Magna's Plea (The Fate Challenges)
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright 2013 by Cherie Reich.
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Surrounded by Books Publishing
Cover art by Alexander Platonov and purchased from Dreamstime.com
Cover design by Cherie Reich Copyright 2013
Interior bird symbols created by Skalapendra and purchased from Dreamstime.com
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Amora
12-13 Days of Luquiry
Year 1717 AUC
Tendrils of smoke swirled heavenward. The smoldering stench reached Princess Magna at the top of the palace’s northern tower. She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant odor, yet it still smelled better than the filth plaguing the besieged seven-hilled city.
She’d vowed to protect Amora. Her heart shattered a little more each day at the devastation afflicting her kingdom.
The once grassy and flower-filled plain sprouted dust plumes from the trampling feet. As the sun neared the western horizon, a bloody hue washed over the battlefield. Tiny, metallic dins and men’s shouts rang out. Magical bursts flashed in the sky like Thean’s lightning, beautiful and deadly. A wooden catapult hurled a human-sized stone slab into the city’s wall. Magna jerked away from the opened window she stood before, as if the object had struck her instead. Rock crumbled from the impact, but the barrier held.
When the reddish orb sank lower, the fighting ceased. War’s chaos parted into two orderly sides, and soldiers crossed the field to gather their dead.
She brushed a shaky hand over her cheeks. Tears dampened her face, and she struggled to turn away from the battle before her. Almost two months had passed since the Apenthans had begun their attack Amora. How much longer could the Amorans—she—stay safe behind their impenetrable wall?
“There you are, Princess. The queen ’as been searchin’ for you.” Fava, her personal servant, curtsied and motioned toward the battlefield. “Queen Vyvian doesn’t wish for you to watch.”
“I’m well aware of Mother’s wishes.” As if Magna needed to be reminded. Every day she wanted to help with the battle, but her mother refused and kept her imprisoned within the city. She lifted the hood of her cloak to hide another wayward tear. Her long strides took her away from the window—the horror. “Why is she searching for me?”
Fava scurried after her mistress. “The usual, Princess. She wishes for the queen’s ’eir to be by ’er side when the king-consort and princes arrive from the battlefield.”
Magna trailed her fingertips along the railing as she hurried down the winding stone staircase. Her lips parted, but she held her retort. She trusted Fava, but Magna couldn’t allow word of her dissent to run rampant in the kingdom, especially when they were at war with the Kingdom of Apentha.
After they slipped through the palace’s hidden passageways, Magna paused, unfastened her cloak, and handed it to Fava. “Wait here for me, Fava.”
“As you wish.” Fava draped the cloak over her arm.
Magna smoothed down her dress and ran her fingers through her hair. Kisa forbid if she look a mess for the queen! As satisfied with her appearance as she could be without a looking glass, she entered the throne room.
Her mother perched upon a wooden, unadorned throne set on a raised dais. Two guards remained by her side while several more flanked the double doors. They awaited the arrival of the soldiers from Bella’s Field.
Magna suffered a glance toward the Wall of Queens. One day, her picture would flank the great monarchs, including the city’s namesake, the Phoenix-Queen Amora. Could she ever live up to the standards set before her? When she reached the dais, she bowed her head in respect toward her mother and took her place on her right side. “Good evening, Mother.”
“You’re late. It’s not befitting of the queen’s heir to squander her time watching war.”
“I’d rather be participating.” A flush burned Magna’s cheeks. “I don’t mean to be difficult. Queens used to fight alongside our people in battle. We Royals practiced our magic. We’ve fallen far from the old ways,” she whispered.
“Our kingdom needs the queen and her heir to survive. If we lose the war, disaster would befall us.” Her mother’s jaw clenched. Were there a few more white hairs streaking the black? Mother’s cold, bony hand grasped Magna’s chin. “Don’t forget who you are. You will remain in the palace because
I
command it.”
Magna didn’t move, although the blood rushed through her ears. She pressed her lips into a thin line. A thousand objections filled her head, and she would burst from them. She’d been practicing magic and needed to fight alongside her brothers and father. Yet she held her tongue. Now was not the time to rehash this same argument with her mother or get herself into further trouble for dabbling in sorcery.
A trumpet blast echoed throughout the throne room. “King-Consort Kheron, Prince Thoran, and Prince Moran.”
Magna sat erect as her father and two brothers entered. Her heart threatened to stop beating while she searched for signs of blood splatter upon their clothing, but they must’ve changed before arriving. Her father’s sword with the phoenix emblem upon the golden hilt hung by his side and made Magna smile. Like a phoenix, Amora would rise above this destruction stronger than ever. Moran, her younger brother, grinned, his bright blue eyes shining with excitement. Her gaze fell upon her older brother, Thoran. Her breath caught in her throat.
“What happened to your arm, Thoran?” She blurted the question without a thought to protocol.
Thoran clutched his bandaged arm to his chest. “It’s just a scratch. Nothing to worry over.”
“You should have sought out a healer, my son, before returning to the palace.” Mother motioned for her sons and consort to be seated.
“We were heading to the Place of Lordéhi, Mother, but something came up.” Thoran glanced over to Father and Moran.
Magna shifted. What was more important than Thoran’s injury?
“Has Bella favored us today?” Mother asked Father.
“My queen, the Apenthans are brutal, but the gods, including the War Goddess, will protect us.” A weary smile plastered upon Father’s lips, and he brushed his callused hand against Mother’s cheek. “And I think Bella is about ready to turn the tide in our favor.”
Moran twitched in his seat like he had fleas. Considering the filth the siege had caused in their fair city, it was highly likely.
“Moran, what is your excitement?” Vyvian clasped Kheron’s hand and entwined her fingers with his.
“We’ve captured someone.” The thirteen-year-old flashed his most endearing smile.
“And who might that be?”
“He is the heir to the Apenthan throne.” Kheron motioned for the guards to enter.
Two guards dragged their prisoner, a young man no more than eighteen or nineteen, between them. Chains jingled at his feet and hands. An inch-long gash sliced his forehead, and blood oozed from the wound and trickled down. Sweat plastered his wavy, dark hair. When he lifted his head, a bruise darkened the left side of his face. His amethyst eyes held a mixture of defiance and fear.
The queen peered at the prisoner, as if he were a fly to squash. “Your name and station?”
“Prince Cyrun, son of King Vespian of Apentha.”
“Where was he found?” Mother asked.
“In the Lordéhi River. Moran spied him first, and we fished him out,” Father said.
“Were you alone?”
The question hovered in the air. Magna nearly choked on her breath as she awaited his answer. No one had breached the walls, but the city was vulnerable on their riverside border. Guards patrolled the banks, but they weren’t as dependable as the city’s walls.
