The Border Read online

  Published by: Pavonine Books

  Cover by Starla Huchton

  © 2020 by Abigail Hilton. All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This material may not be reproduced, modified, or distributed without the express prior permission of the copyright holder. Artwork is displayed by agreement with the artists. All artists hold the copyrights to their work.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1. Resonance

  Chapter 2. The Empty Room

  Chapter 3. A Word with Anton

  Chapter 4. Collar

  Chapter 5. Helpless

  Chapter 6. Traps

  Chapter 7. Marsden Makes a Request

  Chapter 8. Flaw

  Chapter 9. Contract Negotiations

  Chapter 10. Burn

  Chapter 11. Into the Hills

  Chapter 12. Fighting

  Chapter 13. Illusions

  Chapter 14. Away from the World

  Chapter 15. Ambrosia

  Chapter 16. Warmer

  Chapter 17. The Ridge Road

  Chapter 18. Jonas

  Chapter 19. Villain

  Chapter 20. Pigeon

  Chapter 21. Watering Hole

  Chapter 22. Thorough Inspection

  Chapter 23. The Demon and the Princess

  Chapter 24. Sorcerers and Their Demons

  Chapter 25. Into the Sword

  Chapter 26. The Tower and the Forest

  Chapter 27. Faces of Lord Hastafel

  Chapter 28. The Meadow and the Moat

  Chapter 29. The Stone in the Sword

  Chapter 30. Good Demon

  Chapter 31. Mosshaven

  Chapter 32. Back Where We Started

  About the Author

  Chapter 1. Resonance

  “Your Highness? Your Highness, I know this is difficult, but you must concentrate for a moment. The necromancer gave you something. A coin, a bit of jewelry, a handkerchief. If it is still about your person or in your rooms, we need to dispose of it so that he will have no more hold over you. Can you think of what it might be?”

  Roland was lying in soft sheets. He felt as though he’d been fighting for a day and a night and then drunk two bottles of wine. The man in front of him swam in and out of focus. “Wha—?”

  “The necromancer, Your Highness. The one called Sairis. He transferred a spell to you. Or...he made you share it with him. He must have given you something that allowed him to do this. Can you think of anything he gave you?”

  His hand? His heart? Roland shook his head, trying to clear it. Maybe not that last thing. He felt numb in more ways than one. His tongue moved in his mouth like a foreign object. “He didn’t...give me anything.”

  The university magician shook his head. He offered a cup of cool water. Roland nearly choked as he tried to drink it. He thought he was in the palace infirmary. Everything seemed too bright.

  “You are safe, my lord,” said the magician at last. “The resonance is dissipating. We can protect you from future attacks as long as the resonance is not renewed. But if you think of anything he gave you, please tell us.”

  Roland nodded.

  He must have looked as lost and baffled as he felt, because the man leaned over him with a look of concern. “Lord Marsden’s spell was intended to hold a necromancer. It was never meant for a mundane person. Today will be difficult, but you will recover quickly. Tomorrow will be better. I am sorry, Your Highness. We are all glad you are alive.”

  Did he get away? Roland tried to say the words aloud, but sleep opened like an abyss, and he slid down into its dark maw.

  Sometime later, Roland opened his eyes to see Daphne sitting beside his bed. He seemed to be in his own rooms now. She was holding his hand, running her fingers gently along the prominent veins. A trickle of moisture moved soundlessly along her nose and dropped, warm and wet, onto his skin.

  Roland squeezed her hand. Or tried to. His fingers responded clumsily. Daphne’s gaze snapped to his face. His sister never showed the usual signs of grief—no red eyes, no runny nose, no sobs. Roland couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her cry. “Daph?” he croaked. “What’s wrong?”

  She smiled. She started to speak, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Roland, I am so sorry.”

  Roland’s heart dropped into his stomach. “He’s dead.”

  Daphne looked at him for a long moment. “You mean Sairis?”

  Roland didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “No, he seems to have gotten away. You, on the other hand, were barely breathing for a while.”

  Roland managed a smile. “I’m feeling better.”

  Daphne looked at him skeptically. “I’m not going to ask you to demonstrate that by standing.” She sighed. “Roland, I made a mistake. I got cocky, and I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have invited him. I put him in your path. And now...I’m afraid he’s hurt you twice over.”

  Roland licked his lips. “Daphne, he was scared. Marsden was torturing him. He did what he had to do to get away.”

  Even as he said the words, Roland could hear Candice’s voice murmuring, “Blood magic is a trade. To get the most power, you need to trade something you love.”

  No, thought Roland. It wasn’t like that. Still, he was glad Daphne hadn’t heard Candice. She might misunderstand. She might think something awful.

  “Roland, you have always been so kindhearted. I thought the war might change you, but it hasn’t. Once you’ve decided that someone is your friend, you won’t hear anything against them.”

  Roland wanted to jerk his hand away from her. “He was my friend.” Is.

  Daphne’s face relaxed into her political mask. Roland hated it when she looked at him that way. “I led a small party back to the tavern, Roland—a couple of magicians, a handful of guards. I went myself. Sairis was gone. He took the sword. There wasn’t anything left but chalk on the floor.”

  Roland’s head felt foggy again. He tried to shake it off. “The demon... It ran into the mirror. It—”

  “If the demon had killed him, I doubt it would have taken the clothes Sairis had been wearing and everything from the dresser drawers. He took his shoes from beside the stove, Roland.”

  Roland shut his eyes, opened them again. That’s good. It means he got away. Aloud, he said, “What did you expect? Marsden was blaming him—”

  “He could have left a note. He didn’t. He didn’t even speak to the proprietor before he left. She was still asleep. He didn’t wake her or anyone else. If he’d meant us well, he would have left a message. A few words chalked on the floor would have been enough. He didn’t even bother to do that.”

  Roland felt cold. “The demon...” he said weakly and then sat up straight. “Good gods. I can’t believe I didn’t mention this earlier. Candice is a sorceress. She was the one controlling the demon.” Or colluding with it anyway.

  Daphne didn’t look surprised. “By the time anyone thought to look for her, Candice was gone. Stable hands say she rode out in the morning. This was yesterday, you understand? The incident was yesterday.”

  Yesterday... Roland’s eyes flicked to the sunlight glowing around his drawn curtains, then to the ornate clock in the corner of his room. The time was just after nine in the morning. Sairis had been gone for almost twenty-four hours. Did the spell hurt him as much as it hurt me? I know he heals quickly, but...he was all alone. He didn’t have a horse. He didn’t have supplies or food... or friends.

  Daphne’s sharp eyes watched his face. Roland did not dare voice his thoughts.

  “Candice fled less than an hour after her father’s death,” continued Daphne. “That left the Falcostan barons in charge of their party. They didn’t tell me their thoughts, but I don’t believe they have much interest in chasing after their dead king�
�s youngest daughter. Not when he has two perfectly healthy sons at home. They left within the hour to bring news of his death to their capital and to crown his heir. My guess is that Candice will have a lot of difficult questions to answer if she ever returns to Falcosta. I have circulated her description and orders for her arrest. At least she will not cause trouble in my palace again.” Daphne hesitated. “I do pity her. She was in an unenviable position.”

  Roland nodded. “Yes. But surely you see how none of this was Sairis’s fault.”

  Daphne folded his large, callused hand between her slender ones. “Roland, I have spoken at length to our magicians—not just to Marsden, but to others as well. They say that Sairis could not have transferred the spell to you without preparation. The magicians were certain you must be carrying a token from him—some innocent gift or bit of pocket change. However, when I explained that we’d been sharing close quarters, they admitted other possibilities. A lock of your hair cut while you slept, fingernail clippings, a bit of his magic in your food or wine. These things would have been easy for him...given the circumstances.”

  Roland shook his head. “He wouldn’t.”

  “I suppose most people shut their eyes and pretend...right up until the end...that they’re not really going to do it.”

  No.

  Daphne’s voice was maddeningly gentle. “Roland, he planned this in advance. Maybe he only meant to use it as a last resort, but he did lay a trap for you.”

  Roland’s eyes stung. “No.”

  Daphne squeezed his hand. “I find it very hard to forgive people who hurt my little brother.”

  Roland laughed, a broken sound.

  “I have delayed our departure by two days for you to rest. Do you feel that you may be able to ride in a wagon tomorrow? The magicians say you will begin to recover your strength quickly over the next day, and I want to get on the road.”

  Roland huffed. A wagon? “I will ride a horse tomorrow, thank you.”

  Daphne smiled, her hazel eyes crinkling to slits. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “I really am going to find a prince for you to marry,” she murmured. “A good and kind one who keeps mice as pets.”

  Roland snorted a laugh. “I’m not giving up on him, Daph.”

  “I know. That’s the saddest part.”

  “If I go looking for him when this is over, will you try to stop me?”

  “No. But I will send an army with you.”

  “Daph—”

  “We’ll talk about it later, Roland. After we’ve conquered Hastafel, his golems, and his maniac troops. If we manage to do that, we’ll try wrangling your treacherous necromancer boyfriend.”

  She was speaking lightly, and Roland chose to take it in a joking tone. “Alright. As long as we’re clear he’s mine.”

  Daphne squeezed his shoulder. She stood and gestured to the bedside table. “There’s broth, but it’s cold. I’ll have the kitchens send up a hot meal. You must be famished.” Roland had planned to have a try at standing when she left. However, his eyelids were already feeling heavy. He decided to rest them. Just for a moment.

  Chapter 2. The Empty Room

  When Roland opened his eyes again, he was disgusted to see warm afternoon light around his curtains. The clock said two. Bugger all.

  The kitchens had sent up more food, which had gone cold again. Roland ate it anyway. He hadn’t felt hungry when he woke, but as soon as he smelled the fragrant sauce, it was all he could do to keep from swallowing bites whole like a starving wolf. Does Sairis have anything to eat? He didn’t have any money. Is he on the road somewhere, trying to get back to Karkaroth’s tower? Is he hiding in the woods?

  Idiot, snapped a voice in his head. He can command ghosts. He can apparently transfer unpleasant experiences to other people. Maybe you should worry about your own problems.

  “It wasn’t all a lie,” said Roland to the empty room.

  Not all of it, whispered the awful voice of reason. But some of it?

  He remembered how hard Sairis had fought their attraction. I thought he was just inexperienced. Was he feeling guilty, instead? Trying not to get attached to someone he was planning to use?

  “Did he give you anything?”

  Roland couldn’t think of a single thing. The idea of Sairis surreptitiously cutting a lock of his hair for use as a contingency plan made him feel ill. It seemed so cold and calculating, so at odds with the sensitive young man he’d held and kissed. If he’d asked for my hair, I would have given it to him. If he’d given me a token, I would have worn it over my heart. Even if he’d said, ‘This could save me, but it will hurt you.’ I would have done it willingly. There was no need to sneak.

  Roland thought back to their first meeting. Sairis had seemed cold, then. That icy glare, his bloodless scowl. “You don’t know much about magic.”

  Were my first impressions correct? Before lust clouded my judgment? Before he decided I might be useful and let me...

  Roland pushed the plate away without touching the sticky desert. In his mind’s eye, he saw Sairis’s palm extended across the counter of the bar, hesitant as a bird. A wild creature fearing a trap.

  He saw Sairis sitting on that same counter, leaning back on his hands, his glasses sliding down his nose, his eyes so wide and so dark.

  Roland rubbed at his face with the heels of his hands. I am going to keep turning this over and over, and there will be no answer. Only Sairis can tell me what he did and why he did it. And he is not here.

  He didn’t leave a note.

  That revelation cut deep. More than anything else Daphne had said, that part had penetrated. Roland didn’t want to admit it, even to himself. He couldn’t bear the idea of Sairis in his arms, considering how best to take advantage of the situation. But he couldn’t think of any reason for Sairis to leave without a word. No reason apart from guilt.

  Nothing to say to me, Sair?

  Roland tested his legs and gingerly stood up. He was weak, but getting stronger. He moved around the room, relieving himself in the chamber pot, finding a bowl of predictably cool water in the washbasin. He scrubbed himself without falling over, then located the plainest trousers and shirt in his closet. Roland dressed, pleased with his returning ability to manipulate buttons.

  He paused before the mirror. Without thinking, Roland reached out and put his hand flat against the glass.

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Sair.” Roland knew he was being foolish, but he glared into the mirror anyway, willing it to show him more than his own reflection. “Sairis!” He bit down on the word, afraid he’d bring guards.

  Roland blinked moisture from his eyes. He stared into the mirror, but only his own face looked back—drawn and paler than usual. His fine, blond curls were plastered to one side of his head, his blue eyes fever-bright, his beard in need of a trim. “I want an explanation,” he said to the mirror. “Did you set out to trick me? Or did it come as an afterthought?”

  Roland screwed his eyes shut and turned away. “No, no, no... I don’t believe...” I don’t believe he left without a note.

  This notion gave him a sudden sense of purpose. Daphne didn’t know Sairis. She hadn’t teased trust from that fragile smile. He hadn’t died in her arms. She hadn’t coaxed him out of a crowded tavern when he was almost too weak to stand, hadn’t carried him unconscious to his bed, hadn’t kissed him until he gasped with pleasure. She hadn’t talked to him for hours or made love to him. She did not know him. A voice in Roland’s head whispered that in three days’ time, he certainly could not claim to fully know Sairis either, but he pushed this aside.

  Sairis was afraid he was being pursued. Maybe he didn’t leave a message in any obvious place. Maybe he didn’t leave a message for Daphne. But I know he left one for me.

  Roland felt as though he’d worked out a puzzle. The weight lifted from his mind and he finished dressing almost cheerfully. A valet waited outside his door. “I am going into town on horseback,” Roland told the man. He d
idn’t intend to waste any more time by walking. “I need a horse, but not Cato. Not my destrier. Some unremarkable nag. And while they’re saddling it, you might as well trim my beard.”

  * * * *

  By the time Roland reached the Tipsy Knave, it was a little past three o’clock. November and Hazel were awake and busy in preparation for the evening. Hazel gave a cry when she opened the door in the alley. Roland thought for a moment she might hug him. “We were worried for you, Jack. We heard...”

  “Thank you,” said Roland. “I know Daphne was already here, but, I need to look at the room. Have you moved anything?”

  They hadn’t. November came downstairs when she heard he’d arrived. Unlike Hazel, she had no compunctions about hugging him. “Roland, I am so sorry. The scoundrel just buggered off, and we slept right through it. I’m not sure what we could have done to stop him, though. Him being...what he was.”

  Roland sighed. “I’m still not sure he meant us harm. May I see the room?”

  November gave him a pitying look, but she led him down the hall, threw open the door, and lit the lamp. The mirror still stood in one corner. The two circles of chalk lay opposite. Nothing seemed out of place.

  In spite of Daphne’s visit, Roland proceeded to look in all the obvious locations. He opened the drawers of the dresser. He lifted blankets and pillows. He checked under the beds and under the mattresses. He looked in the pockets of the remaining clothes. He examined every bit of floor and walls where Sairis might have scrawled a note. He looked behind the mirror. He even looked in the emergency hiding place behind the back wall of the closet.

  Nothing.

  Roland wondered whether the message might be magic, whether it might respond to his touch alone. He felt a surge of genius and placed his palm flat against the mirror, exactly as it had been two days ago. Roland fully expected to see words appear on the glass, perhaps as if written in foggy breath. The romance of the idea delighted him.

  Nothing happened.

  By this time, November and Hazel had departed. Roland heard them whispering at the end of the hall. “—can’t bear to watch.”