Chapter 19

Amarynn dropped back into a crouch and lowered her head. Perhaps if she played the part of the disgruntled deserter, she could talk her way out of this and regroup. She steadied herself and slowly rotated on her heels, then stood to face the mage.

Venalise approached, appraising her. Amarynn stood still, controlling hands that itched to reach for any of her blades. The two women locked eyes and held each other’s stare while noises from above indicated guards were on their way. Three uniformed men and one woman came around the bend and stopped behind Venalise. Silently, they drew their swords and stood ready.

Amarynn smirked and went for her short sword.

Venalise raised her hand, and Amarynn’s sword clattered to the floor with a flick of her wrist, the metal responding immediately to Venalise’s power. So it was to be a fistfight, Amarynn thought. A slower method, but she was still more powerful than the four. The mage stepped back as the guards encircled her.

“Do not resist, Traveler.” Venalise’s warning was almost amusing.

Amarynn waited to see who would strike first.

“Did you know he followed you?”

Jael? Idiot!

The guard in front of her swung hard. Amarynn met his fist with her hand and twisted till she heard an audible pop. He screamed.

“He’s with Lors now, actually,” the mage continued her commentary as if nothing was amiss. The guard to Amarynn’s left swung his sword, the blade finding purchase in the space between her breastplate and backplate. The slice stung, and she turned, driving the guard against the wall, her back to the other two guards and Venalise. She pried the sword from his hand, and it clattered to the floor, the bones of his hand cracking under the pressure.

“They are discussing terms of some sort, I believe.”

Terms?

In that distraction, the remaining two guards grabbed her arms from behind as the other fell to the ground, clutching his hand. She felt a heavy cuff clamp around her right arm and was wracked with a blinding pain that began at her wrist and tore like fire through her body. She stumbled backward and doubled over, unable to breathe. Stars exploded behind her eyes, and she fell to the stone floor; painful convulsions wracked her body. She saw the guards reaching for her, and then she saw nothing as darkness closed around her.

The gate rose before him.

Jael dug deep into all the years he’d lived in his father’s shadow. He arranged his face into the mask of ruthlessness that was so familiar and stood with a confidence he knew he did not possess. He knew his arrival alone would be suspicious, but he had no choice but to try. After all, he was the Crown Prince of the largest Kingdom in the land.

The gate cleared the arching portcullis, and he took in the scene. Servants scurried back and forth across the torch-lit square, unloading wagons while guards watched. He scanned the yard but did not see Amarynn.

Good.

A little fox-faced man hurried toward him. He was slight and dressed in robes that indicated he maintained a court position.

“My Lord!” he exclaimed, a little too eagerly. “You are…?”

“I am Jael, Crown Prince of Karth, and I will see your King—” Jael barely inclined his head to make eye contact with the man. “Immediately.”

“We were not expecting such an honored visit! Have you no horse? I’ll have the stable boys…” His voice trailed off as he looked around Jael and saw no mount. An awkward silence ensued until the little man shrugged and gestured for Jael to follow him as he scurried back through the gate.

They crossed the yard and entered a nondescript doorway, no one giving them a second look. He followed the man through a maze of corridors and down a long flight of stairs, torches creating pools of light at scattered and uneven intervals. He trailed him without speaking, surprised that such a lack of decorum was afforded a visitor of his stature, even for such a small holding. Granted, he was unexpected.

Athtull Keep was in a state of ruin, as far as Jael had thought. Once, this had been the southern stronghold of the people of the Stone Reaches. A secretive, but powerful people, they populated the massive expanse of unexplored land beyond the Stone Giant mountains. Now Athtull seemed to have fallen under the control of a noble of questionable origin. This “King” was unheard of, as was the mage who served him. Fitting, he thought, that Lors would have chosen an earth mage. Who better to breathe life back into the mountain-carved keep?

After several more twists and turns, they reached what served as a receiving hall. Jael was confident they were inside the mountain itself. The underground room seemed almost the entire width and depth of the keep, dimly lit, with a dais and throne on one end and along one of the long walls, a great hearth blazing. At the other end was a large table scattered with maps and scrolls, where a man bent over, poring over one of the larger maps. He held a quill in one hand, apparently making notes on the map in front of him.

The fox-faced man cleared his throat. “My Lord?”

The man straightened, turning toward them abruptly. He seemed irritated at the intrusion. He was dressed in tall black boots, a finely tailored black linen tunic over supple leather pants, and a heavy black and grey cloak that swept the ground. His face was undeniably handsome beneath his dark, wavy hair.

“My Lord, King Lors, I present Jael, Crown Prince of Karth!” The attendant waited to be sure he had been heard. He gestured to Jael’s sword. “Your weapon, My Lord.” Jael reluctantly pulled his sword from its sheath and handed it to the little man, who hurriedly bowed then darted out of the room.

The King set the quill down and picked up a handkerchief. He walked across the room, wiping his ink-stained hands as he eyed Jael from head to toe. Now face to face, Jael could see lines at the corners of his eyes and creases on his brow.

“So, your father sent you?”

“I wasn’t sent,” Jael replied with as much indignation as he could muster.

“Interesting,” Lors said, still studying the Prince.

“I believe you have something that belongs to my father,” Jael began, “and my Kingdom. I’d like it back.” He cocked his head slightly to the side. “Actually, I’d like both of them back.”

Just as he finished speaking, a woman swept into the room. She glanced at him briefly but made straight for the King’s ear. She leaned in and whispered so Jael could not hear the exchange. This was the same woman Amarynn had identified as Venalise earlier that day when they had watched the caravan enter the Keep. She was younger than he first thought and quite beautiful. Rich, dark hair tumbled across her shoulders, and her pale skin was creamy against the deep red velvet of her gown. She slid her gaze to Jael as she stepped away from the King.

Lors addressed Jael, a smirk appearing on his lips, “Oh, it seems I have acquired more than you think I have, my young lord.”

Jael tried not to let his confusion show. He kept his face blank as his mind worked to decipher Lors’ meaning, but his stomach dropped when he realized what the King implied. Surely, he couldn’t mean Amarynn. If that were true, Jael knew he couldn’t let on that it mattered. He feigned indifference, though it killed him to do so. “I don’t believe there is anything else that matters to me,” he said, hating the taste of every word that crossed his lips.

Lors adjusted his stance and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He chewed his lip for a moment, then spoke. “Prince Jael. I’ll be succinct. I have the mage, and I have the stone. I intend to keep both. Well,” he chuckled to himself. “At least the stone. I don’t know if the mage will survive much longer.” He glanced over at the woman, who smiled like a beautiful, deadly predator. He and Venalise shared a menacing smirk.

“Apparently, now I also have Karth’s deadliest warrior on the way to my dungeon as we speak. She was caught trying to locate your mage. So,” Lors said, pacing in a circle around Jael. “Shall we begin again?”

Jael said nothing. He fixed his eyes on the table across the room, fighting to suppress the pounding in his chest. She had been captured. This was precisely what he feared when she’d left him outside the keep. The ability to subdue Amarynn so quickly only confirmed Venalise’s power as a mage, and the thought of her trapped in her hands shook him to his core for reasons he could not explain. He was on his own now, and even if Bent and Nioll were smart enough to return to Karth and tell his father, it would be days until anyone arrived. Between the Travelers and the Legion, Karth could take the keep, but now that Venalise possessed the stone and Regealth, they could be gone within the hour — and both would be lost once again.

“I have to ask myself why you are here,” Lors continued. “Without your Legion. Without anyone at all!” He laughed. “Well, except for your Traveler. I believe you are either very brave or foolish.”

Jael held his ground. “You have what belongs to Karth, and what belongs to Karth belongs to me. I want them back.”

Lors laughed out loud. “After all the trouble we went through to infiltrate your castle and steal your mage and his pretty necklace, do you think I would just hand them back to you?”

“Perhaps you forget who I am.” Jael grew bolder with every word. “In a few days, my father will arrive with his Travelers and the Legion. This is nothing more than a courtesy. You can give them to me now or wait for Karth to take them back while you watch in chains.”

“You do know I have a mage, too.” Venalise stepped forward. “And soon enough, I will have Travelers, just like your father’s.”

“I will not repeat myself. Return Regealth, Amarynn, and the stone.” Jael’s thoughts were racing now, but he maintained his authoritative tone. “Do this and spare the slaughter of your men.” He only hoped his father would come as quickly as he claimed he would. But he wasn’t even sure Bent had gone back to Karth.

“I think we could strike a deal, Prince.” Lors stepped directly in front of Jael. “I know I can’t kill your Traveler, but you are mortal, as is your mage, no?”

Jael swallowed hard but kept his face stoic, refusing eye contact with Lors.

“I will admit, you are brave for thinking you could waltz in and retrieve them on your own. Brave, indeed.” Lors moved behind Jael, and the Prince could feel the King’s breath at his ear. He spoke in a whisper. “Let me ask, how long does it take a Traveler to heal from a sword to the gut? A broken back? A knife to the throat?”

Jael stiffened, then immediately regretted his reaction.

Lors turned on his heel and strode over to the table where he had been working earlier. “You see, I have had my eye on Karth for quite some time. The people of the Reaches nearly took it twenty-something years ago, but they were messy, disorganized.”

Jael turned his head towards Lors.

“I am no warrior, I will admit.” Lors held his hands up in mock surprise. He dropped into the ornate chair next to him and picked up a stack of papers. “But I study, you see. I have been studying since well before Karth took The Handaals, and I know you must fight fire with fire. Therefore, I stole the ember that will give me the same strength as your father.”

Jael took a step toward the table. “You don’t know what you are doing. The Gate is magic you cannot wield.”

“And why is that?” Venalise asked from behind, feigning ignorance.

“The Gate is not a magical gem you make a wish on or whisper over to make Travelers appear from thin air. It is delicate and intricate magic. Your studies didn’t reveal that, did they?” Jael sneered.

“Oh, they did,” Lors chuckled. “And now I have the mage and the stone. I even have a Traveler! What else do I need, Lise?”

“Nothing, Lord,” Venalise purred. “If there is something we missed, we have this one to guide us.” Her satisfied smile was poisonous.

“I won’t help you!”

“No?” Lors stood. “I think I can inspire your cooperation.” He meandered around the table, letting his fingers trail along the smooth edge. “She’s a pretty thing,” he said, almost to himself. “Stubborn, too. I recall seeing her just as she arrived, looking for Venalise.”

Jael’s heartbeat quickened.

“Your Traveler is quite a specimen. I can see why you’d want her back.”

“I will not help you.”

“My boy,” Lors nodded, “you will help me. Because if you do not, the consequences will be unpleasant.”

“Do what you will,” Jael challenged, his heart pounding. The words left his mouth before he could think. He was inviting disaster.

“Oh?”

Jael’s eyes glittered with defiance.

Lors smiled and called over his shoulder, “Bring her!”

Amarynn awoke to a heavy numbness in her limbs. She cracked open one eye and saw her sword leaning against a nearby stone wall. Her arm, heavy with the weight of the cuff wrapped tightly around her wrist, inched toward the blade. Her hand crept closer to the hilt but stopped just as the iron chain reached its full length, keeping the grip just out of reach. She opened her other eye and fixed her stare on the cuff, then followed the chain to a stone wall where it was attached to a thick, metal hook. Laughter assaulted her ears, and she bristled with rage. She heard footsteps cross the floor; then, a guard held her arms while another gathered the chain and unhooked it from the wall.

“Let’s go, girl!”

The guards hauled Amarynn up by the arms. Venalise must have used the iron to spell her, to keep her slow and subdued. The sensation was similar to the torc Lasten used to disarm Travelers, but this magic felt dirty and rough. Not only did it drain her strength, but it also hurt. Her muscles and bones ached against the enchantment attached to her wrist.

The two guards were familiar; they were the ones she had not injured. They kept her chained as they dragged her across the stone chamber and then through the arched doorway on the other side. Amarynn could barely lift her head to look for any sign of Regealth as they passed through. They hoisted her roughly up an endless flight of stairs, and when they finally stopped, she was confident it would be at a cell. She was surprised to see large, iron-banded doors. They were ajar, and she could hear low voices from within.

“Bring her!” The command reverberated out into the hallway.

The guards yanked on her arms again as they elbowed the doors open and pulled her into the room. She pushed herself to stand a little taller and walk more than be dragged as they entered the room. Her pride was too tricky to completely contain, even as she was incapacitated by magic beyond her control. She refused to appear weak.

As they entered the chambers, she kept her gaze on the floor. When the guards stopped, she raised her head, prepared to see Lors at his council table. She was not ready to see Jael.

Her heart plummeted. She had hoped Venalise had lied to her, but there he was. Jael had made the worst kind of mistake following her. Now they had leverage. Lors and Venalise would hurt her or Regealth repeatedly until the Prince revealed whatever knowledge they sought. Jael was strong, she knew, but eventually, he would break. She channeled every ounce of her rage away from her body and into her glare, focused solely on Lors.

“Ah!” King Lors exclaimed, making sure to gauge Jael’s reaction. “Here she is!”

Jael raised his head, and his eyes fixed miserably on Amarynn. She saw him wince for a moment, and she shook her head almost imperceptibly. She could not allow him to be broken by Lors, using her as bait. The King gestured to the guards to bring her forward. He ran one finger along her cheek.

“So beautiful.”

Amarynn tore her eyes away from Jael to glare at the King again.

“And so damn mean!” he chuckled. He pulled his dagger from its sheath and set it at the hollow of her throat, just between her collarbones. He turned back to Jael. “You know her, Jael. Does she even have a heart?”

Lors turned back to Amarynn and plunged his dagger into her chest without warning.

Amarynn grunted as the blade pierced through the muscle and bone near her throat. Pain blossomed through her, but she refused to scream. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively sought Jael with wide eyes. His horrified expression was telling. She was sure he’d break, and sooner than she had thought. The Traveler struggled, but only briefly. She felt her lungs fill with the blood pumping from the open vessels in her neck and settled into the inevitability of her heart slowing to a stop.

Lors stood with his arms crossed as he watched her, observed her with a sick fascination.

Ever defiant, Amarynn stayed on her feet as long as she could. Lors turned back to Jael, smiling sadistically. Her breathing became quick and shallow, gurgling as fluid continued to fill her lungs. She willed herself not to fight it as she mouthed two words at the Prince.

Don’t break.

Finally, her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees.

Conserving whatever breath she had left, she held on to consciousness as long as she could until black spots crowded her vision. Her eyes never left Jael’s until the darkness claimed her, blood pooling on the stone at her feet as she sagged between the two guards.

“Get her out of here!” Lors bellowed.

Amarynn’s feet left a bloody trail out the door as Lor’s men dragged her limp form from the chamber. Jael stared at the pool of her congealing blood while Lors strode back to the table, wiping his blade on his ink-stained handkerchief. Eyeing Jael, he sat down, placing his elbows on the table.

“I’m fascinated by the immortal human Travelers,” he began. Lors rested his chin in his hand. He reached across the table with the other and snatched a blank piece of parchment. “Do you know how long it will take for her to heal?”

Jael’s right hand clenched so hard at his side that his fingernails drew blood in his palm. His presence of mind had left the room Amarynn’s limp body.

“How long?”

Jael broke his stare and looked towards Lors, dumbfounded. He had never imagined it would come to this. He knew that walking into the keep was a mistake, but he was unprepared for Amarynn to become Lors’ captive. The thought had never even crossed his mind. She was legendary, unbeatable, yet he just witnessed her being cut down like any other soldier. Travelers survived wounds like the one she just endured, but at a significant cost. He knew that if the blade had penetrated her heart, it would take her many painful weeks to recover.

“I… don’t know,” Jael whispered.

“How could you not…” Lors shook his head in exasperation. “Never mind. That’s a shame,” the King said as he scribbled notes. “I will document each injury so we can be certain.” He stopped, quill feathers brushing his chin. “If a Traveler is already injured, would other injuries take longer than usual to heal?” Lors shook his head, admonishing himself. “I should have wounded her with a sword first. I have such a terrible habit of rushing things!”

Venalise, who had remained in the background throughout the entire ordeal, glided past them. She stopped for a moment at the chamber door.

“Lors, while your fascination with Traveler healing time is riveting,” she announced, “I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Lors looked up from his paper quizzically.

“It won’t matter how long their healing takes if I cannot summon one.”