Twisted Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 5) Read online

  The man sniffed the air, then turned and stalked over to Fyrsil’s tent and entered. A minute later he reemerged, followed by a bleary eyed and yawning Fyrsil, his hair messy with fly-aways in his face.

  “Time to pack up.” He yawned again, his jaw looking like it would crack, and I found myself stifling one of my own. I went to wake Aaric. He sat up, hair tousled, and blinked. “It’s still night,” he mumbled, trying to burrow back into his blankets.

  I was already rolling up the furs and pushed him off. “Fyrsil says it’s time to go,” I said, tying them into rolls. Aaric started to object, but I silenced him with a glare. “I don’t want to hear it. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can save Dahlia.” I roughly pushed the tent flap open, pulled our belongings out and carried them to the horses.

  Fyrsil was already seated on his steed, eating some bread. Zero was pulling the canvas tent down, tying blanket rolls to saddles and finishing that, pulled more rations out of a saddlebag and passed them to Fyrsil.

  “You’re not going to help take down camp?” I asked, incredulously.

  Fyrsil looked surprised. “Why would I do that?” he asked, confused. “That’s servants work.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re not a king anymore.”

  “I have you to thank for that,” he grumbled. He stuffed more bread in his mouth before taking the reins, guiding his horse toward the tracks. Thankfully it hadn’t snowed while we slept.

  Aaric and I finished taking our tent down and with everything ready to go, set off, eating while we rode.

  The sky was inky black, but I could tell by the air and feel that it was nearly dawn. If the Twyli had an early start, well, ours was even earlier. We should catch up within a couple of hours.

  As we rode, Fyrsil took the lead, tracking the prints. It wasn’t until we had been riding for nearly an hour, that I noticed he seemed agitated. His back was stiff, and he kept looking at the tracks behind us. Unable to contain myself, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Fyrsil was quiet for a moment before responding, “I don’t think the Twyli slept last night.”

  “What?” I exploded. “We wasted all that time sleeping, while they kept going?”

  “Looks like it.” Fyrsil clicked his tongue and his horse moved from a walk to a trot. It was beginning to lighten, which made it considerably safer for the horses to travel. “Fortunately for your child, we only rested four hours. Unfortunately for her, we may not be able to catch up with them. Four hours is quite a loss. They were moving slowly though. I don’t think they wanted to risk laming their horses either.”

  “We’ll catch up,” I said grimly. “No more stops.”

  Fyrsil’s tone was mild. “The horses may need some time to rest later—”

  “No stops!”

  We urged our horses to move faster. The sun was slowly rising and with it, a sense of growing panic for me. We couldn’t be too late. We couldn’t. The Twyli had to rest some time, didn’t they?

  The hours slipped by, and eventually the trees thinned. We found ourselves facing a long, cold stretch of black, rocky plains. It stretched as far as the eye could see, sloping upward. Snow covered most of it, but the perfect blanket was broken by large, stone formations, and the tracks of our prey, ever before us.

  “From here, we need to move carefully,” Fyrsil cautioned. “The Twyli are no fools; they will have slowed down as well. The land looks flat, but it’s pitted with shallow holes and dips. You risk breaking your neck if you ride too fast. We must ride single file directly over their tracks.”

  We rode out from under the shelter of the woods and onto the endless, rocky stretch. I frowned. The ground felt . . . different, here. When I mentioned it to Fyrsil, he said, “I feel it, too. Enchantment. From who, though, I don’t know.”

  The sun rose out of the east, pale and distant. Its warmth didn’t seem to reach us, on this cold and stony wasteland. We rode for what felt like hours, even though it couldn’t have been more than one or two.

  Suddenly before us, the ground seemed to drop away. The horses snorted and whinnied with alarm. Far below us, in a massive bowl of rock and earth, was a city. At least five times the size of Ruis, it stretched on, seemingly endless; towers, turrets, walls, and balustrades, all made out of the same black rock of the earth. Lights twinkled in windows, like countless spark flies. I realized my mouth was hanging open with amazement and shut it with a snap.

  Aaric rode forward, shading his eyes against the cold sunlight. “Is that them?” He was looking down the slope.

  It was. A party of five or so Twyli were riding toward the city, nearing the gates, far ahead of us. I squinted my eyes. One held a child in his arms.

  “Dahliaaaaa!” Her name ripped from my throat in a scream. I booted Sorrel in the flanks, and the mare shot forward, galloping down the steep incline.

  “Adaryn, no!” Aaric’s cry rang in my ear. I paid him no heed, urging my horse to faster speeds, careless of the danger I was putting both of us in.

  One of the Twyli looked back and saw me, and two of them turned their horses to face me.

  I called forth the magic. It resisted me. I was exhausted, having barely slept that night and traveling for hours before and after, but I ruthlessly snatched it up anyway, thundering toward the oncoming Twyli. Both raised their hands. The ground shuddered and rippled between us. Sorrel reared, hooves pawing the air as she squealed in fear.

  The ground split with a shuddering roar, molten rock spewing upward in a fountain. Sorrel bucked and kicked and I was thrown, landing on the rocky ground. She bolted away, driven mad by her terror.

  I stood watching, helpless, as the rift grew wider and wider, stretching out on either side of me, impossible to cross. I looked across it. The two Twyli were already riding back to meet the others, and together rode up to the opened gates. Once inside, the gates began to swing inward, and I watched as they closed with a dull thud. Dahlia was on the other side of them. I fell to the ground, my face in my hands. I had failed. Dahlia was lost.

  16

  Aaric

  Aaric jumped down from his horse and sprinted over to where Adaryn sat in a heap. He’d expected her to be crying, but though her face was pale and lips compressed, her eyes were dry.

  “I failed,” she whispered. Aaric helped her stand as Fyrsil rode up beside them.

  Adaryn looked at Aaric, her face showing stark panic. “She’s going to die. She’s going to die, she’s going to—”

  “Shut up.” Fyrsil’s voice was cold. Adaryn closed her mouth, staring at him.

  Aaric glared at Fyrsil. “Have you no heart?” he spat. “She just lost her child!”

  Fyrsil continued speaking to Adaryn, ignoring Aaric. “Pull yourself together, woman. Drowning in self-pity won’t get her back. Action will.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Adaryn looked up at the outcast king, a trace of hope in her gaze.

  Fyrsil shrugged, smirking at her. “Not really, no. But are you just going to sit there? Accept defeat so easily? You were born with magic, Adaryn. You are every bit as resourceful and powerful as these Twyli.”

  Adaryn’s face was a mix of emotions. “You’re right,” she said slowly. “I am just as powerful. To a point.” She looked at the sea of molten rock before her. Aaric’s mouth had dropped in amazement when he’d seen the Twyli call it forth. Lava was something he’d only read about. Under any other circumstances he would’ve dropped everything to go and study it.

  Adaryn’s countenance fell. “I can’t control the elements, Fyrsil. I can’t work magic past myself.”

  Fyrsil’s smirk widened. “Perhaps not. But I can.” He glanced at the gates looming before them. Twyli were beginning to gather on the city walls. “We’d better retreat for a while and come up with a plan.”

  Adaryn reached for Aaric’s hand. He grasped it and helped her stand, smiling at her. “Fyrsil’s right,” he said. “We need to find a way to get into the city without all these eyes on us.”

  Adaryn cast one last, ag
onized look back at the gates before following them. Aaric thought he knew how she felt. The thought of the silent, wide-eyed child being killed made him sick to his stomach. He glanced over his shoulders at the city wall, wishing the magic gave Adaryn the ability to fly. A sudden thought struck him, and he smiled. He couldn’t make her fly, but almost.

  17

  Adaryn

  “So, who’s going to go in?” Fyrsil asked. The four of us huddled around a small fire behind a particularly large boulder about a quarter mile away from the depression where the city nestled.

  “I am,” Aaric and I spoke at the same time. We smiled, but then eyed each other dubiously.

  “Think of the baby, Adaryn,” Aaric said gently. “You can’t overtax yourself.”

  “You’re not a magic user,” I countered. “If you’re captured, they’ll kill you.”

  “They could do the same to you,” he argued. “It’s not safe.”

  “It’s not going to be safe for anyone,” Fyrsil interrupted. “We need to decide who’s more likely to come out alive.”

  He stared in the direction of the city, his face twisted in distaste. “I will go. I’ve been curious about this city ever since arriving.” He looked at me, his dark blue eyes compelling. “You will come, too.”

  “No.” Aaric folded his arms, raising his chin as he glared at the brigand. “Adaryn is pregnant, and I don’t trust the likes of you. You tried to kill her once, remember? In Sen Altare.”

  “Did I?” Fyrsil’s voice was mild. “I do remember scaring her half out of her mind, making her think I was going to kill her. But think about it. It makes sense for her to go. She has a much higher chance of survival than you do. She can always pretend she’s a Twyli if she’s caught, or pretend she wants to adopt the culture. If you’re captured, you’ll be strung up like a pig for the slaughter.”

  Aaric’s mouth was a firm line, but from his expression, he saw the sense in Fyrsil’s words. “So what would I do in the meantime?” he asked. “Sit here in deep conversation with chatterbox Zero?”

  Zero cast a startled look in his direction, clearly not getting the joke. A laugh escaped me, and Fyrsil smiled. “I suppose so, yes,” he admitted. “I heard you’re an inventor. Don’t you have some kind of project you can work on in the meantime?”

  Aaric nodded. “Yes, I have a few.” His eyes took on a faraway look and I stifled a smile. He was already working on one of them, mentally.

  Fyrsil glanced at Zero. “Keep the inventor safe.” The pale-eyed man gave a single nod.

  We discussed the details of the plan. Our cover story was that Fyrsil and I were a couple of traveling nomads, husband and wife—Aaric had balked at that, but had agreed when I reminded him it was just to get Dahlia out—come to visit the city. We’d find the palace and hunt down Dahlia there, as it was likely she’d be taken there for the extraction. It was maddening to have a plan so vague, but without having been there, we couldn’t do any better.

  “So how do we get into the city?” I asked. “Short of tearing the wall down or strolling through the gates, I’m not seeing a way.”

  “That’s simple,” Aaric said. “You take the gliders. Fyrsil here, if he can control the elements like he says, can summon a draft of wind that will take you both up.”

  Fyrsil grimaced. “I won’t be able to summon a very strong gust of wind.” He shot an irritated glare at me. “If I still had the sky jewel, I could call enough magic to level the city walls in no time at all.”

  “It won’t need to be that strong.” Aaric spoke confidently. “Just enough to get you airborne.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I stood and glanced at the sky. Still a few hours before dusk, but I didn’t want to risk any more time. “Let’s get in position so we can be off the moment darkness falls.”

  Fyrsil and the others stood as well. He glanced toward the city. “Strange, that they built their city over a volcano.”

  “A what now?” I hadn’t heard of that name before.

  Aaric chimed in excitedly. “That would make sense. All this rock is dried lava and their city . . .” He trailed off, his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked at Fyrsil. “Why would they build their city in the crater?”

  The outlaw spread his hands. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He tilted his head in thought for a moment, then laughed. “I can see that being a deterrent for would-be invaders. Who would want a city that could become immersed in lava in a matter of seconds? Perhaps the Twyli magic keeps it at bay.”

  He gestured to me. “Let’s get going, sand cat.”

  18

  Adaryn

  Night had fallen. We stood on the edge of the depression, looking down at the twinkling lights of the dark city. Fyrsil and I each held a glider. Aaric and Zero stood a ways back. Aaric and I had said our goodbyes, promising that we’d see each other again. Aaric had been especially worried about the baby, but we both knew that the only other alternative was to allow Dahlia to die, and we couldn’t accept that.

  “Here,” I’d said, handing him my good luck charm he’d bought for me in Bleaksdale. “You might need this.”

  “It’s just a necklace, Adaryn,” Aaric had said, but he took it when he saw my expression. “I’m going to be fine, love.”

  I hoped he would.

  “Are you ready?” Fyrsil asked quietly, seeing me look back at my husband. I nodded, gripping the handle of the glider tightly, my knuckles whitening.

  “On the count of three, we’re going to run a few paces and jump,” he said. “Rather than running downhill, you jump. Got it?”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I already missed Aaric.

  “One.”

  I shifted my feet, tensing.

  “Two . . . three!”

  I sprinted forward and leapt into the air. It was just as frightening and exhilarating as I remembered. The wind whipped my hair around my face, and my eyes stung from the cold, winter wind.

  I felt enchantment swell as Fyrsil seized the magic, and within moments a strong wind buffeted me. I almost lost my hold on the glider as the air slammed into the wings, causing it to dart upward. I swallowed the startled scream that nearly escaped my lips.

  The ground fell away and I flew. Fyrsil was beside me, his black hair streaming behind him. His eyes were wide but he grinned at me. “A little different from walking, isn’t it?” He had to shout to be heard over the wind.

  I would have rolled my eyes at his ridiculous comment if I hadn’t been too tense to do much of anything except hang onto the glider for dear life. I might feel better if there had been some kind of restraining rope to keep me from shaking like a leaf in the fall breeze. I made a mental note to tell Aaric he’d need to make improvements. I’d used the glider twice before, but I hadn’t grown used to it.

  The city was a couple of miles away from where we had stood, but flying was faster than walking and before long, the length of Twyarinoth took up my view, stretching to either side as far as I could see.

  Our gliders started to dip before we reached the wall, so Fyrsil used his magic to call the wind once more and our gliders wafted up, a little less harshly this time. The closer we drew to the walls, the more nervous I got. What if they had guards patrolling the stretch of wall we landed on? What if they sensed our magic? What if Dahlia was already—no. I pushed the thought away.

  I tipped the glider downward, toward the walls, and Fyrsil copied me. Together we landed, Fyrsil, gracefully, I in an embarrassing tumbled heap.

  He hauled me to my feet and pushed me into the shadows. “Shh!”

  I held perfectly still, hardly breathing. I heard nothing, and with my face smooshed into the stone wall, I couldn’t see anything either.

  A minute passed, and then another. Just when I starting contemplating burning a hole into Fyrsil’s middle, he released me, stepping back. I ran a hand over my face, glaring at him.

  “We had to hide. There were a couple of guards walking by,” he explained. “If I had used the magic to c
loak us, they would have sensed me for sure. As it is, they weren’t looking for potential intruders or we would’ve been spotted regardless. I don’t think Twyarinoth gets many willing visitors.”

  I nodded, silently agreeing with him. “You didn’t have to push my face into the wall though,” I muttered.

  “Oh, that? That was for stealing my sky jewel and wresting the kingdom from me.” He grinned at my scowl.

  Together, we slipped from shadow to shadow, hiding from passing guards, until we found a set of narrow stairs that led us down from the walls and before the great gates. We were almost discovered by the gatekeepers, but with a little luck and Fyrsil throwing a loose stone to clatter several feet away from us to distract the guards, we were able to escape and enter the city.

  It was dark, but people were still out. That never seemed to change with each city I went to—there were always people. The buildings here were massive and black, carved out of the earth itself. I couldn’t tell if they had been wrought by hand or by magic. The lamp posts were lit, throwing an eerie blue glow that shifted in hues from pale to dark and back again. It caused shadows on the streets to appear and disappear, wreaking havoc with my nerves. The streets were the same dark pitted rock as the houses.

  There was something unsettling about the area. I could feel magic. It was everywhere. It made sense, being in a city of magic users, but the amount of enchantment being practiced set my teeth on edge. It would mask us, if we ended up needing to use it, however, so it wasn’t an all bad thing.

  What made me most nervous was how quiet the city was. People walked about normally, but the shops were quiet, no one stood in the street trying to peddle their wares, no farmers called people to look at their produce. It was more than a little odd.

  Fyrsil strolled down the streets with an air of confidence. I couldn’t imagine he was any less nervous than I was, but he gave no sign of it.