Final Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 6) Read online

  Final Enchantment

  ~ Unbreakable Force Series Book 6~

  by Kara Jaynes

  To Josh: Thanks for your inspiration

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  About the Author

  1

  Aaric

  Where am I? Aaric sat up in bed and shook his head groggily. His mind felt like it was filled with fog and he ran a hand through his hair distractedly.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty.” A man entered the room and in one well-practiced movement, knelt on one knee.

  “Rise,” Aaric said. He yawned and crawled out of bed. The remnants of sleep were beginning to leave him and with it, the fog in his head. Standing with his arms out to either side of him, he held still, allowing the man to dress him.

  “Today is a big day for you, Your Majesty,” the man said, buttoning Aaric’s shirt. “It’s the Day of Justice and Mercy.”

  “I know, Gilbert,” Aaric said. He squinted at the man who was now smoothing his lapels. A young man, with large brown eyes and neatly combed brown hair. He knew him, but didn’t. How odd.

  He glanced about the room—his room. It was massive, complete with a gigantic four poster bed he’d just got out of. The room was much bigger than his study back at home.

  What study? He shook his head again.

  “And finished, Your Majesty.” Gilbert stood back with a bow, and Aaric blinked, looking down at himself. He felt like he should stare goggle-eyed at the finery he wore, but he couldn’t remember why.

  “Thank you, Gilbert.”

  Gilbert looked shocked at the words of gratitude, but quickly hid it, bowing deeply. “It is my honor, Your Majesty.”

  Opening his bedroom door, Aaric strode confidently down the hallway. He’d walked these halls a hundred times—a thousand times. He knew the way. He ignored the finery around him. Plush carpets, gilded furniture, and crystal chandeliers held no interest for him. A book on the other hand . . . when was the last time he’d read a book?

  “Not for some time, Your Majesty,” Gilbert spoke up, walking meekly behind him, and Aaric realized he’d spoken his last thought aloud.

  After traveling several hallways and flights of stairs, Aaric entered his throne room. It was ten times larger than his bedchamber, and that was saying something. The floors were alternating square slabs of marble in white and black. The throne itself was a monolithic structure of solid gold. “Such a waste,” he said aloud as he sat in it. “It should be melted down into coins and given to the poor.”

  Voices murmured in shocked undertones and Aaric looked over to his left, suppressing a sigh. He flapped a hand in greeting at the lords and ladies standing there, acknowledging their presence.

  The Day of Justice and Mercy. Aaric remembered. It was the day where anyone, young or old, bond or free, could approach him on any matter and would accept his judgment. A day of responsibility. Aaric could already feel its weight bearing down on him.

  He stifled a yawn. He wished his wife was here with him.

  My wife? I’m not married. He shook his head again.

  His stomach rumbled and he grimaced. He was required to fast this day as part of the ordeal. He leaned back in the throne and nodded at the servant standing by the large, gilded doors of the throne room. “Show the first in.” Might as well get this over with.

  The people who’d come to seek his advice or beg for mercy varied in livelihood and social status. Farmers and nobles, paupers and knights, the crowd of people clamoring to see him was endless. Aaric felt as if a pressing weight sat on his shoulders. This would never end.

  “Your Majesty.” Two of the royal guard stood before him, each holding the arm of a woman standing between them. “Your Majesty,” one of the guards spoke again, “this woman was caught stealing, from the royal coffers, no less. I’m sorry to waste your time, Your Majesty, with such filth, but she demanded it, and I could not refuse, it being the rule of the Day of Justice and Mercy.”

  Aaric stared at the woman, his heart hammering painfully against his chest. She was short, but held her head up proudly, her hair a wild mess about her face, her eyes a stunning blue.

  Adaryn.

  2

  Aaric

  Shaking his head, Aaric tried to clear the momentary confusion in his head. He didn’t know this woman, this Adaryn. He looked down at her. The woman stared back, her chin jutting out with pride, her gaze filled with contempt as she stared coldly back at him.

  “Why did you try to steal from me?” Aaric asked, trying not to squirm. The woman’s eyes pierced him like augers.

  A lord from the crowd harrumphed. “You don’t need to question her, Your Majesty. That she stole from you at all is a crime that must be handled swiftly and without mercy. She must be used as an example so all know their king will not tolerate such.”

  Aaric silenced the lord with an irritated glance before he turned his gaze back to the woman. “What is your name?”

  The woman’s fiery demeanor didn’t change. “My name is Adaryn.” The lack of ‘Your Majesty’ hung in the air. The gaggle of lords and ladies stared at her in horrified silence.

  Aaric felt a stirring of anger. He should clap her in irons for the rest of her days. Theft and dishonor toward her king. Did she deserve any better?

  “I’ll ask you one more time. Why did you steal from me?”

  “I’m not the thief here.” The woman’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “I came to claim what is rightfully mine. You overwork and overtax your subjects. You demand that which we cannot give. My father is working himself to death trying to provide for his family, and here you sit in luxury and idleness on the blood, sweat, and tears of your people. I came to take back half of what you taxed us this season. My family cannot live otherwise.”

  Her words cut Aaric to his core. He couldn’t say why, but the thought of being held in contempt by this woman was unbearable. Were her words true? He frowned. Did it matter if her words were true? He was their king; it was his laws that kept this land safe. But did it matter that he could keep them safe if they suffered under his rule? If their freedom was sacrificed for their safety?

  Aaric was brought out of his thoughts by the gaze of the woman. Her blue eyes tugged his back to meet hers. So compelling, so intense . . . so beautiful. “You’re right,” he said softly, and Adaryn’s head jerked back in surprise. The room was so quiet Aaric could almost hear the woman’s heartbeat, quickened by uncertainty and fear.

  “However, you tried to steal from me. I can’t condone that, regardless of your reasoning. You will
work in my house for an entire moon cycle, for room and board, but no pay. Justice will be served.”

  Adaryn’s face could’ve been carved from stone, her eyes expressionless.

  Aaric continued. “Starting today, I will lower the tax by half. I will not sit in such idle riches while my people suffer and starve. Justice must be served.” He ignored the shocked gasps and sputters from the lords and ladies. Adaryn looked poleaxed. Aaric smothered the smile that threatened to spread across his face at her expression. He lifted a hand to quiet the murmurs of the nobles. He only had eyes for the slim woman standing before him. “I will return half of the money your father gave for taxes, and enough food to feed your family for one year. Mercy will be given.”

  The room disappeared in a swirl of mist and fog, and Aaric cried out as his memories came crashing back. He wasn’t a king; he was an inventor. A scholar. “Adaryn!” he called, searching the shifting fog. “Adaryn!”

  You have proven yourself to be both fair and merciful. The voice pressed inside his mind. You have passed the first trial.

  “Where’s Adaryn?” Aaric ran to where he last saw her, but no one was there. “Where is my wife?”

  The voice didn’t answer.

  Aaric tried to calm his heartbeat, inhaling and exhaling slowly. This was all a dream. Everything, a dream. The fog thickened, obscuring his vision, once again obliterating his past.

  3

  Donell

  There. Just beyond of the edge of camp. Donell could feel it. Lulling him. Calling to him. Magic.

  “Is everything all right, chief?” Gruffyn asked. He was standing guard. No one expected an attack from the other nomads, or the Oppressors, but it couldn’t hurt to be too careful.

  Donell stared at him. “Can’t you feel it?”

  “Feel what, chief?”

  Donell brushed his red hair out of his face, toward the woods where he could feel the enchantment. “There’s magic out there, Gruffyn. I’m going to find it.”

  The older man nodded. “I’ll go with you. It could be Bran trying to trick you.”

  “No. Stay here.” Donell could barely think. The magic pulsed in his veins. He knew it wasn’t Bran though. He could feel it wasn’t him. “I’ll . . . I’ll be back soon.”

  He stumbled away before Gruffyn could object, in the direction of the enchantment.

  He could have been blindfolded, ears stopped, and spun in a circle, but Donell could have still pointed exactly to the magic. Its pull got stronger with every step, its allure almost overwhelming. He’d never experienced magic like this before. How could Gruffyn not sense it? It reminded him of the Song of the Siren, a tale of one woman’s voice that was so beautiful any man who heard it fell under her spell forever.

  He staggered into a small clearing and froze.

  A young woman stood in the glade. Her head was thrown back, face to the sky, her eyes closed. A small smile played on her lips. The magic emanated from her.

  “Hello?” Donell took a hesitant step toward her. He didn’t recognize her, but there were smaller, more isolated nomadic clans scattered throughout the west. Perhaps she belonged to one. “Who are you?”

  The woman opened her eyes and Donell’s heart beat faster. Her eyes were yellow, reminding him of a wild animal. She was small, much shorter than him.

  The woman’s smile widened. “My name is Eletha. I’m the new ruler of these lands.” She held out a slim white hand. “And you are Donell.”

  “How do you know my name?” Donell watched her warily, or tried to. The power that surged from her made him want to weep with desire. He couldn’t think, could hardly breathe. The enchantment caressed his senses, numbing his mind.

  “I’ve been watching you for some time.” She laughed, eyeing him appreciatively. “I know everything about you. I know you fight against the Oppressors.” With small, quick steps she walked to him, looking up into his face. Her pale blonde hair hung straight over her shoulders and down her back. Some might’ve called it stringy, but it looked beautiful to him. Everything about her was beautiful. Her enchantment rolled over him in waves.

  Eletha laughed and reached out, her slim fingers stroking his face. “I’ve chosen you. You’re a strong leader. Brave. Impulsive. You’ll make a fine lord over the Oppressors. A fine mate for me.”

  “You fight them too?” This must be what being in love felt like. He loved her. He’d do anything for her. I don’t know her. Something is wrong. The magic hammered against his mind, and he firmly put the thoughts away. They didn’t matter.

  “Of course. We’ll fight them together.” She stood on tiptoes, her mouth finding his. He kissed her back, fiercely, his arms wrapping around her thin frame. The magic pounded in his heart, through his veins. They’d defeat the Oppressors.

  Together.

  4

  Aaric

  “Get up, you worthless dog.”

  A booted foot rammed itself into Aaric’s ribs. He grunted, pushing up onto hands and knees. His throat was parched. He shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his mind.

  “Get up!” Someone grabbed a fistful of Aaric’s hair, hauling him upward. Aaric scrambled to his feet to relieve the pressure, blinking in the lamplight.

  “The master wants you working in the fields. Picking weeds. Hurry. You slept in, so you won’t be needing breakfast.” The man turned away and started barking orders to other workers sleeping in the hay.

  What master? Aaric looked around. He was in a barn, the musty, earthy smell of horses and straw in the air. He rubbed his face blearily and froze when his fingers brushed his throat.

  Aaric was collared.

  “This can’t be real.” He cast his mind back. How long had he been a slave?

  Always. He’d always been a slave. Why did he think, for a moment, that he wasn’t?

  He shuffled to the doorway, following the other slaves outside. Dawn’s light was just creeping over the horizon and the heat in the air was already stifling.

  Walking to the fields, Aaric and the other slaves began their work. Some were set to pick weeds, others to harvest crops. Aaric knelt in the dirt and carefully began pulling up the weeds and thorns that, if left unchecked, would choke and suffocate the crops that would feed the master and his family in the coming winter. It wasn’t hard labor, but before long Aaric’s limbs began to cramp. Sweat streamed down his dirt-streaked limbs and face. It was too hot. His throat was dry; swallowing was an effort.

  “I can’t do this.” A woman knelt in the dirt across from him, her blonde hair disheveled. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with a dirty arm. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

  Aaric studied her, still pulling weeds. “Keep picking,” he warned her. “If you’re caught resting, you’ll be punished.”

  “I don’t care.” The woman sounded bone-weary, shoulders slumped.

  “What’s your name?” Aaric asked, hoping he sounded encouraging. “Keep picking. We’ll talk. It’ll help pass the time.” He smiled at her. She’s pretty, he thought, and felt a surge of guilt. Why?

  The woman smiled back wearily. “My name’s Grace.” Her blonde curls were damp from sweat. “What’s yours?”

  “Aaric.” He kept moving, easing his cramped legs a little as he moved down the line. “Are you new here, Grace?”

  “Yes.” She started pulling weeds again to Aaric’s relief. “I used to live in the city, but I was sold and moved out here. I used to be a lady’s maid.”

  “You’ve been a slave your whole life?”

  “No.” Grace frowned, yanking at a particularly stubborn weed. “I was captured about five years ago. What about you?”

  It was Aaric’s turn to frown. “I’ve been a slave as long as I can remember.”

  “How awful.” Pity filled the woman’s gaze as she looked at him. “How sad to have never known freedom.”

  Aaric didn’t have a response to that. They spent the rest of their afternoon in silence.

  5

  Aaric

 
“Don’t you hate them?” Grace asked softly so as not to wake the others. “The magic users. They enslave us like animals.” It was night and they lay in the dirty hay next to each other, hands entwined. Aaric thought he might be in love with her. It’d been weeks since their first meeting, and they spent every available opportunity together.

  He chewed his lower lip as he considered her question. “Hate is a strong word,” he said at last.

  “Not for me.” Grace snorted. She was silently for a moment. “We need to escape.” The words were a breath above a whisper. “We deserve a better future.”

  Aaric smirked, though with it being so dark, Grace wouldn’t see it. “Where would we go?”

  Grace’s hand tightened around his. “Does it matter? We’d be free, Aaric. That’s what matters.”

  Freedom. What did it really mean? Aaric didn’t understand it, but he wanted to. He also wanted to make Grace happy. “We’ll escape together.”

  Grace smiled widely at him, and Aaric leaned forward on his elbow to kiss her. He knew he’d made the right choice.

  6

  Aaric

  “Our plan failed.” Grace sobbed into Aaric’s shirt. “They’ve found us!”

  Aaric wrapped his arms around the slim woman in an embrace. He could hear the shouts of men and the baying of dogs. They would be found soon.

  No. He shook his head. He would be found soon, but not Grace. He ran his fingers across Grace’s throat in a caress, ignoring the stab of guilt he couldn’t explain. He’d freed her of her collar, but if the master found her again, it would encircle her neck once more. He wouldn’t let that happen.

  Tilting her chin up, Aaric kissed her hastily. “Run,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Run. I’ll distract them.”

  “You’ll be killed!” Grace looked up at him, her eyes wide in horror.

  Aaric took her by the shoulders and spun her toward the woods, toward freedom. “I love you. Run!” He knew he wouldn’t see her again. “Run!”

  She obeyed, lifting her skirts above her knees as she ran, sobbing in grief and terror. “I love you too!”