Final Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 6)
Read Final Enchantment (Unbreakable Force Book 6) Online
Authors: Kara Jaynes
Final Enchantment
~ Unbreakable Force Series Book 6~
by Kara Jaynes
To Josh: Thanks for your inspiration
Trying to cope with her crushing grief from losing Aaric, Adaryn returns to Ruis determined to save what lives she can from the approaching Twyli army. Bran and Fyrsil stand with her, but will their magic be enough to stop the corrupted enchantment of Hydari and Myyre? Find out in the final installment of the Unbreakable Force series, Final Enchantment.
Table of Contents
Aaric
W
here am I?
Aaric sat up in bed and shook his head groggily. His mind felt like it was filled with fog and he ran a hand through his hair distractedly.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.” A man entered the room and in one well-practiced movement, knelt on one knee.
“Rise,” Aaric said. He yawned and crawled out of bed. The remnants of sleep were beginning to leave him and with it, the fog in his head. Standing with his arms out to either side of him, he held still, allowing the man to dress him.
“Today is a big day for you, Your Majesty,” the man said, buttoning Aaric’s shirt. “It’s the Day of Justice and Mercy.”
“I know, Gilbert,” Aaric said. He squinted at the man who was now smoothing his lapels. A young man, with large brown eyes and neatly combed brown hair. He knew him, but didn’t. How odd.
He glanced about the room—his room. It was massive, complete with a gigantic four poster bed he’d just got out of. The room was much bigger than his study back at home.
What study?
He shook his head again.
“And finished, Your Majesty.” Gilbert stood back with a bow, and Aaric blinked, looking down at himself. He felt like he should stare goggle-eyed at the finery he wore, but he couldn’t remember why.
“Thank you, Gilbert.”
Gilbert looked shocked at the words of gratitude, but quickly hid it, bowing deeply. “It is my honor, Your Majesty.”
Opening his bedroom door, Aaric strode confidently down the hallway. He’d walked these halls a hundred times—a thousand times. He knew the way. He ignored the finery around him. Plush carpets, gilded furniture, and crystal chandeliers held no interest for him. A book on the other hand . . . when was the last time he’d read a book?
“Not for some time, Your Majesty,” Gilbert spoke up, walking meekly behind him, and Aaric realized he’d spoken his last thought aloud.
After traveling several hallways and flights of stairs, Aaric entered his throne room. It was ten times larger than his bedchamber, and that was saying something. The floors were alternating square slabs of marble in white and black. The throne itself was a monolithic structure of solid gold. “Such a waste,” he said aloud as he sat in it. “It should be melted down into coins and given to the poor.”
Voices murmured in shocked undertones and Aaric looked over to his left, suppressing a sigh. He flapped a hand in greeting at the lords and ladies standing there, acknowledging their presence.
The Day of Justice and Mercy. Aaric remembered. It was the day where anyone, young or old, bond or free, could approach him on any matter and would accept his judgment. A day of responsibility. Aaric could already feel its weight bearing down on him.
He stifled a yawn. He wished his wife was here with him.
My wife? I’m not married.
He shook his head again.
His stomach rumbled and he grimaced. He was required to fast this day as part of the ordeal. He leaned back in the throne and nodded at the servant standing by the large, gilded doors of the throne room. “Show the first in.” Might as well get this over with.
The people who’d come to seek his advice or beg for mercy varied in livelihood and social status. Farmers and nobles, paupers and knights, the crowd of people clamoring to see him was endless. Aaric felt as if a pressing weight sat on his shoulders. This would never end.
“Your Majesty.” Two of the royal guard stood before him, each holding the arm of a woman standing between them. “Your Majesty,” one of the guards spoke again, “this woman was caught stealing, from the royal coffers, no less. I’m sorry to waste your time, Your Majesty, with such filth, but she demanded it, and I could not refuse, it being the rule of the Day of Justice and Mercy.”
Aaric stared at the woman, his heart hammering painfully against his chest. She was short, but held her head up proudly, her hair a wild mess about her face, her eyes a stunning blue.
Adaryn.
Aaric
S
haking his head, Aaric tried to clear the momentary confusion in his head. He didn’t know this woman, this Adaryn. He looked down at her. The woman stared back, her chin jutting out with pride, her gaze filled with contempt as she stared coldly back at him.
“Why did you try to steal from me?” Aaric asked, trying not to squirm. The woman’s eyes pierced him like augers.
A lord from the crowd harrumphed. “You don’t need to question her, Your Majesty. That she stole from you at all is a crime that must be handled swiftly and without
mercy.
She must be used as an example so all know their king will not tolerate such.”
Aaric silenced the lord with an irritated glance before he turned his gaze back to the woman. “What is your name?”
The woman’s fiery demeanor didn’t change. “My name is Adaryn.” The lack of ‘Your Majesty’ hung in the air. The gaggle of lords and ladies stared at her in horrified silence.
Aaric felt a stirring of anger. He
should
clap her in irons for the rest of her days. Theft and dishonor toward her king. Did she deserve any better?
“I’ll ask you one more time. Why did you steal from me?”
“I’m not the thief here.” The woman’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “I came to claim what is rightfully mine. You overwork and overtax your subjects. You demand that which we cannot give. My father is working himself to
death
trying to provide for his family, and here you sit in luxury and idleness on the blood, sweat, and tears of your people. I came to take back half of what you taxed us this season. My family
cannot
live otherwise.”
Her words cut Aaric to his core. He couldn’t say why, but the thought of being held in contempt by this woman was unbearable. Were her words true? He frowned. Did it
matter
if her words were true? He was their king; it was his laws that kept this land safe. But did it matter that he could keep them safe if they suffered under his
rule? If their freedom was sacrificed for their safety?
Aaric was brought out of his thoughts by the gaze of the woman. Her blue eyes tugged his back to meet hers. So compelling, so intense . . . so beautiful. “You’re right,” he said softly, and Adaryn’s head jerked back in surprise. The room was so quiet Aaric could almost hear the woman’s heartbeat, quickened by uncertainty and fear.
“However, you tried to steal from me. I can’t condone that, regardless of your reasoning. You will work in my house for an entire moon cycle, for room and board, but no pay. Justice will be served.”
Adaryn’s face could’ve been carved from stone, her eyes expressionless.
Aaric continued. “Starting today, I will lower the tax by half. I will not sit in such idle riches while my people suffer and starve. Justice
must
be served.” He ignored the shocked gasps and sputters from the lords and ladies. Adaryn looked poleaxed. Aaric smothered the smile that threatened to spread across his face at her expression. He lifted a hand to quiet the murmurs of the nobles. He only had eyes for the slim woman standing before him. “I will return half of the money your father gave for taxes, and enough food to feed your family for one year. Mercy will be given.”
The room disappeared in a swirl of mist and fog, and Aaric cried out as his memories came crashing back. He wasn’t a king; he was an inventor. A scholar. “Adaryn!” he called, searching the shifting fog. “Adaryn!”
You have proven yourself to be both fair and merciful.
The voice pressed inside his mind.
You have passed the first trial.
“Where’s Adaryn?” Aaric ran to where he last saw her, but no one was there. “Where is my wife?”
The voice didn’t answer.
Aaric tried to calm his heartbeat, inhaling and exhaling slowly. This was all a dream. Everything, a dream. The fog thickened, obscuring his vision, once again obliterating his past.
Donell
T
here. Just beyond of the edge of camp. Donell could feel it. Lulling him. Calling to him. Magic.
“Is everything all right, chief?” Gruffyn asked. He was standing guard. No one expected an attack from the other nomads, or the Oppressors, but it couldn’t hurt to be too careful.
Donell stared at him. “Can’t you feel it?”
“Feel what, chief?”
Donell brushed his red hair out of his face, toward the woods where he could feel the enchantment. “There’s magic out there, Gruffyn. I’m going to find it.”
The older man nodded. “I’ll go with you. It could be Bran trying to trick you.”
“No. Stay here.” Donell could barely think. The magic pulsed in his veins. He knew it wasn’t Bran though. He could feel it wasn’t him. “I’ll . . . I’ll be back soon.”
He stumbled away before Gruffyn could object, in the direction of the enchantment.
He could have been blindfolded, ears stopped, and spun in a circle, but Donell could have still pointed exactly to the magic. Its pull got stronger with every step, its allure almost overwhelming. He’d never experienced magic like this before. How could Gruffyn not sense it? It reminded him of the Song of the Siren, a tale of one woman’s voice that was so beautiful any man who heard it fell under her spell forever.
He staggered into a small clearing and froze.
A young woman stood in the glade. Her head was thrown back, face to the sky, her eyes closed. A small smile played on her lips. The magic emanated from her.
“Hello?” Donell took a hesitant step toward her. He didn’t recognize her, but there were smaller, more isolated nomadic clans scattered throughout the west. Perhaps she belonged to one. “Who are you?”
The woman opened her eyes and Donell’s heart beat faster. Her eyes were yellow, reminding him of a wild animal. She was small, much shorter than him.
The woman’s smile widened. “My name is Eletha. I’m the new ruler of these lands.” She held out a slim white hand. “And you are Donell.”
“How do you know my name?” Donell watched her warily, or tried to. The power that surged from her made him want to weep with desire. He couldn’t think, could hardly breathe. The enchantment caressed his senses, numbing his mind.
“I’ve been watching you for some time.” She laughed, eyeing him appreciatively. “I know everything about you. I know you fight against the Oppressors.” With small, quick steps she walked to him, looking up into his face. Her pale blonde hair hung straight over her shoulders and down her back. Some might’ve called it stringy, but it looked beautiful to him.
Everything
about her was beautiful. Her enchantment rolled over him in waves.
Eletha laughed and reached out, her slim fingers stroking his face. “I’ve chosen you. You’re a strong leader. Brave. Impulsive. You’ll make a fine lord over the Oppressors. A fine mate for me.”
“You fight them too?” This must be what being in love felt like. He loved her. He’d do anything for her.
I don’t know her. Something is wrong.
The magic hammered against his mind, and
he firmly put the thoughts away. They didn’t matter.
“Of course. We’ll fight them together.” She stood on tiptoes, her mouth finding his. He kissed her back, fiercely, his arms wrapping around her thin frame. The magic pounded in his heart, through his veins. They’d defeat the Oppressors.
Together.
