Final Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 6) (7 page)

25

Aaric

“
I
s that a book from the royal library?” Luna peered at the leather-bound tome in Aaric’s hands. “I could have sworn I saw it there.”

Aaric shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. They were still riding north, and Aaric found riding as good a time as any to read. Was there ever a bad time to read?

“Er . . . maybe. I thought I’d borrow it.”

Luna smirked at him. “Does Sirius know you ‘borrowed’ it?”

Aaric frowned, feeling defensive. “Who said it was his anyway? He’s not the king.” He vaguely remembered himself berating Adaryn for ‘borrowing’ a horse, and sternly banished it from his mind. A book was a very different thing from a horse. “I’ll give it to you when I’m done. You can return it.”

“What are you reading about?”

Aaric turned back to the pages. “Have you ever heard of a magical ability called ‘merging’?”

Luna shook her head.

“Blast it.” Aaric leafed through the pages, feeling frustrated. His reading spectacles slipped down his nose, and he pushed them back. “Blast it,” he repeated.

“Why does it matter?” Luna was watching him, trying not to appear too curious.

“I’m supposed to learn it,” he explained. “It’s supposed to be the key to defeating the Twyli.”

Luna shrugged, patting her horse absently on the neck. “Well then you’d better keep reading.”

Aaric didn’t bother to answer. He’d already read the book twice, and while it had a fair bit about merging, it didn’t say
how
it worked. For Ruis’ sake, he hoped he could learn it in time.

26

Aaric

“
T
here’s someone out there.” Aaric had fallen back to ride next to Luna. “I only saw him for a moment, but he’s there.”

“A brigand?” Luna asked, her brow creasing with worry.

Aaric shook his head. “A nomad. He was dressed like one anyway.” He peered ahead, his jaw firming. “I’m going to see if I can find him.”

“And leave us here?” Luna glanced at the servants. “If something happens to you, I’ll be stuck taking care of those two.”

“I’ll be fine.” Aaric heeled his horse to a trot. “Nomads don’t usually seek out violence without being provoked.”

“
Usually,
being the key word there,” Luna grumbled, but didn’t press the matter.

Aaric hadn’t ridden more than a hundred yards before several nomads appeared from a small copse of trees. They stared at him, their faces expressionless.

Aaric lifted a hand in friendly greeting. “Hello!”

They continued to stare. Their faces could’ve have been carved from stone for all the emotion they showed.

“We’re weary travelers,” Aaric said. “Just passing through the area. We won’t bother you.”

“Aaric?” A tall nomad pushed through the men, his blue eyes wide with shock. “Is that you?”

“Kenroc.” Aaric nodded. “I didn’t know you had traveled this far south.”

“We are on our way to Sen Altare.” Kenroc’s gaze moved to study the others, his jaw tightening. “Where’s my daughter?”

“In Ruis.” Aaric slid from his horse. “Adaryn needs your help, Kenroc.”

27

Aaric

K
enroc sighed. “Bran had mentioned children were disappearing in Ruis, but I didn’t know who was behind it or why.”

“Well now you do,” Aaric replied. They’d finished a nomadic dinner of venison and foraged greens, and now sat beside the fading embers of a fire. “And the Twyli are bringing an army. They won’t stop until they’re defeated or they’ve won.”

“Many would say Ruis deserves nothing less,” Kenroc grumbled. He kept his gaze on the embers though, not looking at Aaric.

“Do you really believe that?” Aaric frowned at him. “That’s like saying Bran is just like his father. We both know that isn’t true.”

Kenroc sighed. “Even if we wanted to help, do you really think Ruis would accept it? We’re
nomads,
Aaric.” He laughed. “Not that I would expect you to understand. You don’t know what it’s like to be different.”

Aaric snorted. “You forget I was a Denali on the other side of the Dragon’s Tail. I know what it’s like to be hated, simply for who I am.” He studied Kenroc out of the corner of his eye. Kenroc looked . . . sadder than he had. Older. More weary. “I’m not an Oppressor anymore, Kenroc.” Aaric spoke softly, his voice almost a whisper.

Kenroc frowned at him. “I know that, Aaric.”

Aaric shook his head, feeling suddenly nervous. He still wasn’t used to this. “I’m . . . I’m a magic user, too.”

Kenroc sneered at him. “Don’t joke about it, boy, it’s not funny.”

Aaric held out a hand, palm upward. He took a deep breath, fumbling for the magic within him. It stirred to life and concentrating, he formed a small blue flame. It flickered fitfully on his palm, like a stiff breeze could instantly blow it away. He was strong, very strong in the magic—he could feel it—but controlling it was still difficult.

Kenroc stared at it like he would a bush viper. “Shades alive, Aaric,” he breathed. “What happened? How? When?”

Aaric recounted his journey with Adaryn, and his encounter with the dragon, leaving out the details of his trials.

Kenroc was silent for a long time, mulling over Aaric’s tale. “The dragon,” he said at last, wonder in his voice. “He’s in the nomad legends, of course, but I never thought I’d actually talk to someone who’d actually met him.”

“You believe me then?”

“You’re an Oppressor that wields magic, Aaric,” Kenroc said. “That shouldn’t be possible.” He rubbed his chin. At last he said, “That would be like Adaryn sticking her neck out for those weaker than her. She wouldn’t refuse them aid.” He sighed. “She shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t either. Bran was right. I knew he was, but I didn’t have the courage to help my enemy.” He smiled at Aaric. “We will go. We will return and help the children of Ruis.”

“Thank you,” Aaric said. “I don’t think Ruis will forget this, Kenroc.” He stood. “Begin preparations tomorrow. We must return with all haste.” He hoped it would be enough. Time continued to flow, and he needed to get to Ruis before the Twyli did.

28

Grace

“
F
ather!” Grace rushed over to where Bran and Fyrsil stood lowering the magistrate from his horse. Lord Flores’ face was ashen pale, his eyes closed. “What happened?” He couldn’t die, He couldn’t.

“He needs rest,” Fyrsil said, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. “He suffered a chest wound, and it will take some time to fully heal.”

Grace clutched Bran’s arm. “What happened, Bran?”

“Donell and Eletha happened,” Bran replied. He yawned, rubbing his eyes. They felt like they had sand in them. “Your father shot Eletha in the shoulder, but the Twyli woman retaliated.”

“That was a decent shot he made.” Fyrsil watched as a cluster of servants hurried outside at their return, taking the magistrate inside. “That Twyli woman is as good as dead, either from blood loss or infection.”

Grace released Bran’s arm and followed the servants up to her father’s bedchambers.

After undressing him and finding no wound to attend to, Lord Flores was put in his bed. Grace sat by him, holding one of his hands in hers. She hoped he would be all right. He had to be. What if he didn’t pull through? Grace couldn’t imagine a life without Father there.

“Grace.” Her father’s eyes fluttered open, and his fingers tightened briefly around hers. “Gracie.” His voice was hoarse.

“What is it, Father?”

“The other magistrates . . . haven’t been happy working with the nomads.” His eyes kept closing and reopening, as if his eyelids were too heavy to lift. “Until I am better, find Jack Welling and give him this.” He feebly pulled a heavy ring from his finger, pressing it into Grace’s palm. “He will know what to do.”

“Are the magistrates going to give us trouble?” Grace asked anxiously.

Father nodded and coughed, wincing with pain. “They don’t approve of the nomad’s meddling in our affairs. I’m head magistrate, so they’ve gone along with my plan thus far, but now—” His hand clamped down on hers convulsively when he coughed, his body shuddering with pain. “I’m weak, Gracie.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “If they decide I’m not fit to lead . . . You must convince Jack to stand in as head magistrate until I can walk again. Hurry, before the other magistrates act.”

“I will.” Grace nodded. She took the ring and slipped it onto her thumb. It was still too big, but she wouldn’t have it for long. “I will leave tonight.”

Lord Flores’ eyelids fluttered; exhaustion overwhelming him. “Be brave, Grace. I won’t be able to protect you.” His eyes closed. “You and Bran . . . are very much alike. Strong. You will make each other happy.”

Grace blinked away the tears of gratitude that built on her lashes. She’d never hoped that her father would come so close to accepting Bran. “Thank you, Father.” Leaning forward, she kissed him on the head. “Sleep. I will take care of everything.”

29

Adaryn

“
W
ho are we going to see again?” I asked, following Grace as she walked up to a particularly large, gloomy looking house. The brick was dark and dirty, the fence surrounding it black forbidding iron.

“Jack Welling,” Grace said, and rang the bell at the gate. “A magistrate. He’s the newest member. When Kingsley died, there was a vacant position for a new magistrate. Jack Welling was chosen.”

A servant came to let us in, and we soon found ourselves inside the house, in the entry.

I had left Dahlia with Lady Flores. I was initially hesitant to do so, but when the older woman had seen the child, my fears were quickly put to rest. The women of the Flores family doted on the child. It was safer than dragging her all over the city.

“Why didn’t you bring Bran?” I asked in a hushed whisper. My voice echoed in the large room.

Grace glanced at me, clearly amused. “I brought
you
in the event I needed protection from a Twyli attack. I didn’t bring
Bran
because this situation requires . . . a more delicate hand than that of a male. Bran might’ve bungled everything with his temper and pride.”

I nodded. Fair enough.

A few minutes later, we were admitted to Lord Welling’s study. The room brought tears to my eyes, which I hastily wiped away. It reminded me of Aaric’s old study. Books, scrolls, and manuscripts covered every available space in the room. A thin man sat at the desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he read a book, seemingly oblivious to our presence. It wasn’t until the servant announced our presence and left that the man looked up at us, his eyes looking owlish behind large spectacles.

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking confused.

“Yes, Lord Welling.” Grace stepped forward and reached over the desk, handing the man a ring. “My father wanted me to give you this.”

Jack stared at the ring in his hand, silent.

“It’s the head magistrate’s ring,” Grace said doubtfully, watching the man. “My father had a terrible accident, and with Ruis as fragile as it is, has asked you to step in and govern in his place until he can recover.”

The man was quiet. The silence stretched to the point where I was beginning to think he was a few cards short of a deck when he spoke. “Why me?” His spectacles slipped down his nose and he absently pushed them back. “I’m the newest magistrate, and the youngest. I don’t understand—”

“I don’t either,” Grace interrupted hurriedly. “But he trusts you. He wants you to continue to work with the nomads, and to do what you can to keep Ruis safe.”

Lord Welling laughed, his young face flushed with amusement. “Ah. I see why he asked me then.” He continued, noting the look of confusion on our faces, “I don’t hold to the old ways of Ruis. All people are the same to me.” He looked at me, his dark eyes alert. “I’ve wondered how the nomads feel, working with us.”

“I’ll protect any child, regardless of their race,” I responded, and the man nodded.

“Exactly my sentiments.” He laughed, looking sheepish as he spoke to Grace again. “None of the other magistrates feel that way though, with the exception of Lord Flores. They aren’t going to be very pleased that I’ve been chosen to work in your father’s place.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Grace insisted. “This will ensure the other magistrates don’t have time to act on my father’s temporary weakness.” She pulled some papers from her handbag and handed them to the man. “Here are the plans for the city’s defenses that my father made. Please look them over, and do what you can to keep the city safe.”

“I will, Miss . . . Grace, was it?” Lord Welling—I very much wanted to call him Jack, it definitely suited him—nodded to us before settling back in his seat, looking at the notes Grace had given him. He’d already seemed to have forgotten us, and we left shortly thereafter.