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The thought was barely through his mind when his Connector Stone shot from his hand, bright orange flooding across its surface as it zig-zagged through the air. “Lord Vardanyan!” The voice, and the caller’s magical energy, belonged to Raoul Silje.
Aric pushed out an irritated breath and extended a tendril of magic to steady the rock. “I’m here. Make it quick.” The color had indicated urgency, but he didn’t know Silje well enough to determine whether or not the man was prone to panic.
The overseer of the Vanarré Border Council office released an audible breath. “I’m so sorry for calling you late,” he said, “but I’ve just learned information I thought warranted passing along.”
Aric bit his tongue to keep from making any presumptions and instead guided the floating stone to hover over his shoulder while he walked. He might as well stalk the slowly quieting city with a tighter, more focused scan on the off-chance someone had gone to impressively great lengths to obscure his first effort. “Keep talking.”
“Yes, well, it’s about the incidents along the border wall you mentioned earlier today,” Silje said. “I was working on recruiting our escort for the inspections and … the thing is, no one in Vanarré is aware of any assaults more recent than Corast.”
Aric scowled. “None of the soldiers? Not even the commanding officers?” Denham had said the assaults hadn’t been reported until later, but even assaults that had never been formally reported should have been whispered about in a town as busy and well-traveled as Vanarré. It was entirely relevant to their livelihood. He’d have expected them to be getting twitchy about it, if anything.
“I spoke to several officers,” Silje said. “I also spoke to a reliable information broker that we often use.” He sighed. “Reliable, but expensive. It cost me—”
“How certain are you there hasn’t been another breach since the one I cleaned up several months ago?” Aric asked, cutting the other man off. He was too short of temper and too on edge to deal with ramblings of any sort.
Silje cleared his throat as if he were self-conscious. “Positive,” he said. “I’m absolutely positive. Though I will still send out inspection teams at first light if you think it’s of value.”
Aric stopped again and clenched his hands at his sides for a long second. There were too many contradictory pieces. It couldn’t be one giant conspiracy. Even factoring in Rochelle’s disappearance, it wasn’t well-coordinated enough for that to make sense. But there had to besomething. He exhaled roughly. “No,” he said. “Keep everyone on standby until you receive new orders. Thank you.”
He waited only long enough for the man to stammer half an exclamation of assurance before disconnecting the call. The Connector Stone was barely back in his palm before he triggered it again. “Cecilia Rey.” No one was better at recognizing a liar than Cecilia. It was a strange, but nonetheless useful, talent she had learned not long after they’d graduated Academy.
“Aric?” Cecilia’s familiar voice echoed out to him. “It’s awfully late to be calling. Is something wrong?”
“How quickly can you get to Vanarré?”
She was quiet for longer than it had taken her to answer the call. “Without you? That’ll take a day or two of travel, depending on the horses and rest stops. Why? What’s the urgency?”
“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Viveca chimed in from the background.
“Take Viveca just to be safe,” Aric said. “I need you to talk to Raoul Silje at the Border Council office and confirm a story.”
****
Rochelle jolted awake, memories of tears and pain reverberating through her muscles before she could hope to actually move. She bit back a groan as her father’s hurtful words whispered through her mind once more and instead focused on steadying her breathing. Already, she couldn’t remember the details of whatever nightmare she’d just relived, but somehow it struck her as odd to have even suffered one.
It probably should have struck her as odd that they’d become so rare.
“Awake already, are you?” The gruff male voice snapped Rochelle back to her senses.
She didn’t know where she was, and couldn’t identify the location from her position, but it was dark. Darker than the last time she’d been conscious. She drew a breath and took stock of herself, since the only object she could vaguely identify visually was what looked to be a low-flickering turquoise flame. It didn’t take her long to realize she was bound. Her arms were bent behind her, with something tight around her body just above the elbows to keep her arms pinned. There was also something twined around her wrists to keep her hands immobile. She was seated, or slumped, against a cold, hard surface she had to guess was rock. A brief strain confirmed her legs were equally restricted at the thighs and ankles. Oddly, her toes felt chilly, as if her boots were missing.
A shadow passed between her and the ominous fire. The man who’d spoken, possibly. She had to hope.
She cleared her throat and did her best to hold her head up despite the soreness she was becoming increasingly aware of at the back of her neck. It hurt like a bruise until she moved and caused her hair to shift against it. Even that small motion sent a jarring sting of hot pain down her spine. “What do you want with me?”
Her abductor had dragged her to some nearly pitch-black cavern type space. She doubted he was going to offer a name.
That same unsettlingly deep vibrato chuckled, low, from the direction the shadow had moved to. “I would consider watching your tone if I were you.”
Rochelle narrowed her eyes and glared in his general direction. “I won’t be the weeping damsel who cows to her captor.” Once upon a time, maybe not that long ago, she would have struggled to find the strength to do more than cry in resignation. She was not that woman anymore.I’m not so weak.
She drew as quiet a breath as she could and reached for her magic. Mostly likely this jerk was some guy who had it out for refugees or Zrynians in general. He wouldn’t be at all prepared for the power Aric had taught her to wield.
It was the increasing sound of his laughter that forced her to realize her magic wasn’t responding.
Rochelle felt herself deflate after two more repeated attempts, different spells each time, yielded the same result. Failure. Not a spark. “What…?” She swallowed hard. In her studying hours she had learned itwaspossible to restrain a sorcerer’s magic, but the conditions were supposedly both difficult and classified. Even Aric’s books had only mentioned the possibility.
“I’ve sealed away whatever power you have,” her captor finally said. “You are at my mercy, woman.”
