The great hall was loud and dirty, filled with savage Inlanders. One of the men stared at her, and she looked away quickly then pulled up her hood, recalling her reluctant guardian’s words. She was not about to be dragged into some savage’s bed.

Someone pushed by her, and she moved to the side of the door, taking in the tables and tall chairs worn by generations of use. They were wrapped around one of five spits in the hall. Hearths were burning, and the scent of boars and deer roasting made her mouth water. In the Seat of Vurdu, the tables were arranged by rank. Here, it seemed as savage as the people themselves. People sat where they pleased and moved from table to table at will. Inlander women sat beside their men at the tables. Topless whores circulated, three couples were rutting in corners, and everyone was drunk or close to it.

The slave and servant women of the hold, identifiable by the skin colors differing from that of the Inlanders, sat on benches around the edge of the hall, silent, with their eyes on the ground.

Though she wanted to leave, Sela was done angering the warrior for today. She dared not push him too far, lest his agitated magic drive him to bind them. She found an empty spot on a bench along the wall and sat, staring out the window across the hall from her.

The darker the skies became, the louder and drunker the people in the hall grew. Several of them lurched to the women on the benches and grabbed one. Sela was unable to determine if they came for specific women or just chose women at random. To her surprise, some of the Inland women did the same. She knew what services whores provided and had some idea of what men and women did in bed, but seeing the blatant display of lust around her left her horrified and speechless.

Was this what she had to look forward to? Karav had warned her many times she would be married off to a prince one day, but she had always ignored him. No man who anywhere could live up to her regard for her father – who spoiled and loved her in a way most aristocrats left to their wet-nurses – or to Karav – whose nobility and honor were renowned. She was not about to allow any man to rut in a corner with her, even if he did!

She had always scoffed the idea of marrying when she could accompany Karav on adventures instead. The scene in the great hall left her feeling she had made the right decision.

Disturbed, she stared at her feet. She neither knew nor cared where Tieran was and refused the food and wine offered her by one of the half-naked slaves.

Tomorrow, she would go to the wells and talk to the hidden lake. She did not care if it emptied out anywhere at all. Giving herself to the magic of the waters was much more appealing than ending up an Inland slave rutting with random savages in the corner of such a place. Dead, her spirit would find Karav’s in the magical underworld, and she would not feel alone anymore.

Long after dark fall, the hall grew too warm and loud. She debated leaving. She had sneaked looks around and not seen Tieran, though it was hard to see two of the tables from where she sat. By now, he was probably drunk or in a corner with a whore. Would he notice her absence? Would it push him over the top to where he either hit or cut her?

With his brute intimidation fresh in her thoughts, it took Sela a little while longer to work up the courage to leave. She was half afraid of some man grabbing her and even more afraid that man was going to be Tieran.

Finally, she rose and started towards the door. She made it unscathed. She stepped into the hallway and released the breath she held, relieved, until she smacked straight into someone. Instinctively, she reached out to steady herself. The hood fell away, and she met the gaze of one of the blond savages headed towards the hall.

Interest sprang up in his gaze. He looked from his grip on her forearm to her face. The three men around him ceased talking to stare at her as well.

Cursing herself quietly, she looked down and started away.

“Prettiest whore I’ve ever seen here,” he said.

She bristled. “I am not –”

Tieran’s hand around the back of her neck silenced her.

“Tieran, I should have known. You have an eye for the beauties,” the man continued with a chuckle. “I need a woman after our great battle.”

Tieran nudged her aside, and she shifted to give him room to draw abreast, eyes on the ground.

“Cousin, this whore has more pox than Giselda,” Tieran said with ease and amusement he had yet to use around her. The men around them laughed. “I brought you something better.”

“Better than a beautiful whore?” The man who spoke was drunk. He approached, his foul breath reaching her before he moved into her personal space. He picked up her braid then patted her down.

Gods, she wanted to leave this place! Sela backed into Tieran, the lesser of two evils.

“Come, I will show you,” Tieran said. He released her and clapped a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, steering him down the hall.

Sela sighed. The other men were leering at her. She fled after Tieran, trailing him through the halls until she recognized where she was. The cousins spoke warmly and loudly. When they reached Tieran’s chamber, he opened the door to let his cousin pass then faced her. She looked up at him.

“Keep your eyes down, and talk to no one,” he growled. “Next time, I’ll let you find out on your own what happens.”

“I didn’t –”

He took a step towards her. She held up her hands in a sign of surrender and dropped her gaze to his chest. Instead of backing her into a wall, he pulled up her hood then stepped aside.

“Go to your corner. Don’t move until he is gone,” Tieran directed her.

Angry, she did as he said. His cousin glanced at her once then appeared to forget her, instead intrigued by something Tieran pulled from his saddlebags. She tensed, waiting for Tieran to notice the dirk was gone. If he did, he gave no indication.

After animated talk that stretched into the night, his cousin left happily with his treasure. Tieran closed and barred the door behind his guest. The air around him was charged. He was fighting the magic again, this time with more effort.

She stayed in her corner, praying for the gods to give Tieran the strength to make it through the night.

“You did not eat,” he said, eyes going to the food near her.

“I’m not hungry.”

Removing Karav’s broadsword, Tieran placed it on a trunk then pulled off his dagger belt and the rest of his weapons. The last one, a dagger and sheathe at the small of his back, he flung across the room with a quiet curse. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor.

“Of all the curses to befall me!” he snarled.

Fight it, she urged him silently but did not dare speak when he was this agitated.

Tieran drew a deep breath, released it, then sat and pulled off his boots. Peeling off his tunic and under-tunic, he rose and tossed the clothing on the floor. Tieran crossed to the torch providing light to the room. He lifted it and tossed it into the hearth.

Safe within the hood, Sela gazed at him, taking in his wide chest and flat stomach. Dark hair sprinkled his chest and formed a line down his lower abdomen that disappeared into his breeches. His skin looked as if it was candle wax poured over a frame molded by the sculptors at court.

She never looked twice at Karav’s body the few times she saw his bare chest. But she could not look away from Tieran’s. The same warmth she experienced in the great hall, when she saw men and women rutting, returned.

“If you run …” Tieran warned without looking towards her.

“I will not,” she replied. Tonight.

He was still for a moment before crossing to his pallet. He lay down. She released her breath and rested her head against the wall. While tired, no part of her was ready to sleep. This place was too foreign, the men within the hold too barbaric for her to feel safe. She had never slept a night away from Karav’s side since they met and doubted she would sleep ever again.

Sela let the corner support her weight. A ripple of magic tore through her again around midnight. She looked down at her hand. The scar was gone.

Farewell, Karav.

She sobbed silently and then stared at the burning hearth when she was too exhausted to cry more. The fire burned low, until embers remained, and the light of dawn crept into the room through the small window over the bed. She shivered as the chill of morning crept through the stone walls.

Tieran stirred with the dawn and sat up. He appeared rested.

“Mages don’t sleep?” he asked, glancing towards her corner.

“I cannot.”

He rose and crossed the chamber. He appeared more fevered this morning than he had last night. His golden eyes almost glowed with the strange illness, and sweat sparkled all over his body. She sensed more than saw his resolve was being chipped away by the magic.

He would not last another full day, which meant, she had to act, even if she did not yet know the danger in using her magic while unbound.

“My lord, will you take me to the wells this morning?” she asked in the most deferential voice she could muster. “It might help your condition. Water magic is in your blood as well.”

He pulled on a tunic before responding. “Very well.”

She clenched her hands together, praying he did not sense her eagerness. She stood and stretched her legs, waiting for him to put on his boots and weapons.

“Tonight,” he said at last. “I will not await the full moon.”

Her breath caught. “As you desire, my lord.”

“Desire,” he repeated with a cold laugh. “I do not desire any of this!”

“Nor do I. We are both trapped.”

He whirled his cloak on and strode to the door and out, leaving it open for her as he had the night before.

Sela scrambled after him. The hold was silent early in the morning, and they walked through the bailey and crossed the open drawbridge. In the distance, rain streaked the sky gray while thunder rumbled. The wells sang to her as they drew closer. Anxious to connect with the magic, she trotted ahead of him and stopped when she reached the well.

The hidden lake spoke to her. She closed her eyes to listen to the silky whisper. It was shallow and long and emptied out into a small lake to the west, half a day’s ride by horseback. Where she was from, a lake this size would be considered no more than a pond. To her dismay, the water assured her it and the river snaking under the wells were two of the largest bodies of water in the Inlands.

Half a day was not much of a head start from Tieran, especially since the people of this land would know where one of the only two surface lakes would be located. But if she and the binding dirk were gone, there would be no magic to draw him, she reasoned. Free of the madness, an Inlander mercenary with no honor would not think twice about leaving her to her fate and returning to the destiny he preferred.

The lake tugged at her with insistence that surprised her. This close to the water, she was unable to control the singing magic in her blood. She stepped back to center herself and opened her eyes. Tieran was at her back, too close, as always.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The bond is broken,” she said then added, “The magic is unnaturally strong.”

If she led him to believe her disappearance was the result of magic and not her own planning …

She responded silently to the tug, testing and plying the magic with her own. It would take her to the surface lake, but she did not know if it would let her go once there. Given the alternative, a lifetime with the savage, she was more than eager to risk it.

The nearness of her magic appeared to affect Tieran as well. His struggle was in the air around her, the fire in his eyes feral. He grew more agitated while she calmed.

“Then I will bind you now.” The words were spoken with bitterness that made her smile to herself. “Come.”

He moved away and walked fast, the need in his blood too strong for him to wait for nightfall. Sela turned and trailed, pretending to be obedient. She slowed her pace. When he was far enough away, she stopped. Closing her eyes, she released her hold on the magic. The roar of the ocean filled her ears, and the tug of the water turned into a demand.

Cold well water snatched her before she was ready. Sela struggled briefly then let it claim her and closed her eyes. It yanked her down through the stone well and into the earth, carrying her down the tiny river into the underground cavern. She spun and twirled in response to the magic moving in and out of her. She did not need to breathe while underwater; water flowed into her lungs to replace the air.

The cavern was dark and grew colder as the water carried her beneath the surface of the shallow underground lake westward to the aboveground lake she sought.

While it took her where she desired, the magic refused to obey her other command to release her. Darkness formed around the edges of her vision as she lost control. The water magic became more commanding, demanding more of her. She yielded and gathered her strength then pushed back, determined to escape without losing herself entirely or being torn apart by her own power.

The water magic relented – but barely.

Sela’s head broke the surface of the aboveground lake. She coughed and gasped, replacing water with air in her body. Its deepest point was shallow enough for her toes to touch the bottom, and she grounded herself.

The water snatched her down again, hauling her under. She fought it, and it released her. Surfacing, she began to swim towards the shore instead of using her magic to pull her there. She was a horse length away from the rocky beach when the water magic claimed her again and yanked her under. Choking, she shoved all her power at the water around her and shot to the surface.

Sela reached the shallow depths and sloshed through the water to the shore. The lake magic lapped at her feet, dragged her back, and then released her. It toyed with her, and she struggled, fear in her breast. For the first time in her life, she understood Karav’s warning about how a mage could become consumed and possessed by the magic in her blood.

It hauled her under one more time, and tunnel vision formed. Sela’s body was too cold and her limbs too heavy. She was sinking fast, despite the shallow water, with no more power remaining to help her.

Suddenly, she was on the surface again. Someone hauled her out of the lake and dragged her onto the bank. She coughed up the water and pulled her feet up as the water magic toyed with her, trying to reclaim her. A warm body squatted beside her. She blinked water out of her eyes and coughed up the rest of the water.

She looked towards the lake. An invisible wall had formed between her and the water, preventing it from taking her. Angry waves were slapping up against the wall.

“Either your bond is broken or you are the weakest water mage ever born not to be able to control a bucket of water this small.”

The water was screaming at her, while her insides felt as if they were trying to escape her body to join it.

“Which is it?”

Sela went limp on the muddy bank, unable to answer while the war waged within her. The speaker gripped her right wrist to look at her hand. He wore the green of the Kingdom of Biu, which lay east of the Inlands.

A flutter of magic – wind magic – reached her agitated blood.

“Un-bonded. Citon, pick her up.”

Fear filtered through her. The man called Citon lifted her. He was large, a warrior, and warm. Unable to move, she huddled against him. They walked forever, until the breeze stopped suddenly and the scent of people and horses reached her.

Sela opened her eyes. Citon walked into a tavern, a blur of orange hearths and dark wood, of smoke and venison on a spit. He carried her down a hall dark enough to be a tunnel and then entered a room with a single candle lighting it. He set her down on a low bed and stepped back.

Sela shivered. She pushed herself up, weak and exhausted. They were near the lake. She heard it beckoning her. But they were too far for it to claim her.

“It’s a foolish thing, to swim in a lake of any size when you are un-bonded,” the voice said.

Sela wiped water droplets from her eyelashes and focused on the speaker. A wind mage, by his unusual silver-gray eyes. And Citon was his warrior. More men lingered in the hallway. Their faces disappeared when Citon closed the door.

“What happened to your warrior?” Citon asked in a low voice. He crossed his hands before him, standing guard at the door.

“His stone faded. He left me,” she managed in a hoarse voice.

“In a lake?” the wind mage appeared entertained. “Citon, fetch us some warm wine and clothing for our guest.”

The warrior obeyed. The wind mage shook off his oiled cloak and sat on the bed across from her, studying her. He was tall and slender, lean, with a sword at his side. His features were exotic and dark, like his warrior’s. They were probably some of the many, many people sent to snatch the only water mage in existence.

“Not in a lake,” she said and sat up. “I was fleeing … Inlanders.”

“Understood. We have fled several of them as well.” The wind mage smiled. “How does a water mage, the daughter of a prince, not travel with ten thousand guards?”

“My former warrior fought better than ten thousand.”

“Even knowing his stone was fading? It seems he left you vulnerable.”

She was quiet, unwilling to admit she was fleeing her new mage-warrior.

“The truth means little to me,” the wind mage said. “There is not a king alive who is not seeking you, and I have found you.”

“You will take me back to your king?”

“And find you a new warrior, one who serves my kingdom.”

“My king may not approve.”

“Then he can travel from his lands across the channel and challenge us,” the wind mage said with a confident smile.

Sela sighed. She had planned on being free, not ending up in service to another king.

The wind mage appeared proud of himself. His warrior returned with a trencher of food and mead and a small satchel. He passed the satchel to her.

“We have men outside the window and door. You cannot escape us,” the wind mage warned, standing. “I will count to a hundred then return.”

They left. Sela rose and maneuvered out of her wet clothing with effort. She pulled the foreign gown from the satchel and looked it over. It was too light to keep her warm, barely heavier than a shift, unlike the heavy gowns of the cooler northern climate she was accustomed to. She wrung out her hair, braided it then changed into the dark gown, grateful to be dry again. As an afterthought, she fished out the binding dirk from her wet clothing and tucked it in her braid, hidden among her hair.

The two entered again. She moved away from the door and sat, barefooted, at the other end of the pallet.

“You have no warrior chosen for you?” Citon asked.

“She’s unbound,” his mage replied with impatience. “What does it matter if some warrior was chosen when he did not claim her? The Runes are not always accurate.”

“My … intended warrior chose not to bind me,” she lied.

Citon said nothing but met her gaze. Sela had no idea what to tell him, but it was clear he was not as pleased as his mage about her story. Several seasons younger than Karav, Citon was an imposing figure, one whose stance and expression reminded her enough of Karav that her eyes watered.

“Inlanders,” the wind mage almost spat. “You’re better off without one.”

Citon’s gaze narrowed. “A warrior does not choose not to bind his mage. He will hunt you down, unless he is dead.”

She was cold inside. Was half a day’s travel not far enough away to deter the magic?

“She said he chose not to, Citon,” the wind mage snapped. “Leave it be.”

Citon was not convinced, and suddenly, neither was she. If her plan did not work, that meant Tieran was going to show up here, angry enough to kill her. She reached for the wine with a shaking hand and lifted it. The wine went down fast and comforting, warming the chill within her.

“Unbound, she cannot travel waterways or go too close to the seas,” the wind mage mused. “We’ll need to warn our priests. They’ll have to send their chosen warrior to meet us in the Inlands.”

“May I ask why you want me?” she ventured. “Why now?”

“For the war,” Citon replied.

“What war?”

The two exchanged a look. “Are the mages of the north not as educated as ours are?” the wind mage asked.

She rolled her eyes at him.

“The High King’s death has many people concerned,” Citon answered. “He left no successor.”

“The High King is dead,” she repeated. Had Karav known? If so, why did he not tell her?

“He is.”

“He was your grandfather’s brother, was he not?” the wind mage asked.

“Does everyone know who I am?” she asked, surprised.

“You are the first water mage in four generations, and the key to any kingdom’s victory,” Citon said. “Yes, everyone knows.”

Karav kept much from her, she realized. She had known she was the first water mage in four generations, but not that every other kingdom knew her pedigree, appearance, history, and importance. “I didn’t know the High King. I traveled to his court twice but otherwise was secluded away. I’m sorry to hear of his passing. I’ve been away from Vurdu for too long.”

Was her father sad about the passing of his uncle? She could not bear knowing he was upset after the pain of losing Karav.

“Which is why no one believed you were in the Inlands for how long, Citon? Nine moons?” the wind mage asked his warrior and shook his head.

“Eleven that we know of,” Citon agreed with a faint smile. “Your warrior was wise and very good at hiding you.”

“He was,” she agreed sadly.

“In any case, we have found you, and you can be bound to our kingdom and create the next great lineage of mages,” the wind mage said with no interest in her Karav at all.

She lifted an eyebrow. Would she rather spend her life in the savage Inlands or confined to the court of an enemy of her king? Both choices were appalling, and neither had been her destiny before Karav’s death.

“She needs rest,” Citon said.

“Aye, she does. Secure the tavern, Citon. We have searched too long to lose her. I’ll inform our priests,” the wind mage said and stood. “In the morning, mage, we will leave for your new home.”

Too tired to retort, Sela silently promised him she would never make it to his king. She had decided to be free – and she would be. She had no other choice.

Citon opened the door for the wind mage to pass through but did not follow. Instead, he closed it and faced her again. The large warrior approached. Uneasy, she pulled her knees to her chest and leaned against the wall. He knelt before the bed then took her hands, examining them and her wrists.

Her scar was completely gone.

“You were tied. You killed your new warrior?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“You ran?”

“Yes.”

“Foolish,” he said with a grim shake of his head. “Nothing comes between a mage and his warrior.”

“If I’m far enough away, the magic won’t pull him.”

“It’ll kill him.”

Citon’s words made her gasp. She never intended to hurt Tieran, just free them both from the bond neither of them wanted.

“For your sake, you better hope it does,” he said and rose. “If not, the madness may claim his mind. He may kill you when you meet again.”

No part of her could refute the idea. Tieran was a violent mercenary Inlander who had already slaughtered two other mages.

Even the wine did not warm the cold fear in her chest.

“I pursued Vinian for a moon. He barely survived what I did to him when I caught him.” There was hardness in Citon’s voice, as if he was unhappy with her for hurting a fellow warrior. “You do not know what suffering you put him through.”

Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips. “Why do you care about my warrior and me?”

“I do not care so much as understand,” he replied. “Mage-warriors are the same, no matter what king they serve.”

Sela propped her chin on her knees, uncertain how Citon felt any kinship with a warrior from the Inlands. What this warrior did not know was that he was likely to be one of those chopped down, if Tieran survived long enough to make it to the village.

“How does a water mage come by a guardian from this landlocked place?” Citon mused.

“There is no reason to any of this,” she said with more heat than she intended. “I don’t want a warrior at all.”

“Claims the water mage who barely survived a puddle.”

She flushed.

“Citon!” the wind mage’s irritated voice carried through the door. “Fetch my saddlebags!”

Karav never would have tolerated such a tone from her.

Citon’s jaw clenched, the only sign he was displeased, but he obeyed and grabbed the saddlebags then left the room.

Sela’s eyes went to the small window in the corner of the room. The skies had turned dark, a combination of dusk and clouds. She was uncertain how long it had been, but she was either underwater longer than it felt, or carried from the lake farther than she thought. If Tieran were half as mad as the warrior believed he might be, he would not be far behind.

From outside the tavern, the sudden sounds of swords clashing made her flinch. At first, she thought it was thunder, but the clouds were not speaking to her, which meant, no rain or lightning or thunder.

The sounds of men running down the hallway outside her door caused her heart to pound harder. She did not like Tieran, but she did not wish him dead or mad! She wanted him to live his life so she could live hers – far away from him.

She rose and stood on the table holding the candle to peer out the tiny window near the ceiling.

A battle occurred in the roads of the village, illuminated by torches and their reflections off the blades of swords. Brief pulses of magic punctuated the fighting. The building trembled in response to earth magic, and a wind mage flung warriors into the sky.

This was not Tieran or his mercenary army, and she started to relax.

The more she watched, the more confused she became, for it seemed as if there were multiple groups battling, not just the Biu men in green cloaks defending the inne. She saw purple – the Kingdom of Masu – and Red – the Kingdom of Iliu. The only kingdom missing was her own.

Karav had never spoke of her pursuers, but if what Citon and his mage said were true about a war, then men and mages from all the island kingdoms could have converged on this town. How long had they been tracking her?

Why had Karav not been more specific about the dangers?

The ground beneath the tavern bucked, throwing her off the table. She landed on the hard floor and struggled to her feet again. The walls around her shook violently. Sela staggered to the door and yanked it open, surprised to find a battle in the hallway as well.

Swords flashed too close to her for comfort, and she took a step back. The men fighting moved too fast for her to notice the color identifying their kingdoms, and some of them looked little better than unkempt mercenaries.

More than one man careened into her, unaware of who she was when she wore the plain clothing of a servant.

From down the hall, Citon caught her eye and moved towards her, slashing at the men in his path to reach the doorway. When he was close, he twisted his back to her and held out one arm, deftly wielding his sword with the other. Though she had no intention of traveling east with them, she did want to survive the night. Sela clutched his hand.

Citon pulled her behind him and fought his way down the hallway. The stairs were clear. She hopped over the last body in her path and all but fell down the first few stairs as Citon’s pace quickened.

The main floor of the tavern was a battlefield as well. The scents of food had been replaced with those of horses, sweat and the metallic tang of blood. Citon kept to the wall, skirting the melee in the middle, and released her only when they were closer to the door, which was clogged with fighters. After an unsuccessful attempt to plough through the door, he pushed her towards a table shoved under a window just large enough for her to squeeze through. She climbed on top but did not go through the window, discouraged by the fighters clogging the road outside.

“Stay right here,” Citon told her.

“Wait! Give me a dagger. I can fight.”

He handed her one then hacked through the men to the doorway.

Sela gripped the hilt of the dagger tightly. While true, Karav had taught her to fight, she had never done more than practice. She had never once drawn blood or stabbed a man in his gullet.

She crouched on the table. Her eyes fluttered from the warrior who had decided to protect her to the men battling in the tavern. No one came close enough for her to stab, and no one tried to grab her. A woman in servant’s clothing was no danger to the men with swords.

Why had Karav not told her of the death of the High King and this war? Had he even known? From what she knew of her great-uncle, he had no heirs. Who, then, was his successor? Her father would know. Karav would have insight as well.

Sela could not bear the pain that came with doubting her former guardian. If he had kept the news from her, there was a reason.

Karav said there were many people tracking them, but she had not thought that meant the island kingdoms would send entire armies! There were over a hundred men in the town!

Could these kingdoms not win their war without her? She had been coddled and hidden away her entire life and never once called upon to fight for her king, despite the occasional skirmish he waged against the neighboring northern kingdom of Masu. Did they choose now to strike, because she was far from the armies of her father and uncle?

Someone snatched her, and she cried out. Sela smashed her heel into the attacker’s knee then slammed her knee between his legs. The man bent over in pain. She lifted the dagger to kill him and then hesitated, uncertain she could murder anyone, even if he deserved it. Karav had always said only a few men in the entire realm deserved to die. Would he think this man was one of them?

Citon appeared outside the window. He grabbed her arm before she had made her decision and all but hauled her through the window. He released her before she had her balance, and Sela crashed to her knees in the mud outside the window. Citon hauled her up then smacked away someone else’s sword with his own. She pressed herself against the wall as he fought off attackers close enough for the clashing swords to hurt her ears.

A cold, evening breeze swept through the town.

Uncertain how to escape, Sela remained where she was rather than run from the mage-warrior fighting for her. She gripped her dagger. Without Karav, she felt completely lost. Was it better to go with Citon, because he could protect her? Or did she flee from him when she could and take her chances in the Inlands on her own?

No plan of what to do next, or where to go, entered her thoughts. She had escaped Tieran, only to find herself at a loss as to what to do.

The earth rumbled and shook again. The building behind her groaned under the strain.

“Citon!” she cried. “It’s going to collapse!”

He pointed to the right, and she ran out of range of the building, past the next building and ducked into an alley. Her bare feet slipped and stuck in the mud, preventing her from moving as fast as her instincts urged her to. Citon was close behind her and followed her into the alley. He took up a position along one wall, watchful eyes on the battle.

“Why is this happening?” she gasped. She steadied herself against the building across from him, shivering from the cold and rain.

“Priests sensed the bond break and alerted their mages,” Citon answered. “We found you first by luck.”

“I don’t understand. All this over a water mage?” She motioned to the battle.

He gave her a long look over his shoulder. “How do you not know?”

“How do I not know what?”

“The water mage line is the strongest and the rarest, the original line of mages. All other mage lines stem from yours. Did your mother never tell you?”

“I never knew her. She died during my birth.”

“Ah. Priests and mages keep their secrets too well.” He shook his head and faced the battle again. “All mages are cousins of sorts, connected by the magic you all share, but that magic stems from the water mage. Whichever king controls you, controls the next generation of mages. It’s how peace was forced upon us all by the High King, whose blood runs in your veins. He traded mages to other kingdoms for favors and the use of their armies. The mage lines have dwindled, and no mage but you has been born in over twenty-five seasons. The kings are scared.”

“I am the source of future mages? I knew the water mage line was in my blood but all the mages stemming from my line?” She stared at him and shook her head. “Why has no one ever shared this with me?”

“No one knew. It was a secret smuggled out of Vurdu shortly before the High King’s death. It may not even be true, but no king is going to risk losing a war, and or give up taking the High King’s throne, when you are stranded alone in the Inlands, without your family’s armies to protect you.”

She fell silent and watched the raging battles.

“Should you not be protecting your mage?” she asked suddenly, aware the wind mage was nowhere around.

“He’ll survive,” the warrior replied, unconcerned.

“Karav would never have let me out of his sight,” she said.

At her pointed look, Citon smiled. “He’s the most powerful wind mage in our kingdom. He is rarely in a situation where he needs me. Besides,” he looked her over, “the other mages can take care of themselves well enough.”

“I can defend myself.” She lifted the dagger.

“With water, maybe.”

Anger made her bite her tongue to keep from retorting. Karav had never thought her weak. If anything, he told her the opposite. Of course, they were rarely trapped in a place with so little water. She was powerful – everywhere but here in the cursed Inlands.

They both watched the war in the village. It was impossible to tell who won. When she thought the Biu men in green cloaks were starting to overcome the others, more men in red or purple emerged from the shadows to challenge them.

“This is madness,” she said. “There must be … two hundred men?”

“More will come,” Citon said grimly. “It was the gods’ will we stumbled upon you. Every kingdom has sent a small army to find you. You have no idea what you are worth on the mercenary market alone.”

What would Tieran do once he found out her value? Sell her for a flock of sheep?

The sucking sounds of boots in mud came from behind them. Sela whirled. Dark figures raced down the alley towards her. Citon waved for her to follow and darted out of the alley into the street.

Hands grabbed her. Sela yelped, and Citon whirled. She struggled, slipped and tumbled to the ground. Her dagger slipped, and she fell. Something hot pierced her side, but she had no time to reflect on her pain. Two men stood over her. A dagger flashed before her eyes, and she raised her hands instinctively then batted away hands groping for her in the darkness. She rolled away. One of the men careened towards her, and she kicked at him.

He landed on top her. Sela froze, waiting for him to attack, but he was still. He was on his back, staring up at the sky, lifeless. She wriggled out from under him. Citon was chopping down the second man when she stood.

“Perhaps if you dressed in the way of a mage, they would not be trying to murder you,” he said with a smile. He beckoned for her to follow. “No king wants you harmed.”

She stuck close to him this time. Pain radiated from her side, and she touched the thick rivulet of blood sliding down her hip.

As Karav used to say, if she was on her feet, she was not hurt bad.

More fighters flooded the village. Twice, Citon stopped to face men in their path. Sela hung back, not at all certain where they were going, when the entire town seemed to be a battlefield. She knew nothing of the dark surroundings or where to hide. Men flung by wind mages sailed over her head. Some rocketed straight up only to drop to their deaths while others smashed into stone dwellings.

Citon led her to another alley just as the earth rumbled again. She hugged the wall of one dwelling.

“That is not my mage’s doing,” he said, sharp gaze on some point in the distance.

She leaned forward. The unusual swath being cut through the battle appeared to be the work of a wind mage. Green cloaks, red cloaks, purple cloaks and mercenaries hired by the kingdoms all fell away as if flattened by an invisible wave.

Citon laughed suddenly. “That is your warrior. I told you the madness would take him.”

Cold fear trickled into her depths. If what he said were true, Tieran’s inhuman fighting skill would be intensified by madness. With Karav’s Moonsword, Tieran was unstoppable. Without this level of madness, he had slaughtered two mages and their warriors. What could he do if all restraint was lost?