Breaking Stars (Book 2) (7 page)

General Calsifer was not far off, cantering up on Araybiatt with a tight and worried look on his face. Blood was on his hands, and the aroma of smoke and cooked pork about him. He took only a moment to describe the Princesses’ wounds, sidestepping the destrier to a trot as he tossed the Lieutenant her quiver and a bottle of foxroot dye. He galloped off promptly and quietly, Araybiatt’s steel-shod hooves covered in canvas.

The task to mimic the wounds was cruel and grotesque. He did not have a Cinibarian blade, but her hand came off at the wrist with a single stroke, slender and brittle as fresh ice. The Princess had been burned, but he did not know to what extent, so he let the flames work their dark power over her body. The foxroot spilled over her face and into her hair, covering only half of the wet locks. He severed her hair on one side. One eye was burned, and the other he caved in with three sharp jabs of his hilt, so none would know the color of her eyes.

He shook as he wrapped her in a draped her over the saddle. Lex mounted up behind her, smelling blood and ash, feeling her still-warm corpse against his legs. He fought back the urge to sick up and instead found the nearest soldier patrol, a group of Queen’s Wing men he did not know, and proffered his find. He let the men take her and vanished into the streets. Nolen knew his face by now, and if the Prince knew he was involved, it could undo the deadly ploy and make the girl’s death for naught.

Lex shut off the tap and let the water turn his skin bright red.

The worst part of the act would never come to light. The girl would never be known as anything other than Princess Robyn until the rightful heiress showed her face. By then the girl would be buried and lost. Yet, she was not an expendable, not a rogue pillow-maiden, or a marauder, or criminal that was lost daily and forgotten. She was middle-class girl with a family that loved her, a family that would never know where their girl had gone. Lex hoped they would think she ran away, but the torture of not knowing would ruin them as it nearly ruined his father when his mother was stolen.

Rumors circulated the palace already, but none whispered the name Robyn Bolt. No one important knew who the grain miller’s daughter was impersonating, but the halls were heavy with the same story. The Breaker of Stars was finally broken. To protect the Princess, Lex could say nothing to ease the ruse.

He sucked in a breath. No one would know, no one
could
know. It was not Prince Nolen who had broken the Mage, nor the girl herself, but
Lex
who had struck the final blow and felled the greatest man living.

Chapter 6

Sometimes, the mere act of breathing took too much energy out of Gabriel. As promised, Nolen had taken everything from him, and at long last his powerful will gave in. To his core, he now cared for nothing. If Nolen gave him an order, he did not care to argue. He would remain in his chair until someone ordered him up. He had no appetite for food and wished only for sleep, but even the nights were filled with images of all he lost.

By morning after his breaking, Nolen had worked everything from him, withholding much-needed healing to his back, but Gabriel would have told him with or without the healing. He spilled forth everything from the moment he first met Princess Robyn to the last time he had seen her. Nolen wanted to know the minutest details of his life, digging into Gabriel’s senses to learn every part of him. The Prince was now armed with a thousand facts to use against him, from information on Balien to Gabriel’s multiple past suicide attempts.

Gabriel sat tucked back into a chair before his cold hearth. It had been two nights since Robyn’s death, and he was still submerged in mourning. He would have gone unwashed and unshaven, tucked into sleeping clothes in his bed if Nolen had not demanded he be presentable at all hours. He was clad in a pair of tight black trousers with silver scrollwork down the outside seams, and a black blouse with a high collar, thrown up, so he could hide behind it. Nolen held court that morning, and Gabriel was required to attend to show Nolen’s power. The Prince forced him to kneel beside the throne with his head drooped. By now the whole palace and half the City knew the Mage had broken. Gabriel did not care.

His mother and father had rushed away at his bidding, and without Lady Aisling there, no one could stop Nolen from taking over his mother. Gabriel had not seen Queen Miranda since his breaking, but if she was still in the palace, she kept herself well secluded. His parents had not returned. He suspected they knew the conditions in Kilkiny, and kept far away. Nolen had ordered both to be captured if they set foot in Anatoly City.

A servant knocked and let herself in, hefting a bundle of cut wood over a shoulder. Gabriel did not meet her eyes, staring at the void twin chair before him. It would always be void, for his companion was dead. He did not even know what Nolen had done with her body. He expected to see her displayed in the courtyard or see her fair, marred head posted on a pike where all could view.

The servant smiled in his direction and bent over to start the fire. Once, he could have lit it with the flick of his fingers, but that was a long time ago.

As she left, a knock sounded on the door, and it swung inward to reveal Marya, the Mistress of the Kitchens. She held a silver tray between her robust arms filled with covered plates that steamed around the edges. Her red face was cheery, but she looked wary and worried.

“I thought I’d bring you supper myself so I might see that handsome face of yours again,” she said gleefully in her deep, raspy voice as she set the tray beside him on a small table.

He put his jaw in his hand and leaned his elbow on the armrest, staring into the fire without a word.
‘More likely to see if the rumors are true.’
She lifted silver domes and white napkins to reveal pumpkin soup with leeks and truffles, warm oat bread with a side of honey butter, and a small crock of peach crumble.

Marya paused for only a moment when he did not accept her artwork and held a silver goblet before him. “They say the best ruby wine is the Dastanian grape, but few people talk of the silvers and pinks. The best silver wine comes from the south coast of Cinibar where the air is salty and the earth is crusty. The finest pinks come from the fertile Aidenmarian plains. Though, my favorites are the sweet golds, and they are right difficult to procure, but I had a few flasks tucked away.” She poured a dark yellow wine into his goblet and gave it a swirl. Peach and pear filled the air. “Do you know where the best golds come from? The lands of Jaden may not be the richest for crops, but the best grapes come from the hardest soil. Such it is with life, that the strongest among us are those who have weathered the worst.”

She held the goblet before him until he took it and perched it on the other armrest. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she brushed his hair off his forehead and put a kiss on it. “Do try and eat something. You need your strength.”

He looked up for a moment to search her face.
‘Does she know? Does she know what Nolen has me doing?’
She smoothed his hair to the side and gave him a soft smile. Paying him a small bow she left him alone.

He sat there for some time before lifting the drink and taking a draught. It was sweet to the tongue with a fruity finish. She left him only a goblet-full, so it was not enough to get drunk on, but this was not a wine to be downed. He sipped it slowly, watching the sunlight outside die and the fire grew brighter. It crackled loudly and sent aromas of sap and smoke into the air. The smells reminded him of the countless nights spent outside with Robyn, stoking a fire with his hands as she cooked, playing Tiles, and swapping stories. He was too numb from the loss that tears had not fallen since he saw her.

The food beside him grew cold, and though his stomach twisted, he could not bring himself to sup. The Jaden gold was almost finished, and it slowly buzzed his head since he was dehydrated and void of food.

Nolen burst through his door without knocking. Gabriel spilled the last swallow of wine over his chin. He brushed the sweet droplets off his chest and dangled the goblet by the rim over the armrest as Nolen strode up. Gabriel kept his eyes on the fire. It took him a moment to realize the Prince was not alone.

He glanced up to see Lace, her large eyes wide, and her little lips pressed together. If she was here, it could only mean they were traveling somewhere. Since Gabriel had finally broken, Nolen could now begin his search for his sister and the Silex. Nolen had explained everything to him that morning, giving him strict instructions on how to behave during their travels.

‘Going somewhere?’
he willed himself to ask, but the words were not strong enough to reach his lips.

“Gabriel, I am so sorry,” Lace whispered in her lilting Arconian language. He shifted his eyes to look at her worried expression. Nolen turned to glance down at her, and her face expertly smoothed to reveal nothing.

Head Mage Casimir kept Nyanza tightly reigned, though the mare wanted to run despite the long miles she had already logged. Casimir was swathed in a high-necked wool blouse, underneath a long white coat with split tails, thick cotton trousers, and high riding boots. It was all in the purest of whites, bundled under his white Mage cloak.

The air down in the valley was warmer than the mountains, but his skin grew thin with the years, and he enjoyed the soft wools that made younger men sweat. His back felt the miles as Nyanza plodded smoothly. While many Head Mages preferred to ride in a carriage, he felt he should be seen as one with his people, not shut inside a box.

Secondhand Lael rode beside him on his black gelding Zaffre with its red points. Nyanza stood taller than the handsome black to make Casimir taller in the seat. It was the only time the Head Mage was taller than his Secondhand. Lael had an excellent seat and rode as a man who grew up on a horse farm, but no one would guess his humble birth by his intelligent eyes and educated tongue. His Mage cloak threw over his shoulders to reveal his dark red coat slashed with cords of brown to mimic abstract autumnal leaves. That was unbuttoned to his chest showing the cream doublet beneath. Lael had few pleasure to his name, but fine fashion was the most important.

The Secondhand roved from group to group as they traveled. He was the voice of the Head Mage, answering questions or gleaning information, but he had returned a while ago without complaint. He sat straight in his saddle, methodically leading the courser around obstacles. Casimir swore he did it to show off, but Lael would never. Casimir grew up in a city where horses were used as pulling- and pack-animals, not artistic outlets. He had not learned to ride until he was much older.

They had been on the road for two full days. The trek from Castle Jaden to Anatoly City could be accomplished less than three days if the horse could travel at a canter for most of it. They did not break above a trot to keep the caravan together. Lael fidgeted with his lips as he trotted, wishing to go faster.

“I am going to scout ahead,” he said to Casimir and gave Zaffre an unseen order. He broke into a gallop, vanishing around a bend in the road. Casimir did not bother reminding him there were already six scouts ahead.

After sending his Council out to find Mages to accompany him, he was surprised to find such a large party amassing. Castle Jaden offered many great protection and luxury, but as the Council spread the tale of the Class Ten in a Castrofax, people had been receptive. If Mage Gabriel could be freed, they would have a champion to battle Mage Ryker. Over two hundred Mages had agreed to leave the safety of the castle.

The morning of the third day was chilly to Casimir’s wool-covered skin, and the sun overhead fought a battle with gray clouds. He rode towards the front of the caravan, surrounded by a few of his Council and some of the strongest Mages Jaden could provide. All draped in their black Mage cloaks. There were sparingly few Class Sixes left in the lands, but with Ryker’s resurgence, most of them returned to Jaden, and a handful agreed to accompany them. They still lacked a Class Six Fire Mage to allow them to sidestep, but Lady Aisling reported there was one in Kilkiny Palace who had traveled from Arconia.

Lady Aisling had been very vague in her messages concerning the sudden appearance of the Arconians, saying she would hold them at bay until Casimir arrived. At the rate they traveled, they would reach the City by the end of the day. He could get answers from his Councilwoman herself.

They rode for another hour before Casimir spotted Lael cantering back, standing in his stirrups as he slowed the lathered gelding. Casimir was easy to pick out in a crowd in all white, and Lael trotted up, spinning his horse around.

“There is something ahead you should see,” he stated and kicked his horse into a canter. Casimir was given no chance to question or object, so he followed as soon as he could get Nyanza to canter. Aidenmarian horses bred for royals were trained to understand the most basic of commands, but he could never remember what they were since he rode so seldom. ‘Stop’ and ‘Go’ had no effect.

He passed the caravan receiving a few surprised looks, and when Councilman Markus moved to join them, he waved him on. The Mage was the only Air Mage in the Council, and one of few who wielded both Air and Spirit in a Class of Five. Aside from Dagan, Markus was the tallest man on the Council, and one of the older men into his early fifties. His face and hair had remained youthful to steer astray anyone who guessed his age. He had excellent posture to make him appear confident which made his comely appearance all the more appealing. It won him a beautiful bride of 25 years. Markus had a strong jaw, broad chin, dark goatee, and prominent brow in North Anatolian style. His honey-brown hair was tied back into a short tail. He was garbed in a long coat of dark gray trimmed in a sea-foam green, loose black trousers and high riding boots of black leather.

He followed behind as the three of them cantered down the road. The Councilman also had a better seat than Casimir’s even though Markus grew up sailing the Northern lakes, far away from horses. It was enough to make Casimir sigh. Ahead of them stood several of the scouts, and a third blond man in a long gray coat sat back into the trees.

The blond man surveyed the newcomers. His eyes passed over Casimir but returned when he saw the white. He gave a small, knowing smile and bowed most handsomely.

“Talon Estrin?” Markus asked and turned his horse closer. The blond looked up.

“Councilman,” Talon smiled, surprised. “Fancy this. How was your last shipment of olive oil and tallow candles?”

“An excellent memory you have,” Markus smiled. “It was so terrible I had to come see you myself, and I brought half of Jaden with me to tan your hide.”

Talon laughed heartily, bringing red to his tired cheeks. “Always glad to please.”

Markus was the merchant diplomat of the Council, and handled the import of many much-needed items. He knew hundreds of upper-class merchants from each kingdom, and he was the best advisor when products needed to be imported.

“You have not met my companion,” Markus grinned, raising a hand to Casimir. “This is Head Mage Casimir Brynmor, Class Six Spirit Mage.”

Talon bowed again. “We have not met, sir. I am Talon Estrin. My uncle was King Eirian Bolt.”

Lael dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting scout. “What brings you here?” Casimir asked Talon.

Talon glanced around. “A hidden relic.” Casimir raised a brow and narrowed his eyes, a look that expected a better answer. Talon swallowed. “Princess Robyn—and she is wounded.”

Casimir dismounted quickly and listened as Talon described their night. “A random lightning strike?” Casimir cut in as Talon slowed.

“Nay, it was a bolt from Prince Nolen.”

“Oh my,” Casimir whispered and quickened his step. His bones were sore from the ride but spurred himself to make better time.

The trees spattered in yellow and orange as pretty as paint hurled over a canvas, and the forest was rich with the smell of soil and a tinge of smoke. A camp came into view, and they spotted a fire and smelled cooking meat. A surprising face stood up once she spotted him, and Lady Aisling smiled.