With a heavy sigh and frustrated shake of his head, Isahn downed the rest of his drink and stood. His path to the door was clear and, unfortunately, free of pretty barmaids. Outside, he reoriented his hood for maximum protection and followed the route his uncle likely took back toward the Djemirian, a fine inn on the finer side of town.
Isahn had decided to stay there too, despite the risk. After a week on the road, he craved a well-made mattress. It was, in fact, calling to him at that moment.
As he wandered the brick streets, he wondered at Peros’s next destination.Nowosmont?It wasn’t in Gramenia—not unlessthere was a second city with the same name. No. Nowosmont was the bloody capital of the Kingdom of Domos.
Gritting his teeth, Isahn determined he’d get a good night’s rest, pen a note to Solaelia, and continue to track the shady bastard. It was likely to be a few more months; hopefully Lia wouldn’t mind his continued absence from their family seat.
He rolled his eyes.
Of course she wouldn’t mind. While Solaelia wasn’t the “kill your family to take the earldom” type, she was a natural leader, even if she didn’t see it herself. She was doingfine,he was certain of it. She’d been delighted to take over and manage things as an acting countess in his absence. As long as he was home to travel to the Symposium of Prodigious Minds in the late summer, all would be well.
Rounding a corner, Isahn nearly tripped on a brick as he came face to face with a sobbing young girl who couldn’t have been older than ten. Worries about Peros and the earldom dashed away, replaced with a sinking sensation in his gut. This child was far too young to be out so late at night. He squatted before the girl whose brown hair was matted to her head. She wore little more than rags.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
She didn’t speak, only let out deep, gut-wrenching sobs as she pointed down the alleyway to her right. Isahn peered into the impenetrable gloom where anyone might be lurking. But the child gasped for air between cries, pleading with him through wide eyes. She clearly needed help.
“I’m going to take your hand, all right?”
She nodded.
Isahn grasped her and stood back to his full height. In his left hand, he crafted a knife of water, a nearly invisible glass-like creation he’d mastered years before. By calling on the iciest cold and most scorching heat he could imbue into his magic,he formed something solid and smooth but warm to the touch. “Show me what’s wrong?”
She pulled him along, leading them into the alleyway.
A figure emerged from the shadows; small, likely another child. This one was crumpled on the dirt-packed street. A dark puddle pooled around their head.Oh, gods.He felt for the girl who had gotten him—and her poor friend.
Isahn hurried toward the second child, a girl. Her features were cloaked in darkness, making it impossible to tell if she was awake. She made no sound. The distinct tang of hot, fresh blood cut through the chill air. Not wanting to scare her, should she be alive, he released the magic that held his ice-knife in place and leaned down to check if she was breathing.
A small hand came over Isahn’s mouth from behind, something cold and metallic pressed into the thin fabric of his tunic.
Gruffly, a man’s voice demanded, “Don’t fucking move or we’ll kill you.”
Isahn froze as the palm covering his mouth shifted from childlike to adult-sized. The person holding on to him hadn’t moved at all. They’d become enormous.
The broken child on the ground also changed. One second, a possibly-dead blonde waif lay before him. The next, a man with bronze skin and dark curly hair pushed up and swung his adult-sized head in Isahn’s direction.
The impact of the man’s skull reverberated through Isahn, disorienting him. Colors blurred, and the world spun. Caught in a whirlwind of confusion, he tilted forward. Darkness crept in from the edges, consuming his consciousness in a sudden descent. In that fleeting moment before oblivion, his senses surrendered to the mayhem.
He was standing on a beach, the beautiful ocean stretching out before him and sand, warm and gritty, beneath his toes. It was odd, because he was fairly certain he was wearing boots.
Then he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
two
Isahn and George visit the basement.
Headthrobbinginpain,Isahn awoke confused. He reached up and nearly screamed as sharp points bit into his wrists, restraining him. Wriggling his feet, he found the same issue and bit back a hiss. Bound—by barbed shackles. He couldn’t move anything but his arse, and he could only move that a little.
Isahn only had a year and a half of military training. He’d gone in after finishing his credits at the Institute and was discharged after being called up to take his family’s seat as earl. Still, he’d learned a fair amount in his short stint: things like ice knives, using his magic to listen in from afar, and how to handle regaining consciousness in an unfamiliar setting.
He didn’t think he’d ever need that last one, but there he was.
Remain calm, control emotions, formulate a plan.
One: If possible, don’t let the captor know you’re conscious. Eyes closed and breathing steadied, he hoped it would still sound like he was knocked out.
Two: Assess your physical state. Aside from his headache and the stabbing manacles trapping him to his chair, he felt all right—not dead, at least.
