Magus Gambit

By L. T. Getty

Koth spent almost a year training and searching for the people responsible for his brother's murder. Against all odds, he found one of them. Both forced to flee the capital, Radij is within a finger's breadth from him, but Koth owes his escape to the woman who thinks the mage can help break his former master's power. He knows the mage is lying and that Jakira wants to believe that she can save her empire and marriage before another naval house strikes out.

 

Knowing Koth is only biding his time, Jakira abandons him on an island. On that fateful night, Una decides to reveal her powers to save a man's life, and in doing is, is kidnapped by those who also claim to hunt mages and the supernatural. Thing is that her powers are far from ordinary.

 

He is forced to chose between rescuing Una before the trail runs cold, or doing as she instructed and finish the mage before their supernatural meddling causes even more destruction.

 

Iona, meanwhile, has been forced to deal with her reoccurring dreams although she's forsaken the role of Oracle thrust upon her. She loves her brother, even though she suspects he's using her as a bargaining chip to get them into a new coven. When her brother is captured by enemy mages, not only will she seek out the most unlikely ally imaginable–namely the man who wants her brother dead–but must contend with a mage that has lost all control and allowed his body to be taken over by something from another realm. She can't trust her visions and has never been much of a gambler, but she refuses to remain anyone's pawn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Champagne Book Group
• Release date: Jan 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9781959036319

Book preview

Magus Gambit

Rogue Healer, 2

L.T. GETTY

CHAMPAGNE BOOK GROUP

Magus Gambit

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Published by Champagne Book Group

712 SE Winchell Drive, Depoe Bay OR 97341 U.S.A.

~ * ~

First Edition 2024

eISBN: 978-1-959036-31-9

Copyright © 2024 L.T. Getty All rights reserved.

Cover Art by Sevannah Storm

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Chapter One

Radij met Lecancia somewhere in Limbo.

It was not his first time entering the trance state, though he dared not enter any other plane on his own. He didn’t waste his dwindling power to set up wards to be more vigilant, for every hour they were getting further away from his old master’s territory and his reach.

As to where the small ship was exactly, if they were still in the Imperium or had reached Honturian waters, his guess was as good as the next mainlander’s. He doubted Lamont or any of his new allies had such dominion on the waters, else they’d have been discovered weeks ago.

Radij didn’t recall the dream from which he was roused; it felt like waking to an unfamiliar sound. When they first set out weeks ago he would have been immediately on the alert, but at first he assumed it was the captain’s annoying tabby cat, skulking in the shadows everywhere he shouldn’t be.

His sense of being in the small crew cabin dimmed, and he became hyper-aware as he was projected outside his body. It always came with a terrible sense of dread, being helpless and trying to fully wake from unconsciousness before he understood what was happening. Only very powerful magics could attempt this over such distances. Once he gained his bearings, he realized he could sever the pull and return to his body. But something in the back of his soul acknowledged her essence, something not unlike a pleasant smell or a familiar sound, and so he relaxed.

He’d been trying to contact Lecancia for weeks.

In the realm between worlds, mages often appeared different than their physical bodies. Their psyche tended to project a part of their sense of self although more often than not it morphed to how others perceived them. He’d heard of realms where the… he hesitated to use the word mage, for it had become more refined.

Being, perhaps, but it wasn’t the same as when he thought of himself as a mere human being. When it came to real power, the mages became something of a more pure version of themselves and projected an ethereal presence. Existing in some realms one looked quite altered, often bizarre, and yet there was no doubt as to who one was or talking to. Distortion wasn’t right, either.

He’d glimpsed into corrupted realms. The beings held there appeared more or less as a grotesque, almost worm-like version of themselves—other horrors were only whispered among acolytes, rumored to be enough to drive even archmages insane. Radij had no idea what to believe, but seeing powerful sorcerers reduced to aspects of themselves, his curiosity was sated.

His experience in the variety of planes was limited, but he’d met wayward souls who appeared a much different age than when he saw them with physical eyes. The seemingly trite sayings about an ugly person having a beautiful soul seemed to have some merit; they weren’t beautiful, but had a strange, appealing glow, whereas those who looked beautiful but were deeply corrupted in character, if not evil, oozed an unpleasant sensation.

Radij didn’t have the power to defend himself well, so he succumbed and allowed himself to be altered. He never doubted her power, so much as was wary how little of it he truly grasped. He had no way of looking at his face, but knew the physical scar on it wouldn’t be visible. He might not even have much of a face to concern himself with.

In the realm she took him to her presence was cold, not like the ice and snow fields he’d known as a child but one devoid of warmth. The psyche didn’t need heat the way a body did, but still had familiar sensations while in the plane.

Radij was also painfully aware that one tended to forget mortal needs. Time here wasn’t the same as how time affected his body, somewhere that felt so very far away. The expanse wasn’t dark, like many other forgotten places. There was no light source per say, instead he touched down in fields of gold that radiated a soft light that seemed to go on forever though the sky felt domed, he imagined being in an oversized fishbowl.

Looking around, it could have been anyplace, but he knew it was no place he would ever find if he were to walk the earth forever. He instinctually ran his hands through the grain that certainly felt real, and wondered if she made the wheat for the sake of familiarity. Unlike the golden plane, his spirit was not dark, but dim compared to the world he stood in, as if to remind him he didn’t belong there.

He looked around several times and was surprised to see her crimson-cloaked figure standing in the distance in the fields of gold. He made his way through the tall stalks impeding his way, moving through the space faster than his movement would have suggested. He wondered how much of it was his own will, and how much it was her drawing him in.

She faced away from him. She never revealed her true face whereas his soul was forced to lay bare.

Your sister, she said, she’s not with you, is she?

He frowned. Iona was supposed to share his sleeping quarters. Yet when he felt pulled from his body, he knew instinctively she wasn’t with him. Where was she?

Don’t quite trust me. Lecancia spoke barely above a whisper, before raising her voice, You’re finally learning, Radij, though I fear it is too little too late. Come. She dropped down to all fours and the cloak blanched and molded with her frame. She looked back at him and was as a white doe with striking black eyes, almost as deep and endless as the void.

Can we not speak here? He looked down at himself. Still humanoid in form, not fit for running, and he wasn’t powerful enough to morph into something more swift or agile.

Keep up. She took off at a sprint through the golden wheat, bounding gracefully.

He chased after her; he felt stripped of all physical strength and magical power. Running through the thick fields of wheat, with her strange dark eyes staring back at him, all but telling him to hurry up. It brought back a memory. His legs were shorter. The world didn’t change, he did—the harsh wheat slapping him in the face despite his efforts to not disturb it.

The raiders are in the forest. I need to get home.

He brushed the memory aside. He was a grown man again, and he no longer needed to hide from pursuers who couldn’t touch this realm. He chased after her. His speed was better than what he could master with his physical body, but the wheat behaved much the same as it would in his world, impeding his way and the further he moved, the more it slowed him down.

The world did not go on forever like it seemed to a moment prior. She waited for him at the edge of the field, to a darkness that was full and expanding, before she stood up and put up the cloak again. He saw a human hand though she never looked at him.

Why are we at the edge of this realm? he asked. You could have brought me here first.

She gestured, and he stared at the void. Does the darkness make you uncomfortable?

Of course it does.

You needed something real to latch onto, you would have fought too much if you saw this first. What do you think Lamont will do to those who betray him?

He didn’t want to think about it. Being thrown into the abyss would probably be welcome by the time Lamont was done with him.

Is your sister well?

Well enough during the day, he said. She complains that the ship is too small and that she must share quarters with me. It is not the magnificent warship we departed in from Port Iol. We are not used to long voyages by sea.

Any visions, while she sleeps?

I only know when she has nightmares. If you’re asking if I’m trying to use her to see the future, I have not had the need. I did not save her to spite Lamont or anyone else. He looked into the expanse of darkness. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms prickled. He faced the golden fields again. I wanted my sister back. If she never dreams again, so much the better.

Everyone dreams, Radij, Lecancia said. The fortunate fools see bits of nothing and forget the dark as if it never happened. Denying its existence, like parts of their soul. She, on the other hand, remembers things that could never be. I wonder if that is part of what drove Nisiris mad.

He didn’t know how to reply. There had been histories of oracles in the past. Few of them seemed power-hungry. Besides, Nisiris was to put together and cunning to be traditionally mad. Nisiris’ reasons were petty: Nisiris hated the crown, hated the Imperium.

He forgot to leave his old life as a filthy peasant behind. You speak as if you have seen it yourself.

Fool didn’t see his own death, I’m sure of it. Her pitch raised in childish amusement. I wonder which vision he cherished and romanticized instead of seeing it for what it was. You are not able to foster her ability, Radij. The talent will fade, with time.

Radij frowned. For one such as Lecancia, decades were a mere passing of the seasons. When her ability fades, she will have no extra value to other covens.

Correct. In the meantime, the visions—however faulty—are of value. I wouldn’t be able to protect you fully at my coven. I am not on the council here.

Radij turned to look at her. You cannot take us until the ability weakens? What then are we to do…

A piercing cold shot down his backside. She wasn’t where she was a moment ago, instead he was once again staring into eternal nothingness, his feet on the edge. In the darkness, the familiar mountains of his youth came into view. He recognized an old patch-worked roof and buildings from a distance, and birch trees and tall pines.

The familiar intense heat raked his face before he saw his last memories of the place he once called home and took a step back. Enough, he said. Why are you showing me this?

Do you remember what you said, when you called out for me to save you?

I would be loyal to you forever. I’d give you my sister.

I said I would protect you and bring you into this world provided you did as I said. The girl is mine, and you will take care of her for me. Those were my words. I gave you to Lamont for a time, to learn under him, away from the fools of my own coven. The burning stopped, though there was nothing left of his town or the mountains. The darkness expanded again. You must protect Iona.

From the world? I left my coven and there’s at least one person on the ship who wants me dead.

Let me rephrase: I could take you in, but the council will want your sister. She’d be very safe, but rather unhappy being forced to dream and peer until the power left her. You would be my pet, until you came into your power. You wouldn’t like the precautions I would need to keep you safe. Ask Iona if you do not believe me.

If Nisiris would have seen how his rebellion could have played out, he should have stayed his hand, Radij said. I see no point in peering for possibility.

You are not thinking like an immortal, Lecancia said. If I were to do as you ask, I’d have to dispose of several council members—and that sort of coup would take a lot of planning. My father is allies with Voren.

Who is very dead, last I checked. The silence was deafening. Voren is slain. Not gone. Pointing out his error wouldn’t get him a scratch behind his ears. Radij closed his eyes. We cannot sail about the world until her power fades, Lecancia, and any coven I run to will use her. The warlord trusts me less each day. Take us into your coven. I lack power, but you know my devotion.

For a moment, her eyes turned on him—eyes that were beautiful and golden, pupils slit like a cat’s, and somehow terrible to behold, but the gaze was gone just as quick. Depar is too dangerous for you both. There is a coven in Azel. Head north and I will tell them to expect you. In the meantime, I give you power.

She left him suddenly, and he could not exist in her plane without her. It was like being ejected, rising higher. He knew bright lights and moving, from that plane, so he sought out a safe place—his own body.

~ * ~

April 30, 485 KHE

Honturian Waters in the Sea of Carib

The sounds came back first. Rough waters and hard-heels on the wooden deck above him, voices muffled. Birds now—gulls perhaps—they were close enough to land. Creaking planks, the sound of waves breaking on the bough, and ropes grating as they swayed.

Touch came next; he sagged heavy on the cot, princely accommodations as far as this frigate could boast. His cloth, though better than those around him, was poorer than what he was used to: soft-soled leather boots, silk shirt of common dye and rough pants. His beard itched and his hair was oily, but his facial hair would not grow over the nasty scar over his left cheek.

Radij never realized how vain he was until his face was spoiled. He’d grown his hair out longer, and dyed his golden hair chestnut, as if that would hide him and his sister.

Smells came next. Salted winds. Water-logged fabric. The Selkie’s Skin had a general musty smell to it before they loaded the dozen or so horses they carried with them, and there was no escaping their stench on board, even though they were holed up at the other end of the boat.

He opened his eyes in the faint light of the hold. His body was stiff. Magic was more taxing now that he was removed from his coven leader, who diffused the power, so it didn’t affect his body as much. Dawn, judging by the light of the porthole.

He frowned, staring up at the clouded-over sky. The seas were gray and green. They were sailing east and his chamber was on the starboard side, but he was clueless as the warlord and her crew navigated the channels.

Contemplating the meeting, he felt a strange sensation in his chest.

I said I would give you power, an essence whispered in the back of his mind, Avoid the witchslayers for now. Tell the captain and the warlord they are too dangerous to your sister. Play on their emotions. With what I have given you, they will be of no concern.

Radij let the power surge through his body and got up, careful not to crack his head as he’d done most mornings. His sister’s bed, likewise carved out of the wall, was vacant, again. The Selkie’s Skin was a larger frigate than many, housing a dozen fighting men of House Nolstrum, their mounts and the crew of the ship besides, but there was no place for her to aimlessly wander, fewer places where she’d sneak off.

He made his way to the narrow corridors. Most of the ship was awake and working. When he passed by a larger porthole, there was a light fog on the eastern horizon, and he quietly stole into the women’s sleeping quarters.

The door creaked open, and he saw the slivers of annoyed eyes. Most of the crew had hammocks. Sajera was cuddling his sister in her sleep, running fingers through her hair.

She sat up, and Iona shook when she moved away. It’s okay, Sajera cooed into the girl’s ear, and Iona relaxed. Sajera carefully got up as to not disturb her, and joined Radij in the narrow hallway. She said she couldn’t stand to be alone.

She’s supposed to stay where it’s safe.

She’s safe with me. Have we reached land?

I thought I heard gulls. Come above deck with me.

Sajera scowled at him briefly and ducked back into the room to get a vest to break the winds. This morning seemed particularly cool. She’d cut her black hair short. Radij wasn’t sure if it was in mourning or for hiding. He preferred it long, but in truth he didn’t mind the shorter look.

I thought we were supposed to make Serrell before dawn.

Sajera— Radij began. She frowned. What did she call herself now? Jaina? Erica? I’m sorry if she’s been causing you a lack of sleep.

She’s been helping keep me grounded, she snipped. Speak your mind, Radij.

She had beautiful blue eyes, and still had pristinely groomed brows, though perhaps now the odd hair was out of place she looked much less like someone who worked in a bathhouse in the capital, neither did she look like a sailor.

Radij missed the eyes that were clever or amused, instead these ones looked perpetually hurt. Those eyes were looking up at the clouded sky before peering into the distant gray mist on the waters. I thought we were still in the tropics.

"We are. Look, you’ve every right to be angry, but not with me. You’ll die if you stay with the old woman and that…archer. It might not be by magic, but rotting in a ditch someplace after some highway men takes you for all you’re worth. You deserve better than scraping by."

And do what exactly?

Come with me, he said. She let out a painful laugh. This is only temporary. When I rejoin another coven—

I don’t care how pretty it is; a cage is a cage, and you can keep it, Sajera said. "If when what happens, happens, I will protect Iona, no matter what. It’s you he wants, not her."

His mouth became dry. He didn’t know why, but when she defied him it was sort of enjoyable. He wondered his taste in women—while he was enjoying court, he found the ones that fawned on him to be trite and boring. There was a sort of danger in choosing one of the coven master’s daughters.

He’d initially pursued Sajera to make his current lover jealous. She cleaned up well, and despite an exterior roughness she projected, some sort of maternal nurturing leaked out here and there. There was also that she and his lover almost effortlessly despised one another.

Radij normally found petty female rivalries annoying more than anything, but he was certain the pair of them would loathe one another if he wasn’t involved. He looked at the back of her long neck, and resisted the urge to trail a finger down it or pin her against the wall for something that would end in a slap or a kiss.

Radij, one of the sailors called. Lady Ophelia calls for you.

How many of these fresh hands knew she was Warlord Jakira Nolstrum; she still retained a dozen loyal men who were too large to be anything other than designated soldiers at her command.

She had dyed her hair dark again, though a warm brown as opposed to the inky black she’d favored to hide her family’s fiery orange locks.

Radij didn’t see why; the color suited her, but dark hair, almost always via wigs, was all the fashion in court in the last few years. She dressed below her station but was still obviously a lady of wealth. This morning she was favoring a coat of teal with yellow cranes embroidered at the sleeves, and the blouse she had beneath was of a much more modest neckline.

Most of the crew had changed into contemporary Honturian styles as to not draw so much attention, even though along the coast and borders it was not uncommon to see outlanders. He didn’t realize how much more modest they dressed in the east, but the cloth for the most part breathed well.

Radij didn’t doubt that the majority of the crew knew who she was, with the exception of perhaps a cabin boy or the ship’s cook. Her sister was warlord now, until she bore a male heir who came of age, though he was under the impression they had no shortage of cousins who could take up the mantle if something happened to Illiana.

He chuckled to himself, wondering how many opportunistic uncles and cousins she had.

The Selkie’s Skin had a large map room and adequate facility for the warlord and the captain of the vessel. There was no great table in this room, instead it had a smaller desk where the captain sat with her youngest, playing with a set of calipers and scratching the hand-drawn maps.

You called, Lady Ophelia?

She gestured, and the door was closed behind him. You may be seated if you like. Radij preferred to stand. You are worried about what will happen when we set foot on dry land.

She had a pointy chin that was accentuated when her small mouth frowned. Her brown wavy hair was pinned up, showing off her long, slender neck. Radij had never seen her father up close, only from a distance in the same crowded room or an official portrait that was at least a decade old, but apparently she took after him as opposed to her famously lovely mother.

He frowned. It was easy enough to emulate one of the old mages and give on an air of knowing things they shouldn’t.

I could have sent them away on another ship before we parted from my sister, said Ophelia. They would have easily tracked us. We will go to Serrel—but we will dock on the island of Jaica and drop them off. Another ship follows and will take them and the men I leave to return to Tenageen territory. I don’t doubt they can find a way to follow after us, but I want your word you will leave them be when we set off.

Of course, Warlord. But if they attack me—

You must defend yourself. The woman waved her hand dismissively. You are sure you have allies here who can break my—break Lamont’s power?

Of course, Radij said. You’ve horses and men. Once you’ve resupplied in Serrel we can set out from there. My allies will reveal my course in due time, but Hontue has a history of fighting mages. We have to be vigilant and use my powers sparingly.

Those are children’s stories, nothing more, muttered the captain.

He tried not to smile. Aye—stories passed down from father to son, which once the danger seemingly had passed, turned into tales for keeping small children in line. He didn’t doubt certain details changed in order for them to be better understood or enjoyed by little ones who wanted those presented as heroes to win.

"Then you understand why your sister will remain here, with my men aboard The Selkie."

His brow tensed. The woman was not as simple and trusting as he’d hoped. But with the witchslayer an island away, a handful of pikemen were of no concern. You can’t leave her on a ship forever.

She will be safe. This vessel will return to Imperium Waters, and she will be at one of my family estates until we are finished. She will be treated like a guest until we return safely. After our business is concluded, I will have you both sailed to a friendly port of your choice outside of the frozen north, unless you prefer to stay in my service.

A hostage. He wondered if he should put up some pretense of an argument. The former warlord had a steely look in her brown eyes, unlike high nobility, most members of the houses that served the Imperium in arms could be reasoned with.

We will have letters passed to one another, with a guarantee of privacy. He wasn’t sure what else to demand; he didn’t really care. Iona would not leave his side. He didn’t defy his order to lose her to this pissant woman or her family. As for the frozen wastes, Iona dislikes the cold.

Hah! the captain let loose a chuckle. That one doesn’t strike me as knowing what cold is.

I grew up among the northern mountains, for the first nineteen years of my life, Radij said. We were valley folk, but we knew winters. Anything else, my lady?

When we begin to lay a course for the port today, find yourself and your sister scarce above decks. I don’t want a scene.

"Another thing, war—lady. Sajera, she’s no part with them. Let her stay with Iona."

Sajera can go where she desires. She’s a free woman.

He frowned, but gave Ophelia a brief nod. If that is all, I’ll take my leave.

He gave a slight bow, leaving the room quickly. He hated the idea of losing Sajera but told himself the sooner they were rid of that archer, the better.

~ * ~

April 30, 485 KHE

The King’s City of Aerthene, Tenagee

They couldn’t get her gown right; it had to do with the inconsistency of the dying and the inlay and the boning. They ran out of time, and by all accounts the gown was stunning. Stunning wasn’t enough; she wanted to appear like a goddess.

If you get any thinner, you’ll disappear, her fiancé muttered as he lounged at the round tower’s window, looking down at the city.

Estelle batted away her maidservant and put on the heavy-banded necklace wrought with pink sapphires. She took it off just as quick when she realized it didn’t match the shade painted onto her nails, and went instead with a simpler crystal necklace on loan. You’re one to talk, Thiago. You need to eat more, or you’ll lose more than your fingers.

It was hard to tell he’d lost the use of his sword hand, the gloves gave the impression he could still fight, and he could—but with the other hand. He was far less formidable now.

She mused that the only reason the procession was to be this grand was because he was still riding out being a hero. He went along with it easy enough at first. Then he got to the sulking and the mooning, which Estelle could handle, but then it progressed into curiosity, complaining, and agreeing with Lamont. It could be so… irritating.

Still, this marriage would formalize her own position in court. It would do nothing for her status in the coven, which was fractured and still reeling. Lamont’s replacement allies had power, yes, but the idea was that Voren would protect them all.

Now the Archmage was dead, and her mother had yet to reconcile. Without her… Estelle shivered. She used to downplay her mother’s raw powers.

She hoped her mother would at least put in an appearance today but doubted she would even know of her engagement. Elza’d never formally married her father, though rumors of her… possession of him were allegedly an understatement.

When choosing non-mage lovers, it was considered rude not to share them between close friends, and that only made the rumors grow. Nisiris had learned magic through Elza of course, but for years he was considered little more than a pet. It wasn’t that mages never married—Lamont did, for political purposes.

There was no need from within their institution; she couldn’t fathom the idea with being stuck with her last consistent lover, Radij, for time eternity. Knights didn’t have a habit of living that long even among mortal standards, so this would work, for the time being.

I’ll be in the carriage. He wasn’t much for pillow talk.

Estelle was tempted to call off the marriage several times, but it would be her advantage to be seen as the respectable wife of the great hero. People tended to respect wives more, though she contemplated having children in the next little while. No doubt he’d want them.

She pouted, putting her slender hands over her stomach, pushing out her lower gut somewhat and looking at the full-length mirror.

Over the snickering of her ladies in waiting, she heard him walk into her master in the hallway. She spared her master a passing glance. Lamont looked like he’d not slept in a few days. He’d never been heavy but perhaps a little soft around the middle; he’d lost weight in the past month and there was definitely a purplish tint about his eyes. Estelle had more important things to worry about than her new coven master’s anxieties.

The Prince’s family has arrived. They’d like to start the procession within the next few moments, Lamont called into the room. You’d look beautiful in a beggar’s sack. Hurry up.

How do I look? she asked once she joined him in the hall, doing a twirl.

I would have preferred a much smaller affair. Do you have any idea how much this is costing me?

"Delvor pays you well and anything for the hero who rescued Princess Camina. Weddings always put the common folk in such a good mood. Answer the question."

Matronly. He dodged the veil. Is Thiago enchanted?

He knows I’ll kill him if he backs out now, Estelle said, and ordered her maid to bring her a different veil.

She liked them so long as they weren’t obscuring her face; she’d strangle Thiago with it in the marital bed if he embarrassed her today.

Lamont sighed and ordered the servants away once the bride was mostly satisfied. He waited until they were out of earshot to speak quietly, though they ignored the pair of acolytes guarding the entrance to their wing of the castle.

There would be proper lady’s maids to attend her once they arrived at the royal cathedral, girls of quality bloodlines who would ride ahead of her and deign carry her long veil for but a few moments of the ceremony. They were all between the ages of thirteen and fifteen.

Estelle picked them to garner favor with their noble families. It annoyed her to no avail when she saw another young lady also wearing purple on her wedding day.

Only the bride and royalty, she scowled. She’d make certain to weave in ample purple regularly once she was better known in court. You could have altered his memories, changed his perception of you.

What’s the fun in that? Estelle asked, applying more lipstain, and puckering accordingly when they passed by a large mirror. Lamont dragged her along.

I am so close to perfect; I almost feel like having a portrait commissioned instead of becoming Dame Thiago. You got your marriage to the great warlord. Forcing her to love you didn’t work out so well.

She loves me now.

"Usually, ladies play hard to get before the nuptials."

She’s frightened. She’s a right to be, after what your father did.

"Don’t blame me. I’m at your side, more than willing to help you bring Radij to heel. Besides, I am going to marry and be a respectable woman to be treated as such among my peers. I thought you’d be happy now that I’m settling down."

I’m paying for this farce, do not insult my intelligence. I should have said you couldn’t marry him until after you’ve returned my wife to my side.

She’s going to have a hard time explaining how she’s no longer dead to her king.

Let me worry about that. Return her to me unharmed. I’ll hold you personally responsible if anything befalls our child.

I’ll do what needs to be done. Estelle shook her head so the curls tickled her back, making her earrings chime as they stepped out through the great wooden doors.

She snapped her fan in the face of one of Lamont’s lesser allies waiting outside. She gave him a coy smile which he returned, and wondered if marrying one of the groomsmen should doom befall the groom was a tradition in this kingdom among the nobles.

Lamont grabbed her arm and only had to lead her half a step; she dared not do anything that could damage the gown. Thiago was to be in the first open carriage, Estelle in the last.

They weren’t even the last ones, though their prince and his children were to ride up front with the hero, and Delvor’s beautiful wife was absent, as was their youngest.

Someone whined that they couldn’t get enough of the proper pink rose petals for the procession, so that they would be pink and white.

She waved the old woman away. There’re many islands where she could be hiding. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me enjoy myself on my wedding day. This is my first one, after all, and I want to remember it. Do you remember all of your weddings?

Lamont’s brow tensed. Radij is likely with her. If I was him, I’d be trying to ally myself with Lecancia, but she’s not in control in Depar. He’d be a fool to run there with his sister, unless she’s his bargaining tool.

No, he enjoys her company. Have you gotten me a decent weapon to carve up his heart?

He climbed up after her and gave her a knife wrapped in purple satin. Don’t do anything clever like bring it back in a box. Dispatch him with as few theatrics as you can manage.

You’re no fun, Estelle said, as the procession started with a jolt.

Lamont hopped off and made no effort to catch his ride—she suspected he didn’t want to be seen, though he would probably be checking in for the feast to see that all the food he’d ordered was present and yipping about something unimportant. All the better for me, let me be the beautiful face of this coven for the day.

She tucked the dagger into the folds of her golden girdle and waived enthusiastically to the crowd. Most of them had no idea who she was—but such displays were a treat for the common folk, a reminder of the empire they were a part of. She was all too happy to be his beautiful prize.

She hoped a passing glance of her would inspire songs and poetry. She smiled at the rich and poor alike as the white carriage plodded along with the white chargers carrying her through the old streets towards the most magnificent Cathedral in the South.

Chapter Two

April 30, 485 KHE

Honturian Waters Near the Isle of Jaica

Koth almost won the fight. He blamed the sudden lurch of the ocean’s waves on his moment’s hesitation.

One of the old sea dogs, a man with an impressively bushy beard and a blue macaw, gave a hearty belly laugh. Not bad, outlander. Thought you’d beat a boy a fistful of winter’s your junior by now.

We all have to start somewhere, another of the deck hands said. They’ve both improved since we left Calypso.

Relax your grip, boy, Sajera said.

She was supposed to be Koth’s instructor, though in the past few weeks she’d given her expertise to just about anyone who’d listen. At first, most the deck hands were appalled at the mainlander woman correcting Koth’s form, and several tried to speak over her, contradicting her for its own sake.

She wasn’t the keenest blade on deck—aye, that honor went to one of the oldest sailors aboard The Selkie. At first none would fight her so she could prove her skill, until the old sailor gave her a bout. She didn’t win, but she managed to hold her own for longer than several others.

The sailors hailed from different provinces, most were never formally taught beyond drills if they were drafted, so the older ones often gave pointers where they could, and both Sajera and the old swordsman seemed appalled at the bad habits some of them had.

If they weren’t sitting around on an island and given leave—and in Koth’s case he wasn’t always given shore leave—they didn’t have ample time to practice, just squeezed in bouts.

The old blademaster wasn’t forthcoming with suggestions, but he would often watch, and even give a curt nod after a better match.

What if I drop it? the youth asked.

Another rough wave hit them, and Koth instinctively grabbed at a rope. The youth’s training sword swung wildly as he tried to catch his balance.

Easy! Will these winds ever turn favorable? asked the man with the macaw.

The winds and waters are a warning. This quest bodes ill, said another sailor.

Quest. We’ve been out from the mainland for a month; we should be half-ways to the frozen north by now.

Another laughed at him. We’ve been out of Imperial water for less than a day, and you’re already homesick. Besides, the days were cold and overcast before we entered Honturian waters.

Sajera said nothing, instead was readjusting the boy’s grip on the wooden training blade and then demonstrated footwork again.

Don’t coddle the boy, said the sailor with the macaw. He’ll learn if he wants to get better’n beating short outlanders.

Koth waited for the boy in a neutral stance. When you’re ready.

The boy was tall and wiry at fifteen with natural talent, save for his nervousness that came out when a crowd gathered. The youth lunged, and Koth tripped the boy and sent him sprawling.

He rolled over to have Koth’s wooden tip at his throat. That wasn’t an honorable move!

No, lad, and you’re dead just the same, said another sailor leaning against several empty barrels. Course, when he’s ready to fight a man who can at least match that pathetic beard he’s growing, I’m up for it. He inclined his head toward Koth.

Oh, don’t get up, you look far too comfortable, Koth said to the sailor, fingering the patch below his lip.

He never cared for the full beards of the Tenageens, and in the last few weeks let just enough fuzz at his chin collect to look more than a shadow, but it was hardly long enough to add a bead or whatever was in fashion with the locals. A bell sounded and a call that land was spotted.

He gave the boy an arm up, who begrudgingly took it. Didn’t want our last fight to end that way.

"Thank you for training with me, all the same. I suppose this might be the last time I see you, once you set foot off The Selkie. You’re going north by land?"

Koth frowned. Likely. I think I’ve had just about enough time on a boat to satisfy my appetite for a lifetime.

Take care of yourself, Witchslayer. The youth took the training swords and disappeared below deck.

Koth contemplated the title. He’d earned it, but with two of them on board, it didn’t feel like it. He reminded himself his feelings were at the best of times, moot. He sauntered to Sajera, who didn’t scramble to a post, more than like that the pair of them weren’t really crew.

They were supposed to reach Serrel before dawn, but the sailors muttered something about the winds, and with the overcast sky he couldn’t tell what hour it was.

She didn’t look at him when he stood beside her. So, when we make port and your truce is over—Iona as well?

It was never my truce. She is a mage, isn’t she? Koth asked. Perhaps I should let her swear vengeance over her brother and come at me in a decade. He spat into the sea. She flared her nostrils and started to walk back toward below deck. Don’t get involved.

She’s a child.

It’s better to drown a wolf cub when it’s young. They prey on people, Sajera. Your family learned that first hand.

My family was killed by the prince’s men, not mages, she replied, and turned to go. And stop calling me Sajera. It’s been a month.

"Sorry, Ursula." He didn’t see why she cared, nobody was looking for her out here and even if they were, well… okay, technically several people aboard were going by different names, including the former-warlord.

Koth went to help heave on a rope. Their ship was not near as large as the one they had been rescued in. The Mermaid’s Tears was a great warship. He was almost disappointed when they moved to the swifter frigate.

The Selkie’s Skin would be far less noticeable a vessel in neutral and Honturian waters. Koth just hoped it didn’t attract the wrong sort of attention. The Selkie had fighting men, crew and supplies, even boasting more than a dozen horses.

The only good news was that Hontue was a far cry from what it once was, and the sprawling territory had a hard time minding itself.

Though the majority of the world still followed its calendar, the kingdom’s Golden Age was at least over by a century, likely closer to two, though Koth could never tell how accurate the claims were due to the grumblings of the Tenageens he found himself in constant company with. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume they were jealous.

Koth had grown accustomed to Aerthene and the Port of Iol, but to his eyes the Port of Tulyne was ancient. While not clean, the City of Serrel had the look of weathering. Here, the pale sands of the beach seemed too nice compared to the town beyond the port.

There were larger buildings, practical compared to many of the sprawling monstrosities of the Imperium. Simpler huts for the most part, the older ones appearing of stone and clay, of a redder color than what was common to the stone dwellings he’d seen in the west.

Several large structures loomed in the distance beyond the jungle. For the most part they were covered by a lush green moss but one had a reddish hue, and he was reminded these islands were birthed by volcanoes, most of which were inactive.

There was a central fortress, constructed of pale stone and a square tower with a lower wall, most likely the central keep where whoever governed kept his men and were housed, though there was evidence of a handful of villas peeking out of the nearby jungle. It was easier to spot the paths leading to them than the estates themselves.

There were ancient large statues crumbling, faceless though the forms of ancient heroes of old were still in their poses, one figure they sailed by put the others into perspective. The merman wielding a broken trident was taller than their ship but his left hand was missing and face weathered.

Others in the city and in the jungle were less worn by the sea, but for the most part were in better repair and most were around the same size as the figure welcoming ships to the port. Their ship made berth quickly, and he couldn’t wait to set foot on dry land.

It was not a bustling harbor, though there were at least half a dozen ships docked, The Selkie the largest. Koth was half-surprised to hear the chatter of fishermen off the starboard side. Glancing down, they didn’t seem particularly hostile, more so annoyed.

Koth had no idea what tongue they spoke. One of the sailors bellowed something unintelligible to Koth and they stopped their grousing. Catching Koth’s gaze,