but constant pain if she remained quiescent. Danika gritted her teeth and squared her shoulders. Her power was not all she was. If these creatures who had slaughtered Lady Berin and Marinka thought she would crumble and beg, they could think again. She was the Alpha Female of the Aydori Pack and would not show her throat to the enemy.
Moving only her eyes, she checked on the captured Mage-pack.
Annalyse still had her head down, shoulders shaking as she wept—probably for Lady Berin, possibly for them all. Jesine, Sirlin’s wife, was sitting up, weight back on her heels, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she breathed deeply. The highest level Healer-mage in the Mage-pack, it was possible she could control the pain caused by the net. Beside her, Stina Menkyczk, wife to one of the senior officers of the Hunt Pack—widow now if Tomas was right and the entire Hunt Pack had been destroyed—dug her hands into the dirt of the road and whimpered. Danika didn’t know if her pain came from fighting the net or because her niece lay dead and her niece’s baby daughter continued to wail, not understanding that her mama could not rise and change and go to her. Kirstin Yervick stared wide-eyed around her, met Danika’s gaze and bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She’d left twin ten-year-old sons with their grandparents in Trouge to travel with her husband to Bercarit. Danika was actually impressed that Kirstin was holding her tongue. It wasn’t something the other Air-mage was known for. Sarcasm, yes. Silence, no.
Danika couldn’t turn far enough to check the servants, but nowthat they’d stopped fighting to get past the soldiers, they seemed safe enough. She could hear Natali, Lady Berin’s maid, murmuring a string of complex curses and could only hope none of the enemy spoke more than the very basic Aydori the lieutenant had attempted.
The golden net wrapped around Danika’s head stopped her from raising the winds and throwing these men back across the border like ragdolls, but voices were only air given form and texture and the breeze blew past the two officers talking quietly behind the carriage.
“When wild and mage together come, one in six or six in one. Empires rise or empires fall, the unborn child begins it all.”
Her hand moved unbidden to her belly. Soothsayers who lived far enough in the future to give voice to “prophecy” were so insane every word could have a dozen different meanings. Danika had heard rumors that Emperor Leopald kept Soothsayers at the Imperial Court, but she’d had no idea he was actually mad enough to use them to determine policy.
As the lieutenant explained why they weren’t to be murdered, the sound of retching pulled Danika’s attention back to the road in time to see one of the soldiers send Jesine sprawling as she tried to move toward Annalyse, now bent double, spewing her half-digested breakfast onto the dirt.
Time to stop pretending she didn’t speak Imperial.
“Sergeant Black!” He started and turned, drawn by the command in her voice. “That woman is a Healer.” Danika nodded toward Jesine, who drew herself up onto her knees, gold-flecked eyes narrowed, teeth bared. “And that woman…” A nod to Annalyse, a line of saliva stretching between her mouth and the stain on the road. “…requires her services.”
“She can’t do a healing with the tangle on,” the sergeant pointed out, one hand raised to hold the surrounding men silent and in place, his eyes locked on Danika’s face.
“Healing isn’t only about mage-craft, Sergeant.”
After a long moment he nodded, hand moving so his thumb could stroke the thick scar along his jaw. “No, it ain’t. All right, then. Tell her she can do her healin’, but if her hands touch the tangle, Hare’ll shoot her.” As Sergeant Black spoke his name, a soldier slightly older than the others, his dark hair streaked with gray, lifted his weapon tohis shoulder. “And just so you know, m’Lady, Hare’s
Moving only her eyes, she checked on the captured Mage-pack.
Annalyse still had her head down, shoulders shaking as she wept—probably for Lady Berin, possibly for them all. Jesine, Sirlin’s wife, was sitting up, weight back on her heels, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she breathed deeply. The highest level Healer-mage in the Mage-pack, it was possible she could control the pain caused by the net. Beside her, Stina Menkyczk, wife to one of the senior officers of the Hunt Pack—widow now if Tomas was right and the entire Hunt Pack had been destroyed—dug her hands into the dirt of the road and whimpered. Danika didn’t know if her pain came from fighting the net or because her niece lay dead and her niece’s baby daughter continued to wail, not understanding that her mama could not rise and change and go to her. Kirstin Yervick stared wide-eyed around her, met Danika’s gaze and bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She’d left twin ten-year-old sons with their grandparents in Trouge to travel with her husband to Bercarit. Danika was actually impressed that Kirstin was holding her tongue. It wasn’t something the other Air-mage was known for. Sarcasm, yes. Silence, no.
Danika couldn’t turn far enough to check the servants, but nowthat they’d stopped fighting to get past the soldiers, they seemed safe enough. She could hear Natali, Lady Berin’s maid, murmuring a string of complex curses and could only hope none of the enemy spoke more than the very basic Aydori the lieutenant had attempted.
The golden net wrapped around Danika’s head stopped her from raising the winds and throwing these men back across the border like ragdolls, but voices were only air given form and texture and the breeze blew past the two officers talking quietly behind the carriage.
“When wild and mage together come, one in six or six in one. Empires rise or empires fall, the unborn child begins it all.”
Her hand moved unbidden to her belly. Soothsayers who lived far enough in the future to give voice to “prophecy” were so insane every word could have a dozen different meanings. Danika had heard rumors that Emperor Leopald kept Soothsayers at the Imperial Court, but she’d had no idea he was actually mad enough to use them to determine policy.
As the lieutenant explained why they weren’t to be murdered, the sound of retching pulled Danika’s attention back to the road in time to see one of the soldiers send Jesine sprawling as she tried to move toward Annalyse, now bent double, spewing her half-digested breakfast onto the dirt.
Time to stop pretending she didn’t speak Imperial.
“Sergeant Black!” He started and turned, drawn by the command in her voice. “That woman is a Healer.” Danika nodded toward Jesine, who drew herself up onto her knees, gold-flecked eyes narrowed, teeth bared. “And that woman…” A nod to Annalyse, a line of saliva stretching between her mouth and the stain on the road. “…requires her services.”
“She can’t do a healing with the tangle on,” the sergeant pointed out, one hand raised to hold the surrounding men silent and in place, his eyes locked on Danika’s face.
“Healing isn’t only about mage-craft, Sergeant.”
After a long moment he nodded, hand moving so his thumb could stroke the thick scar along his jaw. “No, it ain’t. All right, then. Tell her she can do her healin’, but if her hands touch the tangle, Hare’ll shoot her.” As Sergeant Black spoke his name, a soldier slightly older than the others, his dark hair streaked with gray, lifted his weapon tohis shoulder. “And just so you know, m’Lady, Hare’s
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