The Silver Pear

Michelle Diener

Contents

Previously in The Dark Forest Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Mistress of the Wind

Excerpt: Mistress of the Wind

Dark Horse

Excerpt: Dark Horse

Also by Michelle Diener

About the Author

Copyright © 2014 by Michelle Diener

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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Previously in The Dark Forest Series

If you haven’t read The Golden Apple, or if you have, but you want a quick refresher, this is the place for you, as The Silver Pear starts up where The Golden Apple leaves off.

In The Golden Apple, Kayla starts off perched on a glass hill with a golden apple in her lap. Her father, the King of Gaynor, has put her and the apple up as the prize in a contest of strength and cunning, only it later transpires her father was coerced into this by a powerful sorcerer, Eric the Bold.

Rane needs the golden apple. A rival of Eric’s, Nuen, is holding his brother to ransom for it, and in order to win it, Rane seduces Kayla to gain her help.

What neither knows is that Eric has enchanted the apple, which has the power to heal, and Kayla and Rane are both caught in the enchantment. They are required to go into the heart of the Great Forest, a place Eric can’t go himself, to steal a gem from a powerful witch.

They work together and get the gem, and Kayla forgives Rane his deception. They also discover that the gem is very dangerous when touched. Kayla manages to break her enchantment, but Rane doesn’t. He sneaks off to hand the gem back to Eric on his own, in order to protect Kayla. Rane is stopped on his journey by Nuen’s men, who are determined to take him back to Nuen and Nuen's brother, Jasper, to explain why he hasn’t yet brought them the golden apple.

Rane manages to escape when the men touch the gem he’s taking to Eric and disappear in a flash of light.

Kayla has realized during her time in the Great Forest that she can use wild magic, the magic left over when sorcerers cast spells. Wild magic is dangerous. Sorcerers have been banishing it to the Great Forest to protect themselves from it. While she’s in the Great Forest, Kayla is incredibly powerful, but outside the forest boundaries, she can only use whatever wisps of wild magic can escape the forest’s borders.

Kayla decides, as Rane has left the golden apple with her, that she will rescue Rane’s brother, Soren, as she doesn’t know which way Rane has gone.

She manages the rescue, but Soren drops the golden apple as they are making their escape, leaving it in Nuen’s hands.

Soren and Kayla then work out a way to rescue Rane from Eric.

During a fight in Eric’s dungeon, the gem that Rane has brought Eric to end his enchantment falls to the floor.

Soren grabs it before Kayla and Rane can warn him of the danger, and disappears. Kayla and Rane escape and Kayla decides to return the gem to Ylana, the witch they stole it from, and ask for guidance in controlling the massive power she now commands.

Eric, Nuen, and a few other sorcerers are involved in a growing race to see who is more powerful, and they are using the leaders of the region, like Kayla’s father, to further their ambitions. Kayla realizes her kingdom is no longer safe and the whole region will soon be on the brink of war if the sorcerers aren’t stopped.

She plans to stop them.

Chapter One

Soren and Mirabelle

Soren’s hand slammed down on the glittering gem lying on Eric’s dungeon floor a split second before Eric got to it, and he was flung, hard and fast as a stone from a catapult, into blinding darkness. His shout was ripped from his throat, and air pounded against his ears, deafening him.

He felt as if the howling winds would tear his limbs from his body, and he curled in on himself protectively.

As suddenly as it began, the wind stopped. The quiet, the darkness, the lack of pressure, made him think for a moment he had died.

Then he began to fall.

It felt like forever, but he realized as he hit the ground it could only have been a six foot drop. He rolled as he made contact—hard, rain-slicked cobbles digging into his skin as he spun.

When he came to a stop against a wall, he had to wait for the dizziness to pass before he sat up.

The legs of a man were before him. Slowly, his gaze travelled up to a pocked, grey face.

“Well, well, well.” The man stared at him for a moment, then turned. “Baldic, looks like we’ve another for the collection.”

“Collection?” Soren began pushing against the wall, trying to stand. “Where am I?”

The man laughed. “That’s what they all ask.” He stepped back, waited for Soren to gain his feet, then he lunged forward, pinning Soren to the wall with a pitch- fork, the tines just wide enough to accommodate a man’s neck.

Soren fought it, the metal cutting into his throat, choking him.

He’d been restrained too recently, and for too long, to accept that treatment again. Whatever this place was, his welcome boded ill, and the thought of another cell, another round of torture and captivity, made him wild.

He had only escaped from Jasper a few days ago, had barely come to terms with his new freedom.

He would not give it up.

He threw himself forward, and the man had to shove back using all his strength.

There were lights dancing in front of his eyes. He needed to stop fighting or he’d choke, but he could not. Would not. Not again.

He saw tiny spots of bright, colored light, and felt his body slide down the wall. The pressure on his throat eased a little, and he lay, panting for breath.

“This one needs extra watching.” The man turned, speaking to someone just beside him. Then he swung back, spoke clearly into Soren’s ear. “Welcome to Halakan.”

* * *

A light flared over the Halakan stronghold. Blue and bright.

Miri saw it through her window and shivered, her hand going up to grasp the silver pear hanging from the cord around her neck. She felt the tingle of its magic against her fingertips, and loosened her grip.

The guard outside her door shifted uneasily in a creak of leather as he saw the light, too. She heard the second guard, whose turn it was to do a perimeter check, walk faster around the corner than usual.

“Hope it’s not as many coming through as last time.” The guard spoke to his companion softly, but she could hear him easily enough.

Last time the light flared, two days ago, it had deposited five men into the Halakan stronghold at once. The most it ever had at one time.

The arrival of so many had finally pushed William of Nesta to her door personally. His written summons and her polite refusals were clearly no longer an option.

He had tried to cajole, then bribe, then threaten her to question the men.

When she’d refused, things had taken an . . . interesting turn.

William had gotten his own way for too long. He was rusty in dealing with someone who wouldn’t obey him.

She’d seen the regret in his eyes as he’d surrounded her house, unable to call back his threats. He’d been forced to follow through or lose face.

As she’d shut her door in deliberate disdain, there’d been a catch of nerves on his lips as they pursed together, perhaps as he wondered if he’d pushed her too far.

After all, he knew she was powerful. That was why he was asking for her help.

So far, the stand-off had settled into him posting guards outside her house, but soon she’d have to step outside. She hadn’t the cupboard stores to withstand a long siege.

She was down to the last of her food. A day, two at most, and she would start to go hungry.

She wondered what William would do then. What she would do.

Did he have a plan for when she became desperate?

As it was, he hadn’t dared use his knights to break into her house and bring her out by force.

Was he afraid of what she would do to them, or was he afraid to test their loyalty too far?

Interesting question.

But regardless of the answer, the time had come to act. The light had flashed again, which meant at least one more stranger had mysteriously appeared in the stronghold, and only two days after the last time.

If she didn’t do something, William would be back again, a little more forceful, a little more desperate, and she refused to cave to his demands.

If she showed even the slightest hint of weakness there were other sorcerers who might decide it would be worth the risk to take her on. To make a deal with William he couldn’t refuse.

Up until now she’d had what her father had called the dragon’s advantage.

She was so mysterious, so cloaked in rumor and myth, no one was prepared to challenge her.

If she allowed William to bully her, the veil would be stripped away, and she would be revealed.

Not that she was bluffing. She was powerful enough. But she didn’t want to be dragged into the insidious power game that had begun four years ago, and had slowly escalated.

She’d been too young to even be considered a threat when it started; when Eric the Bold and Hirst Red Tongue had openly fought with each other at the closing banquet of a sorcerers’ gathering.

There had always been jealousies and back-biting aplenty, but there were strict rules directing behavior. That night, neither Eric nor Hirst had bothered with them. And when Hirst had died, and Eric had taken Hirst’s staff and helped himself to the golden apple, Hirst’s prize possession—given, it was rumored, to Hirst’s great-grandfather by a grateful goddess—others had begun to wonder what they might help themselves to, if they did the same.

She shook her head to focus on the present, and went into her bedroom, pulling off the gown she wore and taking out the men’s clothing she’d collected through the years.

Her father had taken on apprentices in the beginning, over and over again trying to deny what she was, what she had to become.

The young men had never been good enough, according to him. Staying four months, sometimes six. Jack had been the longest-lasting, almost a year he’d stayed, and in that time, outgrown more than one set of clothes.

She pulled on his old trousers, and was relieved to find they fit her well enough. The shirt was too big, but she cinched it around her waist with one of her own wide belts, and pulled on stockings and boots. The apprentice’s old jacket was warm, if a little long in the arms for her, and she buttoned it up, although summer still had a hold on the forest.

The guards were talking to each other in low tones outside. The appearance of the blue light again so soon after the last time had stirred them up.

She walked through to the back of the house, hoping there wasn’t a third guard she didn’t know about, and opened the window. She pulled a tiny bit of magic from the silver pear to muffle the sounds she made climbing through, and dropped quietly into her back garden.

It had been raining earlier, a soft, gentle shower, and she used the magic in the silver pear again to wipe the footprints she’d made in the flowerbed away, and a little more to close the window silently behind her.

She had almost reached the wood that surrounded her house when one of the guards remembered about the perimeter check again, and by the time he came round, eyes on the house, not the garden or trees, she was well hidden.

She waited for him to turn the corner of her small house, pretty as a picture under the light of a moon ringed in silver by the last of the rain clouds, and took the path toward Halakan.

She’d been avoiding this. Avoiding using any magic at all. But since her father had disappeared two months ago, when she’d been gripped by the certainty of his death a month later, she’d known it was coming.

She couldn’t balance on the fence any longer.

Chapter Two

The two guards dragged him in front of a cell door that was a lattice of metal bars and turned Soren to face them. One of them grabbed his manacled hands, inserted the key, and pulled the heavy iron cuffs off him while the other opened the door behind him.

He was shoved inside, then the door closed again and locked.

They left, rattling the chains they’d bound him with, their wariness and dislike of him clear in their eyes as they looked back a final time before slamming the dungeon door.

Behind him, Soren heard the scrape of leather on stone.

He turned slowly, trying to see deeper into the cell using the thin beams of moonlight coming from the high-placed window.

“Out of the frying pan, into the fire,” someone said, and Soren went very still.

It couldn’t be . . .

With a burst of movement, Travis was on him, and they were grappling with each other in the gloom.

Too bad Travis didn’t have nearly the same rage in him. Soren shoved his old friend up against the bars of the cell and held him by the neck.

Travis gasped for breath, surprise on his face as he finally looked directly at Soren. “You! You’re free? How . . . ?”

Travis was shorter than he was, and Soren applied even more pressure, forcing Travis higher against the bars. “Touched a gem you shouldn’t have, lately?”

Travis struggled, then something caught his eye and he looked over Soren’s shoulder. Soren spun, swinging Travis around with him, so that the blow coming from behind hit Travis on the chest instead of Soren’s back, as it was meant to.

He got a firm grip around Travis’s neck and looked at the four men ranged in front of him. He knew them all too well.

“Hello, boys. If you were jealous of me down in Jasper’s dungeon, I’d have been happy to change places with you. You didn’t need to find a cell of your own.”

He smiled at them.

They had trained with him; some, like Travis, had even been his friend, and yet, when Jasper had caught him, imprisoned him, they had hurt him, starved him, locked him in with no light.

He would never forgive their betrayal.

Beneath his arm, he felt Travis struggle, and realized he was close to crushing his former fellow knight’s throat. He eased off a little. “Seems there’s a stalemate here.”

Travis had been the leader of this little patrol group since Soren had begun his campaign to bring Jasper and his sorcerer brother Nuen to their knees. But whether Travis’s men would care if Soren choked him to death, he didn’t know.

He supposed he was about to find out.

“You’re in better shape than when I last saw you.” Travis coughed the words out. “How is that possible?”

“When I was hanging from the wall of Jasper’s torture chamber, starving, and with no water or light, you mean?” Soren fought the urge to tighten his hold again, and looked around. “Looks like I’ve traded up.”

“What did you expect?” Travis hissed. “You were attacking the stronghold. You couldn’t have believed Jasper wouldn’t come down hard on you when he caught you. Not after what you did to Nuen.”

Soren didn’t respond. He didn’t want to talk about it. He’d been obsessed with bringing Jasper and Nuen down for causing his father’s death. Rane had tried to talk him out of it, begged him to find another channel for his rage, but he hadn’t listened.

And he had got caught. Although he’d managed to burn down Nuen’s tower and maim the sorcerer first.

To pay the ransom Jasper had demanded for his release, a magical golden apple, his brother, Rane, had gotten betrothed to the princess of Gaynor, had been enchanted by one of the most feared sorcerers in all Middleland and had been forced to steal the gem that had landed Soren in this strange place.

Soren couldn’t have made more of a mess of things if he’d been actively trying.

His only comfort was that neither Rane nor Kayla had followed him through the strange magical tunnel from Eric the Bold’s dungeon to this place. If they had managed to get away from Eric or kill him, they were safe.

His only motivation from now on was to get out of here, find them, and help his brother out of whatever trouble Soren’s recklessness had gotten him into.

Keeping Rane from more hurt had been all he’d cared about when he’d dived for the gem before Eric could get his hands on it.

“Well, just when we thought things were already interesting, they get even more so.” Five new men shuffled into the thin moonlight from the far corner of the cell.

“Who’re you?” Soren already knew it would be hard to keep Travis’s men back, but another five would be impossible.

“We also touched the gem. I’m Garth, and my friend Jon, here, and me, were the first to come through.” The man limped a little as he walked forward. He was big, with the build of a blacksmith or a bricklayer. “Harwick, Fred and Sam,” he indicated the remaining three, “came one by one, later.”

Garth paused and Soren could see the look in his eyes when he glanced at Travis’s men was one of dislike.

“Seems you have a history with these five, and it’s not a friendly one. So on the wisdom of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, you’ll find we’d be in your corner, here, not theirs.”

Soren gave them a nod. “Making friends as usual, Travis?” He pulled his former training partner up a little higher.

“It was a misunderstanding over food when we first arrived, is all. And I told you, I took no pleasure in treating you the way Jasper wanted you treated.” Travis’s voice hitched a little.

“And yet, your first action on seeing me was to attack,” Soren said.

“I thought you were Rane. It never occurred to me you would escape Jasper, and you’ve always looked so much alike. I blamed him for sending us here.” Travis tried to lift himself higher on his toes.

“Ah, now that, I believe. Although I know my brother would have warned you not to touch the gem. That’s exactly the kind of person he is. If it had been me you’d captured in the forest, I’d have gotten out of the way and left you to it. But Rane, he’d have told you exactly what would happen, and you went ahead with it anyway.”

One of Travis’s oafs, Burk, if Soren remembered correctly, made a snorting sound. “We were warned, right enough. But no, Travis had to have a look.”

Soren grinned at the first sign of a crack in the group in front of him.

Travis twisted beneath his arm, trying to get free. “I’m sorry, Soren. But how you were treated by Jasper was nothing to do with me. And you’re right, Rane doesn’t deserve my anger. I touched the gem, even though he told me not to.”

Soren squeezed a little harder. “I might accept that, although not from your four oafs, who were never happier than when they were following Jasper’s orders to make my life a living hell. But Princess Kayla told me Rane was under the power of an enchantment by Eric the Bold when you grabbed him to take him back to Jasper. That your forcing him in the wrong direction would have been terrible for him.” Soren had seen the way Kayla had looked when she’d viewed the evidence that Rane’s journey to Eric had been cut short, and he’d been abducted and taken toward Jasper’s stronghold. She’d hunched over and shivered, and he could only guess, as she’d been under the grip of the same enchantment as Rane at one time, that she knew exactly how agonizing it must have been. He had to breathe to get control of himself. “For hurting my brother, there is no forgiveness.”

There was silence.

“I didn’t believe him about the enchantment at first. Thought he was putting us on.” Travis’s words were a thin whisper.

“And later?”

Travis shuddered. “What was I to do? Let him go? What would Jasper have done to me?”

Soren said nothing. He found a place of cold, hard rage inside him, and was able to loosen his grip a little. It was time to work out an escape plan.

“Who is lord here?” Soren addressed his question to Garth. He hadn’t seen much of the stronghold he’d landed in, but the moonlight had shown enough to see that it was well-kept and large.

“William of Nesta. We’re in Klevan, on the north-eastern edge of the Great Forest. Nesta is a small principality, with the Great Forest on the western border, and Klevan to the north, east and south.”

Soren had heard of Nesta, but he hadn’t paid attention to the politics of the area. “Is the liege lord still on good terms with the King of Klevan?”

Garth nodded. “He is. Or was, at the time I came here. Since I’ve been in his dungeon, who knows?”

Soren looked around the room, keeping his hold on Travis nice and tight. “Does he know how you all came to be here?”

Garth shrugged. “Until Sam arrived, I didn’t know, myself. About six weeks ago, Jon and I were eating lunch at the edge of the forest. We’re from Jerat, in south Klevan. There’d been a storm raging for three days, and it was the first time we’d been able to go back to chopping wood. One of the trees had been blown over, and we saw a pouch caught beneath it. There was a deep hole in the trunk, and it had obviously been hidden in there, and had fallen out when the tree was blown over. I tipped the pouch out, saw the gem amongst the things, reached out for it . . .” He squirmed, uncomfortable. “We thought we’d been taken by wild magic.”

“He didn’t know whether to believe us or not.” Jon, his friend, was almost as big, his voice deep and rough. “But enough strange things are happening in the Great Forest that it was possible we were telling the truth. He didn’t let us go, though, just in case.”

“And you three?” Soren looked over at Garth and Jon’s companions. He wanted all the pieces before he made his next move. He could feel Travis had almost relaxed under his grip, although he didn’t loosen his hold.

Harwick shrugged. “I’m a woodcutter, too. I found the pouch, all the contents spilled over the ground. Saw the glitter of the gem . . .” He made a face.

Fred lifted his hands. “I went looking for Harwick. Same thing.”

“And Sam?”

Sam shifted. He was young, not yet twenty, if Soren was to guess. He had the thin, whip-like build of a hard-worked apprentice. “I work for a magic hunter. And from what I’ve just heard between you and Travis, I know of you.” He looked at Soren with interest. “The De’Villier brothers, right?”

Soren gave a slow nod.

“Got a reputation in the business, you do. No-one knows how you always find such good stuff. Anyways, me and the boss were combing for items, came across the pouch, but we weren’t going to touch nothing. Kiss o’ death.” He glanced sideways at the others, with a look that dismissed them as amateurs.

“Handled everything with gloves, put it all back in the pouch, went to sell it at the Hidden Market, over in Therston.

“And?” This was getting very, very interesting.

“Jisuel was interested. He usually is.” Sam gave a shrug. “But when he went through the pouch, there weren’t that many wild magic items there. Said it were a sorcerer’s pouch. That almost everything in it were made from sky magic.” Again he shrugged, as if he didn’t understand why that should make any difference. “He only wanted the two or three wild magic items, tried to give the boss the rest back. But the boss didn’t want it, if it were some sorcerer’s stash. They come after you, they think you messed with their stuff. And some of their things, it actually calls to them, tells them where it is.” He shuddered. “So the boss wanted it gone. He were outside the tent, making a deal with Jisuel, special price for the lot, and I thought, if the gem ain’t a wild magic item, and Jisuel said it weren’t, then maybe it were an honest to goodness gem. The real thing. So I picked it up to have a closer look . . .” He lifted his hands, the result self-explanatory.

“And you’ve told William of Nesta all this?” Soren wondered why the liege lord had them all imprisoned.

“When Harwick, Fred and Sam landed here, a couple of weeks apart each, he started developing a suspicion we were being sent by a sorcerer to take the stronghold from the inside.” Garth shifted, stepping more fully into the moonlight, and Soren could see he was still recovering from a beating. “He questioned us for days trying to find out if that was true before giving up. He hasn’t even bothered asking this lot.” He tipped his head at Travis.

Soren thought about it. “Travis and his merry crew would be more likely to confirm his suspicion than anything else. They’re trained men of war.”

Travis snorted, the sound vibrating through Soren’s forearm which lay across his throat.

Garth gave a little nod. “He has something else up his sleeve. We heard the guards say he was calling in his own sorcerer to find out what’s going on.”

There was silence while everyone considered how unpleasant that might turn out to be.

“I’m going to let you go, Travis.” Soren forced himself to concentrate on the here and now. He’d have to worry about dealing with a sorcerer when the time came. “You going to attack me again?”

Travis shook his head, and Soren pushed him forward into his men.

For a moment everyone waited to see if the power shift in the cell held.

Travis shook his shoulders and rubbed at his neck, but he didn’t launch himself back at Soren. The two groups arranged themselves on opposite sides of the dark room, and as Soren slid down to sit with Garth and his friends, his eye was drawn to a small rucksack on Travis’s side of the cell.

He felt a familiar tingle.

The De’Villier brothers were the biggest providers of wild magic items to the Hidden Market because in the same incident that took their father from them, they’d both been touched by a strange affinity to the bizarre, mysterious things that wild magic produced.

And Soren’s senses were telling him Travis had at least one of those things in his rucksack.

All he had to do was get it.

Chapter Three

Halakan stronghold looked imposing against the moonlit sky. The front gates were guarded, and there was no back gate. Climbing the walls was almost impossible with the guard William had set.

Luckily Miri didn’t need to.

She kept to the dark shadows thrown by the trees at the forest’s edge, and made her way to a part of the wall into which a small, circular look-out tower had been built. It jutted out from the wall in a smooth curve.

She watched the window of the tower for more than ten minutes, until she was convinced there was no-one watching at the narrow window, and slipped across the open ground until she was directly under the overhang.

No-one looking down from above could see her now.

She felt along the wall, moving quickly in case William had set some ground patrols, or sent someone out to fetch her on the heels of the latest flare of light.

At last her fingertips found the slim lever masquerading as a metal pin set into the wall. She pulled it toward herself, and the small door her father had created swung open with a tiny creak.

She hadn’t thought about maintaining it since her father’s death, but hearing the hinges squeak made her realize she’d grown complacent, cut herself off too much from what was happening around her.

She stooped low and eased herself into the short tunnel that ran the length of the wall’s thickness, at least eight feet, and shut the door behind her.

She was plunged into absolute darkness, but she knew the door out was only a few steps away, and she shuffled forward, hands out, until she reached the other side.

She fumbled for the lever, and pulled it toward her.

This time the squeak of the hinges seemed worse.

Instead of the outer wall, with the soft hiss of the forest and the calls of birds and animals to cover any sound, the inner wall was set in an empty courtyard, and the noise seemed to echo and amplify.

Miri winced and eased the door open only as far as it needed to go for her to slip through.

She pressed herself back against it to make sure it was completely shut, and froze when she saw a guard right across from her in the small, quaint courtyard with its fountain and pretty flower beds laid out in a concentric pattern. The courtyard she’d always been sent to play in when her father had business with William of Nesta.

The guard had his back to her, facing into the main courtyard beyond, hunched a little against the cooler air.

Unfortunately, the fountain had been switched off, Miri guessed so that the noise of it would not cover any sounds of intruders, but why William would expect trouble here was a mystery. Unless he knew about the secret door her father had created.

Fear washed over her, and then she breathed through it. If William knew about the door, he’d have placed a guard on the other side of the wall, right in front of it.

This was something else. Something she would have to work out later.

She crept closer to the guard, and blinked when she saw he was leaning against a kind of pitchfork.

Whatever William was up to, she would have to get to the bottom of it, but now, she needed to get the man out of the way.

She crouched down and felt about for a stone, her fingers closing around a piece of gravel.

She pitched it, high and far as she could, and heard it hit the cobbles in the larger courtyard beyond.

The guard straightened and turned, and she was grateful she was still crouched low and deep in the shadows thrown by the high walls.

The guard seemed to shudder in relief when he couldn’t see anything, his gaze going high, as if looking into the sky. He turned back to face the courtyard, but he didn’t go and investigate.

Annoyed, Miri searched for another stone, found a bigger one, and pitched it low this time, so it clattered and skittered before it came to a stop.

The guard took a step away from her. “Baldic? That you?”

The silence stretched out, and then Miri pitched another stone.

“S’teeth.” The guard shifted, looked briefly over his shoulder into the small courtyard again and then moved out of sight.

“Baldic, damn you, answer.”

Miri kept to the wall, edging forward until she reached the entrance into the main courtyard. The guard was walking toward the back door to the kitchens, nerves and fear making his strides angry and clipped.

She ran, silent and in shadow, toward the side of the sturdy castle at the heart of the stronghold. The open stairs down to the dungeon were well known to her. Her father had taken them often, leaving her to play in the garden she’d just come from.

The sight of them always put a weight on her chest, and a sick nauseous feeling in her stomach.

She would get bored in the garden and come out into the main courtyard, playing with the cats the cook kept to deal with the mice, and talking to the servants as they walked back and forth. The sight of her father climbing the stairs after a few hours in the dungeon, shoulders drooping, gray-faced, was seared into her memory.

Which was why, when William had coming knocking on her door, asking her to take up the vacant position of torturer, she had slammed the door in his face.

Her questions tonight would be of a far more polite nature than any William would have asked her to make.

* * *

Soren couldn’t sleep.

He watched the slim stripes of moonlight that fell through the high window as they moved slowly across the floor.

It was only two days ago he’d still been a prisoner in Jasper’s dungeon, hanging from a wall, in pain, with not enough food or water. But it had been the darkness that had bothered him the most.

Pitch black, with no-one but himself for company, with no idea whether it was night or day, the weeks he’d been there had blurred together into one long night of hell.

Even a strip of moonlight was far more than he’d had before. And then there were the two glorious days of freedom after Rane’s betrothed had rescued him. Of light, and food and, thanks to the golden apple, no more pain, either. His body had been completely healed, although even the golden apple couldn’t put back the weight he had lost.

Things were obviously different in William of Nesta’s prison. Not nearly as harsh.

Travis had set a man on watch, but Soren was sure that was only because of his own arrival. The guard had nodded off half an hour ago.

It was time to search Travis’s bag for the wild magic item that he felt from the other side of the room like a second heart-beat.

He rose, waiting a moment to see if he’d disturbed anyone, and then moved across the cell.

Travis had set the bag beside him, but he didn’t seem overly protective of it, and Soren wondered if he even realized what he had in there.

Most people didn’t.

It had always seemed to him and Rane that a law of inverse proportion applied to wild magic. The more ordinary an item appeared, the more powerful it was.

When he got close enough to Travis, he crouched and then lay down, just one more body asleep, if anyone were to wake and check.

Slowly, he inched to the bag, lifting it and turning it around so the flap faced him, and carefully opened it up.

The bag contained a crushed wool tunic, which Soren lifted out. The bag appeared empty without it, but he could sense the wild magic, pulsing just within reach of his fingertips. He inched back and slid away from Travis, taking the bag to where the moonlight filtered in.

He had to angle it to catch the light, because he wasn’t prepared to touch anything without looking at it first, but at last, deep in one corner, almost invisible, he saw a small black stick and a dull moonstone, and his hatred for Travis flared a little brighter.

Rane’s things.

He should have guessed.

If Rane had had his moonstone, he would not have been caught by Eric the Bold to begin with.

Travis’s theft had caused his brother serious harm.

He looked across at Travis’s sleep-slack face and fought the urge to kill him.

The sight of Rane, hanging from chains in Eric’s macabre workshop just this morning, was seared into his memory. No matter that he and Kayla had managed to free Rane, had done battle with Eric before the magic gem had landed Soren in this place. He could still hear the cry of pain as Eric had sliced into Rane’s back with magic.

He battled for control. Lack of it was what had gotten him into trouble to begin with. And he knew, deep down, he was the cause of most of Rane’s pain, not Travis.

He was the one who’d been so bent on revenge he’d gotten careless and been captured. He’d given Jasper something to hold over Rane’s head.

Quietly, Soren slipped the stick, which could light a fire even from the wettest wood, and the moonstone that turned the person who closed their fist around it invisible, into his pocket.

Their small size and lack of distinction were the only reasons he could think they hadn’t been taken by William of Nesta. That they’d allowed Travis to keep the bag at all was amazing, but then, unlike Jasper’s men, it appeared William of Nesta’s guards were not thieves.

He considered for a moment leaving the bag near Travis’s feet, letting him know he’d been through it, but in the end, to keep the peace in the cell for a little longer, he slipped it back where he’d found it and started back to his side of the cell.

The sound of light footsteps on the stairs outside froze him where he stood. He kept to the shadows but moved closer to the barred door.

The handle of the outside door turned, and swung open.

A little tingle went down his spine.

He’d heard the guards lock it when they left. Being a prisoner for weeks had made him aware of things like that, but no key had been turned in this lock. It had opened without one.

A slim figure stepped into the room, and the door was closed again, as quietly as possible.

The cell was quiet, but the deep breathing of sleeping men was clear, and whoever was sneaking in came closer to the bars to look.

That’s right. Just a little closer.

A slender hand, illuminated by the filter of moonlight, grasped a bar, and then the other came up next to it to do the same.

A face appeared between the hands to look into the cell, and for a moment, Soren was welded to the ground in shock.

A woman.

Then he forced himself to move.

He pounced. Slamming himself up against the bars, he snaked an arm beneath her buttocks and lifted her from the ground, bring his other arm up along her back and splaying his hand across the base of her neck.

Wide, green eyes looked into his, mouth opened to scream, and yet, no sound emerged.

The moonlight played across blonde hair turned silver by the dim glow.

“Got you,” he murmured.

She shifted, trying to break free without making a sound, and he moved, accommodating her, so the bars didn’t dig so hard into her shoulders.

Her gaze jerked to his, surprise and interest flickering across her face.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“Soren De’Villier. Who are you?”

She hesitated, her gaze moving over his shoulder to the sleeping men, and then back. “Mirabelle of Halakan.”

“And what are you doing in this dungeon?” If she’d been one of William’s men, or a sorcerer, he’d have understood, but her presence seemed inexplicable.

“I wanted to find out how you got here.”

There was more to it than that. Soren realized she wasn’t as young as he’d first thought, and there was a tight look on her face as she took in the dungeon. An anger, although at whom or what, he couldn’t guess.

Then she went stiff, tilting her head to the side, listening, and after a moment, Soren heard it, too. The shout of men, and the rumble of chains.

“What is—?”

She put a finger against his lips. “Shh. I don’t know.”

He felt the intimate touch like a stroke on his groin, and shaken by his reaction, desperate for a little space, he set her down.

He’d meant to threaten her. Force her to help them. But once he had her in his arms, he’d been distracted by the feel of her, all warm, and sweet-scented, and curvaceous.

Even with some distance between them, he was so focused on her, he didn’t realize Garth was standing beside him until he felt the brush of the big man’s shoulder against his own.

Their visitor started at the sight of the big woodcutter, suddenly looming out of the darkness.

“I know what it is,” Garth said, his voice pitched almost too low to hear. “That’s William of Nesta, coming back with his sorcerer.”

Chapter Four

What an idiot she was.

She’d thought William would at least try to reason with her a little more. But the guards hadn’t been posted outside her house to wait for her to come out. They’d been there to keep her in, so she wouldn’t discover his treachery.

If she hadn’t come tonight, if the light hadn’t flickered over Halakan and deposited a new intruder, she’d have been sitting at home, unaware, as another sorcerer invaded her territory.

“I’ll have to get you out right now.” She’d had a plan to leave them, and come openly tomorrow to speak to William and secure their release if they were innocent, but that plan would no longer work. As William had broken trust with her, was bringing an enemy into Halakan, there was no alternative. They were finished with each other.

Something he would regret.

She would make certain of it.

Something of what she was feeling must have shown on her face, because the man who had grabbed her, and then treated her so gently, Soren De’Villier, narrowed his eyes.

“Tell me quickly, please, how did you all end up here in Halakan?”

The men who had been sleeping had all come awake, pulling themselves to their feet, and there were more than she’d suspected, all in various states of dishevelment.

She could read curiosity, suspicion and hostility in their faces.

No one answered her.

“I want to release you, but I need to understand first, because my duty is to the people of this area.”

“In case you let us out and we turn out to be dangerous and harm them, like?” The youngest of the eleven asked, and she gave a nod.

He sidled past the others. “Sam’s the name. T’were a sorcerer’s gem sent us here. If you touch it, or get caught standing nearby when it’s touched and the flash gets you—poof—you arrive in a little courtyard inside this stronghold.”

Soren looked at him in disgust, and Sam looked back and gave a cheeky shrug. The massive bear of a man who’d woken second shoved him, but not as hard as he could have, and Sam grinned as he rubbed his shoulder.

“Just obliging a pretty lady.”

Miri snorted. “You can’t even see me in this light.”

“I think what he means is any lady is pretty when you’ve been stuck in a dungeon for long enough,” Soren said.

She didn’t know if he meant it as an insult, but she was too impatient to care. And too sick at heart. She knew that gem. These men were all innocent victims of her own father’s paranoia.

She lifted her hand to the silver pear and fed a little magic to the lock of their cell door. It swung open on a creak.

All except Soren stared at her in shock.

“Hurry, I would prefer to be gone before they raise the portcullis.”

There were questions aplenty on their faces, but they surged forward, and Miri opened the door to the outside.

The men pushed and shoved their way through, and Miri saw the big man give a dark look to one of the others as they shouldered past.

“Wait for me. There’s a special way out,” Miri whispered, and then, when everyone was out of the cell, turned back to it.

She was angry, and that was never a good state to cast a spell in, but she needed to do this, no matter how agitated she was. The sorcerer William had brought back was breaking every rule. She had received no word from him of his visit and he was negotiating with her liege lord without her knowledge. Which meant he also intended to kill her, or break her, and take her territory for his own.

He and William would both be in for a shock when they stepped into this room.

She stayed in the doorway, her hand on the silver pear, and lifted her other hand up.

The light that flared was sky blue, and over in an instant, and she carefully stepped back and closed the door behind her, used a little of the excess power she’d just transferred into the silver pear to lock it again.

The men were staring at her from various steps above her, and she realized a hint of the blue light would have leaked out into the stairwell behind her.

She ran up past them and they pressed themselves against the wall to avoid her brushing them, as if she were a dangerous beast.

Only Soren stood his ground. He was right at the top, and he made room for her, his shoulder touching hers.

The guard who’d been hovering outside the entrance to the little courtyard was walking toward the gate to help raise the portcullis, his back already to them, and Miri ran across the cobbles, hoping the noise William was making at his front gate would cover the sound of everyone’s footsteps.

The men were wary about following her into the enclosed garden and she realized it would be because this was where they’d appeared in the first place.

How like her father, to make this the destination. It showed how off he was with his perceptions, always a little bit skewed. Never quite getting it right, no matter what his intentions.

She said nothing, simply ran to the far side of the courtyard, and with no alternative, they were forced to follow her in.

At least they were silent.

She found the secret door and opened it. “There’s a nail at the far end, just feel for it midway between the floor and the ceiling on the left side, and pull it toward you. The other door will open. Run for the trees.”

Sam eeled past her first, and then the others, until they were all jammed into the low, narrow space except her and Soren. Some had whispered a thank you as they slipped past her, but not all.

At last Sam found the nail and they were gone, and Miri stepped into the now clear passage, and grabbed the door, waiting for Soren to follow her in so she could close it.

He was staring at the dark opening of the tunnel with a look in his eye of such terror, Miri looked behind her, expecting danger.

There was nothing.

Beyond their little courtyard, the portcullis had been raised and she could hear the ringing of horses hooves against the stone cobbles, the calls of the men, more clearly.

“What is it?” She took a step toward him and he flinched, his eyes never leaving the entrance to the tunnel.

“I’m sorry.” He shuddered and ran a hand down his face. “It’s the dark. I can’t . . . ”

She felt a rising sense of panic. A horse passed the courtyard entrance, and then another. Any moment, the pitchfork-wielding guard would take up his post again.

But she couldn’t leave him.

Her hand rose up to clutch the silver pear, but magic had to be her last resort, especially with another sorcerer only yards away.

Soren was half bent over himself now, and she grabbed hold of his shirt and hauled, but he pulled away from her, his arms coming up to shield himself, as if she was going to strike him.

He made an inarticulate sound at the back of his throat, and it sent a chill slithering down her spine.

Someone had done something very bad to this man. And it involved darkness.

She reached out to him again, unsure what to do, and faced the notion that she might have to bespell him.

He backed further away from the tunnel, breathing in short, gasping pants.

“Oy!”

The shout came from the entrance to the courtyard, and she took a step back, deeper into the shadows. The guard had returned to his post, and he held his pitchfork up, and then called behind him for help.

Miri hoped he’d only seen Soren. She glanced to the side, hoping the door to the tunnel was deep enough in the shadows it would be hard to make out.

The guard jogged toward Soren, and panicked, Miri leaned hard on the door. It swung shut with a creak, and she could only be grateful for the guard’s shouts then, because they covered the noise it made.

The guard’s cry had been taken up beyond the courtyard and she moved away, keeping close to the wall, and deep in the shadows, putting some distance between herself and the secret passage.

“Who are you?” The guard had grabbed hold of Soren, but he stood, unresisting, his eyes closed, his breathing a little more calm, a little deeper.

He was coming back to himself, gaining control.

She saw the moment when he conquered the panic, lifting his head with a snap toward the door.

Then he turned his head unerringly in her direction.

“What is it?” A man ran up to the guard, and Miri recognized William’s man of affairs, Henry. She pressed back against the wall and held her breath, her mind racing.

“I don’t know. Just found ’im here. He looks a bit like the one we rounded up earlier, but that one’s locked in the dungeon. This must be another one.”

Bespelling would be the only quiet way out. The only practical solution, but she had never done it before. Had never wanted to.

It felt wrong.

She didn’t mind the guard and Henry so much, as they were in William’s camp, and had aligned against her, but Soren would need to be bespelled to get in the tunnel, and she chafed at the thought of doing it.

As Henry grabbed Soren’s other arm, she realized she had no choice.

She gripped the silver pear and raised her hand, and just as she threw the spell, William and his new sorcerer stepped into the courtyard.

She wanted to howl with dismay.

Her spell hit Henry and the guard, and they released their grip on Soren and turned away, walking toward William.

Soren stood absolutely still for a moment, and she wondered if she’d overreached and hadn’t managed to bespell three at once, but then he started walking toward the hidden door.

Miri ground her teeth. It would have been perfect if William wasn’t right there, watching him. She closed her eyes, and threw a second spell at Soren, bringing him back to himself.

He stumbled, as if the spell had suspended him a little above the ground, and her ripping it away had dropped him back down.

He ended up on one knee, and again, looked over at her. His face was tight and hard. Angry.

She didn’t have time to worry about it.

The cowled sorcerer with William was looking straight at her, too, even though he surely couldn’t see her in the shadows, and she readied herself as he lifted his staff.

She met the blue flare of his magic with a smooth protective shield, getting a taste for what he could do—the flavor of it.

It was furry and damp, like wet dog, with a powerful under-layer of muscle and sinew.

William’s attention had been on Soren, but at the flare of sky magic, he spun in her direction.

Miri stepped into the moonlight. “Perhaps you could help me, William? There seems to be a knife in my back.”

It was something her father might have said, never her. She’d always been deferential, respectful, when she’d spoken to William in the past. That had been her mistake.

William jerked at her words, and took a step back. She wondered how much was because of her tone, and how much because she was dressed in men’s clothing. “Miri? I thought . . .”

“You thought I was still under the noses of your guards at my house. While you broke every contract between us, and brought in someone so lacking in honor he would agree to it.”

The sorcerer said nothing, still anonymous beneath the deep hood of his cloak, but she noticed his hand shook a little. Put quite a bit of effort into that attack, she thought. More than he wanted William, or her, to know.

William was looking between them, struggling to keep an impassive face at the fact that his new weapon had already tried to take her down, and had failed.

“As it happens, the light flared again over Halakan tonight, and I decided to get to the bottom of it my way.”

William looked at Soren again, and then for Henry, but Miri hadn’t lifted the bespelling on him, and he was gone.

“Imagine my surprise when I discovered you weren’t here, but off buying a new torturer. It was most upsetting.” She kept her voice even.

“I need to know how they’re getting in.” There was defiance in William’s voice.

“I can tell you.”

“How? How are you even inside my stronghold?”

“I have my ways.” It was perhaps best not to mention she’d been in the dungeon, although they’d find out soon enough. “There is a wild magic item, a gem, which sends everyone who touches it to this courtyard. I can only assume the wild magic that created it is linked to a spell my father performed here at Halakan.”

She didn’t look in Soren’s direction, but she could sense his surprise. She hoped he wasn’t angry enough with her for bespelling him that he would contradict her. Sam had told him the gem was not wild magic at all, but sorcerer-made, and while she knew that was true, William didn’t need to.

“The men said something like that when I questioned them—”

“Beat them, you mean?” She let her words drip disdain. “What are you so paranoid about, William? They were telling the truth, and they didn’t know any more. You must have seen they were woodcutters. Plain folk.”

“Not the last lot.”

“No. Those were men who work for Jasper of Harness, over Therston way. His guards. Found the gem on some poor woodcutter and took it from him.” She shrugged, and watched as William thought that through, and hunched his shoulders.

“So you broke with me for no good reason, William. And you will regret it.” She meant to keep her emotions under control, but her voice shook a little with her last sentence.

There was movement behind William, and she saw more of his men were standing there. A number of them looked away from her, and she wondered how many were happy with William’s recent decisions.

They knew her. Knew she was fair. They only knew this new sorcerer would give up the code for money or a bribe.

She gave William a bitter smile. A liege lord was only as strong as the loyalty of his men.

As if he knew the direction of her thoughts, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

Suddenly, coming from behind the men standing in the entrance, a slim figure darted forward, hands raised, and shot a spell at her.

She knew this was a pincer move. She’d have to respond, and the sorcerer beside William would hit her a moment after she’d defended, when she was at her most vulnerable.

But she had no choice.

She chose to reflect, bouncing the young sorcerer’s spell straight back at him, and threw herself sideways, creating a magical shield as she did.

It almost covered her, but one part of her rival’s spell was fast enough to hit her foot, and the pain of a thousand knives sliced at her, getting a lock-jawed grip on her and biting down.

She screamed, her hand coming up to the silver pear. She couldn’t let him have it. No matter what. She thought of her father’s tunnel, hidden in the walls, the way out for her and Soren, and sent the silver pear there with the last bright threads of her consciousness.

Then her world faded to black.

Chapter Five

She was a sorcerer.

Soren tried to temper the rage he felt at what had been done to her with the knowledge of what she was, but as she was lifted from the ground, her face absolutely white in the moonlight, he had to breathe deep to keep from attacking the guards who surrounded her.

She could have left him.

He understood that the moment he’d come to himself and seen the door was closed and sensed her to his right, hiding in the shadows.

She had stayed.

He even understood that when she’d bespelled him, it had been to get him out, to save him, and not for any dark reason of her own, no matter how much he’d hated the sudden loss of his own will.

“Where is the man? The man who was here with her?” William of Nesta turned in his direction, a frown deepening on his forehead, and Soren stood absolutely still, the moonstone clutched tight in his fist, just in case his shoes made a noise on the cobbles.

He’d remembered he had the moonstone, could become invisible, moments before the second sorcerer had attacked, and as every eye had been on Mirabelle, it had been the perfect moment to disappear.

He could wait for them to take her away, gather his courage and face the dark of the secret passage, or even simply walk out the front gate the next time it was opened. He could leave Miri and her rival to fight it out, but he knew even before the guard carrying her left the courtyard that he wouldn’t.

William’s men treated her gently. He would give them that.

And William himself seemed strangely conflicted by her defeat.

He’d cried out when she’d screamed, reaching a hand to her, and then had turned on the sorcerer, arm raised as if to strike, before he remembered he had instigated the attack himself.

He and his new sorcerer had stared at each other for a long moment, then William had turned to look at the ball of wild magic that hovered nearby.

It had taken Soren and Rane a while to work out what wild magic was. How they were coming across it more and more often in the Great Forest, and it was only when they’d seen Jasper’s brother Nuen cast a spell they’d realized the truth. When a sorcerer called down sky magic for a very powerful spell, they seldom drew exactly what they needed. Any power left over became wild magic, as dangerous to the sorcerers as it was to everyone else. And so they magicked it away.

The Great Forest had become their rubbish tip.

The sorcerer followed William’s gaze, and Soren thought he swayed a little with exhaustion as he lifted his hand and the wild magic disappeared in a flash of blue.

With a grunt, William turned away, calling to his guards to take Mirabelle to the dungeon and to look for Soren.

“He must have slipped out of the courtyard while we were distracted. Check the grounds. He can’t get out. Make sure everyone leaving the stronghold is identified.”

William gave the instructions as he followed behind the guard carrying Mirabelle, and Soren fell into step behind him and the sorcerer, walking to the right of them, and far enough back there was no danger of brushing against them accidentally.

“What of your apprentice?” William paused just before they left the courtyard, and Soren realized with a jolt he’d forgotten about the young sorcerer who’d attacked Mirabelle in concert with his mentor.

The apprentice’s body lay crumpled on the ground, a small ball of wild magic hanging just above his head, and the sorcerer moved nervously, lifting a hand and flicking his fingers. The wild magic seemed to implode in on itself, and disappeared.

“If you could get one of your guards to take him to his bed, I will see him after we speak to these other prisoners you are holding, and I have stripped Mirabelle of her power.” He spoke slowly, almost slurring.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” William lifted a hand and grasped the sorcerer’s arm. “Banish her, yes. Not strip her of her power.”

“How do you think a sorcerer is banished?” The sorcerer looked down at the hand on his sleeve and seemed to gain a little more energy. William released him as if he’d been stung. “If she is left with her power, she can return to fight another day. That would not be good strategy, now would it?”

“I made promises to her father . . .”

“All of which you broke when you came to me. You understand that by aligning with you, I have broken agreements as well. So we are both now outside the law.”

“I hadn’t thought . . . ” William’s words trailed, and Soren realized the men around them were listening as well, and William was aware of it.

“Don’t let it trouble you over-much.” The sorcerer gave a low laugh. “It has worked out quite well for Eric the Bold and Nuen of Harness, being outside the law. Although one couldn’t say the same for their liege lords. Or those they’ve imposed themselves upon. I hear the king of Gaynor is not Eric’s willing patron.”

William ran a hand over his face and said nothing. Soren decided he wasn’t the only one to hear a threat in the sorcerer’s words.

They had reached the side of the castle, and the guard started down the stairs to the dungeon. Soren pressed himself against the wall as he followed them. He was glad of his precaution when the guard with the pitchfork hurried on their heels with the key, the hem of his cloak brushing Soren’s shins as he went by.

The man struggled with the lock, and then pushed the door open, stepping back to let the guard carrying Mirabelle in first, William and the sorcerer right on his heels.

A noise like the screech of a million rusty hinges, inhuman with pain, came from within the dungeon, going higher and higher, and then cut off abruptly.

Soren forced himself to run down the rest of the stairs, uncaring of the guard standing in the doorway. He shoved the man aside, and with a cry he went down, pitchfork clattering beside him, and scrabbled out the way, pressing himself into a corner of the stairwell, facing the wall.

Soren braced for monsters, for anything at all.

Instead, William stood just within the doorway, staring down at a crumpled figure on the ground.

Soren first thought it was Mirabelle, but then he saw her, lying on her side, dropped by the guard who’d carried her near the door to the cell. The guard was turned away, hanging onto the bars for support.

The figure on the floor was the sorcerer, his hood thrown back, baring a sharp-featured, strong face and dark hair pulled back in a queue. His mouth was set in a rigor of death, and faint blue light glimmered here and there around him, and then winked out.

From the way he lay, the sorcerer had arched his back as he died, his arms thrown wide.

Soren’s mouth fell open. He remembered Mirabelle staying behind a few moments, remembered the flash of blue within the room before she’d closed and locked the door behind her.

But whatever spell she’d cast, it had affected only the sorcerer. William and the guard were dazed and frightened, but seemingly unharmed.

Mirabelle was another story. Even from where he stood, he could see her forehead had been grazed on the uneven stone of the dungeon floor.

He stepped into the room, his only thought to see if she was alive, and it was only after he was crouched beside her that he realized he hadn’t thought whether her spell would affect him or not.

It seemed not.

He touched her neck, looking for a pulse.

It beat, thready and quick, and he resisted the urge to draw her into his arms. Warm her cold limbs.

Instead, he got back to his feet, standing over her, an invisible sentinel. He would need darkness and no guards to carry her out of here. If he tried it now, he would be caught, and the moonstone taken from him.

“It wasn’t Mirabelle who did that, was it?” William looked over at her, and frowned when he saw her tossed in a heap. He turned to the guard, who was still crouched up against the cell door.

He shook his head. “She was completely unconscious.” He looked into the cell and went still, as if suddenly realizing they were alone in the room. “The prisoners are all gone.” His voice was hushed.

William looked into the empty cell, then back to the dead sorcerer at his feet. “I . . .” He rubbed his eyes. He was a man whose world was crumbling around him. “I knew someone was trying to take Halakan from the inside. Those men were sent by a sorcerer, and somehow he’s got them loose, and he bespelled this room.” His face was worried as he looked through the door to the outside, as if he expected an attack at any moment.

Soren didn’t feel any sympathy. One look at Mirabelle, and he only wished things were worse for the liege lord.

“What should I do with Miri?” the guard asked, and the familiar way he said her name, as if he were speaking about a friend, jerked Soren’s attention to him.

Irritation and some hot, prickly emotion he couldn’t quite name rose up in him. If the guard was her friend, he’d stood by when she’d been mistreated. No matter how gently he’d carried her, he’d still carried her to a dungeon. And when he’d been frightened, he thrown her to the ground to protect himself.

“I don’t . . .” William hunched, stepping around the sorcerer to get back to the door. He stopped before he stepped over the threshold, looked back into the room, and Soren noticed he’d straightened up, was pulling the mantle of leadership back over himself.

“Lock her in the cell. Put her on a pallet and we can wait to see if she recovers.” He tugged at his ear, a man contemplating begging forgiveness from the only possible ally he had left.

“There are no pallets.” The guard looked deeper into the cell.

“Why not?” William frowned.

The guard who had the keys, just visible in the stairwell from where Soren was standing, pushed himself up against the wall, and looked into the room with eyes that couldn’t settle. “You said to make things uncomfortable for them.” His voice wavered.

William turned sharply to him. “I didn’t mean treat them like animals. Why would you think that?”

The guard said nothing, hunching over himself and shivering. He kept his eyes on his feet.

“So they are loose in this stronghold, have a powerful sorcerer to hand, and they have a legitimate grudge, as well.” His voice was sharp. “Get a few pallets for her, and then put her on them and lock her in the cell. And be sure she has water and food right beside her when she wakes up. Is that specific enough for you?”

Both guards nodded.

“And the . . . body?”

William jerked at that. “I’ll get Henry to sort it out.” Then, barely giving the guard in the stairwell time to jump back, he stalked up the outer stairs.

Soren kept watch as the guards got pallets, water and food, and others came to get the dead sorcerer. He struggled with himself when they lifted Mirabelle up again and locked her in the cell, but there was no way to stop them without making himself known. He kept himself outside the cell itself, even though he had a strange urge to be inside with her.

It was almost laughable, actually wanting to step inside a dungeon cell. Just a few hours ago, he’d have sworn nothing would induce him to ever consider such a thing, let alone to help a sorcerer.

Eventually, the outside door closed, locking them both in, and he slid down the bars of the cell door, leaning back against them.

They had lain Mirabelle close to the door, and he reached out through the bars and touched her, letting his hand rest in the crook of her elbow.

And waited.

Chapter Six

She came awake slowly.

The pain was gone, but her body felt as if it had been shaken by a giant dog, her every bone rattled and even her sense of touch scrambled.

She was lying on a pallet that stank of old sweat—rank and musty. Unable to lie on it a moment longer, she tried to sit up, sliding off it and landing on cold flagstones.

“Shh.”

Her whole body jerked at the sound of someone with her, and she blinked, straining her eyes to make out who it was. She could see no-one.

“Who’s there?” Her throat was so dry, she was barely able to croak the words.

“Soren.”

“Where are you?” She searched the darkness, suddenly fearful of having gone blind.

“Oh. Sorry, I forgot.” One moment there was nothing, the next, he was right up against the bars on the other side of the cell, staring right at her.

She jerked back with a cry. He was close enough to reach out and touch, his big body pressed up against the bars. “You were invisible?”

“Wild magic.” He didn’t explain further, but reached out and touched her. His hand was warm, almost burning her she felt so cold. “Are you all right? You’ve been asleep for more than a day.”

She gave a slow nod. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you to come round, to help you escape.”

He had stayed for her. For more than a day.

She hadn’t expected it, and unsure how to react she curled up on herself, stretching the kinks out of her back. When she raised her head, his intense blue gaze was on her, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she rose to her feet.

It was coming back to her; the scene in the courtyard, her duel with William’s sorcerer and his apprentice. She realized why she felt so lost. “Why am I still alive?”

“They planned to strip you of your powers, they said, not kill you, but when everyone walked in this room, something . . . happened to the sorcerer.”

“Hurt him, did it?” She couldn’t help the satisfaction that curled through her words.

“He’s dead.” Soren’s words were neutral.

“Dead?” Her legs nearly collapsed under her, and she grabbed for the bars. “That means . . .” She leaned forward, touching her forehead to the cold iron. She shouldn’t be shocked. Hadn’t she been surprised she was alive? “He was planning to kill me.”

Soren said nothing.

“The spell I set was a do-unto spell. Whatever someone planned to do when they walked into this room was what happened to them.”

“But the sorcerer wasn’t the first person in the room.” Soren rubbed his arms.

“The spell doesn’t work like that. It only affects negative emotion, feeding on itself until it uses itself up.”

“I think it used itself up,” Soren said.

He was right. She could feel nothing left of her construct. She sighed. “I set it when I thought William would be coming in here with his new sorcerer, wanting to use magic on one of you to get information. It would have given us time to get away, hurting them exactly as much as they planned to hurt you.”

Soren turned his head, and looked at a spot on the floor near the outside door. “Instead,” he said, and there was a rough edge in his voice, “it saved your life.”

Miri thought back to what he’d said. “William came in here with the sorcerer?”

Soren nodded. “A moment or two before the sorcerer stepped in.”

That did surprise her. “He wasn’t affected? I thought William meant me harm, too.”

Soren made a humming noise at the back of his throat. “I don’t think William knows quite what he wants to do. He seemed ill at ease over the whole thing. Nearly struck the sorcerer for hurting you in the courtyard. Argued with him over stripping your powers. If the sorcerer hadn’t planned to kill you, perhaps William’s clearly divided loyalties changed his mind.”

She thought about that, leaning against the bars. Soren was so close to her she could feel the heat of his skin. “Thank you.” He turned to look at her as she spoke, his face hard to read in the gloom of the cell. “For staying. You could already be halfway home by now.”

“Not really.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You could have left me in the courtyard. Ducked into the passage and left me to my little breakdown. You could be halfway home by now.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Not really.”

He waited a beat. “If you feel better, are you able to unlock the door like you did before?”

She lifted her hand to the silver pear, and felt a jolt of pure fear, searing her heart like the touch of a blacksmith’s brand.

“What is it?” He went from half-slouched against the bars to absolute focus in a moment.

“My . . . talisman. Most sorcerers use a staff. I used a magical item my father gave me. A silver pear. It hangs like a pendant around my neck.” She thought back to what had happened in the courtyard. The pain, her hand coming up . . . “The passageway! I sent it to the passageway so that William’s sorcerer couldn’t get it.”

He frowned. “Did the others close the far door of the passage behind them, or was it still open?”

Miri felt her world drop away, as if the floor had disappeared from beneath her feet, and she fell.

There was nothing. Nothing but the roaring in her ears until warm hands grasped her shoulders, pulled her upright. “Mirabelle.”

He said her name forcefully, and she gasped. Fought the darkness that swam at the edges of her vision and took a deep breath.

“It was all I could think of,” she said, half-gulping the words. “I thought he had me, and I didn’t have much strength left. It had to be somewhere close . . .”

“It’s all right. Even if the door isn’t closed, they have no reason to go looking for it. It’s nowhere near the front gate.”

She gave an uncertain nod. “But anyone could take it. Sell it. Give it to someone like Eric or Nuen. I was entrusted with its safekeeping.”

He pushed back hair that had fallen over her face when she’d collapsed, his fingers gentle as they stroked behind her ears. “It’s all right. I know the feeling of losing something very powerful and important. I did it myself not that long ago.”

“Did you get it back?” She couldn’t help her hopeful tone.

He looked at her, as if considering what to say, but in the end, he shook his head.

“What was it?”

He sighed, leaned back against the bars. “The golden apple.”

* * *

She squeaked. Actually squeaked.

He was glad he was facing away from her so he could hide his smile.

As a sorcerer, Mirabelle was not the menacing, intimidating scourge of Middleland Soren delighted in bringing down.

“Eric the Bold’s golden apple?”

He nodded. “Well, technically, it’s my brother Rane’s golden apple. He won it in a tournament. But during a fight with Nuen, I dropped it, and Nuen has it, now.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. He ran stiff fingers through his hair in agitation.

“The golden apple and the silver pear are both said to have been given to sorcerers long ago for great feats of bravery by a goddess.” Her voice was soft. “Hirst Red Tongue had the golden apple until Eric killed him for it. Handed down from his great-grandfather.”

“And the silver pear?” Soren was sitting a little straighter now. He’d never heard of either the golden apple or the silver pear until a few days ago.

“The silver pear . . .”

He was sitting so close to her, he felt her shrug.

“My father wouldn’t tell me its providence. And I always suspected . . .”

She trailed off, and he sensed her discomfort, her unease.

“You think he stole it, like Eric did?”

She nodded. Her hair brushing his arm in a quick up-down caress.

“What does the silver pear do?”

“You’ve touched the golden apple?”

It was his turn to nod. “My brother’s betrothed brought it with her to rescue me. I was being held for ransom by Jasper of Harness. He wanted my brother to bring him the golden apple in exchange for me but my brother was enchanted by Eric the Bold, and Kayla came instead. I was in a dungeon—”

“Another one?” She half-laughed.

“This one is pleasant by comparison,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “I was hurt. Even though there was a spell in the cave where I was kept, one that stripped magic from anyone who entered, the golden apple healed me when Kayla touched it to my skin.”

“My father told me the golden apple was immune to sorcery. The silver pear, too. The power that forged them is way beyond what even Eric and Nuen are attempting these days. Although they are certainly trying to bend the rules of magic.”

She still hadn’t told him what the silver pear did. They sat in silence, and he didn’t push her any further.

She sighed. “When a sorcerer creates a spell, there is usually a little power left over. It’s hard to judge exactly how much power is needed. If the spell is big enough, the excess magic forms into a purple ball of light. What people call—”

“Wild magic.” Soren didn’t bother hiding his bitterness.

“You know?” She curled tighter into her ball.

“Wild magic killed my father. I made a point of finding out what it was.”

She was quiet for a long time. “The silver pear absorbs that left-over magic as long as the sorcerer is touching it when they cast their spell. So no wild magic. Before I used the silver pear, it was my father’s. He insisted on giving it to me when I became a full sorcerer.”

Soren thought about it. “Can you draw on the magic it absorbs later?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “That is why someone like Eric must never get hold of it. I don’t need to call sky magic for most small spells, I just draw from the store of magic in the silver pear. And for the big spells, nothing is wasted, there is no wild magic, threatening havoc and needing to be banished to the Great Forest. It is all contained, and ready to be used later.”

Soren thought of what Nuen would do with something like that. The havoc either he or Eric could wreak.

“We need to make sure your silver pear is safe.”

“Yes.”

Soren had waited through the whole night and day for Mirabelle to wake up, looking for a chance to steal the keys to the cell, but the guards had kept hold of them, and done nothing more than check she was still breathing and then left.

He would have to be a bit more forceful about it, now.

“Scream,” he said to her.

“What?”

“You heard me. Scream as if you’re dying.” He looked toward the small, barred window. “We need someone with a key to come running.”

Chapter Seven

Miri shook her head. “Even without the silver pear, I should be able to open the lock without creating a lot of excess magic. We won’t get wild magic forming, but there will be a flash of blue light. I won’t be able to hide what I’m doing.”

“You can open the door?” Soren frowned.

“I think so, if I use just enough power. I’ve recovered a little from the fight in the courtyard. I don’t have an oak staff, though. I’ve always used the silver pear instead of a staff to draw sky magic.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t already opened it, then.” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but the incredulity sneaked through. As if he couldn’t understand why she’d stay in the cell a moment longer than necessary.

Of course, he’d been kept in a dungeon much worse that this one, helpless and alone, whereas she was neither. It explained the scene in the courtyard. His terror of the dark.

She touched the lock with her fingertips, keeping the spell as contained as she could. Blue glowed from her hands and then blinked out. It was a small spell, but the control needed to get it just right gave her an instant headache and she bent over a little. She was more drained than she thought.

Soren pulled the door open, and before he could speak, before she could think too much about the pain, she did the same to the outside door.

“What’s wrong?” He was watching her, a deep groove of worry between his eyebrows.

“I need to get a staff if I’m going to use sky magic without the silver pear, that’s all.” Except that getting the right oak staff was no easy task.

Soren gave an uneasy nod, and then braced a hand on the outside door before he pushed it open. “There’ll be a lot more guards out than the last time we escaped, patrolling the grounds.”

“Why? What has William to fear now?” Surely everyone was either injured, escaped or dead?

“He doesn’t realize you let us out and set that spell in here. He thinks another sorcerer is involved, and that his prisoners are skulking about the stronghold, trying to take it by force.”

Miri sighed. “And what did he expect to do with me?”

Soren grinned suddenly. “Woo you back to his side, is my guess. Didn’t you see the nice pallet and food and water they left you?”

Miri turned, saw the cup of water and plate of bread and cheese she’d missed, and shuddered.

When she turned back, Soren had vanished, but she could feel his body almost touching hers, feel the heat of his skin.

“I’ll go first,” he whispered, and she nodded. He didn’t move, though. She heard him take a breath.

“I don’t think I can go through the secret passage.” His lips brushed her ear he stood so close, and she sensed his tension. “It’s the easiest way, and I’m sorry I can’t try again, but I can’t risk . . .” He took a deep breath. “I can stand the dark, but the dark and the walls closing in . . .” He shuddered. “I’ll get you to the courtyard, and then I’ll walk out through the front gate. I’ll meet you at the outside entrance to the passageway.”

She nodded and he squeezed her arm in response.

He opened the door and she let him go ahead to check it was safe, waiting until he came back for her and took her hand, leading her up the steps.

The stronghold was quiet, and she thought dawn must only be an hour or so away.

There was a new guard posted in front of the courtyard. Soren let go of her hand, and she felt his lips on her ear again.

“Wait until I deal with him. Then run for your secret door.”

She nodded, but he was already moving.

He was quick and utterly silent. The guard collapsed what seemed like moments later. Invisible arms dragged him through the entrance to the small courtyard.

Miri ran. As she entered the courtyard, she saw Soren had propped the guard up against the inner wall.

She reached the secret door and fumbled for the metal pin, felt Soren’s body heat as he came up behind her.

She had the sense he was standing, feet apart, eyes on the entrance behind her, guarding her, even though she couldn’t see him at all.

When she finally found the thin piece of metal and pulled it, she looked back and up. “Got it.”

“I’ll wait until you’ve made sure William hasn’t found the door on the outside wall, and set someone to wait for you.”

She hadn’t thought of that. She’d been shaking with the need to have the silver pear again, desperate to make sure it was safe.

She opened the door wide, forced herself not to look for it, and quietly moved to the other end of the passageway. The door was closed.

She couldn’t decide if it was good or bad news.

She’d thought it had been open, last time she’d seen it. She remembered thinking she could use it being open to reassure Soren, to help persuade him to come in the tunnel with her, but it could have swung shut.

Or someone came later and closed it.

She found the pin and opened the door, looked out.

There was no-one that she could see.

She shuffled back, stuck her head out. “It seems safe. I’ll look for the silver pear, and see you on the other side.”

She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see his response, but he brushed a hand over her shoulder and then was gone, and Miri pulled the door closed behind her.

Darkness enveloped her, and she set about feeling every inch of the floor with her hands, starting at the door and moving back on her haunches.

By the time she’d reach the other side, she had to accept the truth.

The silver pear was gone.

* * *

He didn’t like to leave her, even knowing that she was a sorcerer.

Soren kept close to the walls and the shadows, through habit rather than necessity, now he was invisible. The gate was closed, but there was a smaller door inset into the massive portcullis, and just within the guard house, the key hung from a hook.

The two guards on duty were playing dice to keep awake, and Soren took the key quite brazenly.

He spent precious minutes inserting it into the lock as quietly as possible, and turned it slowly, listening as the tumblers caught one by one, until the door was unlocked. He decided to take the key with him. It would be handy if they ever needed to break back in.

He eased the door open, wincing as the hinges groaned, and slipped through, locking it behind him.

Dawn was already lighting the sky to the east, and he ran along the outer wall. Because he was looking for it, he was able to make out the door, half-open, and Mirabelle, on her hands and knees in front of it.

He dropped the moonstone into his pocket, and dropped to his knees next to her so he could whisper. “What is it?”

She looked at him, and even in the darkness, he could see the absolute devastation on her face.

“It’s gone.”

He didn’t ask if she was sure. He turned to look at the forest, then up to the guard tower looming above them. It seemed safe enough.

He helped her to her feet, pushed the door closed and then took her hand, pulling her along as he ran for the trees.

She resisted him when he wanted to draw them deeper in, stubbornly turning back to the part of the wall where the secret door lay as if somehow she would see the silver pear lying on the ground.

“William hasn’t set a guard here. So I don’t think it was him who took it.” Soren gave up the struggle, and stood beside her.

She gave an uncertain nod.

“That means it was one of the men from the dungeon.”

“Why would they come back?”

Soren thought for a moment. “Perhaps they were worried about us. Came back to help us?” It was the only thing that made sense. And the only one who he could think who would do that was Garth. Travis would have run into the woods and not looked back.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. “What will they do with it?”

Soren shrugged. “I only met them a few hours ago, myself. I was the last one who came through.”

“You were friendly with the big man. The woodcutter.”

Soren nodded. “Garth. He seemed a good man. But I honestly don’t know what any one of them would do with something like the silver pear. They won’t know it was yours, although they might guess it is, as it was in your passageway.”

“Garth saw me hold it when I cast the spell, I’m sure he did. Where do you think they’ve gone?”

She was shivering, and he rubbed her shoulder awkwardly. “Garth and his friend Jon are from Jerat. If I were them, that’s where I’d head. And if he is keeping the silver pear safe for you, he knows I know where he lives.”

“I’ll have to go after them.” She raised stricken eyes to his.

He took her hand, and at last she let him pull her deeper into the protection of the trees.

“I have to find my brother. And get the golden apple back from Nuen.” He meant to sound matter-of-fact, but to his surprise, his words came out frustrated, as if he was sorry he couldn’t come to her aid.

She pulled his arm, forcing him to stop, and nodded her head to a narrow pathway that snaked off the main way. “Do you want to sleep a little first, before you set out? I know I need to.”

He’d only slept in brief snatches while he’d watched over her in the dungeon, and he hadn’t slept at all the day before that. He needed rest.

He gave a nod.

“Come. I have a place we can go.”

She held out her hand, and as the first silver edge of light broke the horizon, Soren took it. And let her lead the way.

Chapter Eight

Kayla and Rane

They approached Ylana’s cottage with caution.

Rane moved silently, knife held ready in his hand. The dull, gray blade looked like it would have a hard time cutting an apple, but Kayla knew it could change in an instant, lengthening, sharpening. She had seen Rane take down a troll with it.

Even so, she didn’t think a knife would save them, if Ylana had broken free of the enchantment Kayla had placed on her and was interested in revenge.

Beside her, Sooty gave a happy chirp, as if the gathering tension was cause for celebration. She bumped her massive black head against Kayla’s hip, then leaped after Rane, as silent on her feet as Rane was.

Kayla knew she was the noisy one. Crunching leaves and snapping twigs as she went.

She hadn’t grown up in the forest, wasn’t able to move as quietly as her betrothed or her unusual cat, but she did have a weapon of her own.

Wild magic.

Tight-woven purple balls of light that held the occasional spark of green floated behind her, bobbing and drifting, sometimes hovering in place.

Kayla could feel the power of them humming just at the tips of her fingers.

She may need all the skill she’d learned in the last few days in wielding wild magic when she released Ylana. There was no telling what an enraged witch could do. Especially one as old and powerful as Ylana.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rane had stopped, right at the edge of the clearing where Ylana’s cottage stood. Sooty sat next to him, licking a paw, quite content in the late afternoon sun.

Kayla came up beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, and nodded as they both took in the thatched roof, the wooden walls; neat and unassuming.

There was no smoke coming from the chimney, which there wouldn’t be if Ylana was still enchanted, but it meant nothing.

If Ylana had gotten free, she could create any illusion she liked to lure them in.

“It’s gone very quiet.”

Even the wind in the trees had died, and no birds sang.

It made the sound of large wings suddenly flapping behind them all the louder. A bird screeched and rose between the trees, and Kayla turned to look.

Sooty was off to the side, looking up with a fixed expression at the heron she’d scared away.

Kayla narrowed her eyes, watching until it had disappeared, and silence fell again.

“What is it?” Rane was looking at her with a frown.

“Something attacked Soren at a stream when we were coming to rescue you from Eric. He called it an asrai.”

She hadn’t forgotten the incident, but so much had happened since then, this was the first time she’d mentioned it to him.

“An asrai?” He suddenly focused all his attention on her, ignoring the cottage completely.

She shrugged. “That’s what Soren said it was. I turned it into a heron after I got it off him.”

“You think that was the same one? That it’s following you?” Rane looked up, but the heron was long gone.

Sooty finally looked down, no longer tense and ready to strike, and batted playfully at something in the grass. “It just reminded me of what happened, that’s all. If it is following me, what can it really do?”

He looked like he was going to argue with her, then shook his head, took a deep breath and focused back on the cottage again. “Last chance. Are you sure you want to set Ylana free?” He reached out and slid a big, calloused hand along her shoulder, feathering his fingers along the back of her neck. She grabbed his wrist, gave it a squeeze.

“I can’t leave her enchanted.” It was as simple as that. Kayla had barely been able to walk away from Ylana after she’d trapped the witch. It had been one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made, and she didn’t want it on her conscience any longer.

She had hated Eric for enchanting her and Rane, and hated even more that he’d put her in a position where she had had to enchant Ylana. The thought of it scraped at her, making her feel raw and bruised.

She took a step into the cleared land around the cottage, waiting just a moment in case Ylana had set some kind of trap, and then walked forward, drawing a ball of wild magic with her.

The door of the cottage was shut, just as she’d left it, along with the shutters over the windows. There was an air of anticipation, of waiting, as if the forest and even the house itself was holding its breath.

She gave herself a moment to push down her fear and then grabbed the doorknob.

The handle turned easily under her hand, the door swung open, and Kayla peered carefully into the gloom of the closed-up house.

Ylana stood beside the kitchen table, exactly where Kayla had left her, absolutely frozen in place.

Her eyes were still just as alive, fury snapping from them at the sight of her. Kayla saw the moment she got a view of Rane, too, standing as close to the doorway as he could.

He had an affinity to the strange and wonderful things wild magic created. But there were so many packed onto the shelves covering every wall in Ylana’s cottage he wasn’t able to enter the room without falling seriously ill, pulled in too many directions at once.

Ylana dismissed him with a contemptuous blink, and focused back on Kayla.

Kayla lifted her hands up in an offering of peace. “I’m sorry for enchanting you and leaving you this way. I was afraid if I let you go you’d take the golden apple, and we needed it to rescue Rane’s brother.” She chewed on her lip as she saw the malice in Ylana’s eyes when Rane’s name was mentioned. “I wanted to believe you wouldn’t, that you would help me, but I couldn’t take the chance.” She dropped her hands back to her sides. “I came back as quickly as I could to free you.”

Ylana’s eyes sparked then. Kayla imagined her drawing on her power, the earth magic embedded in the forest around them, to strike as soon as she was set free.

Kayla pulled the wild magic closer, let it loom over her shoulder. Let Ylana see the size of it.

Last time she’d been here, she’d drawn wild magic from where it hovered between the trees near Ylana’s cottage, and she had managed to get the best of Ylana then, although she knew that had more to do with the fact that Ylana had trusted her, had been taken by surprise.

She pressed the point home. “This is only one of a hundred balls of wild magic which have followed me here. They are all around your clearing. And I am even more adept at using it now than I was before. I can see you are thinking of harming Rane or me when I release you. I want to warn you, if you try, I will retaliate.”

Even though Ylana was held frozen in place, Kayla could see from the way her eyes lost their spark that she had abandoned her decision to retaliate.

She looked back at Rane, to let him know she was going ahead, and he lifted his knife in salute, widened his stance.

He didn’t want her to do this. Had argued against it ever since she told him what she planned, but he was here, helping her anyway.

Even though this wasn’t the time or the place, she let the swell of love she felt for him rise up and show in her eyes. She blew him a kiss and he lifted a brow, his face impassive, but there was heat in his gaze as he waited for her to free the witch.

She looked back at Ylana, let the wild magic brush up against her back, let its light halo her as she concentrated on reversing what she’d done.

She looked down at her hands, at the purple green sparks at the tips of her fingers, and felt the surge of power as she lifted the enchantment.

Ylana straightened from her half-bent position over the table, put a hand to her lower back, and then pulled back her lips to show her teeth.

“I have killed for less than this, little witchling.” She took a step, and hissed with pain as her legs moved for the first time in three days.

“Let me help you,” Kayla moved forward. “I can make you something to eat.”

Ylana jerked away, hand raised, the threat of magic in the air between them. “Why did you come back? You could have released me from a little way away. Run. Why have you been so foolish?”

It was what Rane had asked her, again and again. “Because I wanted to apologize to you, face to face. If I thought there had been any other way, I would have taken it rather than enchant you. And I wanted to ask you to teach me.”

“Teach you?” Ylana curled her arm closer to her body.

“To use my power better. To be a wild magic witch.”

Ylana laughed, the sound dry and hoarse, like leaves crunching underfoot. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you know a war’s coming. That Eric is in a contest with other sorcerers to see who can be more powerful. You know it’ll soon spill over into actual war, and you know the damage that would do.”

“That means I have less inclination to teach you, not more. I have work to do. Work I’ve been kept from for the last three days.”

Kayla shook her head. “Gathering all the wild magic items you can find so the sorcerers can’t use them isn’t going to be enough anymore.”

Ylana shuffled slowly to a chair, sank down on it with a tight expression of relief as she took the weight off her legs. “And you know what is?”

Kayla pulled a stream of wild magic from the ball hovering behind her, let it swirl over her palm. “Teach me everything I don’t know about being a witch, and maybe I will be.”

Chapter Nine

Rane knew Ylana was just behind the house. He’d been watching her since Kayla stepped back and left the witch to decide whether she would take her on as a pupil or not.

Kayla had helped him set up camp on the edge of the clearing, and then taken some soap, a bucket and some clean clothes down to the stream to wash while Rane got the camp fire going. It wasn’t so easy now he’d lost his fire stick to Travis. He had to do it the hard way.

Ylana had eaten a meal, and then shuffled out of the cottage and disappeared around the back.

Rane gave her five minutes, and then rose from his place by the fire.

He didn’t like the sudden silence, now that both women were gone. Didn’t like the thought that perhaps Ylana had been gathering her strength, biding her time, and now she was feeling better, had followed Kayla down to the stream and was bespelling her right now.

He didn’t even pretend casual disinterest as he rounded the corner, fingers flicking as he contemplated pulling his knife.

His gaze flicked over the woodpile, the path leading to the right. He spotted the small drying shed, leaning drunkenly against a massive oak, just as Ylana stepped out of its crooked door, some dried herbs in her hands.

She stared at him with deep enmity.

He knew she disliked him, but it appeared that had changed to hate in the last few days. Or she wasn’t bothering to hide her true feelings any more.

Something snaked up from the ground at his feet, striking his cheek before catching hold of his wrist.

A creeper, he realized, as it yanked him down, forcing him to one knee. Mint. He could smell the freshness of it as it wound around his forearm.

He reached for his boot to get his knife, his gaze on her as he did.

Ylana didn’t move, watching him as a rope of woody green tightened around him with painful, bruising force, her face alight with satisfaction.

His knife sliced through the stem easily, and he staggered back, flicking off the pieces still twined around his arm.

Her eyes narrowed, and he sensed her building her power for another strike, when it seemed as if the shadows themselves gathered together and leaped at her.

Sooty.

Taken by surprise, Ylana fell against the wooden door of her shed, her hand drawn back to strike out at the cat, and Rane dived toward her, knife out, blade lengthening, until it was up against her neck.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. Sooty belongs to Kayla.”

Ylana lowered her hand, looked away from him to the cat as if the shimmering blade wasn’t pressed against her skin.

“I’ve seen her before, hunting in the forest. She used to be Gert’s daughter’s cat, until the wild magic touched her.”

Rane nodded.

“I would never have taken her as a familiar. Not something transformed by wild magic.” Ylana struggled up on her elbows, and Rane let her, moving back a little, but he kept his knife ready.

“Kayla did.” He reached out a hand, and scratched Sooty between her ears.

The cat was still looking at Ylana with an unblinking stare, paws on either side of her shoulders, but she bumped her head upward at the feel of Rane’s fingers, tipping up her chin.

“She’s protective of you, too.”

Rane scratched a little harder. “Yes.”

Ylana’s face was sour with anger. She looked the furtherest thing possible from the suave, flamboyant Jisuel, Rane and Soren’s best client for wild magic items.

But Ylana and Jisuel were one and the same.

Ylana had shown him, had changed from one to the other before his eyes a few days ago, and revealed a deception that had gone on for over a year.

He couldn’t help but see it as a betrayal.

Jisuel had drunk with him and Soren at the inns of Therston after a good day at the Hidden Market. And while there had always been a dangerous edge to the client Rane had thought a young, reckless nobleman, there had been camaraderie, too.

Or, he’d thought there was.

He’d been wrong.

Ylana had drunk ale and laughed, but now Rane knew it had been at them, not with them.

She’d bought up every wild magic item he and his brother had for sale from seemingly bottomless pockets.

“How did you pay for all those things you bought from us?” The gold had been real enough. Jisuel wouldn’t have lasted long if the coins he’d paid with had disappeared or turned to leaves or acorns the next day, but seeing her cottage, the way she lived, Rane couldn’t fathom where the money had come from.

“I used earth magic to find some troll gold hoards.” There was something in the way she said it, something a little guilty, that rang a bell.

“Troll? That’s why that troll was chasing you the other day? It caught you stealing some of its hoard?” He’d risked his life to bring that troll down. And Ylana had taunted him for his efforts, when she should have been thanking him.

Her mocking smile showed a mouth full of surprisingly good teeth and then she shrugged. “Seeing as we are sharing secrets, why did you always ask about wild magic?”

“What are you talking about?”

“In Therston, whenever I saw you at the Hidden Market, you were always asking people about wild magic. Asking me. Why?” Ylana pulled herself out from under Sooty, and away from the tip of his knife.

Rane sat back on his haunches. “My father was touched by wild magic. He’s a tree now. Or, mostly a tree.”

Ylana blinked at him. “You were trying to find a way to release him? Change him back?”

It was most likely futile, but he had never given up hope there would be a way. The fact that his father was growing leaves made it impossible to dismiss that he might be alive inside his wood and bark shell. “If I could.”

“I thought you were a sorcerer’s spy.” Ylana leaned against the sun-bleached silver of the drying shed’s door, and rested her head against the frame. The bitterness had gone. She just seemed tired, now.

“I thought the same of you.” Rane had often wondered if Jisuel had been buying the items as a front for a sorcerer, so other sorcerers didn’t notice one of their own building up a stockpile.

He had never come close to the truth. That Ylana had taken on the guise of Jisuel to buy up as many wild magic items as she could, to keep them out of sorcerer hands.

“How many sorcerers do you think are up to a fight for control against Eric the Bold?” If they were going to stop Eric, they had to stop the other sorcerers he was competing against, as well.

“Two.” Ylana moved restlessly, and he rose to his feet, stepped back so she could stand. Sooty stared at her, unmoving.

“I’d hoped there was only one.” Rane gripped his knife at the thought of two more like Eric.

“If Nuen of Harness wasn’t injured, it would be three, so it’s better than it could be.”

Rane hunched his shoulders at that. “Nuen isn’t injured anymore. When Kayla rescued Soren from Jasper, the golden apple was knocked out of Soren’s hands inside Jasper’s stronghold moments before Kayla got them out. There is no question Nuen has it, and has used it to heal himself by now.”

Ylana stared at him with such horror, he forced his shoulders back. Looked her straight in the eye.

“What are you going to do about it?” Her voice was flat.

“I thought, if Kayla was busy here with you for a few days, I could spy on the sorcerers you think are up to Eric’s level. Get a feel for their weaknesses. As that includes Nuen, if I get the chance to steal the golden apple back, I will.”

She gave a derisive laugh. “And how likely do you think that will be?”

Rane shrugged. “I’ve gotten the better of Jasper and Nuen before, and so has Kayla. You never know.”

She looked as if she wanted to attack him again, clenching her fists as green light danced over her knuckles.

Time for a distraction, because no matter how he’d love a good, hard fight with her, in whatever form she chose to take, that wouldn’t help Kayla.

“I have your gem.” He slipped a hand into the leather purse at his belt, drew out the gem covered in a small piece of cloth.

She hesitated, then put out her hand to take it, the magic she was pulling to her fading away. “Ever since Kayla took it, I’ve wondered what Eric could have wanted with it. It isn’t even wild magic-made.” She pushed back the cloth carefully.

He frowned. “Not wild magic? But . . . the light when it’s touched is purple.”

Her lips twisted. “And just because a thing shoots out purple light, it must be wild magic, eh? So a sorcerer wanting to make people believe a thing is wild magic-made, need only imbue purple light into it, instead of blue, and everyone is fooled.”

Rane grimaced. He’d been so sure it was wild magic-made, he hadn’t realized it didn’t call to him as wild magic always did.

“One of my other suppliers—Jisuel’s suppliers, I should say—found a sorcerer’s stash in the forest. There were a few wild magic items in it, but most were sorcerer-made, and this was one of them.”

“Is it Eric’s? Is that how he knew you had it? I’ve heard sorcerers’ things can call to them.”

Ylana shook her head. “I’ve stolen things from Eric before. This isn’t his. It doesn’t feel like his magic. But it could belong to a sorcerer he’s killed or stripped of power. If he used their staff, he could get an approximate idea of where it was.”

“And if it’s sorcerer-made . . .” Rane had thought Soren was lost to him. Wild magic was capricious, unpredictable. He’d thought if Soren wasn’t dead, he was most likely in a place no-one could reach him, or turned into something else entirely. But now . . . “The people who touch this or get caught in the blast of light from it when it’s touched disappear. What use would a sorcerer have for something like that?”

Ylana looked down at the stone, glinting in the last of the evening light. “A quick escape, perhaps. Touch it, and get taken to a safe place. Even if you’ve fought hard and your power is depleted, you could easily get away if you’ve imbued the gem with enough power earlier.”

“And if the sorcerer has created the illusion it’s wild magic-made, most wouldn’t risk touching it again if it’s left behind, which it always is, because they’d be too scared of where they’d end up. Or at least, they’d think long and hard before they did, which would give the sorcerer time to get away or prepare a defense at the other end. So Soren could be alive. Someplace the sorcerer who made this thought was safe.”

Ylana shrugged. “It’s a possibility. Not a certainty.”

Rane didn’t care. A possibility was more than he’d had before. “It doesn’t work very well, if that’s its purpose. Those caught in its light go, too.”

“Perhaps the sorcerer didn’t get it quite right, or he anticipated having someone with him he wanted to protect, so the possibility of an enemy coming through with him was less important than the idea of leaving someone behind who was in his care.”

“What’s going on?” Kayla’s call came from the woods to the left, and Rane saw her step out from between the trees, hefting a full wooden bucket.

Sooty turned to Kayla and gave a chirp, but she didn’t leave her position, blocking Ylana’s path.

“Rane?” Kayla brought the smell of spring water and crushed river ferns with her, her damp hair clinging to her neck, her clean shirt and trousers crumpled from their time in her bag.

His princess.

He took the water bucket from her and set it on the grass, lifted her hands and kissed her fingertips.

She looked down. “What is that on your wrist?”

He looked down himself, saw the red welt where Ylana’s plant had grabbed him.

He said nothing, and she looked from him to Ylana, noticed the knife in his hand.

She pulled her hands away, clenching them at her side. “That was you?” Her eyes were hard as she glared at the witch.

It still took Rane by surprise, the way she defended him. It warmed something inside him he’d thought too cold to revive.

Ylana cocked her head. “I won’t be chastised by a baby like you, Kayla of Gaynor. But,” she bent and picked up the dried herbs Sooty had knocked from her hands, “it won’t happen again.”

Rane watched as she slipped the gem into the pocket of her dress, and suddenly wished he hadn’t given it to her. It was his link to Soren, if he couldn’t find him any other way.

Ylana pushed past Sooty and walked around them, disappearing into the last of the twilight as she went back into her house. Sooty curled up where she sat, as if that had been her plan all along. She started cleaning herself.

“Was it a mistake, coming here?” Kayla’s fingers touched his wrist delicately.

He shook his head, slipped his knife into his boot and took her hand. “She told me things about the gem. Things that make me think Soren isn’t as good as dead. And I would never have known that if we hadn’t come back.”

“Oh!” Kayla’s eyes shone with sudden tears. “That is good news.”

He hadn’t had someone who shared his joys and triumphs in a long time. Soren had, once, before their father died, but not since then. It was heady to have that again. To feel Kayla’s fingers tighten against his.

It made what he needed to say next even harder.

“I’m going to leave you to train with her, if she agrees to take you. Go off on my own. Things will be easier between you and her if I’m not here. Something about me sets her off. I told her I’ll go spy on the sorcerers. And now I know there’s a chance Soren could be in a sorcerer’s stronghold, I’m even more anxious to see what they’re up to.”

“What did she say to that?”

Rane hefted the bucket. “Not much.” He started walking back to their camp, tugging her along.

The fire had almost died so he set the bucket down and went back for some logs.

As he put them on the fire, the flames flared and he watched the way the light bathed Kayla in a warm glow, catching the auburn strands in her dark hair. “When I saw your face after the tournament in Gaynor, the moment you realized I had tricked you into helping me and that I wasn’t after your hand but the golden apple, I made a promise to myself. That I would take the golden apple to Jasper in exchange for Soren, and after that, whatever Soren did, whatever happened, he was on his own. I wasn’t going to rescue him again. The price was too high.”

She crouched down, looking at him across the dancing flames. “The price hurt at the time. But Rane, if you could have seen what Jasper was doing to him, you wouldn’t say that. It was worth any price, any hurt feelings I may have had, to get him out. He was in complete darkness. Starved, with no water or even a bed to lie on. They’d chained him up against the wall. Whatever you had to do to free him was the right thing.”

“Whatever I have to do this time might be to ask Ylana if I can touch the gem. Transport myself to wherever Soren has gone.” He’d been thinking it since Ylana had put the gem into her pocket. But he’d made a vow, and Kayla would have to agree, would have to be behind his decision, if he was going to do it.

She lifted haunted eyes to his. “I don’t want you to do that. It isn’t safe for you.”

“And your breaking into Jasper’s stronghold to save him was?” He still couldn’t believe she had done that. Had gone right into his enemy’s territory and whisked his brother out from under Jasper and Nuen’s noses.

She shook her head. “I knew what I was getting in to. I could see where I was going. You won’t have any idea where you’ll end up. It could be another place like Eric’s dungeon, or someplace even worse.”

He sighed, poked at the fire with a stick. “I know, but it would be the fastest way to find him.”

“Or the fastest way to get killed, for no good reason. It’s been two days since he disappeared. He could be anywhere by now.”

He gave a slow nod. But he knew if he hadn’t had Kayla, he would have done it without hesitation.

“I might be coming with you, if Ylana refuses to teach me.”

Rane stood and looked across at Ylana’s closed front door. “She’ll help you. She’s just drawing it out to punish you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because when she did hurt me, she was barely trying. And when she told you she would never hurt me again, it cost her. I think she actually meant it.”

Chapter Ten

Sooty had joined them sometime in the night, curling up behind Kayla and shuffling closer. When she woke, uneasy and with the feeling of being watched, she found herself sandwiched between her giant cat and Rane.

She looked up, straight into Ylana’s eyes.

Heart thumping at the banked rage she glimpsed there, she wiggled her way out, hands already sparking, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a ball of wild magic edge from between the trees into the clearing, pulled by her need for power.

Ylana glanced at it, dismissed it, and beckoned her toward her cottage.

Kayla followed, looking back over her shoulder at Rane.

He was still fast asleep, and she frowned and slowed her steps. He usually sensed her every move, and he always woke at the smallest sound.

His sleep couldn’t be natural. She stopped, turned back, and then started at the feel of a hand on her arm.

“I have done him no harm. I gave my word, remember? He will wake when our business is done.”

She looked at the hand gripping her, the skin brown with sun, wrinkled. She raised her eyes to Ylana’s clear hazel gaze, and gave a nod. “Then let’s get our business done quickly.”

She stepped into the cottage, and saw Ylana had swept it clean and that all the windows were open. There was a kettle boiling merrily over the fire, and waving at a seat in invitation, Ylana went to it and poured the water into a fat, squat teapot.

“What is it about Rane that enrages you?” Kayla hesitated, not completely ready to lower herself into a seat and make herself more vulnerable.

Ylana hesitated. “You shouldn’t be with him. You are a witch, and at your age, you should have severed your ties to men.”

Kayla gripped the back of the chair. “Rane is the only man I’ve ever had a tie to. And you know wild magic works differently. It doesn’t bind me to it like earth magic binds you, leaving no room for anything else.”

Ylana lifted the pot, swirled the water in it around a few times. “That makes it suspicious. How can you trust something that has no connection to you?”

“I have a connection to it. I can sense where it is, and it even tries to communicate with me, sometimes. But it doesn’t shoulder out every other feeling I have.” When Ylana had told her of the tight-woven bond between witches and earth magic, a connection that allowed the witch no other relationship, she had been relieved her father or mother had bespelled her as a child, had blocked her access to earth magic, and kept her from becoming lost to them.

“How can you concentrate, if you have too many loyalties?” Ylana poured the tea.

“Perhaps it helps you, in that everything is either black or white, but it sounds a lonely path.” At last she took a seat.

Ylana handed her a mug and then sat down herself. “Alone doesn’t mean lonely. And no witch can live too near another for too long. We don’t like interference, even from each other.”

“In that way, you’re like sorcerers.” Kayla picked up her mug and sniffed at the brew.

Ylana pursed her lips at that, chose not to respond. “Your fascination with De’Villier, and his with you, will lead to no good.”

Kayla set her mug down, untouched. “I can’t think why.”

“Because you are an earth magic witch. A strong one. Whatever was done to you to stop you calling earth magic should be reversed.”

Kayla shook her head and stood. “I made it clear to you before. I don’t want to call earth magic. I don’t want to be pulled in by it. I have too many responsibilities to my people, and I won’t give up Rane.”

They stared at each other. Ylana glanced behind her, her face changing from stubborn determination to anger, and Kayla turned too, saw the wild magic hovering just outside the window.

“I don’t know why you’re angry. I could feel you drawing earth magic. Your hands are sparking.” Her own hands were sparking again, too, and she drew them into fists.

“I have a link to earth magic. When I’m angry, when I need power, it comes to me instinctively.”

“I didn’t call the wild magic consciously, either.” She dropped her hands. Sat down again. “Is it so hard to understand that I would want a different way? And that the way I use wild magic is not so different from using earth magic?”

Ylana sank down into her chair, too. Rubbed her forehead. “I’ve been an earth magic witch for so long, it’s hard for me to see a different way. But if I was young, and had the chance to work magic with no drain on my energy, no tight grip on my soul . . . the best of sky and earth magic.” She gave a deep sigh, as if finding a measure of peace. “Perhaps my reservations are based on resentment.”

They were silent a moment, and then Kayla lifted her mug to her lips.

“No.”

The mug was ripped from her hands by a blast of air, and shattered on the floor.

Kayla looked at the pieces, at the pool of dark liquid, then up at Ylana.

“The tea in the mug was the first step to stripping you of the enchantment your parents cast on you. The first step to turning you back into an earth magic witch.”

Kayla got slowly to her feet.

“I won’t try that again.” Ylana waved a hand, and the pieces tumbled together in a neat heap. “I will respect your wish to remain as you are.”

“Why would you even think to take such a step when you knew I was opposed to it? This is my life, it’s for me to decide.” Her stomach roiled with the thought of what she might have swallowed, and she drew a deep breath to steady herself.

In the last month her father, Eric, even Rane, had made the decision to choose something for her. She had never expected it of Ylana.

“You regret coming, now.” Ylana bowed her head, hands flat along the top of her thighs. “I am sorry.” She raised her head. “I’m too deep in earth magic, these days. Too old. I started thinking I knew better than you what you need. But that’s sorcerer talk, isn’t it? The very thing I hate.”

Kayla turned, looking out the door at where Rane and Sooty still slept. “Lift your spell on them. I should have known if you had honest intentions you wouldn’t have needed to keep them out of this.”

The witch sighed behind her. “It is done. They will wake naturally when they’re ready.”

Kayla turned. “How can I trust you again?”

Ylana rose, poured more water into the kettle and set it back on the fire, took another tea pot off the shelf and spooned tea into it. “Why did you trust me in the first place? Why did you think I would help you when you had stolen from me and enchanted me?”

“I was hoping you were different from Eric. That you could put what happened between us aside, especially as I came back and apologized, undid what I had done, returned what we took. I thought I saw that in you before I stole the gem. You started explaining how you used earth magic to me. It was your advice that helped me enchant you.” She had staked her and Rane’s time and safety on her sense that the witches, or at least this witch, would not act purely in self-interest. That she could put aside any hurt feelings for the benefit of everyone.

Ylana paused, with the kettle in her hand. “I told you before it was too late, didn’t I, before you’d taken even a sip? Would Eric have done that if it was in his interests to keep quiet?”

Kayla shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t.” She sat back down. Rubbed her forehead.

“Then you have your answer.”

Kayla heard Rane groan as he woke and stretched out, heard the loud purr of Sooty as she rubbed up against him. Her heart leaped at the thought of him, strong and beautiful.

He had made a choice for her, too. Had left her here in this very clearing and gone off to do something they should have done together, all in the name of protecting her. Doing what was right for her.

Rane had apologized for that, and she had accepted it. She could do the same for Ylana.

She stood, walked to the door and watched her betrothed pull himself to a crouch beside his bedroll, look across at her with desire, concern and love in his eyes, and she smiled at him. A long, slow smile.

He returned it.

“Rane is leaving today?” The witch couldn’t quite hide the bite in her voice.

Kayla nodded.

“Then say your goodbyes, kiss your kisses, and then we begin.”

* * *

They did more than kiss.

Down by the stream, on a rock dappled with morning sunshine and warm to the touch, Kayla stretched out and smiled at her lover.

“That was . . . unexpected.”

Rane grinned at her, running a hand down her naked body to her waist. “Unexpected?”

She laughed. “No, I suppose not. I didn’t think we’d have the time or the privacy, but I should have known you’d find a way.”

“Always.” He bent and kissed her, but the heat of the sun burning her arm reminded her that time was passing, and the longer Rane lingered, the more chance he’d still be in the Great Forest by nightfall.

It didn’t hold the same danger to him it had before, but there were still creatures created by wild magic that roamed. And most of them were deadly.

She sighed and reached for her shirt, and he caught her arm, twisting it so he could see her inner wrist.

Every time she used wild magic the mark of it registered on her skin, a spiral of circles starting at the bottom and climbing upward.

Rane stroked the marks with his fingertip, kissed the skin and then let her go.

His expression said he didn’t know how to feel about this claim wild magic had on her.

She tugged her shirt over her head. “Where will you go first?”

“Harness is the closest, but we know Soren can’t be there, because Travis and his men were caught up in the gem’s blast when they stole it from me, and if they’d ended back at Jasper’s you would have heard something about it when you broke in there to rescue him.” He pulled on his own clothes in quick, efficient movements. “I’ll try the other two sorcerers Ylana thinks are working up to a war with Eric and each other. There’s Gerald of Halakan and Andrei Wolfsblood from Phon. I’ll head for Phon first.” He abandoned his boots to lean over and nuzzle her as she arched her neck to tie her hair.

“Be careful.” She wound her hair tight and turned, pushing up on her knees. “You don’t have your moonstone anymore.”

He gave a nod. “Just promise me the same.” He finished putting on his boots, stood and offered her a hand up. “I don’t trust Ylana.”

Kayla let herself be pulled to her feet. “I trust her to keep her word. And that’s more that we can say of anyone else, so far.”

He gave a reluctant nod. “That’s the only reason I’m leaving you alone with her. That and the fact that I enrage her. She’s not as safe for you while I’m around, stirring her up.”

“I think her problem is you and Soren trade in wild magic items and she doesn’t think they should be bought and sold.”

Rane shrugged. “Perhaps. But it’s personal, too. She thought I was a sorcerer’s spy, and she still has to get over the hatred she built up for me now she knows that it isn’t true.” He drew her close, and she let herself rest her cheek on his shoulder. The sun warmed her hair, the stream gurgled and babbled at their feet, and the wind stirred, warm and fragrant around them.

It was difficult to remember that a war was brewing and her kingdom was already in the grip of a madman like Eric the Bold, her own father at his mercy.

“Ylana would like nothing more than to bind you to earth magic, just like she’s bound. And if she does . . . Don’t let her pull you away from me.” His arms tightened around her, and Kayla laid a hand over his heart.

“I won’t let her do that.” She thought of what had almost happened earlier. “She’s promised me she won’t.”

“Then I hope she really can be trusted on her word.”

Kayla gripped his shirt. “I came back because I want to believe the witches can be better than the sorcerers. But if Ylana betrays us, I’ll rain down wild magic on all of them.”

Chapter Eleven

Soren and Mirabelle

She had never been more grateful for her father’s single attempt at giving her a normal childhood than now. Typical for her father, it had been completely wrong, but she had loved it anyway, the huge tree-house that was completely invisible from the ground, wound around one of the tallest trees in the safe part of Halakan forest and magical in every way.

She had known when he’d presented it to her, in his distracted, half-present way, that she couldn’t share it with any of her friends in the village.

It was too much, too clear an example of the fearful power her father wielded. It would have made her more different, rather than less, but she could never regret it.

It would allow her and Soren a few hours of safety while they slept.

Both of them had heard the sound of the horn from the stronghold, the shouts of men, barely five minutes after they had taken the path, and knew William had discovered she was missing.

It was only a matter of time before his men came searching for her in the forest, as deep as they dared.

The tree wasn’t deep enough, at least half a mile from the border with the Great Forest, but she trusted they would never be found here.

Miri walked up to the tree, thick across as ten men standing shoulder to shoulder, and laid her hand over what looked like a knot in the wood. Steps flipped out from the trunk, as if they’d simply been folded back flush with the bark. They spiraled up into the thick greenery overhead, and Miri started up, leaving Soren to follow.

As they went, the stairs snapped back into place and disappeared, and she started to relax as soon as they got deep into the foliage.

She reached the platform, pulled herself up and waited for him.

He looked as tired as she felt, his gaunt face tight and pale. He was simply putting one foot in front of the other, but when he reached the platform he looked up for the first time, and she smiled at his expression.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?”

He nodded, mute, and she opened the door and stood back so he could go in.

He walked slowly, as if he were in a dream, and she liked him all the more for it. Some things were wondrous, and no matter how strange and dark her father could be, that he could produce something this whimsical, this delicate, warmed something in her, softened her thoughts of him.

“Did you make it?” He spun slowly around in the main living room, eyes alight, and she shook her head.

“My father made it for me when I was ten.”

He walked to the window, looked through the cool green of the leaves, stirring and sighing in the light breeze, and leaned against the window frame.

“Come. I’ll show you to a room and we can both sleep a little while William runs around below us, searching.”

He smiled at that, nodded, and followed her up the staircase to the next level.

She let her fingers trail along the smooth wood of the bannister, almost desperate for the softness of a bed, the pull of sleep.

A sleep, she knew, which would be haunted by the knowledge that she had lost the silver pear.

* * *

Soren woke to the sound of men talking.

He was in a narrow, curved room, his window shaped like the arch of a rainbow, the bed fitted snug against the tree trunk, with a basin, pitcher and small table to the side.

Beneath his cheek the pillow was smooth and cool, and smelled of pine and fresh air. He pushed himself carefully off it, keeping low, and moved quietly to the window. He’d been sure the floorboards beneath his feet would creak, but they didn’t make a sound, and he sent a silent thank you to Mirabelle’s father for making such a solid tree-house for his daughter.

Although the voices had gone, he pushed himself up slowly, leaning against the wall just to the right of the window, and tried to peer down to the forest floor.

He couldn’t see anything but more branches and leaves, but slowly, as he became attuned to his surroundings, he realized the birds had gone quiet. Now, over the creak of branches and the quiet swish of leaves, he heard boots crushing dried leaves, the murmur of conversation again.

He moved to the door, opened it and stepped onto the tiny landing that divided his room from Mirabelle’s.

He didn’t dare risk tapping on her door, so he opened it, finger already on his lips to let her know to be quiet, and saw it wasn’t necessary.

She was crouched beside the window, and had lifted up a tiny trapdoor in the floor. She was peering down, head bent over it, and when he stepped into the room her own finger went to her lips, and then, seeing she’d merely mirrored his own actions, gestured for him to come over.

From the quality of the light streaming in, and the heat, despite their position deep in the cool of the leaves, Soren guessed it wasn’t far past midday. When he bumped shoulders with Mirabelle, and then rubbed heads with her as he looked down through the neat little square in the floor that must extend out beyond the living room beneath them, he saw men making themselves comfortable below, sitting or leaning against the massive tree, and eating their lunch.

They knelt together, listening to the banter and jokes of men who were tired and hungry, and sure they were on a wild goose chase, sure that Mirabelle had been taken off by a sorcerer from the dungeon by magical means. Soren could hear the worry for her in the men’s tone, and suspected if they were found, Mirabelle could talk them into looking the other way.

Eventually Mirabelle closed the flap, pushed herself to her feet, and gestured for him to follow her.

Instead of going back down to the main level, she took him up, and he found himself in a tiny room, an eyrie, with a small hearth, a cauldron for cooking, and a kettle.

“Is it safe to light a fire?” There was tea in a jar, he could see, and food, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten for over a day. He was used to it—Jasper had starved him for weeks—but since he’d been rescued, Kayla had made sure to give him as much as he could eat, and it had awakened his appetite again.

Mirabelle nodded. “There is a long chimney pipe that lets out over the tops of the trees. Even if they do smell smoke, it will be difficult for them to work out where it’s coming from. It may even send them off in another direction to look.” She sighed. “But I don’t have anything to light it with, and I’m afraid to use sky magic, in case the sorcerer’s apprentice is with them. He might sense me.”

Soren pulled Rane’s fire stick from his pocket, touched it to the wood stacked neatly in the grate. The fire lit with a happy crackle and pop.

“Another wild magic item?”

He nodded. “Both it and the moonstone belong to my brother, Rane. I found them in Travis’s bag.”

“He stole them?” She sounded so horrified, he couldn’t help but smile.

“No matter how poorly William treated you, and the men he kept in that dungeon, he has a way to go before he and his men can match up to Jasper of Harness.”

“Nuen of Harness’s brother?” She poured water from a jug into the kettle and hung it from the hook over the fire, then unwrapped bread that smelled as if it had been fresh baked—fragrant and warm.

“Where did you get that?” He ignored the question about Nuen, his eyes on the bread, his mouth watering. He hadn’t been this hungry since the first few days after Jasper started starving him.

“My father again. The bread never gets stale, the butter never goes rank, and the honey is always pure.”

As she spoke, she pulled a clay pot of butter and a jar of honey down, cut a thick slab of the bread and gave him a knife and a plate to help himself.

It was only after his second slice that he could think properly. “Nuen is Jasper’s brother, yes, and together, they’re hoping to bring Eric down. I’d say good luck to Eric, and I hope he wins, except I’ve been in his dungeon as well, and it’s just as foul as Nuen’s, and even though I never thought I’d say this, Eric is worse, worse by far, than Nuen when it comes to cruelty.”

She was quiet for a moment, chewing on the crusty bread, one hip against the table. The kettle began to boil behind her, and he stepped around to take it off the heat and pour the water into the pot she’d prepared.

It felt . . . nice, this serene domesticity, even with the small army hunting them directly below their feet, and the loss of two magical items between them.

He wondered how hard William’s men were looking, though. They weren’t that far from the castle here, and the men were still sitting about, at their ease; he could hear it from the snatches of conversation that drifted up on the warm summer air.

“You have friends amongst William’s men.” He remembered how the guard had held her, carried her so carefully to the dungeon, no matter how he’d dropped her when the sorcerer died.

She nodded, swallowed her last bite of bread. “I grew up with them, attended the village school with them. And since I’ve been old enough, I did what my father could never be bothered to do—heal, make potions, ease the life of the village. They trust me. Perhaps more than they trust William.”

“It sounds as if you’ve been more a witch than a sorcerer, but I’ve seen you draw sky magic with my own eyes.”

She shrugged. “I think I would have been an earth witch, if my father hadn’t interfered. My aunt was one, and it runs in families, more often than not.”

“What happened?” He drew mugs from the shelf, and she poured the tea, offered him fresh, cold milk from a stone jug, and honey to sweeten it. “I’ve never heard of a woman sorcerer before I met you.”

“I’m the only one, I think. It bothered my father in the beginning, but in the end, he grew to like the idea. He called me his little dragon. Mysterious, dangerous, and mythical. Except when they dive down at you from the sky and level your village.”

Soren sent her a grin over the top of his mug. “I can’t see you leveling anything.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like to do harm. But I never told my father that. Not that he’d have heard me, anyway. He was so convinced my mother was carrying a boy, he bespelled me in the womb to be the greatest sorcerer of my day. He had the silver pear, and he used up every scrap of power in it for that spell. It only came back to full strength when I was eighteen, and by then he’d gotten used to living without it, and gave it to me.” She sighed, pulled out a chair at last, and sat down. “It took him years to get over his disappointment at having a girl. And even then, he wouldn’t see I really was a sorcerer until I was fourteen or fifteen.”

Because they couldn’t start on their journey while a lunch party was going on below them, Soren helped himself to another piece of bread and honey, took a gulp of tea and leaned back in the chair he’d pulled out for himself. “What happened when you were fifteen?”

She took a more delicate sip herself, and rubbed her temples. “I’d been reading his spell books. He didn’t like me doing it, but he didn’t actively stop me. I was looking at a spell for calling rain-clouds; something that helps a village when the summer is too long and dry. His apprentice came in. Jack.” She fingered the shirt she was wearing. “These were his clothes, once.” She took another sip. “He laughed at me for even reading about it. He didn’t believe I was a sorcerer, even though my father must have told him some of it. And I . . . well, I was tired of watching my father train others, none of whom were ever good enough for him, in his own opinion, while I had to make do with trying to teach myself, practicing with whatever scraps I could scavenge from his workshop.

“So I challenged him. Jack looked at the spell, and I could tell from the way he tensed up that he didn’t think he was up to it. It gave me pause, as well, but I’d issued the challenge, and I wasn’t backing down, and Jack would rather have slit his own throat than concede to me, so we set the spell in our minds, went out the house, and I let Jack go first.” She lifted a finger to her mouth and licked a bit of honey off the tip of it.

Soren found his gaze riveted to her lips, to her tongue. He took another gulp of tea.

“He was sweating enough it almost looked like he had been caught in rain, but there was nothing but blue skies when his chance was over.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t think I would do any better than him, but I at least knew I couldn’t do any worse.” She paused and drank back the rest of her tea. Poked at the crumbs on her plate.

“And?” Soren was fascinated by the way she sat, so straight and unbending, and yet in the glow of light around her, in the way her golden hair fell in curls around her face, she was the epitome of soft and gentle.

“I could do worse, as it happened. In the opposite direction.” She spoke seriously, but then, as if unable to stop herself, her mouth quirked in a grin. “What a storm that was. Lightning, thunder, rain pelting down so hard it stung to be out in it.” She gave a soft laugh. “It washed away old Mr. Blackburn’s field, and I had to bespell it to rights afterward, with my father’s help.”

“Where was your mother in all this?” He was grinning at the thought of her bringing the heavens down around everyone’s head, proving herself, but it faded at the look in her eyes.

“My mother died giving birth to me.” She looked down into her empty mug, and swirled the dregs around. “My father had bespelled me in the womb, and what he did leeched everything out of her. She had no strength, nothing left when it was time for me to come into the world.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Sure as if he’d plunged a knife into her heart, he killed her, and he knew it.”

Chapter Twelve

William’s men left after an hour. Mirabelle made bread spread thickly with butter and honey to take with them, filled two leather pouches with the cool, sweet water always present in the jug in the kitchen, and made her way out of the tree-house.

Soren was waiting for her just below the platform, two bedrolls from one of the rooms strapped to his back. He stood just above the lowest branch, listening to make sure the men really had gone.

He gave her a quick nod of confirmation, took the satchel of food and drink she was carrying from her, and ran lightly down to the ground.

The way he moved, sure-footed and competent, stirred something in her, and she felt off balance as she followed him.

There was something between them. Something strange and intense. It made her uneasy, and she hoped being out of the close confines of the tree-house and back on the road would help to dissipate it.

They had both agreed their general direction was south, and they would go together until the time came for them to follow their own paths.

“Garth told me he found the gem working the forests in south Klevan,” Soren told her. “He lives in Jaret and someone will know him there.”

“And you?” She didn’t want him to leave her, but she had no right to ask him to give up his own quest so she didn’t have to search for the silver pear alone.

He looked down, frustrated. “Kayla got us into Eric’s castle using wild magic. I can’t use that way again, and I don’t know where his castle is. The best I can do is go to Jaret with you and see if there is news from Gaynor. If Rane brought Kayla back to her father, surely the news would spread. That would at least tell me they escaped.”

She didn’t want to add to his worries, but decided he would want to know what her father had told her about Eric the Bold. “Eric’s castle is hidden by magical mists. When the King of Klevan banished him for breaking the code and killing Hirst Red Tongue, Eric used up all his magic to hide his castle. My father said it’s why we didn’t hear much from him for so long, he needed time to recover. His castle’s impossible to find.”

“It wasn’t impossible for Kayla,” Soren said, a stubbornness in the hunch of his shoulders.

Mirabelle had no answer to that, and Soren turned away from her and took the lead, using the narrow, almost unused tracks that angled south-west and would take them out of the tame woods and into the Great Forest itself.

The place where the one ended and the other began was difficult to judge, and no-one took the deeper paths unless they had to. Very little was worth tangling with wild magic.

For her, Mirabelle knew, it was even more dangerous. Wild magic shouldn’t be sentient, but its interest in sorcerers was as unflinching as a cat’s. She’d never experienced it for herself, but her father had told her. It sensed them, came to them, creating strange, often deadly, creatures in its wake, and if it touched a sorcerer . . .

She couldn’t suppress the shiver that gripped her this time. Her father said the screams would haunt him for the rest of his life.

She could only hope that hadn’t been the way he’d died.

She wanted to call out to Soren, warn him that while no-one was likely to follow them if they carried on down this path, it might be more dangerous than taking a chance on the roads. There was a possibility William was too afraid of attack from the sorcerer he was convinced was trying to infiltrate the stronghold to send his men more than a few miles out to search for her. The roads might be the better bet.

“Soren.” Her voice was swallowed up by the trees, dissipating in the air like steam from a kettle, and he didn’t even slow down. She tried to quicken her pace, to catch up to him, but he seemed always just too far out of her reach.

Frustration rose in her, and she realized he had everything; their food, their water, their bedrolls. If she lost him, she’d be left with nothing.

She began to run, even though it went against her instincts the closer they got to the outer edge of the Klevan forest. She could feel it, a heavy, waiting atmosphere, the power of the Great Forest biding its time patiently.

It worked on her nerves. Every rustle in the undergrowth had her heart hammering in her chest.

Soren seemed oblivious. He was far ahead now, his broad shoulders brushing the bush on either side of the path as he went.

Just when she thought she would collapse with the heat, would have to let him go and wait for him to realize he had left her behind, a cool breeze sprung up, bringing the scent of pine and water.

Then Soren leaped over a small stream that cut across the path, and as he jumped, a terrible chill ran through her, and she knew he’d stepped over the border.

Panic-stricken at the thought of losing him, she ran full tilt until she reached the stream; but it was ordinary, shallow, nothing but clear water tumbling over rocks. She stared at it, then looked across it down the path for him.

He was gone.

She teetered on the slick, wet stone at the edge of the stream. She had to make a choice.

Leave him to go his own way, turn back and take the roads, or follow him into the Great Forest. It had claimed her father, or something in it had, but it would be the fastest way to Jerat, the fastest way to find Garth and hopefully the silver pear.

Her father had shielded her, protected her even from her own magic by giving her the silver pear. But her father was gone, and she no longer had a safe place with William.

He had betrayed her, and the world had changed. She didn’t have the luxury of indecision any more.

She looked over her shoulder down the path they’d taken from Halakan, took a deep breath, looked forward, and leaped.

* * *

Soren knew the moment he’d stepped into the Great Forest. He and Rane, and his father when he was still alive, had spent their lives winding in and out of it. Trying to stay as much as possible in Therston’s tamer woods, but often finding themselves forced into the Great Forest itself.

There was a quality of silence to it, even though there were sounds aplenty. It made no sense, but the rustle of leaves, the wind in the branches, somehow seemed clearer here, as if there were no other noises drowning them out.

It reminded him that he should be hearing at least one other sound, the footsteps of Mirabelle following behind him, and he suddenly realized he hadn’t looked back to check on her in a long time.

Too long on his own.

He wasn’t in the habit of looking after anyone but himself.

He stopped, turned back, the packs on his back bumping and swinging, and found nothing but empty wood.

He cursed. Himself, and her.

Why hadn’t she called out to him to slow down?

On a sigh, he headed back, and frowned. He thought he wasn’t far from the stream he’d jumped over, it felt as if only a minute or so had passed since then, but when he rounded the corner, the path stretched out, empty and with no stream in sight.

He was sure it should be there. He felt the tingle at the base of his skull he always did when wild magic was at work, and sped up.

“Mirabelle.” He called her name loudly, but it was as if he were in a strange chamber that sucked sound away.

At the next corner, surely, he would find the stream, but it wasn’t there, and he began to run in earnest.

He heard something, slowed down, and tried to quiet his breathing, listening, and was sure it was the gurgle of water over stones.

He turned the next corner, hopeful, and saw the stream, saw Mirabelle, too. She was walking toward him, head bowed, as if she had something weighing her down.

And behind her, creeping along, a chill smile on its face, was a monster.

It mirrored Mirabelle’s shape and size, as if a glassblower had used her to created a mold of the clearest glass and filled it from the stream, and then somehow enchanted it to make the water move, swirl and eddy within its glass case, and then made it all come alive.

It put out a hand and touched Mirabelle’s hair, lifting it, and drenching it in an instant.

Mirabelle made a sound, put her hand back to feel what was touching her, and her fingers moved through the water in the water nymph’s arm.

She gave a cry of surprise, spun to look, and then stumbled back at the sight of what was behind her.

Soren forced his feet to move, to run again, but the water nymph had noticed him, threw him a laughing glance, and then pounced.

Its arms came around Mirabelle in a tight embrace, before she could so much as lift a hand to throw a spell, and then it pressed its face to hers in a deadly kiss.

Soren reached them, tried to grab Mirabelle back, out of reach, but with a gurgling that sounded like laughter, the water nymph held tight. Soren slid his arms under Mirabelle’s, his hands dipping unpleasantly through icy water that moved against his skin, and swung her, lifting her off her feet and spinning, like his father had done to him and Rane as children.

The move wrenched her out of the nymph’s grasp and she took a deep, shuddering breath, but the nymph was tenacious. With a hard splash of annoyance, it leaped onto her, winding legs and arms around her and claiming her mouth again.

Panicked, Soren set her down as she struggled, her hands passing uselessly through the water, unable to gain a hold.

Soren spun her back to face him, the nymph still hanging on, gritted his teeth and shoved his face through the nymph’s head, clamped his lips over Mirabelle’s and breathed against her lips.

She understood, opening her mouth under his so he could give her some of his air, then he pulled back, took a deep breath, and did it again.

The icy water numbed his cheeks, slapped against him.

All he had was the moonstone and the fire stick, but he refused to watch Mirabelle drown in front of him.

The fire stick.

It had never gone out, never failed to light whatever Rane had put it to, even when they’d been out in the forest in pouring rain. It had given them a warm blaze no matter if the wood was so wet it should never have been able to burn.

He pulled it out, shoved it into the water nymph and it let out a scream that sounded like the pounding of a thousand waterfalls. Steam rose above its head as it jerked back from Mirabelle, allowing her a breath of her own.

Now the thing turned its attention on him. Its eyes were fathomless, but there was a spite and a rage on its face as it threw itself at him, the lashing out of a creature not used to being hurt.

He was ready again, putting the fire stick deep into its body, and again it jerked back, then slapped at him, the water of its hand turning hard as any man’s against his shoulder. He staggered to the side, and the nymph struck a quick backhander, catching his cheek and dancing just out of reach of the fire stick as he staggered again.

They faced each other, and he could see the relish, as well as the rage, on its face. It hissed at him, the angry sound of rapids, and then gathered itself up to launch at him, fists clenched like hammers. As it did, he caught movement from the corner of his eye.

Mirabelle was holding a stick she must have found on the forest floor, and she drew back her arm, shouted something as she hurled a flash of blue light.

The nymph froze to ice as it leaped, and a moment after it did, Mirabelle swung the stick like an axe, slamming it into the icy statue.

There was a sound of shattering crystal, and shards of ice littered the forest floor.

Both of them stared at each other, chests heaving.

“For all I know, it could melt back and reform,” Mirabelle said, her voice hoarse, as if she’d been screaming. She turned her head a little to the side, and he finally noticed the tiny ball of wild magic, shimmering in the light streaming through the trees. The excess magic from her spell.

He was glad she’d called sky magic, so he could hardly object to the inevitable by-product.

He watched her, saw the fresh fear on her face.

The wild magic spun, as if taking in its surroundings, and then it drifted off through the woods.

Mirabelle stared after it.

Soren saw the ice was already melting into the forest floor. “Let’s go.”

Mirabelle dragged her gaze from the disappearing wild magic, lifted the stick in her hand as if she were about to toss it away, and then tucked it under her arm.

“You were looking for a staff, weren’t you?” he asked her.

She gave him a strange look, looked down at the stick again and shrugged. “Yes.”

He held out his hand. “Let’s go, then. And this time, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Chapter Thirteen

Miri stumbled the first few steps, her heart beating hard in her chest, but she let Soren pull her along, his big, calloused hand warm and comforting over hers.

“I can’t believe . . .” she took a sweet, clear breath of air, shuddered, “I can’t believe you put your face through it, gave me your breath.”

He squeezed her hand. “I wasn’t going to let you drown, Mirabelle.”

“Thank you.”

He looked across at her. “You’ve done the same for me. Stayed with me at Halakan, instead of taking the secret passage. And you’ve lost the silver pear because of it.”

His cheek was red and swollen where the nymph had hit him, but his eyes were clear blue, and although his face was thin after his time in Jasper’s dungeon, she realized he was beautiful.

The thought made her light-headed, made her heart flutter like a trapped bird in her chest.

He frowned. “We need to get a little further away, and then you can sit down, get your balance back.”

She gave a mute nod and let him set the pace.

“It’s not true, you know.”

“What isn’t?” He still hadn’t let go of her hand, and when he turned to her, she felt a flare of heat at how close he was.

“I did stay in Halakan to help you, but if I hadn’t come to rescue you, William and his new sorcerer would have taken me by surprise. I’d have lost the silver pear, and my life.” She tried to pry her hand from his; it was getting difficult to walk together as the path narrowed more and more, but he wouldn’t let go.

He shrugged. “You nearly died, anyway.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and he lifted a finger to her lips, just as she had done to him in William’s prison as they listened to the chains rattling as the guards raised the portcullis.

“So we’re in each other’s debt.” He turned back to the path as if there was nothing unusual in that statement.

She wasn’t used to this.

To alliances and life debts and fighting for her life.

Her father had seen to that, but she hadn’t stopped him, content to stay tucked away and safe in Halakan, bespelling as a sorcerer, but, Soren was right, behaving like a witch. Using her magic for small things that helped those around her, rather than large, flashy spells that boasted of power and brute force.

She realized she liked it, liked that life, and if she had a choice, she would return to it. But right now, every sorcerer had to decide whether to flee from the war Eric the Bold was stirring up, make an alliance, or challenge Eric and whoever else wanted to control the small, flourishing countries of Middleland.

Running was not an option. She was the mysterious sorcerer who was, amazingly, a woman. Eric wouldn’t leave her alone. Her father had known it, had been working for months on ways to protect her, and she knew the gem that had brought Soren to William’s stronghold was one of the tools he’d created to help her win.

She only knew about the gem at all because she’d seen it, questioned him, but he’d been tight-lipped, and secretive.

He’d told her she’d be safe. Safe with her dragon’s advantage.

She stumbled over a root. When he’d disappeared, she’d been worried, but then, one day, she’d simply known. Known he was dead, and not in a easy way. She’d mourned, but now pain lanced through her, grief and a sense of waste, of loss for no good reason for it.

She looked at Soren’s back; broad, strong, strapped down with bedrolls and their pack. He was part of her new reality, now.

She walked more forcefully, no longer letting Soren simply pull her along. Back straight, she took more notice of their surroundings, keeping an eye out for trouble as she noticed Soren had been doing all along.

The stick she’d picked up off the forest floor to use as a club against the nymph felt rough in her hands. When they made camp, she would have to see if she could find some river sand, smooth it a little.

It wasn’t a staff, but it had felt good in her hands when she’d cast the spell, had proven strong and sturdy when she’d used it to shatter the nymph.

That brought her mind back to the wild magic she’d created with her spell, and suddenly, instantly sick with fear, she tugged at Soren’s hand. “I forgot about the wild magic.”

He looked back at her, eyebrows raised. “What about it?”

“It hates sorcerers.” She fought him as he tried to keep moving ahead, clasping both her hands over his and pulling back. “It attacks us. That’s why it’s always a risk for a sorcerer to go into the Great Forest. Although . . .” She’d been weak-kneed and out of breath when she’d bespelled the nymph, had barely had any energy to be afraid of the wild magic she’d created, but it had floated away. Uninterested in her.

“My father told me never to use sky magic in the Great Forest. Any wild magic I created there would come straight for me . . .” He hadn’t been lying to her. She had never seen her father so deadly serious as when he’d told her that.

She also knew that the Great Forest had become a dumping ground for wild magic. Sorcerers banished it there and the idea of it, of its uncontrolled power, had always worried her. Disturbed her.

It had always struck her as irresponsible.

Soren moved his shoulder in a half-shrug. “Wild magic used to take an interest in anyone who was foolish enough to wander into the forest, but it has something better to do, now.”

She lifted her head sharply. “Something better to do?”

He laughed, and it transformed his face, lighting his eyes and smoothing the lines of worry and tension away. “Don’t sound so put out.”

She smiled back. “What could be better than attacking and killing sorcerers?”

The laughter left his face abruptly, like she’d punched him in the gut. “Don’t joke about that.” He hunched his shoulders.

“What is it?” She thought there was color high on his cheeks, and for the first time, he avoided looking her in the eyes.

“You’ll probably find out sooner or later, so I may as well tell you now.” He let go of her hand, turned to face her fully on the path.

“What?” Fear slid, sly and smooth as a snake, down her spine.

“Until now, for the last year and a bit, the idea of attacking and killing sorcerers is the only thing that kept me going.”

She blinked. “All sorcerers?”

He shrugged. “To me, then, one was much like another. Although my specific target was Nuen.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again. “Wild magic. Nuen’s wild magic killed my father. My brother and I have lived on the edges of the Great Forest all our lives, we’ve seen the results of wild magic, and while Rane spent his time trying to understand it, to work out a way to reverse it, I’ve been focused on ending it at its source.”

“Sorcerers.” She bit her lip. “And yet, you saved me, even though you must have realized what I was when I fought with that sorcerer in the courtyard. You could have left me at William’s, in the dungeon, but you didn’t.”

He shook his head. “You haven’t ever harmed me or mine, or anyone else for that matter.”

“But without the silver pear, I’m the same as all the others, Soren. You saw the wild magic I created when I froze that nymph.”

He nodded. “It doesn’t matter now. In fact, the more wild magic sorcerers make, the better.”

She stared at him, worrying her bottom lip. “What’s changed?”

“As I said, wild magic has better things to do now than make mischief or attack sorcerers, although I never knew about it hating sorcerers, I have to admit. No wonder Nuen never set foot in the Great Forest. He knew how much wild magic he’d banished there.”

“What is it doing now?” She was almost afraid to ask, expected him to sneer at her, at what new terrible thing sorcerers had leashed on the world. Instead, he grinned.

“Now,” he said, “it follows my brother’s betrothed around like vicious, purple puppy dogs, doing whatever she asks.”

She looked at him carefully, so sure he must be joking. “Wild magic can’t be controlled.” If it could be, her father would have known.

Soren held her gaze. “Yes it can. If you happen to be a wild magic witch.”

* * *

They saw no-one for the rest of the afternoon.

Only a few, hardy souls who made their living as woodcutters still lived within the Great Forest’s boundaries, and in recent times, more and more had fled.

He liked the solitude. Liked the silence.

Perhaps he’d become used to it, in Jasper’s dungeon.

He especially liked the sunlight. It streamed in through the trees, illuminating Mirabelle in a diffused, golden light.

Ever since their talk on the path, she’d kept her hands close to her sides, so he’d had no choice but to step aside and let her walk ahead to keep her in sight.

His eyes kept catching on the way her pale hair seemed to absorb the sunshine, reflecting it back so it glowed.

He didn’t know what was going through her head.

That he wanted to so badly made him edgy. He felt jolted awake in her presence. The last year had been long, dark and there hadn’t been a moment of lightness or joy in it.

Even Rane couldn’t pull him out of the anger and despair that had descended on him and sucked him under.

The sight of his father—smooth wood, rough bark and now, after more than a year, green leaves, standing in the position he’d been in just as the wild magic had rolled over them—had fueled him, helped him plumb the seemingly bottomless pit of black rage within.

The long, solitary darkness of Jasper’s dungeon had been his first nudge out of the undertow. Knowing Jasper was using his capture to get something from Rane had scared him for the first time. He’d put the only person he loved in danger with his recklessness.

Being rescued by Kayla, realizing there was more to wild magic, to all of it, than the simple black and white he’d boiled it down to, had given him another hard shove.

Now he’d met Mirabelle, and he felt as if the current had finally thrown him, weak and water-logged, back into something resembling his old self.

It was uncomfortable.

But it was better than the numb rage he’d lived with for so long.

He was so deep in thought he nearly ran straight into Mirabelle’s back.

She’d stopped, half-turned, her eyes fixed ahead.

He followed her gaze and saw a small village in a circular clearing, sitting in a patch of light, surrounded by deep green shadows.

She took a step forward, and he put a hand on her shoulder.

He didn’t trust it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Too many things to count.”

Someone cried out, the sound coming from one of the steep-roofed wooden houses.

Soren tightened his grip as Mirabelle tried to go toward it, and when she looked at him, anger snapping in her eyes, he lifted the moonstone to show her. “I’ll go first. Wait here.”

He closed his fist over the stone, and walked toward what had now become a long, sustained wail, but he looked back at Mirabelle.

She stepped off the path, standing deep in the shadows thrown by the late afternoon sun, and satisfied, he focused on the trouble in front of him.

There were six houses in the clearing, arranged in a horse-shoe around a tiny green covered in small wildflowers. The wail was coming from one of the houses in the center, and Soren walked slowly toward it. The houses all had an abandoned air to them. Sticks and leaves, fallen from the trees surrounding the clearing, lay on the roofs in a messy tangle.

At the corners of the houses, strange creatures had been carved from wood and leaned out over the edge, mouths open to spit out the rainwater as it came down.

It felt as if they watched his approach with sinister eyes, even though the moonstone made him invisible.

The grass was long and unkempt, and the flowerpots and flowerbeds around the houses were dead and withered.

Somewhere off to the right, in deep undergrowth, a bird called the same song over and over.

He climbed the stairs to the raised front door, and as his hand touched the doorknob, the sobbing within cut off. Soren hesitated, trying to work out what else was wrong, and then realized the bird had stopped calling at that moment as well.

Silence pressed on him, as if he had suddenly lost his hearing, the feeling so strong he was relieved when he pushed the door and the hinges squealed as the door swung inward.

The shutters were closed on the windows, and inside it was almost pitch black.

Soren shoved the door fully open to let in the light and stood to the side of the door, looking in.

At first he thought he was looking at a child. The crying had sounded like one, and it was the right size; its back to him as it sat on a stool.

But the hair, which wasn’t hair at all, but spikes, like sharp twigs, said different, and when it turned to look over its shoulder, he knew.

Its face was hard and sharp; its nose small and sharp, too. Its chin was pointy and its eyes were huge in its face.

“Who is it?” Its voice held the high whine of a petulant toddler and Soren remembered he was holding the moonstone, and it couldn’t see him.

It hunched a little, hugging itself; its thin, twiggy arms sticking through the too-big sleeves of the dress it had put on.

The skirt had been raggedly cut just below the knee and it wore no shoes on its narrow feet.

With surprise, he saw the scissors, and the discarded hem of the dress, on the table, as if it had just moved into this house and taken what it had found.

“Well?” There was impatience in its tone and Soren realized it was looking straight at him. It knew he was there, even if it couldn’t see him.

He dropped the moonstone back into his pocket.

The thing blinked at him. “This is mine now.” It threw its hands out to encompass the room and then grabbed handfuls of the too-large dress and pressed them to its chest.

Soren gave a nod. “We were concerned, because you were crying, that’s all. We wanted to be sure you were all right.”

It got to its feet, turned to face him. “We?”

“My friend and I.”

“Where is your friend?” It looked beyond his shoulder, straining to see over him.

“She’s waiting outside.”

“Oh dear.” Its eyes, a deep bark brown, widened. “Nasty things outside.”

“Nasty things?” Soren asked it.

“Why do you think I was crying?”

Chapter Fourteen

Kayla and Rane

Ylana bent and dipped her fingers into the earth. “When young witches start their training, they physically connect to the source.”

Kayla stepped closer to a ball of wild magic, and sunk her hand into it.

“My first spell was to grow a sapling from a seed.”

She threw the seed down, and Kayla saw the air pulse, saw the glimmer of green where Ylana’s hand touched the soil, and a small tree, the height of her waist, rose up.

She had never physically touched wild magic when she’d used it before. It fed itself to her in fine threads of power, streaming out like spider’s silk.

Ylana handed her a seed and she pressed it into the ground.

“Think of it growing, think of it as strong and healthy.”

Kayla nodded, and the wild magic nudged even closer to her, so her arm was elbow-deep in it.

The ground shifted, and with a muted roar, a tree rose up. And up. And up.

Kayla looked upward, and couldn’t see the top, the branches were so huge, and so thick with leaves, it was impossible.

“Listen.” Ylana inclined her head, and then Kayla heard it. A faint rumbling as if there was thunder far away.

She felt the vibration under her feet and looked out into the forest.

There were new trees everywhere. None as big as the one she’d created, but pines and oaks her height or even bigger were dotted through the old growth. A ball of wild magic hovered beside each one.

Ylana gripped one hand with the other, and her knuckles were white. “It’s done this before? Some of the magic copying what you did by itself?”

Kayla shook her head; frowned. “Wild magic has always performed its own magic. That’s why no one will come into the Great Forest.”

“But this is different. It copied you. Did what you did, not its own magic.” Ylana turned slowly around the clearing. “It hasn’t bespelled anything since you began to call it to you, has it? What it created before, that still exists, but nothing new.”

Kayla shrugged. “I haven’t seen anything, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t.”

Ylana shook her head. “No. No, I think I’m right in this.” She turned once again, and Kayla saw for the first time, really saw, how many balls of wild magic surrounded the clearing. At least half again more than there had been.

Ylana let her hands drop to her sides. “It’s good to know, and we learned it with something harmless, like new trees.” She tried to smile, and Kayla realized she was thinking of other spells she could have chosen, and the chaos if some of the hundreds of wild magic balls surrounding them had followed suit. “In future, you will need to be specific. Nothing general and open like thinking of growing healthy trees from a seed.”

Kayla gave a nod. The ball of wild magic she’d used to create the massive tree which shaded her and Ylana from the midday sun had shrunk to half its size, and Ylana gave that a long look, as well.

“Not even fully used up.” She walked to the tree and ran her hand along the trunk. “I think I believe you, now.”

Kayla frowned. “Believe me about what?”

“That you could be what brings the sorcerers down.”

* * *

Andrei Wolfsblood had already made his move.

Rane sat in a dark corner of the only inn in Urlay, the main town in Phon, and listened to the gossip.

It was only eleven in the morning, but the large, well-kept inn was almost full.

The branches of the Great Forest hadn’t exactly parted as he’d approached them, but unlike his previous journeys through it, the going had been easy.

Easier than it should have been.

It meant he’d made good time before he’d had to stop for the night, and he’d woken early and continued on, to find himself only an hour away from his destination.

Nothing had stopped him. Neither the creatures of the Great Forest itself, nor of wild magic.

He didn’t doubt Ylana’s blessing was behind it. The capricious, sometimes ancient, creatures of the Great Forest would heed her. And, as he’d seen, the very branches of the trees themselves.

He hadn’t expected trouble from wild magic. He had Kayla’s blessing as protection against it, although he knew some of the creatures it had made were independent of it, and vicious, too. But if he’d crossed paths with any of them, they hadn’t made themselves known.

He had found two wild magic items, though.

They’d called to him, annoying as a squeaky door until he veered from the path and picked them up.

The first was a spoon, silver and with an ornate pattern along the handle.

He didn’t touch it with his bare hands, he used a handkerchief to drop it into the pouch attached to his belt.

The second was a stone. He’d found it just after he’d started his journey this morning, and he knew, with the extra sense he’d developed over time, that this was something very powerful.

He didn’t have time to work out what it might do, so he’d dropped it in with the spoon, a mystery to solved later.

He’d slipped into Urlay as the gates had opened for morning trade, and now he hunched over a mug of cider and some bread and cheese, listening to the good townsfolk talk in hushed voices about how Andrei Wolfsblood had been summoned by a great lord and had left Urlay to its own devices.

Not everyone was sorry about their new circumstances.

“Never did much, did he? Except stir up trouble.” A large man leaned back in his chair, and took a deep drink of ale. “He was bound to the King of Phon, but Vik hasn’t managed to pull Phon out of the hole his father dug for us all with his petty wars.”

“Still not right. A sorcerer follows the code, or he’s nothing. That’s what they say.”

“That’s what they said, until Eric the Bold killed Hirst Red Tongue.” The woman who spoke stirred a bowl of soup without eating any of it. “Then it seemed a lot of sorcerers worked out breaking the code meant more power.”

“Looks like Andrei has joined those ranks.” The publican delivered a trayful of food to a nearby table and joined in the conversation. “I heard it were William of Nesta came calling for him. Personally.”

“Nesta’s a principality tucked inside Klevan, isn’t it? Why would Andrei go there?” The big man set his ale on the table with a thump.

“A rich, powerful principality is sometimes better than a kingdom. And Nesta is in the northern part of Middleland. Andrei is clever enough to know north is where whoever wins this stand-off will have to look to next if they want to expand.”

“And what of Klevan?” The woman finally took a sip of her soup. “What’s the King of Klevan going to think when William of Nesta starts bring in sorcerers like Andrei, who’ve broken the code? And doesn’t William have a powerful sorcerer anyway? Gerald of Halakan?”

There was silence for a beat. No-one answered. No-one wanted to. The only end to all this maneuvering was war.

And no-one wanted to say it.

Rane had finished his meal but he sat staring down into his plate.

William of Nesta either had two powerful sorcerers now, or something had happened to Gerald of Halakan.

His need to find Soren amidst this power-broking grew stronger, until he abandoned his cider, unable to swallow it.

He rose and went to the bar to pay his bill. “I couldn’t help but overhear the local news.” He put the coins down on the counter, and the publican, back behind the thick wooden slab of the bar-top, slid them off into his palm with a grunt.

“I was just curious. I have a friend who I thought was with Andrei Wolfsblood. Did he take all his people with him, or are they still here?”

The publican narrowed his eyes. “Andrei only had one apprentice, and there wasn’t anyone else living in his house. Ever.”

Rane frowned, feigning confusion. “My friend wasn’t an apprentice, he was a knight.”

“Protection? For Andrei?” The publican scoffed. “Whoever told you that was selling you a pile of cow dung, my friend. Andrei Wolfsblood didn’t hold with guards. Thought it made him look weak. It was him, that apprentice, and a woman who came in once a day to clean and make meals, and that was it.”

Rane gave a nod, and left. He wove through the market crowds and got directions, until he stood outside Andrei’s house.

It was out of town, in a clearing of its own, within sight of the King of Phon’s castle.

There was a feral, smokey stench about it, and it looked dark. It also looked empty. It didn’t have an abandoned air about it, but if the stories were right, Andrei had left before Soren had even touched the gem and disappeared.

It didn’t mean that he hadn’t been magically transported here, it just meant there was no-one to harm him or help him when he’d arrived.

Rane walked to the door, and felt the pulse of magic which Andrei had left around the house.

There was a warding spell here, a powerful one.

Soren could be trapped in there, caught in the ward Andrei had left behind him.

Rane had no way to breach it. But he was going to have to try.

Chapter Fifteen

“It’s incredible.”

Ylana stood under her, looking up to where Kayla floated on a cushion of purple light.

It had begun as a lesson on drawing her power to her, something that Kayla had managed to do unconsciously since she’d set foot in the Great Forest.

Ylana wanted her to learn to do it consciously.

“Feel light with power, like you could fly away,” Ylana had told her, and as Kayla had imagined it, wild magic had gathered at her feet and she had begun to rise.

“Is it using itself up to keep you there?” Ylana looked at the ball of wild magic that supported her, and Kayla gave a slow shake of her head.

“I think if it wasn’t literally holding me up, if I was using its power to float without any support, the ball of wild magic would be slowly diminishing. But it’s actually using itself to lift me, and my fingers aren’t sparking. I don’t feel like I’m using it up.”

“It has actual mass, actual presence, something neither sky or earth magic have. I should have considered this before.”

Kayla imagined herself back on the ground, and was gently lowered. She put out a hand and stroked the wild magic, and Ylana gave her a look.

“My heart stops in my chest when you do that. When you touch wild magic.”

The wild magic drifted back, spinning. There were hundreds of balls like it floating through the trees, casting a faint purple glow in the shadows.

“This must be all the wild magic in the Great Forest.”

Kayla nodded. “I think so. It wants to be used, needs to be expended. Before I came along, it expended itself. And caused a lot of trouble.”

She looked across at Sooty, lying sprawled in a patch of sunlight, and one of the big cat’s ears twitched.

Kayla smiled. “And created some wonders, too.”

“Have you thought,” Ylana looked at her in that direct, merciless way of hers, “have you thought that the best thing you can do in this fight is to work on a way to free wild magic from the Great Forest? You could take it with you wherever you went, you wouldn’t be restricted to fighting the sorcerers near or in the Great Forest, either.”

Kayla ran her fingers lightly through the wild magic ball beside her, tinting her fingers in purple light. “I’ve thought about it. Of course I have.” She let her hand drop to her side. “But if I succeed, and I’m not sure I can, I would be loosing wild magic onto everyone else in Middleland, too, not just the sorcerers. And it may be happier with me directing it, but as we saw yesterday with the trees, it still has a mind of its own. It could turn whole villages to stone, or to trees or animals. Whole flocks of sheep into beautiful women, or birds.” She shrugged. “It would be easier for me, yes. But if I’m doing this for Gaynor, and the whole of the Middleland, there still has to be a Middleland left when I’m done.”

Ylana sat down, rubbing her arms. “When a witch starts working with earth magic, she needs to let go of her ego, allow the earth magic to work through her. And with sorcerers, they must use their own energy to call sky magic down. It weakens them, so they need time to recover after each spell. But you don’t need to do either of those things, and there is a . . . friendship, I want to call it, between yourself and wild magic. I see how you touch it, how it gravitates to you. It’s as if you are old friends who have found each other. The relationship is more equal than with earth and sky magic, and more companionable.” Ylana leant back against the tree trunk and shook her head. “I don’t think you need my help. I don’t think you ever did.”

Kayla crouched beside Sooty and stroked her head. “I disagree. If you say you have no more to teach me, I accept that, but I have learned from you these last two days. I’ve learned more about the nature of wild magic, its strengths and its weaknesses compared to the magic I’ll face when I go up against Eric and whoever else thinks they can rule the kingdoms and principalities of Middleland.”

Ylana nodded. “Fair enough. Now, what’s your plan?”

Kayla let her fingers rub behind Sooty’s ears. “I’ll help Rane find Soren, and spy on the sorcerers who might have him while I do.” She smiled as Sooty began to purr, rumbling like thunder in the distance. “And then, when I understand who they are, I will take them down, one at a time.”

“By confronting them separately, you risk at least one of them learning about what you intend in advance, and preparing himself.”

Kayla shrugged. “There is nothing I can do about that.”

Ylana looked up at her from under arched white brows. “Yes, there is.” She rose up, not slowly, like the old woman she looked, but almost as if the ground itself had pushed her effortlessly to her feet.

She held out a hand, and a sigh ran through the trees, leaves shivering and branches swaying, as the forest seemed to exhale.

“You are powerful, Kayla, but I am the earth witch of the Great Forest. And I say, this is my fight, too.”

* * *

The sky over Phon was an endless, infinite blue.

Rane lay, gasping for breath, looking up at it, while he waited for his arms and legs to feel part of him again.

This was the third time Andrei’s ward had tossed him, like a limp rag doll, as he’d tried to get to Andrei’s door, and he had to accept there was no way through it.

As his breathing eased, a face peered in his field of vision.

“I don’t know what I expected, but you don’t look like a thief.”

Rane raised his head, saw he was surrounded by at least ten armed men, and flopped back down again. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you trying to get into my sorcerer’s house?”

Rane half-raised his head again, looked at the man and then forced his body to relax. This had to be the King of Phon. Vik the Steady.

“I need to make sure my brother’s not in there.”

Vik rubbed his chin. “Why would he be?”

“He touched a magical gem and disappeared. My information is the gem may have been one of the more powerful sorcerers’ shortcuts to a safe place, like a home or a stronghold. I’ll be checking Nuen of Harness, Gerald of Halakan and Eric the Bold, as well, but I came to Andrei first, and found he had left before my brother disappeared. Soren could have ended up inside the house and can’t get out because of the wards.”

“Well, I’m happy to say I can help you there.” Vik put out his hand, and Rane took it. Let himself be lifted to his feet.

“You can?” He brushed dried grass from his hair and his shirt.

“Andrei’s wards are linked to a device of his making in my castle. When someone tries to breach them, they chime. And you are the first to disturb them in more years than I can count.”

“That’s how you knew I was here.” Rane took stock of who he was up against.

Vik was older than himself by about eight years. He was well-built and had a blond beard, cut close to his face. There was something friendly and open about him, as if he would be an affable companion over dinner, but there was more than a hint of steel in his eyes. He would be ruthless if he had to be.

He was accompanied by ten soldiers, not in metal armor but in thick leather breastplates for faster maneuverability, all well-armed with bows on their backs and a sword on their belt.

None of them had drawn their weapons. Yet.

“I’m interested in that list of sorcerers you just reeled out. There are many sorcerers around, why those, in particular?” Vik studied him, his tone cordial, but Rane was more than aware of the soldiers all around him.

Vik smiled at him, acknowledging the silent intimidation with what looked like good humor.

What did it matter, anyway? Surely Ylana wasn’t the only one who knew who the most powerful sorcerers were? He was grateful enough to know Soren wasn’t here, that he could move on from Phon to Halakan without delay.

“Those four are the most powerful sorcerers in Middleland. The four who are building their power to take each other on.”

Vik raised his eyebrows. “That is very interesting. I should like to talk to you about this a little more.”

Rane shook his head. “Much as I’d like to accommodate you, your majesty, I need to find my brother. If he isn’t here, he may be with Gerald of Halakan, and that’s where I need to head next.”

Vik tilted his head. “Why Halakan first? Nuen of Harness is closer, surely? Even Eric the Bold would be closer than Halakan.”

Rane gave a nod, decided on the truth. “But I have information that makes it more unlikely he’s with Nuen or Eric, so Halakan is the best alternative.”

“You seem to have a lot of information.” Vik flashed a look over Rane’s shoulder, then focused back on him. “While you’ve obviously worked out who I am, you have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?”

Rane hesitated. He wasn’t just Rane De’Villier any more. He was also betrothed to Princess Kayla of Gaynor. On her father’s death, he’d be the king of Gaynor, and one day, this man’s equal.

He gave a bow. “Rane De’Villier, your majesty. At your service.”

“I’m afraid, De’Villier, that you may regret those words.” Vik’s bright blue eyes were slightly regretful.

Rane frowned, and then turned to look behind him.

Five men had drawn their bows, and their arrows were pointed straight at him.

Chapter Sixteen

Soren and Mirabelle

The crying cut out, and Miri breathed a sigh of relief.

The door was pushed wide open, and eventually, Soren shimmered back into sight, standing just inside the doorway.

There was a gentle tone to the conversation he was having, and she thought she heard the sound of a child.

She relaxed a little, the tension that had grown as the crying had increased seeping away.

She took a step back onto the path to join him, and noticed the gargoyles at each corner of the house for the first time.

The one facing her, from the corner of the house Soren was in, was a strange creature, long, with scales carved into its body, and a mouth full of teeth open in a scream.

The mouth seemed to widen into a sick smile as she watched, and she blinked. The gargoyle blinked back.

She was drawing sky magic to her before she even knew it, pulling it down, shaping it in her hands, when the world exploded into pain.

She fell forward, realizing in some dim, badly-lit corner of her brain that she’d been hit on the back of the head.

She tried to put her hands out to break her fall, but she couldn’t manage it, and found herself face-first in the dirt and pine needles on the forest floor.

Something grabbed the back of her shirt and jacket in a large fist and half-lifted her as it straightened. It dragged her, head lolling, toward the house Soren was in.

The world kept wavering in and out of focus, and she blinked, straining to see Soren, her lips working to try to call out to him.

Whatever held her, the smell of it swamped her senses, a chill, damp mustiness that choked her throat.

Miri thought she saw a shadow move at the corner of the house, and remembered, as she was dragged up the front steps, about the gargoyle. She struggled again, trying to get out of the implacable hold, when something invisible barreled into her captor.

Soren.

The hand holding her let go, and she slammed into the porch floor. She squinted in the afternoon light, and then regretted looking.

It was a nightmare. And it was nothing.

Her eyes couldn’t get a good fix on it, a gloomy black-green haze, as if the shadows in the forest had come to life.

A head turned to her, and for a long, agonizing beat eyes, blank and no different in color to the rest of it, discernible only by the slight indents on its face, looked straight at her, and she felt as if she had been buried alive in the dank soil of the forest.

Soren must have struck it again, because it turned its attention away, and Miri tried to pull sky magic down again.

She’d lost her walking stick on the path when she’d been hit, and she realized she’d already started thinking of it as her staff.

Well, it wasn’t her staff, she didn’t have one, and she would have to do without it.

She managed to get her feet under her and lift up into a crouch. As she put out her hand to steady herself, her palm came painfully down on a piece of wood, and, distracted, she looked at it.

It was her stick.

No time to wonder how it got here. She grabbed it, pulled as much sky magic as she thought she could without leaving herself too exhausted to fight again, and waited for her chance.

“Soren, I need to see you.” She leaned back against the porch railings, and tried to make out what was happening in front of her.

The monster was struggling with Soren, grunting, but it had a curious ability to flex its body, to contract as it received what she guessed was a blow.

Soren made a grunt in response as the thing swung its massive arm in a semi-circle and struck him with the sickening sound of rotten bark hitting flesh.

She could feel the sky magic she’d pulled straining against her hold, dissipating as she tried to contain it. She needed to use it now, or it would be wasted.

“Jump back,” she shouted. “Now!”

She hoped he’d listened to her, but right then the thing swung round with a guttural grunt, heaving something off the porch.

She guessed it was Soren, that he was out of range, and released the sky magic in a flare of blue light. She hadn’t had time to think of something clever, and with no idea what it really was she fought, all she channeled into it was brute strength, knocking it off its feet.

It smashed through the wooden balustrade and off the porch, and Miri dragged herself up, pulling more power to her as she stumbled after it.

But when she got to the jagged edges of the balustrade and peered over, there was nothing there except the ball of wild magic left over from her spell, and that drifted away from her, and disappeared among the trees.

* * *

Soren felt the moonstone slip from his fingers as he lay, trying to suck air into his lungs, on the rocky, barren clearing in front of the house.

The area looked more desolate now than it had before.

It had been a lure.

He wondered if the wood imp in the house had been part of the game, or simply caught up in the net unwittingly.

He patted the ground, closed his fingers around the moonstone again, and swallowed back a scream of pain. At least a few of them were broken.

He forced himself to stand.

When he got to his feet he was swaying.

He felt as if he had been hit by thick branches in a high wind, then pummeled by heavy logs rolling over the top of him.

It hurt to breathe.

Mirabelle was on her feet now, peering over the edge of the porch, and he dropped the moonstone back in his pocket, so she could see him.

She turned, let out a gasp and ignored the stairs, jumping down onto the ground and running toward him.

She left a faint trail of blue light behind her, and he guessed she had drawn power to herself for a second blow to the forest bogey. She reached him, and lifted her hands to his face.

“It hurt you.” She touched his cheek, and he became aware that the skin was raw, that his lip was split, and that his left eye was swelling shut.

The touch of her fingers left a tingling sensation, and then something rushed over him in a cold, prickly wave, and he took his first deep breath without pain.

He looked down at his hands, but the bleeding knuckles were completely healed.

Mirabelle seemed strangely unable to hold his gaze and he noticed a small ball of wild magic just beyond her shoulder, which bobbed away, like a child’s balloon, and was lost in the woods. She had just cast another spell.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t hold it anymore, and I didn’t have time to ask you.”

He lifted her chin with a now unbroken finger. “Thank you.”

She gave a shaky nod. “When I pull it down like that, if I don’t use it, it dissipates, and it still takes a toll on me anyway.”

She was white, and he realized the first time she was shaking with exhaustion, not nerves or fear.

He pulled out a honey sandwich from the satchel and she took it with both hands while he carefully kept watch.

If she didn’t eat, he could see she would fall over.

As the sandwich disappeared, he saw her return a little to herself, and her eyes suddenly widened. She grabbed hold of his forearm, and slowly, she looked over her shoulder.

“What is it?” He followed her gaze.

“I forgot about the gargoyles.”

He looked up at them, but they were the same as they had been before. Or . . . the one closest to him seemed to smirk as he looked at it.

He frowned.

“That one moved, just before that thing hit me and dragged me to the house.”

He knew she must have been hurt by the forest bogey, but not exactly what happened. He stepped to the side of her, checked her head. There was blood matted into her hair at the back.

“Were you able to heal yourself?” He gently touched her.

She flinched. “Sorcerers don’t heal themselves. They can try, but applying your own magic to yourself . . .” She tilted her head away. “It doesn’t always end well. Most sorcerers would never try it, unless the alternative was death.”

That explained why Nuen had needed the golden apple so desperately after he was burned in the fire Soren had started.

Only the healing power of Eric the Bold’s stolen golden apple could save him.

Soren grasped her head in both hands. “Shh. Stay still.” He tried to brush her hair aside to see how bad it was, but she hissed in a breath.

“When we get to a stream, I’ll wash it. But Soren, where is that thing? What is in the house? What about the gargoyles?”

She was right. They had little protection here, but the forest bogey could be anywhere, could follow them easily enough.

He looked back up at the house, but Mirabelle shook her head.

“I’m not going in there. Not with the gargoyles.” She hunched over, hugging herself.

“The friend won’t come in?” The imp from inside the house peeped out from behind the door, and Mirabelle drew in a breath of surprise.

“She’s concerned about the gargoyles.” Soren waved his hand at them, and the imp scuttled out, and peered upward. The gargoyle bent a little and opened its mouth wider.

The imp shrieked, and scrambled back. “Nasty things. What are they doing on my house?” Its tone was a mixture of outrage and fear, made all the more bizarre by the flower-patterned dress that billowed as it danced about.

“They’re part of the gutters, to channel rain off the roof, but I’ll admit it’s a little strange to find them in a tiny village in the middle of the forest.” Soren wondered who could have done the work. Perhaps a workman from Therston or Phon, used to working on townhouses, who’d made a new life in the forest and applied his skills to the woodcutters cottages.

Mirabelle crouched down, curling a hand around his leg to steady herself. He could feel her fingers tighten against his calf muscle and resisted an urge to slide his own hand onto her shoulder.

“I had a friend once, who looked like you,” she said to the imp, now at eye-level to it.

It went still. “Name?”

“Kvisti.”

It ran long, twiggy fingers over its skirts. “Never heard of him.”

Mirabelle shrugged. “It’s a big forest.”

“So it is.” The imp’s eyes narrowed, and Soren saw a slyness flash within them. “What happened to the nasty things?”

“There was more than one of them?” There was no safe place within miles with a forest bogey around, but Soren decided standing in the middle of the clearing, where he could see anything coming and have a little warning, was probably not the worst choice.

“Two,” the imp said, with spite.

“That’s bad for you as well as us, surely?” Mirabelle asked it, softly.

“Doesn’t want me. Wants you.” It smiled. “Maybe takes you, leaves me alone.”

“Maybe.” Mirabelle agreed. Her serenity obviously threw the imp off its stride, and Soren hooked the satchel over his shoulder and held out his hand to Mirabelle.

“Let’s try to get as far as we can from here before nightfall.” The sun would set in an hour and a half. He’d have considered staying in the village, of barricading themselves in one of the houses, but Mirabelle was right, the gargoyles were a worry, and the imp was treacherous and untrustworthy.

They’d have to take their chances on the path.

“Will you be safe?” Mirabelle took his hand and slowly rose from her crouch.

Flustered, the imp fiddled with its dress, plucking at the uneven, raw hem. “Got a house, now, I have.”

With a curt nod to it, Soren started toward the path at the far side of the clearing, Mirabelle’s hand firmly clasped in his.

“Wait.”

He turned, and saw the imp standing forlornly, hands clasped in front of it, head bowed. “Don’t you want to know where the nasties are?”

“Where are they?” Soren felt Mirabelle’s hand tighten in his.

The imp hesitated, scanning the clearing as if expecting to find someone spying on them. It looked up at the gargoyles and then away with fright. “What’ll you give me? Eh?”

Soren opened his mouth, anger sweeping over him in a hot, quick rush, but Mirabelle squeezed his hand and stepped hard on his foot.

“What do you want?” she called to it.

“Don’t know. Don’t know.” It skipped up to them, glee in every movement. “What you got?”

“I wish I had a ribbon for you, but I left all my ribbons at home,” Mirabelle said.

“Ribbon would be nice. What else? What else?” It bounced eagerly on the balls of its delicate, thin feet.

Mirabelle opened the satchel on Soren’s shoulder and put her hand inside. “A honey sandwich?”

She held up half a sandwich, and Soren saw the imp’s eyes fasten on it with an unwavering stare that was almost hard to watch.

“What’s a honey sandwich?” It took a step closer.

“Sweet. Delicious.” Mirabelle held it out. “Acceptable?”

The imp drew back suddenly, narrowing its huge eyes again, as if trying to see any traps or tricks. “What for the honey sandwich?”

“The place the forest bogeys are hiding.” Soren forced the impatience from his voice.

The imp looked up at him from under spiky lashes. “Don’t like you. Only like pretty one.” It fluttered a look at Mirabelle and she smiled sweetly back at it.

It gave a slow nod. “I tell you.” It held out its hand and Mirabelle gave it the sandwich.

It hopped a little way away, and took a small nibble of the sandwich and shivered, head to toe.

“Nasties are in forest.”

“Where in the forest?” Soren couldn’t keep the bite from his voice.

It gave another hop away. Smiled slyly and pointed toward the houses.

Soren clenched his fists when it didn’t say anything else. “That’s all you have to say?”

Mirabelle put a hand against his lips. The feel of it seemed to wipe his brain completely clear and he struggled to focus.

“Where exactly?”

The imp grinned and took another nibble. “Where the people are.”

Soren frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I think it means wherever we are, that’s where we’ll find the bogeys.”

The imp gave a sly grin. “They like people. They liked all the people here. So go away,” it suddenly hissed. “You brung them back. Go.” It shooed them. “I don’t want to be where you are.” It waved the sandwich at them, and scurried back into the house. Soren could hear its sounds of rapture over the food as the door slammed shut.

“The little bastard—”

Mirabelle laughed and he stared at her.

“I know. I know they’re absolutely awful. Kvisti was like that, too. Hard to get anything out of him, always on the take. Absolutely self-centered. But still . . .” She sighed. “That one was obviously starving, and that dress.” She shook her head. “Kvisti used to wear an old set of winter underwear I’d outgrown. There is something under all the bravado I can’t help feeling sorry for.”

Soren grunted, started unstrapping the bedrolls from his back. “Well, if the bogeys are going to follow us, we might as well camp right here. Where I can see them coming.”

Mirabelle looked up at him, and then deferred to him with a nod. “The imp won’t like it.”

“As it happens, I don’t give a damn what it does or doesn’t like.”

Chapter Seventeen

Mirabelle guessed the village would have a good water source, and they found a stream, running clear and clean, a little way beyond the path they had nearly taken earlier.

Soren stood watch over her as she knelt beside it, dipped her head, and let the water’s icy fingers tug at her unbound hair.

She was shivering by the time she was done, but the hair at the back of her head was no longer matted with blood, and her scalp was blessedly numb, although the headache caused by the blow still thumped on, in time with her heartbeat.

She knelt a moment longer on the river bank and squeezed the water from her hair, watching Soren from behind the thick curtain of it that fell across her face.

He’d seemed big and dangerous when she’d met him, his gaunt face and haunted eyes frightening on such a broad, strong frame. He’d been handsome, even beautiful, but in a harsh, forbidding way.

If she’d met him under normal circumstances, she would have been afraid to approach him. And she would have been the poorer for it.

He had saved her life; risked his own life without hesitation to protect her.

He was someone anyone would be proud to call friend.

And she knew now, far more than she had when she’d woken in William’s cell, how much it would have cost him to stay behind in that dungeon with her.

And yet, he had.

She wanted to ask him to stop risking himself for her, although she knew enough about him to realize it would be better to never say it.

He’d thrown himself so fearlessly at the forest bogey and she didn’t think he knew how badly injured he’d been.

She’d heard knights often didn’t realize the extent of their injuries straight after the battle. Soren had stood, swaying like a drunk, battered almost beyond recognition.

His right arm had been broken—she shivered as she recalled the strange angle of it. His ribs had been broken and she was sure they’d pierced his lung, the way he’d struggled for breath.

She knew he was bleeding inside, too, had felt it as her sky magic washed over him and healed him.

She used sky magic like an earth magic witch.

Her father had hated that in the beginning, then came to embrace it, exalt in her difference, because using sky magic to heal people usually did more harm than good.

She hadn’t told Soren when he’d asked her if she’d healed herself, but the truth was, when she used sky magic on herself, that was the only time it acted like true sky magic, the rest of the time, when it was for others, she was able to give it an earth magic twist.

The consequence of her father’s meddling.

She was grateful for that meddling, now. Soren would be near dead if she hadn’t healed him.

She didn’t plan to tell him, though.

He didn’t need more reason to take risks on her behalf, or think himself more indebted to her.

The debt had been wiped clean many times over today.

“You ready?” Soren stepped closer, the worry clear in his voice, and she twisted her hair into a rope and tossed it over her shoulder, held out her hand and let him pull her to her feet.

They stood very close, neither moving, breathing each other in, her hand still tucked into his.

Then a shiver of cold wracked her body, and he stepped back, pulling a blanket from the pack on his back and draping it over her shoulders.

He wouldn’t meet her gaze, as if doing so would be dangerous.

She shivered again. This time, it wasn’t with cold.

“Let’s get a fire going in the clearing. The bogeys won’t come near one of those.” His voice was lower than usual, and Mirabelle nodded, head down.

He hefted the small pot they’d brought with from the tree-house, now full of water, and balanced some firewood under his other arm.

As they walked, Mirabelle collected sticks for the fire as well, almost giddy with relief that she had something to do with her hands. They both had almost more than they could carry by the time they reached the clearing in front of the cottages.

There would be a conflagration tonight.

They had left the bedrolls where they intended to set up camp.

As Mirabelle set her wood down, she saw one of the bedrolls was missing and the other looked as if someone had tried to cut it with a blunt knife or scissors.

Soren dropped his wood with a clatter and then turned slowly to face the house the imp had taken for its own.

“Enough is enough.”

He set the pot down with a thump and strode across the clearing, leaped up the front steps and was through the door before Mirabelle could react.

She crouched down to check the damage on the bedroll, and as she knelt, the stick she’d begun to think of as her staff was suddenly under her knee, digging into her kneecap.

She winced and then from within the house she heard Soren’s voice, low but unmistakably menacing, and the thin whine of the forest imp.

She looked up at the gargoyles, and the one closest to her gave an evil wink.

Her fingers curled around the staff, and as she got a good grip the cottage door suddenly slammed shut and from within the house, the imp let out a high-pitched cry.

“Soren?”

The same sinister silence that had fallen just before the first time Soren had stepped into the house settled over the clearing, and Mirabelle rose to her feet, staff raised in front of her, and slowly swung round, sure she would find a forest bogey right behind her.

There did seem to be something lurking in the shadows at the edge of the clearing, and for the first time, she wondered why the bogey who grabbed her earlier had hauled her toward the imp’s cottage.

Wouldn’t it have dragged her deeper into the woods?

She kept her eye on the hulking thing by the trees and took a backward step toward to the house, toward Soren. She didn’t have the strength yet to fight again with sky magic and panic fluttered and battered against her chest.

Her foot caught on one of the sticks she’d collected for the fire, and she bent to pick it up.

Soren had said fire frightened the forest bogeys.

She didn’t have enough energy to call sky magic like she had before, but she needed hardly any to light a piece of wood.

Blue sparked from her fingers, and the tip of the stick burst into flames.

Then she turned and ran up the stairs, calling Soren’s name.

* * *

The imp hadn’t been pointing beyond the houses when it had told them where the bogeys were, Soren realized with a terrible clarity, it had been pointing at the houses themselves.

It had tried to tell them, in its way. Tried even, he would concede, to get them to leave.

But they hadn’t, and it had been forced back into its role as bait.

It had scuttled to the back of the room, and jumped onto the table in the kitchen area when he’d started shouting, had even taken up a pair of scissors and waved them at him, but now it was quiet and utterly terrified.

It was staring past him into the room beyond, big eyes wide in its pointy little face, and he knew without a doubt a forest bogey was in there.

He should have thought through what had happened earlier more carefully, asked himself why the bogey who’d taken Mirabelle had dragged her back to this cottage.

There were two of them, the imp had said.

So the one was in here, and the other must be outside again, going for Mirabelle.

The thought of her in danger or hurt settled a cloak of cold determination over him.

Not again.

He took the moment the bogey seemed to be giving him, dug in the pocket of his trousers and pulled out Rane’s fire stick.

He didn’t think he’d get more than a second.

He leaped toward the curtains, touched the stick to them, and launched himself away, just as the bogey slammed into the wall beside him.

The cotton caught alight, and the bogey made a terrible roaring sound as it spun away from the flames.

The imp threw the scissors at him. “Mine! Don’t burn it! Mine!”

Soren dodged the bogey again, this time leaving the wall behind him in flames, so that when it tried to ram him, it had to stop short. It staggered back.

It screamed at him, in rage and fury, and then rammed through the closed front door, smashing through the thick wood as easily as an axe through fire kindling.

Soren ran after it, but the imp got there before him and he tripped over it and fell through the doorway.

The bogey was waiting for him, and his fall saved him from a savage swipe.

From his position on the ground, he saw Mirabelle standing on the porch stairs, holding a stick with a flame burning at its tip, and she touched it to the bogey’s back.

It turned, the look of pitiless violence on its face robbing him of breath. It leaped from the porch toward Mirabelle, and as he pulled himself up, fire stick held out, it smacked both her staff and the stick from her hands, scooped her up in its strange, almost ghostly arms, and ran behind the house.

He launched himself off the porch, but sharp fingers snagged at his shirt, slashing him.

He turned to the imp with a snarl, but it hopped back, hands up. “Stop fire, and me tell you where it goes.”

He hesitated. He had a feeling he’d find nothing behind the house. No more than they had after Mirabelle had blasted the bogey the first time. “If you’re tricking me—”

“No trick.” It leaped from foot to foot. “Save house.”

He heaved himself back up the stairs and ran into the burning front room, through to the bedroom beyond.

Their missing bedroll lay on the bed, along with two ratty-looking blankets. He grabbed one and smothered the flames on the wall, pulled down the burning curtains, threw the blanket over them and stomped the fire out.

“Where are they?” He walked toward the doorway where the imp stood, fire stick in his hand. If Mirabelle was hurt, he would burn this place to the ground.

The imp poked its head into the cottage, made a sound of distress at the destruction.

Soren leaned down, grabbed it by the throat and lifted it to eye-level. “Where?”

It made a meal of it. Gagging and struggling against him. “Don’t like you. Don’t like.”

“Don’t care. Where are they?”

“Will tell! Put down.”

He put it down, but kept his hands loosely around its neck.

“In cellar. Down there.” It pointed to a trap door in the kitchen, the first time Soren had noticed it.

“How are they getting in from outside the house?”

“Tunnel. That’s how they came in beginning. They don’t like the clearing. Don’t like open space.”

“The one who grabbed Mirabelle the first time didn’t have any trouble taking her across the clearing.”

The imp shrugged. “When they have prey, maybe they a bit braver.”

Soren lifted the blanket off the curtains, and grabbed the scissors the imp had thrown at him earlier, cut the unburnt tops of the curtains off, and rolled them into two tight balls.

“Any lamp oil?”

The imp drew back, outraged. “No. Burn. House.”

Soren gave it a steady stare. “My friend is down there, and you know this house isn’t yours while the bogeys are living in your cellar. Either I kill them, or chase them off, or you might as well leave here anyway. I’ll try not to burn down the house, but no promises.”

It scampered to the door, hands over its tiny, pointed ears, stopped at the threshold, and then turned. It lowered its hands slowly and pointed to a cupboard. “Don’t like you. At all.”

Soren opened the cupboard, found an old oil lamp. There didn’t seem to be spare oil, but there was a little left in the lamp itself.

He carefully poured it out equally onto his two balls of fabric, held them scrunched in one hand, his fire stick in the other. With the hand holding the fire stick, he hooked his fingers into the ring set into the trapdoor, braced himself and hauled as hard as he could.

The door didn’t move.

“Is it locked from below?” He honestly would kill the imp if it was.

It shook its head. “Stiff. That’s all.” It sniffed and rubbed its nose with the back of its hand. “Pull harder.”

Soren bared his teeth at it, and lifted the ring again, twisting it, and it turned in his hand. He could hear the mechanism click open below.

He looked up at the imp, but it stared back, with no sign it knew the trick to opening the door, and he forced himself to be fair and admit that it would never have had the strength to open it, anyway. It may have tried and decided the trapdoor was stiff, not realizing the ring needed to be turned like a handle.

He braced again, put everything into pulling it up, and it came faster than he anticipated, flying back and slamming into the floorboards with a crack.

He touched the fire stick to one of the balls of fabric and jumped down the hole, ignoring the ladder completely.

He landed well, knees braced, and saw, by the light of his fireball, that both bogeys were in the cellar. They cringed back from the firelight, their shadows jumping wildly—so like the stuff they were made of, it was difficult to know where their shadows ended and they began.

Mirabelle was bound against the wall beside him, held in place by roots that came out from the earthen wall itself, crisscrossing and looping around her so that she was completely immobilized. Even her mouth was covered.

He stepped in front of her as the first fireball began to burn his fingers, threw it at the bogeys and lit the second.

He could sense their panic as they realized they couldn’t get to Mirabelle without going through him, and then the fire caught one of them, and as it burned, it twisted and writhed like a leaf in a camp fire.

The stench was incredible.

The second one screamed at him and Soren threw his last fireball straight at its face.

He stepped to the side, and began touching his fire stick to the roots that bound Mirabelle, and they shivered and then retreated, one by one.

As the ones around her chest pulled back, she took a deep, shaky breath, then coughed because of the terrible smell and smoke, and he realized the roots had been crushing her.

The second bogey was burning, now, and it threw itself at a small hole in the far wall, crawling toward the tunnel on hands and knees.

It disappeared inside, but Soren could still see the glow of the flames as it burned, and thought it may have collapsed.

Something blocked the weak light coming from above, and he saw the imp peering down at him.

His first, cynical thought was that if it could, it would slam the trapdoor down on them, and leave them in the dark, but it was rubbing its hands in agitation, and he decided he was being too harsh.

He ignored it for the moment, knelt at Mirabelle’s feet and burned roots as fast as he could, and at last she stumbled forward.

“Come here. Come here.” He lifted his arms and she fell into them. He swung her into his lap, tucking her head under his chin.

She felt right there.

“I thought . . .” She was barely able to whisper, and he saw her neck was covered with thin welts where the roots had gripped her.

He fisted his hands in her shirt, trying to press her closer to him, and wished he could burn the bogeys all over again.

“Can we go?” she whispered into his ear, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, lifted her off his lap and stood. He scooped her up again, holding her against him with one arm as he climbed the ladder with the other.

“They’re gone?” The imp did a little dance forward and then back.

Soren set Mirabelle gently down, slammed the trapdoor shut to cut off the dreadful smell, and then lifted her again. “They’re gone.”

He strode into the bedroom, scooped up the bedroll and walked out of the house, the imp trailing behind him, wringing its hands.

“You sure?”

He turned to look at it, Mirabelle nestled protectively against him. “I am sure.”

It seemed to sense his meaning. That he wouldn’t be turning his back on anything, wouldn’t be leaving himself vulnerable if Mirabelle wasn’t completely safe, and it relaxed.

“That’s mine,” it said, pointing to the bedroll he’d taken back.

Soren set Mirabelle down on the bedroll already laid out, flicked the one he’d retrieved beside it, and then turned to face the imp, hands slightly away from his sides.

It looked at him, blinked, and then scurried back inside its house.

As it went, Soren could hear it singing under its breath how much it didn’t like him.

Chapter Eighteen

Kayla and Rane

Kayla rode a ball of wild magic with Sooty curled around her feet, skimming over the tops of the trees of the Great Forest. She lifted her face against the breeze and wished she could go faster.

She smiled at herself.

Things had changed in her life if traveling with the birds was slow.

The problem was, she had never been to Phon.

When she’d rescued Soren from Jasper’s stronghold, she’d been able to use wild magic to move herself, Sooty and Soren to a clearing she knew of, and she’d been able to use a ball of wild magic created by Eric the Bold in his dungeon as a doorway back into that dungeon.

But to use either of those ways again, she needed to have been to Phon, or she had to find wild magic that had been created by Andrei Wolfsblood. Given the hundreds of balls of wild magic that surrounded Ylana’s cottage now, that task would have taken longer than walking to Phon on foot.

So Ylana had suggested using wild magic as she had in her test, and Kayla had to admit that what must have taken Rane over a day would only take her four or five hours at most.

Sooty pretended to sleep, but Kayla was sure she was merely protecting her dignity. She didn’t like being so high in the air, but she refused to be left behind.

Kayla knelt down and rubbed her between the ears, still enchanted by the sight of the treetops stretching in all directions.

It looked like a lush field, and she had to keep reminding herself how far they were off the ground.

Over her shoulder, she saw the hundreds of balls of wild magic were still following in her wake, strung out behind her like glowing beads on a beautiful necklace.

She’d left just after midday, when Ylana had admitted there was nothing left to teach her, and the angle of the sun told her she should be close to the border with Phon.

There was . . . not exactly a line, but a subtle change in color in the trees up ahead. The line wasn’t straight, but undulated as if following the contours of a stream or a ridge, and she guessed it signaled the end of the Great Forest, and the start of the less dangerous forests of Phon.

Gaynor didn’t have any forests surrounding the Great Forest. Her father had had them cut back when too many people had wandered from the woods into the Great Forest by mistake.

Now, in Gaynor, when you saw the wall of trees up ahead, you knew you were staring at the Great Forest itself. You knew the chance you were taking from the very first step.

The wild magic she was crouched on slowed, and then began to sink down as they approached the border, and curious, Kayla turned to see what the trailing wild magic balls would do.

They began to sink down, too, one following the other.

When the ball reached the ground, Sooty shook herself and leaped off, and Kayla followed.

She stood for a moment to get her bearings, and touched the wild magic that had carried her in thanks.

She wanted to take as much of it as possible with her into Phon’s main town, Urlay.

Ylana had told her Andrei Wolfsblood was cut from the same cloth as Eric the Bold, and was just as dangerous, although not as powerful. Not yet.

Whatever Rane had managed to discover about Andrei, she wanted to be strong enough to take him on.

She’d have to call wild magic over the invisible line the sorcerers had made, beyond which wild magic was banned.

She’d discovered, when she infiltrated Jasper’s stronghold on the edge of the Great Forest, that the border was not as solid as the sorcerers believed. It was porous, and she could draw wild magic through it in thin, wispy threads.

She looked down at herself, still in trousers, shirt and riding boots, and decided she would draw too much attention in Urlay dressed as she was.

For the first time she used wild magic for something seemingly trivial, to create a new dress for herself.

She made it purple, imagining one of the fine dresses she wore at her father’s castle in Gaynor, and felt the ripple of excitement, glee, even, from the wild magic as it rushed to oblige her.

It seemed to like pretty things.

She changed her hair, too, and wished she had a mirror so she could watch it lift and twist into the complicated, high style so favored by the ladies of the Gaynor court.

She kept her boots on. They were well enough hidden by her long dress, and she wasn’t prepared to walk through the forest into Urlay in dainty slippers.

She stepped over the border line, and then called the magic to her, imagining it as tiny jewels in her hair, beads around her neck and arms, and little gems on her dress.

She watched wild magic press itself against the border and find the tiny holes and cracks, wafting toward her like smoke from a fire.

It settled on her, making itself look like tiny purple seed pearls and gems in the shape of flowers, butterflies and birds on her dress, and purple flowers in her hair.

It became earrings and necklaces and bracelets, even a small half-crown, until she was seemingly weighed down with jewels, although all she could feel was wild magic’s warm, friendly touch.

It was a lot, but she was afraid it wouldn’t be enough against someone like Andrei, and so she imagined a cloak as well, and slowly, enough wild magic seeped through the barrier to give her one with a deep hood that covered her from neck to floor.

Wild magic also drifted toward Sooty, forming a thick jewel collar around her neck. She shook herself irritably, but then ignored it and went to sniff at the trees.

Kayla stepped onto the path, but looked back one last time.

Wild magic was stretched along the invisible barrier in a long line, pressed up against it, and her heart lurched at the sight it made.

She waved, and it shivered in response. She was suddenly struck by the similarity with Ylana, and how she had made the trees shiver before she’d declared herself ready to fight with Kayla.

Kayla was ready to fight, too.

She turned back to the path and started walking, Sooty at her side.

* * *

He needed to get rid of his knife.

Rane walked easily between two guards and wondered how he could do that without being seen.

The knife would be invaluable to him in the castle, especially if Vik intended to lock him away, but there was little chance he’d be allowed to keep it when they searched him, and they would.

Getting it back if Vik took possession of it would be a problem, and Rane was determined not to lose it.

Better it lie off the path under a bush in the forest until he escaped and came to fetch it.

He’d done it before.

Too many times, he decided wearily.

Being captured and taken prisoner had become too much of a pattern in his life.

He and Kayla needed to end this war before it began and start living a real life.

He slowed to a stop and the guards around him jostled as they had to stop, as well.

Vik turned to him, frowning, and Rane allowed himself a sheepish grin.

“Spent the morning at the inn listening to the gossip on Andrei, trying to find out if my brother was here, and I drunk too much cider. Being thrown about by Andrei’s ward a couple of times didn’t help, either. I need a moment.” He indicated the trees.

Vik’s frown deepened. “We’re close to the castle.”

Rane shrugged. “I doubt you are going to let me use the facilities the minute we get there.”

Vik smiled at that, and flicked his hands at the tree Rane had indicated. “True enough. Don’t expect privacy.”

Rane shrugged again, as if he didn’t care, either way, and walked off the path, two guards trailing him. There were plenty of exposed roots and he was easily able to stumble over them and palm his knife from his boot.

He fumbled with his trousers, and looked around, glad he genuinely had had the cider at the inn and was more than ready to answer a call of nature.

There was a bush whose branches brushed the ground right next to him, and when he was done, he looked around on the forest floor and stood hard on a broken branch as he turned.

The crack of the wood giving beneath his boot proved a nice cover for the sound of his knife falling through the thin branches and hitting the ground.

The guards didn’t even flinch at the sound, and Rane stepped back on the path with a mixed sense of worry and relief.

His knife was a fearsome weapon, one they would need to take on Eric, Nuen and anyone else. They’d already lost the golden apple. He would not lose his knife to Vik the Steady if he could help it, even if it meant it would be harder to escape.

Vik was right about being close to the castle. They reached it about ten minutes later.

It was a similar size to Kayla’s home in Gaynor and as they neared it, Rane compared the two.

Vik’s castle had a chunkier, sturdier look than the more whimsical spires and turrets of Kayla’s, but the people within seemed just as content as those in Gaynor, if a little less prosperous.

Rane knew Vik’s father had warred with some of the countries to the north, trying to get back the land his wife had brought to their marriage as part of her dowry, after it was invaded by first one and then another of the small, fierce nations that carved out a life for themselves in the icy lands.

Vik himself had the look of a northman about him, with the high cheekbones and pale blue eyes of his mother’s people.

From the gossip he’d heard at the inn, Vik’s father had stripped the wealth from Phon to pay for his wars and now he was dead, his son was trying to restore the country’s fortunes.

It made Vik easy to like, even if he was currently escorting him under guard through his castle gates to be questioned.

Perhaps it was time to come clean.

“You are making a mistake.” Rane glanced across at Vik, walking level with him. “I’m betrothed to Kayla of Gaynor, and I don’t think you want this lying between us one day when I become king.” He had never considered seriously going through with his marriage to Kayla when he’d first won her hand. Had thought it would be the last thing she would want, too. But things had changed, and if being with Kayla meant being King of Gaynor, he would do it.

Kayla would never walk away from her people, and he would never again walk away from her.

Vik raised his eyebrows, and something crossed his face. Embarrassment and suspicion, in equal measure. “Betrothed to Kayla of Gaynor? I think not.” Then he shook his head and laughed. “That trick won’t work to rile me.”

Rane frowned, not understanding his response. “I’m just warning you. I don’t have time for delay, I need to find my brother as a matter of urgency, and if something happens to him, and I could have saved him but didn’t because I was imprisoned by you, I will hold you responsible.”

Vik paused. “What does that mean? Let’s say, for argument’s sake, you are betrothed to that stuck-up, condescending princess of Gaynor, and you do find your brother has come to harm, what would you do about it? Go to war with me?”

Rane shook his head. “I don’t put other men’s lives in danger for my own ends. I’d hold you personally responsible.” He walked a few steps. “And do not insult Kayla of Gaynor in my hearing again.”

Vik laughed. “I like you. I don’t believe you, but I like you.”

They had crossed the courtyard, and one of the soldiers opened the huge double doors into the castle.

Vik indicated that Rane should precede him through it. “I don’t plan to hurt you, but you will tell me, in detail, what you know of the sorcerers you mentioned, and if I’m satisfied you’ve told me the truth, I’ll send you off to Halakan with a horse and an armed guard. You can stop at Gaynor on your way and say hello to your princess.”

Rane didn’t tell him he wouldn’t be traveling the long way round, going through Therston, Gaynor and up through Klevan to get to Halakan, that he’d be cutting directly through the Great Forest itself.

If Vik was interested in him now, he’d be a lot more interested if he had that information.

A woman was waiting at the bottom of a sweeping staircase as they stepped into the hallway.

Servants bustled about, but she stood still and regal, in a long, beautiful dress of green silk. Her black hair was unbound, hanging down her back. She was not beautiful, not in the way Kayla was, but she was compelling, her face strong and alive with intelligence.

The new queen of Phon.

Being from Therston, Phon’s direct neighbor, Rane knew she’d been married to Vik for just over a year. She’d had to journey through Therston to reach her new husband, and although many had lined the way to catch a glimpse of her, neither he nor Soren had been one of them. He’d had no interest in Vik or anyone else’s private affairs.

Elanie Navaar was from one of the noble families of Tibalt, a country on the eastern border of Klevan, and he imagined Tibalt saw a benefit to aligning itself with Phon through marriage as a way to gain entrance into the tight-knit countries of Middleland, with their strong agreements and alliances.

Agreements and alliances Eric, Nuen, Gerald and Andrei wanted to break and render, so they could call the whole of the Middleland their own.

“Armed soldiers in the hall?” Elanie asked Vik, and Rane thought the big man’s cheeks flushed.

“You two, stay.” He pointed to the two men on either side of Rane. “Everyone else, go.”

The guards filed out, and Vik bowed to his queen. “I will be in the cellar.”

The queen looked at Rane thoughtfully. “I’m afraid not.”

Vik raised a brow, and Rane had the impression the war of wills between them was not only ongoing, but stimulating to them both.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get back, my lord.” She pinned her husband with an angry look. “My father’s messenger arrived while you were out, and he has urgent news.”

Vik looked at her sharply, then turned to Rane. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer than I expected before you can be on your way, Rane De’Villier. But I will be with you as quickly as I can.”

Rane shook his head. “I need to go now, your majesty. Please understand I have no time to lose.”

Vik shrugged, regret on his face but his eyes told Rane he was determined to find out what was going on with his own sorcerer as well as the others in the region, and he wouldn’t be persuaded to let it go.

He nodded to one of Rane’s guards. “Take him to the holding cell, give him some food and treat him well.”

The queen held out her arm, and Vik took it, started up the staircase with her.

“You will regret this.” Rane stared up at him, arms loose at his sides.

Vik sighed, and half-turned on the stairs. “I’ve regretted many things. Only time will tell if this is one of them.”

The guards moved Rane away, and the sense of opportunities slipping away, of the hope Ylana had given him over Soren sliding through his fingers, hardened him.

He would escape Vik’s castle. And Vik would live to regret it.

Chapter Nineteen

Urlay was a little smaller than Gaynor Town, but then Phon had a few towns dotted across its landscape, not just Urlay, whereas Gaynor only had one.

Kayla liked what she saw.

Vik the Steady had been a suitor for her hand more than once, and she had turned him down every time, but she thought if she had come here, and seen Urlay, she might have weakened a little.

It wasn’t as pretty as Gaynor Town, but the people seemed content, and that said more about Vik than anything else could.

In fact, he had been a poor ambassador for his own suit, if what she was seeing of Phon was a true reflection of his leadership.

Kayla had found him a braggart, condescending, and a little frightening, and with no real advantage to Gaynor in the match with a near neighbor they already had good agreements with, her father had never forced the issue.

She hoped she could avoid seeing him. It would be difficult to explain her presence.

With luck, she could find Rane, discover what Andrei Wolfsblood was up to, and leave.

At least Vik was married now.

She had met Elanie Navaar when she’d passed through Gaynor on her way to her wedding with Vik. She and her family had broken their journey from Tibalt to Phon at Gaynor Castle and spent the night before continuing on.

She had liked the dark-haired woman, with her beautiful silk dresses and intelligence dancing in her eyes.

They had sat together while their fathers had discussed matters of state and Elanie’s mother had gone to bed early with a headache, and Elanie had asked her flatly why she had turned down Vik the Steady four times.

Kayla remembered how surprised she was that Elanie knew of that. That anyone knew.

“I’ve never told anyone, except my father, that he asked me four times.”

Elanie had given a slow nod. “I thought less of you, because I thought you took pride in how many times he has asked and you have rejected, but I see you’re telling the truth. Perhaps someone in Vik’s court knew, and spread the tale.”

The moment still had the power to make Kayla’s face flush with heat in mortification and anger. She realized she’d tightened her grip on Sooty’s collar, and forced herself to relax.

If Vik had something to do with spreading the tale himself, she had always planned to hold him to account for it, but she hadn’t seen him since his marriage.

At the time, Elanie had seemed genuinely distressed. “Please, I see I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean to, but if there is a good reason for you rejecting him, if I might be in danger or tied to a violent man, I would like to know now, before I say my vows.”

Kayla had composed herself, forced the anger back, and answered Elanie honestly. “I was only sixteen the first time he asked me. He was a man, nearly ten years older than me, and fresh from the wars his father had fought in the north. He was battle-weary and hard, and I was afraid he would be too much for me. Subsume me completely.”

Elanie had nodded. “And the next time?”

“Exactly a year after my first no, he came back again. He wasn’t so hardened, the year of peace had let him relax a little, but he had a bluster about him, a bragging edged with disrespect for me. As if I must surely have realized I had made a mistake the first time, and he was generously giving me a chance to change my mind.”

Elanie had snorted, and Kayla remembered looking up in surprise.

“Sorry,” she’d explained. “He sounds just like my older brother.”

Kayla had smiled back. “Perhaps you will know how to handle him better, then. Because I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

She’d leaned back against the cushions of the window seat where they were sitting. “When I turned him down the second time—as nicely as I could, I would swear to it—he became rude, and then, for the following two years, on the same day again, he came and asked me a third and a fourth time.”

Elanie sighed, and leaned back as well. “He sounds like the men in my family. Stubborn, proud and difficult.”

“You were hoping for something different?” Kayla asked her.

She nodded, and there were tears in her eyes. They shimmered for a moment but they never fell. Elanie had taken a deep breath, and blinked them back.

“Well, at least I’m used to it. And it appears he is not cruel or violent, which will be a relief to my parents as well.”

“They have also heard the story of the four rejections?” Kayla closed her eyes.

Elanie laughed. “Everyone has heard that story, Princess Kayla. But from now on, they will hear a different version from me.”

Kayla wondered now, as she approached Urlay’s gates, whether Elanie had told the new version since she’d become queen. Because perhaps Princess Kayla of Gaynor would not be particularly welcome here, if not.

She ran her fingers into the soft fur on Sooty’s neck and decided it was too late to change her story now. She knew if Andrei had Soren, Rane would do anything to get his brother back. Vik might object to his sorcerer being attacked, and at least as princess of Gaynor, she could ensure Rane wasn’t executed if he was caught.

Vik wouldn’t want to make an open enemy of Gaynor.

So, if she was stopped, or had to step in and save Rane, then under her cloak she was dressed as the princess of Gaynor, and the princess of Gaynor she would be.

But before she stepped onto the main road into Urlay, she looked down at Sooty, and realized she couldn’t bring her in without drawing a great deal of attention.

“I can either leave you here, or use some of that magic in your collar to make you normal cat-sized for a little while.”

Sooty stared up at her, unblinking. Then her tail twitched, and she stepped closer.

“Smaller? All right.” Kayla took as little of the magic as she could from the collar, and Sooty shrunk down to the size of a small cat. Kayla scooped her up and held her against her chest, and Sooty purred almost as loudly as she did when she was big enough to reach Kayla’s hip.

There was brisk traffic at the gates as the day drew on. Carts coming in, merchants walking next to donkeys and horses laden with goods, all wanting to be inside before the gates closed for the night.

Kayla looked and waited until she saw two carts full of grain with Gaynor’s standard branded into their wooden sides.

She fell into step with the front cart, turned to the cartsman and lifted the hood of her cloak a little.

“Your majesty?” The cartsman pulled reflexively on the reins and his horses shied a little at the sudden stop, and from the cart behind him, the young man Kayla guessed was his son cursed as he had to pull on his own reins.

Kayla stepped onto the footplate, held out her hand, and with mouth open, the cartsman helped her up.

“My thanks.” She smiled at him and settled Sooty onto her lap. “I need to get into Urlay unseen.”

The cartsman looked at her, and then at her hands, and Kayla followed his gaze to see he was looking at all the rings and bracelets on them. Something she seldom wore when she rode or walked around Gaynor.

“You’re never going to tell Vik you changed your mind?” he asked in horror.

She shook her head. “I’m betrothed already, remember, and he’s married.”

“Then why . . .” He blushed, and looked away, as if realizing he had no right to ask.

She touched his arm. “It’s a long story, sir, and you will know it one day, but my betrothed is here and may be in danger, and I need to find him.”

“That woodsman your father sold you to?” His words were bitter, and Kayla realized with shock that she wasn’t the only one in Gaynor to think less of her father for what he’d done to her.

“I chose him myself, not my father. That seems to have caused Eric the Bold some problems, so it all ended very much better than it could have.” She grinned at him, and he gave a slow smile back.

“Well, that’s all right then. Been worried about you, we have. Disappearing like that. Strange glass mountains and Eric the Bold seeming to have the run of the castle, and you being betrothed to a commoner an’ all.”

“There is nothing common about Rane De’Villier.” Kayla shuffled closer to him as they approached the gate, and he put a hesitant arm around her shoulder, as if they were husband and wife.

He smelled of sweet, musty grain and honest sweat.

“What is your name, sir?” They passed the guards with a nod, and the cartsman took the horses right, toward the market.

“Jack Falkirk, your majesty. At your service. My farm is an hour from Gaynor Castle, and I’ve seen you out riding many a time.”

“My thanks, Master Falkirk.” They had come to a stop, and Kayla swung back down to the ground, Sooty held against her once more.

“Father, what on earth . . . ?” Falkirk’s son gaped at the sight of her, and almost fell to his knees.

Kayla shot out an arm and gripped his shoulder. “No.”

He lifted wide eyes to hers.

“Please, don’t draw attention to me.”

“You’re never going to tell Vik you’ll take him after all?” he blurted.

She shook her head. “No. But your father said the same.” She turned slightly, so she could see both of them. “Did you think I made a mistake, saying no to him?”

Both men shook their heads. “In the inns along the way, he’d boast how you would fall to your knees in gratitude that he’d asked you. That women had begged him to marry him, and that you would understand you were the lucky one.”

Kayla sucked in a breath. “Did he, now?”

“Aye.” Falkirk scratched his head. “We were all right pleased when you sent him home with his tail between his legs, not once, not twice, but four times. Made me proud to be from Gaynor.”

Falkirk’s son grinned. “Many a fist fight to be had for those looking for one on Vik’s journey back to Phon each time. All you ’ad to do was ask his men when the wedding would be, and you got as much of a punch-up as you could want.”

Kayla stared at him. “Well,” she said at last, “I’m glad his proposals were good for something.”

“Aye, they were.” Falkirk junior gave her an endearing smile.

“We’re leaving in two day’s time, your majesty,” Falkirk leaned closer, and spoke quietly. “If you or your betrothed need a ride back to Gaynor, you’re welcome. We’ll be staying at the inn.”

Kayla murmured her thanks, pulled her hood a little more over her eyes and took her leave, mingling with the crowd.

She hoped that if she wandered the market, she might pick up some information, perhaps learn where Andrei Wolfsblood lived, and if there had been any trouble in the last day or so.

She didn’t have to wait long. The recent trouble was on almost everyone’s lips.

Andrei Wolfsblood had deserted Phon, apparently, and a man had been caught trying to break his wards and get into his house.

“My Tom is in the guard, not the ones that took the man, mind, but ’e says they ’ad no trouble with ’im. Came quiet as a lamb.” The fruit seller, happily commanding an audience at least two people deep, rubbed an apple until it shone.

Kayla cuddled Sooty up close to her face to hide the look of disbelief on her face.

Rane never went quietly anywhere, although it sounded as if Vik had had a full company of men with him when he was taken.

“I heard he’s the stranger who was at the inn earlier this morning. Asking questions about Andrei, he was.”

Everyone’s attention swung to the new gossip, and Kayla turned away before she attracted attention herself. Her cloak and hood had already netted her a few stares and she didn’t need to hear any more.

Rane was in Urlay Castle, and she hoped he hadn’t used the fact that he was her betrothed as a way out of his predicament.

Vik was only more likely to kill him, in that case. The man who’d got a yes out of her, when all Vik had ever gotten was a no.

Chapter Twenty

Rane paced the cell he’d been locked in and debated his options.

The two wild magic items he’d had in his pouch were still there, and the guard who’d examined them was still alive, and unchanged.

He’d almost warned Vik’s soldier when he’d asked Rane to empty his pockets, and then he’d forced his conscience back and shrugged. He’d told Vik he’d regret this. If his man touched wild magic and was changed, so be it.

He’d been careful not to touch the spoon and the stone himself as he’d emptied his pouch onto a small table outside the three cells Vik kept in his massive cellar.

The guard had raised a surprised brow at the contents. “This the silver spoon you had in your mouth when you were born?” he asked with a laugh, and because it had been meant in a friendly way, and Rane could hear no meanness in it, he’d laughed and agreed.

The tone the guard set had him opening his mouth to warn him not to touch the stone, but he’d been too late. The man picked it up, looked it over and set it back with a grunt. “My nephew likes to pick up stones and keep them in his pocket.”

Rane had smiled, relief washing through him like a cooling shower.

He’d have felt bad if the stone’s power was to transform whoever touched it. The guard had done him a favor without knowing it.

At least Rane could touch them now, start trying to work out what they were, and if they could help him escape.

After they checked his pockets, they had made him take off his boots, and patted him down, and he knew he was right to have hidden his knife.

He was alone now. The guards had locked him up and left.

The cells were in an closed off area of the castle’s massive cellar—Rane couldn’t call it a dungeon, because it seemed to genuinely function as a cellar. He had passed barrels of wine, ale and other stores in neat rows on the way to his new room.

Vik obviously didn’t believe in keeping prisoners, because Rane was the only one down here, and by the smell and look of the place, there hadn’t been a prisoner here in some time.

The doors were made of metal bars, making each cell easy to look into from the guard room. The guards had left a lamp on the table outside, and, deep underground, and with no windows, it provided the only light.

Time was wasting. He sat down at the sturdy table next to his prison cot and helped himself to water from the jug they’d left him and some lamb pie.

It was a good pie.

Rane hadn’t eaten since his morning meal at the inn, and he ate nearly all of it.

When there was only a little left, he took out the silver spoon.

It could be that its power had nothing to do with food, but more often than not, there was some connection to an item’s real world function and the magic imbued in it by wild magic.

He already knew it wasn’t very powerful, though, and it could be that the most remarkable thing about it was that it had once been a leaf or a grain of sand, and was now a beautiful silver spoon.

Sometimes wild magic recreated things purely because they were beautiful.

For those that weren’t just for decoration, though, he and Soren had a method they’d developed over time, because you could sell a wild magic item for a lot more if you knew what it did.

A lot more.

And sometimes, a thing was so remarkable, you didn’t consider selling it at all.

Like his moonstone—now lost.

And like his knife.

Carefully, he dipped the spoon into the pie and lifted it to his nose. It smelled the same. He nibbled a bit off, and it tasted the same, too. He ate the whole spoonful and waited.

Waiting had never been either his or Soren’s strong suit.

When nothing happened after five minutes, he took another spoonful, intending to finish the pie, and after five spoons, he realized the portion in the dish looked unchanged from the first time he’d used the spoon.

He ate another five spoon, knowing the amount left should long ago have been finished and, full, put the spoon down and smiled.

Not powerful, not dangerous. It wouldn’t help him escape. But it was very, very useful.

Wild magic items eventually used themselves up. The lack of power in this one might mean that the spoon would only work a few times, but having gone hungry more than once in his life, Rane knew the value of what he’d found.

He cleaned it by pouring some of the water in the jug over it and then slipped it back into his pouch and took out the stone.

It was so unremarkable, he knew it must be extremely dangerous.

There was a law of inverse proportion at play when it came to wild magic. This one had practically shouted at him from its place off the path, and he’d known before he’d seen it that if he could work out what it did, it would be as powerful as his knife.

He took a deep breath and closed his fist around it.

He didn’t disappear, and nothing seemed different.

He switched hands. Sometimes a thing would work in one but not the other, but again, nothing happened.

He threw it in the air, stepped on it, touched it to the metal bars of his cell, the wood of the table, the cotton of the sheets on his bed.

Nothing.

If he’d had access to a fire, he would have thrown it into one next, but that test was unfortunately out.

Then he stepped into the far corner of his room, and got ready to thrown it at the wall beside the cell door.

When they’d first started finding wild magic items, and slowly realizing how much more they could make if they experimented on them first and worked out what each one did, Soren had thrown a strange piece of metal in frustration when it appeared to do absolutely nothing, even though they could both feel the strong pulse of its power.

It had taken down the front of their shed in an explosion that had left Rane’s ears ringing for over an hour.

They had decided it was too dangerous to sell, but they’d kept it hidden with their more precious items, in case they ever needed it.

Soren had taken it, in the end, and used it to break into Jasper’s stronghold.

Nuen might have it now, or, just as easily, it could have been overlooked and thrown out with the rubble.

Bracing himself, Rane threw the stone at the wall, and it smacked into it hard; hard enough to crack the plaster. It flew back straight at him.

It didn’t bounce back on some random trajectory. It was as if it was returning to him deliberately.

He caught it easily, walked over to the wall and took a good look.

The crack went all the way through the plaster to the brick beneath.

Rane walked back, lifted his arm, and put as much power as he could behind the throw this time.

The stone seemed to expand, and the sound of it striking the brick wall was loud enough to make Rane wince.

Again, it flew into his hand, shrinking back to size, and when he walked forward he saw it had made a hole in the wall.

He looked down at it. Small, seemingly inoffensive. He gave an appreciative smile, walked back to the far wall and threw it again, winding his arm back to give it as much speed as he could.

When it hit the wall it was the size of his head, and a section of brickwork collapsed with a clattering rumble and a puff of dust. Rane’s hand came up automatically and the stone seemed to slide onto his palm.

There was shouting, and Rane kicked aside a few jagged sections of the wall, stepped out into the guard room, and stood waiting.

The door burst open, and Rane threw the stone, not too hard this time, at the head of the first guard.

He crumpled, and the stone seemed to come back even faster than it had before, as if it understood speed was vital this time.

Rane threw it again, caught the second guard in the shoulder so he dropped his sword, and then aimed for his head.

When he slumped down, falling over his fellow cohort, Rane knelt beside them and checked they were still alive.

He might be serious about Vik regretting this, but he’d been Jasper’s guard and knight for a time, and he didn’t wish these men ill.

They were both breathing steadily, and so he took a leather breastplate, sword and scabbard, and strapped on a crossbow, wearing it the same way as Vik’s men did, and stepped out into the cellar.

There were three servants pressed up against a far wall, eyes wide at the sight of him, and he gave them a cordial nod of his head as he made his way to the stairs.

If he moved fast enough, kept his head down and blended, he might simply be able to stroll out of here before those servants managed to raise the alarm.

Vik’s castle wasn’t overly fortified and the gates had been open when they’d come in from Andrei’s house.

He ran lightly up the stairs, moving confidently, as if he was one of the guard, and stepped through the open cellar door into the short passageway at the back of the castle that led to the hall.

He kept to the shadows, but tried not to look like he was doing it deliberately. He ducked with relief into the kitchens, which, as with all castle kitchens, was chaotic and filled with people.

He grabbed a tray from a table and hefted it to his shoulder, weaving through flour-covered women and young boys with trays of their own.

He handed the tray to a boy loitering at the back door, and stepped out into a small kitchen garden which he guessed was on the left side of the main gates.

He followed the wall of the main building, turned right, and was back in the main courtyard they’d come through on their way in.

The gates were ahead, still open, and there was enough traffic in and out of them to make him confident he could leave without attracting attention.

He’d got halfway across the cobbled square when the castle’s front doors slammed open behind him. He didn’t break stride, didn’t look back.

Nothing would give him away faster.

“De’Villier.”

Vik’s voice boomed out, and everyone stopped and turned to look at the king.

Rane had no choice but to do the same or stand out.

Vik was looking straight at him.

“I can’t say you didn’t warn me.” The King of Phon stepped out of the doorway and at least six armed men flanked him.

Rane gripped the stone in his hand, and stood sideways, to be less of a target for the archers at the gate and at the castle doors.

He was going to have to decide.

Did he throw the stone and hit Vik, or didn’t he?

Might make for awkward times at the future negotiating table.

Chapter Twenty-One

Soren and Mirabelle

Mirabelle came awake slowly with the dawn, the chattering of birds lifting her out of deep sleep. She shifted, and realized she had somehow dug her fingers into the ground beside her bedroll in the night, deep enough to reach the second joint.

She pulled them out and cracked open her eyelids to look, and found her nails black with earth, her fingers stained with it.

She thought she saw a flash of green light, but when she blinked it was gone and she decided she must have imagined it.

She sat up carefully, expecting pain and stiffness after the way she’d been thrown about yesterday, but even her headache from where the forest bogey had hit her was gone, and when she lifted her clean hand up to her head to feel the bump, there was nothing there.

Soren lay fast asleep beside her, sprawled in the abandon of the very young or the exhausted.

She’d sensed him moving around a few times in the night, and guessed he’d kept watch for a long time, and kept the fire going.

She gazed him for long minutes, the way his dark brown hair lay across his forehead, the paleness of his skin that spoke of his weeks in Jasper’s dungeon, the massive, rangy build of him.

He had lifted her with one arm and climbed a ladder back into the imp’s kitchen, she remembered.

She didn’t know why she suddenly grew hot and flustered at the thought of it.

Her gaze dropped to his hands, calloused, broad. And she remembered how he’d held her on his lap, tucked her against his body. How he’d lain her on the bedroll and checked her carefully for injuries, given her water, and sat watch over her until she fell asleep.

Unable to sit still, her thoughts heating her cheeks, she turned away and forced herself to do something useful.

The fire had burned down since Soren had fallen asleep but the coals were still red hot, and Miri fed some branches onto them and got it going again.

She stood carefully and took up the pot, saw that Soren had retrieved the stick she’d been using as a staff and had set it beside her bed.

She stood over it, hesitant, not sure if she wanted to acknowledge it as her staff at all.

It seemed a little like conceding she would never have the silver pear again, but something, almost a compulsion, forced her to bend and pick it up.

As she walked to the stream they’d found yesterday, she realized the sense of menace from the day before was gone. The stream seemed nearer the camp, and the trees weren’t so close together and didn’t block the light as much.

Sunshine filtered in from the east and a gentle breeze of warm air blew over her, bringing the green scents of the forest.

She knelt down and washed her face, then tried to scrub the dirt from under her fingernails, still mystified as to why she’d dug her fingers so deeply in the soil. When she’d managed as well as she could without soap and warm water, she looked up to grab the pot, and found herself face to face with the imp.

She managed to cut off her scream before it was barely out of her mouth, and fell back on both hands, eyes wide.

“Just me,” it said.

Miri lowered herself to the floor and put a hand over her heart, left it there until it found its usual pace.

“Good morning.”

“Don’t like the big growly one.” It plucked at its ragged dress, and then looked at her sideways. “But growly one get rid of nasties.”

“Yes, we both owe him a debt.” She got her feet back under her and dipped the pot in the stream to fill it with water.

“You go soon?” It smiled so guilelessly, so hopefully, as it asked, she was momentarily speechless, then she choked back a laugh.

“Yes. Very soon.”

“Today?”

She nodded, and hefted the pot. The imp skipped beside her as she made her way to the camp, its dress fluttering around its sharp, spiky body.

From overhead she heard the almost mournful cry of a bird.

“Might want to leave that. Come back for it.” The imp nodded to the pot.

“Leave it?”

“That bird nasty.”

Miri frowned, and heard the bird cry again. Then what the imp said sunk in and she dropped the pot and ran.

She burst out from the trees, just in time to see a massive heron diving down at Soren, who was still sprawled across his bedroll.

Without thinking, she threw her staff so it flew end over end, windmilling toward the creature.

The bird must have seen the movement because it swerved, its wing catching Soren as it swooped in a tight turn out of the way and tumbled off its feet.

Soren jerked up, so alert she almost couldn’t believe he’d been fully asleep before.

He looked from the heron, scrabbling to its feet, to the staff, and then to her, and stood.

The bird hopped away from him, snapping its beak, then leaped into the air, beating its wings until it was above the trees.

He watched it, such enmity in the way he stood, she realized there was some history between them.

When it had disappeared completely from sight, he turned and started walking toward her.

The imp sidled out from behind her, and gave him a wide berth.

“If one thing in the camp is even out of place when I get back,” he said to it, pointing with a finger, “then I will burn your house down to the ground.”

It gasped, drew back as if mortally wounded, and then stomped away, muttering under its breath.

“You can thank it for warning me about killer herons about to attack you later,” she said to him, smiling. “A friend of yours?”

He stared at her. “I . . . it used to be an asrai . . .”

Miri frowned. “An asrai? A malevolent water sprite?”

He didn’t answer, just kept walking toward her. When he reached her, he grasped her arms above the elbows and walked her back into the forest, and by the time he had her deep in the green shadows, pressed up against a tree, she simply stared at him, bemused.

“You look . . .” He studied her hungrily, “you look beautiful.” He shook his head, annoyed with himself. “You always look beautiful, but yesterday you were hurt, and tired, and human. Today, you look . . . almost too beautiful to be real.”

She thought he’d intended to kiss her when he’d taken her here, was sure of it, but it seemed looking at her had changed his mind.

And she found she didn’t like that.

He let go of her arms, started stepping back, and so she lifted her own hands and caught his face between her palms.

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Thank you.”

He shuddered. “For what?”

“For rescuing me yesterday. For looking after me last night.” She liked the feel of his lips against hers so much, she did it again.

He went very still, and then suddenly he was leaning against her, trapping her between his body and the tree, and the kiss he gave her was no light touch of lips on lips. It involved teeth and tongue and hands that ran up her sides, cupped her breasts and held her head in place for the onslaught.

She loved it.

She felt as if she would melt into the tree itself with the heat and beauty of it, but he wrenched himself back, breathing hard, and she found she was panting as well.

She reached for him again and he caught her hands, brought them to his lips.

“That imp is lurking here somewhere, and who knows what else.” His voice was raw. “When we continue this, it will be in a bedroom with a lock on the door and a bed.”

She realized she’d stopped breathing at the image he’d invoked, and forced herself to take in air.

Her gaze was locked with his. “When will we have time for that?” She hadn’t meant to sound so sad.

He flinched, acknowledging the priorities. Ran frustrated hands through his hair. “Let’s get to Jerat and see.”

He turned away, and Miri wondered if he realized he’d spoken as if he were making a promise, rather than a compromise.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jerat was only three hours from the clearing where they’d spent the night.

Soren saw the smoke rising as they crested a rise, and started looking for the path that would take them east, out of the Great Forest.

Jerat was one of the few towns so close to the border, but even it put a little distance between itself and danger.

Therston Town was the only other exception, and it skirted the line even more finely than Jerat, with the Hidden Market right up against the Great Forest itself.

Mirabelle was in front of him, and he called her back when he spotted the fork in the path.

“Jerat,” he said, pointing down the narrow track.

They had kept away from each other since he’d kissed her earlier. As if even the smallest touch would be too much to bear.

She looked down at herself. “How usual is it for women to be dressed like this in Jerat?”

He didn’t need to look at her to answer. He’d spent all morning drinking in every detail of her. Her white shirt was loose, giving only a hint of the lithe body beneath it, but her trousers were tight around the hips and molded her backside perfectly.

Her jacket was rolled and tied under the small pouch she carried.

He tipped his head from side to side. “It’s a little unusual, but Jerat is full of woodsmen who work the trees. It won’t be unheard of to see a woman in men’s clothing.”

She nodded, used her staff to push aside the branch of a thick bush obstructing the way, and started forward.

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

She turned, and he was dumbstruck again, just as he’d been this morning.

She glowed. He didn’t understand what had happened between last night and now, but before, he’d been afraid he’d bruise her if he touched her. She’d been left fragile by what happened in Halakan and their encounter with the forest bogeys.

Since he’d woken with a jerk to find her protecting him from the asrai-turned-heron he and Kayla had met over a week ago, she radiated energy, her pale green eyes bright as she waited for him to speak.

This morning she’d been almost blinding, close to inhuman and untouchable. If she hadn’t reached for him, stopped him stepping back, he wouldn’t have put his hands on her. But now, while she still glowed, the effect was muted. Still not quite normal, but more believable, more easily explained away by good health and natural beauty.

He looked down at his hand resting on her shoulder, and let it slide up until he held the back of her neck. He wanted to delay the moment they stepped through into Jaret, where he would no longer have her to himself, might even have to part ways with her.

He should be thinking only of Rane. Only of getting back the golden apple. And while both those things rode him, prodding him on, she took up most of his focus. He felt something strange in her presence. It had taken him until this morning to realize it was contentment.

“I want . . .” He pulled her closer to him. “Give me a moment. Before . . .”

She lifted a hand, cupped his cheek. “Before we have to face the music again.”

He enfolded her, resting his cheek on the top of her head and breathing in the scent of her hair. They stood, all alone, enclosed in a green bower and at that moment, quite, quite free of everything but each other.

It shouldn’t feel so good, but not since his father’s death had he felt so at peace.

She turned her head and nuzzled his neck, her lips warming his skin and the nip of her teeth breaking something loose inside him.

He hauled her up, so her face was next to his, and kissed her like he had that morning.

She made a sound at the back of her throat of approval, and with shaking fingers, he went to work on the buttons of her shirt.

There was a whistling in his head, sharp and piercing, and it took him two buttons to realize the sound was coming from the path ahead; someone walking toward them, whistling a call. Like a signal.

He drew back sharply, and if he had magical power of his own, he didn’t know what he would have done to the hapless intruder.

He looked back at Mirabelle, at the flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, and then rested his forehead against hers as he did the buttons up again.

He should have known better, anyway. This was a public path, and what he wanted to do was going to take a long time.

And needed more comfortable and private surroundings.

He pulled her close one last time, letting his body feel hers, imprinting it on his brain.

“One day, soon,” he told her.

She sighed. “Promises, promises.”

Probably just as she intended, he was laughing when he stepped back on the path, hand out for her to take, as the traveler came around the bend.

He moved cautiously, as if uncertain, and whistled again, and Soren could hear an edge of desperation in it.

It was Sam.

He pulled up short at the sight of them, eyes wide.

And then he turned tail and ran.

* * *

She was still trembling with desire.

Then the man came around the bend and stared at them in horror.

It took Miri a few moments to recognize him as Sam, the youngest prisoner in William’s cell and the one who had explained how they’d all gotten there to her.

He froze when he saw them, turned around and ran in the opposite direction.

Miri had let her staff slip from her fingers when Soren had kissed her, and it cost her precious seconds to grab it up.

By the time she had it—sky magic sizzling in the air above her—he was out of sight.

Soren gave chase and she had no choice but to follow. There was a log across the path, and when she leaped over it, she felt the tug of the Great Forest, holding her back for just a moment.

It was like a friend holding on that moment longer, reluctant to let go, rather than anything obsessive or malicious.

When she broke free and landed on the other side, she knew she’d crossed the border.

Something made her turn back, even while she ran, and blow a kiss over her shoulder, and she thought she felt a gentle touch of the breeze on her cheek as she did it.

Soren was gaining on Sam, pulling ahead of her, and when he looked back to check on her, he pulled up sharply and waited for her to join him.

“Why did you stop?” She saw he had shortened his steps so she could keep pace.

Sam was still visible up ahead, but the gap was widening all the time.

“Not leaving you alone in the forest again.”

“We aren’t in the Great Forest anymore. Didn’t you feel it when we crossed over?” She panted the words out, frustrated that she was so much slower.

Soren shook his head, but her words were enough for him to speed up after Sam.

She saw bright sunlight and burst from the trees. Jerat was up ahead, and the path cut across at an oblique angle and joined a short, winding dust road.

The town sat on a low hill, walled with the wood from the forests around it like the crown on a king’s head.

The houses within, visible through the wide open double gates, were all steep-pitched roofs and deep window boxes full of summer flowers.

She saw Sam dart through the gates and Soren reach them moments later, draw up sharply, and then stand, waiting for her to join him.

She tried to keep up her pace, but some sense of danger had her turning back to look.

A heron sat, ruffled and grumpy, at the top of one of the trees at the edge of the forest.

She stumbled to a stop, and saw Soren notice it, too, and start running back down to her.

She lifted her staff, and with an angry call, it heaved itself into the air and disappeared over the trees.

“What is it doing, do you think?” she asked him when he joined her.

He shook his head. “When I asked Kayla to turn it into a heron, I thought she would make it a real heron, but it must still be the asrai, in a heron’s body.”

“In which case, it doesn’t like you very much.”

He grinned down at her. “It didn’t like me much even before I got it changed into a heron, and all I did then was get a drink of water from a stream.”

Unable to do anything about the heron now, she turned back to Jerat. “Why did you let Sam go?”

“He disappeared. I didn’t want you to have to go into town alone.”

She frowned. “He was meeting someone in the woods. Whistling to let them know he was there.”

Soren nodded. “Definitely. Question is, who? He isn’t from here originally, he must have come with Garth and Jon. I saw they’d formed a friendship from their time together in William’s dungeon.”

“Maybe he was meeting Garth? He’s a woodsman, it makes sense Sam would be looking for him in the woods.”

Soren gave a slow nod. “But then, why did he run?”

Mirabelle was afraid of the answer, so she forced herself to say it anyway. “Because he has the silver pear, and seeing me, realizing I’ve come for it, he doesn’t want to give it back.”

Soren tipped her chin up with a finger. “If that’s the case, he’ll be very sorry.”

He looked like he had on the path earlier, like he could happily commit murder and sleep like a baby afterward.

It cheered her.

“Well, let’s go find the truth. Maybe he was just startled, and ran without thinking.”

“Maybe,” Soren murmured, but Mirabelle knew he didn’t think so.

To be honest, neither did she.

Chapter Twenty-Three

They asked an old woman at the gate where they could find Garth and she directed them to an inn called The Hole.

Soren didn’t like the look of it.

It had a seedy air and was set back from the more respectable houses and wide roads, down a narrow alley. The high buildings on either side blocked out the light and created lots of dark places.

There was a well just outside the door, perhaps left over from when Jerat had been a smaller village, before it had been swallowed up in the general expansion of the town.

It was obviously the reason for the inn’s name, and like its namesake, it looked run down and smelled dank.

Soren opened the door and Miri stepped over the threshold with him.

The room was dark and smoky. A fire crackled in a massive fireplace, and it turned the light coming in through the lead-pane windows a hazy blue as it puffed out smoke.

The smell of spilled ale and sweaty bodies was heavy in the air, and Mirabelle stopped just inside the door and kept her hand on it to hold it open.

He smiled at her. “Not used to village inns?”

She shook her head. “No great loss, I’m forced to say.”

Soren approached a thin, wiry man sitting at the closest table. “Garth here?”

The man gave a nod, jerked his head toward the back of the room.

Mirabelle left the door open behind her and stepped up beside him. It seemed to him, even in the gloom, she glowed.

It was why he didn’t pay attention to how intently the men in the room were staring at them as they moved toward the back. If he’d been them, Soren knew he’d have been staring at Miri, too.

But when they got to the last table, tucked behind a thick wooden support, and Garth wasn’t there, Soren turned slowly, his hand sliding into his pocket to touch the moonstone.

The room had changed.

What had been a disparate collection of men, bent over tables and deep in conversation, had become something else all together.

A mob.

Focused on them.

One man slowly scraped back his chair, and stood. “Garth never said nothing about a woman.”

There was some low muttering.

“Perhaps you can direct us to his house?” Mirabelle asked. “As he’s not here.”

Soren didn’t know if she didn’t understand the situation, or was simply hoping what her eyes were telling her was wrong.

There was silence. The first true silence since they’d stepped through the door, as if Miri’s words made them look at her properly for the first time.

“I never was one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” another man said. He lifted his heavy, stocky frame up from his chair. “Take out the man, take the woman. Why not?”

Mirabelle looked at him coldly. “Did you just threaten to do my friend and me harm?”

Soren glanced at her, saw her fingers were sparking. He took hold of the moonstone, but didn’t close his fist around it quite yet.

“Is this on Garth’s instructions?” She sounded genuinely interested.

“I have a feeling it is.” The old woman at the gate must have had orders to send anyone who asked after Garth here, and Garth had organized a very warm welcome for whoever turned up looking for him.

The question was, was he specifically thinking of them, or was it Travis and his thugs or someone else he thought he needed protection against?

“That’s what I think, too.” Miri looked at him sidelong, and a shiver of blue went down her staff.

He blinked. That hadn’t happened before.

From a table just in front of them, a man exploded out of his seat, grabbed Mirabelle, spun her round and held her against his chest, hand around her throat.

He had gray bristles on a dark-skinned face, a wiry build and a look of defiance in his eyes.

Soren had been a knight and a woodcutter, but for the last year he’d been nothing short of a one man army, intent on destruction.

He let that show, the side Mirabelle seemed to ease and soften, but which was far from gone.

The man swallowed hard, tightened his grip, and Soren pounced.

Mid-leap he closed his hand around the moonstone, and ducked behind the man, hitting him with all his strength on the side of his head.

The man howled and let Miri go.

It set them all off. They had a taste for a fight, and they were determined to get one, even if there was only one of him, and he had vanished.

He suddenly realized it made Miri the only target, so he let go of the stone again, and stepped in front of her. His sudden appearance gave everyone a moment’s shock, but only a moment.

While he swung and blocked as a wave of bodies and fists slammed into him, he thought he heard someone shout: “Stop!”

No-one responded, and Soren had taken a fist to the gut, so he couldn’t laugh at the notion that anyone was going to stop now.

“The man said stop.” Mirabelle spoke from behind him with a bite to her voice, but not loudly.

Everyone stopped.

Froze, more like, exactly in place.

Soren found he was able to shake the paralysis off immediately, and saw Garth, red-faced, panting, and Jon just behind him, standing in the doorway.

“Your friends planned to hurt or kill Soren, and take me.” Miri stared at Garth coldly across the silent room, and blue sparkled overhead.

Garth went white. “I never thought . . .” He turned slowly, taking in the whole room.

“This is your thanks for Miri saving you?” Soren asked, and was surprised his voice shook.

“He thought she was dead.” Jon spoke up. “We heard the soldiers talking about it while we were hiding from them in the forest. How she’d been struck down by Andrei Wolfsblood.”

Miri seemed to flinch at hearing the name of the sorcerer who’d attacked, and Soren stored it away to ask her about later.

“So who did you think would be after you?” Soren leaned against the wall casually, but his fists where tight at his sides.

“William. Travis.” Garth shrugged. “It was just insurance.”

“Why did Sam run when he saw us, then?” Miri twirled a hand, and those who were standing at the edges, and hadn’t gotten involved, were suddenly free. They jostled Garth and Jon in their run for the door.

Garth frowned. “You saw Sam? When?”

“In the forest on our way here. Not half an hour ago.” Soren narrowed his eyes. “You’re telling us he didn’t let you know?”

Garth blew out a breath. “I can see how you’d think this was planned for you if Sam saw you and ran. But the only thing I can think of is he’s worried about us taking . . .” He went quiet.

“Yes.” Miri circled the man who had threatened his death and her rape, and then looked back at the man who’d grabbed her. “About my property.”

Soren remembered the look she’d had in Halakan dungeon, when Garth had told her William was coming with a new sorcerer. She looked the same way now. Truly angry.

Garth collapsed onto a chair. Lifted a shaking hand to his head. “I knew you were a sorcerer when you bespelled the dungeon as we left. And when I found . . . your property, I was only coming back to help, I swear it. I don’t know what I would have done with it if I thought you were alive, but as it was, we thought you were dead.”

Soren believed him, but it still didn’t explain Sam’s reaction.

“The men attacking you, most of them are friends of ours. I didn’t think they could be as stupid as this, but I did ask them to take care of any stranger who came looking for us, so this is my fault, not theirs.” Garth was careful not to ask Miri to release them directly.

Soren turned to her, wondering what she would do.

She waved her hand again, and everyone but the man who’d openly threatened them and the man who grabbed her was released.

Most of them stumbled forward, then lifted their hands in a sign of truce. Sidled toward the wall and then out.

Jon cuffed a few on the head as they moved past him.

“I have what you’re looking for at my house.” Garth stood, and indicated the door.

Miri nodded and started forward, and Jon fidgeted uncomfortably.

“What are you going to do with them?” He jerked his head at the two she’d left frozen.

Miri glanced back. “Nothing.”

Garth gaped at her. “You’re just going to leave them like that?”

“That one openly planned to ’take’ me. That one grabbed me.” She shuddered. “Why should I do anything?”

Even though they were frozen in place, Soren thought both men radiated panic as she spoke.

She walked out the door.

“Hey!” The wiry man who’d been at the entrance when they’d first arrived, the one who’d lied about Garth being deeper in the room, stepped after her, and Soren wondered if he understood the error of leaving Soren at his back. “You can’t leave them like that. What am I supposed to do with them?”

Miri turned, and the man stumbled to a halt. “I don’t like liars. I don’t like innkeepers who let women be threatened and grabbed in their establishments.”

Garth and the innkeeper exchanged a look, and then Garth carried on, and Miri followed him.

The innkeeper muttered something under his breath, and Soren tapped him on the shoulder. “She’s not the one you need to worry about.” He kept his voice deliberately low. “And you will talk about her with respect.”

The look the innkeeper gave him as he brushed past was wide-eyed.

When he was halfway down the street, he heard the shout of relief as Miri released the two men who’d threatened her.

He turned to face the door as they ran out. Let them see what was on his mind.

They backed away, pressed up against the inn.

Then Soren spun and put on a bit of extra speed to catch up with Miri. Halfway there he realized he was whistling cheerfully under his breath.

The silver pear was almost back in their hands.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“It’s gone.” Garth scooped everything in his small chest out onto the table, and looked, horrified, into the empty wooden casket.

Jon leaned over his shoulder, frowning.

Miri could feel her anger and despair rising, feel the sky magic, just a reach away, and Jon was suddenly on his knees in front of her.

“Garth was doing you a favor. I swear it. I swear.” He spoke directly to her, eyes stricken. “He went back to help you, the only one who did, but then me ’n’ Sam realized and went back, too. We thought you were dead.”

“And now you know I’m not.” Miri pushed off the wall, and he bowed his head.

“It was here this morning. I don’t know where it’s gone.” Garth spoke tonelessly.

“So where would Sam take it, and why?” Soren asked, his voice cold and hard, and Miri blinked.

Of course. Sam had taken it. It would explain why he’d run when he’d seen them.

She swallowed back her anger. She should have known finding the silver pear wouldn’t be that easy.

She was still reeling from what had happened at the inn. Growing up, she’d managed a lot of magic most sorcerers couldn’t do, but had seldom dabbled in things they did all the time.

It had frustrated, and then pleased, her father. Bespelling Soren and the guards at William’s stronghold had been the first time she’d tried a spell sorcerers considered a normal exercising of their power. And today, holding a roomful of men at bay—her father would have been thrilled.

He wouldn’t have cared why she’d done it, the fear that had risen in her at their grabbing hands, their pounding fists, anger at the harm they were doing to Soren, and planned to do to her—she rubbed a shaking hand down her side. He’d have hailed it as a clear mark of her power.

Thirty men, all frozen.

And here she was, feeling a little guilty about it, but not guilty enough to forgo the small glow of satisfaction at their fear of her, of turning it around and giving them a taste of what it was like.

That she hadn’t done much, much worse to the men would have confused her father, but he’d have been happy she’d at least thought about vengeance.

“Sam.” Garth was suddenly grim. He slammed the lid of the chest shut. “The little bastard.”

“Who would he sell it to here?” Soren looked out the window of Garth’s small, steep-roofed house. “When we saw him this morning, he was clearly looking for someone. Whistling to let them know he was there. It was deep in the Great Forest, though, and I doubt anyone would have chosen to meet there. He may have taken the wrong path by mistake.”

Garth shook his head. “He only got to Jerat with us two days ago, he doesn’t know anyone to sell it to.”

“Oh, I think Sam could find the right person to sell it to,” Soren said, voice dry.

Joe sighed in agreement as he got back to his feet. “He’s a piece of work, that one. But it’s ’cause he’s had to be, growing up rough.” He looked across at her, and Miri could see in his face that he was trying to explain to her, hoping she’d go easy on Sam when he came back.

Because where else could he go?

“There’s a place near the edge of the forest. I saw him there yesterday, hanging around, and wondered what he was up to. Got him to come home, although it was clear he didn’t want to.” Garth rubbed the lid of the chest absently.

“Meeting someone who wanted to buy it?” Soren asked, and Garth gave a reluctant nod.

“Could well be. Not that I knew that then. Thought maybe he’d met a girl in the village, and I didn’t want any trouble with anyone. I’ve got to live here, and I didn’t want an angry father at my door.”

Jon said nothing, but Miri saw him shake his head, and close his eyes.

“Well then, let’s go.” Soren looked out the window one last time, angling so it would be difficult for anyone approaching the cottage to see him. Eventually he gave a nod and Garth opened the door and they all followed him out.

He went right, through a small copse of trees and then down into a shallow dip which had reeds growing as high as his head. The path looped to the left, and suddenly they were on a bank of short green grass with a small pond beyond.

Sam was lying on the ground and a man was bent over him, blue light like a swarm of bees around his hand. A heron stood in the shallow water on the edge of the pond and watched them with beady eyes.

The man looked up, and Miri saw he had a staff in his other hand. It looked crooked, as if it had been cracked.

She drew as much sky magic as she could after her spell at the inn, and wished she’d held herself back there. Hadn’t let anger wash over her and spur her on to teach them such a big lesson.

The sight of blue dancing at her fingertips and shivering down her staff made the sorcerer go still for a moment.

He gestured to the heron, and it levered itself out of the water and bent down over Sam, so its long, sharp beak held just over his eye.

Then he straightened and focused on them.

“What have you got us into, boy?” Garth asked softly.

Under the watchful eye of the heron, Sam flinched.

His clothes looked worse than they had when she’d first seen him in the dungeon. Torn and dirty.

It could have been a result of his escape through the forest, but he’d been here two days, and she had the feeling Garth would have done something about it.

His cheek was swollen, too, and his face and arms scratched, as if he’d been in a fight.

“This is the bird that followed us from Halakan.” He looked sidelong at it. “The one that saw us with the silver pear.” He tried to move away from the beak, sliding his body, but it leaned a little more, put its beak even closer, and he froze.

“Your pet, I take it, Eric?” Soren asked, and Miri drew in a shocked breath.

There had been a chance this was Eric the Bold, but she’d never met him before. Soren had, though.

His gaze swung to Soren, and he took a step back in shock. “You!”

Soren slid his hand into his pocket, and Miri realized he was getting the moonstone. “Me.”

There was something in Soren’s face, a look of longing, and Miri realized he was desperate to ask Eric if his brother and his brother’s princess were all right, but knew Eric would never give him a truthful answer.

“What happened to you when you touched the gem? Where did you go?”

Soren looked at him with contempt. “I’m not telling you anything while you have Sam on the floor with a bird about to peck out his eye.”

“Really? He was about to sell something precious that belonged to Gerald of Halakan. I’m surprised you care what happens to him. I’m sure Gerald’s daughter doesn’t.” He looked pointedly at her.

“How do you know I’m Gerald’s daughter?” Miri took a step closer to Eric, and he raised his hand, the swarm of blue still circling it.

“No closer. You look like him, for a start, but as far as I know, Gerald’s daughter is the only living female sorcerer.” Eric cocked his head. “Not that he talked about you much. And he certainly kept you hidden. I had no idea how lovely you were.”

“Let Sam go.” She tried not to react to his leer.

“Not until he tells me where he’s hidden the silver pear.”

“Why do you want it?” Miri asked him. The answer was obvious only if he knew what it could do, and she thought her father had kept that a close secret.

“Because it was precious to Gerald of Halakan. Besides,” Eric massaged the top of his staff, “I used to own the golden apple, and I can only think the silver pear would be from the same, very elevated, source. And definitely worth having.”

Miri felt a whisper of relief run through her. He didn’t know exactly what it did. And unlike the golden apple, how the silver pear worked was not obvious. “The silver pear was only precious to my father when it was powerful. When he’d used it up, he gave it to me to wear as a piece of jewelry.”

Eric narrowed his eyes, but she knew he must already have his doubts, because her father was power-hungry, and in the normal course of things would have kept the silver pear himself if he hadn’t truly drained it and gone so long without it. He’d almost forgotten about it, in the end.

“Used it up? You can’t use things like the silver pear and the golden apple up.”

She didn’t answer him, just stared him down, and he looked away, petulant as a child.

“Where is it?” He crouched beside Sam, and lowered the hand holding the terrible, swarming spell toward Sam’s stomach.

Sam looked at her from the ground, his face white.

She couldn’t help him. She wasn’t at full strength, and neither she nor Soren could move fast enough to get to him before Eric did.

“Tell him,” she said to Sam. She kept her face quite blank. “A memento of my mother’s life is not worth dying for.”

Eric looked up at her sharply. “He said that. Before he died. When he didn’t really know where he was anymore. He said the silver pear killed her.”

Miri drew in a sharp breath. “You killed my father?”

Eric studied her. “I did. I’m surprised you’re so upset about it. Gerald of Halakan was not an easy man.”

“I loved my father.” Miri looked at Sam, gave the tiniest nod of her head. “But when it came to my mother, he was a liar. The silver pear didn’t kill her. He did.”

Eric frowned. “I’m not persuaded. Where is it?” He gave Sam a tiny taste of the spell hovering over him, making him cry out in pain.

“In the woodshed. Just in case you came back and ransacked the house.”

“Not a very trusting soul, are you?” Eric dipped his hand again, and Sam screamed. “You.” Eric pointed to Jon. “Go get it. Any delay, and your little friend here will be sorry.”

Jon turned and ran, and the heron leaped into the air after him and followed, circling in the sky above him.

“Sounds like Sam wasn’t going to sell it to you, after all.” Soren said, and Miri realized he was closer to Eric than he had been, taking advantage of every distraction to move a little nearer.

“He was interested, he just didn’t trust me completely.” Eric looked down at Sam. “That’s right, isn’t it? You only hesitated because you thought I was planning to cheat you, not because you had any scruples about selling it.”

Sam closed his eyes and turned his head away. “I was going to speak to Garth about it, first.”

Miri could see he knew he wasn’t going to escape this. It was in Eric’s eyes. He was furious that Sam had thwarted him, had caused this stand-off, and when he had what he wanted, he was going to unleash that fury.

“While we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me what happened to you when you touched that gem.” Eric turned back to Soren.

“Touch it yourself and find out,” Soren said, hand deep in his pocket, and maybe, just maybe, a few steps closer again than he had been. “I left it on the floor of your dungeon.”

Eric’s lip drew back, and he looked as if he were snarling. A few sparks of blue lifted from the mass around his hand and made for Soren, and Miri let her own fingers flare.

“No.”

Eric flicked a look at her, pulled the sparks back. “Think you’re a match for me? You’re a baby.”

She nodded. “Yes. But you’ve heard the rumors. You don’t know quite what it is I can do.” From the corner of her eye she could see Soren’s expression. It was lighter than it had been. She realized Eric’s reaction of anger and frustration had told him something Eric hadn’t realized. Told him that his brother was not in Eric’s dungeon. That Rane had taken the gem with him when he’d escaped.

Eric suddenly looked between them, as if realizing Soren was much closer than he should be.

“Get back.” He waited until Soren took a few reluctant steps back, then opened his eyes wide in astonishment. “I can’t believe I didn’t put it together before. That gem was Gerald’s. He hid his bag before I captured him, and I kept my ear to the ground in case it turned up. I thought it was a wild magic gem, that Gerald had found it or bought it. I have an informant in the Hidden Market, and they told me a sorcerer’s bag had found its way up for sale, that one of the servants of the man who sold it disappeared when he touched a gem in the bag. That’s why I sent your brother after it, I knew whose hands it ended up in. But I just realized, you two are traveling together. Were in the Great Forest together, according to my bird. It makes sense that the gem took you to Halakan. That says it isn’t wild magic, Gerald bespelled that gem himself.”

Soren lifted a shoulder, completely at ease. “Think what you like.”

Eric focused on her, a sly smile playing across his face. “Why aren’t you protecting your liege lord? William of Nesta can’t be happy that you’ve abandoned him at such a dangerous time. Even if it is to race after the silver pear.”

“It’s only a dangerous time because you’ve made it so. I heard from my father you’ve killed three other sorcerers beside Hirst Red Tongue, and to keep up with you, Nuen has destroyed every sorcerer in Therston. The two of you are out for all the power you can get.”

Eric clicked his tongue. “Now, now. Don’t try to divert the conversation. The only reason you would leave Halakan and make a suicidal journey through the Great Forest is because you are desperate for the silver pear. And that would only be because it’s powerful.”

Miri laughed, let the bitterness she felt for William come through, almost grateful he’d given her such a good excuse to leave him, now.

“No, you’re behind the times. That gem had landed more than just Soren in William’s stronghold. More and more men came through who touched it or were caught in its light. Including a whole guard from Jasper of Harness’s stronghold. William wanted me to torture them, find out if they were being sent by some sorcerer like you, Eric, trying to bring him down from within, but I refused.” She could hear Jon returning behind her, making as much noise as he could as he trampled the path.

Garth half-turned to watch him coming.

She needed to talk fast. Convince Eric the pear was not her reason for leaving Halakan. “William decided to break his obligations to me, not the other way around. He brought in Andrei Wolfsblood to kill me and take my place.”

Eric went still. “Andrei Wolfsblood. That upstart thinks he can move into the vacuum in Halakan when I was the one who killed Gerald?” He spoke low, almost to himself. “Is this the truth?”

“Aye.” Garth opened his hands, widened his stance. “I was one of the men who touched the gem and ended up in the stronghold. I was there when Andrei Wolfsblood arrived to challenge her. I know Mirabelle barely got away with her life.” He paused. “That’s why we took the silver pear, which she’d dropped. We thought she was dead.”

There was no doubting Garth was telling the truth.

Miri pressed the point home. “I ran through the forest with Soren because as a wild magic hunter, he knows the paths. And it was the fastest, safest way to leave Halakan. William had men searching for us not five minutes after we escaped, and that’s the one place they won’t go.”

Eric hissed in a breath and Mirabelle thought he was beginning to believe her about the silver pear. As long as he didn’t know what he had, didn’t try to understand what it could do, they could work out a way to steal it back.

The heavy beating of a heron’s wings sounded, and the bird landed beside Eric, fluffing up its feathers.

Jon held a small, cloth-wrapped parcel in his hands. He looked at her nervously.

“Bring it here.” Eric was forced to prop his staff against his side and hold out the hand that wasn’t carrying his spell.

He crouched when Jon gave it to him, set it on the ground and opened it up.

Miri’s heart gave a hard, painful beat at the sight of it. It was almost part of her, and she had to force herself not to move.

Eric’s other hand, coated with blue, had moved over Sam’s body again, in silent warning.

Gingerly, Eric touched it with a finger. Frowned. “What does it do?” He lowered his hand toward Sam.

Miri shook her head. “My father never told me. All I know is he used it up in a huge spell before I was born and he never used it again.”

Eric’s hand closed around it in a grip so hard, Miri could see the whites of his knuckles. “That’s the story he spun me, as well.”

“He was telling the truth.”

For a sweet, beautiful moment, it looked as if Eric was going to throw the pear away, then his fingers tightened even more. “I’ve wasted a lot of time getting this, and even if it’s useless, it has an intrinsic value of its own.” He shoved it into the pouch hanging across his chest. “Now.” He stood, looked down at Sam. “You’ve been quite a lot of trouble.” He raised his hand, and from nowhere, from thin air, something slammed into him and brought him to the ground.

Miri looked and saw Soren had vanished, and she grabbed the sky magic she’d been holding ready and Sam was suddenly behind her, at Garth and Jon’s feet, away from Eric.

“Go,” she said, turning to them, and Garth and Jon each took an arm and they ran, dodging the small ball of wild magic her spell had created. She sent it to the Great Forest with a wave of her staff.

She’d used only what she needed to for Sam, or tried to. She had a little left over.

Eric was on the ground, waving his hand with the swarming spell in all directions and his heron was stabbing wildly with its beak, not with any focus, but simply trying to find where Soren was.

Eric’s spell.

She’d never seen anything like it, but it was dark and it meant death. She knew that.

He’d paid the price for it already, it was completely present, fully formed. Most likely when it was discharged he would need to rest before he could fight again, and so she did the only thing she could.

Like she had with Sam, she moved the heron, from Eric’s feet onto Eric’s hand.

The blue lights coalesced on it, and it gave a terrible, high shriek and was still.

It fell, limp, onto the ground, and wild magic shimmered into being off to the right. Eric scrabbled away from it, grabbing his fallen staff and hauling himself to his feet.

“When I’ve dealt with Andrei, I’ll be back for you,” he hissed at her, flicking his hand at the wild magic and banishing it. Then, as a branch lifted off the ground and swung at him, he twirled his staff over his head and disappeared.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Kayla and Rane

There was some disturbance beyond the gate.

Kayla quickened her pace and saw the archers on the castle wall were standing to attention, bows pointed down into the courtyard.

Rane.

She picked up her skirts and ran.

They were all so intent on the scene playing out within, no-one stopped her or even looked her way when she passed under the portcullis.

Rane stood halfway between the gate and the castle doors, quite alone, although there were plenty of people watching, pressed up against the walls or far enough away not to be caught by a stray arrow.

He was busy unbuckling a sword from his waist, and she saw a crossbow lying at his feet already.

He threw the sword down as well, his eyes on Vik, who was moving down the stairs of the main castle, flanked by guards. Rane had something in his hand, his fingers curled around it in a loose fist.

Even if what he was holding could do some damage, there were at least twenty bows pointed at him.

“Vik the Steady. What on earth is happening here?” Kayla was pleased her voice came out strong and clear, even though her heart was hammering in her chest at the thought of Rane shot.

She could stop the arrows.

She forced herself to take a deep breath. She could stop the arrows. She had before when she’d saved Soren from Jasper, but it would use a lot of her wild magic, and she had a feeling she’d need every bit of it to get them both out of here.

Vik stopped at the sound of her voice and frowned. “Who are you?”

Time to be a princess again.

Kayla threw back her hood, and pushed her cloak back from her shoulders, so the glimmer and glow of the wild magic gems were visible, the crown on her head clear to all.

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize me,” she said, and hoped this man was not as proud and unyielding as he had once been, or she might be in line for an arrow herself.

Rane had turned to look at her, and she saw astonishment, and then his face went blank. He shook his head, as if she should never have come to his rescue. Could somehow turn around and get herself away from this situation.

She almost laughed at him.

“Princess Kayla of Gaynor.” Vik sounded . . . shocked.

Kayla dipped into a perfect, courtly curtsey as silence descended on the courtyard.

She felt every single eye on her.

She raised her head. “It has been a few years. I trust you are well?”

Vik opened his mouth and then closed it again, and Kayla took advantage of his silence to walk toward Rane. “How is Queen Elanie? I very much enjoyed her company when she visited Gaynor, and I look forward to seeing her again.”

She reached Rane’s side, and he looked as if he wanted to throttle her.

“I can’t protect you here,” he said to her, low and just for her ears. “There are too many of them.”

“As I am the one protecting you, that doesn’t really matter.” She smiled at him, and his gaze flickered to her face, and then to her crown, and the jewels on her fingers and around her neck.

She could almost see him thinking he wasn’t good enough for her. That a poor woodsman and a rich princess were never meant to be.

“Wild magic,” she said, leaning closer to him so her lips almost brushed his ear. “Everything on me is a piece of wild magic. This far from the forest, it was the best I could do.”

She sensed him relax, and then, at last, he grinned at her, shook his head again, but this time, the anger was gone.

“Sooty?” He finally noticed the cat, tucked under Kayla’s arm, and Kayla stroked the top of her head.

“Didn’t want to start a riot,” she said.

Vik said something in low tones to his men, and walked forward alone.

“You know this man?” He looked between them.

“Rane De’Villier is my betrothed.” She had thought this through, but however badly Vik might take it, he was married, and they would have to deal with him in the future. There could be no lying about it now.

“He told me so, but I didn’t believe him.”

“You didn’t believe me about a lot of things,” Rane said, and put an arm around Kayla, pulling her close. He still held something in his other hand, and from the way he did, Kayla knew it was a weapon.

Vik stopped walking toward them, and Kayla saw that the guards he’d left at the steps hadn’t stayed there, they’d moved quietly around until she and Rane were surrounded. Kayla tilted her head, keeping her gaze on Vik.

“I’m sorry, your highness. Much as I value Gaynor’s friendship, the safety of Phon comes first.”

He didn’t look that sorry.

“The safety of Phon?” Kayla frowned, and looked at Rane, not Vik, for answers.

“Andrei Wolfsblood has accepted a position elsewhere, leaving Phon without a sorcerer, and Vik thinks I know something about what’s going on.”

“We don’t know anything about your sorcerer,” she said to Vik.

“I think De’Villier does. He knows more than I do, in any event. And he refused to stay and tell me what he knows.”

“Why didn’t you just go with him on part of his journey? I’m sure he would have shared whatever he knew.”

Beside her, Rane smiled. “He wanted me questioned at his convenience, not mine.”

Kayla narrowed her eyes. “That seems very much in character.”

Again, all around her became absolutely silent.

Vik stared at her, open-mouthed. “And just what is my character, princess?” His question was soft.

The conversation she had just had with the Falkirks rang in Kayla’s ears, and her old anger from Elanie’s revelations about how the story of her rejecting Vik had spread flared back to life.

This was a question best answered in private, but Vik had asked it here and now, and if he wanted an answer, she would give him one.

“Remember,” Rane said in her ear, “we’re in enemy territory. Best to keep a cool head.”

She gave him a long look, and his eyes widened and he lifted his hands in truce.

Kayla turned back to Vik. “You tell me. What would you call a man who asked a child to marry him, and when she said no, took offense? Every year, for three years after that, he traveled to her, stopping along the way at inns and towns to boast about how grateful she would be to have another chance to say yes, and how lucky she was that he would deign to give her one. A man, who when he stood in front of her, treated her like a simpleton, mocking her views and talking over her. What would you say about the character of a man like that?”

A wind blew through the courtyard, rattling something off to one side. It was a testament to how quiet things were that she could hear it.

Vik clenched his fists, then drew himself up. “Perhaps we should have this conversation indoors.” His voice was low, and she inclined her head. At last, he was using his brain.

She took a step forward.

Something flew past her cheek, close enough she felt the brush of a feather, and landed with a clatter on the cobbles.

She looked down at it, putting Sooty on the ground as she stooped to see it properly in the fading light. It was an arrow.

She spared Vik an astonished glance as Rane leaped to protect her back, and then she looked up at the battlements.

Perhaps the man who shot the first arrow made a mistake, or perhaps he’d been one of Vik’s men, beaten in a Gaynor inn on the way home after his king had been humiliated, but now the first shot had been made, she was afraid more would follow. She couldn’t risk it, and she couldn’t be sure she would see every arrow in time.

She pulled wild magic toward her and ripped the arrows and bows from the archers’ hands and smashed them to the ground, just as she had done at Jasper’s.

The portcullis started coming down, and not wanting to be trapped within, Kayla sheered the door off completely, so all fifteen feet of it smashed into the ground and fell over.

Rane was standing beside her, arm raised as if to throw something, and Sooty was butting her hip, suddenly her usual size again.

She spared a glance down at her, wondering how she’d managed that, because Kayla hadn’t done it, but Sooty wouldn’t meet her gaze.

The wind blew again, and broken arrows skittered and rolled across the cobbles. Her wild magic cloak was lighter, and blew about more easily, no longer heavy like velvet, but a gauzy silk, the bulk of it used up in protecting them.

Vik stood, frozen.

Kayla pointed a finger at him, and saw she had no rings left and only two bracelets after what she’d done. “I never realized your feelings ran that bitter and angry, Vik, that you would wish me dead.”

A soldier stepped out of the castle door with a crossbow, and Rane flicked his arm.

Whatever he threw struck the bow out of the man’s hand and broke it, and Rane caught his weapon as it flew back to him.

Vik spun as the guard cried out. “Stop! When did I give the order to fire? This is our ally, the princess of Gaynor.”

“That warning was a little late in coming,” Rane said. “Or do you usually stand around with your mouth open while your men try to murder your allies?”

“I think perhaps my husband was simply astonished by Princess Kayla’s ability to single-handedly render the guard of this castle harmless.” Queen Elanie stepped out of the door, and her gaze moved slowly over the scene. “Princess Kayla, I’m happy to see you again, and can only extend my sincere apologies for what just happened. I didn’t realize my husband’s men were so ill-disciplined.”

Kayla gave her a tight nod. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not quite sure whether to believe it was just ill discipline, your highness. Vik always seemed to be a very competent military leader to me.”

Vik rubbed his face with both hands. “I used to be. I obviously have let things slip.”

“Obviously.” Rane tightened his grip on Kayla’s shoulder, and she realized he was vibrating with anger. She was shaking herself and she lifted her hand to grip his. It steadied her.

Vik glanced at Rane and then away.

Elanie walked up to her husband, and let her hand rest on his arm. “Would you come in?”

Kayla shifted uncomfortably.

“No.” Rane squeezed her hand and then dropped it, and Kayla realized he was keeping both hands free for whatever came next.

Elanie blushed, and looked down. “I am sorry our first meeting since my marriage has been such a disaster. I had hoped . . .”

She looked up at Kayla, and Kayla saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“You really are a bastard, Vik. You don’t deserve your wife.” Kayla couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. “Elanie, you’re welcome in Gaynor any time, and we would love to have your company at our wedding.”

She started to turn, and Vik lifted a hand and tugged at his hair. “Wait!”

She looked over her shoulder.

His face contorted, as if he was fighting with himself. “I’m sorry. I truly didn’t order that attack on you, and I will get to the bottom of why my men thought it acceptable to fire on you. I swear it.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with the boasts you made on the way to Gaynor, and the fights my countrymen picked with yours when you had to go back without what you came for.” Kayla turned again.

“Kayla. Your highness.” Vik drew in a deep breath. “You’re right. I don’t deserve my wife, and I would consider it a personal favor if you overlooked my men’s behavior today and mine in the past and ate a meal with us before you set out.”

Kayla hesitated, looked back at Elanie and then at Rane.

He wanted her to say no, she could see it in the line of his mouth. She stepped close to him.

“Sometimes, for the good of all, you have to set aside your personal feelings and do things you would rather not,” she whispered in his ear.

She lifted a hand, laid it on his chest.

He gave a sharp, reluctant nod.

Kayla turned back, ignored Vik and looked straight at Elanie. “We accept.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Vik’s private dining hall was long and narrow, with dark paneling and military standards hanging from the wall.

The room smelled musty and unaired, and Rane guessed Vik dined more often in the great hall with his men and the castle staff.

His wife looked cool and collected as she inclined her head to the servers to begin, although he could see in her movements and the straight line of her back that she was no more relaxed and happy than her husband.

There seemed to be a great many courses, but the food was good and hearty, rather than exotic and strange, and Elanie had all the dishes placed on the table and then dismissed the staff.

The doors were closed, and there was silence for a moment as they were finally left alone, the current rulers of Phon, and the future rulers of Gaynor.

Kayla had certainly walked into Urlay Castle like the queen she would one day be.

Rane knew he wasn’t the only man in the courtyard who’d been struck speechless when she’d come flying to his rescue. Vik had had some trouble himself.

She’d been magnificent. The jewels and style of her hair and gown had been eye-catching, but it was her face—determined, full of energy and purpose, that had truly gripped him.

He dropped his hand below the table and rubbed her thigh, just to remind himself of the warm feel of her, that even when she sat in her wild magic-wrought splendor at the King of Phon’s table, she was still his.

Sooty lay curled between them, snoring softly.

“How are you enjoying life in Phon?” Kayla asked Elanie, stirring a spoon through her soup, although her free hand came down over his and squeezed. “I know the land is less steep and more forested than Tibalt. Has it been difficult to adjust?”

“It is very different, but I enjoy the forest and I have been welcomed here.” Elanie’s words were measured, and Rane wondered what she wasn’t saying.

“How long has it been? Just over a year, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes. It was a year two days ago.” Elanie said, and Rane saw Vik go suddenly still.

He was seated next to his wife, and he looked sidelong at her, but said nothing.

He’d forgotten the anniversary, Rane would bet money on it. And he was both sorry and embarrassed about it.

That he was, tempered Rane’s anger at him for what had happened earlier.

Kayla set down her soup spoon. “I know it’s a good two days’ journey, and these aren’t the safest times, but I meant what I said earlier, you are most welcome to visit—”

“Enough!” Vik’s shout startled Elanie so much she upset her almost empty bowl, and Kayla went still.

Sooty stood, her hackles raised, and Rane realized he was out of his chair, stone in his hand.

Vik stood himself, tipping his chair back so it fell with a crash behind him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. But we’re talking in polite circles, when there are far more important topics to discuss.”

“And what would those topics be?” Rane asked, slowly sitting down to diffuse the suddenly dangerous atmosphere.

Vik’s shout had brought his guard running, and the last thing they needed were more arrows pointed at them.

Vik noticed the guard as well, signaled them to leave and then scrubbed his face with his hands, just like he’d done out in the courtyard. “I haven’t gotten much right today.” He looked across at his wife. “For the last few days.” He picked up his chair and sat again. “Some might say for the last year.”

Elanie said nothing, and Rane decided she agreed with him, but was too polite to say so in front of an audience.

He liked the queen more and more.

“You want to know about the sorcerers?” he said into the tense silence.

“Yes!” Vik pushed his soup aside. “What is going on?”

“It’s simple.” Rane tucked into the roast meat in front of him. “Eric the Bold, and a few other sorcerers, Andrei Wolfsblood included, are indulging in a little war. They’re flexing their muscles, trying to prove they’re the most powerful sorcerer in Middleland.”

“To what end?” Elanie asked.

“If they can kill all their rivals and become the one great sorcerer of the region, they have also realized it means they can control the region itself. So they are aligning themselves with princes and kings they think will help them, or deliberately setting countries against each other, so there is no unity, and therefore no opposition to what they’re doing.” Kayla ran a soothing hand down Sooty’s back, and Rane realized the cat was still rumbling under her breath from Vik’s sudden movements.

“How do you know this?” Vik leaned forward across the table.

“Because my father, who has never allowed a sorcerer into Gaynor, suddenly allowed Eric the Bold into Gaynor Castle, allowed him to dictate the terms of a contest for my hand, and Nuen of Harness’s brother tried to interfere with that contest. Rane and I were caught up in it, and we came to realize my father was probably coerced into co-operating with Eric. We’ve also spent time with a powerful earth-magic witch who’s been watching the sorcerers for the last few years. They are definitely involved in a power struggle.”

“Well, perhaps Gerald of Halakan has been removed from the chess board,” Vik said. “Andrei left here to go work for William of Nesta, and Gerald was his sorcerer. I can’t think why William would poach Andrei if Gerald were alive.”

Rane gave a hum of agreement, tamping down the sudden surge of urgency in him at the mention of Gerald. He needed to get to Halakan as fast as he could and find Soren. “Don’t discount that Andrei is probably manipulating William. None of these four sorcerers care for their liege lords. They plan to overthrow them when they’ve cleared the field of their competitors.”

Elanie looked across at Vik, her eyes narrow.

He sighed and then shook his head, meeting her gaze. “You told me Andrei was lying to me.”

Again, she said nothing. There was a tension between them, based on hurt and pride and idiocy.

Rane would guess most of the idiocy lay in Vik’s camp.

“So Andrei was whispering lies about my allies to me, stirring up trouble to destabilize this part of Middleland, and having done that, took a position with William to do the same?” Vik stood, but carefully this time. He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’ve been a dupe?”

Rane shrugged. “You and every other regent in Middleland.”

“And your father?” He looked over at Kayla. “You say he’s been coerced by Eric the Bold?”

She lifted her shoulders uncertainly. “From some things he said to me, I had the impression Eric threatened to harm me if he didn’t cooperate.”

Vik pushed himself upright. “Drink?” he asked Rane, and then stalked to a small table near the massive fireplace at the far end of the room which held a collection of bottles.

Rane didn’t have time for a drink—all this talk of sorcerers only strengthened his need to be off and searching for Soren, but he forced himself to follow.

He saw Elanie and Kayla come together, talking in low voices as they stood a little to one side.

“What was your journey here truly about, De’Villier?” Vik handed over a crystal glass of liqueur.

“I was telling you the truth. I’m looking for my brother, although I was hoping to get some idea of Andrei’s strengths and weaknesses while I was about it. There is only one option to save Gaynor from Eric, and that’s to bring all the sorcerers down. If we get rid of only Eric, one of the others will simply take his place.”

“You say ’we’?”

“Kayla and I. And possibly a powerful earth-magic witch called Ylana.”

“What can Phon do to help in this?” Vik watched him over the rim of his glass.

Rane considered it. “You’ve been manipulated by Andrei, and other regents in the area will have been, too, either by him or one of the other sorcerers. You could start to spread the word, send messages out explaining what Kayla and I have told you this evening. Start undoing the damage. And start with the king of Therston. Nuen is theoretically his sorcerer, but his real loyalty is to his brother, Jasper. If Nuen wins this war, Jasper will be reigning by his side, and the king of Therston will be either killed or expelled, of that I have absolutely no doubt.”

Vik gave a slow nod. “Andrei told me Gaynor was gearing up for war. That Therston was planning to boycott our fruit and that Klevan was considering going to war with Tibalt. Elanie refused to believe it, especially the information about Klevan and Tibalt, and she sent a secret message to her father to clarify. He sent a messenger who arrived today, denying it all. What you’ve told us tonight makes more sense than anything else has these last few months.”

Rane set down his glass. “We must go now. Every moment we waste, my brother could be in trouble.”

Vik set his glass down as well. “I have said sorry more tonight that I think I have in my whole lifetime, but I am sorry about what happened today. Kayla is right, I could have accompanied you along your way, and I would know all this already, and still have a gate on my castle entrance.”

Rane smiled. “And more bows and arrows in working order.”

Vik didn’t smile back. “What is she?”

Rane looked across at her. “Extraordinary.”

“You know what I mean.” Vik shifted his stance, looked at the two women as well.

Rane didn’t think Vik would be pleased to learn Kayla had brought as much wild magic as she could into his home, so he shrugged. “I know what you mean, but I’m not prepared to tell you. She is powerful, and she is determined to protect Gaynor from Eric and anyone else. That’s all you need to know.”

“I asked her to marry me four times.”

Rane lifted a brow. “I gathered that from what she said outside. It sounds as if you failed to win her over.”

Vik huffed out a laugh. “I was an ass. Although it turned out for the best. I’m happy in my marriage, although I haven’t done much better in winning over Elanie.”

Rane watched Kayla and Elanie embrace, the dark, almost black, of Elanie’s hair contrasted against the deep chestnut of Kayla’s. He turned to the king. “Try harder.”

Vik bowed to him. “I think I will.”

Rane bowed back, but before he could take his leave, Vik raised a hand. “I think you’ll want to take this.” He opened a long flat wooden box that sat on the table and lifted out the knife inside it.

Rane stared down at it, and then took it, his hand clenching around the hilt. “You saw me hide it?”

“Let’s just say I was suspicious. I sent someone back to search the area until they found something.”

Rane slid it into its place on his belt.

“May I ask why you did hide it?”

“It’s precious to me. I knew your guard would take it from me at some point and I planned to escape you as soon as possible. If someone had my knife, I would have had to find them, and that would have taken time and been . . . messy.”

Vik looked at it. “It doesn’t seem particularly sharp, or even very fine. Why do you prize it so much?”

Rane smiled. “Sentimental reasons.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Halakan looked pretty in the morning sun.

The large village, almost a town, sat nestled in a valley against a hill thick with trees, and the steep pitched roofs gleamed warm and red as the light touched them.

Rane stood next to Kayla on the opposite slope and they both looked down.

They’d ridden wild magic through the night, and again, all the wild magic had followed her, so the woods were thick with it.

Sooty had been left at Ylana’s as they’d passed near her cottage on the journey from Phon to Halakan.

Kayla still hadn’t worked out how Sooty had managed to change back to her normal size, and they couldn’t afford to draw attention to themselves in Halakan.

Kayla chose less noticeable clothes and a more subtle method of carrying wild magic with her this time, using it to create petticoats under a sensible wool skirt and the lining of her wool jacket. Out of sight.

She also took Rane’s satchel and slung it over her shoulder, and let as much wild magic as could fit pour into it before buckling the straps.

Rane stood watching her, legs braced apart. “Ready?”

She could see the tension in him, the drive to get into Halakan as fast as possible.

It was almost as if he was under a compulsion like the one Eric the Bold had used on them both when they first met. Kayla knew the feeling of being driven to a goal, although this one was entirely born of Rane’s loyalty and love for his brother.

She stepped close to him, brushed her lips over his. “Ready.”

He drew her close and hugged her very tight, then took her hand.

They stepped out from the cover of the Great Forest and walked down the open slope toward the village. A little way in the distance, down the far end of the valley, she saw a stronghold, high-walled and as imposing as Jasper’s.

If he was still alive, Gerald of Halakan was aligned to a powerful lord. A ruler with this much status would only have the best sorcerer he could find.

The village gate was already open, but when they reached it, two guards stepped into their path.

“What business?”

Kayla took in the wariness of the guards’ stance, the way one kept his gaze locked on Rane, and the other looked over Rane’s shoulder, as if expecting trouble, or more men to emerge.

She let Rane answer.

“We’ve come to speak to Gerald of Halakan.”

“What do you want with Gerald?”

“I sell wild magic items and I heard he was in the market.”

Sorcerers were always in the market for wild magic items, so Kayla didn’t think Gerald would turn the opportunity down.

“Which direction did you come from?”

“From Therston.”

“Through the Great Forest?” The guard scoffed.

Rane shrugged. “I’m a wild magic hunter. The Great Forest is where I make my living.”

“Dangerous work.” He glanced over at Kayla. “And how does the lady feel about dodging wild magic?”

Rane looked at her. “She manages.”

The guard pursed his lips. “You see anyone on your journey?”

Rane raised his brows, as if the question was ridiculous.

The guard looked uneasy. “We lost a few prisoners from the stronghold recently. Just wondering if they took to the Great Forest, is all.”

Rane wanted to look at her again, she saw him start to and then check himself. Instead he shook his head. “We were alone. These prisoners dangerous?”

The guard hesitated. “They haven’t hurt anyone, far as I know. But they might be desperate.”

“If they haven’t hurt anyone, why were they prisoners?” Rane’s voice came out easy and calm, but Kayla could feel him tense beside her.

“The liege lord thought he had something to fear from them.” The other guard spoke more to his partner than to them.

“The bloody fool,” the first guard muttered. He glared across at his friend, and the two men stared each other down before the one who seemed to support the liege lord looked away.

“Where will we find Gerald, if you don’t mind pointing the way?” Kayla spoke into the silence.

“Afraid Gerald isn’t here.”

Rane lifted his brows as if surprised, although they’d guessed Gerald must be gone if Andrei had been invited here. “Does he have an apprentice, or is there a new sorcerer?”

“You’re full of questions.” The less-friendly guard thrust his face forward aggressively.

“Just want to find someone interested in buying what I have to sell.” Rane gave a one-shouldered shrug. “No good coming all this way and then walking back just because Gerald’s not here.”

“Get a grip, Kol.” The other guard made a scoffing sound. “Paranoia must be catching.” He stepped aside. “The only sorcerer left here is Andrei Wolfsblood’s apprentice, and word is he’s still on his deathbed, so he’s no use to you. But you’ll want to rest and get some food before you’re on your way, no doubt.”

“Thank you, we would.” Rane took her hand and they walked into the town. Kayla felt both guards eyes on them as they made their way to the town square to look for a place to eat.

“Andrei isn’t here either?” Kayla didn’t know what to make of it.

“And his apprentice near death. Sounds like there was a battle of some kind.”

Kayla hummed her agreement. “Then why isn’t whoever won not here, claiming their place?”

Rane paused as they approached the busy square, looking for any threat. “Andrei could be off elsewhere, stirring up trouble. Unless he fought and lost to Eric, and Eric simply wanted him gone, so he doesn’t have to worry about him anymore. He wouldn’t stay here, he’s got your father to manipulate, the King of Klevan to antagonize, and Nuen to fight for control of Therston.”

It was all too plausible.

Kayla heaved a sigh. If it were true, they were down to two sorcerers instead of four, but she wondered if Eric had fought Andrei and won, what magical objects he’d managed to take. How much stronger he’d become.

The thought was so depressing she pushed it aside, focused on the good news. “What about the escaped prisoners they were talking about? You think one of them could be Soren?”

Rane looked at her, and she could tell he was afraid to hope. “It could be. Halakan’s the most likely place the gem would have taken him, if it wasn’t to Phon. Eric was always unlikely, because he’s the one who wanted the gem in the first place, and Travis and his men were caught up in it, and you say there was no talk about them appearing in Nuen and Jasper’s stronghold when you rescued Soren. He has to have ended up here.”

Kayla realized they’d been standing still, watching the square, for too long. People were looking at them, and she tugged Rane forward, angling toward the large inn that took up almost one full length of the square.

“Let’s see what we can pick up over a meal.”

He gave a nod, although she knew he’d prefer to call on William of Nesta and simply demand answers.

It would most likely come to that anyway.

Rane would tear down the walls of Halakan stronghold if he had to to find Soren.

And Kayla would watch his back while he did it.

* * *

William of Nesta had been holding Soren.

Rane seethed at the thought as he and Kayla walked toward the stronghold, taking the small town’s back gate and then a path that led through a tame wood and past a quaint cottage.

“Do you want me to be the princess of Gaynor?” Kayla’s question cut through Rane’s anger and forced him to pay more attention to the here and now.

He shook his head. “Better not. I might be doing a few things that won’t be good for any agreements your father has with William. Especially if he still has Soren.”

She laughed, and he found his own lips were tugged into a smile at the sound.

“I’ve met him twice, but I don’t think he took much notice of me, either time.” She slid her arm through his as they approached the main entrance to Halakan stronghold.

There were more guards here, and by the time they reached the portcullis, four stood waiting for them.

Rane was sorry the village gossip hadn’t been more specific. Several men had appeared in the stronghold after a flash of light over the last few months, and some had escaped a few days ago. How many were left, if any, seemed unclear.

“I’m here to speak to William of Nesta.” He kept his anger and his fear for Soren strapped down tight under a cordial smile.

“What about?” The guard who spoke looked at them curiously, and Rane knew they were probably getting a polite greeting because of Kayla. It was hard for them to imagine he’d come to cause trouble with a woman in tow.

“About the men who’ve been magically appearing inside the stronghold. I have some information about it, and I’ve heard William would be interested in hearing it.”

The guards shared a look. “You heard right.”

They searched him, patting him down and ignoring his knife, which looked even more dull and blunt that usual. They left Kayla alone, but they wouldn’t have found anything on her. The wild magic in the satchel she wore could easily become a cloak or a dress if they decided to unstrap it.

When they were satisfied Rane wasn’t dangerously armed, they opened a small door inset into the main gate.

The Halakan stronghold was well-kept and a guard led them across an open area to the front of a large stone building.

They entered and were shown to a room on the ground floor overlooking a formal garden. A guard stood just within the door, watching them, and William was sent for.

Kayla walked over to look at a portrait on the wall, and Rane noticed her petticoats were billowing, swaying gently as if she was still walking, or as if there was a breeze.

He hid a smile.

The door opened and Rane guessed it was William who stepped in. He was dressed well, in contrasting dark and light blue, and he wore a sword at his side. He nodded to the guard to dismiss him.

The guard wanted to argue, Rane could see it. He didn’t want to leave William alone with them, but eventually he stepped out and closed the door.

“You’ve had trouble recently?” Rane asked.

“Why do you say that?” William’s eyes were an ice blue and he watched Rane carefully.

“Your guard didn’t want to leave you alone with us, as if you needed protection.”

William didn’t respond for a moment. “We may have had a few problems. Who hasn’t, these days?” He looked over at Kayla and frowned at her, as if trying to place her. “My guards say you have information about the men who’ve been dropped into my stronghold. How do you know anything about it, and who are you?”

Rane gave a shallow bow. “My name is Rane De’Villier, and I understand you have my brother in your dungeon.”

William gaped at him. “There’s no-one in my dungeon now. They’re all either dead or escaped.”

“Dead?” Rane didn’t recognize his own voice.

“Andrei Wolfsblood walked into the dungeon and died a terrible death. The prisoners escaped, one before my very eyes, and someone took my sorcerer away.”

“I thought Andrei Wolfsblood was your new sorcerer?” Kayla spoke up for the first time, giving him some time to recover his balance at the news that the only one dead was Andrei, and again William swung his attention to her, frowning.

“How do you know that?”

“We’ve recently come from Phon. That’s all they’re talking about over there. How William of Nesta came to poach Andrei Wolfsblood from Vik the Steady.” Kayla smiled at him benignly.

William’s frown deepened. “You must have left shortly after me, to be here from Phon so fast.”

“How fast we travel is of no consequence. Let’s talk about your prisoners.” Rane finally had himself back under control.

William spun to look at him, eyes wide. “That sounded like a demand.”

Rane had held himself back, controlled himself, mostly, with Vik, certainly with Ylana, but this man, who had locked his brother up when he’d been nothing more than an innocent victim, did not deserve the same restraint.

Rane pulled his knife as he leaped at William, slamming the liege lord up against the wall. The blue blade extended, glimmering in the light from the window, and Rane pressed it up against William’s throat. “That’s because it was a demand.”

Kayla moved behind him, but he kept his focus on William.

“Why don’t you start by telling us why you locked them up to begin with?” she asked, and William’s gaze skittered to her.

“Thought a sorcerer was trying to take over, sending men in to kill my guards from within.”

“Did these men try to kill your guards?” Rane forced William’s attention back to him.

“No.” William closed his eyes. “They were upset, though. Hard to subdue.”

Rane’s throat closed at the thought of Soren ’subdued’. He’d barely recognized his brother after Kayla had rescued him. He’d been too thin, almost broken. Rane couldn’t imagine the agony he’d faced at the thought of going back into a dungeon after only a few days of freedom.

“Did Gerald tell you that’s what was happening?” Kayla asked.

William started to shake his head, then froze as Rane hissed a warning at him, lifting the blade. “No. Gerald disappeared. I thought someone had killed him and was trying to take over because they thought Miri was too weak to step into his place.”

“Miri?” Kayla took a step closer.

“Mirabelle, Gerald’s daughter.”

“I’ve never heard of a woman sorcerer.” And Rane knew a lot about sorcerers since Soren’s obsession with bringing them all down.

William tried to smile, and managed to lift up one side of his mouth. “Miri is unique. And she is powerful. She came close to breaking Andrei, and his apprentice is barely hanging on to life.”

“If she’s so good, why did you bring Andrei in? Isn’t it against the code?” Rane asked.

William’s cheeks flushed red under his pale skin. “I was a fool. I wanted her to torture the prisoners, get them to tell me why they were here, but she refused. I was angry. I wanted a sorcerer who’d do as I told them, so I called in Andrei. I didn’t know that he had even less intention of doing as he was told, and was far less honest about it than Miri. I didn’t know he planned to kill her.”

Kayla drew in a sharp breath.

“He didn’t get the chance.” William’s gaze went back to her. “He died walking into the dungeon to do it. There was a spell in place. It killed him immediately. And all the prisoners were gone.”

Rane didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. Whether Soren had escaped, or merely been caught up in something Eric or even Nuen had done.

“You said a prisoner disappeared in front of your eyes?” Kayla asked.

William nodded. “It was when Miri and Andrei fought each other. My men saw the most recent prisoner had gotten out of the dungeon, and when they went to grab him, Miri was there, too. Andrei attacked her, and in the confusion, the prisoner just . . . disappeared. I took my eyes off him, but there were guards at the entrance, and none of them saw him.”

“What happened to her? To Miri?” Rane let up a little, stepping back to give William some room.

The liege lord huddled into himself. “She disappeared, too. I left her in the dungeon, afraid of what she would do to me if she recovered from the injuries Andrei had given her. I knew the other prisoners had disappeared from there, but I didn’t think. Too much had happened and I just . . .” He drew in a breath. “Now I’m without any sorcerer, and none will come to me after all the bonds I’ve broken. And my people . . .”

“Your people think you’re a bloody fool.” Rane finished the sentence for him softly. “Yes, we gathered that when we stopped in Halakan.”

“They loved Miri. She’s one of them. Grew up with them, helped them. My betrayal of her . . . they’re wondering what good is a liege lord who betrays his own in a fit of temper.”

Rane held his tongue. Nothing good was going to come out of his mouth, and William appeared to know exactly what kind of situation he’d brought upon himself.

“Where did those men come from? Your brother and the others?” William pressed back against the wall, and Rane realized the blade of his knife was still very close to the liege lord’s throat.

He didn’t move it away.

“They were innocent victims of a magical gem. When the gem is touched, whoever touches it, and those around them caught in its light, disappear. It seems they landed here, in your stronghold.”

“That’s what Miri told me. She said exactly that, before Andrei . . .” He looked out, into the courtyard beyond.

Rane glanced back as well, saw men running from the gate, and then an explosion rocked the ground beneath their feet.

The front wall of the stronghold disintegrated into a cloud of stone, dust and wood.

A thin strip of skin across Rane’s shoulders started to throb and burn, and Rane forced himself not to touch it.

“I think,” he turned back to William, “that you’re under attack by Eric the Bold.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Soren and Mirabelle

They were long past the border into the Great Forest before Soren spoke.

Miri had sensed a reluctance in him to discuss their business in front of the others, and she’d agreed with it. But even in the woods of Jerat, she’d had a sense they weren’t truly free to talk.

Soren waited for her at a point in the path that widened into a small clearing beside a fast-running stream.

“It’ll take all of today and most of tomorrow to get to Harness Stronghold, but if we push ourselves, we’ll get there before Eric.”

“Why would Eric go to Harness? I thought he was going to Halakan.” She moved toward the stream and crouched down to see how clear the water was.

“I’ve been thinking about it.” Soren followed her. “He and Nuen have killed off most of the sorcerers between them. Eric killed your father, and after he’s rested enough, he’ll head to Halakan to take on Andrei. When he realizes Andrei is already dead, Nuen will be his only real rival. And Eric’s way of doing things is to attack. Nuen hasn’t been active since I injured him, and even though he must have been healed by the golden apple, he’s kept a low profile.”

“You think Eric will want to take him by surprise?” She scooped up a handful of water and sipped it from her palm.

Soren nodded. “We need to get there first, steal back the golden apple, and then wait for Eric to arrive, and get the silver pear back, as well.”

Miri laughed, reached out to dip her hand back in the cool water. “As easy as that?”

He leaned forward and gripped her forearm. “Not easy. I know that. We can do it. But I can do it alone, and leave you out of any danger. You could go to Therston Town to wait for me.”

She went still. Looked up at him. “You know I won’t do that.”

He waited a moment, and eventually nodded. “I just want you to be aware. If we’re caught by Jasper . . . I honestly couldn’t stand it for you to go through what I did in his dungeon.”

She leaned forward herself, laid her free hand on the side of his neck. “We will have to plan very carefully, then. Make sure we aren’t caught.” They would have to take him back into their dark torture chamber over her dead body. She could feel the sky magic dancing above her at just the thought of it, and forced herself to relax.

He drew her a little closer using the hold he had on her forearm, until their knees were touching.

He brushed a kiss on her cheek, and then one on the corner of her mouth and she dropped her head to rest on his shoulder.

“I don’t want you hurt. I don’t want you anywhere near Nuen.” His lips brushed her ear.

“I know. I don’t want there ever to be a chance you would go back to the hellhole they made for you. I’d bring every brick in Harness down first.”

He threaded fingers through her hair, and she felt the brush of his lips on the top of her head.

“Then let’s get there as fast as we can, and see what we can do about taking back the golden apple. We don’t want Eric coming there with the silver pear and, depending who wins the war between them, either Eric or Nuen ending up with both of them.”

The thought of that focused her more than anything else could, just when she was thinking a half day of rest, of exploring each other, would not matter one way or the other.

It did matter.

She sighed, and they rose together.

It was time to fix Soren’s mistake. And then, they’d try to fix hers.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Harness Stronghold was so close to the edge of the Great Forest, Mirabelle wondered if Nuen was exceptionally powerful or simply mad.

They had walked until late into the night, snatched some sleep and woken at dawn to continue on. The pace Soren had set meant they arrived just before dusk fell and a soft pink light made the stark walls of Harness almost beautiful.

Soren had gone, moonstone in hand, to check there were no patrols nearby, and to find a safe place to camp.

Mirabelle stood alone in the trees and admired Nuen’s confidence.

He only needed to look out of his tower to see the Great Forest lying spread out before him. And to know he was tauntingly close to wild magic.

Sky magic glimmered over the wall and Miri straightened as she heard screaming, then shouting. The magic cut abruptly off, and left her pulse hammering in her ears.

A ball of wild magic shimmered to life just to her right, spinning in place for a long moment before it seemed to catch an invisible breeze and move off into the trees.

She concentrated on the stronghold, wondering if they were too late, whether Eric had changed his mind and decided to strike down Nuen before he travelled to Halakan.

She couldn’t see the front gate from the place Soren had left her, but she thought she heard the creak of hinges, more raised voices.

She crept forward, working her way deeper into the trees for safety. When she reached a place where she could see the entrance, she pressed herself up against a tree and peered around the trunk.

The gates were open halfway, and two men were backing out of the stronghold, their hands raised. Their faces and their posture didn’t speak of surrender, though. It seemed more as if they were conveying they had no weapons and meant no harm.

“Shoot them. Shoot them now.” The man who screamed the order was short, possibly only an inch or two taller than she was. His face was red, and while sky magic danced down his arms, Miri could see he was spent, he had nothing left to give or he wouldn’t have been calling the archers on the gate towers and on the battlements to shoot.

The interesting thing was, the men were ignoring him.

“Nuen.” A large man, with a hard, tight belly hanging over his belt, came into view. “That’s enough.”

Nuen looked at the new arrival, a man Miri guessed must be his brother, Jasper, and drew back his lips, baring his teeth. “I need them.”

“Why were you asking the men to shoot them, then?” Jasper tried to soften his tone, but it came out hard, and exasperated.

“I didn’t mean kill them, just shoot them.” He pointed to one of the men at the gate. “Just shoot them!”

The man looked over at Jasper, and he gave a small shake of his head. “Close the gates.”

Miri saw the relief in the guards as they obeyed him. There was a tension in their bearing that signaled some of them were frightened, and at least one, as he pulled the heavy doors closed, looked longingly out at the men half-hobbling away, as if he’d like to join them.

She realized there was something strange about the men as they drew level with her.

They were hobbling, like there was something wrong with their legs, although she could see no injuries or signs of crookedness. As they moved, their limps became less pronounced, until they disappeared beyond her sight, jogging almost normally.

“I thought I left you in a safer spot.” Soren’s body was suddenly pressed up against her back as he whispered in her ear.

She swallowed back a scream, looked back at him, to find he wasn’t there.

She narrowed her eyes, and he appeared, a grin on his face.

“Come. I’ve found a good place to camp.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Something happened inside. Nuen cast a spell and there was screaming, then two men ran out the gates, and Nuen tried to have them stopped.”

Soren’s grin dropped from his face. “Tried to have them stopped?”

“The guards wouldn’t listen to him, and Jasper intervened and had the gates closed. He let the men go, even though Nuen said he needed them.”

“Where are the men now?”

Miri pointed down the path. “They were hobbling at first, but they managed quite a good run at the end.”

Soren looked the way she pointed. “Sounds as if they may have something useful to tell us.”

She nodded and he led the way, holding her hand and weaving them through the trees parallel to the path.

The way curved right, toward Therston Town, although it kept very close to the edge of the Great Forest.

Miri was still amazed at how the people of Therston seemed brave to the verge of foolishness when it came to the Great Forest. But Soren was from Therston, and she realized it explained a great deal about him.

The men had not been able to keep up their fast pace, and she and Soren caught up with them after only five minutes, both standing bent over, holding their sides.

“Do we risk it?” One of them asked.

“I can’t go on, and I don’t want to stay on the road, in case Jasper changes his mind, or Nuen changes it for him.” The other looked back down the path, and Miri shivered at the loathing and fear on his face.

“Right then. Let’s do it.” The first man straightened and walked toward the trees, found a faint trail and started in, and his friend followed.

They didn’t go far. Just to the first reasonable clearing, although it had no water.

The men sat down, and then one lay on his back, eyes open, looking at the sky. “Never thought I’d see the sky again.”

The other man grunted and lay down himself. They said nothing more, and Miri could feel Soren’s agitation grow.

“I’ll have to ask them,” he murmured in her ear. “Stay here. It’s better they don’t know about you.”

She nodded, and Soren moved quietly around to the other side of the clearing and beyond, and then started walking toward them without any effort to hide the sound.

The men were already on their feet, eyes wheeling left and right by the time he burst into the clearing and drew back, as if surprised to see them.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said easily. “You gave me a little heart-jump, yourselves.”

“Who are you?” The man’s voice trembled a little.

“Soren De’Villier.” Soren held out a hand, and the man looked at it in utter surprise, as if good manners were the last thing he expected.

“Tom Butler.” He extended his own hand, and Soren gave it a quick shake before he let go and held his hand out to the second man.

“Ned Timkin.” The second man took a cautious step forward, and shook as well.

“If you don’t mind my saying, you look the worse for wear, gentlemen.”

“Thing is,” Tom said bluntly, “why don’t you? I heard all about you. Everyone connected to Harness has. Shouldn’t you be half-dead?”

Soren cocked his head, and Miri could tell his sympathy for the men was leeching away as he wondered if they had worked for Jasper while he was down in Jasper’s dungeon. “How are you connected to Harness?” he asked.

They didn’t seem to hear how cold and quiet he’d gone. Miri did, though. She had come to know him well, she realized.

“Tom and I supply Jasper with his stirrups and bits for his horses. Some other metalwork, too.” Ned pressed trembling hands against his sides. “We delivered a few things while you were kept there. Heard the guards talking about how you were clinging to life by a thread.”

Soren raised a brow, signaling him to continue.

Ned sighed. “We didn’t like it, but Jasper is our liege lord, and the king of Therston’s always taken his side in any complaint. We just hoped you’d get out, is all.”

“Heard you were rescued by a princess.” Tom laughed. “We couldn’t understand why Jasper didn’t just tell the truth about it. Getting his men to spread it about that Kayla of Gaynor magicked you out of there still gets a laugh in the village.”

Soren didn’t say anything for a beat. “What are you doing here? It’s dangerous in the forest.”

Ned shook his head, the trembles in his hands back, and Tom shoved his own hands deep into his pockets.

“Nuen. He’s . . .” He shuddered.

“He broke our legs.” Ned whispered. “Broke them with some spell, so we could hear the snap.” The next breath he took was more a sob than anything else.

“Called us his volunteers. Because Jasper said the guards didn’t have to volunteer if they didn’t want to. Knows the way the wind’s blowing, that one. That people are leaving for Therston Town, putting some distance between themselves and Jasper and Nuen. Soon they won’t have anyone to tax, nor men whose loyalty they can count on.”

“Volunteer for what?” Soren frowned.

“Testing the golden apple.”

“Why does he need to test it?” Soren looked from one to the other. “Didn’t it heal him?”

Tom tipped his head from side to side. “Yes. His skin is healed, and he isn’t in pain any more, but . . .” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Seems he wakes up thinking he’s still hurt, feeling as if he’s still hurt, and then even when he realizes it’s just a dream, he keeps thinking it’s all come back, or that it will, at any moment.”

“So he’s testing it? How will that help him?”

Ned shrugged. “Don’t think he knows himself. We’re the third lot of suppliers he’s grabbed. One he hurt so severely, he was dead before Nuen touched him with the golden apple. The others, Jasper made him let go. We were unlucky. We got there this afternoon when Jasper was busy, and Nuen grabbed us.” He shuddered and hunched. “My mind still can’t believe my legs are all right. The sound they made when they broke . . .” He turned and vomited into the bushes.

Soren and Tom looked away while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shuddered again.

“There’s no water here,” Soren said, sliding his bag off his shoulder. He pulled out a flask, and handed it to Ned. “You can take this. I have to be off.”

“Where’re you going?” Tom asked, and Miri thought he sounded like he wanted Soren to stay. As if he felt safer with Soren around.

“I have things I have to do. I would find a new liege lord, if I were you.”

Ned took a sip of the water and then handed it to Tom. “We already came to that conclusion. I will never set foot in that place again.”

“Thank you.” Tom lifted the flask as if in a toast. “Don’t go back there, no matter what vengeance you have in mind. Nuen will break every bone in your body.”

Miri didn’t like the look that passed over Soren’s face, contemplative, as if he was thinking that very thing.

He gave the men a nod, walked out of the clearing.

While she waited for him to work his way quietly back to her, she watched Tom and Ned as they sank back to the ground and shared the water.

“Strange fellow,” Tom said.

Ned shook his head. “Whatever we endured today, he had weeks of it.”

Tom turned his head. “He asked us what we’re doing here, but we should have asked him the same. To hang around near the stronghold after he’d been a prisoner there for weeks . . . Do you think he’s mad?”

“Didn’t seem mad.” Ned lifted his arms to pillow his head. “Seemed remarkably sane, you ask me.”

“Did you notice he didn’t deny the story about being rescued by a princess?” Tom stretched out, catching the last of the light.

Ned gave a low chuckle. “Too outlandish to dignify with a response, most likely.”

Soren was suddenly beside her again, holding out his hand. Miri took it and let him lead her to the safe place he’d found for them tonight.

She was afraid, though, from the look she’d seen on his face, that when he thought about safety, he was only thinking about her.

He was planning something really unsafe for himself.

Chapter Thirty

Something was bothering Mirabelle. Since they’d left Ned and Tom in their clearing, she hadn’t looked at him, and her hand was stiff and unyielding in his.

Soren pulled back a branch as he led her toward the spot he’d found for them and saw her eyes were firmly on the ground.

The place he’d found for them was perfect.

He’d been longer than he’d wanted to be looking for it, but while there were places where they could have spent the night, they were more open than he wanted.

He’d pushed on and found a place where they could sleep with their boots off.

A lot more than just their boots, if he had his way.

Which he may not, given Miri’s change in demeanor.

Still, he congratulated himself again as he ducked under tree branches that touched the ground, forming a tent. Beyond, through the bowed branches on the other side, there was a small open space surrounded by trees, and a tiny stream trickled across the top corner.

He had found the dark, shadowed tent of branches because a wild magic item had been lying within it, calling to him, and then the sound of the water had drawn him in further.

The small bronze crescent he’d picked up was unusual, but it didn’t have much power, and he was grateful for it more because of the safe place it had led him to than any benefit he was likely to get out of it.

He had already set the bed rolls out, and now, as Miri wandered around, exploring, and very deliberately not looking at him, he started collecting some firewood.

“Can we risk a fire?” she asked him, bending to pick up sticks as well.

He nodded. “I think we can risk it. There’s no way anyone can see in here. So as long as we’re quiet, and there isn’t too much smoke, I think it’s safe.”

He watched her as she collected a few more sticks, her hair falling loose and wild over her shoulders. She still held herself stiff and closed in.

She was beautiful, and brave, and he wanted to laugh at himself that the one person who made him burn, made his heart skip and pound, was also a sorcerer.

It was an irony Rane would enjoy. Although his falling for a princess was perhaps just as unbelievable.

The sun was almost set, and long shadows reached into the small clearing.

After days of running, of having no time for anything but moving forward, they at last had some time in hand.

There was no point in trying to break into Harness tonight with the gate closed. Not when he could do it tomorrow with the moonstone, and be able to see what was happening clearly.

He had made her a promise that when they touched each other again, there would be a bed, and plenty of time, but he hoped she would settle for a bed roll. For once, they had the time, and he had plenty of ideas on how to pass it.

He had been collecting an armful of branches while his mind wandered, and as a deeper silence registered, he lifted his head.

Mirabelle had stopped gathering wood and was looking at him with a strange expression. “What are you thinking about?”

“You.” His stark answer flustered her. She looked down at her feet, then dropped her wood, almost threw it down, with an exclamation of annoyance.

He abandoned the pile he’d made, rose up and walked to her. Drew her into his arms. “What’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”

She felt delicate, and absolutely precious.

“I’m angry with you. Frightened for you.” She whispered the words into his chest.

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’re thinking of letting Nuen catch you, to perform his experiments, and then trying to steal the golden apple when he uses it to heal you.”

He froze. “And how do you know that?”

She gave a sniff. “It was all over your face when you were speaking to those two merchants. I could tell exactly what you were thinking.”

“It might work.”

She sighed. “It won’t work. It will only work if he catches me, and you are there with the moonstone, ready to snatch it from Nuen the moment after he heals me.”

The thought of her under Nuen’s power sent an icy hand in to close over his gut, and he held her even tighter against him. “That won’t happen.”

“Neither will your idea.” Her words were implacable.

He sighed, brushed a hand down her back. “Let’s think about it in the morning. I’m tired of Nuen, of Eric, of the whole lot of them.”

She leaned back, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “I’m tired of them, too.”

He wound his hand into her hair, tugged so her face lifted to his. “Then let’s forget about them for a bit.”

She smiled, and lifted on her toes to brush a kiss over his lips. “That’s an idea I don’t object to.”

“I don’t have that bed I promised you.” He kissed her, quick, soft presses of his lips to her jaw and throat.

She slipped a hand behind his head, and pulled him closer. “I think I’m prepared to overlook that. Given the circumstances.”

He walked her backward, lifted her, and set her down on the bed roll.

There was a gleam of anticipation in her eye.

He undressed her slowly, and she did the same, as they took turns to remove shirts, trousers, any layer that could come between them.

He ran a finger from just below her ear, along her jaw and then trailed it between her breasts and laid his hand, splayed wide, low on her belly.

She was as beautiful as he thought she would be, and as he bent his head to taste her skin, as her hands ran down his back, he swore to himself that he would keep her safe.

No matter what.

* * *

They held on to each other even as they argued.

Miri realized it may have been amusing for someone else to watch, but neither of them felt like laughing, even as they sat, half-naked and entwined in each other.

Soren would not let her present herself at the stronghold on some pretext, so Nuen could snatch her for his experiments, even though she told him she could have a protection spell ready and use it just before he hurt her.

But, she might not cast it in time, and she could get hurt.

As far as she was concerned, could wasn’t the same as definitely would, which would be the case for Soren if he was the one who handed himself over.

“You could take the moonstone. Snatch the apple.” His voice was low as he ran possessive hands down her arms.

“And if he strikes you before he brings the apple out? If I protect you with a spell he’ll know I’m there, and he won’t risk the apple.”

“Don’t protect me with a spell.” Soren brushed her hair back from her face, playing with the strands. “Let him hurt me, wait for him to touch me with the apple, and then take it.”

She stared at him. “I will always try to protect you.”

Their gazes clashed, and Soren bent forward and rested his forehead against hers.

“In your plan, the moment you protect yourself, the same logic applies, anyway. He won’t bring out the golden apple, because he’ll know you’re a sorcerer.”

He was right. “Is there a way we can do this without either of us getting hurt?”

“My way has the most chance of succeeding. I go in, you hold the moonstone and you can stay by my side. Nuen will use me in his experiment—he’ll love the idea of that—and after he touches me with the golden apple, you grab it. You give me the moonstone, you cast a spell that lands you here in the clearing, and I slip out as and when I can.”

“What if he decides not to use you? What if he puts you back in the dungeon?”

She felt him shudder against her and she tightened her hold, almost regretting her words, but not quite. He needed to know the risks.

“How about I take the moonstone and go in to the stronghold, see how easily the golden apple could be stolen, and we make a plan after that?”

It was the best compromise they had come up with, so she nodded, and he put a finger under her chin, tipped it and kissed her, lifting her so that she straddled his lap.

“If you take any chances and I have to come and rescue you,” she said as he slid his hands beneath her thighs, “I’ll be very, very angry.”

He lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow, and she let some sky magic flicker at her fingertips.

“Very angry indeed.”

Chapter Thirty-One

A small group of guards approached the gate, and Soren tacked on behind them.

It was . . . challenging to voluntarily walk back into Jasper’s stronghold. Even though he was invisible.

He realized he was breathing too hard, letting too much of a gap open up between him and the guards, and forced himself under control. He caught up with them as they reached the gate.

As they waited for it to open, the men fidgeted and Soren tried to focus on them, rather than the voice in his head screaming at him to run.

“He’s getting worse.”

“Best you keep that mouth of yours shut, Harry. The time for moaning was before we came in sight of the walls.”

Soren knew the man who spoke. Klem had trained with Rane, a year before Soren went through his own training, and before he’d ended up in Jasper’s dungeon, Soren thought he was a good enough man.

Now . . . he lifted a hand to his neck to rub away the tension.

The gate opened a little way, and they filed through. Soren would have liked to have left a bit more space between himself and the men, but there was no chance of that and as he followed, the gate was already closing.

He just made it through.

The men didn’t behave normally. Usually, when back from patrol, they would disperse. Some going to the kitchen, some to the barracks, the leader reporting to Jasper about what they had seen.

Today they kept together in a group, pausing when they were through the gate almost as if they were gauging the situation, as a soldier would before going into a fight.

“He around?” Klem asked the guard who’d let them in.

“Somewhere,” was the reply, muttered low.

“That’s helpful.” Klem turned away in disgust and they all moved together across the open training area toward the wooden barracks.

They had fallen into a battle formation, and Soren allowed himself to drop back a little, fascinated. Usually, there would be off-duty guards training or wandering about, servants from the house moving from building to building, but not today.

He looked up at Nuen’s tower.

Jasper had caught him the day he’d burnt it down, and when he’d escaped with Kayla about a week ago, it had still looked black and abandoned.

Not anymore.

Now it rose up, completely restored.

The men were halfway to their barracks when Nuen stepped out of the arched door at the bottom.

Soren had half-expected an attack from above, but it seemed the men were just as afraid of him on the ground.

They slowed their steps but didn’t stop altogether, and Soren realized they were pretending they hadn’t seen him, as if engaging with him, even looking at him, would bring about unpleasant consequences.

“I need a volunteer.”

Soren caught movement to his right, and saw one of the gate guards running toward the main house.

Warning Jasper, he’d guess.

The men ignored Nuen as if he hadn’t spoken at all, and kept going, drawing together a little tighter.

Soren moved away from them, making his way to Nuen, and trying to see if the sorcerer held the golden apple.

It wasn’t in his hand, but there was a pouch hanging from the belt at his waist and it was weighed down.

The apple could be in there.

Suddenly, and without any warning, Nuen raised his staff and pointed with his other hand, and the sand and sawdust of the training area rose up in a wall in front of the men.

They stumbled to a halt and it collapsed.

“I said, I need a volunteer.” Nuen’s voice was quiet but perfectly audible in the sudden silence.

“And I told you, if they want to volunteer, they will come to you. Stop trying to intimidate them.”

Soren turned slightly as Jasper approached, breathing heavily, as if he’d run all the way.

“I don’t have to listen to you. Eric doesn’t have a stronghold or any rules to adhere to.” Nuen’s face as he confronted his brother was twisted and bitter, and Soren took a step back at the sight of it. It was as if he had lost the hold he’d had on humanity, and he was something else entirely, now.

Jasper saw it too. His stride hitched a little, but he must have seen it before, because there was no shock in his expression.

“No. But he also has no power base. The King of Klevan has banished him, and he’s had to blackmail the King of Gaynor for access to troops to control any area he manages to secure. Troops that won’t be loyal to him and who he cannot count on. And if you keep going the way you are, neither will you.”

“Thinking of betraying me?” Nuen spoke in a voice that made Soren shiver.

“No. But the men are afraid of you, and more and more are choosing to leave. I can command them to do their job, but I cannot command their thoughts, and I will bet every one of the men in front of you would rather leave here right now than stay and serve us.”

Nuen flicked his hand again, and sand and dust exploded between him and the troop, not in a controlled wall like before, but a hard blast of temper. Sand stung Soren’s eyes and cheeks, and the men covered their heads and turned away.

“All right. But I still need a volunteer.”

Jasper shook his head. “You’re losing control. And you don’t need a volunteer. The apple healed you. And it’s healed all the people you’ve hurt since then.”

Nuen put his hand into the pouch on his belt and lifted out the golden apple. Soren had only seen it at night in torchlight, and he hadn’t truly realized how beautiful it was until now.

It gleamed, and Nuen turned it this way and that. “Do you think its light has dimmed a little? I think perhaps its light has dimmed.”

“Its light hasn’t dimmed.” Jasper spoke softly and stepped closer, but Nuen hunched protectively over the apple and dropped it back in his pouch.

“Stay back.”

Jasper sighed. “I’m not going to take it from you. No-one is.”

“No. Because I keep it on me always, just in case the pain comes back.” Nuen’s look was sly, and Soren’s hope that he could somehow find where the golden apple was kept and steal it was crushed into dust.

Nuen was paranoid and crazy.

The only way he’d take the golden apple out was to heal someone he’d injured, and now he and Miri were going to have to fight out which one of them that volunteer was going to be.

* * *

Soren had been so against this, he’d actually suggested giving up. Giving up and going to Therston Town or Gaynor to find his brother and think up another way.

It seemed the man liked to show his feelings with actions, rather than words.

There was nothing he could have done to show he cared for her more than that.

She had finally overridden him, but that he had fought her so hard over it, had suggested it at all . . . Miri hugged the warm sensation close as she emerged from the Great Forest onto the road. She picked a spot out of sight of the stronghold gates in case someone was watching, so she could claim to have come from Therston Town.

She fingered the small bronze crescent in her pocket, a wild magic item Soren had found the day before and her excuse for seeking Nuen out, when everyone else was avoiding him.

They didn’t know what it did, and there hadn’t been time to find out, but Soren said it didn’t matter. It wasn’t powerful and very few people knew the nature of wild magic objects. Nuen wouldn’t expect her to know, and he would use her ignorance to pay as little for it as possible.

She’d used sky magic to dress herself in rags, using as little power as she could and waiting until the afternoon to approach Nuen, so she had recovered most of the energy she’d expended in doing so.

Only someone desperate would approach Nuen if they lived in the area, because the stories would have spread about his increasing spiral into madness.

Soren reached out an invisible hand and gently held the back of her neck.

She shivered.

He was still angry with her. She could feel it in the stiffness of his fingers, the way he seemed to want to pull her back, stop her going forward at all.

She was in sight of the gate now, and she moved slowly, shuffling a little and using her staff as a walking stick, so they had plenty of time to see her and make up their minds about how much of a threat she posed.

She’d rubbed a little dirt into her face, muddied her hands and her boots, rolled around on the ground until the pine needles and bark clung to her rags, and then wound a coarse piece of gray cloth over her head in a scarf.

Soren had insisted on the scarf. He wouldn’t explain, but it was clear he didn’t want the men in the stronghold to see her hair, and he was so upset with her anyway, she had complied without argument.

By the time she’d reached the gate, two men had opened it and stepped out to meet her.

“You need to go back,” one said to her, his eyes a little wild.

“Back?” She pretended confusion. “I have something to sell to the sorcerer, and—”

“You’re actually here to see him?” The other looked at her in horror. “Where are you from?”

She looked down, and gripped the fabric of her filthy skirt. “The Hidden Market.”

“Where do you live, I mean?”

She let her shoulders droop. “My husband died last year and I have nowhere. Living where I can, sirs. In the forest, mostly. And I found something, and heard the sorcerer might buy it. Wild magic, it is.”

“Whoever told you that doesn’t like you very much.” The first man spoke under his breath. “Best you go, you know what’s good for you.”

“He won’t be interested?” She lifted the hand not gripping her staff to her chest.

“Too interested. That’s the problem,” the second man told her. “We’re trying to be nice here, wench. Go.”

“Who is it?” The voice that called out was querulous, and both the guards went stiff with fear.

“Just a passing traveler,” the first man called, his voice gone unnaturally high.

He was pushed aside, and Nuen was suddenly wedged in the narrow opening in the gate. “What do you want?” His expression was both suspicious and gleeful at once, and for the first time, the weight of what she was about to do settled on her.

It was the only way, though.

There was no question if Soren had come openly he would be tied up and under guard. They already hated him and knew him to be dangerous.

She was just a harmless woman. There would be less scrutiny and no chains or anything else, if Nuen followed the same pattern with her that he had with Tom and Ned yesterday.

Miri gave a clumsy curtsey and then fumbled about in her pocket until she brought out a dirty rag. She laid it on her palm, tucked her staff under her arm, and carefully lifted the corners away, to show the gleaming bronze of the flat crescent. “Wild magic, my lord. Are you in the market?”

Avarice flashed in his eyes. “I am. Come in.” He turned and strode back inside, and she followed, Soren crowded right up against her back, his hands resting lightly on her hips as he moved forward with her.

Nuen had come to a stop a few feet from the gate. “Go fetch money from my brother’s secretary,” he ordered one of the guards, his gaze never leaving Mirabelle.

The guard nodded and took off running.

“I’m afraid the price of my business is a little test,” Nuen said, his hand going into a pouch hanging from his belt. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to do it quickly and only once, because my brother will be coming out any moment if that imbecile guard runs true to form.”

That was all the warning she got, that and the hard squeeze of Soren’s hand on her shoulder before he stepped back.

Nuen hit her with the spell with no ceremony at all. He raised his hand in a fist and threw his arm forward, flicking his fingers as he did it.

She felt her ribs crack, heard the sound of them do it, and fell, so far into agony no words, no sound, could fight from her bruised lungs out of her mouth.

There hadn’t been a chance to protect herself.

She lay on the ground, mute and immobile with pain, and she felt Soren’s hand on her cheek, just a light touch.

She imagined him hovering over her, all vengeance and fury, and it gave her strength.

She’d thought there would be a dance of manners, a request which would become a demand, but it seemed Nuen had taken no chance Jasper would stop him, and wasted not even a second to take what he wanted.

His face came into view as he bent down to look at her. He had taken the golden apple out and he contemplated her for a moment.

“Can you move?”

She looked at him blankly.

He pushed hard on her shoulder and rocked her back a little, and then she found she could make a sound as a moan was wrenched out of her.

“Good. It seems you can’t do anything.” He placed the golden apple against her throat for a moment, and she felt the tingle as it healed her. It took everything in her not to move.

That was the plan. To pretend she hadn’t been healed at all.

Nuen sat back, the apple clutched tight in his hand.

“Nuen!” Jasper shouted from somewhere behind her. “I told you not again.”

Nuen turned briefly toward him, then back to her. “Well, move.”

She made a sound, a strangled cry, as if she were still in enormous pain, and he frowned.

He leaned forward to touch the apple to her again, this time to her forehead. As he extended his arm, she jerked her head back, and in that moment, the apple disappeared.

She moved as fast as she could, grabbing her staff as she scrabbled backward, with no time to look at Nuen’s face.

She cast the protection over her seconds before she felt the first magical strike from Nuen hit her. She had promised Soren she would get herself out of the stronghold immediately and leave him to make his own way.

He’d made her swear that if he had to see her hurt and do nothing, she had to go as quickly as she could without him.

So she took a trick out of Eric’s book, lifted her staff and gave it a whirl above her head. It gave her a second or two to see what was happening around her.

Nuen was staring at her, mouth open, absolutely dumbstruck.

And with an elation that competed with the remembered pain shuddering through her, she put herself back in the forest.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Kayla and Rane

Kayla realized Rane was in pain when he stepped away from William and hunched his back, gasping.

So it was Eric. The spell he’d started to work into Rane’s back burnt as if it were on fire when Eric was near. She’d broken the part of it that compelled Rane toward him, had tried to lessen the pain, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

She went from mildly horrified at the petty betrayals William had committed for absolutely no gain, to searing, all-encompassing fury.

Wild magic left its hiding places in her bag, under her skirts, and flared and coalesced into a ball above her head.

She touched Rane briefly, a quick caress, and then walked to the window, opened it rather than use up any of her power by smashing it down, and jumped into the courtyard.

Behind her she heard a strange noise and looked back briefly to see if Rane was all right, only to find it was William, his eyes wide in his face, a hand over his mouth to stop any more noise escaping.

She dismissed him and turned to see what was happening up ahead.

Eric had obliterated the front of the stronghold. He stood just within the gate, legs braced apart.

“Come out, Wolfsblood. Come out and we’ll settle this, you thieving bastard.”

Everyone who could, had run. Three men lay still under rubble.

Kayla wondered if Eric had used his own power or a wild magic object to cause the destruction to the stronghold wall and gate.

She would have thought he’d have kept as much as possible back, if he was here to confront Andrei. She had to assume he was still strong.

He became aware of her approaching by degrees.

She was slight, and a woman, and he must have thought her a servant by her modest dress, but the wild magic, hovering over her head like a balloon, was hard to miss. She saw the moment when he realized who was coming toward him.

“What are you doing here?” He watched her for a long moment, then his gaze slid past her and she turned.

Rane had followed her out of the window, and he was walking toward her with no stoop, or any sign of his pain. His steps were slower than they would usually be, but Eric wouldn’t know that, and it gave Rane an unhurried, almost dismissive air.

“You’re making a deal with Wolfsblood.” Eric drew in a breath. “You think he’ll break me and get your father out from under my thumb.”

It would have made sense, Kayla supposed, if Andrei Wolfsblood could have been trusted.

“Andrei Wolfsblood is dead.” Rane’s voice was a little deeper than usual, but steady.

She turned again to look at him, and she wanted to kill Eric. She didn’t feel any guilt at the thought.

When she faced forward again, Eric had taken a step back in shock.

“Are you saying you killed him?” He clearly didn’t believe it.

“We thought you had.” Kayla decided making him believe she had done it would only heighten his defenses, not lower them. “You or Nuen of Harness.”

“Nuen.” Eric frowned. “He’s out of this. He’s been injured.”

Rane gave a laugh as he reached her side. “Not since he got hold of my golden apple.”

“My golden apple,” Eric hissed. “Nuen has it?”

“It was his price for the release of my brother.”

Eric reared back at that. “Your brother is almost as much trouble as you. I should have killed him.”

The way he spoke made it sound as if he’d seen Soren recently.

Rane must have picked that up, too. “Been bothering you, has he?” His face was pale but the smile growing on it was quite real.

Eric jerked his head. “Only because he had Gerald of Halakan’s daughter’s skirts to hide behind. Otherwise he would be dead.”

While he was focused on Rane, Kayla struck, slamming Eric to the ground, and pinning him there. He fought back, battering at the hold she’d gained.

There was a sense from the wild magic . . . it made her shiver with the malevolence it seemed to feel for him, and it was using itself up faster than she liked.

She tried to rein it back, to give herself and Rane an escape hatch if she needed to get them out quickly, and it responded to her, easing back a little.

Eric took advantage, fighting himself up to a sitting position, throwing spells at her that she managed to dissipate, although they managed to get closer and closer to her and Rane before winking out with every new one he threw.

Rane half-stumbled past her, knife out. She caught only a brief glimpse of his face, but there was death written on it. Pain and rage gave him a hard mask that made him someone she hardly recognized.

Eric was trying to stand. He’d dragged himself up onto his hands and knees, but Rane was there, slashing at him with his knife, absolutely intent on killing him.

He lunged down, but Eric saw him and threw himself back.

The cut that would have slit Eric’s throat caught him instead across the shoulder. The blade slid through satchel strap, clothes, down to bone, and Eric roared with pain, found enough power to slap Rane back a step.

He shoved at her, too, finding enough concentrated power to challenge her just as the last of her wild magic winked out.

He was sobbing as he grabbed his staff and flicked it, his arm useless and crimson with blood at his side.

As Rane lunged at him again, he disappeared into thin air.

The satchel lay, bloodstained, at her feet but Kayla ignored it, stepped over it and touched her fingers to Rane’s cheek.

“Are you all right?”

He shuddered, nodded as he bent down and put his hands on his knees.

There were others around, men coming back out from their hiding places, and what she felt was too private to share. She put a hand on his back, bent and kissed the back of his neck.

Then, to distract herself, she picked up the satchel, flicked open the flap and pulled out a silver pear.

“That’s Miri’s.”

William was standing a little distance away from her, his eyes still wild.

Kayla thought through the implications of that. Eric had said he’d seen Soren recently and that he was with Mirabelle. Whatever the confrontation had been, neither was dead, but Eric had managed to take something precious from them.

“What does it do?”

William shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe nothing.”

He was wrong there. She could feel a friendly hum coming from the pear, the same sensation she always felt around wild magic.

She studied William. “I don’t trust you to return it to her. If I don’t find her first, and she returns here, please tell her Kayla of Gaynor has her silver pear.”

William staggered back a step. “Kayla?”

“Your men need help, William.” Kayla looked pointedly at the men lying beneath the rubble. “Perhaps the best thing you can do for your own reputation is to help them.”

Rane had straightened, and he took the satchel from her. “We still don’t know where Soren is,” he said, voice pitched low.

“But we know where Eric has to go, injured as he is.”

“He’ll need the golden apple.” Rane gave a slow nod.

“And Harness is close enough to the Great Forest I can pull wild magic through the thin cracks in the border. If I have to take them on anywhere, that’s the best place to do it.”

They turned toward the gate together, started walking.

“Princess Kayla.”

She stopped, saw William bent over one of the men, carefully lifting a stone off his legs.

“Won’t you stay? There’s a place for a sorcerer like yourself at Halakan.”

Kayla stared at him until he fidgeted and looked down at the ground.

Rane took her hand and they walked out the gates.

They had to get to Harness, and if they were lucky, Eric would stumble straight into them.

And this time, Kayla would have all the power she needed.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Rane watched the tree tops flash beneath them on the ball of wild magic they rode and clenched his hands into fists on his thighs.

He could still feel the skin across his back. It didn’t hurt any more, but the thin strip tingled uncomfortably.

It fueled his anger, and he had to force it down.

Hot temper would not do.

He would need cold, deliberate strategy.

A bird swooped down from above them to tease Sooty, who was sitting between Kayla and himself on the ball of wild magic they rode, but she only flicked an ear at it.

She knew it was Ylana.

The witch had refused to fly on wild magic to Harness. Rane didn’t blame her.

No matter how Kayla embraced it, wild magic still made him uncomfortable. If he could have turned himself into a bird and flown beside them instead, he would have done it, too.

They were almost in sight of Harness now, and Rane touched Kayla’s shoulder and pointed to a good place to land where they could set down unseen.

Nuen had a view into the forest from his tower, and the sight of the hundreds of balls of wild magic following behind them would put him on alert, if nothing else.

She nodded, and he lifted his hand and pushed back a tendril of her hair that had escaped its tie.

Eric wanted to possess her. To use her.

Even if the sorcerer hadn’t tried to enslave Rane with pain, he’d want him dead for that alone.

And the sooner they struck, while Eric was hurt and weak, the better.

They swooped smoothly down, and Rane enjoyed the feel of the soft, springy ground beneath his feet.

The clearing he’d chosen was one he knew well. This place was part of his old life, as a knight for Jasper, and as a woodsman with his father and Soren.

The quiet sound of birds, the movement of branches in a light breeze, all helped drain away the last of his reaction to Eric.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out.

Ylana fluffed out her feathers, and then was suddenly herself again, and Sooty stretched and went to sniff the new surroundings.

“Which way to Jasper’s stronghold?” Ylana asked, and as he opened his mouth to answer her there was a flash of blue light through the trees to their left, and then the sound of someone stumbling through the undergrowth.

They all turned, and Ylana simply moved the trees and bushes blocking their view out of the way, so a narrow path opened up.

A woman holding a staff and pulling a scarf off her head turned and looked at them in alarm, and Rane saw more blue light sparkle on her hands.

Out of the ground, vines snaked and grabbed, twining around her wrists and ankles to hold her in place, and when he turned his head to look at Ylana, he saw her face was hard and bitter.

The woman struggled against the bonds, and the sky magic she drew loosened some, but she must have expended herself very recently, because eventually she stopped trying to get free, and tried to catch her breath.

Kayla started toward her and Sooty bounded beside her.

“Back,” Ylana hissed. “She’s a sorcerer.”

“I think I know who she is.” Kayla kept moving forward, a touch of her hand on Sooty’s head holding her back when she would have leaped ahead. “I think she can tell us where Soren is, as well.”

Mirabelle of Halakan.

Rane caught up with Kayla.

From the direction of Harness, they all heard a scream of rage.

“What was that?” Ylana asked into the silence that followed.

“That was Nuen of Harness, realizing someone really has taken his golden apple,” the woman said.

Kayla smiled and the vines that held the woman dissolved into a purple mist. “Mirabelle of Halakan?”

The woman frowned, rubbing her wrists, and then looked beyond Kayla, and gasped.

She stumbled back a step, and Rane turned to see what could have frightened her so, saw the forest full of wild magic, and realized he’d become almost immune to the sight of it.

“Kayla of Gaynor?” Mirabelle put out a hand and steadied herself on the trunk of a tree. “I see Soren didn’t exaggerate at all.”

“Do you speak true? You’ve taken the golden apple from Nuen?” Ylana asked.

Mirabelle drew back, wary of the witch after what she’d done, and gave a quick nod. “Between Soren and I, we have.”

“Where is it?” Ylana couldn’t hide the gloating in her voice.

“Soren has it.” Mirabelle turned to him for the first time. “You look very like him. You must be Rane.”

“If Soren has it, where is he?” Rane tried to marry everything he knew about sorcerers with the petite woman before him, with her mass of blonde hair and her friendly green eyes.

She looked through the trees toward Harness. “He’s still inside there.”

“Inside?” Rane felt as if a stone had lodged in his throat.

“He has a moonstone, which I believe belongs to you, and so he’s invisible. He’ll get out when he can, when they open the gates to let someone in or out.”

Rane rubbed a hand over his heart. “That’s . . . good.”

The thought of Soren in Jasper’s hands again had made him almost sick.

“Come.” Mirabelle half-turned deeper into the forest. “I’ll show you where we are hiding while we wait for Eric the Bold to arrive.”

“You’re waiting for Eric? Why?” Ylana’s voice was sharp.

Mirabelle hesitated, her own gaze narrowing a little as it touched on the witch, but when she looked across to Kayla she blew out a breath. “Eric has to come to Nuen some time. He killed my father, and when Soren and I confronted him a few days ago, we told him Andrei Wolfsblood had taken my father’s place in Halakan. We hoped he’d go there first to give ourselves time to steal back the golden apple, because we were sure when he realized Andrei was dead, he’d come here to eliminate Nuen as his last remaining threat.”

“What is your place in all this?” Ylana was still suspicious.

Mirabelle looked delicate and beautiful, but so did Kayla, although their coloring was like night and day, so Rane wasn’t surprised when she turned to face the witch with her back straight and her chin raised.

“My place? My father was murdered by Eric. I was betrayed by my liege lord, and while I live, I will never be safe from Eric, Nuen and whoever else thinks they are powerful enough to rule the whole of Middleland. My lover was held by Nuen and Jasper and tortured, and Eric has tried to kill us both, and has stolen something very precious from me. So my place is I am sworn to bring an end to this power struggle any way I can.”

Absolute silence descended. It was as if even the wind and the birds and animals had frozen at the anger and power they sensed had been stirred to life.

Rane heard it all, but the word that stuck in his head was ’lover’. Because she must surely be talking about Soren.

“Are you giving Mirabelle a hard time?” A voice spoke directly into his ear, and Rane lashed out hard, punching where he thought his brother’s stomach must be.

He heard a satisfying ’oomph’, and Soren appeared, bent over at the waist.

“Ouch.” He looked sideways at Rane and grinned, and then Rane hauled him in for a quick, rib-bruising hug.

“Soren.” Mirabelle’s voice quavered a little, and Rane realized despite the calm way she’d spoken about Soren staying behind, she’d been afraid for him.

Soren slapped Rane on the shoulder and then walked to his little sorcerer, gently running his hands over her abdomen in a way Rane thought was less affection, and more worry.

“What happened?” Kayla reached over and lifted the satchel they’d stolen from Eric from his shoulder.

“To steal the golden apple back, Mirabelle let Nuen break all her ribs with a spell.” Soren knelt in front of her, and touched her ribs with gentle fingers. His voice shook, and Rane heard what it had cost him to watch that happen.

“Do you have the golden apple, then?” Ylana crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly unmoved by the moment.

Soren dug into the front of his shirt, brought the apple out.

“I have something I think Mirabelle will be happy to see again.” Kayla pulled the silver pear from the satchel, and held it out.

“Where did you get it?” Mirabelle gripped Soren’s shoulders, stepped around him, hands outstretched.

“We were at Halakan looking for Soren when Eric arrived.” Kayla placed it in her hands, and the sorcerer’s fingers closed around it in a tight grip.

“You kill the bastard?” Soren got to his feet.

Rane shook his head. “Nearly. Almost cut off his arm.”

“We told him Nuen has the golden apple, so we think . . .” Kayla stopped as blue flared over the stronghold.

“Eric will have no choice but to seek it out if he’s that badly injured.” Ylana spoke with deep, pure satisfaction.

“And here he is.” Rane knew his smile must mirror the earth witch’s, even though the skin on his back flared with burning, violent pain.

For once, the two of them were in perfect accord.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Kayla and Mirabelle

“What’s the plan?” Soren threw the golden apple into the air, and as it tumbled end over end, Kayla realized how good it was to see him again.

Ylana flicked her fingers, and instead of landing in Soren’s open palm, a blast of wind shot it into her waiting hand.

At Soren’s glare, she bared her teeth. “It’s not something to handle lightly.”

“Who are you, anyway?”

“This is Ylana. But you’ll know her already as Jisuel.” Rane spoke quietly as he leaned across and took the apple from Ylana. “This is mine. No fighting over it.”

“Jisuel?” Soren scoffed, then, when he saw Rane wasn’t joking, took a step closer to Ylana. “You were Jisuel?”

Ylana let her features change a little, let her face bleed into that of a handsome young man’s and then back to her true self.

Soren’s mouth fell open.

“You’re sure that was Eric just now? Putting himself into the stronghold?” Kayla felt the weight of time passing, and didn’t want to lose their chance.

Rane pressed his fingertips to the top of his shoulder. “I’m sure. And he’s gained strength from somewhere. I don’t know how. I wounded him so badly, I thought he might bleed to death, no matter how strong he is.”

Kayla looked sharply at him, because the only way he would know that Eric had gained strength was if the pain in his back was worse. He shared a quick look with her, to comfort her, she realized, and reassure her.

She reached out and touched his arm. He acknowledged her worry with a light touch of his own, and then he pulled away from her, all business.

“Eric will have a magical store. It’s usually a mix of crystals and other things, things he’s imbued with power over time, ready for when he needs it most. That’ll be the extra strength you sense.” Mirabelle stepped close to Soren, and he tangled his fingers with hers.

“Could he have healed himself with this magical store?” If he had, Kayla couldn’t understand why he’d risk confronting Nuen for the golden apple when he must be weak.

Mirabelle shook her head at the same time as Ylana. “Sorcerers can’t heal themselves.”

“They can’t heal anyone.” Ylana said firmly.

“I can.” Mirabelle shrugged at Ylana’s disbelieving look. “I can. I can’t heal myself, but I can heal others.”

“And why is that?” the earth witch asked.

“Because I was an earth witch, before my father used the silver pear to make me a sorcerer.”

Ylana sucked in a breath. Looked from Mirabelle to Kayla. “Two earth witches who are something else.”

“And one who is enough earth witch for all of us,” Kayla said.

“We should strike now.” Rane was looking toward the stronghold, fingers tapping against his leg in agitation.

“The problem is Harness is just beyond the forest and it takes time for wild magic to filter through the cracks in the border and it can only come to me in thin wisps.” Kayla could carry as much as possible, but she knew when it had run out, she would just have a trickle to work with.

“It’s a pity we can’t push the forest closer to the wall. It’s so close already.” Mirabelle said, and Kayla knew she turned to stare at her at the same time as Ylana.

“Push the Great Forest closer to the wall,” the earth witch murmured. “Why not?”

“You can do it?” Rane asked.

Ylana gave a slow nod. “It will take all my strength. I won’t be as much use to you in the fight itself, but I could get a thin line of the forest growing up to the wall if you give me some time.”

“A thin line is all the wild magic would need to reach me.” She grinned at Mirabelle. “Good idea.”

Blue flashed above the stronghold again, and Rane turned to watch it, looked over at Soren. “Let’s get a little closer, see what’s happening.”

His brother nodded, and after a moment’s thought, Rane tossed her the golden apple before they moved off into the trees, in that absolutely silent way that always made Kayla feel like a blundering elephant.

“Makes me tear up, they’re so pleased to see each other,” Ylana said, and Kayla blinked, startled. It appeared the earth witch was absolutely serious.

“I think I might like you, after all.” Mirabelle was staring at her, too.

Ylana grinned, her white, white teeth flashing. “They will be good support, and if Soren can become invisible, that will help, too. But it will be up to you two.” She crouched down and forced stiff fingers into the soil. “If I’m growing the forest and pushing the border in front of it, then that’s me out of it. It’ll take everything I have.”

“I have the silver pear back, but I used most of its store up when I fought with Andrei.” Mirabelle was watching Ylana, fascinated. “Tell me, why do you do that? Put your fingers in the ground?”

“It’s the way of the earth witch.”

“I did that, once. In my sleep.”

“And?”

“I felt better when I woke. Better than I should have, after what had happened to me. And Soren said I glowed.”

Ylana stood and touched her. Gave a nod. “I can feel the earth magic in you. Not much, though. You’ve used it up. Your fathers both made a merry mess of things, didn’t they?”

Kayla shook her head. “We’ll never agree on that. I like being a wild magic witch, and I’m glad I’m not bound by the bonds of earth magic.”

Mirabelle flicked her eyes toward the wild magic spinning and bobbing all around them and then away, as if afraid to attract its attention. “If your wild magic can store itself directly in the silver pear, you could wear it when we attack, to use while Ylana pushes the forest up to the wall.”

Kayla frowned. “What will you use?”

Mirabelle held up her staff. “I’ve done well enough with this the last few days. And I can create wild magic for you every time I use the staff, which I wouldn’t do if I used the silver pear. Even if Eric and Nuen banish their wild magic immediately, I can be a source for you.”

They stared at each other. Kayla read determination and fear in Mirabelle’s eyes, but her gaze didn’t waver.

Slowly, Kayla held out her hand, and Mirabelle lifted the silver pear over her head and handed it across.

Kayla turned and pushed it gently into a ball of wild magic. The wild magic disappeared with a faint pop. She did it to three others, and then held it cupped in both hands.

The hum of contained power was almost audible. She was afraid the silver pear would explode in her hands.

“What are we going to do to them? To Nuen and Eric?” Mirabelle asked.

“Stop them.” Ylana was implacable.

“Yes, but how? Kill them? Take their power from them?”

Kayla shifted uncomfortably. The same thought had occurred to her at Halakan. She’d been trying to pin Eric down, she’d had no plan to kill him, but Rane and the wild magic had both been intent on his destruction.

“No jail will hold them for long,” Ylana said. “And then they’ll be back.”

“I know. But to kill them . . .” Mirabelle lifted her shoulders. “That’s something they’d do. And I don’t want to be like them.”

“What of the people they’ve killed?” Ylana didn’t mince her words. “The people they’ll kill in the future if they aren’t stopped now?”

“There’s enough wild magic to create a prison for them.” Kayla had thought of it all the way from Halakan to here. “It likes the idea of holding them.”

Ylana looked at her with her head cocked to one side. “Aye. I imagine it would. Fair enough. I can support a wild magic jail for them.” She smiled, and Kayla had the strangest feeling she was being laughed at.

“But wild magic and sorcerers . . .” Mirabelle was frowning, looking at Ylana as she spoke, then her words stopped dead as a roaring shout came from the stronghold up ahead.

Kayla went absolutely still.

It was a shout of rage, of pain and of frustration.

“What was that?” Mirabelle whispered.

“That was Rane,” Ylana said.

“They’ve got them.” She didn’t want to say the words, but there was no other way Rane would have made a sound like that. “Nuen and Jasper have got them.”

Kayla looked down and saw a half dozen balls of wild magic had pressed themselves against her legs.

And somehow, it didn’t seem such a difficult choice to kill Eric and Nuen, after all.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“It’s going too slowly.”

Ylana was crouched down, hands spread out on the ground where the Great Forest was closest to the stronghold wall.

Remembering how the witch had prepared herself earlier, fingers dug deep into the rich, dark soil of the forest, Mirabelle crouched down herself and dug her fingers into the ground.

She felt it almost at once. A warmth, and a tingle at the very tips of her fingers. The energy she’d used up in protecting herself from Nuen and getting herself out of the stronghold flowed back, and for the first time since she’d given Kayla the silver pear, she felt a flare of confidence.

She could be as much a force as anyone. She’d have to be, no matter the years of experience and power Eric and Nuen had had to build themselves up.

“Yes. It’s too slow.” Kayla paced, hands twining around each other.

Small saplings had already sprung up in an area about the width of two men lying end to end, and had made the forest at least six feet closer to the wall. With another thirty or more feet to go.

In truth, it seemed very fast to Mirabelle, but with Soren and Rane prisoner in the stronghold, not, she agreed, fast enough.

At least fifteen minutes had passed since they’d heard Rane cry out.

He’d been in pain, and she didn’t fool herself into thinking Soren would have escaped unscathed either, if he’d been taken, too.

She hoped he’d grabbed the moonstone in time, was watching over Rane, waiting for them to come. Safe and invisible.

But hoping didn’t make it true.

“We’ll have to leave the golden apple with Ylana. It would be a disaster if either Eric or Nuen got it. You have the power to heal?”

Miri looked up and saw Kayla had stopped pacing and was waiting for her to answer.

“I can, but depending on how badly they’re hurt, especially if it’s both of them, then that will take everything I have.”

Kayla dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “As long as you can get to them, and heal them, I will be able to do everything else.”

“I’ll get to them.” Mirabelle dug her fingers even deeper into the earth, until they couldn’t go in any more, then she rose up.

Kayla looked her way and frowned. “You’re glowing.”

“Earth magic. It likes this one.” Ylana looked over as well, her voice breathless with exertion.

Kayla gave an exclamation and moved up beside Ylana. Suddenly the number of saplings increased two-fold, and then three fold. Then grew into full trees.

The power the princess of Gaynor could wield within the boundary of the Great Forest was immense. Unfortunately, she couldn’t take all that power into the stronghold with her. Not unless Ylana could breach the stronghold wall with the Great Forest itself.

And then, she’d have all the power she could want.

Mirabelle tried not to look too hard at the wild magic. It hung; eery, absolutely frightening, all around her. Mirabelle wanted to find a small dark space, close her eyes, cover her ears and rock until it somehow went away.

But Soren’s life was forfeit if it did, so she straightened her spine and focused instead on Kayla’s magnificent cat.

Waist high, sleek and deadly.

Another scream echoed from within the walls, and Kayla rubbed a hand over her heart. “Please, for me, let them help you,” she said to the witch, and Ylana hesitated and then gave a nod.

Kayla stepped back and walked among the wild magic closest to her, brushing her hands over each ball as if it were a pet, and they floated over to Ylana, took over from Kayla. They were helping the earth witch extend the boundary.

The earth magic witch was as frightened of wild magic as Miri was, she could see it in the tension on her face, and the way she leaned slightly away from the lazy, spinning balls. Somehow, that shared fear lessened hers a bit.

“It’s taken to the idea very well.” Ylana’s voice trembled a little.

Miri was very afraid Kayla had given wild magic an idea it could implement at any border, now. But that fear needed to be set aside for another time.

“How will we get in?” They both knew this was a trap, but neither of them could wait a moment longer.

The bait either Nuen or Eric, or both working together, had set was one neither she nor Kayla could resist.

“We break our way in,” Kayla said, stepped over the border, lifted her hand, and suddenly, a massive piece of the wall shuddered and then fell. It would be a good point of entry for the forest Ylana was growing, as well as anything else.

Kayla stepped back behind the boundary, crouched beside some wild magic and lifted the silver pear, and Mirabelle realized she was replenishing what she’d just used before they committed themselves to the fight.

“It would be good to see where they’re being held.” She’d only had the smallest look inside the stronghold earlier—everything had happened near the gate—and she didn’t like going in without knowing where she was.

“That’s a good idea.” Kayla grabbed hold of her, and suddenly they were on top of a ball of wild magic, rising up above the trees.

The stronghold was in front of them. The massive breach in the wall Kayla had made was at the very back of the compound, and the barracks were the closest building. Beyond that was the training area which stretched from the barracks all the way to the gate, down the length of the stronghold. It was bordered by the fence on one side and Nuen’s tower on the other to make a rough rectangle. Off to the left, in line with Nuen’s tower but separate from it, was a large stone house. Jasper’s quarters.

Rane and Soren were tied to each other, and sitting in the middle of the training area.

Mirabelle could see the faint flicker of blue on them.

“They’re being held still by a spell. It may be that when they try to move, it hurts them.”

“So Nuen and Eric can stay safely tucked away, and take aim at us from cover.” Kayla’s voice was thoughtful. “Nuen’s in his tower. He has to be. Up there, waiting for a chance to hit us from his window.” She pointed to the only opening in the tower, right near the top.

It appeared empty, but Mirabelle gave a nod of agreement. “And Eric?”

“Depends if he’s in this with Nuen, or not. But I’d guess they’ve made a deal. Eric must have seen us as he arrived, managed to persuade Nuen they’d be better off with a truce until we’re defeated. It’s the only way they’d have caught Rane and Soren by surprise.” She raised the wild magic ball a little higher. “Nuen wouldn’t let him in his tower, is my guess. That would be taking trust too far. So Eric’s somewhere on the ground. Behind the tower, maybe, or hiding behind Jasper’s house or the barracks.”

There was a flicker of movement at the corner of Jasper’s house, the momentary flash of white blond hair. “There!” Miri pointed, but Eric had ducked back behind cover.

At least they knew where he was.

“What’s the plan?” Just looking at Soren tied up and helpless, at the hands of his torturers again, made Miri want to scream.

“I’ll take them head-on. You sneak along the side wall behind the barracks, break the spell on them, heal them, and get them out. If the spell on them’s too strong, call to me. I want you to have enough power to heal them and help them to leave, that’s your priority.”

They started to descend, and Mirabelle gripped Kayla’s arm. “Be warned, they’ll both have their magic stores with them for this. I’ve faced Eric and Nuen recently, and I’ve barely come away with my life. Neither were expecting a confrontation with another sorcerer at the time and I took them by surprise. This time, they know what we can do and they’ll have their full arsenal. Eric would have brought it with him anyway, if he was coming to do battle with Nuen. And they’re working together now. They won’t have expended any energy fighting each other, and they’ll have all the wild magic items, all the power objects they’ve made through the years and set aside for a big battle. Even if Eric’s injured, he’ll be strong. Probably stronger than he’s been before.”

Kayla gave a nod. “Thanks to you,” she touched the silver pear, “I’m a lot stronger, too.”

They faced the hole Kayla had made in the fence, and as they stepped over the boundary, Mirabelle saw Ylana had extended the forest almost twenty more feet. The wild magic helping her was half the size it had been before.

She nearly stumbled, though, when she saw what the other wild magic was doing.

It had pressed itself up against the invisible barrier in a long, continuous line, and tiny bits of it were wafting out like smoke from a blocked chimney, drifting on the air toward Kayla.

She couldn’t stop the shudder than ran through her. She touched a hand to Kayla’s shoulder. “It’s trying to get to you.”

“I’m calling it,” Kayla said, looking over her shoulder, then turned back to the wall.

Mirabelle turned with her, heart pounding, and almost laughed at the irony. She was more afraid of what was behind her than in front of her.

Maybe that was a good thing.

* * *

The courtyard was empty.

Kayla remembered the layout from her last visit to the stronghold, where she’d been hunted and shot at as she’d tried to rescue Soren.

It was daytime now, though, and there wasn’t a guard to be seen. She scanned the buckled walkway along the upper part of the wall, damaged when she’d smashed her way in, and used a bit of wild magic to check Nuen hadn’t made the guards invisible as he had done last time.

But there was no-one.

He was conserving his power, she guessed. And the guards had chosen to stay out of the way.

Sooty butted up against her, and then loped off along the wall with Miri, an added layer of protection for her, Soren and Rane.

Kayla waited until they had turned the corner, then walked to the far end of the barracks, stepped out of cover in front of Nuen’s tower and the training area.

Rane’s gaze lifted, locked on to hers, and she could read everything in it. Love, regret, absolute fury.

There was a quick flash of movement again from the corner of Jasper’s house, and Kayla tensed.

She’d caught the same movement when they were watching from the air, and it seemed strange that Eric would make such an obvious mistake.

Suddenly, Soren started struggling, then screamed as a band of blue light from the spell that surrounded them both flayed at him.

Another scream echoed, almost in tandem, and Sooty gave a furious yowl.

Eric and Mirabelle stumbled out into the open, locked in a strange dance as Miri shielded and Eric tried to strike. Sooty lay limp near the corner of the building, unmoving.

So Eric wasn’t behind the house, that had been an illusion, he’d been hiding at the corner of the barracks.

Miri had walked straight to him.

Kayla ran to him, now, feeling the rush of power from the silver pear like a second heart beat against her skin.

She must remember to keep control, although now she was closer to Rane and Soren, she could see their legs were broken, and Rane’s arm lay at a strange angle, too. A wind whipped at her hair, and for a moment the world darkened a little.

With a snap of blue light, Eric threw a noose of sky magic around Miri’s neck. As Kayla ran faster, she clawed at it, and it made her fingers bleed.

Suddenly, Miri struck back at Eric, snapping the leash and diving toward Rane and Soren, and the moment she was clear of him, Kayla threw a focused pulse of power toward Eric, knocking him back.

His arm was bandaged, and hung loose at his side, but the roar he gave when he fought her slap was of rage, not pain.

He came to his feet with his staff raised over his head, and Kayla shot herself into the air.

Nuen’s blast from above hit the ground where she’d been standing, and clashed with the spell that Eric had thrown.

She kept going up, flying so she was eye-level with Nuen.

He stared at her with absolute incomprehension as she hit him with hard, brute force. She barely watched him fall before she put herself back on the ground, just as Eric tried to hit her again.

Miri was right. He was much stronger.

He had a strap across his chest, little belt loops along it dangling with crystals and other strange objects. About a third of the loops were empty, and as she landed on the training area’s soft sand, he pulled a silver sphere off and threw it at her.

She raised a protective shield and the silver ball smashed against it, but she could feel thin, sharp needles forcing their way through her protection.

She gave a shove of power and they dissolved into a fine mist.

Eric ripped a crystal off and seemed to crush it in his hand, and Kayla saw the sky magic crawl up his arm, replacing what he’d lost.

Miri was kneeling beside Rane and Soren, but every time she reached for them, a whip of blue light lashed out at her.

Rane’s face was white with pain, and he hung limp against Soren.

Unacceptable.

Kayla knew she was using up too much power as she sliced through the sky magic bonds that held them, but she couldn’t find a way to care.

As soon as Rane and Soren were free, Miri enveloped them in blue light, and suddenly they weren’t in the arena any more.

The wild magic left behind by Miri’s spell hung in the air, and Kayla called it to her. It gave her a jolt of strength.

She risked a look behind her, and saw the first small saplings pushing up through the ground just within the broken wall.

Tiny, threadlike wisps of wild magic wafted on the forest breeze to her, swirling around her fingers.

She turned back, ready with whatever she had left, and saw Eric staring at the saplings with a frown.

Near where Rane and Soren had been tied up, scattered carelessly, were a few things she recognized, and Kayla ran toward them.

It was enough to distract Eric from the encroaching forest.

He threw a spell as Kayla dived for Rane’s moonstone, and she had to shield herself instead of grabbing it as she tumbled past.

She came to a stop and rolled left, hand out to grab his knife instead, and something long and sharp stabbed into her hand and pinned it to the ground.

The pain was immense. The spike Eric had driven into her burned where it touched, and with the last of her power, Kayla pulled it out and closed the wound.

She crouched, panting, and realized she was now facing back down the stronghold, toward the wall she’d brought down. Another two saplings pushed up from the ground as she watched.

Eric faced her, hand clenched close to the strap of his power store. “I had plans for you.”

Kayla gasped out a laugh. “I know you did.”

Eric’s face twisted at her amusement. “As there hasn’t been anything more from Nuen, I’m assuming you’ve killed him, or injured him enough for it to make no difference. So I’ll thank you for that, and—” An arrow struck him in the upper shoulder, and Eric stumbled back.

It was the same shoulder Rane had almost cut through, and while the force of the blow shuddered through him, he didn’t flinch. He had bespelled himself to feel no pain. It was the only thing that made sense.

Kayla looked left, saw Jasper standing with a small armed group of guards, one of them taking a new arrow out of a quiver.

“Your brother and I had a deal.” Eric straightened.

“And I just heard you thank Kayla for killing or injuring him. So the deal must be over.” Jasper gave a thin smile. “And I know how this works. You’ve been using up a lot of power, you’re weaker now, and I’d rather you didn’t kill Kayla of Gaynor and take anything from her, add anything of hers to your arsenal. If it’s between the two of you, I rather think the princess of Gaynor will be more reasonable than one of my brother’s biggest enemies.”

Eric ripped off another silver ball from his strap, and threw it just as two more arrows let loose.

One struck him in the chest, pinning his strap to his body, and the other lodged in his stomach.

There was no sound from Jasper and his men, just the thump of bodies hitting the ground, and Kayla forced herself to look.

They lay, still and dead, silver glistening in thin needles over every part of them.

She breathed in shallowly through her nose until she could swallow again.

Another sapling rose up, and behind it, three small trees grew to full height, in line with Nuen’s tower.

The shadow they cast had Eric turning, arrows bobbing as he moved without any sign of discomfort.

“You’re bringing in the Great Forest.” His words were hushed. “How are you bringing it in, when you’re here, fighting me?”

More wisps of wild magic were drifting to her, settling in her hair and along her arms, but it wouldn’t be enough if Eric threw his last silver ball at her.

He closed his hand around it. Threw. She used whatever she had left to not be there anymore, but she only had enough strength to move herself behind him, closer to where the Great Forest was forcing its way in.

Where she’d been, the ground looked as if a silver hedgehog was rising from the soil.

Eric spun in a circle, looking for her, and when he saw her, he gave a smile.

“That’s the best you can do, isn’t it? You’ve got nothing left.”

He hit her with a pounding magical blow that slammed into her and lifted her off the ground, tumbled her so she rolled twice before coming to a stop.

She would have smiled if she could have, because he’d just sent her even closer to where she wanted to be, but pain turned it into a grimace, and she could hardly draw in a breath.

He stepped closer, crouched down, so he could look her in the eye.

“I find myself strangely torn.” He was forced to use his good hand to balance himself, and he angled himself so he was staring straight into her face, then dipped his gaze to her arm, lying palm-up, where her shirt sleeve had pulled up a little. It caught his attention and held it. “I know I should kill you, but really, it would be such a waste.”

He leaned forward, grabbed her wrist and pushed up her sleeve. The look on his face as he took in the complex pattern of circles, some tiny, some bigger, swirling up in a spiral, the marks of wild magic, was greedy. “I made plans for so long, I hadn’t realized it would be so hard to let go of them. You have been nothing but trouble since I had your father put you on that glass hill.” The way he looked at her now was cold and gleeful. “You’d hate to be enslaved by me. I think you’d prefer death. And you’d be far more useful alive.” He straightened. “Yes. The idea has a great deal of appeal.”

Kayla remembered the poor creature she and Rane had saved from Eric’s dungeon. Remembered her crawling across the forest floor toward Eric on her stomach, crying with fear and helpless frustration as she did.

He wanted to turn Kayla into that.

And she refused to be turned.

As he rose, she grabbed a fistful of his tunic and held him down with her body weight, got hold of the arrow embedded in his stomach and pushed with all her strength.

The arrow didn’t move.

Eric shoved her away, but she’d already let go. He was wearing a thick leather vest underneath his clothes, and Kayla’s fingers had felt the sting of magic on it, too.

Eric’s eyes were cold when he looked at her again. “I’ll enjoy it when you’ll do anything to stop the pain, I’ll remember this, and enjoy every moment.” He bent to grab her again, to haul her up, and Rane was suddenly there, knife out, blade glowing.

He swung it and caught Eric in the side, and the magic in Eric’s vest sparked against it. It gave the sorcerer a moment to jump away, but Kayla thought the knife had broken the spell.

It was a knife that could cut through anything.

Eric danced back and Kayla turned to face him, forcing her body up on her side. She gasped at the pain from her ribs and Rane crouched beside her, hand soothing down her arm, along the dip in her waist to rest possessively on her hip.

“I thought you’d be out of things for some time.” Eric put a hand up to the strap on his chest. “But no matter.”

“I think it does matter.” Kayla pushed herself up, sucking in a breath as the pain from her ribs made lights dance in front of her eyes. Rane helped her, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifted her gently and set her on her feet.

She ran a hand down his arm, squeezed, and took a step away from him, toward Eric.

“You’re coming to me?” The sorcerer frowned. “You can barely walk. What do you think you can do?” He pulled a tiny red stone from his chest strap.

She drew in another breath, arm coming around her abdomen in a reflexive move. Took one more step.

But as she crossed the boundary, as she felt the hot, rushing power racing to her in a boil of purple from behind Eric, he looked down.

Saw the sapling he’d trampled under his boot.

He looked into her eyes with dawning horror, and then her wild magic was there. Not racing to her, as she thought.

Enveloping Eric.

He started to scream, and high above, in the tower now surrounded by small saplings, it was echoed by the higher-pitched screams of Nuen.

She turned away, and found Rane was right behind her. Close enough to step straight into his arms.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Her father had been right. The screams would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Miri looked over to Ylana, lying against a tree, hand deep in the soil. “You knew she didn’t understand, didn’t you? That Kayla didn’t know how wild magic reacts to sorcerers.”

The witch turned her head, and there was nothing but exhaustion on her face. “It didn’t try to kill you.”

Miri glared at her. “I’m an exception. You knew that, too.”

The witch closed her eyes. Shrugged. “I knew. The wild magic told her it would cage them. Who was I to say that wasn’t what it planned to do? She has almost total control over it, it could have been true.”

Miri couldn’t resist, and dipped her own fingers into the dirt. “Doesn’t it worry you? That it lied to her.”

Ylana opened her eyes. “Yes. But what can I do about it? What can anyone, except Kayla?”

“You hate it, don’t you?” Perhaps because Ylana was spent, Miri could hear the bitterness clearly in the witch’s words.

Ylana gave a dry laugh. “This is my forest, befouled by the waste magic of the sorcerers. Of course I hate it. I’ve spent all my time these last few years trying to minimize what it’s doing to the Great Forest, picking up its magical treasures, trying to stop the sorcerers any way I can.”

“And Kayla? Do you hate her?”

The witch sighed. Shook her head.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Miri saw balls of wild magic were drifting back into the clearing. For one mad, terrifying moment, she thought it had heard them talking and panic gripped her.

She looked across at Ylana and found the witch was gone. In her place was a small bird. It took to the air, flitting to a branch, and then away.

She pulled her fingers from the soil, grabbed her staff, fear thrumming through her, but before she drew the crackle of sky magic, the rumble of Rane and Soren talking reached her, and then Sooty burst through the trees, kitten-wild, as if she’d been given a bag of catnip.

A sob caught in Miri’s throat, because the cat had tried to keep Eric off her, and Miri had thought she was dead. When she called her, though, Sooty raced back the way she’d come.

Rane appeared through the trees carrying Kayla, and Soren walked beside him, golden apple in his hand. Sooty darted around them, half-climbing trees and then somersaulting off to land on her feet.

Miri slumped back against the trunk, and steeled herself.

She’d made a mistake when she’d transported them all out of the stronghold. Panic had blanked her mind and she’d taken them to the hidden camp Soren had found for them.

It had taken her long minutes to find Ylana, grab the golden apple and race back to heal them both. She’d used all her power fighting off Eric and then getting them to safety, she’d had none left for healing, in the end, and she steeled herself now to meet Rane’s gaze as he gently set Kayla down beside her.

The look he’d given her when she’d run off for the apple and left them, legs broken, in a strange place, while Kayla fought for her life . . . she shuddered.

“I’m sorry.”

Rane knelt beside Kayla, hand tangled in her hair. “I know. I’m sorry, too. You got us out, you healed us. We would be dead without you.” He pushed Sooty’s head away, as the big cat bent to lick Kayla’s hand, purring loudly.

Miri let out a breath. “I meant to send us right here. I don’t know why we ended up at our camp.”

Kayla looked over at her. Struggled to sit up properly, hand rubbing up and down her ribs as if her mind was still getting used to her body being whole again. “In the heat of the moment, we go where we feel most safe. You took them to the safest place your heart knew. Don’t apologize for that.”

She closed her eyes in sudden, sweet relief and nodded.

“Where’s Ylana?” Rane asked, rubbing Sooty between the ears and then, as she fell onto her back, neck arched, just under her chin.

“She turned into a robin and flew away before you got back.” Miri said, and the sound Rane made in response was half-relieved, half-annoyed.

“What now?” Soren sat down beside her, stretching out his long legs, pressing them up against her own.

“Go back to Gaynor. Let my father know we’re safe from Eric. From the danger of a war.” Kayla lifted the silver pear from around her neck. “You’re the most powerful sorcerer left now, Mirabelle.”

Miri reached for it, hesitated, and then drew back her hand. “It should be yours.” She was still holding her staff, and she set it in her lap. “It feels right that you have a way to carry around a lot of wild magic when you’re out of the Great Forest.”

Kayla left her hand out, the silver gray of her gaze reflecting the silver of the pear. “Are you sure?”

Miri waited a beat. Shook her head. “No. I’ve never been without it, but not having it has . . . opened the way for other things. Using a staff feels right. And if your court is in need of a sorcerer, I can be near it. Use it if I need to?”

Kayla’s expression became thoughtful as she put the silver pear back around her neck. She looked over at Rane. “Perhaps it’s time to build a new castle in Gaynor. On the border of the Great Forest. And repeal Gaynor’s law on sorcerers.”

Rane stood, put out a hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Perhaps it is.”

They stood for a moment, arms locked around each other, Kayla’s head resting just under Rane’s chin. He kissed the top of her head, and turned to Soren.

“You coming with us?”

Soren caught Miri’s eye, desire and heat flashing before he looked back at his brother and shook his head. “We’ll leave you to deal with all the kings and liege lords of Middleland, and come along when the dust has settled a little.”

Rane laughed. “That sounds fair.”

Soren tossed the golden apple up, and Rane had to release Kayla to catch it.

“The golden apple and the silver pear.” Soren looked between his brother and the princess. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Rane dropped the golden apple into his pouch and took Kayla’s hand. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Miri watched them walk away, and breathed a sigh of relief when the wild magic drifted off after them. “And now?”

Soren lifted her off the ground and onto his lap, brushed his lips against her neck. “Rane might think luck has nothing to do with it, but I’ll take all the luck I can get.”

Mistress of the Wind

If you enjoyed the Dark Forest series, you will enjoy Mistress of the Wind, a retelling of the Scandinavian fairy tale, East of the Sun, West of the Moon.

An unlikely princess . . .

Kayla is determined to master her new-found abilities as a wild magic witch. She's learning everything she can so she and her betrothed, Rane, can put a stop to the sorcerers who are recklessly gathering their power, building up their magic to take each other on in a war that will destroy the countries of Middleland.

An even more unlikely sorcerer . . .

Mirabelle's father was one of the greatest sorcerers in Middleland, but when he used the magic in the silver pear to bespell his pregnant wife to give birth to the greatest sorcerer who would ever live, he never thought that child would be a girl. Mirabelle is nothing like a usual sorcerer, confounding every expectation, and when she comes to the rescue of Rane's brother, Soren, she makes a decision few sorcerers would. She saves him, rather than herself, losing the silver pear in the process.

And using magic always exacts a price . . .

With war not just a possibility but simply a matter of time, there are no neutral parties and no fence-sitters in Kayla and Mirabelle's new world. Everyone is either an ally or an enemy and there is a price to pay for everything. The question is, how high will it be?

Excerpt: Mistress of the Wind

Chapter 1

Bjorn ran along a path of his own making, between the thinning trees at the top of the mountain. Sometimes, when he was so exhausted he lost himself, his existence was running. Was watching the ground flash beneath him, hypnotized by it.

Tonight, though, he looked forward and up. Time was running out for him. He could feel it slipping like snow off pine branches. It held, and it held, and then suddenly, in a hiss, it gave.

He could no longer afford the luxury of weariness. There would be no rest until this was over, and if he didn’t find the girl, there would never be any rest.

Unless he was dead.

He reached the pass, his legs quivering with exertion, and sank shoulder deep into the snow drifts. He noticed, in the detached way he’d adopted over this last year that he'd been a bear instead of a man, that his fur looked dirty white against the snow’s purity.

He started forcing his way through, every step slower than the last, until, just for a moment, he leaned into the cushioning white and rested.

“Do you give up yet?”

Had he dreamed Norga’s voice? He lifted his heavy head, saw her standing a few feet from where he’d fallen in the snow.

He was too weak to fight her, and besides, it was against the rules they’d set between them. He let his head flop back down.

“You’ve been looking how long now? Isn’t it time to give in to the inevitable?” Her voice was spun sugar in the frosty air. Sweet and brittle.

Strange, he thought she’d enjoy waiting out the full year. Enjoy seeing him return defeated. The chances of his success were so low, it was why she had agreed to this in the first place, rather than risk an open war between her people and his.

It seemed out of character for her to want to hurry him up.

“I have a month left.”

“And what can you do in one month you haven’t been able to do in the last eleven?” A freezing wind lifted her dark hair and tugged at the gossamer dress she wore and she did not so much as shiver.

You can’t feel the cold when your heart is a sliver of stone.

“The woman doesn’t exist, you fool.” Spun sugar gave way to daggers of ice. “You were always a dreamer, but now you’re letting your dreams rule your life.”

Bjorn ignored her. Stretched out. Tried to ease some feeling into his weary limbs.

How had Norga found him? She was powerful, but to have tracked him down to this mountain top, at his lowest hour? Just wondering how she’d accomplished it put a spark of energy back into his body.

“You do not answer because you know I have it right. Put yourself out of your misery.”

Though she spoke with confidence, with a gleeful relish at his condition, deep within him, hope bloomed. He was careful not to move, to give even the smallest twitch of reaction to alert her she’d given herself away.

“My misery starts the moment I give up. I’ll spend my month searching, as our bargain allows, whether I find her or not.”

“You’ve thought about your fate, have you? Thought about your life once you fail and have to marry my daughter as we agreed?” She smiled, then dropped her magical appearance, allowed her true colors to show. As big as he was when he stood on his hind legs, her back was twisted and bent, like a gnarled old tree. Her nose was sharp below two gleaming black eyes, alight with cunning.

She loomed over him, a trollish nightmare.

His father had thought her the most beautiful creature alive. Bjorn wondered bitterly what he would think of his beautiful bride now. She had never revealed herself to her husband before his death, only to her stepson. Out of necessity the first time, and thereafter to frighten and intimidate him.

And then she’d turned him into a bear.

“I might not fail.” He turned away from her, curled up on himself and closed his eyes. “I have one month left. I'm taking it.”

“Suffer a bit longer, then. I’ll see you soon enough.”

He didn’t answer, and after a moment of silence, looked round to find her gone.

He had never given up, but he had been flagging. Had begun to doubt his memory. Doubt that a small girl had once reached out her hand to him in a clearing long ago and whispered: ‘I will love you forever.’ The strange connection he'd felt with her since that day had been frayed and stretched almost to breaking-point.

He forced himself up and started moving again.

He was close. Close enough to scare Norga into a little visit. Close enough that she thought there was a chance he might win.

He found a new rhythm as he loped across the snow. The rhythm of hope renewed.

* * *

Someone was watching her.

Astrid scanned the edge of the forest, clutching her hoe defensively.

There was a stillness in the trees. The birds were gone, the branches did not move as the wind held its breath. It no longer whispered to her as usual, with words she could almost hear and understand.

She forced herself to lift the hoe and pretend to work. She was imagining things, surely?

But no. She knew, knew someone . . . something was there. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run. As she slammed the blunt blade of the hoe into the cold, wet earth, her arms shook.

There were many dangers in the forest, and there was every reason to fear them.

But this felt different.

This felt personal.

And absolutely terrifying.

It would be a long time before anyone returned home. Father, Eric and Tomas would only come in when the light started to fail and they couldn’t see to cut wood any more. Her mother and older sisters would be back even later from market.

She was alone.

She shivered as the wind started up again, a chill breeze off the snow-topped mountains that ruffled over the treetops and blew through the thin, scratchy wool of her dress. Tugging her toward the house.

There was no reprieve from the invisible eyes. They were still on her. And she had come to trust what the wind told her, even if she no longer mentioned the strange kinship she felt to it.

She wanted to be indoors. Now.

Her eyes jerked to the trees again, and she made up her mind. She couldn’t stand being out here any longer.

She took a calming breath. What could it be, anyway? A wolf? A bear? She was close to the house. Neither would be quick enough to get her before she reached the safety of the front door.

But this isn’t one of those things.

She knew it with bone-deep certainty.

Ridiculous, she told herself.

Then she threw down her hoe and ran.

Buy: Mistress of the Wind

Dark Horse

About Dark Horse:

Rose McKenzie may be far from Earth with no way back, but she's made a powerful ally--a fellow prisoner with whom she's formed a strong bond. Sazo's an artificial intelligence. He's saved her from captivity and torture, but he's also put her in the middle of a conflict, leaving Rose with her loyalties divided.

Captain Dav Jallan doesn't know why he and his crew have stumbled across an almost legendary Class 5 battleship, but he's not going to complain. The only problem is, all its crew are dead, all except for one strange, new alien being.

She calls herself Rose. She seems small and harmless, but less and less about her story is adding up, and Dav has a bad feeling his crew, and maybe even the four planets, are in jeopardy. The Class 5's owners, the Tecran, look set to start a war to get it back and Dav suspects Rose isn't the only alien being who survived what happened on the Class 5. And whatever else is out there is playing its own games.

In this race for the truth, he's going to have to go against his leaders and trust the dark horse.

DARK HORSE won the PRISM Award for Best Futuristic in August 2016.

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Turn the page from an excerpt of Dark Horse.

Excerpt: Dark Horse

Chapter 1

Rose slipped her ticket out of hell over her head and tucked it beneath her shirt, where it lay against her skin, throbbing like a heartbeat.

The sensation was so unnerving, she curled her fingers around it and lifted it back out, eyeing the clear crystal oblong uncertainly.

“Iʼll try to keep all the passageways clear for you and Iʼve disabled the lenses, but just in case someone disobeys orders, it would be better if they didnʼt see me.” Sazo spoke too loudly through the tiny earpiece she wore, and she winced.

She reluctantly tucked the crystal, that was somehow also Sazo, back under her shirt, tugging the cord it hung from so it was below her neckline. After three months of being the only thing sheʼd had to wear, washed over and over again, the shirt was threadbare, and barely concealed Sazo anyway, but it was better than nothing.

She took the two steps to the door of the tiny control room tucked away to one side on the Tecran ship and it slid silently open. Sheʼd only been inside for ten minutes at most to steal Sazo, or break him out, depending on your view of things, and the corridor was as empty now as it had been when Sazo led her here.

She looked back, but the door had closed, completely concealing the control room, so it looked like an uninterrupted passageway again.

“Youʼre still in control, even though Iʼve unplugged you?” She spoke very quietly, because even though Sazo had opened doors, and diverted traffic all the way from her prison cell to this room earlier, there was no point taking foolish chances like talking too loudly when it was unnecessary.

“I would not have initiated this plan if I wasnʼt absolutely certain that it would work.” Sazo sounded a little . . . stressed.

“You okay?”

“There has been a delay loading the animals at the launch bay and the Grih have come through their light jump three minutes sooner than I calculated.” He went quiet for a moment. “Iʼm sorry, Rose.”

“What? What is it?” Freezing hands of panic gripped her heart and she stumbled to a halt. If he was going to tell her they had to abort, that she had to go back to the cell . . .

“The lion has been killed.”

She leant against the wall, her legs weak. “That is not good.” She rubbed her face. “Why?”

“Iʼll tell you as you walk. We canʼt delay, with the Grih already here. They might fire on this ship at any time when they realize itʼs disabled.”

She started walking again, and just like earlier, the passages Sazo sent her down were eerily empty. “I thought the Grih were peaceful.”

“They donʼt take force as a first option, but my changing this shipʼs trajectory in the last light jump and setting us in the middle of Grih territory was effectively a declaration of war. They might initially hesitate to fire, given the power of this ship compared to theirs, but when they realize every single system except for lights, air, and the launch bay mechanisms have been disabled, they may strike.”

“And the lion?” There was something bothering her about the way heʼd apologized.

“It was delaying the loading——frightening the loading crew. Theyʼre already frightened because I diverted the ship to this location and they donʼt know whatʼs going on. I only agreed to let the animals come with us because you insisted. Animals are unpredictable. Itʼs hard to get the timing precise.”

“You instructed one of the loaders to kill the lion.” She didnʼt ask, it was a statement of fact. She knew there had been something way off with that apology. She knew, deep down, there was something way off about Sazo, but he was literally her only escape route, and of all the beings she had encountered since her abduction, the only one who had worked to free her.

“There is a chance the wildlife on the moon weʼre going to, Harmon, would not have been suitable to sustain him. He would eventually have died of starvation.”

She didnʼt respond. She was too angry.

What he said may be true, and if so, he could have told her that sooner, but it wouldnʼt have stopped her asking for all the animals to go with them on a second shuttle. They had had as miserable a time as she in this hellhole.

And Sazo thought the Grih would come to pick her up on the moon they were escaping to. They would see the shuttles Sazo had arranged for them leaving the launch bay for Harmon, and after they had dealt with the crippled Tecran ship, they would surely be interested in who had escaped. And, she was sure, be interested in a lion.

They could have made a plan for him.

A door slid open and she walked into the launch bay. Ahead of her, two of the loading staff walked out the far door without turning around, one nursing a jagged wound on his arm.

She pressed against the wall and made no move until the doors closed behind them and she was alone in the massive hangar. Beside her, she heard the hum and double beep of the locks engaging. Sazo had sealed the doors. No one on the ship could stop her getting on the shuttle now.

The lion lay, dead and crumpled, in the massive cage that had housed him since he was taken. It stood next to one of the two explorer shuttles she and Sazo were stealing and she walked up to it and grasped hold of the bars. Hot tears welled in her eyes as she looked down on him. He was a golden, vibrant anachronism in this cold, metallic place.

A wild thing, broken.

That could have been her. Nearly had been, more than once.

The lion had been one of the things that had kept her going, kept her sane.

“I am sorry, Rose. I really am. But the Grih have gone to full alert, shields and guns. Please get in the shuttle, or this could be for nothing.”

The shuttle that had been loaded with all the animals was closed and ready. Rose paused for a moment, looking at the massive gel wall that enclosed the launch bay but which allowed ships in and out. It was a pale blue, and seemed to shimmer.

“Rose!”

She shook herself, and walked up the ramp into the much smaller craft Sazo had arranged for her, and before she had even reached the cabin, he started closing the door and revving the engines.

She lurched into one of only two chairs in the small cockpit and struggled with the safety harness. She should have been excited, or at least relieved to finally have escaped the Tecran, but as the engines began their muffled scream and the ship lifted into hover mode, she could only think of tawny fur and golden eyes.

Closed forever.

* * *

The Tecran Class 5 battleship hung sullenly between the Barrist and one of the fertile moons of the gas giant Virmana. It hulked like a prickly black ball, and Dav Jallan shifted uncomfortably in the Barristʼs captainʼs chair.

He could feel the tension humming off his ten-strong command staff, although they were trying to hang on to calm. Their emergence from a light jump deep inside their own territory to find themselves within sight of a Tecran ship was not unlike opening the door expecting to see a friend, and tripping over a weapon-wielding thug instead.

Dav decided theyʼd been frozen in shock long enough, himself included.

“Is there anyone on board?” That was almost the only logical reason why the Tecran hadnʼt fired on them yet. Their ship was three times the size of the Barrist, and Dav knew from the information he received from Battle Center that a rare Class 5 like the one in front of him had even more than that in terms of fire power.

“There are at least five hundred heartbeats, sir.” Kila said. She tapped a screen and immediately the view of the battleship on the main screen in front of them lit up with hundreds of lights on clearly defined levels.

Most of them were blue but . . .

“Are those orange lights?” Dav leant forward to get a better look. They were all concentrated in the same area, set apart from the blue, which was the only reason they were noticeable at all.

“Those are bio-signatures our system canʼt identify.” Kila said, and frowned. “This is the first time Iʼve ever come across a genuine orange before.”

“Should I initiate evacuation?” Davʼs aide, Farso Lothric, hovered at his shoulder, his hands clenching and unclenching.

“Where would we go?” Dav didnʼt need to look at his systems screen to know they couldnʼt possibly have recovered enough from the light jump theyʼd just made to go anywhere. Let alone evade a Tecran Class 5 battleship.

And while the moon behind the Tecran ship shone like a blue and green jewel against the red and cream of Virmanaʼs patterned atmosphere, and was assuredly habitable, the problem still remained that they would have to go around the Tecran ship to get to it.

“We have to do something,” Lothric said.

Dav didnʼt disagree. However, heʼd known the moment theyʼd come out of the jump and straight on course toward the Tecran ship that there was only one course of action. They had sent out a comm the moment theyʼd made visual contact, and at least two battle class ships would be light jumping to the Barristʼs aid, but right now, all they could do was defend. “Shields are at full. Guns are all primed. If they attack——”

At that moment, all the lights on the Tecran ship went out.

The blue and orange heartbeats remained, but it was clear the power was down.

“The oranges, sir.” Kila stood up in her excitement, and forgot to use the pointer, using her finger instead.

The orange heartbeats detached from the ship, and Dav zoomed in with the lens, saw two explorer-class craft flying away from their mother ship.

“Is one empty?” Borji, his systems engineer, asked, peering forward.

“No. Thereʼs one orange heartbeat on that one. Six on the other.”

Dav watched their trajectory for a minute longer, but there was nowhere else to go but Virmanaʼs moon——not in those craft——and he turned his attention back to the real threat.

“Could they be on backup power and we canʼt see it?” He waited for Kila to fiddle with her instrumentation.

She shook her head. “I canʼt see any power at all.”

“Which means . . .” Lothric gripped the back of Davʼs chair.

“Which means we have a ship full of dying Tecran in front of us.” Dav stood. Walked toward the screen. He would give a lot to know what was going on in that Tecran ship right now.

It was like someone had just handed them a Class 5 warship on a plate, with no effort on their part to claim it besides a bit of messy clean-up.

He didnʼt trust that at all.

No one in the universe was that kind.

He tapped his communicator. “Commander Appal, ready Squads A to F, and prepare to board the Tecran vessel immediately. Full biohazard kit.”

He paused.

“Iʼm coming with you.”

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Also by Michelle Diener

Fantasy Novels by Michelle Diener

Mistress of the Wind

The Dark Forest series:

The Golden Apple

The Silver Pear

* * *

Science Fiction Novels

Class 5 series:

Dark Horse

Dark Deeds

Dark Minds

Sky Raiders series:

Sky Raiders

* * *

Historical Fiction Novels

Susanna Horenbout and John Parker series:

In a Treacherous Court

Keeper of the King’s Secrets

In Defense of the Queen

Regency London series:

The Emperor’s Conspiracy

Banquet of Lies

A Dangerous Madness

Other historical novels:

Daughter of the Sky

* * *

Short Paranormal Fiction

Breaking Out: Part I (Short story)

Breaking Out: Part II (Novella)

About the Author

Michelle Diener writes historical fiction, science fiction and fantasy. From the Tudor court, to the streets of Regency London, and into magical landscapes, she's never happier than when she's building worlds and crafting suspenseful plots and unforgettable characters.

Michelle was born in London, grew up in South Africa and currently lives in Australia with her husband and two children.

You can contact Michelle through her website or sign up to receive notification when she has a new book out on her New Release Notification page.

@michellediener

www.michellediener.com