Torn: Bound Trilogy Book Two (7 page)

She would be around somewhere, enjoying the clear skies and a day without classes. The riding mistress and I had more than a few things in common. Both of us were far from home, separated from our families. She was a quiet sort who had never revealed all of her history to anyone, as far as I knew. Still, I saw her as a friend, and she wasn’t someone who would judge me for my loyalties as even friendly humans did here. She seemed to have had an understanding with Aren, too. If they weren’t particularly friendly, they’d shared their silence comfortably enough. Perhaps that had something to do with their common love of flying.

No use checking the stable. She didn’t spend much time with the horses, much as they accepted her as one of their own. I watched the skies and walked toward the back fields. It felt strange to look up and only watch for one familiar silhouette.

I approached the paddock, a peaceful place of flat ground, lush wintergrass, and bare trees that would provide plenty of shade when the summer sun came to the island. I leaned against the whitewashed fence and watched the horses. Of all of the surprises that had met me on my journey through Tyrea, they were one of my favorites. I’d grown up around horses that were lovely, but had not a speck of magical lineage. These creatures, though recognizable as horses, still surprised me when I looked at them. The stocky beasts were stronger, able to travel farther and longer than horses I knew back home. The long hair on their lower legs and their thick manes looked like they should weigh the animals down, but they moved with surprising grace. They tended to be highly intelligent, if somewhat stubborn because of it, and though suspicious of strangers they were loyal to those humans they chose to trust. The only difference I’d really had trouble getting used to was their mouths. Heavy jaws held sharp teeth that allowed them to eat meat, and I’d thought I was seeing things the first time I watched a horse crunch through the bones of a coyote that the herd had caught in the paddock.

A thudding noise sounded behind me, followed by a heavy snort and hoofs crunching over the thin snow. I smiled and turned toward the riding instructor. My journey to Belleisle had taught me to accept friends where I found them, and in whatever form. Even if my new friend happened to be a flying horse.

Her cloudy gray coat turned darker at her points and faded to a light, speckled pattern on her rump, while her mane, tail, and wings were a rich, creamy white. Though as tall as many land-bound horses, she appeared far more delicate thanks to her thin legs and fine-boned face. I thought her one of the most beautiful creatures I’d ever met.

She folded her massive wings at her sides and waited for me to speak.

“Did you see him go?” I asked.

“I did. I told him to take Harryson—Aren can handle him better than the students here can, and he needed a strong and swift horse. He didn’t say where he was bound. Is it to Luid? Will he challenge his brother?”

“No, he has other plans.”

“Ah.”

We walked on, Florizel picking her way carefully over the icy spots. Her dainty hooves made her less sure-footed than a land-bound horse. She managed well enough over grassy fields and on roads or trails, but was really built for the air. She was the only one of her kind on the island.

“Did you bring me something?” she asked. I’d once found her words difficult to understand, coming as they did from a horse’s lips, but had quickly become accustomed to her speech.

“You know I did.” I slipped the apple from my pocket, and she stopped to crunch it, juice dripping from her lips. I bit into mine, and we kept walking.

“Thank you. So what now?”

“Life goes on as it should, I suppose,” I said, remembering Celean’s words.

Florizel snorted and tossed her head. “Nothing is as it should be. Life will go on, but for now we settle for things as they should not be, or we strive to make them right.” She paused. “I should have taken him. I might have helped, even if he wasn’t going to Luid.”

“May I ask why it’s so important to you?” It was clear from the way her ears laid back at any mention of his name that Florizel hated Severn. She’d never spoken about why, though, except to say that he’d harmed her herd in some way.

She arched her neck and looked back toward the house, as though making sure no one was listening. “I don’t mind telling you, but please don’t let anyone else know. I don’t need humans talking about me. Feeling sorry for me.” She shook her head. “I’ll accept help, but pity seems a silly and useless thing.”

I silently agreed.

“Do you know how I came to this island?” she asked.

“No. Just that you arrived a little over a year before we did.”

“I come from the mountains far west of here. I should have been happy to spend the rest of my life there. My herd lived in a green valley near the foothills—lower than many of our kind, but the grass there was sweet and the river’s water clean, and we had room to run and to fly. We made ourselves too accessible, I suppose, but we’d never had human threats to deal with before.

“The men came on a spring night several years ago, passing through our valley on their way west. They surrounded us in the night and frightened us into confusion. It was magic, of course. Everything seemed wrong, turned around, and I couldn’t remember which way to go to find the sky. One of our stallions—Murad is his name, and a finer horse you could never wish to meet—shook it off. He should have flown away when he could, but he went instead toward the source of the magic. He found Severn there, and a few other Sorcerers.”

She snorted, and her breath rose into the air as hot mist. “I don’t know exactly what they said to one another, but they reached an agreement. Murad went with them, carrying Severn where he wished to go, never to return to us. Severn holds him still, by magic and by the promise Murad made to serve him in exchange for the freedom of the herd. All Murad told us before they left was that he’d entered into this slavery willingly, and would not be free until his master’s death.”

“That’s horrible,” I said.

She shook her mane and snorted again. “The herd’s safety was the important thing. Murad behaved in the most honorable way a stallion can, saving us all. I don’t doubt the men would have killed us or taken us into captivity. As I’ve heard it, Severn doesn’t make empty threats.”

I shivered and reached out to lay a hand on her strong neck. “No, he doesn’t.”

“No. But I couldn’t let go of the memory of Murad, the thought that something had to be done. It destroyed me to lose him. A year later, I and a few others went against the leadmare’s wishes and we took off on our own to find him and bring him home. We’d nearly reached Luid when a great wind came up from below us. It blew hot and dry, and though we fought against it, we were separated. I heard my friends screaming, and saw one fall to the earth. When the wind pushed me again, I let it carry me away. I landed not far from here, on the mainland. Emalda found me wandering when she crossed the bridge to search for her herbs. Here I stay, waiting for the day when I can go back and take what is owed to my herd by those who stole from us.”

There’s little emotion in a horse’s voice, only odd inflections and a strange rhythm, but I heard her pain. “Have you thought of going back to your herd, getting more help?”

She lowered her head. “I disobeyed the leadmare. It was my idea to go. If my companions died, and they certainly did, their blood stains my feathers. I’ll not be welcomed back home unless I return with Murad. Even then, I don’t know.”

I understood, then. This stallion had been worth risking her life and losing her home for, in a mission doomed to fail.

“You’ll get him back.”

“If he lives, I will try.”

A memory tickled at my mind, nearly escaping before I grasped it. “I’m certain he’s alive, or was in the autumn,” I said, excited to be able to help. “Severn said something about flying on a horse the first time I saw him. He must have been referring to Murad!”

Florizel stared at me. “Aren never mentioned it to me.”

“Did you tell him all of this?”

“I—no. We hardly ever spoke, except to discuss things related to the horses here. I find some humans intimidating. He doesn’t enjoy conversation, you know, and I think he might have thought me beneath him, being a horse.”

I’d have told her she was wrong, but I couldn’t be sure. Aren had lost many things since he betrayed his family, but his pride wasn’t one of them.

Florizel twitched an ear forward and back. “I should have been more willing to tell my story. Nothing to be done about it now. But this gives me hope, thank you. Perhaps there will still be an opportunity to take Murad home. Until then, I’ll hope that whatever Aren is doing, it will somehow lead to his brother’s death and Murad’s freedom.”

I didn’t want to think what that might cost. “We can both hope for everyone to return home safely.”

“Ah, little one,” she said, and nudged me again. “Would that I could make it so. I think I need to fly now. Will you join me?”

I stepped back. “No, thank you. I’ll walk.”

She nickered—a horse’s laugh. “I’ll get you into the air some day, you foolish thing.”

I grimaced. “Not today, at least.” High places made me nervous, and the mere thought of flying sickened my stomach.

She laughed again, stomped the snow beneath her hooves, and took a running start, pushing off the ground with her powerful hind legs, beating her wings hard to pull herself into the air. It was beautiful, but it was not for me. I watched her for a minute, then turned back toward the school.

I’d spent enough time moping. Everyone around me was moving forward, looking to the future, making plans. My answers had to be in that school somewhere. It was time that I found them.

I
hadn’t known
what to expect when Beaumage contacted me to set up a private lesson three days after Aren’s departure. An hour into it, I still felt uncertain.

The lamps dimmed, flames burning low, allowing gloom to creep into the corners of the classroom where light from the large windows couldn’t reach. The faint glow glinted off the polished surface of ten rows of wooden desks, separated by a central aisle, all empty. A breeze whispered past my ear, and a pale apparition appeared at the doorway. Smoke at first, nearly invisible, but solidifying into the form of a bright-green dragon. Every part of it was beautiful, from the arch of its snake-like neck to the angles at which the light reflected from its overlapping, metallic scales.

The creature came closer, neck and back arched, nostrils flaring, steam leaking from its mouth. Bright yellow eyes locked on mine. It lifted a foreleg to paw at the air, and took a few more steps, until it stood nose to nose with me where I sat frozen on the professor’s desk at the front of the room. The scaled lips rolled back, baring vicious fangs that dripped with venom.

“Can I touch her?” I asked.

“Give it a try,” said a soft voice behind me.

I reached out, and my hand passed through the steam unharmed. The dragon snapped at me, and its teeth passed through my wrist without resistance. The dragon’s flesh looked as real and solid as my own, but I felt nothing.

“Incredible,” I whispered.

The dragon winked as it disappeared back into the smoke it had appeared from.

The lights brightened, and my new teacher stepped into view. Tall and olive-skinned, trim and imposing, radiating confidence and power, she was the kind of Sorceress I could only dream of becoming.

“She’s not bad,” she said. “Any suggestions? I’ve heard you have some experience with dragons.”

Griselda Beaumage was born on Belleisle but had traveled widely to study magic, and her voice dripped with the influence of the places she’d visited. Griselda had a magical gift for picking up languages, and had seen more of the world than anyone I’d ever met.

“Suggestions? I don’t know,” I said. “It looked perfect to me.” I thought back to my one, brief meeting with a dragon. Griselda, who insisted that her students call her by her first name, was a strange sort of teacher, one who questioned more than she answered. It seemed she expected me to come up with something now.

“The one dragon I’ve met glowed all on her own, just a bit,” I offered. “The light in her cave came from her scales. It wasn’t reflected from any other lights.”

“Maybe I’ll try that.” Griselda leaned against the desk next to me, leather-clad legs stretched out in front of her, knee-high boots crossed at the ankles. Even in the classroom she dressed like she was ready to take off on an adventure, but today she had left her blond hair loose instead of pulling it into the messy ponytail she’d worn since her arrival two nights before.

She’d made a dashing figure, riding up the drive in the moonlight as I watched from a second-story window, stalking the halls and speaking in hushed tones to Albion, who appeared concerned by whatever news she brought. Such news wasn’t for students, though, and I no longer had Aren around to tell me what he’d heard from his grandfather. So Beaumage had remained a mystery save for what she’d disclosed in the classroom over the past few days.

She tilted her head to one side. “You want to try? Your records indicated that you hadn’t attempted illusions yet.” She reached behind her for a leather-wrapped file that already strained to hold the notes and forms that had been stuffed into it, in spite of my short stay at the school. “That, or conjuring.”

“Everyone thought those were too difficult to start with.”

“We won’t know until you try, will we? Perhaps you’ll try them, and it will be so easy. Like breathing.”

I smiled. “That would be a change for me. How do you do it?”

“Practice. Great focus and will. An intimate knowledge of the subject is essential for it to be convincing. It isn’t a simple skill, though some look down on illusion as a pretty little party trick. One usually starts with copying, you see. Makes an image based on a real object, unmoving and unchanging. Then you try a copy of something that moves. A double of a rat, animated but following its every move. Maybe, if you have a natural gift for it, you create something based on a memory, which follows the actions you remember. To create something like my dragon, which moves at my command, is much harder.”

“I would love to be able to do that.”

“In time you may, Sorchere.”

“Sorchere?”

“An old word for a Sorceress and friend.”

“Oh? Thank you.”

Griselda smiled, revealing perfect teeth. I’d learned that Sorcerers and Sorceresses tended toward beauty not because they manipulated their appearances, though some certainly did, but because their magic cared for their bodies so well. Scars tended to be short-lived unless caused by magic, infections rarely became a concern, broken bones healed quickly. It was certainly not a perfect protection, but it helped.

“Never doubt what you are.” She rested a hand on my arm. “There is magic in you. I sense it, though you hold it close. Albion feels its strength. This is why I agreed to these private lessons.”

“Thank you,” I repeated. I wasn’t sure what else to say.

She pulled a few pages from the file and narrowed her eyes. “I missed so much while I was gone. Aren Tiernal, here. A new Sorceress. Bound magic. I knew about the problems between Severn and Aren, of course, but I had only the other side of the story.”

I swallowed hard. “You’ve been in Luid these past few years?”

“I have, as Belleisle’s ambassador, and Albion’s ears.”

“Did you ever meet Aren?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I did. He kept to himself, and went away frequently. I did track his comings and goings, of course. This was of particular interest to Albion.”

“I wish you could keep an eye on him now.” The words were out before I had time to consider keeping them back. I looked out the window and pressed my lips together, holding back expression of the fear and uncertainty I now felt whenever I thought of him.

Griselda shuffled through her papers again. “It’s all right, you know,” she said, her voice soft. “Emalda told me that you and he were close.
Are
close, I should say. I should like to hear the details of your journey together someday. It all seems so contrary to what I know of Aren.”

“That’s what everyone seems to think.”

“Hmm. People change,” Griselda said.

I looked up, surprised. “You believe that? About Aren?”

“You seem to. Albion does. I’ll withhold judgment, as Aren is not here to speak for himself.”

I had to ask. “What was he like, when you met him before?”

Now it was her turn to look away. “As I said, I didn’t know him well. But he struck me as arrogant, above everyone. Didn’t mind if people were afraid of him and gave him his space, at least most of the time.”

I waited for her to go on. There was so much I’d never asked him about his past. He’d revealed more to me than I suspected he wanted to, but an outside perspective could have told me so much more.

Griselda cleared her throat. “I think it’s best we not speak of the past though, eh? Especially when those we speak of aren’t here to object. And we do have an assignment. I have some ideas about your troubles, but first I need to get a sense of your magic. Try something simple.”

My heart skipped. “I’m afraid nothing is simple for me. Things go wrong.”

“I can take it. Show me. Try to duplicate this in an illusion.” She picked up a half-filled glass of water from the edge of the big desk and placed it square in the middle. “Picture it in your mind. Will it into being.”

I studied the glass. Simple shape, flared near the rim. I imagined a second glass beside it. Ripples crossed the surface of the liquid. I thought I saw a flicker of shadow next to it, though perhaps it was only because I wanted to see it. A cold draft passed by my cheek, and I clenched my fists to keep from trembling.

Just let it happen. It wants to work.

I felt the power rising in me, strong and frightening, a force that could overtake me if I let it. I clamped down, suppressing it.

The glass shattered, spraying water and glass shards into the air. I gasped and ducked, and heard Griselda’s sharp intake of breath behind me. When I turned, a thin trail of blood ran down her cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I whispered.

She wiped her face with her hand and looked at the bloody smear next to her thumb. “No harm done. That was promising. There was something there with the water. This is what always happens?”

“Not always glass shattering. I can’t predict what it will do. No one can. I’ve flooded two classrooms, burned Aren, made a rash appear on Emalda when she walked by one of my lessons. The magic is there, but I can’t make it do what I want.”

“Hmm.” She ignored the mess on the desk and walked the perimeter of the room, drumming her fingers on the low bookcases under the window as she passed, eyes on the floor. “Well, it’s too strong. That’s your biggest problem.”

“Aren mentioned that. Albion, too. I think I agree.”

“Hmm. And you’re afraid of hurting someone.”

“Always. Ever since I burned Aren. I was trying to see his thoughts, but...”

“It was bad?”

“It wasn’t good. It could have been a lot worse, I think, if I hadn’t been holding back. Then I tried to heal that and made a mess of it.” The loss of that skill broke my heart. I’d developed such high hopes for becoming a healer, but could barely heal my own scratches as any Sorceress should have been able to without thinking. My magic didn’t seem to help with that any more than it did with my classwork.

Griselda spun on one boot heel and came back toward me, walking between the desks as her dragon had. “You can’t afford to hold back. But I understand. It’s hard to master a skill when your energy is focused on trying not to kill anyone.”

At least someone understands
, I thought. “So what do I do?”

“We’ll keep working together. Try some other things. Tell me, how does your magic feel to you?”

I closed my eyes and felt it again. “Like warmth? Like a tiny sun inside of me.”

“Compared to what? Or whose?”

I looked up. “Well, Aren’s feels—” I stopped myself when I caught the knowing smile she tried to hide behind her hand. “What?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “As I hear it, you only began to experience magic in any form a few months ago, when you came to the island.”

“True.”

“Did you feel his magic before then? Did he use it on you?”

“No, I wasn’t aware of it at all until I woke up here on the island.” My face grew warm as I realized where she was going with this. We magic users were able to sense power in others, but there were only a few ways to become familiar with the specific feel of another magic-user’s power, with its signature. It could happen if a Sorcerer used magic directly on someone, as I had on Aren when I’d had the ability to heal him. It often came after spending years together, as in a family or a close working environment. Aren suspected that was how Severn had located him before.

Or it could come from great physical and emotional intimacy, from moments of complete unguardedness. The nights when I sneaked out of the school to be with Aren had opened me to that until his magic felt familiar to me, until I felt I carried a piece of it with me. Even now, if I concentrated, I could feel its cold depths.

If I hadn’t felt his magic before I broke my binding, if he wasn’t supposed to be using it on anyone on the island, and if he and I weren’t supposed to be seeing each other outside of classes…

Griselda seemed to be following my thoughts, amused by my discomfort. “I thought you and he weren’t supposed to be sharing such closeness now.”

“Well, I—” I stammered. Not that we could get in trouble now that he was gone, but…“You won’t put that in my file, will you?”

She laughed, a deep, joyful sound. “No, Sorchere. Your secret is safe with me. No need to speak further of it. Though I wonder.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “I was going to ask whether he’s ever tried to take some of your power into himself, to ease your burden.”

“Is that possible?”

“It’s not completely unheard of, but it wouldn’t have worked unless he had a skill for stealing it. You see, if his magic was fully replenished, he’d have no way to take yours on. And yours would have recovered.” She shrugged. “Now tell me, have you given any further thought to trying a wand or spoken-word direction? I saw in your notes you discussed it with Albion. It might help you channel this excess power, take some of the pressure off.”

The change in direction caught me off guard, as did her willingness to keep my secret. “I’ve thought about it. I think I’m going to keep trying without.”

“Oh?” No judgment in her voice, but some surprise.

“I know it might be easier that way, but...” I sat on a student desk and twisted my fingers together on my lap.

“Is it because of Aren? He seemed to have quite rigid ideas about what qualifies as real magic. You’re afraid he’ll think less of you?”

“Not that, exactly. It’s more the fact that even after all this time, he still thinks I’m capable of doing this on my own. When he was here I felt pressured, like I wouldn’t be good enough for him if I took a shortcut. But now that I’ve had some space and time to think about it, I agree with him. Not that I should be ashamed of needing help, but that I am strong enough to do this on my own, if I can figure out how.”

“Ah. So you’re saying he was right, but he was being too much of an ass about it for you to see that?”

I laughed then for the first time since Aren had left. “Something like that. He’s what we call a hard case back at home, but I—” I paused. “Well.”

Griselda’s smile disappeared. “I know. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to tell you I’m sorry for what you’ve lost, as I’m your teacher and claim no knowledge of any intimate relationship, as we have not discussed that here today. But I understand.” She leaned in and bumped me with a shoulder. “If you need anything, you come to me. Privately, of course.” The clang of the massive bell in the yard filled the room, and my stomach rumbled in response. Griselda ignored the bell. “The other thing I notice is how you speak of your magic as though it’s separate from you.”