Betrayed: Magi Rising Book 1 Read online

  Dostane’s eyes filled with tears, and she pulled Doli close. Only then did I notice the young woman was not only shaking but crying. Holding her daughter tight, Dostane raised her voice just enough for me to hear. “Come with me. I can hide us.”

  She started walking toward the dead end.

  As soon as that cloud cleared, Serîk would be on the other side. Even if I didn’t know who was leading the charge, magî with that amount of power would certainly be Serîk which meant Zerôn was here, or he’d sent his men. But then why? Why attack an outpost in your own realm? Especially one with no significant magîk.

  “Hurry!”

  Dostane’s voice yanked me back to the present, and a cacophony of magî voices filtered through the smoke, a terrifying mixture of panic and brutality. Were they alive or dead? I glanced at the billowing mass of soot and ash now being fed by several fires and then back to Dostane, barely visible through the haze, before chasing after her.

  If we didn’t get out of here, we’d be trapped and either the Serîk or the smoke would kill us. I darted around the thick trunks and increased my speed to a full-out sprint.

  Fetid rot.

  I skidded to a stop, stumbling on the last few steps, just as Dostane and Doli disappeared—right into the rock.

  3

  Three Years Ago

  “You look…” Bîcav pursed his lips, as though considering his words, and waved his hand up and down in the air at me.

  My stomach fluttered and churned while I waited, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass me. I dared a peek at Zîvrünê who was walking on the other side of his guard. Zîyanâ was talking with Zerôn, and his guard Basvîk stood, silent and alone, a dozen paces up the trail. Two brothers to guard two princes, fitting that Zîvrünê got bound to the nicer of the two.

  Although one wouldn’t know Bîcav’s kindness just by looking. He was as tall as a panthera standing upright and just as thick and muscular as the predator. He had rich-golden hair and pale-blue eyes, which were arresting with his bronzed skin. After watching him train on occasion over the past year, I knew he was just as fierce as he appeared.

  Zerôn coughed, and his lip pulled into a sneer as he said, “You look like a scrawny child playing dress up.”

  I glared at him, wishing there was a way for me to return the insult without paying for it later with Zîyanâ.

  She snickered. “No, she looks at least twelve with the makeup.”

  “But no one wants to bed a twelve-year-old,” Zerôn said with a shake of his head. “We want curves, right brother?”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Bîcav said. “You look lovely, Dîsa.” And then he added, “Almost completely grown up.”

  I frowned at the almost. Was he trying to appease the kümdâr or me?

  Rünê’s guard laughed. “I would never waste my breath with appeasement.”

  “In some of the posts, the magî are already bonded by fifteen,” I grumbled, glancing at my sister. There was no difference between our bodies—well, except she had bigger breasts and her arms were banded, but still.

  “Foolish to bond or band before your magîk is fully developed,” Zîvrünê said, head down like he was talking to the rocks. He kicked the ground, sending several stones over the edge. “So much foolishness.”

  I kicked another loose pebble from the path, listening to the rock clink and rustle its way down the edge of the mountain. The dense lower canopy thinned as we ascended the path into the Hisk foothills just outside of Yândarî, shifting from rainforest to cloud forest as we climbed. The foliage was proportionally less, but each leaf, branch, and trunk was hearty here.

  The view from the top of this hike was amazing on a clear day, but those days were extremely rare—as in magîk-induced rare. Normally, like now, the humidity was thick and the interwoven trees of the dripped water. Zerôn glanced our way and muttered something under his breath about fools, his lip curling into a sneer. The tension between the royal brothers weighed more than all the water in the air, and I almost wished I hadn’t come.

  As if to reinforce my point, Zerôn marched away. As he passed his guard, the prince raised his fist. Basvîk flinched, and Zerôn laughed before muttering something too low for me to hear. Then Zerôn punched his man twice, two small pops on the arm, but the wary look on Basvîk’s face reinforced my belief in the prince’s cruelty.

  Giggling as she ran, Zîyanâ chased after the younger prince, followed by his guard.

  I turned my glare on Zîvrünê and said, “You think it’s foolishness to bond or to band early? What about punching people?”

  Shaking his head, the older prince said, “That’s a game we’ve played forever: Two for flinching. But bonding and banding aren’t games, Dîsa.”

  A spark of indignation flared, and I said, “I know. But perhaps they grow up together in the outposts and just accept their differences: magîk as well as other strengths. No one can be and do it all.”

  He frowned and then his features softened, the furrow dissolving into a half-smile as he focused on me. “Truer words were never spoken. But there does have to be a meeting of the minds and souls to make a bond work well, and being unequally yoked can lead to resentment.”

  He raised his eyebrows, asking a question, but I struggled to interpret the meaning. Was he asking if I agreed? Or was he just stating his own personal beliefs?

  “That might be true for oxen—when you’re talking about the physical strength of both animals—but for magî?” His comment rankled because my magîk was pretty much useless. Dead was dead. “What if someone’s magîk was lesser but they had more wisdom, or better skills like…” I paused a moment, scrambling for an ability that didn’t need magîk, and my stomach growled. “In the kitchen?”

  Zîvrünê laughed, and Bîcav immediately joined in. I hadn’t been joking. Being hungry for good food was its own form of torture, but their mirth still made me smile. Bîcav excused himself and strode toward Basvîk, who was still visible on the path. My sister and Zerôn didn’t come back, and they weren’t around the next bend either. I felt a twinge of pity for the heir at my side. He was so good, and my sister unfathomably preferred Zerôn.

  “Yes,” Rüne said, still chuckling over my comment. “Food is important.” Tilting his head, he looked at me pointedly. “You should probably eat more.”

  “I can only eat so many mangoes before I turn into one, and Zîyanâ is a terrible cook.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I winced and then added, “Which you probably already know and doesn’t even matter now that she can trade her magîk.”

  The smile left his face as soon as I’d said her name, and his expression grew even more somber until it resembled the thick clouds above. What I wanted wasn’t even possible, and sooner or later, I would need to grow up enough to admit it, regardless of my feelings. Hopefully, I’d be able to figure out a good use for my magîk, but thus far, seeing the souls of dead animals only made it so I couldn’t eat any, and crowded places with magî—specifically dead magî—made my skin crawl.

  “Can I ask you something?” He didn’t wait for my response, instead rushing into his next words breathlessly. “Do you think Zîyanâ would want to bond with me if I wasn’t going to be the kümdâr?”

  I couldn’t answer his loaded question, not without admitting all the truth I knew, so I shrugged.

  “I don’t know why anyone would want the position,” he muttered. “It’s tedious and trying, and it’s not like you can do anything.”

  “No,” I responded immediately. “You could do a lot.”

  He stopped walking and turned toward me. Pinning me with his bright gaze, Zîvrünê frowned, his mouth pulling down with disgust. “Not really.” He held my attention, and after a moment of silence, he responded to my unasked question with a question of his own. “What do you think I could do, Dîsa? Qralî practically runs itself. The outposts make all their own decisions—they’re too far out for us to truly control from here in Yândarî—and the last decision my father ma
de was about what time the market should open when a group of magî complained.” Throwing his hands up in frustration, he huffed, “And he merely declared the time wasn’t going to change.”

  I inhaled as he spoke, filling my lungs with clean air—the verdant smell of the plants thinner at this elevation, but still there. Memories of the last several years passed in a flash of frustration, and I finally snapped. “But you could,” I said, protesting his conclusion. “If your father had wanted to change things, he could. And so could you.”

  His eyes widened, probably at my vehemence, but there were two solid years, maybe more, where I’d eaten so many mangoes I’d been certain I was going to turn into one. Zîyanâ had spent every stamped credit we scraped up on training, and the only food I got was what I could forage and put together on my own. The last year had been easier because of Zîvrünê—and maybe even Zerôn. If the law allowed magî under eighteen to trade magîk, that time might’ve been different.

  “You’re right,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth pulling down. He stared through me and then brought his attention back and asked, “But after that?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, but the point is you could.”

  He was silent, and I gritted my teeth. What could he have to think so hard about? As kümdâr, all he’d have to do is declare the change and it would happen. Boom. Done. Just like that. I stepped past him, inexplicably angry for all the times I’d lay in bed with my stomach gnawing, and bumped him. He probably didn’t even know how hard it had been.

  After my parents disappeared, Zîyanâ was old enough to remain on her own, but I was still too young. She could’ve given me up to a family of magî, there were several who would allow orphans to reside with them in exchange for work or future magîk, but we’d both agreed we wanted to stay together. There were no debts with family. I gathered food from the jungle or any plants Zîyanâ secretly grew, and I’d sell or trade them at the market. I did all I could, and I was not only proud of how far she’d come but my small contribution to the path as well—even if there had been sacrifice involved.

  “You’re right,” he whispered, wrapping his hand around my arm.

  His palm was calloused and rough, and the contact seared me. My heart jumped, but the rest of my body stilled, fearful of what he might’ve seen.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he said, still whispering. “And it was only a flash, I promise, but the memory was so strong it… jumped.”

  “Which one?” I asked, my eyes widening in horror. I pulled back, breaking contact just in case. I didn’t want him sifting through my mind, peeking at more of my past.

  “Just you curled under the blanket”—his voice cracked and then grew hoarse with emotion—“hungry.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he dropped his chin to his chest and withdrew his still outstretched but empty hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, raising his head to meet my gaze. His blue eyes glistened, but after a few blinks, the tears cleared. “I didn’t know it was that bad. I tried… I did what I could.”

  My anger waned, and I nodded, acknowledging dozens of times over the last year that he’d bought food in the market only to declare he’d gotten too much or wasn’t hungry after all. “True. And you did a lot. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just… you could change that law for everyone.”

  Thunder rolled overhead, and we glanced upward where the gray clouds scuttled with the breeze.

  “We asked my father to change it for you,” he said. “He said no.”

  “What?” I’d met Kümdâr Zêvn multiple times. He’d always been nice. “Why?” I demanded. The truth felt like a betrayal, even more than the rule itself. I stood next to Zîvrünê, searching his face for the explanation that would make sense of the insensible. “Why would he say no? My power is so useless. Why deny me what little ability I had to help myself?”

  Zîvrünê pursed his lips, and emotions flitted through his blue eyes: anger, frustration, then finally resignation. His gaze dipped, he took a deep breath, and the world fell away.

  Suddenly, it was just him and me on the trail. And as he stepped closer, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body on my skin, I knew… My lips parted as he tucked a tendril of hair that had escaped its braid back behind my ear, and he wet his lips.

  “He’s afraid—”

  “What the rot is taking you two so long?” Zerôn yelled.

  I jerked away from Zîvrünê, immediately feeling guilty for allowing myself to get that close to him. But what if he had feelings for me? I glanced at him, and he winked before shouting back to his brother.

  “Go on. We’ll catch up.”

  4

  Today

  The smoke billowed and curled, wrapping around me, choking me with its charring stench as it slithered between my lips to coat my tongue. I stared at rock—the solid granite wall of stone—rethinking what I’d known of the magî of Heza.

  “Nowhere for them to go,” a male magî shouted, his diction sharp.

  “Run!” another screamed, his voice filled with panic—so different than the first.

  I swallowed the rank taste, knowing these magî were from the kümdâr.

  “Did they escape out back?” another yelled, the same ring to his tone as the first. “Find them.”

  The voices were getting louder which meant the Serîk were closer. Approaching the rock with my heart pounding, I reached out toward the smooth surface and yipped in surprise when Dostane’s hand appeared, sticking out of the stone.

  I dismissed my first instinct: that the stone was an illusion. I’d touched the mountain dozens of times, and it had always felt solid. Which meant Dostane’s magîk allowed her to…

  Poking her head out of the rock, Dostane asked, “Are you coming or not?”

  “Yes,” I responded. There were no other options.

  “No matter what, don’t break contact with me, even after we’re in,” she said in a rush. As she pulled me forward, she continued, “If you do, you’ll be trapped, and I won’t be able to get you out.”

  My hand slid into the stone like mud, and my breaths grew shallow with fear. I flinched with her warning, and my gaze jerked to hers just as her head disappeared once again.

  “Really?” I gasped. “Has that happen—”

  Dostane yanked me forward, and I entered the wall of rock, starting with my arm and foot, followed by my entire body. Stepping into the stone felt like walking into cold gravy, except when I flinched again, Dostane tightened her grip and glared. Next to her, clinging to her other hand, arm fully extended behind, was Doli.

  I tried to open my mouth, only to find I couldn’t. I couldn’t turn my head, or swing my other arm out to the side. I could only move toward Dostane, until she squeezed my hand and held me back. Then I was suspended, unable to move… well, hardly at all. How I was still breathing was a mystery, but both Dostane and Doli were too, so I accepted it as part of Dostane’s power.

  No wonder Mar did well when Dostane went with him to mine. How many other magî in Heza had abilities they weren’t discussing? A fresh wave of guilt lapped at my soul with the hypocrisy. I hadn’t even told my hostess my full zeta name, let alone what my magîk could do. I’d paid her in coin—something she’d proven unnecessary by her own resourcefulness, and now I understood why.

  “I thought you said they weren’t in the rubble,” a male magî said from behind me, his gruff voice filled with irritation. “Are you sure they were even home?”

  “The girl ran around to the back, and no one came out before Berk sent his magîk the wall of the inn.”

  My legs ached to run, but my muscles merely twitched with the desire. I couldn’t even turn around. I studied Dostane’s face, her expression pinched with anger, but she didn’t move forward or backward. Her hand remained dry and her grip firm.

  “Do we know if there’s a trap door or some other escape route?” the first magî asked.

  “The boy didn’t mention one.”

  Another magî intoned, “There is power
ful magîk here—”

  “Oh shut it, Bawêrî. You’re as useful as a dud,” the first said. “Next time I bring you, I’ll make sure to bring Bryk too. Then I’ll know when you’re lying.”

  “I never lie,” the male magî muttered.

  “Sure,” the first snapped. “And I’d like to be a tamarin.”

  Suddenly, an undulation of magîk jarred through me and made my teeth rattle. I would’ve screamed if that were possible. Thankfully, it was not.

  Dostane grimaced and tugged me an inch forward, the movement a minuscule reprieve from the pressure surrounding me.

  “Berk, go ahead and blast into the rock. If there’s a cave, just bring it down.”

  My heart stuttered, beating erratically, and fear mounted my back with terrible claws. If Berk sent a pulse of power into the stone like he had with the inn, we’d all die!

  “Over here,” a magî shouted, the voice of the magî who said he never-lied. “There are footprints leading out this way.”

  The leader swore, and the puny reverberation that pulsed through the stone made me think he’d either hit or kicked the mountain, far better than an explosive blast. A moment later, the voices faded, and I looked to Dostane hopefully. But her attention remained fixed on the space behind me, her eyes filled with tears.

  I glanced at Doli, her face contorted with anguish she was obviously unable to express. I strained, trying to turn my head to see what they saw, but I couldn’t rotate a single inch.

  The seconds dragged, and the torture of watching their suffering pressed against my chest—or perhaps that was the rock. Frustration mixed with my impotence, and as the moments passed, my emotions coalesced into fierce rage. Whomever was making them suffer deserved to pay for it.

  Eventually, their expressions shifted into sad resignation, and after what felt like a year of dry seasons, Dostane pushed against my hand, guiding me to step backward. One, two, three steps… I felt warm air against my skin where there had only been icy stone a moment before. Relief washed over me, and I inched back, sucking in a deep breath as soon as my mouth was free. I was out! Mostly. My excitement remained high, though it dropped several degrees with the rancid taste of death coating my tongue—stale now—and I dreaded seeing the saturation of it.