Burned by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #1)(38)

“Stop! Intruders!”

Two guards grabbed me as I tried to rush to my cousin’s aid. I fought them furiously, but I’d used up too much magical energy to be effective, and I watched helplessly as two mages darted forward to capture Rylan. Thankfully, one of the shifter birds swooped down to distract, and the other one grabbed Rylan with his claws and hefted him into the air, past the rapidly closing magical field. The mages tried to blast them with energy bolts, but they were too slow, and the bolts were simply absorbed by the field.

I sagged with relief as I watched Rylan and his friends fly off into the distance, and prayed to Magorah that my cousin would be okay. My vision blurred with exhaustion as my adrenaline faded, so I wasn’t quite able to make out the fuzzy figure that stepped in front of me.

“Miss Baine.” Director Chartis’s frigid voice briefly pierced through the fog of exhaustion. He sounded coldly triumphant, probably because he’d caught me in the act of what he saw as an escape attempt… not that he was completely wrong. “You will explain yourself this instant.”

“Fuck you,” I mumbled as the ground slid up toward me, and the guards’ grip tightened on me just before I went under.



When I awoke, the midday sun was streaming through my window, and hunger clawed so fiercely at my stomach that the ratty pillow beneath my head actually looked appetizing. I struggled up into a sitting position, feeling shaky, and tried to brace myself against the mattress, only to find that my hands were bound.

No, not bound. Shackled. Cold dread filled my stomach as I looked down at the runed shackles clamped around my wrists. Just when I’d finally gotten access to my magic, I’d lost it again.

Rage propelled me from my bed and across the room. I reached for the door handle, intending to break the door open, but the handle scalded me as I curled my fingers around it. I shook my burning hand and scowled at the knob, seeing the glowing blue runes I’d activated with my touch – they’d warded me in here. Locked me up like a common criminal... which in their eyes I was, but that didn’t make me feel any better about it.

“Let me out!” I pounded against the heavy wooden door, shouting until my voice was raw and my hands throbbed. Eventually my rage gave way to exhaustion, and hopeless, bitter tears began to stream down my cheeks. I collapsed back onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling through a haze of defeat. I was locked in this stupid tower, and all because I’d tried to save my well-meaning but idiotic cousin from his botched rescue attempt.

Really, what had Rylan been thinking, charging in here like that? He’d done enough research to know there were wards around the palace, but clearly not enough to know how strong they were or he would have used more potent amulets. Either that, or whoever he’d bought those amulets from – probably someone on the black market – had bilked him. Either way it was sheer carelessness, and when I next saw him I was going to give him a good talking to.

Desperate for help, I mentally called for Fenris, and got no answer. I wondered if he was ignoring me, or if he was too far for me to reach by mind-message. He might have accompanied the Chief Mage on his trip, or was simply out on business of his own. Disappointment filled me, followed by a healthy dose of guilt and shame for even thinking to rely on Fenris in the first place. I’d never been so weak and helpless, not since my aunt Mafiela turned me out on the streets. Fear ballooned in my chest, forcing out all the air in my lungs and I couldn’t draw in a breath.

My mind took me back to that time when I was twelve years old and aunt Mafiela had locked me in the closet for daring to steal food from her kitchen. She’d ‘taken me in’ shortly after my mother had died, which really meant she’d utilized me for slave labor, clothed me in her daughter Melantha’s stained and too-small castoffs, and fed me meager table scraps. Of course that hadn’t been enough for a growing girl like me, so she’d found me in the larder late at night, stuffing slices of ham into my face. Rather than relenting and giving me more food, she’d had me beaten instead, and then locked me in the small, dank closet beneath the stairs, left to spend the night with the rats.

And that was a light punishment.

I’d been trying hard this whole time not to let myself get lost in those dark memories, but the truth was that even though the conditions were better, being imprisoned in Solantha Palace felt a whole lot like the abuse I’d experienced at Mafiela’s hands as a child. And the same fear I’d felt then dug its icy claws into my chest, dragging me down into the depths of despair.

Stop wallowing in self-pity. You’re better than this!

I knew I was. But I didn’t have the energy to prove it. Tears soaked my pillow as I tried to think of something, anything that would get me out of this place. But all I could envision was my head on the chopping block, the executioner’s ax glinting in the morning sun right before he brought it down on my neck. I had no doubt that Director Chartis was going to do everything in his power to ensure that the death sentence hanging over my head was finally delivered.

Footsteps clopping against the stone floor in the hall drew my attention away from the clouds of misery in my head, and I sat up, hastily wiping the tears and snot from my face with my pillow. The door flew open, and Elgarion marched in along with a bevy of guards, who quickly surrounded me, two of them clamping their hands around my upper arms and dragging me to my feet.

“To the audience chamber,” Elgarion said, tossing me a smug look. “Your judgment is long overdue, and it’s about time someone finally put you out of your misery.”