Darkwind, p.45
Darkwind, page 45
Cistine pressed a hand to her middle, nauseated by their strangeness.
“These are harvesters.” Thorne sank to one knee, balancing his wrist on his leg. “And this is one of the smaller augment fields.”
Cistine stared down at him, lips parting in shock. “That hole…”
Thorne nodded. “An augmentation well. Like the others, it was sealed after we lost the war, when Talheim offered the truce.”
Cistine’s father had fought in that war, had ascended from Prince to King during it, and as conqueror he’d forced Valgard to seal the Doors to the Gods and halt the mining of augments—the god-like energy blooming in the Northern Kingdom’s core. But her father never told her the entire truth: the scars that war had left, or that there were still augments, already mined, in this kingdom—and its people used them.
People who were not so profoundly wicked as men like Julian’s father always claimed.
Thorne gestured into the basin. “These harvesters are a kind of machine fed on augments. Lightning, mostly, that kept their moving parts in motion.”
“Like a clock?”
“In one sense. But instead of winding them, we filled their depositories with an augment and sealed the door. They ran for hours, sometimes for days, tilling up more energy from Valgard’s core.”
Cistine sank to her knees beside him, grateful to give her feet some relief. “Why are they still here? Their parts must be valuable.”
“The depositories were,” Thorne said. “They were removed to house more augments in Stornhaz when the war ended. But moving these machines required augmentation, and with the Doors sealed, it was a waste to return them to the city.”
Cistine stared at the peculiar machines, their angles too sharp, their design too rigid for this plain wilderness, and that burning question finally made it past her dry lips. “You said you’ve been searching for the Key to wells like this one. That you wanted to use it to open the Doors to the Gods and let augments flow back into the world. Why?”
“Not for the reasons you’re thinking. Not for power or pride, not even to unseat my father,” Thorne said. “For the people. The ones being treated by the medicos, the ones who relied on augmentation to help their crops in times of drought, after forest fires, during the harshest winters.”
His answer cooled the fire in Cistine’s belly. If she’d had such resources to preserve her own kingdom, would she reject them?
“I’m telling you the truth, Cistine,” Thorne said when she didn’t speak. “I wanted the Key for my people. I won’t say it doesn’t still interest me, but it isn’t my focus now. The Key is only a legend. What we have if you and I stand together is more tangible. Knowing what you do now, are you still with me?”
Cistine couldn’t muster an answer through the tightness in her throat. She ached to believe the promise he’d made—that he would find a way to expose Salvotor for planting his own men in the other Courts, replace him on the Judgement Seat, and put an army behind Cistine to push back the threat of King Jad of Mahasar and protect Talheim.
“I’m with you,” she said. “To help you find a way to unseat your father, and to find Ashe. But I won’t help you open the Doors, Thorne, and I won’t help hand that Key to the Courts either.”
She meant every word; but she hadn’t gained reputation as Talheim’s greatest court gossip by keeping her curiosity in check. During their days of walking, she’d been wondering about this Key; how it had been forged, why it existed, and who among Talheim’s own people—even in the Citadel where Cistine was raised—knew of its existence and location.
“Understood.” Thorne pushed himself up slowly, gripping the small of his back where he’d struck water shielding her from a fall. “And I’m grateful…for your help, and your understanding.”
Cistine rose and dusted her hands on the tattered dress she’d worn since Stornhaz. “I know I burned my share of bridges when I left Starhollow, but I’m glad we mended this one.”
“Some small comfort,” Thorne chuckled.
“It means more than you know.” Cistine rubbed her sunburned face and winced. “I just don’t know how I’ll manage with the others. Quill and Tatiana will hardly look at me.”
“Remember what I told you when you and Julian argued at Villmark. Apologize for the harm, not for what you felt. Your hurt…that rests solely with me.”
“Not solely. You shouldn’t have kept the truth from me, but I didn’t have to lead Julian and Ashe into danger just because I was angry. We carry that weight together, Thorne.”
A familiar croak split the air, and Cistine turned south to face the sound—and the great raven who flapped across the basin’s rim and alighted on her wrist. “Hello, Faer,” she whispered, stroking the back of his head with one finger.
“Quill and the others must have reached Hellidom safely, then.” Thorne stepped closer, running the palm of his hand down Faer’s sleek plumage. “And now it’s our turn, Logandir.”
Wild Heart of Fire. The name, given to her by Thorne’s allies after a disastrous battle in the Izten Torkat, poured new strength into her veins. She smiled up at Thorne and found him already gazing at her, a small smirk crooking his mouth in turn.
And Cistine thought maybe he did understand how much it meant to her, knowing he’d determined long ago never to use her as bait. That even if fear had kept him from being honest, he’d abandoned cruelty and truly sought to help her.
Faer brushed out from under Thorne’s hand, ascending to Cistine’s shoulder, and only then did she realize how close she was to the High Tribune—sharing breathing space while they stroked Quill’s trained raven.
Cistine turned her face into the wind, sharply cooler now and smelling of rain. Thunder murmured between the tattered clouds, the quiet voices of the True God and his lesser vassals discussing the fates of Cistine and her friends.
The gods seemed to be betting against them.
“I always thought it was more than coincidence,” Thorne mused, “how the storms increase whenever the Court of the Conqueror sits in session.”
“Do you think we’re ready to face this one?” Cistine asked.
Thorne shifted his weight. “I don’t know.”
At least he was being honest, just as he’d promised. Even if such an unhappy answer, from someone as confident as Thorne, made the wind’s bite seem much colder. “Let’s go. The others are waiting.”
With Faer on her shoulder, Cistine led the way toward Hellidom.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Renee Dugan is an Indiana-based author who grew up reading fantasy books, chasing stray cats, and writing stories full of dashing heroes and evil masterminds. Now with over a decade of professional editing, administrative work, and writing every spare second under her belt, she has authored numerous books and shared many of them with readers - with countless more still to come!
Living with her husband, son, and not-so-stray cats in the magical Midwest, she continues to explore new worlds and spends her time in this one encouraging and helping other writers on their journey to fulfilling their dreams.
Also By R. Dugan
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The Chaos Circus (YA Portal Fantasy)
The Curse of the Blessed (Adult Fantasy Trilogy)
Tales of Wonder & Woe (NA Fantasy)
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R. Dugan, Darkwind
