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Adelaide considered turning toward Belanger castle several times, but each time she talked herself out of it. Thinking of Nolan leveraging her parents’ lives against her made her shudder. She recalled his attack in the drawing room—his strength and speed, the lust and determination in his eyes—and fought a wave of nausea. Regulus would get them out.
After a couple hours, she stopped to sleep at the base of a birch grove. Every little sound put her on edge. The hard dirt felt more uncomfortable without Regulus’ arms around her. She tossed in the prickly grass and woke from a troubled sleep at dawn, horrified at her decision.
What was I thinking? Without her there to stop him, Nolan would kill Regulus. Adelaide had been so worried about her parents, so relieved and ready to think Regulus is a warrior, he knows what he’s doing, he’ll save them.
But Nolan was immortal. She shouldn’t have let Regulus try to take on Nolan. I should go back and stop him. And what? Leave her parents in Nolan’s clutches? She couldn’t do that, either. Regulus didn’t need to take back the whole castle. Just get her family out. But how would he even find her family? And if Nolan caught him... I have to stop him.
Adelaide mounted Zephyr and headed toward Father’s estate. He seemed so confident, part of her brain murmured. He knows what he’s doing. But she remembered Nolan snapping Regulus’ arm and hurried Zephyr on. With every mile she rode closer to home, doubt crept in. Father would want her to warn the king. She had promised Regulus she wouldn’t go near Belanger castle.
She dismounted in a thicket of trees near the road and paced back and forth. Save Regulus, risk the king and abandon my parents. Warn the king, risk Regulus. She screamed and threw a knife at a nearby pine. It felt good, so she threw the rest.
Etiros, what do I do? She pried her knives from the tree, mounted, then dismounted again. Her eyelids drooped as she rested her forehead on Zephyr’s saddle. Regulus. My parents. The king.
If she warned the king and Nolan killed Regulus, she would never forgive herself. If she returned to intercept Regulus, Nolan might catch her. Worse, if Father’s messengers hadn’t gotten through, the king would not be warned, and all would be lost.
What would Father and Mother do? Father would warn the king. Mother would save Father. She slumped against Zephyr’s side. If she didn’t warn the king, Kirven would make Nolan a duke and things would only be worse. The only way to stop Nolan was to stop Kirven. Her mistake in leaving Regulus couldn’t be undone now.
Despite her writhing stomach, she turned Zephyr toward the palace, praying Etiros would protect Regulus and her parents.
As Adelaide tracked the sun and followed the roads toward the southwest coast of Monparth, she sent Father a mental thank-you for teaching her how to navigate and to Mother for teaching her geography. She kept her hood pulled low over her face, her hair braided and tucked out of sight, and her cloak drawn about her to hide her figure despite the warm sun. Whenever anyone approached, she left the road. That cost her time, but being accosted on the road would slow her progress more.
The supplies in Regulus’ bag lasted the first day. She awoke much later than needed the second day, then had to scavenge fruit and raw vegetables from a nearby field. Every minute she wasted, she failed the king and Father.
On the third morning, she reached the royal township of Selcairn. Adelaide paused at the crest of a hill, looking over the largest town she had ever seen. Jumbles of buildings, mostly built of wood, sprawled out on both sides of a shining blue river. The narrow steeple of the township’s chapel jutted above nearby slate roofs. A thin haze of smoke obscuring half the town indicated where the greatest concentration of shops must be. At least in such a bustling place, she might blend in. Maybe she could trade one of her knives for some food.
She continued down the hill, past peasants on foot, a small black carriage with a harried-looking driver and curtains pulled over the windows, and a group of brown-clad monks singing in a low drone. A young boy tossing a red wooden ball dropped his toy and chased it in front of Zephyr. Zephyr reared, and the boy screamed and scrambled backward as Adelaide struggled to rein in Zephyr. She dismounted and patted Zephyr’s neck, calming him before tossing the boy his ball.
“Don’t run in front of horses,” Adelaide chided, her heart racing. “You could have been killed.”
The boy ran off to a nearby woman, crying for his mama. Several people stared. A few pointed and whispered. Adelaide realized her hood had fallen off, and in the excitement, she had pushed her cloak back over her shoulders. She stood in the middle of the road, the knives on the baldric across her chest and the daggers at her hips on full display. She pulled her cloak around her and threw her hood up, but it was too late to stop the stares.
Someone wearing a hooded black cloak and riding a tan palfrey had stopped on Zephyr’s other side when she turned to remount. She focused on her saddle, ignoring the spectator as she threw her leg over Zephyr’s back.
“Where is a lovely lady like yourself going alone and bristling with blades?” a man’s voice asked from under the hood. Something familiar about his voice made her pause, and she looked over.
The man looked up, his horse a little shorter than Zephyr and the man himself shorter than average. His hood shadowed the top of his face. A pale, round nose protruded over a long brown beard streaked with gray. Crimson accents stood out like blood against his layered black robes. One pale, knobby hand gripped the palfrey’s reins. Her eyes locked onto the top of a gold staff, mostly hidden under his cloak. A dark opal with hints of blue and specks of red rested at the base of a hollow oval of gold spirals. Her gaze snapped back to his shadowed face as her hands went cold. A smile tugged at the corner of Kirven’s mouth. Adelaide kicked Zephyr and the gelding shot forward.
“How rude!” Kirven shouted.
Something hit her side and launched her from the saddle. She groaned as she hit the ground. People on the road screamed and scattered. Adelaide lifted herself on her elbow and shook her head, trying to clear her double-vision as Zephyr bolted. Kirven’s palfrey trotted up next to her.
“Where were you going, she-mage?” Kirven snickered. “Or, I suppose, just girl now.”
Adelaide thrust her hands up and a blast of pale blue light sent Kirven flying off his horse. The palfrey galloped away as she scrambled to her feet and Kirven tumbled across the road. She threw off her cumbersome cloak and directed a blast of fire at him. He blocked it with a shield of lime green light before it hit him. The flames licked past him on either side of his shield as he lay on his back in the dry ditch on the roadside. She conjured a spear and threw it, then another blast of fire. Keep him down!
But Kirven stood, using the staff to help him up. He made his magical shield bigger and kept it steady against her barrage of hard light blasts, magical knives and spears, and fireballs. On the other side of his shield, the opal pulsed with a dark green glow. Kirven slammed the bottom of the staff into the ground. The road buckled and a ripple moved toward her across the ground that knocked her off her feet. The back of her head slammed against the packed dirt. Her pulse thudded in her ears and black dots danced in her vision.
“Interesting.” Kirven’s footsteps moved toward her. She blindly threw a barrage of light shards as she sat up, but his shield absorbed the shards with a soft hiss. The shield dropped in the same moment as he pointed the Staff at her, and a green blast of light exploded from the tip. Adelaide raised her own shield, but the force of the blast rattled her bones. She threw a fireball around her shield. Kirven raised a new shield in a blink.
Glowing green ropes snaked out from his free hand and curled toward her on both sides of her barrier. She expanded the shield, turning it into a dome completely covering her. The ropes stabbed at the barrier as she panted to catch her breath. Kirven let his shield fall and switched to firing a continuous stream of flames at her barrier. She knelt, chest heaving, while heat built within her little dome. Sweat soaked her neck and trickled down her forehead and into her eyes.
The barrier was getting more exhausting to maintain by the second. Worse, her dome was running out of air. Adelaide pushed to her feet, forcing the barrier into a wall. With a heave, she threw the barrier toward Kirven. He planted the staff in the ground and managed to stay on his feet. He scowled, his hood thrown back. She wanted a moment to gulp in the cooler air, but instead she heard Father’s voice. “You have an advantage, you press it. A fight is never fair.”
She charged, conjuring a sword of light and flame. Kirven recoiled. He aimed the staff at her as she swung toward him with the sword. The blast from the staff, inches away from her chest, felt like a battering ram to the sternum. She sprawled on the ground, lungs burning, unable to breathe. Nothing but a pinprick of blue sky showed in the blinding whiteness. After a small eternity, she gasped in a giant breath and rolled onto her side, coughing and panting. Her throat was raw. The whiteness faded, but black hovered at the edges of her vision.
Something grabbed Adelaide’s ankle, and she kicked it away. Green, glowing ropes raced over her arms and legs and around her neck. She tried to attack Kirven, but the ropes pulling at her wrists made it difficult. She saw the blast of magic just before it slammed into the side of her head. Her neck snapped to the side, and she knew no more.
––––––––
ADELAIDE MOVED HER heavy head and moaned. Her heartbeat pulsed behind her eyes. She fought to force her heavy eyelids open. Walls surrounded her, windowless but with long cracks between the boards that allowed narrow strips of sunlight into the shadowy room. The warm air smelled of mildew.
Ropes—real ones, not magic ones—wrapped around her, binding her arms over her torso and digging into her skin. Her arms were crossed in an X at her wrists, with her palms against her shoulders. She attempted to move her hands but could barely rotate them. More ropes tied her ankles together. Straw poked into her arms. Her knives and daggers were gone.
The small dark room was empty, save for a thick layer of dust, old straw scattered over the floor, and a three-legged stool in one corner. Perhaps it had been a shed in the distant past. Adelaide shimmied into a sitting position. A door to her right opened, spilling blinding sunlight around Kirven’s outline.
“Good, you’re awake.” Kirven hurried inside, letting the door rattle closed. He set the staff in the corner, moved the stool closer, and sat down. “Now. Adelaide, isn’t it?”
She glared. She needed to break free of these ropes, and soon. But she used her hands to perform magic, and with them tied in place, she was at a loss.
“I haven’t been truly surprised in a long time, Adelaide.” Kirven leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He threw his hood back, and his eyes caught her off-guard. The whites were bloodshot around coal-black irises rimmed with a thin line of green. “I wasn’t expecting to see you—much less with your magic back. Now, I usually kill people when I steal their magic, so the thought that it might return had occurred to me. However, I never would have guessed it would return so quickly, or so strong. Most interesting. Tell me, how did you speed the process?”
She clenched her jaw and glanced toward the Staff. Her head still ached, but at least the pounding behind her eyes had lessened.
“Look, mage.” Kirven’s tone turned sharp and impatient. “This can be quick and painless, or long and painful. How did you get your magic back so quickly?”
Adelaide glowered up at him, mouth set in a hard line.
He tugged on his beard. “I drained you of your magic. All of it, save the drop that kept you alive. If I had pushed a little further, I would have taken your life. But I promised I wouldn’t kill you, and if I don’t keep my word all the time, what good are my threats?” He grabbed her chin with cold fingers. “So believe me when I say, if you don’t tell me exactly how you got your magic back in such a short span without the aid of sorcery, you will experience pain beyond what you can comprehend.”
She stiffened. “You didn’t kill me. My magic came back gradually. That’s what happens when you let someone live.” Kirven shook his head.
“I know you’re lying. I could barely light a candle for three days after the amount of power it took to re-forge the Staff of Nightfall. That wasn’t even a complete draining of my ability—thanks to the extra power from you. You’re going to tell me how to speed that process up.” His fingers dug into her jaw. “I do it by stealing energy from living things. It took an entire grove of trees and two hapless satyrs to get me back to full strength this time. But I know that’s not what you did. Tell me.”
“I can’t help you.”
The sorcerer’s hand warmed. Pain moved through her jaw like a screw forced into her bones. Adelaide screamed as the pain spread. Down her spine, along her bound arms, through her legs. Every bone in her body felt like it would crack at any moment. She just wanted it to stop. Her own screaming rang in her ears and tears blinded her.
The pain vanished. Her chest pushed against her bound arms as she gasped for air. Her throat ached.
Kirven rubbed one ear with his forefinger. “Women’s screams are so painful on the ears. Now. The truth.”
She shook, staring at the moldy straw on the dirt floor as tears blurred her vision. She wouldn’t help him. If she could just do some magic...
“Stubborn.” He sighed and placed his hand on top of her head.
A shield! She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on creating a shield over her body. Her hands fisted. Kirven hissed and jerked his hand back. She opened her eyes to a pale blue shimmer over her skin, but maintaining it felt like trying to hold water in her hands.
“Clever girl.” Kirven fetched the Staff and touched the end to her head.
Pressure built along her head until her grasp on the barrier shattered. Pain cracked through her skull and crushed her spine. She thrashed away with a scream as tears streamed down her face. He sat back down and lifted an eyebrow.
“Ready to talk?”
Adelaide trembled. Maybe it wouldn’t help him. At the tree, the fairies had said Kirven didn’t want to face them, that’s why he sent Regulus for the root. And she’d had to pass a test—a test Kirven would fail. Besides, she didn’t want any more pain.
“I visited the neumenet tree in Holgren Forest. There were fairies. They tried to trick me into stealing the tree’s powers. I refused. Then the tree just...gave me back my magic.”
“Was it coming back on its own before that?”
She licked her dry, salty lips. “Only a little. I tried to heal Regulus and passed out and then couldn’t do anything.”
“Mm. Disappointing.” Kirven sighed dramatically. “Technically, I guess you were telling me the truth when you said you couldn’t help me. So,” he sounded displeased, “I suppose I owe you an apology for the torture. Still, you weren’t being forthcoming, so that’s on you.”
On me! At last she stopped shaking. Her tears dried in dirty lines on her cheeks. If she hadn’t already believed Kirven would make a terrible king, she was certain of it now.
“Speaking of His Saintliness, where is Hargreaves?”
No. She couldn’t betray him.
“Let’s not have a repeat of your reticence, shall we? I’d like to spare my ears.”
Adelaide shuddered. She understood better now why Regulus had been ready to kidnap her, with that pain being the alternative. How had he even considered disobeying for so long?
“He went back to Arrano,” she said, her voice tight.
“Did you two have a falling out?” When she didn’t answer right away, Kirven grabbed her braid and yanked her head back so she was looking at him. “What happened to ‘I love you?’ And he seemed desperate to protect you. With his constant self-sacrificing, I wouldn’t have expected him to let you wander about alone. What’s he up to?”
If she didn’t answer or lied, he would torture her again. But if she told the truth...what if he warned Nolan? Kirven sighed and wrapped his hand around her throat. Burning lines spread from his hand over her skin.
“All right!” The pain stopped, but he kept his hand on her neck. “We split up to cover more ground. He went to get his men.”
“Why?” His wiry eyebrows knit together.
“To rescue my parents.” Adelaide gulped.
“Typical. And I think I know where you were headed, but I’d like to confirm my suspicion.”
“I was riding to warn the king.”
“Foolish girl.” Kirven pushed her back. She choked at the force of his hand against her windpipe. He stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “You and your father are nothing but trouble. Carrick told me your father figured out my secret. I recommended he kill Lord Belanger, but no.” He wrinkled his nose. “He’s obsessed with having you. It’s clouding his judgment. I’m letting him try his way for now, because a willing servant works better in my long-term plans, and he believes he can control you.”
His voice took on a hint of impatient annoyance. “I made a deal with him and put the binding on him because of his intelligence, ruthlessness, charisma, and ambition. A man with such a craving for power, with that much selfishness and so little regard for his fellow man, is an excellent ally in a war. Not to mention terribly easy to manipulate. He will be useful in restructuring Monparth’s nobility to serve me—but that works best if he’s happy with our arrangement. Also, I assumed he would kill Hargreaves. I’m disappointed he’s not dead yet. Perhaps Carrick is less competent than I hoped.”
“Then why didn’t you kill Regulus?”
“Because,” Kirven sounded like he was explaining something simple to a bratty and stupid child, “I gave my word. Haven’t you been paying attention?” He ran his fingers through his beard. “Ah, well. I’ll alert Carrick. I must be on my way again. There’s a palace to scout and a masque to ruin. But first...” He placed his hand on her forehead.
“No, please!” She tried to scoot away, but the bindings prevented much movement. Her back pressed into the wall of the shed. She hunched down, making herself as small as possible. His hand burned hot against her forehead. Nothing else happened.
Kirven frowned. “What?” He pressed harder, forcing her head against the wall. The heat from his hand made her eyes water. He dropped his hand and stared for a moment before grabbing the Staff. He placed the end of the Staff against her head, then cursed and moved the Staff to her chest. Nothing.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he screeched. “Why can’t I take your magic?”
Oh. That’s what he’s— Searing heat spread from the end of the staff, spreading invisible flames over her skin.
“Tree!” she shrieked. The burning subsided. “The fairies said the neumenet tree’s powers can’t be stolen! It gave me my magic, so my magic can’t be stolen. That’s what they told me!”
Kirven’s features slackened.
Adelaide cowered against the wall of the shed. “Please. That’s what they told me. I don’t know any more. I don’t know any more.”
He drew back the Staff. His shoulders rose and fell in sharp, tense movements as his expression became dark and dangerous. “Say you’ll serve me.”
