Final Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 6) (2 page)

4

Aaric

“
G
et up, you worthless dog.”

A booted foot rammed itself into Aaric’s ribs. He grunted, pushing up onto hands and knees. His throat was parched. He shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his mind.

“
Get up!
” Someone grabbed a fistful of Aaric’s hair, hauling him upward. Aaric scrambled to his feet to relieve the pressure, blinking in the lamplight.

“The master wants you working in the fields. Picking weeds. Hurry. You slept in, so you won’t be needing breakfast.” The man turned away and started barking orders to other workers sleeping in the hay.

What master?
Aaric looked around. He was in a barn, the musty, earthy smell of horses and straw in the air. He rubbed his face blearily and froze when his fingers brushed his throat.

Aaric was collared.

“This can’t be real.” He cast his mind back. How long had he been a slave?

Always. He’d always been a slave. Why did he think, for a moment, that he wasn’t?

He shuffled to the doorway, following the other slaves outside. Dawn’s light was just creeping over the horizon and the heat in the air was already stifling.

Walking to the fields, Aaric and the other slaves began their work. Some were set to pick weeds, others to harvest crops. Aaric knelt in the dirt and carefully began pulling up the weeds and thorns that, if left unchecked, would choke and suffocate the crops that would feed the master and his family in the coming winter. It wasn’t hard labor, but before long Aaric’s limbs began to cramp. Sweat streamed down his dirt-streaked limbs and face. It was too hot. His throat was dry; swallowing was an effort.

“I can’t do this.” A woman knelt in the dirt across from him, her blonde hair disheveled. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with a dirty arm. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

Aaric studied her, still pulling weeds. “Keep picking,” he warned her. “If you’re caught resting, you’ll be punished.”

“I don’t care.” The woman sounded bone-weary, shoulders slumped.

“What’s your name?” Aaric asked, hoping he sounded encouraging. “Keep picking. We’ll talk. It’ll help pass the time.” He smiled at her.
She’s pretty,
he thought, and felt a surge of guilt. Why?

The woman smiled back wearily. “My name’s Grace.” Her blonde curls were damp from sweat. “What’s yours?”

“Aaric.” He kept moving, easing his cramped legs a little as he moved down the line. “Are you new here, Grace?”

“Yes.” She started pulling weeds again to Aaric’s relief. “I used to live in the city, but I was sold and moved out here. I used to be a lady’s maid.”

“You’ve been a slave your whole life?”

“No.” Grace frowned, yanking at a particularly stubborn weed. “I was captured about five years ago. What about you?”

It was Aaric’s turn to frown. “I’ve been a slave as long as I can remember.”

“How awful.” Pity filled the woman’s gaze as she looked at him. “How sad to have never known freedom.”

Aaric didn’t have a response to that. They spent the rest of their afternoon in silence.

5

Aaric

“
D
on’t you hate them?” Grace asked softly so as not to wake the others. “The magic users. They enslave us like animals.” It was night and they lay in the dirty hay next to each other, hands entwined. Aaric thought he might be in love with her. It’d been weeks since their first meeting, and they spent every available opportunity together.

He chewed his lower lip as he considered her question. “Hate is a strong word,” he said at last.

“Not for me.” Grace snorted. She was silently for a moment. “We need to escape.” The words were a breath above a whisper. “We deserve a better future.”

Aaric smirked, though with it being so dark, Grace wouldn’t see it. “Where would we go?”

Grace’s hand tightened around his. “Does it matter? We’d be
free,
Aaric. That’s what matters.”

Freedom. What did it really mean? Aaric didn’t understand it, but he wanted to. He also wanted to make Grace happy. “We’ll escape together.”

Grace smiled widely at him, and Aaric leaned forward on his elbow to kiss her. He knew he’d made the right choice.

6

Aaric

“
O
ur plan failed.” Grace sobbed into Aaric’s shirt. “They’ve found us!”

Aaric wrapped his arms around the slim woman in an embrace. He could hear the shouts of men and the baying of dogs. They would be found soon.

No. He shook his head.
He
would be found soon, but not Grace. He ran his fingers across Grace’s throat in a caress, ignoring the stab of guilt he couldn’t explain. He’d freed her of her collar, but if the master found her again, it would encircle her neck once more. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Tilting her chin up, Aaric kissed her hastily. “Run,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Run. I’ll distract them.”

“You’ll be killed!” Grace looked up at him, her eyes wide in horror.

Aaric took her by the shoulders and spun her toward the woods, toward freedom. “I love you. Run!” He knew he wouldn’t see her again. “Run!”

She obeyed, lifting her skirts above her knees as she ran, sobbing in grief and terror. “I love you too!”

Aaric turned and sprinted toward the baying dogs, unsheathing a broad-bladed knife he’d stolen from the master’s house. It wouldn’t be long now. He’d be dead soon.

There. He saw one of the master’s hired men. The man was taller than Aaric and held a long whip. He was the one who’d watched slave women too much. Aaric leapt at him with a snarl. Grace would be free.

The men and dogs disappeared in a swirl of fog, and Aaric yelled in surprise as he fell on his hands and knees, the blade falling away from him in a clatter.

“Adaryn,” he choked. “I love Adaryn!” He remembered. “This isn’t real.”

You have proven yourself to be kind
, the voice spoke. Aaric stood and turned in a slow circle, trying to find its source, but the voice seemed to be everywhere.
You were willing to sacrifice your life to save another. You pass the second trial.

“Wait,” Aaric called out. “Tell me these are visions. That they aren’t real.”

The voice was silent for a moment.
They are shadows and whispers of what could be, and what may be. What is, and what was.

“So Grace wasn’t real.” That was a relief. Another thought occurred to him. “I can’t die here then.”

Don’t be so sure.
Something ominous and dark was behind the fog. Aaric could feel it.
Be careful, little one. Stay true to your convictions, or you could lose everything.

“What do you mean?” Aaric asked, but then the fog rolled over him and darkness reigned.

7

Donell

T
aking a deep breath, Donell entered the city. He hunched his shoulders, trying to avoid contact with the Oppressors, but it was impossible. He involuntarily flinched every time someone in the crowd brushed by him. The press of people was stifling. He needed to hurry. This was the night he would prove himself.

He stayed in the lower parts of the city, keeping to the alleyways and slums. He kept himself hooded and cloaked. It was spring, but it still felt like winter, and most passersby wore coats and cloaks, warding off the chill.

Darkness was approaching, and the Night Watch would patrol the streets soon. Donell chewed his lower lip. Was Eletha all right?

“You’re late.” Eletha’s breath tickled his ear. Donell turned to face her. The young woman was wearing all black, her trousers pleasingly form-fitting. “We need to strike quickly and withdraw. I was seen the last time I came here.”

“Who saw you?” Donell asked. He shortened his stride to match hers so she didn’t have to run.

“I don’t know. A young woman. She knew I was the one taking Ruis’ children.” She smirked. “I took care of her.”

Donell nodded. The Oppressor woman undoubtedly deserved no less. “Why bring me?”

“Because you’re my mate now.” Eletha spoke matter-of-factly. “You must be as strong as me if we are to both rule this land.”

“Okay.” Donell’s gaze roved over the people around him before settling on a young girl. Her clothing was ragged and worn, her face pinched and thin. She crouched near a trash bin, her arms wrapped around her bony frame for warmth. He pointed. “Her.”

Eletha arched a blonde eyebrow at him. “She’s a stringy little thing. Her essence won’t be as strong as a healthy child.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “Still, she’s easy pickings. You may not even have to force her to come. Here—” She rummaged in her pack and pulled out a thick slice of bread. She handed it to him with a wink. “See if she’ll come willingly.”

Donell walked across the cobblestone street until he stood before the child. The girl shrank away from him, looking up with large, dark brown eyes. Her hair was filthy and hung in greasy strands about her shoulders.

“Here.” Donell held out the bread, practically shoving it in her face when she didn’t move. “Take it. You look famished.”

The girl hesitated only a moment longer before reaching up and taking the bread with frail little hands. She crammed the bread into her mouth, eating at an alarming rate.

Donell stared at her. She looked like she would die from either cold or starvation at any moment. He’d thought all Oppressors were rich, living off the hard work of the nomads. This little girl told a different story.

He shook his head. She was an Oppressor. That was all that mattered. Glancing over his shoulder, Donell saw Eletha nod her head encouragingly. He turned back to the girl. She’d eaten the last morsel of bread and was watching him curiously. He knelt down to her level. “Would you like to come with me?” he asked. “I have lots of food.”

The child nodded, smiling shyly. Donell grimaced thinking about what he was going to do to her.
Maybe this Oppressor is different.

“You hesitate, dear one.” Eletha spoke, and Donell sighed, feeling her magic envelop him. She was right. She’d told him about the extraction of essence, and if he was going to defeat Bran, he needed to do this. He stood and reached out a hand to the little girl. “Come.”

The child stood, her tiny hand dwarfed by his. It was too easy.

8

Aaric

D
evastation. Desolation. Death.

Aaric turned in a slow circle, trying to get a grip on his rising panic. So much death.

Bodies lay strewn everywhere, blood staining the snow and dirt. Rovers.
Nomads,
Aaric reminded himself. They were all dead. Every one of them. Why?

He began to walk, trying not to look. An old man there, a mother here, her arms still curved protectively around her dead child. Cut down like animals.

“Senseless,” he muttered, shoulders hunched. “Why?”

He walked past an older man laying in a heap to his left. Aaric couldn’t see his face very well, but there was something familiar about the slain nomad. Who did he remind him of?

He quickened his step, trying to keep his gaze averted. He had to get away from here. He needed to get away. If he hurried, he wouldn’t find her. If he left, she would be all right. She wouldn’t be here. She would—

There. Apart from all the others lay a solitary figure, a broken, quiet figure. Empty. Lifeless. A woman.

Adaryn.

“No!” Aaric sprinted over to the figure, dropping to the dirty snow beside the woman. “No!” Gently he rolled her over, cradling her in his arms, desperately trying to ignore the dried blood that stained the front of her blouse. Despair washed over him like a wave. Not Adaryn. Not his love, his wife. His everything. “Adaryn.” Tears leaked from his eyes as he hugged her to him. Why? “
Why?
”

“Because of what she was, Mr. Wright,” a familiar voice drawled. “Filthy barbarians have no place in this world. They rejected slavery, and now they must pay the price.”

Hairs prickled on the back of his neck. Aaric looked up to see a tall man standing several feet away from him. His dark, graying hair was pulled back in a sleek tail, his eyes a piercing green.

Kingsley.

“No.” Aaric gently lay Adaryn down and stood over her frame protectively. “You’re dead, Kingsley.”

Kingsley laughed, clearly amused. “Do I look dead?” His eyes glinted. “Your wife got what she deserved.” His smile deepened. “Fierce little thing.”

With a roar, Aaric launched himself at the Oppressor, hands outstretched.

The magistrate disappeared in a swirl of fog. Aaric landed in a crouch, spinning in a circle to get his bearings. He had to find him. He must. He needed a weapon.

The fog parted with a swirl, and Aaric frowned at a sword lying on the cold, hard ground. He snatched it up and walked through the fog, hatred seeping into him. He would hunt Kingsley down. He’d hunt him down and kill him. Vengeance would be his.