Broken Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 3) Read online

  24

  Adaryn

  We 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.

  25

  Bran

  A series of gunshots rang through the air, and just as suddenly as they had come, the Oppressors retreated—those who weren’t already dead. Bran looked around him at the slain and injured men with disgust. The Oppressors had brought more men than normal, but the nomads had easily won with the added power of the sky jewel.

  Donell came up to him, his red hair disheveled and a cut on his cheek. Despite the fact that the wound Aaric had given him a few days before was still healing, Donell had held his own in battle. He was smiling, an air of satisfaction about him. “We chased them off.” He saw a fallen Oppressor shift and groan, lying on the ground, and before Bran could say anything, jumped forward, summoning his magic and ending the man’s life. “Filthy devils.”

  “A headcount, Donell,” Bran barked. “Now.”

  Donell nodded and strode off. Bran looked around uneasily. Something was wrong. He could feel it. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn that for a moment he’d seen Donell’s sister, Ember. But Adaryn said she was a slave, to Kingsley no less. She wouldn’t be here. Bran’s face hardened. Well, with the sky jewel and some luck, he’d get her out. He’d get them all out. The era of slavery was drawing to a close. It had to.

  “I can’t find Adaryn, Bran.” Kenroc hurried up to him, worry etched around his eyes. “Or Aaric. Have you seen them?”

  “No.” Bran shook his head, and his uneasiness grew. Something was wrong. “Take a handful of men and scour the perimeter of camp. They have to be here.”

  After an hour of searching, however, Bran had to admit that they were gone. Why would they leave? Aaric was no coward, and in her own way, Adaryn was brave, too.

  “Adaryn and her fool lover are the only two missing,” Donell said, striding over. “I’ve counted everyone down to the smallest babe.”

  Bran gritted his teeth in frustration. How could they have just disappeared? Had they been captured? He pulled Kenroc and Donell aside. “I’m going into the city to see what I can discover. You’re in charge until I get back, Kenroc.”

  Kenroc nodded, his blue eyes hard. He was frustrated with all the trouble that seemed to follow his daughter. Bran couldn’t blame him. Donell shrugged. “Why worry? Aaric probably just ran off with her to—”

  “Enough, Donell,” Bran growled. “Make yourself useful and get rid of the bodies. I’ll be back in a few days, sooner, if I can find them.”

  Donell stiffened, but the youth didn’t say anything as he walked away.

  Bran left on foot. He still had the fake collar he’d used last time he’d entered the city, and planned to slip into the city as soon as he could. Worry gnawed at him relentlessly. He didn’t know where the two had gone, and tried to tell himself that Donell was right, that they really were hiding together behind some tree like fool lovers, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.

  26

  Aaric

  Aaric sat up with a groan, putting a hand to his head. He hurt everywhere. Shallow cuts and bruises covered him, and his head felt like it was going to split in two. He was sitting in a small cell of stone, one wrist shackled to the wall. Aaric stood, and found he couldn’t take more than a couple of steps before the chain stopped him.

  He was in prison. Aaric tried to calm his heartbeat. Where was Adaryn? He remembered attacking Kingsley and the other Oppressors, but beyond that, nothing. Had Adaryn escaped? Was she free? Aaric desperately hoped she’d found Bran. If Kingsley had enslaved her . . . no. He couldn’t let his thoughts go there. She had to be safe. She had to. Aaric would have paced if the length of chain had allowed. He tapped his foot nervously instead.

  He wasn’t sure how much time passed. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours. It was cold. Aaric rubbed his arms, wincing when his hands passed over bruises and half-healed cuts.

  Footsteps approached outside the cell. Aaric tensed, waiting.

  The key rattled in the lock, and the door opened. The tall, arrogant form of Kingsley strode in. He motioned for the jailer to wait outside. Kingsley’s dark hair was pulled back in a sleek tail, and he was wearing a well-tailored jacket. He clasped his gloved hands behind his back.

  “Well, Mr. Wright. This certainly isn’t the way I’d have us meet, but you brought it on yourself.” He peered at Aaric intently. “It was quite the shock, seeing you running with rovers. Your father would have been ashamed to see you do so.”

  Aaric faced Kingsley, his fingernails digging into his palms. “Where’s Adaryn?” It was an effort not to grit his teeth.

  “You mean Poppy?” Kingsley smirked. “Don’t worry about her. She’s in good hands. She’s a fiery thing. It will take time to break her properly, but—” he chuckled, “—I have plenty of experience there. She’ll see reason soon enough.”

  Aaric took a step tow
ard Kingsley, but the chain brought him up short. “Blast it, Kingsley, if you’ve hurt her, I swear, I’ll—”

  “Do what?” Kingsley interrupted. “Kill me? You can’t even walk more than a couple of paces. Give it up, Aaric, it’s over. Your future is here, within these four, tiny walls. And Adaryn’s future,” his smiled deepened, “is with me. Best forget her, Mr. Wright, because within a few days, she won’t have a choice but to forget you.”

  With that, Kingsley turned on his heel and walked from the room, clanging the door behind him, leaving Aaric alone in the darkness.

  27

  Grace

  Throwing herself across her bed, Grace gave a sigh of annoyance. She was back at home with her loving mother and father. Her personal chambers had only the finest: plush carpets, expensive paintings, gilded furniture. She owned more clothes than she could possibly wear, and her own, personal slaves. She had everything she could want. Life was as perfect as it could be.

  Well, as perfect as it could be without Bran. Which meant it was dreadfully boring.

  Grace thought of her brief stay with the nomads. Bran had made her feel welcome, and initially, she thought she had been, until several tribesmen had bound, blindfolded and gagged her. They hadn’t told her what was going on, but being trussed up like a turkey for market, she’d expected the worst. Bran’s behavior had confirmed it.

  She twirled a lock of hair around her finger idly. She supposed she’d been a little on the hysterical side, but blast it, she almost died!

  Her father had been ready to lead a charge against the nomads right then and there, but Grace had been able to calm both him and her mother down. War was hardly the answer, was it?

  Bran’s face came to her mind, and she felt color rise to her cheeks. It didn’t help that the nomad twisted her insides and scrambled her brains. He was too handsome for his own good.

  She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. What was done was done. No use fretting over what couldn’t be changed.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” Grace called. She looked down at herself as the door opened, remembering she was only clad in her shift, but it was just Polly, her slave. Polly was a plump, older woman, with a kind smile and graying brown hair she always kept pinned up in a bun.

  “Miss, you haven’t dressed.” Polly clicked her tongue. “Your mother is planning on shopping this afternoon.”

  Grace grunted with irritation. Standing, she walked over to her wardrobe and selected a dress of blue silk. It would match her complexion quite beautifully. Not that it mattered, since Bran wasn’t there to see it.

  Polly went on chattering about the city’s doings. Polly knew everything, it seemed. “You know Mr. Hartford has come to call on you twice since you’ve come home. You’ve caught his eye, dearie, and no mistake.”

  If he looked like Bran, I might be interested, Grace grumbled in her thoughts. She paused, tapping a finger to her lips. Or Matias. Despite the fact that the king had been a complete and total boor and at least fifteen years her senior, he was easy on the eyes. A complete boor, though, she reminded herself sternly. And not a king, anymore. That definitely made him less handsome.

  Something Polly said made Grace whirl around to face her. “What? What did you say?”

  Polly straightened from smoothing the rumpled linen bed sheets. “Nothing, dear, except that that eccentric inventor is in prison. I can’t recall his name. You know, the handsome one, with the gray eyes.”

  “Aaric.” His name came out a whisper. Grace felt sick.

  “Yes, sweetie. That’s the one. He was caught with my peo—” Polly caught herself, “—the nomads. He killed some of Kingsley’s bodyguards, and attacked Kingsley himself, according to rumor.” Polly shuddered. “A hard man, Lord Kingsley. I wouldn’t want to be his—” She pressed her lips tight on what she had been going to say. Kingsley was not a popular figure among the slaves.

  “What happened to the girl?” Grace asked, feeling a touch breathless. “The slave girl?”

  “The one the inventor ran away with?” Polly asked. “Kingsley claimed her. He’s her master now.”

  Grace couldn’t breathe. Aaric in prison, and Adaryn a slave. She turned, facing her reflection in the large vanity mirror. Her complexion had paled. She couldn’t say she liked Adaryn, but they had gone through a lot together in Sen Altare. And Aaric . . . she cared for him very much. She might have gone so far as to say she’d been sweet on him, before she met Bran. No, she couldn’t let them suffer like this. She wouldn’t!

  But what could she do? Certainly, her father was wealthy and had a reputation and position, but he wouldn’t listen to her if she asked for his help in this matter. Who could she turn to?

  Grace tightened her fists, her mouth firming in a straight line. There was only one man she could turn to, one man who could help her. She wasn’t sure what he thought of her now, but she knew he would help Aaric and Adaryn. The only question was: how to get to him?

  28

  Adaryn

  Pain. There was nothing but pure, unadulterated pain, generated by the collar encircled around my neck. It consumed all my thoughts. I had long since stopped screaming, my voice completely hoarse. I lay on my side, curled in a protective ball. I wished for death. I tried to think of Aaric, to focus on his soft gray eyes, his smile, his touch, but the pain was unrelenting and forced thoughts of him away.

  How long have I been here? Hours? Days? Months? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. I just wanted the agony to stop.

  I heard the opening and closing of a door, and just like that, the pain was gone. A gasp of relief turned into shuddering sobs, tears leaking from my eyes. I tried to stop crying, but couldn’t.

  Footsteps neared. Too exhausted to lift my head, I watched as a pair of polished black boots entered my vision. Even without seeing the rest of him I knew it was Kingsley.

  The magistrate knelt down, his green eyes meeting mine. His face appeared concerned, almost gentle, but his eyes held the same glittering intensity they always did when he looked at me.

  “How much longer?” he asked, reaching out to push a strand of my hair behind my ear. “How much pain are you willing to endure?” He sat back on his heels, still watching me. “You’ve been in here for two days. I’ve never had a slave go that long before conceding defeat. You need to let go. This is your new life.” He paused, as if considering. “I’ll even let you keep your old name, for a while, if you will cooperate.”

  “What do I have to do?” The words came out a croak; even talking hurt, my throat was so completely raw.

  “Admit that I am your master, and that my word is law.” He spoke frankly, as if it were no concern. “Those are the first steps.”

  “Yeah?” I pushed myself up with my hands, but I was still unable to stand. I wouldn’t kneel though, not that. “And what’s after that?”

  Kingsley didn’t say a word as he looked at me, but the slow, hungry smile that grew on his face was the only answer I needed. A tingle of icy revulsion and fear ran down my spine, but I refused to look away. I wouldn’t be cowed.

  “Where’s Aaric?”

  The smile dropped from his lips and his eyes narrowed. “Forget Aaric. He’s no longer your concern.”

  “He’ll come for me,” I rasped. “He loves me.”

  Kingsley threw back his head and laughed. “He won’t come for you, Adaryn. Ever. The sooner you can forget that, the better.”

  I didn’t have a response so I simply glared, hating him. Kingsley sighed. “Just say it, Adaryn. Admit I’m your master and you won’t have to hurt anymore. The most difficult step will be over.”

  “I will never call you that,” I spat. “Never.”

  Kingsley’s face twisted in anger, and he stood abruptly. “You will beg to serve me before this is over, Poppy.” He turned and strode from the room. I tried to summon the magic, to strike out at him, but I couldn’t find it.

  The agony returned.

  29

  Bran


  Muttering a string of curses, Bran stalked through the filthy streets of Ruis. It was pouring rain, and he was drenched. He was also growing increasingly frustrated. He had neither seen nor heard any signs of Aaric or Adaryn, and had no way of knowing if they were here. For all he could tell, they ran off to be married in Sen Altare.

  He crossed a street, ignoring the carriage that rode by. Ruis and its stinking Oppressors. He hated this place; its dark, dirty streets and smoky factories. The enslavement of his people.

  “Bran!”

  The nomad’s head snapped up in alarm. Who knew his name here? He turned and saw that the carriage had stopped. A footman helped a slim, pretty woman down, and she was now hurrying toward him, a black umbrella held up with a white-gloved hand.

  “Fancy seeing you here.” Grace peered up at him “Quite the stroke of luck, I daresay.” Her curls tumbled about her shoulders in a way that made his heart ache. He kept his face expressionless.

  Grace’s gaze traveled down from his face to the collar he wore around his neck and her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, no. No, no, no!” Her face reddened in rage. “Who collared you? Who? They will not have you!”

  Bran looked around in alarm, but none of the passersby seemed to notice. Grace’s footman still stood by the carriage, several yards away. “Calm down, Grace, it’s a fake.”

  “Oh.” Grace’s face, if anything, grew ever redder. “It’s not like I would have cared that much, if you were collared. I mean, I—”

  “I need to go,” Bran cut her off. “Aaric and Adaryn have gone missing, and I need to find them.”