Mage Slave
Page 42
I’m always the very best at whatever I do. You can be sure of it.
There was an oddness to the words, a silly, jiggling, shaking feeling, like a thought in his own head that he thought was funny. Not laughter, not like the tone of voice she would have spoken with, but more purely that the thought shook with her amusement.
Yes, speaking this way can be very strange. Sorry to introduce you to it now. I don’t think we should do anything yet. Let’s see where they take us. In the night, we’ll have a better chance of escape.
He opened his eyes, and she opened hers in return. He nodded to her. She nodded gravely back.
For now, let’s rest as best we can in this stupid contraption.
He shut his eyes again and tried to resign himself to sleep. It was hard, with her body pressing so close to his. He didn’t want to sleep—he wanted to think about something far more interesting. He had seen the scar on her shoulder, but he’d also seen the smooth skin of her neck, her back… He longed to know its touch against his lips, to feel her hair on his face, her hands against his hands, her skin against his skin.
But getting all amorous for her was a truly terrible idea, given their close proximity and complete lack of privacy at this point. The Code had no rules for this particular situation, but if it did, he figured the guidance would be to think about something else. And who knew when she might choose to dip into his thoughts for some idle conversation? No, it was best to keep from thinking about her neck at all costs.
Easier said than done.
Resting did not work. They’d gotten a decent amount of sleep, but even if they’d been exhausted, Miara wasn’t sure the damn wagon would let someone sleep in the bottom of it. It bumped and rocked her bones against the wood, and just when she thought she’d found a rhythm she could sleep to, it would lurch nauseatingly just to keep her on her toes. The arm she was lying on had long since fallen asleep and was now numb.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to have something to think about. And it couldn’t be their current situation or where they were going. She needed to think about another place, another time.
Cautiously, she reached toward his mind again. His thoughts were wild and unguarded, of course, which made it harder to communicate. His mind felt more like that of an animal than most mages she’d brushed thoughts with. Mages were trained to keep things orderly and efficient when speaking with other mages. It was better for everyone’s sanity that way, as one never knew who was stark-raving mad under that shell.
He might have been asleep. Images were whirling through his mind in odd, fractured sequences. The snow on the ground, Emie sitting by the fire, laughing. A clash of swords, a shield in his face, and the lick of flames at his back. A dark pool of water in the moonlight, a woman wading out into the water, naked. Lips against the soft skin of a woman’s neck, red hair smooth against his fingers, brushed softly to one side…
She felt her face flush with heat and reeled her mind away from him suddenly—what had that been! Had he been thinking about… her? Or had that been an errant daydream of her own? Were the close quarters twisting her mind to even deeper depths of foolishness? Of course, he did feel good against her, warm and strong and solid. But that didn’t mean— She hadn’t been thinking of—
Or had she? It did sound like a terribly good idea.
Now firmly back in her own mind, she remembered that moment in the inn, pulling aside the neck of her tunic to show him the scar. Could he possibly see her as attractive in spite of the horrifying parasite in her shoulder? Would any man run his lips across her shoulders like that, with that burned hole in her soul so close by? Could he really imagine himself kissing her neck, nipping at her earlobe?
She blushed even harder at the thought. She hoped his eyes weren’t open.
He was a prince. She was probably an idiot.
Back in Mage Hall, she had never allowed herself to entertain such ideas. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Everything seemed so dark and low. She tried to find joy, but joy like that—love or affection—it was too much. It was too powerful. It was just one more thing the Masters would use as leverage. Just one more thing to twist an arm farther behind her back. And they would do it, too. Nothing was beneath them. But did that mean she should really deny herself such pleasures? The Masters had ruined enough things in the world for her, she shouldn’t give them control of anything she didn’t have to.
She opened her eyes for a moment, breath quickening. Thankfully, his eyes remained closed. He did seem to be sleeping. She studied him carefully. Somewhere in the attack, the charms on their disguises had weakened, but not completely faded. His transformation had loosened but wasn’t gone. He looked like a very tired, very worn version of himself. His strong jaw had returned. She could still see that kingliness that she’d noticed the other day. He was terribly handsome even with her best attempts to make him not look quite so much that way.
Could he really long to do what she’d caught in that glimpse of a thought? Had it been her daydream or his? Would a prince ever lower himself enough to brush his lips against the skin of a slave?
For a moment her mind went on a wild flight of fancy. Perhaps they really only did mean to enslave him as a mage as well, to keep the world safe from all unchecked magical powers. With his lack of control, he could’ve gotten their attention that way. Even if it had been at the king’s bidding, perhaps really nothing would come of that—as did plenty of missions the king demanded she be sent on and then promptly forgot about. She’d even heard the Mistress rant at his fickleness. Perhaps Aven would end up just like her, another slave imprisoned within Mage Hall but, within its confines, free to do as he pleased. Perhaps she was not really taking him to his doom. Certainly, it was a lesser existence, but perhaps, if they could be together there, would it be a wholly undesirable one?
If he really desired her, if it wasn’t all a figment of her imagination, if someone outside this wagon didn’t kill them first…
But her optimism didn’t last long. Even if all that were true, the Akarians still knew a mage had captured him, and there was yet time for these new captors to figure that out.
But to hell with reality. For a moment, she let herself fall into the last remnant of the thought, and she could almost feel warm hands on her back, soft breath against her neck, tender lips grazing her shoulders.
She wasn’t blushing anymore.
There was an oddness to the words, a silly, jiggling, shaking feeling, like a thought in his own head that he thought was funny. Not laughter, not like the tone of voice she would have spoken with, but more purely that the thought shook with her amusement.
Yes, speaking this way can be very strange. Sorry to introduce you to it now. I don’t think we should do anything yet. Let’s see where they take us. In the night, we’ll have a better chance of escape.
He opened his eyes, and she opened hers in return. He nodded to her. She nodded gravely back.
For now, let’s rest as best we can in this stupid contraption.
He shut his eyes again and tried to resign himself to sleep. It was hard, with her body pressing so close to his. He didn’t want to sleep—he wanted to think about something far more interesting. He had seen the scar on her shoulder, but he’d also seen the smooth skin of her neck, her back… He longed to know its touch against his lips, to feel her hair on his face, her hands against his hands, her skin against his skin.
But getting all amorous for her was a truly terrible idea, given their close proximity and complete lack of privacy at this point. The Code had no rules for this particular situation, but if it did, he figured the guidance would be to think about something else. And who knew when she might choose to dip into his thoughts for some idle conversation? No, it was best to keep from thinking about her neck at all costs.
Easier said than done.
Resting did not work. They’d gotten a decent amount of sleep, but even if they’d been exhausted, Miara wasn’t sure the damn wagon would let someone sleep in the bottom of it. It bumped and rocked her bones against the wood, and just when she thought she’d found a rhythm she could sleep to, it would lurch nauseatingly just to keep her on her toes. The arm she was lying on had long since fallen asleep and was now numb.
She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to have something to think about. And it couldn’t be their current situation or where they were going. She needed to think about another place, another time.
Cautiously, she reached toward his mind again. His thoughts were wild and unguarded, of course, which made it harder to communicate. His mind felt more like that of an animal than most mages she’d brushed thoughts with. Mages were trained to keep things orderly and efficient when speaking with other mages. It was better for everyone’s sanity that way, as one never knew who was stark-raving mad under that shell.
He might have been asleep. Images were whirling through his mind in odd, fractured sequences. The snow on the ground, Emie sitting by the fire, laughing. A clash of swords, a shield in his face, and the lick of flames at his back. A dark pool of water in the moonlight, a woman wading out into the water, naked. Lips against the soft skin of a woman’s neck, red hair smooth against his fingers, brushed softly to one side…
She felt her face flush with heat and reeled her mind away from him suddenly—what had that been! Had he been thinking about… her? Or had that been an errant daydream of her own? Were the close quarters twisting her mind to even deeper depths of foolishness? Of course, he did feel good against her, warm and strong and solid. But that didn’t mean— She hadn’t been thinking of—
Or had she? It did sound like a terribly good idea.
Now firmly back in her own mind, she remembered that moment in the inn, pulling aside the neck of her tunic to show him the scar. Could he possibly see her as attractive in spite of the horrifying parasite in her shoulder? Would any man run his lips across her shoulders like that, with that burned hole in her soul so close by? Could he really imagine himself kissing her neck, nipping at her earlobe?
She blushed even harder at the thought. She hoped his eyes weren’t open.
He was a prince. She was probably an idiot.
Back in Mage Hall, she had never allowed herself to entertain such ideas. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Everything seemed so dark and low. She tried to find joy, but joy like that—love or affection—it was too much. It was too powerful. It was just one more thing the Masters would use as leverage. Just one more thing to twist an arm farther behind her back. And they would do it, too. Nothing was beneath them. But did that mean she should really deny herself such pleasures? The Masters had ruined enough things in the world for her, she shouldn’t give them control of anything she didn’t have to.
She opened her eyes for a moment, breath quickening. Thankfully, his eyes remained closed. He did seem to be sleeping. She studied him carefully. Somewhere in the attack, the charms on their disguises had weakened, but not completely faded. His transformation had loosened but wasn’t gone. He looked like a very tired, very worn version of himself. His strong jaw had returned. She could still see that kingliness that she’d noticed the other day. He was terribly handsome even with her best attempts to make him not look quite so much that way.
Could he really long to do what she’d caught in that glimpse of a thought? Had it been her daydream or his? Would a prince ever lower himself enough to brush his lips against the skin of a slave?
For a moment her mind went on a wild flight of fancy. Perhaps they really only did mean to enslave him as a mage as well, to keep the world safe from all unchecked magical powers. With his lack of control, he could’ve gotten their attention that way. Even if it had been at the king’s bidding, perhaps really nothing would come of that—as did plenty of missions the king demanded she be sent on and then promptly forgot about. She’d even heard the Mistress rant at his fickleness. Perhaps Aven would end up just like her, another slave imprisoned within Mage Hall but, within its confines, free to do as he pleased. Perhaps she was not really taking him to his doom. Certainly, it was a lesser existence, but perhaps, if they could be together there, would it be a wholly undesirable one?
If he really desired her, if it wasn’t all a figment of her imagination, if someone outside this wagon didn’t kill them first…
But her optimism didn’t last long. Even if all that were true, the Akarians still knew a mage had captured him, and there was yet time for these new captors to figure that out.
But to hell with reality. For a moment, she let herself fall into the last remnant of the thought, and she could almost feel warm hands on her back, soft breath against her neck, tender lips grazing her shoulders.
She wasn’t blushing anymore.
