M ARAH JERKED AWAKE AS COLD WATER splashed on her, her entire body shivering helplessly as the liquid ran over her and pooled around her feet. Her body felt as if she’d been beaten– for a horrible moment, she thought she’d never left her stepfather’s custody and everything that had happened over the past few months had been a dream – and her magic was gone. She wanted to keep her eyes shut, to pretend she was still asleep, but it was pointless. She was…
Horror washed through her. She hadn’t known who the envoy had been… she hadn’t known who’d been in the carriage. Just another aristo, she’d thought; someone who would convince the moderates to sell out the rest of the revolution so they could keep their power and position while grinding everyone else into the dirt. But Lady Emily… it was Emily. She’d tried to kill her heroine, the woman who had brought the New Learning and so much else… and now Marah was a prisoner.
She bit her lip, trying to remain calm as the truth sank in. She was naked, sitting in a hard iron chair, her arms and feet firmly manacled to the metal. There was a foul taste in her mouth… she wanted to spit, to clear her throat, but she didn’t quite dare. Two men stood facing her, one wearing fancy robes over a breastplate and the other wearing leathers. Marah shuddered as she recognized them. The Crown Prince looked just like his portraits, save for the sadistic and hungry sneer covering his face. The other was the Royal Torturer, the most hated man in the kingdom. Marah had been told – by her master – that he specialized in extracting confessions that rarely, if ever, bore any resemblance to reality. It wasn’t his job to learn the truth, but to manufacture confessions that could be used to smear anyone who dared question the king’s might. Or his right to rule. She wanted to wrap her hands around his neck, but she could barely move. The iron held her firmly in place.
Keep your mouth shut , she told herself. Her master would know soon, if he didn’t already, that she’d been caught. He’d abandon the house and vanish, or find a way to come after her. Whatever happens, keep your mouth shut .
The Crown Prince leaned forward, his face strikingly handsome and yet marred by a sneer that told her, beyond all shadow of a doubt, that he enjoyed inflicting pain. Marah shuddered. Her stepfather had been a drunken lout who beat his wife and children, but she’d never thought he enjoyed it. She wasn’t so sure about her first mistress… here, she’d been told, there were men who sought out the poorest streetwalkers purposefully, just so they could make them hurt. Marah felt sick. She’d never been so vulnerable in her life. She wanted to believe her master would come for her, but could he come in time?
“No one knows you’re alive,” the Crown Prince said. It was hard to look at that handsome face and reconcile it with his sadistic tone. The young man really was as attractive as his portraits insisted. That was practically unique. “There is just you, and us, and a world of pain.”
Marah gritted her teeth. He wasn’t going to ask her questions, not yet. He was just going to hurt her and keep hurting her… she could tell him anything, anything at all, and yet he’d just keep hurting her. She reached for her magic, desperately, but it refused to come. She was trapped. She kicked herself, mentally, for not running the moment she’d triggered the device, or even for accepting the mission. Her head spun as the prince reached for her breasts, making her start before pulling his hand back… what had she done? What had she been made to do?
A door opened. A messenger popped in.
“I said I didn’t want to be disturbed,” the Crown Prince snarled. Marah would have laughed at how the messenger shrank back and cowered if she hadn’t known she was about to be tortured to death. The man might have saved her for a few moments longer. “What is it?”
“Your Highness…”
The messenger started to mumble, his voice too low for Marah to make out the words. His master seemed to understand, though; he stood, scowling mightily, and headed for the door, the messenger and the torturer following in his wake. The door slammed shut behind them… Marah sagged, wondering if she’d been given a brief reprieve or if it was just part of the torture. The pain would be bad enough, but forcing her to wait time and time again… she shuddered helplessly, allowing her eyes to wander around the cell. There was nothing she could use to escape, even if she could get out of the chair. She was helpless.
There’s always a way out , she thought, numbly. But where is it?
She tried to relax, but the iron chair made it impossible. Her wrists and ankles hurt ... she looked down at herself and winced at the bruises, barely visible in the half-lit cell. She guessed she’d been beaten badly, after she’d been knocked out. There was no shortage of horror stories about what happened to young women who were arrested by the guardsmen and…
The door opened, again. Lady Emily stepped into the room.
Marah stared, unsure what to think or say. She’d never thought she’d meet Lady Emily. She didn’t look that much like her portraits – Marah had seen so many different images she’d wondered if there were several people with the same name – but it was her. Who else could it be? Only a sorceress who had defeated a small army of necromancers in a single battle could have survived the spell she’d unleashed, let alone fought back and won. Marah wasn’t sure how she’d won, but…
She studied Lady Emily, seeing emotions flickering across her face, coming and going so quickly Marah couldn’t read them properly. Lady Emily didn’t look that old… it was odd, somehow, to think a person only a few years older than she was could have so much power. And yet, Lady Emily had somehow ordered the Crown Prince to leave and taken over the interrogation herself… what was she doing? Marah felt cold. She’d attacked a sorceress, in a manner that made it brutally clear she intended to kill , and… Emily had every right to kill her , in any way she wished. And who could blame her?
No one , Marah thought, bitterly.
Emily wore a simple dress, with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She undid the shawl carefully, then draped it over Marah’s breasts and thighs. Marah swallowed hard, feeling a sudden lump in her throat. No one – no one – had ever done anything like that for her, not even her mother. The Crown Prince had exposed her deliberately, positioning her so she couldn’t even close her legs… and Emily had covered her? Tears prickled in her eyes at the simple kindness, even though she feared it was just a way to manipulate her. She’d seen her former mistress do the same, showering her customers with favors until they ran out of money and the friendly innkeeper turned into a nightmarish debt collector. If the bitch was still alive, no doubt she was harassing Marah’s stepfather. The two deserved each other.
Emily waved her hand in the air, casting a spell. “I have some questions to ask you,” she said, in a surprisingly pleasant tone. Her accent was difficult to place, although there were definite hints of Zangaria in her voice. “And if you try to lie to me, I will know about it.”
Marah swallowed, feeling fearful and sullen. “And what happens afterwards?”
“It rather depends on your answers,” Emily said. Marah silently gave her points for honesty. “What is your name?”
“Marah,” Marah said. She didn’t think her name alone would help anyone. Marah was a country name, but it was also quite common in the cities. “Marah, Stepdaughter of Garang.”
Her lips twisted, bitterly. The bastard had stolen much from her, including her father’s name. The vindictive part of her almost hoped the investigation would lead all the way back to Lubbock, and her stepfather… he hadn’t seen her for months, but he might still be held responsible for her crimes. He was her male guardian, legally speaking… she almost laughed at the thought. He deserved punishment for all sorts of horrible things… it would be fitting, if he were hanged for something he hadn’t done. The gods knew he’d beaten her, more than once, for something she hadn’t done…
And he beat my brother Roth for trying to stop him , she thought. He deserves to die .
Emily leaned forward. “Why did you try to kill me?”
Marah’s mouth opened, words spilling out before she could stop herself. “I didn’t know it was you!”
Emily cocked her head. “Would it have been acceptable, if it had been anyone else?”
Marah wanted to hesitate, but the words came anyway. Emily had cast a spell on her, she realized dully, to make her talk…
“I was told the moderates were going to sell us out,” she said. It was impossible to keep from talking, no matter what she did. “I was told that if I killed the envoy, we might have a chance to keep them from doing it.”
“I see,” Emily said, slowly. “And who told you this?”
“My master,” Marah said. She writhed in frustration. She couldn’t keep the words from spilling out of her mouth. “Virgil Quintus Fabius. The Wild Fox.”
Emily’s lips tightened, just for a second. Marah hoped that was a good sign. Her master was famous – his reputation reached throughout the entire kingdom – and if Emily knew him… no one quite knew where he’d come from, before he’d donned the mask. He’d been tight-lipped on the topic, although there were dozens of stories placing him right across the Allied Lands. She might have met him in Zangaria, or Tarsier, or…
“A magician, I take it,” Emily said. “Did he tell you what the devices did ?”
“He just said they would be enough to destroy the coach,” Marah said. “I… I didn’t know it was you .”
Emily nodded. “And how did you meet your master?”
Marah felt years of anger and frustration bubbling up, the words tumbling so rapidly she wasn’t sure she could be understood. “My stepfather was a drunken asshole,” she said, bitterly. She thought she saw Emily flinch at her words. “He beat me, kicked me, sent me out to earn money for him… eventually, he sold me to an innkeeper for beer money. Or something. The bitch worked me nearly to death and her husband tried to rape me, so I fled to the city and found myself in a slave barracks instead. My master rescued me, gave me a home, taught me magic…”
“A very limited kind of magic,” Emily observed. “Did he teach you how to cast magic without a wand?”
“He said it was difficult,” Marah told her. “But… I did it. In the Allenstown Mansion… I did it.”
She felt her face twist as she looked at Emily. “I… he took the girls, and we saved them.”
Emily frowned. “What girls?”
“They vanished from the streets,” Marah told her. “Kidnapped, taken to his mansion, sold onwards… that was the plan, at least. We saved them and… I killed him. With wandless magic.”
She looked down, wincing inwardly. She wasn’t sorry. She wasn’t sure what Lord Allenstown had wanted with the young girls, but she doubted it would have been remotely pleasant. The bastard had been a slave trader… hell, his entire mansion had been run by spell-controlled slaves. If the young and pretty girls had been fitted with collars… she felt her heart twist. No one, not even her worst enemy, deserved that .
“I see,” Emily said. Her voice was cold, although it didn’t seem to be directed at her . Marah wondered if Emily was having second thoughts about trying to mediate. The king and his son were beyond all hope of redemption. The Revolution would sweep them away, and the Crown Prince would end his days dangling from a tree, a far kinder fate than he’d ever offered to his victims. The old order would die with him, and the new would rise from the ashes. “And he sent you to kill me.”
“I didn’t know it was you,” Marah said, again. Guilt and shame warred with fear in her breast. The kindest thing Emily could do now was kill her, perhaps put a fireball through her head before the Crown Prince returned. It would be quick. Marah was all too aware that, by the time the torturer was finished with her, she would be begging for death. “I didn’t…”
“So you said,” Emily agreed. “Tell me, did your master tell you where he got the devices?”
Marah hesitated. “I thought he made them himself.”
“He might have,” Emily agreed. “But where did he get the idea?”
“I don’t know,” Marah said. “He corresponded with other magicians, but… he never let me see any of the letters.”
Emily raised her eyebrows. “And you never tried to read them?”
Marah flinched. “I couldn’t,” she admitted. “I can barely read.”
“It takes practice,” Emily said. “I wonder…”
She met Marah’s eyes. “You do realize your master sent you into a trap?”
Marah wanted to deny it, but… she couldn’t. She didn’t want to believe it and yet… she had let herself be sent out to kill Lady Emily , not… no, it was worse than that. She’d demanded something more significant to do, then failed to look too closely when he’d given her what she wanted. He’d told her, once, that the secret of leadership was to allow the group to pull you in the direction you wanted to go… her heart twisted, painfully, as she realized she’d been manipulated. He’d let her force him to do something he’d wanted to do…
“Yes,” she said, finally. It wasn’t easy to admit it out loud. She didn’t want to believe it, and yet she was honest enough to admit she’d been manipulated. “I…”
She swallowed. “Did he know who you were?”
“I left ahead of time,” Emily said. Marah was surprised she’d answered. “And he had you in place to intercept me. Worrying, isn’t it?”
Marah said nothing. The castle was supposed to be impregnable, but servants were human too. Some could be bought, some could be blackmailed, some could be enchanted… or simply taken to the nearest pub and plied with drinks, then interrogated when they were too drunk to know what was going on. It was quite possible someone inside the castle had contacted her master and alerted him to Emily’s departure…
Her heart sank. He’d known. He’d known all along.
“Yeah,” she managed. “I don’t know who told him.”
Emily looked pensive. “We shall see,” she said, more to herself than to Marah. “You’re lucky no one got killed, for all the power you unleashed.”
Marah swallowed. “What now?”
“Good question,” Emily said. “Your target wasn’t the only thing your… master… lied to you about, you see.”
She shifted her head, slightly. “Did you ever peek into his room?”
Marah was honestly shocked. “No,” she said, sharply. “I would never!”
Emily smiled. “Why not?”
“I…” Marah had to struggle to put her feelings into words. She’d had very little privacy in her life, not as a mining child or as an innkeeper’s slave. The room she’d been given had been hers … it might be little bigger than the cell, but it had been the first taste of true privacy she’d ever had. The idea of violating his privacy was just… unthinkable. She would sooner have left his service for good. “It was his private room!”
“I see.” Emily let out a long breath. “I have a question for you…”
You’ve had nothing but questions for me , Marah thought. She felt tired and bitter and… she cringed, inwardly, as the door opened, despair flooding through her mind. I’m not going to get out of this alive, am I?
The Crown Prince stepped into the chamber. “Lady Emily, you have been recalled to Zangaria,” he said. “We’ll take care of this… terrorist.”
“Indeed?” Emily’s lips twitched, as if the prince had said something funny. “You do appreciate that Marah took a shot at me ?”
The prince gave her a sidelong look that lingered just a moment too long. Marah shivered.
“Of course,” the prince said, finally. “And we will see to it that she is… punished… appropriately.”
Emily straightened. “And as the victim, I have the final say in what happens to her?”
The prince visibly hesitated. Marah couldn’t tell what was going through his head. She couldn’t even be sure Emily was right . It could be argued either way and…
“She’ll be coming with me,” Emily said. She smiled brightly, so brightly Marah was sure it was faked. “She will be working off her debt to me.”
“My Lady…” The Crown Prince looked stunned. “What… what do you intend to do to her?”
Marah felt her heart sink again. Emily could do anything to her, anything at all. No one would say a word if she enslaved her would-be assassin, turned her into a cow and sold her to a breeding farm, or one of any number of magical horrors or tortures or… she dreaded what the prince would do to her, if he had a chance, yet… she was scared of Emily too.
Emily’s smile grew wider, somehow. “Isn’t it obvious? Marah is my new apprentice.”