I’ll see you soon,” she said resolutely.

  “Aye lass, I willnae pass on while yer gone.”

  She looked to Iseult, worry clear on her face, but there was nothing to do for it. He guided her out of the room, then shut the door.

  Once they were far from Àed’s room, he cleared his throat. “I do not think she searched for Keiren. She is up to something.”

  Though she felt a bit dizzy, like she was floating, she kept walking. “I agree. I simply hope we are wrong.”

  “We rarely are.”

  Her shoulders slumped. She had begun to always expect the worst, and she was almost always right.

  Branwen

  Branwen waited in the eastern guard barracks, gritting her teeth. She refused to acknowledge the assassins and mages eyeing her skeptically. If only the fools realized she’d come to the main gates as a courtesy, not wanting to startle Finn once again. If she’d wanted to sneak by them, they’d have been none the wiser.

  It was purely by choice that she sat in the cramped room, with only a writing desk and chair, with two more chairs across from it, a small window—too small to climb through—and a few flickering lanterns.

  She vaguely recognized one assassin, an older woman with steel-gray hair pulled back in a tight braid, and sharp eyes that seemed to catch every subtle movement. Slàine, she thought her name was. Maarav’s mother figure.

  Slàine crossed her arms over her fitted black vest and shirt underneath, leaning her slender hips against the desk.

  Branwen glared. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

  “Where have you been all this time, wraith?”

  Ah, so the assassin knew who she was. “That is no concern of yours.”

  “You are here in our estate. It is indeed my concern.”

  The men in the room watched on silently, clearly deferring to Slàine.

  She wished Finn would hurry up. She was beginning to regret her gesture of goodwill. She sighed. “After my brother was murdered and entire burghs disappeared, I grew concerned for my parents. I’ve been watching over the archive.”

  The corner of Slàine’s lip ticked up. “Liar.”

  Branwen sucked her teeth. “Believe what you want.”

  “It’s not what I believe. It’s what I know.”

  Why did anyone keep this unpleasant viper of a woman around? “You know nothing of me, or my circumstances, so keep your judgements to yourself.”

  A knock preceded Finn and Iseult’s entrance.

  Branwen’s shoulders slumped at their arrival, but she quickly straightened, not wanting Slàine to see her relief at the interruption—though a quick glance at Slàine told her she’d seen the movement.

  The door shut behind Iseult, and the room fell heavily silent.

  Branwen quickly realized it was upon her to speak. She looked to Finn. “I have important information to share with you—in private.”

  Finn stepped forward. She looked small and shabby in her loose tunic, with her unkempt dirty-blonde hair falling down to her waist. “Keiren?”

  Noting the hope in Finn’s voice, she realized perhaps she s
hould have actually searched for the sorceress.

  She chewed on her lip, glancing around the room. “No,” she said finally, “but it is still a matter that requires privacy.”

  “Everyone within this room can be trusted,” Slàine cut in.

  Branwen gritted her teeth. “By you, perhaps, but not by me.”

  Iseult placed a hand on Finn’s shoulder, some silent communication passing between them.

  “It’s alright,” Finn said to Slàine. “Please leave us.”

  Slàine pushed away from the desk. “Anything going on within this estate must be reported to its rulers. Maarav and Ealasaid must know whatever information this wraith has.”

  Finn opened her mouth, but it was Iseult who spoke. “I agree, but you are not them. Now leave.”

  Branwen would have cowered at his tone, but Slàine just stood there, her face red. “Fine,” she said finally, gesturing to the waiting men. “We’ve more important matters to attend regardless.”

  Branwen waited while they filtered out of the room, then looked to Finn. “Tension among the ranks?”

  Finn laughed, surprising her. She hadn’t been sure the woman was still capable of humor. “More like an overprotective grandmother nipping at fingers.” She walked around the desk, then leaned against it. “Now what is this information you’d like to share?”

  Branwen took a steadying breath. She’d need to speak carefully. Finn might not catch her in any lies, but Iseult would surely note the smallest misstep.

  “I was visited by a man claiming to be the god Arawn.” She wrung her hands, hoping to appear terribly pathetic. “I was stolen away by him, actually. He held me in a cellar and would not let me leave unless I agreed to help him.”

  Iseult and Finn locked gazes, then turned back to her. Finn spoke first. “And what did he want you to do?”

  “He wanted me to speak on his behalf. He no longer wishes to follow Belenus, he wishes to help you.”

  Finn huffed, glancing again at Iseult, then back to Branwen. “Help me? He cursed Iseult and nearly killed him. He tried to trick me into sacrificing myself to Belenus.” She shook her head. “Arawn is a snake. You would be wise to steer clear of him.”

  Iseult stepped back and leaned against the wall near the door, his feathers yet unruffled. “What else did he tell you?”

  She debated telling them the whole truth. If she told them the reality shifts were caused by the Ceàrdaman, Finn might go after Niklas immediately . . . except she had that black dragon outside the burgh, and a god after her. Diverting her now might get her killed, then Arawn would not go after the Travelers, and there would be no one else left to help her.

  Finn and Iseult were both staring at her, and she’d realized she’d thought about her answer too long.

  She let out a shaky breath. “If I tell you something, you must promise to speak of it to no one.”

  Iseult shifted his weight, looking bored. “You will tell us, or you will be cast out of the burgh. It is your choice.”

  She clenched her jaw. “Fine. Arawn plans to go against Belenus. He thinks that with your faie army and your ability to drain faie magic, you will be able to defeat him, for he no longer wishes to support his cause. He didn’t want me to tell you, lest you believe it a trick.”

  Another moment of locked gazes. Branwen’s heart thundered in her chest. Had she made a mistake? Would Arawn abandon their deal?

  After a moment, Finn nodded, then looked back to Branwen. “You will stay within the estate. If you see Arawn again, you are to tell me immediately.”

  She blinked back false tears, though the quavering relief within her was quite real. “You will let me stay?”

  Finn nodded, her gaze distant, as if her thoughts had already turned to something else. She rose from her perch on the desk. “Come with us, we will find you a room.” She crossed the wooden floor to Iseult, who held the door open for her.

  When both their backs were turned, Branwen grinned, stepping toward them. This had been easier than she’d thought. Now she just had to watch and wait. When the time came, she would only need to decide if she would soften Finn’s views toward Arawn, or send her after Niklas. The power she desired was finally within reach. She would steer Finn wisely. She didn’t care who else died along the way, as long as Niklas was one of them.

  Keiren

  Every minute felt like forever. Flat on her belly, wrists bound, Keiren’s fingernails scraped across dirt and loose stones. Sweat soaked her silken black blouse and matted her crimson hair to her scalp. Niklas alone stood over her within the tent, but he was more than enough. She’d had no idea just how much power the Travelers had gained when the barrier fell. All this time, Niklas had hidden it well.

  With ankles tied and her body wracked with pain, she was unable to sit up, but managed to barely lift her head. “I know nothing you do not know. Why torture me?”

  He grinned. There was a sheen of sweat on his pale skin, but despite his exertion, she knew he would not tire soon. “Why not? Consider it retribution for the time I spent in service to you.”

  She coughed in the dirt, coming up with flecks of blood, then raised her eyes. “Your service was lackluster at best.”

  He stepped toward her, close enough that the hem of his long white robe brushed her cheek. “Are you aware that if I keep you here long enough, you will begin to age just like your father? You should be at the end of a mortal lifetime by now. Should we see how quickly it happens?”

  Fear flickered through her. Her magic, stronger than her father’s even in his prime, had sustained her many decades.

  Niklas cut right to the heart of that fear. “After all your misdeeds, what do you think you will find in the afterlife?”

  She licked her cracked lips, coating her tongue in dust. This was what she got for trying to do the right thing. “What do you want, Niklas. Why am I still alive?”

  He crouched before her. “I want to strip away the layers guarding your soul, so you can finally become useful. Your magic, the magic of air and darkness, is exceedingly rare. It is one of the few things that could perhaps hold a god in place long enough to kill him.”

  Her eyes widened. “You intend to kill Belenus?”

  “No. I intend for Finn to kill him. When she eats all of that magic,” he grinned, “you’ve no idea what she will become.”

  She blinked at him. “After everything, it’s still all about that blasted tree girl?”

  He licked his sharp teeth. “Even I could not have predicted she’d survive this long, or that she’d be capable of harboring dragon magic, but it is all rather convenient.”

  The tent flap opened behind him, revealing three exceptionally tall Ceàrdaman, their bald heads draped with heavy gray hoods. She saw a flash of dimming sunlight behind them before the flap fluttered shut. Just how long had she been in this blasted tent? She’d lost track.

  “Now,” Niklas said, “open your mind to us. It is time we made you something different too.”

  She tried to pull away from his outstretched hands, but she was too weak. Her last thought was of her father, and how she’d failed him. Part of her hoped she’d die resisting Niklas, for whatever he had planned, was surely worse.

  Óengus

  Óengus sat in the dirt, his back hunched forward to ease some of the pain that always plagued him these days. His joints ached fiercely from being bound, far more than they would have once upon a time.

  He was getting too old for this.

  How he’d ever thought to charm a faie queen was absolutely beyond him now. Oighear was a fierce woman, and centuries old. It hadn’t taken long for her to leave him behind.

  He’d never stood a chance.

  The Aos Sí around him spoke lowly in a language he’d heard Oighear speak a time or two, though most also spoke the common tongue. They silenced as Keiren’s scream cut across the camp. For a heartbeat, all turned toward the tent where she was being held, then slowly, conversation resumed.

  Óengus considered in
ching himself closer to the fire—a full day had passed, and the cold night would soon come—but he had an inkling he’d only be punished and tossed further away.

  Keiren screamed again, and this time the Aos Sí hardly seemed to notice. The cursed sorceress probably had whatever was being done to her coming, but his spine still tingled with quiet rage. He’d tortured many men in his lifetime, but not women. The concept to him seemed inherently wrong.

  He shifted his weight. As little as he appreciated Keiren’s predicament, he should probably start thinking about escaping without her, before the Ceàrdaman turned their attention to him. Did they realize how many of Oighear’s secrets he harbored? Did they care, or was she no longer a concern to them?

  He watched the Aos Sí, memorizing every weapon, getting a feel for the order of the camp. Beyond that, he could see their dully glowing magic. It seemed their innate essence was not affected by whatever barrier silenced magic in this place. A good thing too, as it would help him distinguish their whereabouts in the dark. Nightfall would be the time to act.

  Keiren screamed again, and Óengus winced. Nightfall could not come soon enough.

  Anna

  Anna sat in the grass of the courtyard, sharpening her daggers—though they hadn’t seen much use recently. Still, it was all she could think to do. With Finn off gathering faie in the forest, preparing to march on Sormyr to draw out Belenus, everyone else was left waiting for the black dragon to attack. The mages spoke little, and the burghsfolk only in hushed tones. She wasn’t sure if those outside of the estate were lucky, or unlucky. Lucky, because they did not realize the severity of the situation. They saw the dragon, yes, but they also saw the walls being expanded, and aided in the sowing of new crops. But unlucky . . . oh so unlucky, because most did not have magic. Many were women and children. They might not be on the front lines, but they would die just as swiftly as any mage.