Page 100 of Dueling the Suitors

Could she still use it, even with her magic suppressed?

The orange stone set atop the ring held potent power of its own—it was how Cyrus had sent letters beyond the palace shield that blocked all forms of magic. Maybe, just maybe, the ring’s magic would be enough on its own.

It was worth a try.

Astoria went to the table and opened its drawers, looking for something she could use to send Cyrus a warning message. Nothing. She looked around the room. Nothing other than the furniture met her eyes.

Suppressing a groan, she was about to sit back when she felt the urge to look under the bed. There was not enough light in the room, so Astoria put her chained hands out and felt.

Her fingers brushed a cool, solid object.

She crawled inward, swatting at the cobwebs that touched her face, and reached for the object. It was a box. She pulled it towards her but paused as it made a not-so-subtle screech against the wooden floor. What if the wizard or anyone guarding her was below? From the viewpoint of the window, Astoria figured she was upstairs. She didn’t want to push her only luck.

After a few minutes of trying that gnawed at her patience, Astoria finally got the box out. It was surprisingly unlocked, and it better have something useful after the effort she put in.

She opened the box. A watercolor palette greeted her, sitting on top of what seemed like a stack of papers. She nearly sagged in relief. If she couldn’t find an enchanted quill, she would write with the paint instead.

Astoria set the palette aside and grabbed the first sheet. To her surprise, it had a drawing on the other side; a beautiful landscape. She set it aside and reached for the next. It was another drawing. She reached for the next and the next, but they all turned out to be the possessions of a passionate, talented artist.

Astoria wondered who they belonged to. Probably not Orion; he didn’t fit the vision of an artist of something so pure and beautiful.

But Astoria had no time to mull over it. Feeling slightly guilty for using one of the drawings, she chose a less-grand one—the landscape, but it was still beautiful—and picked up the pencil from the bottom of the box to write her message on its back.

My dearest Cyrus,

I have been taken. I don’t know where I’m being kept, but I found this pencil and a stack of drawings I could use to write to you. They are using me as bait. Rowan is a traitor. He has dark magic. The rebels look up to him. Draken needs you, Cyrus. I want you to fight. Don’t abandon your efforts on my behalf. They won’t hurt me. Remember, no matter how dark the night is, dawn always comes. And with it, I will return to you.

—Love, Astoria

Astoria read over her words. This would have to do. There was more she wanted to write, but she would deliver it in person. Fornow, she wanted him to fight for Draken. For the lost mother and sister he was trying to protect.

She folded the paper and closed her eyes. She focused on Cyrus; if possible, she wanted to send the letter beneath his head on the pillow so it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.

Ifshe succeeded in sending, that was.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Before she could even move, the door flung open.

Wizard Orion stood in the doorway, his narrowed eyes on her.

Astoria gulped. Not breaking eye contact with him, she tried to push the letter from her hand behind the box when she realized her hands were empty.

She glanced down in disbelief. The letter was nowhere in sight. It worked. She refrained from sighing in relief and snapped her eyes back to the wizard.

Schooling her features, Astoria narrowed her eyes right back. “Mind explaining whose possessions I just happened to find?”

20

The Twisted Bargain

Astoria twisted the orange stone of Cyrus’ ring around so that if Orion looked, he would only see the golden band.

The cottage, apparently, belonged to Wizard Orion’s late sister and the drawings in the box were his nephew’s. Both of whom he did not wish to talk about. Astoria was more than a little curious, but she didn’t push him. She had succeeded in steering him away from any sort of suspicion, and that was all that mattered.

But when he left, he took away the box and everything Astoria had spilled onto the floor.

Astoria paced the length of the room with growing anxiety, often pausing to stare out the window at the clear night sky. She couldn’t rest, let alone sleep. But as dawn drew closer, she eventually grew tired and sat at the desk, gradually falling asleep with her head resting between her arms.

A few hours later, she woke up to the door flinging open and slamming against the wall.

---