Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
THE AFTERNOON SLIPPED BY WITH STILL NO SIGN OF THRAN OR Mavrel.
As evening loomed, thick clouds rolled in, promising rain, and Thia shivered.
Next to Dess, she was grateful for the shield he created against the chill seeping in from the barn door, though she wondered if she should muster the effort to fish her cloak out of her pack.
They had long since demolished Dess’s carrots, and her stomach was rumbling again.
“I survived off of hay for a week once,” said a sardonic voice from the corner. “You might consider it and let us rest in silence.”
Thia turned. Oskaren was sitting against the wall, watching them with a familiar smirk.
“How are you feeling?” she rasped, nearly running to the other girl in relief. Even though she hated her. Probably. Not really. She felt nothing. Nothing was safe to feel.
“Good as new,” Oskaren said. “What happened?”
“The Silver Sorceress,” Dess breathed. “She healed you.” He looked like Thia felt, as though it was taking everything he had not to go to her and make sure. He tucked his knees up to his chest and clutched them too tightly while he surveyed her in disbelief.
Oskaren seemed taken aback. “I suppose we have our Storm Crow to thank for that.”
“She found me,” Thia said. “I did nothing.” She joined in Dess’s inspection, cataloging the signs of health.
Color had returned to the girl’s cheeks.
She’d found the energy to smooth her chin-length hair back into a small ponytail, save for those strands at her temples and neck too short to reach the band.
Her new silver scar flashed as she shifted under the attention.
“Would you like me to get up and dance so that you can be sure?” she asked both of them pointedly.
Thia blushed, scurrying to inspect the floorboards, while Dess brushed a hand over his hair, cheeks pink.
An hour later the rain began. They sat mostly in silence, the sound of the weather muffled by the wattle-and-daub roof.
Thia distracted herself from her empty stomach by trying to recite everything she knew about the skeletal system, while Oskaren napped away the exhaustion that accompanied a healing.
Dess threw bits of hay in the air and tried to catch them horizontally on his nose, but gave up when he realized Thia was watching and began pelting them at her.
When the fifth piece floated unthreateningly to the ground in between them, she extended her leg to slide it back toward him. “Your dedication is admirable.” He grabbed it, and her lips curled. “Not your methods, though.”
This time, he reached behind to pick a much larger handful from a bale of hay.
Underestimating the length of one strand, he poked himself in the eye as he drew it forward, and let out a sputtering laugh.
Thia cackled, only to choke on it in shock as a bolt of silver light tore through the window, setting the floor ablaze.
She scrambled to her feet, panicking at all the tinderous hay, but then the silvery fire went out.
“The sorceress came through,” Dess said, awe palpable.
He was right. Across the floorboards where the fire had been, letters were scorched into the wood in a familiar script, signed with the same rose, a serpent entwining its thorns.
Thia,
Tomorrow at noon.
Best of luck.
C.
The door creaked open. At such a vague message, Thia hoped it was Callista back to give her any more (literally anything would be helpful) information. But Thran stood in the entrance, dripping with rain, a bedraggled Mavrel perched on his shoulder.
“Lass,” he said to Thia. “You’re alright.”
Oskaren raised an eyebrow. “Your concern over my injuries is touching.”
To Thia’s surprise, the older man didn’t ignore her or flinch away. Instead, he met the girl’s gaze and said stoically, “I didn’t think you wanted my concern.”
Oskaren took a moment to recover, then cleared her throat and said, “Right.” Thia appraised the older man, holding out her arm for Mavrel when he returned a tentative smile. The bird enthusiastically hopped onto the presented limb and nuzzled her cheek with his feathered one.
Thran’s expression hardened as he registered the words on the floor behind her. “So you’ve found a way,” he said, voice catching. “Good.”
Darkness hovered in the sky beyond him, night turning a stony sky pitch black. All there was to do now was wait for dawn.
In the morning, they consumed the last of their food supply. Thia scarfed a handful of nuts, thinking longingly of stovetops and ovens. She hoped this was the last time she’d have to miss home.
They packed up their things, Oskaren doing the same. Thia paused, her own bed half rolled, half splayed across the dirty floor. Now was the time. “Oskaren.”
“What?”
“You can’t come with us.”
Her mouth flattened. “Try and stop me.”
Thia tried to present a logical argument, thinking a plea to feelings would most likely lead to further mockery. “If you come, you’ll be recognized and arrested before you even enter the city. And then I will never get home.” Okay, the last sentence was a plea to feeling.
As expected, it fell on unaffected ears. The girl just laughed. “I’m coming.” Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her sword where it was sheathed at her side. “My vengeance awaits.”
Thia opened her mouth to argue, but noticed the shadow creeping up on the other girl. Dess had drawn his own sword and was looking at her rather pointedly.
Thia shifted slightly, so that he was directly behind Oskaren, out of his sister’s line of sight. “Maybe you can get Callista to help you another time,” she said. “Please don’t ruin this for me.”
Oskaren smirked. “What you fail to understand yet again, Faelyn, is that I don’t care a wit about you.”
“I think you’re wrong,” she said. Come on, Dess. “I think you’re not as heartless as you claim. Heartless people can’t feel angry. Betrayed. Bitter. Heartless people can’t feel.”
Dess raised his sword. Thia’s heart quickened. Oskaren opened her mouth to retort.
Clunk.
Dess brought the hilt of his sword onto Oskaren’s head.
The girl’s eyes rolled back, her smirk going slack as she dropped to the ground, unconscious.
Dess watched her fall, mouth twisted with unease, but he smoothed it out at Thia’s attention. “I told you it’d come to this.” The tone was light, but falsely so. He sheathed his sword and pulled a rope from his pack. “Help me?”
Thia did, and together they tied the unconscious Oskaren to a post.
“I suppose that was necessary,” Thran commented, Thia didn’t think with judgment.
“She would never have allowed us to go without her,” Dess said, sounding like he was convincing himself just as much. “And then we’d all be in prison.”
Thran nodded once, accepting it, though his face was carefully neutral.
The rest of their things were packed in no time, and Thia, Dess, and Thran exited the barn for the fields beyond.
The rain had stopped, leaving a hazy sky in its wake as the sun climbed over the horizon.
Thia spared one glance over her shoulder, feeling a bit guilty for leaving Oskaren in a heap.
It was for Sorscha, she told herself. It was for Oskaren’s own good.
Another thought occurred to Thia. If the plan worked, this would be the last time she saw the girl.
She didn’t want to think about the way her chest squeezed and told herself it was fear for what was to come.
She shut the door behind her, Mavrel settling onto her shoulder as she left the barn behind.
They trekked through the fields, making good time. It was still several hours to noon by the time they reached the gates of Cyning, which became one hour by the time they actually entered the city.
It was just as crowded as before, but Thia found herself less overwhelmed now that Oskaren wasn’t actively dying. They followed the slope of the streets up toward the Lightning Tower, its own smaller arched gate standing like a maw poised to devour them as they climbed.
“Do you think the Silver Sorceress will meet us there?” Dess asked.
“That would be nice,” Thia said, though she doubted it. Good luck felt very akin to you’re on your own.
They crested the hill, pausing at the tower gate. It was hewn from the same black obsidian as the tower itself, sleek and glinting in the bright sun. The street was quieter here, those few that passed shuffling nervously, eyes on the cobbles.
“What do you want?” the guard barked at their approach.
Thia swallowed. “Um,” she cleared her throat. “Thia Sanbrooke to see the Mage King,” she said after a long moment.
She braced herself for rejection, but to her immense surprise, his brow lifted. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not think you would be so young.” He moved aside, bowing to let her through.
She exchanged an uneasy glance with Dess, then nodded politely to the guard as if she had expected such a reaction.
The gate passed over them like a midnight sky. Inside, there was a small but steep pathway up to the tower itself. If not for the circumstances, Thia might have admired the architecture. It was a delicate spire, thin like a needle, ringed with arches that reached skyward with gravity-defying grace.
Instead, her throat tightened with anxiety as they approached the iron doors. She wiped sweaty palms down her jerkin.
When they were several feet away, wondering whether to knock, the doors slid open. A black-robed woman greeted them, speaking words Thia didn’t understand before a scroll appeared out of nowhere. A magician, Thia guessed.
“Thia Sanbrooke?”
She nodded.
“And who are you?” the woman demanded, surveying Dess and Thran.
“Her attendants,” said Thran, when Thia waited a beat too long in her uncertainty.
The woman nodded, and Thia shot him a grateful look. “Follow me.”
The woman led them down a hall of shiny black marble. It was like walking through outer space, a sensation that only grew as they passed strange, floating orbs that provided light to the dim interior. Then came the stairs, narrow and twisting, so many that Thia’s legs protested.
Finally, they emerged onto a landing, and the woman paused outside a pair of glossy black doors. “Wait here.” She slipped within.
Thia’s heart pounded. She was sweating, and her companions seemed just as terrified. Why the hell had she thought this was a good idea? If she died, Grandma Winnie would be left alone. If Dess died, so would Sorscha. The last time he had been here, he’d been in the dungeons.
It suddenly occurred to her that she and Dess were the same, and she felt a surge of affection toward the boy. This man they were about to meet had likely killed both of their parents. And now they had to grovel.
And Thran…he was only here because of her. She was surprised he was standing upright at all, and even more surprised when he gave her an encouraging smile, despite the paleness of his cheeks.
The woman reappeared. “King Caradoc awaits,” she said.
“Ready?” Thia whispered.
Dess nodded. “Together.”
“Aye,” Thran agreed.
They walked through the doors to greet the Mage King.