Page 5 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Grayson glances over at the priest with his brows raised, his lips quirking up at Rodrick’s barely restrained frustration. “I think I can take care of her.” He wiggles his fingers and I gasp as a band of magic suddenly snaps around my waist, making me arch my back at the sudden tight feeling. The magician’s eyes return to me with a frown. “This is the slave you’ve been so worried about?” He sounds amused and I see the guards’ discomfort as Rodrick turns a deeper shade of crimson, insulted by the magician’s words but unable to retaliate. No one would dare go against the word of a high magician.

“She’s about to be returned to the Mother,” the executioner answers, his first words since Grayson entered the chapel. A look passes between the two of them that makes me think they know each other.

“What’s her crime?”

“She turns twenty today,” Rodrick supplies, his voice calmer now that he is back in his element. Grayson frowns as he turns back to me, his gaze reassessing as a wave of his magic travels upmy body and lifts my chin, like a phantom hand. My whole body stiffens, my instincts screaming to keep my eyes dropped, to not meet his eyes with my own.

“Hmm, that makes things more complicated,” he murmurs, still looking at me intensely as if he’s trying to figure me out and what he sees is lacking.

No. I won’t die a coward.Feeling determined, I flick my eyes up, looking directly into his. Shock covers his face before he quickly schools it into a smirk and turns to face the priest. “But I didn’t mean that. Why is she a slave, what did she do?” There’s a pause and I listen eagerly. Perhaps I’ll discover the reason behind my slavery.

“Does it matter? It is as the Mother wills it,” the priest responds quickly, dismissing the matter with a gesture of his hand.

“You’re right, it doesn’t matter.” My heart stutters at the magician’s words before he starts to speak again, addressing the guards still lingering in the room. “Change of plans, gentlemen, the slave comes with me.”

“What?” Outraged, Priest Rodrick stalks towards Grayson, throwing a disgusted look at me before turning back to the magician. He appears scornful, and I know he’s not used to people denying him. “Why would I possibly allow that?”

“Because the Mother wills it,” Grayson replies, repeating the priest’s earlier words back to him, the corner of his mouth fighting a smile. “Because I received a vision. This girl is crucial to the war, she will play an important role. I’m not sure what yet, but I can tell you this—if you kill her today, we will lose the war.”

Silence meets his declaration, and for a moment I think I’m dreaming, I have to be. I’m a slave, I’m nothing, how could I have anything to do with the outcome of the war? The war that has been going on for centuries? The magician stares at me like he’s thinking the same thing and I quickly lower my gaze againout of habit. I may have a way out of this and I don’t want to ruin that by pissing him off.

“Well, you’re too late. She’s twenty, she’ll become a monster, and you can’t stop that.” Rodrick’s voice raises, his pitch higher than it had been previously, his face beginning to redden again at the prospect of the magician taking me away. Grayson turns sharply to face Rodrick, and from my position I can just about see the look he gives the priest.

“Do you think it was purely luck that brought me here just before you killed her?” His words are sharp and I decide right then I don’t ever want to piss off this man. I see the priest stiffen as his hands are suddenly bound to his side by a glowing band of magic, reminding everyone in the room just what he’s capable of. “Don’t fight me on this, Priest Rodrick.”

Released of his magical restraints, the priest falls to the ground, gasping as he sketches out the symbol of the Mother on his forehead. “Of course not, I would never think to question the plans of the Great Mother or the magicians that serve her,” Rodrick wheedles, his voice honeyed as he bows his head. He says all the right words, his voice nothing but compliant, but I know he’s angry. As he pushes to his feet, he glares at me, proving I’m right. But he’s not just angry, he’s furious. I’ve seen expressions like this before. People who are humiliated tend to become more vicious and cruel. I make a vow that if I survive this, I will try to never be alone in a room with this man.

“Stand up.” The command is spoken quietly, but the magic rolling against my skin is a reminder of how powerful he is. Standing on shaking feet, I bow my head as I wait for them to tell me this was all a sick, cruel joke. “Thank you for your time, Priest Rodrick,” Grayson addresses him formally, but I can hear his condescending tone and know his thanks isn’t sincere. Turning his back to the priest, he walks to my side, glancing down at me with a stern expression. “Follow me. I wouldn’t try to run.” Anecho of the magic he’d used to bind me earlier flickers against my waist and I know running would be pointless.

Without another word, the magician strides out of the room, his dark cloak with golden lining snapping behind him. Ignoring the stares of Rodrick and the guards in the room, I hurry to follow Grayson but my chains make me slow. Throwing a look over his shoulder, he makes a noise of frustration when he sees how far behind him I am, and his eyes zero in on my bound ankles.

“Can’t you go any faster?” he demands, but I see something flicker in his eyes as I quickly drop my gaze and hurry to try and catch up before I anger him. The chains are cumbersome, and I’ve never tried to run in them before. My foot catches on one of the paving stones, and before I realise what’s happening, I’m falling forward only to be jerked to a sudden halt. Glancing down, I see a glowing pillow of light has caught me, stopping me from slamming into the hard ground. With wide eyes I look up at the magician watching me with a frown. When he sees me looking at him, his expression quickly turns to one of impatience. My heart in my throat, I push up to my feet and bow my head as he walks over and inspects me for damage, lifting my arms and spinning me around. He grabs my chin and grunts when he sees the bruises on my cheeks and those peeking out of the top of my clothing.

“Come,” he instructs, as he turns abruptly and begins to walk again. However, this time he’s slower, taking smaller strides as he waits for me to catch up. Shuffling just behind him, I feel my body start to tremble again, and I wrap my arm around my torso in comfort. Glancing over his shoulder, he sighs and drops back so we are walking side by side. I could be punished just for being this close to him, but who knows the consequences if I upset him by moving away? We walk this way in silence until I feel his eyes on me again.

“What did you do to deserve being made a slave?” I don’t answer, seeing how I don’t have an answer for him. He snorts and I catch a glimpse of him shaking his head as if he thinks I’m being difficult.

“You didn’t try to plead for your life.” His voice is quiet, and had I not been standing next to him, I might have not heard him. It’s not a question, but he seems to want an answer. How do I answer that? “Most people I know would beg for their life. I’ve even seen battle hardened soldiers pleading to the Mother.” I feel his eyes on me again and this time I don’t shy away, instead, I keep my gaze straight ahead. “But not you,” he ponders, as if I’m some puzzle for him to figure out. He continues to lead me through the castle, taking me into the deeper parts I’ve never been before. Slaves don’t usually come this far, we’re kept away from the royals.

“I know you can speak, I heard you before.” Frustration is clear to hear in his voice now and that bubbling anger wraps its claws around me. Before I can stop it, I’m opening my mouth.

“I only speak when I have something worthy to say.” My voice is weak and scratchy from lack of use, and I quickly throw my hand over my mouth as I realise what I’ve said. He stops and I know I’m in serious trouble. People don’t speak to the magicians like that, especially not the high magicians, and slaves shouldn’t speakat all. By implying that he was not worthy of a response from me, I was gravely insulting him.

Having my tongue removed would seem a tame punishment compared to what the magicians could do to me. Images of my skin being slowly peeled from my body rolls through my head as I fall to the ground, prostrating myself before him. My forehead presses into the hard floor, although this part of the castle is carpeted, so there are some small mercies. My breath pants out of me while I wait for him to speak or move oranything. Whenhe does, it’s not what I expected. A shocked laugh chokes out of him and he pauses as if surprised that he laughed.

“You’ve got backbone. Good, you’re going to need it.” Still pressed against the floor, I frown into the carpet, wondering what he’s talking about. I don’t know what the magician wants from me, and his actions confuse me, so I stay on the floor awaiting his instructions. “Although, this throwing yourself on the floor is going to be an issue.” His voice suddenly gets closer and I feel a hand on my arm before he pulls at it to help me up. Lifting my head, my eyes lock with his, and it takes me a second to realise what he’s doing. He’s kneeling before me, offering me a hand. A high mage, one of our premier people in society, is kneeling before a slave.

Shuffling back in alarm, I pull my arm away from him. He’s breaking the rules, but it won't be him that gets punished. Seeing my terror, he frowns and slowly stands. “I won’t hurt you. Not unless you try to run,” he tells me, waiting for my curt nod before gesturing for me to get up. Hurrying to my feet, I start to follow him again, our tense silence making the walk awkward. I can’t help but think over his words, about why I didn’t beg for my life. I didn’t want to die, but at that moment I knew I had a chance to say something, to speak up for those who couldn’t. Begging wasn’t going to spare my life.

“Why plead for my life when there are hundreds of children being killed every day?” I whisper, my words barely loud enough to be heard, but I know he’s heard me because from my peripheral I can see him staring at me intently.

After a moment of silence, he huffs out a breath and turns his attention to the corridor ahead of us. “You are not what I expected.”

I want to reply, to ask him what exactly he expected, but I have already pushed enough boundaries today, so I duck my head and keep moving forward.

You’re not what I expected either,I can’t help but think, trying to watch him out my peripheral. His uniform is similar to the one soldiers wear—a double-breasted jacket covered in gold buttons. But where the soldiers wear dark green, the magician’s wear dark blue and have a cape. High magicians have gold lined capes, but their power is what really gives them away. I’d expected a high magician to be powerful, but I’d grossly underestimated exactlyhowpowerful he would be. That kind of power comes with responsibilities, and I had expected him to be cruel and distant towards me, like the priests, but so far he’s surprised me.

I still have no idea where he’s taking me, and I’ve lost track of where we are in the castle thanks to the twisted route we’ve taken. Perhaps he’s done that on purpose so I can’t run?

---