Broken Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 3) (12 page)

“
A
re you sure that’s everything?” Aaric looked at the small bundle tied behind my horse’s saddle.

I nodded. “I don’t have much.” I looked at Aaric’s horse. The poor beast was laden with more than it would probably like. Most of his possessions were bags of books, scrolls, manuscripts, and ink bottles. I bit my lip and turned away before Aaric could see my amused smile. We’d stopped at his home in Ruis so he could gather ‘only the absolute essentials.’ Those ‘essentials’ just happened to be almost half his study. He protested vehemently when Bran suggested he leave the books.

Bran walked up to me. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “Kingsley is dead. You’re safe now.”

I nodded, my heart clenching in fear at the mention of the magistrate. Kingsley still haunted my dreams. “I need this, Bran. Ruis holds too many . . . memories, for me.”

He nodded, his eyes sad as he looked down at me. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. Not Sen Altare.” That city held too many memories as well, and the stigma against nomads was alive and well, though not as bad as Ruis.

Aaric walked up and heard the tail end of our conversation. “I’ve been reading,” he said, and frowned when Bran and I tried to smother our laughs. “You know, the two of you could stand to do some reading. Gain an education and all that.”

Bran smoothed his features, but the corners of his lips still twitched. “Undoubtedly.”

Aaric harrumphed loudly, but continued. “As I was saying, I’ve been reading, and there are said to be cities beyond the mountains.”

Bran and I exchanged looks, confused. The clans never traveled the mountains, as far as I knew. But if Aaric wanted to travel there, I had no objections to it, as long as I was with him.

“Do you plan to move on?” I asked Bran.

He nodded. “We will go south, toward Sen Altare. Maybe to the Tyrko Ruins. I’m still undecided.” His face took on a disgruntled look and I could understand why. The nomad clans still hadn’t dispersed, staying close to Bran. He was very powerful, especially with the sky jewel, and a natural born leader. The nomad clans seemed to gravitate toward him, and he now found himself leader of a gigantic group of people. He didn’t like it, but wouldn’t shirk what he saw as his duty.

Aaric looked at the sun. It was nearly mid-morning. “Time to be on road,” he said brightly.

Bran tried one last time. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until spring?” he asked. “It’s fall. You might get stuck in the mountains come winter.”

He stopped, seeing my arched eyebrows. He knew as well as I that any nomad worth their salt could survive a mountain’s winter. He wrapped me in a big bear hug, his eyes looking watery. “Stay safe, Adaryn.”

The goodbyes I made with my father and younger brothers were emotional, to say the least, and it was almost a relief to get on the road.

The air was warm, but the wind had a crispness to it that spoke of colder days to come. The leaves were a glorious tapestry of red, gold, and orange.

We rode in silence for a while, then Aaric spoke up. “Don’t get me wrong, a nomad marriage ceremony is fine, but I don’t understand parts of it. Why did we have to jump over a broom? And while I certainly didn’t mind throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you to our tent, I don’t understand why—” I smiled to myself, listening to him ask questions. My husband wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew the answer to every question there ever was. How many cities were beyond the mountains? Why did no one cross them? Were there other magic users? What inventions had been created? Did every nomad wield magic? What about nomad children whose father was an Oppressor? I blushed at the last thought. Aaric rode his horse closer to me. I realized he’d stopped talking, and was simply smiling, his gaze soft. “I love you, Adaryn.”

“I love you, too.” And I did. So much. We rode together in comfortable silence, our thoughts dwelling on a future that included both of us, together.

Sneak Peek of Book 4 in the Unbreakable Force series by Kara Jaynes

1

Bran

“
L
et’s run away together.” Grace Flores lay on her back, next to Bran. The two of them were in the Flores attic, a dusty room filled with old relics from her family’s past. She passed him another apple, filched from the kitchens. “Like Aaric and Adaryn.”

Bran snorted. “Your father would kill me.”

“It doesn’t matter what Father thinks.” Grace’s voice took on a frosty edge. “I’m from Ruis, remember? Women here don’t have to ask permission for marriage.”

Bran sighed regretfully, biting into the crisp apple. Eloping with Grace did sound tempting. With relations strained between their people, the two of them had resorted to planned, secret meetings together. If they were found out, it would only add fuel to the smoldering flames of potential war. “We can’t, Grace. You have your people to take care of, and I have mine.”

“Hang the people,” Grace muttered under her breath.

Bran grinned at her. He loved her temper. “Give it time, Grace.” He shifted so he was lying on his side and kissed her cheek, taking her slim hand in his. “Perhaps the people of Ruis and the nomads can come to some kind of treaty.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Grace grumbled, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “We’re talking about
Ruis,
Bran. Slavery has been part of our ways for generations. How can that change?”

“You changed,” Bran protested. “Aaric did too.”

“That’s true,” Grace conceded.

She sighed and gestured with her free hand to take in their surroundings. “We’re like children. Hiding in attics, meeting in secret at the market. Mother is going to get suspicious, you know.”

“We’ll just have to be more careful.”

“I’ve been turning away suitors. That isn’t like me at all.” She narrowed her eyes at him in mock suspicion. “Have you cast a spell on me?”

Bran laughed. “Maybe.” His lips brushed hers. “Be patient, Grace. We’ll figure something out.”

He stood, brushing dust from his trousers and strode over to the large window he’d come through. They’d been in the attic for over an hour and it was now dusk. He pushed open the windowpane.

“You know if you moved up here we could see each other more often.” Grace sat up, smoothing her skirt. “I could sneak up apples and pastries.”

Bran chuckled, summoning a thin thread of magic, and fastened it to an old bedpost like rope. “Would you empty my chamber pot, too?”

Grace made a face, folding her arms. “Not a chance.”

“Let’s meet in the marketplace a week from now.” Bran walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him.

“All right,” Grace sighed, laying her head on his chest. “But consider my plan about running away. I think Sen Altare would do nicely for us. Aunt Luna would definitely let us stay with her until we could figure things out.”

Bran cupped her chin in his hand, pulling it up until she looked at him. “In one week, Grace.” He brought his mouth to hers, breathing in her scent. She smelled like floral soap. “I’ll be near the old crone selling turnips.”

Grace smiled. “Take care, Bran.”

Stepping away from her, Bran wove shadow and light around himself, becoming invisible. He climbed through the window and lowered himself down. Once his feet touched solid ground, he released the strand of magic he’d twined into rope and strode away through the wintry Flores gardens. He didn’t have to look up to know Grace had closed the window and was hiding any traces of his being there. His smile faded the further away from her he walked. He’d have to return to the nomad camp sooner or later. Being the clan chief was much more difficult than being the chief’s son, and it was made even more burdensome ever since the clans had combined, one of the changes since Aaric had destroyed the Tower.

Bran thought of Aaric. The former Oppressor had married Bran’s childhood best friend, Adaryn, and the two had left together a few months earlier. Adaryn was tired of living with the nomad stigma and looked to find change beyond the mountains to the East. Bran wished her the very best, and hoped she was happy. He didn’t suppose he’d see her again though.

A faint thread of magic floated across his senses. Bran froze. A few freed nomads had stayed in the city as paid servants, but not very many. Sensing magic in the city now was rare. He felt another strand and looked around, trying to pinpoint it. He couldn’t identify anyone in the crowd as a magic user, however, and the magic faded almost as soon as he sensed it. He shrugged uneasily, holding the threads of his own magic closer, keeping himself invisible to anyone who couldn’t wield enchantment. Any nomad would be able to see him though, and he felt strangely exposed as he walk down the tangled streets toward the gates. He would have to be more careful. If his clan learned he was seeing a magistrate’s daughter, there would be trouble.

With great relief he finally exited the city and entered the dark shelter of the woods.

Continue reading Bran and Grace’s story in

Divided Enchantment

by Kara Jaynes

Bran is a magic wielding nomad from the forest, Grace, the high-born daughter of a magistrate from the city of Ruis where magic users are shunned and hated.

Bran and Grace strengthen the romantic feelings they have for each other, but when children from the city begin disappearing, tensions between their people rise. The two lovers must protect their own people while staying true to themselves and their feelings.

About the Author

Kara Jaynes is a fantasy and children's book author. She lives in Colorado and loves taekwondo, long walks, and fairy tales. She's been writing since she was very young and has more stories in her head than she could possibly write.

Please visit the author's website for more information on upcoming books and news
at
www.karajaynes.com
.

The adventure continues in book 4: Divided Enchantment: Coming soon!

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Broken Enchantment by Kara Jaynes

Copyright Kara Jaynes 2015.

All Rights Reserved.

Cover Designer: Aeternum Designs

The stories, characters, and incidents mentioned or depicted in this publication are entirely fictional.

No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the copyright holder.