Broken Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 3) Read online

  Bran stiffened. “Where’s Grace?” he asked quietly. I knew that quiet. Bran was about to explode. I took a step away, nudging Aaric to do so as well. He complied.

  Oisin shook his head. “You’re too late. I’m using her to start the war we need. I had some clansmen take her back to Ruis. They will kill her in front of the gates, where all the Oppressors can see. Their anger will compel them to hunt us here, where we will fight on our own territory. With the sky jewel, they won’t have a chance, and their oppressive reign will be over.” Oisin smiled coldly, obviously pleased with his strategy.

  Bran’s face had gone white. He stared at his father, horrified.

  The chief crossed his arms defensively, his expression dark and angry. “She’s an Oppressor, Bran. She has to die.”

  The younger nomad shook his head. “You can’t do this, father.”

  “I can and I will.” Oisin’s face hardened. “She is nothing to the clan.”

  Bran turned away and sprinted toward the horses. I felt the magic swell around Oisin, and he lifted a hand toward his son. “I won’t let you go!”

  Bran felt the magic too, and turned to face his father when Aaric lunged forward, punching Oisin in the jaw. “Run, Bran!” he shouted.

  I winced as Oisin stumbled. He definitely hadn’t seen that coming. The chief regained his footing and, with a roar, wove magic, giving me all of two seconds to push Aaric out of the way, leaving me standing where he was a moment before. Power slammed into me and I screamed, arching my back in pain as magic surged through me. I fell to my knees, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “Adaryn!” Aaric’s voice was filled with anguish as he picked me up, cradling me close. I tried to struggle, to tell him to put me down so I could defend us, but I couldn’t seem to talk. My body continued to spasm from the magic, overwhelming me.

  “Adaryn!” another voice cried. I blinked, feeling confused. Aaric sounded like my father. I felt myself shift as someone else lifted me, taking me from Aaric. I tried to protest, but the only sounds came out as garbled nonsense.

  Oisin’s face was purple with rage. “She brought it on herself, fool girl.” He glared at Aaric, who was standing alone and unprotected. I felt another surge of magic, and tried to warn Aaric, but I knew I was too late.

  21

  Aaric

  Aaric unsheathed his sword. He knew it was futile. Even if by some miracle he managed to take down Oisin, there was the rest of the clan to consider. He’d never make it out alive.

  The chief brought his hands up again. Fire exploded from his fingertips. Aaric brought his blade up to defend, but then Bran leapt to stand in front of him, facing Oisin, using his own magic to repel the attack. Aaric stared, dumbfounded. Bran just defended him against his own father?

  “How dare you defy your chief?” Oisin shouted.

  Bran’s face matched his father’s in fury. “Why didn’t you tell me your plans for Grace? How could you do this?”

  “How could you betray the clan?” Oisin asked. His eyes were red-rimmed and tears built on his lashes. “You were loyal!”

  “Get the horses, Aaric.” Bran’s voice was quiet and devoid of emotion. He watched his father warily.

  Aaric looked over at Adaryn who lay on the ground, her eyes still closed. Her father knelt beside her. He looked up at Aaric and nodded. “She’ll pull through.”

  Aaric bolted toward the horses. A blast of energy hit the ground behind him, showering rocks and dirt everywhere. Bran shouted at his father, and retaliated with magic of his own.

  Aaric frantically untied Star and another horse from their pickets, and for a wonder none of the nomads tried to stop him. They all stood frozen, shocked at the display that unfolded before their eyes. Aaric looked back toward the two warring nomads locked in combat.

  Oisin hurtled a huge ball of fire at Bran. The younger man dodged it, and the ground rumbled and shifted, causing Oisin to stumble. The chief quickly regained his footing. Face contorted with rage, he brought his hands up and a white light streaked from his hands. Bran ducked, missing it by a hairsbreadth. He looked up at Oisin. “You can’t kill Grace,” he shouted. They continued dodging the magic and counterattacking. The sky jewel flashed white as Oisin threw his magic into the earth. Rock erupted under Bran, causing him to fall. A flying stone hit him on the side of his head, and he went down.

  Aaric’s breath caught in his throat. He realized then that despite their differences, he considered Bran a friend.

  Oisin summoned a shimmering blue-white blade, and advanced. Bran pushed himself up on his hands and knees, shaking his head groggily.

  “You are no son of mine,” Oisin panted. “You’re a traitor, just like that foolish Adaryn. You will both die today.” He stood over his son, oblivious to Kenroc who now stood protectively over his daughter.

  “The sky jewel!” Aaric bellowed. “Take, it Bran!”

  Bran rolled away from Oisin, narrowly missing the blade that flashed downward, pushing himself up to a crouch. A fierce wind whipped up, swirling dust and leaves in its sudden flurry. Magic crackled around Bran and a bolt of lightning flashed down from the sky, slamming into the sky jewel.

  Oisin screamed, clutching at his chest. He fell to the ground and lay still.

  “Father!” Bran dropped to his knees, scrambling through the dry leaves and grass to the fallen nomad. He cradled his father’s head in his lap. “No . . . no!”

  Silence hung over the camp like a shroud. No one moved.

  “Father . . .” Bran’s body was still crouched protectively over his father, his voice thick with grief.

  Aaric walked up him, leading Star by the reins. “We need to go, Bran,” he said quietly. “Miss Grace is in danger.”

  Bran didn’t answer.

  “There’s no time, Bran. She’s going to die.”

  Bran finally nodded. He laid his father down, carefully retrieving the sky jewel. He shoved it in his pocket and stood, snatching Star’s reins from Aaric. “I ride to Ruis, then.” Tears streaked his cheeks, but his face was as hard as stone. He didn’t look at his father again.

  22

  Bran

  Bran 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.

  23

  Adaryn

  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.