Broken Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 3) (7 page)

B
ran rode Star through the woods at a near gallop, his eyes intent on the trail. He wasn’t sure how much time Grace had left, if any. If anything happened to her . . .

He heard hooves behind him and, looking over his shoulder, realized with surprise that Aaric had come with him. He thought he would’ve stayed with Adaryn. It was a strong force of magic she’d been hit with, but being a magic user herself, she would fare far better in her recovery than Aaric would have.

The woods gave way to the plains. The city of Ruis could be seen in the distance, a dirty smudge on the horizon. Bran dug his heels into Star’s side with a shout, and the stallion shot forward, Aaric and his steed close behind.

The smudge eventually became a dark, walled city. Still no sign of Grace. Bran anxiously peered ahead, scanning the wide expanse before him. There! He couldn’t tell who was ahead of him, but there was something, close to the city walls.

Star’s hooves tore up grass and dirt as he thundered across the plain. Bran shaded his eyes as he drew closer to the figures outside of Ruis’ gate.

Some men were gathered, seated on horses. One of the men was red headed. Donell. Bran’s gaze was focused on one slim figure. A woman, bound and blindfolded, seated on a pale white mare.  Shouting words toward the city that Bran couldn’t distinguish in the rising wind, Donell lifted up a shimmering blue blade.

“Grace!” The name ripped out of Bran’s throat in a raw scream. The blindfolded woman lifted her head, turning to the sound of his voice. Her blonde curls tossed in the wind. Donell looked over to see Bran, then turned back toward Grace, lifting his sword again. Bran was going to be too late. He couldn’t use his magic on the tribesmen from this distance without potentially harming Grace, but if he didn’t, she would die.

Bran heard a twang as something zipped past his ear, plunging into Donell’s shoulder. The young man cried out and dropped his sword, clutching his wound. His sword shivered away into nothing when he lost contact with it. Bran spared a glance over his shoulder and saw Aaric, standing in his stirrups, holding his arc-bow. It was incredibly difficult to shoot accurately while riding a horse; luck was with them. By the set of the Oppressor’s jaw, however, Bran suspected Aaric may have tried to kill Donell and missed.

They raced up to where the other nomads had gathered in front of Donell and Grace. They all had summoned weapons of various sorts.

“Stand down,” Bran roared. “Release the woman—now!”

The red headed youth shook his head, glaring balefully at Aaric. “Can’t do that, Bran. The chief gave us our orders. Oisin said you were partial to the lady, and to not let you interfere.”

“Oisin is dead,” Bran snarled. Snatching the sky jewel from his pocket, he showed it to the stunned nomads. “I’m the chief now.”

Donell’s eyes widened with shock. “What happened?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” Bran dismounted and strode over to Grace, who sat astride her mare, stiff-backed and silent.

Bran carefully lifted her down and untied her blindfold. It was wet with tears, but that didn’t stop Grace from glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You said I’d be a welcome guest.” Her voice was cold, but her lips trembled and more tears built on her lashes. “I trusted you.”

“Grace, I’m sorry.” Bran loosened the ropes around her wrists and tried to hug her. She put her hands on his chest, pushing him away. “Grace, believe me, I had no idea my father would have planned something so—”

“I want to go home.” Her voice quivered. “If you will assist me . . .” She gestured toward her horse.

Sighing with exasperation, Bran helped her on her horse. She turned her mare toward the city, where the gates were open. He hardly noticed the men who were running out to them.

“We’ll find a way to make this work, Grace, I swear it.” Bran looked up at her anxiously.

Grace had managed to keep her face expressionless, but it crumpled now, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know if I want it to work now. Goodbye, Bran.”

“Grace.” Bran’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. “Please! It wasn’t me. I would never hurt you.” His plea fell on deaf ears. Grace urged her mare to a trot down the hill to greet the men who came out of the city. Some stopped when they reached her, some continued toward the nomads.

“Time to go,” Donell said, still clutching his wound. He was still glaring at Aaric. “You going to join them, Oppressor?” He jerked his head toward the city.

Aaric looked at the red haired youth coolly. “I’m a nomad, now.”

Donell grunted sourly and turned his steed toward the woods. He and the rest of the nomads rode off.

Aaric took Star by the reins and led him over to Bran, who was still staring after Grace. She was being led through the gates. The men were much closer, one lifted up a weapon.

“He has a gun.” Aaric’s voice was urgent. “We have to go—now.”

With a growl, Bran mounted Star and rode toward the woods.

I
opened my eyes to find myself in my father’s tent. The familiar smell of furs and canvas made me smile. I’d missed it. I started to snuggle more deeply in my blankets, feeling tired.

Aaric.

Heart thudding, I sat bolt upright as memories crashed in. Was he all right? Was he dead? I needed to know.

I started to stand and saw my father was seated near the tent flap, watching me. “Aaric,” I said. “Is he all right?”

“Sit down, Adaryn,” my father said soothingly. “The Oppressor—” he paused, grimacing, “—Aaric is fine.”

“But Oisin!” I protested. “Oisin was going to kill him.”

“Oisin is dead.”

I stared, incredulous, at my father sitting cross-legged, calm as a summer breeze. “Dead?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. “How? Who killed him?” I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean when you say ‘Aaric is fine’?”

Father laughed. It felt good to hear. Ever since my mother died, he laughed at precious little. “He’s alive and well. Oisin was killed by his son’s hand, and Bran is the new clan leader.”

“Bran killed his—?” I couldn’t finish my sentence. Bran had been a devoted son, and fiercely loyal to the clan. I couldn’t fathom it.

My father’s face hardened, his blue eyes flashing. “If he hadn’t, I certainly would have. He would have killed you and Aaric.” The anger faded from Father’s face as he rubbed his chin, thinking. “I don’t believe he did it on purpose, but I’m not sure how he was going to rescue that woman otherwise. The clan isn’t really sure what to think. Defeating the chief in combat makes Bran the new clan leader, yet he’s the first to kill another nomad over an Oppressor, even if it was an accident.”

“Where’s Aaric?” The rest could wait.

“He’s here, in the camp. He and Bran are trying to come up with a plan to help free our enslaved people without starting a flat-out war.”

“We’re already at war,” I mumbled, but my father went on as if he hadn’t heard me.

“You know, that Aaric really is something. He truly cares for you, and from what Bran said, he assisted in saving the female Oppressor’s life. Donell is none too happy about it,” Father grinned ruefully, “but then, he should have known better than to try and kill a woman. Oisin should have known better too.”

Talk ceased when the sound of footsteps approached and the tent flap pushed back, Aaric sticking his head through. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” I smiled at him, feeling the familiar flutter of my heart at the sight of his disheveled sandy brown hair and large gray eyes.

My father smiled—it looked a little forced, but it was an improvement—and left the two of us alone.

“Grace wasn’t killed?” I asked.

“No.” Aaric sat down next to me. “Bran and I got to her just in time. Not before half the city saw the attempt though, based on the amount of people on the walls. Unless Grace can smooth things over, which I doubt she will, given the hysterical state she was in, we may get a war anyway.”

He peered at me anxiously. “How are you feeling?” He put a hand on my forehead as if checking for fever. I pushed it away, smiling at his concern.

“I feel fine, really.” He was now checking my pulse. “It was just a little magic. I only needed a night of rest. I’m feeling right as rainwater.”

Aaric arched an eyebrow at me. “You were out for three days, Adaryn.”

“What?” I goggled at him, completely surprised. I cast my mind back, remembering the magic slamming into my body, how I couldn’t move or talk. Sleeping for three days was definitely better than the alternative.

Aaric’s face grew stern as he remembered too. “You are absolutely forbidden to do anything like that again, you know. Seeing you flopping around like a banked fish almost stopped my heart. I would have certainly rather been hit by the magic myself.”

I smirked. “You’re welcome.”

Aaric grinned, drawing me to him. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in his scent. “You’ve been drinking coffee again, haven’t you?”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe.”

“How much?” Aaric had an insatiable appetite when it came to coffee, and the man would literally stay up the entire night studying if he drank too much.

“. . . A few cups. Or so.”

I pulled away to give him a stern look of my own and he laughed at me.

Any talk was cut short as a loud crack filled the air, followed by screams and shouts. Aaric and I stared at each other, frozen.

Another crack ripped through the air, spurring me to my feet to run outside. “Oppressors!” The word stuck in my throat, my heart hammering in fear. Not again. Please heaven, not again.

Outside of my sheltered little tent, I was greeted with chaos. Nomads rushed in every direction. Women ran with babies in their arms, surrounded by children. Tribesmen, armed with fire and summoned blades clashed with Oppressors, equipped with arc-bows and muskets. I clenched my jaw. Last time I ran. This time, I told myself, I would not. Seizing the magic, I ran toward a man locked in combat with my father. Aaric caught up to me in a moment, his sword clutched in his fist. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

I shook my head. I felt the earth shake. Bran was on the outskirts of the encampment where the fight was thickest. Men, nomads and Oppressors alike, were fighting. I frowned. I didn’t see any attempts to collar my people. Were they here to kill, to avenge Grace’s near death? I saw a flash of red, and Ember darted to stand in front of me. I gaped. Her scarlet hair was in wild disarray, her eyes wild with panic, but she didn’t wear a collar.

“You’re free?” I gasped. “How?”

“There’s no time to explain!” she shouted. “You need to leave. He’s here.”

“Who?”

“Kingsley!”

I felt the blood drain from my face and my breath came in ragged gasps, body trembling. “Why is he here?” I already knew why, but I had to hear her say it.

Ember’s face twisted with anguish. “For you. He’s here for you, Adaryn.”

Another gunshot boomed and she jumped, looking over her shoulder. “I have to go.” Just as quickly, Ember disappeared.

The world spun around me, trees blurred with earth and sky. Then Aaric was there, taking me by the arm. He steadied me and everything slid back into focus. I looked up at him. “He’s here, Aaric.” My voice cracked. “Kingsley’s here.”

Still holding me by the arm, Aaric pulled me away from the fighting. “We’re leaving then.” He had to shout to be heard above the fighting. I nodded. I knew I was being a coward, not staying to fight, but I didn’t care.

We ran through the camp, away from the fighting, away from the women and children, away from everyone. My breath came in whimpering gasps, so I bit down on my lower lip, hoping to stifle them. It didn’t work. Fear threatened to engulf me like a wave; it was only Aaric’s presence that kept me from completely losing my head. I momentarily thought of my father, and hoped he was all right, then we broke through the edge of camp and moved farther into the forest.

W
e sprinted away from the camp and battle. I knew Aaric hoped to take me to safety, but where, I wasn’t sure. The thought of Kingsley made my blood run cold with a blistering fear. The cruel magistrate was the last person I wanted to face. Even Matias and his overwhelming power hadn’t scared me like Kingsley did.

The sound of fighting dwindled and I felt a flicker of hope until I risked a look over my shoulder. Several men were on our trail. “We’re being followed.” The words were a breathless pant.

Aaric answered with a strangled snarl. He unsheathed his sword while we ran, holding the weapon in a white-knuckled grip.

I heard a bang behind us, and a flare of red light hissed overhead. I didn’t know what it was, but Aaric’s grip on my wrist tightened convulsively.

We staggered on, but within a few minutes our pursuers caught up to us. Aaric whirled around and attacked, his sword a blinding flash. He and Bran had continued sword practice on our return, and Aaric’s skill reflected that. Two men went down and another fell back, clutching a now useless arm. I slammed the magic into a fourth, and we circled the remaining Oppressor. He was breathing heavily, whether from running or from fear I couldn’t tell, but I began to feel a glimmer of hope. We were going to escape.

I heard the sound of approaching hooves and several horses came into view, their riders circling us. A hiccup of fear escaped me when one of the riders pushed back his hood, familiar green eyes looking down at me with startling intensity.

Kingsley.

Aaric didn’t miss a beat. He turned smoothly from his opponent and launched himself at Kingsley. The magistrate twisted and dropped from his saddle with a startled yell, landing so his horse stood between them. Kingsley’s horse reared, front hooves lashing the air. Kingsley and Aaric leapt clear, facing each other. At a motion from Kingsley, his men closed in on us. Two men had guns, raising them toward Aaric. Enchantment exploded from my fingertips, shattering their muskets. Someone grabbed my arms from behind and I shrieked in fear, trying to wrench my arms away. Aaric turned and stabbed the man in the throat, freeing me.

Kingsley shouted to his men, and several of them surround Aaric. I turned back toward the camp that was now impossibly far from us. Maybe I could somehow get some help in time. Even as the thought came to my mind I discarded it. I couldn’t abandon Aaric.

Ember stepped out from behind a tree, facing me, her hands behind her back. I ran toward her. “Ember, you’ve got to help us. Go get Bran. He’ll know what to do.”

The fiery haired woman stepped forward, closing the gap between us, and before I could react, clamped a collar around my neck.

I put a shaking hand to my throat. “Why?” I whispered, looking at her collar-free neck.

“Because,” Kingsley’s voice said behind me, “she never had a choice in the matter.”

I darted a glance at Aaric. He was lying bloody and motionless on the ground a few paces from me.

“Forget him, Adaryn.” Kingsley laughed triumphantly. “You’re mine.”

I was a slave. Wordless howls ripped from my throat before the pain even began.