Fractured Magic: Chapter Fifteen

“Who in the hells are you?” the man asked, looking between the two of them with what Maebhe would call mild irritation, as if they were just ants in a kitchen.

Roman laughed and shoved at their crossed blades, the strength behind it forcing the man back a step. Brandishing his sword, Roman said, “You’re too outmatched to talk through this fight. Eyes on me.”

Then he attacked, so quickly that Maebhe blinked and missed it. One moment Roman was here, the next he was there, striking, striking, striking. Alarm quickly replaced irritation on the Enforcer’s face, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow as he barely managed to block each blow. It wasn’t that he moved slowly. On the contrary, he moved faster than anyone Maebhe had ever seen. Roman just moved faster.

Despite her unusual athletic pursuits, Maebhe knew little about fighting. While Kieran had taught her some basic self-defense, watching this was like a farm boy with a plow horse judging the worldwide dressage finals. When Roman attacked, the Enforcer dodged. When the Enforcer dodged, Roman feinted, spun, swung, the clash of steel accompanying each hit with its sharp staccato. At some point in their dance, Roman struck the first blow; Maebhe only knew from the Enforcer’s grunt of pain, from the crimson blooming and spreading across his thigh when they broke apart.

He favored his uninjured leg, going forward, even as that crimson stain spread down his pant leg to the beige rug beneath them. He and Roman stepped in and out of the growing stain as they fought, obscuring the rug’s gentle florals. At the man’s first stumble, Roman caught him with a heave kick that sent him flying into the table, Maebhe scrambling out of the way to avoid him just in time. The table splintered and collapsed under his weight.

When Maebhe sat back and her fingers brushed warm skin, she yelped and snatched her hand back, turning to find she’d backed right into the unconscious Enforcer girl. For a moment, Maebhe watched the rise and fall of her chest, absurdly steady amidst the chaos. Her gaze dropped to something strange: a fresh brand on the girl’s wrist, some sort of swirling loop with a sword running through it. When she turned back around, Roman was watching her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

It was time he could have spent pressing his advantage. While he checked in on her, the Enforcer scrambled to his feet. “Fine,” Maebhe said breathlessly.

Then the Enforcer attacked, and Roman could no longer talk. The girl behind Maebhe wore a gun, and it had reminded her of the revolver Ivey had given her. Belatedly drawing it, Maebhe trained it on the two men, but only seconds had passed before she lowered it again. They were moving too fast. Odds were too high that she’d hit Roman by mistake.

Finally pressing an opening, the Enforcer tackled Roman, catching him by the waist and making him drop his sword in surprise. By the time they’d hit the ground, though, Roman had flipped their positions. He straddled the man, threw a punch that struck the man’s jaw with a sickening crack. Roman swung again and again, and the Enforcer struggled to buck him off. But his struggles slowed, and then they stopped altogether. But Roman didn’t stop hitting.

Maebhe pushed to her feet. “Roman!” she cried. “Roman, stop! Don’t kill him!” If she’d ever thought she could be okay with killing, she was wrong. She didn’t want anyone to die here — not for her, not for Kieran, not for Ide.

Roman froze, his arm drawn back to deliver another blow. “Maebhe,” he said, slowly. His head was bowed, his curls falling to hide his eyes. “If you knew the things he’d done, working for Unity, you’d be thanking me. I’m doing the world a favor.”

“Why do you get to decide that? What if someone had killed you, back when you worked for them? Then there would’ve been no one alive today willing to help me. So wasn’t it a good thing? Why do you get a second chance and he doesn’t?”

Roman sat back, stunned, and dropped his arm. Instead of looking at Maebhe, he stared at his bloody hands. “Fine. We should keep moving, anyway,” he said. Finally, he looked up at her. Had his eyes always been so large? Maebhe remembered the black of them being striking, but not like this. It was like the pupils and iris both had blown wider, nearly eclipsing the white. They were fixed and focused on her now, and she suppressed a shiver.

She held a hand out to him, but conscious of the blood, Roman brushed her aside and hauled himself up. Giving him a moment to recompose himself, Maebhe looked away while he wiped his hands on a handkerchief, then his bloody boots on the rug so they wouldn’t leave a trail. From there, they hurried through the common room, down a couple of hallways, and into a barren stairwell. Fortunately, they saw no signs of other people along the way.

It was a good thing Dinara hadn’t come, Maebhe thought as they climbed. That display had nearly been too much for Maebhe.

As if he was reading her thoughts, Roman said, “I have an answer to your earlier question.”

Maebhe looked at him, but his expression gave nothing away. “Yeah? Which one?”

“About Dinara. She...pushes. Right where it hurts. You’ve probably figured this out already, but I don’t like remembering my time with Unity, let alone talking about it. Dinara thinks all wounds can be healed by talking.”

“I get it,” Maebhe said. She had her own past she hated to remember. “Kieran’s the same way. It was because I wouldn’t talk to him about our parents’ death that he found Ide. Someone who listened. But I...well, anyway, if this is your way of asking me not to tell her, I won’t.”

Roman sighed, and there was no mistaking the relief in it. “Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” Maebhe pointed out.

“Please don’t. As discussed, that’s not why I’m doing this.”

“Just see if you can stop me.”

Roman snorted. For all his talk of words not healing wounds, his step seemed lighter now that he’d spilled some secrets. “Hold your hands behind your back, like they’re tied,” he said.

Before Maebhe could ask why, they rounded a corner, pushed through a door, and were greeted by a sudden breeze and open sky. They’d passed onto the short bridge connecting the barracks to the prison. When Maebhe spotted the guard posted at the opposite door, she hastily clasped her hands behind her back. When the guard spotted them, he tensed and drew his rifle. But Roman stepped forward, dragging Maebhe by the upper arm as if she was a prisoner, so Maebhe again decided to trust his confidence. She couldn’t help peering over the edge as they went, though, eyeing the blue-green water that stretched beneath them.

As Roman approached the guard, he tugged up a sleeve and showed the brand on his wrist, the same as the Enforcer girl’s but older, the scar pale and settled into his skin. The guard relaxed at the sight, returning his rifle to his side.

“Where are the other orinians being kept?” Roman asked, tone haughty.

“This floor, block six, sir,” the guard said, his eyes trained deferentially on the ground. Maebhe hoped he wouldn’t notice any of the blood spattered on Roman’s boots.

Roman grabbed Maebhe’s arm again and dragged her into the prison, conveniently blocking view of her unbound wrists with his body as he did. Inside, he released her again, starting confidently down a hallway without waiting for her to catch up. Compared to his demeanor back in those barracks, here, he was downright fearless.

Maebhe had expected a bigger difference between Unity and Orean’s prisons; she’d visited the latter only a few times, back when she was trying out a criminal justice major, and it was much the same: cold brick, stone floors, narrow cells. Maybe all prisons just looked the same.

They passed cell after cell, each containing a rickety bunk, a sink, a toilet, and little else. Surprisingly, many were empty. The ones that weren’t, Maebhe ducked her head before she could make eye contact, guilt eating her each time.

“Why...?” she started in a whisper.

“Why is it so empty? Unity’s prison is only meant to be a short layover while prisoners await sentencing, execution, or transfer to a more permanent placement. The only exceptions are for crimes with no prevailing jurisdiction, like maritime crime or crimes against Unity.”

“Huh,” Maebhe said, trying not to show her disinterest. There was a reason she’d changed majors.

They had to hide once to let a group of guards pass by, but they fortunately didn’t run into any others on the way. As they passed the umpteenth row of cells, they heard an incredulous voice ask, “Maebhe?”

“Kieran!” Maebhe called, forgetting to keep quiet. She rushed to Kieran’s cell, Kieran meeting her at its iron bars. His eyes dropped to her unbound wrists, flicked to Roman and narrowed, then widened again when Roman pulled out Ivey’s lock-picking kit.

“Where’s Ide?” Maebhe asked.

“Here,” another voice called from across the aisle.

“Maebhe, why did you come here? How did you come here?” Kieran asked. “This is reckless, even for you.”

“Shut up, Kieran. You can scold me later,” Maebhe said just as Roman got the cell door open. He unlocked Ide’s even faster, now used to the arrangement of the pins, and soon Maebhe was hugging them both at once. They were grimy and dirty, Ide’s dress torn and Kieran’s jaw bruised, but they were alive.

“A jailbreak in Unity’s prison?” asked a deep, unfamiliar voice. “What loyal friends you have.”

Maebhe jumped, half-drawing Ivey’s gun, but when she turned, they were still alone in the hallway. Belatedly, she realized the voice came from the cell beside Kieran’s.

“Drys!” Kieran said. He gave Roman a plaintive look. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. Would you...?”

But Roman was already at the cell door, unlocking it.

“Drys was here when we were brought in,” Kieran explained. “There were others, too, but they...I don’t know what happened to them. We’re the only ones left.”

Roman pushed the door open, but the hulking, shadowy figure crouched in the corner made no move to rise, so Roman slipped into the cell and crouched beside him, using his tools again to unlock the manacles around the stranger’s wrists. While he worked, Kieran sidled closer to Maebhe. “Mae, who is this guy?” he asked in a whisper. “Where’d you find him? Why’s he so good with thieves’ tools?”

Maebhe shushed him again.

The lock clicked; the figure finally rose. Their silhouette was too large to be human, Maebhe thought. Sure enough, when they stretched, a massive pair of wings flared out behind them. A faerie. Maebhe tried not to stare.

“Thank you,” Drys told Roman. “I owe you a great debt.”

Evidently knowing a thing or two about the fae, Roman didn’t argue, just inclined his head in acknowledgement. When the faerie stepped forward, into the light, Maebhe gasped. They cut an impressive figure, tall and slender, all willowy curves, corded muscle, and silky dark hair, but the gasp was for their injuries — a black eye, cuts along their wrists where the manacles dug in and bruises along their bare shoulders. Worst of all was the state of their wings. The feathers looked yellowish, but it was hard to tell their true color behind the filth, dried blood, and matted feathers.

Drys, standing tall despite their injuries, arched an eyebrow at Maebhe. The dark purple bags under their eyes should’ve lessened the look’s intensity, but Maebhe shivered all the same. She squared her shoulders and stuck a hand out. “Call me Maebhe. I’m Kieran’s sister.”

“Drys Homeborn,” Drys countered, shaking her hand. A smile played at the corner of their lips, now. “That’s a lovely name, Maybe.”

“May-vuh,” Maebhe corrected.

“And who are you?” Kieran finally asked Roman, scowling and crossing his arms.

Maebhe elbowed him. “Don’t look at him like that! He just saved you!”

“Well, like he said, I am awfully good at thieves’ tools,” Roman said, Kieran flushing when he realized Roman had heard. Ignoring Kieran’s mumbled apologies, Roman dipped into a swift bow. “Roman Hallisey, at your service. I suggest we leave further introductions until we’re off this damned island. Let’s go, quick.”

And with that, Roman hurried them back the way they came. When they neared the bridge, he said, “Maebhe, get Ivey’s revolver ready.”

“She has a revolver?” Kieran asked. “She’s never shot a revolver in her life!”

“Just because I haven’t doesn’t mean I can’t. I know the theory,” Maebhe said. “And I’ve fired dad’s hunting rifle.”

Roman gave her a stern look. “Give the gun to your brother.”

Maebhe sighed and passed Kieran the revolver.

Of course, they wouldn’t pass the guard on the bridge so easily a second time. The moment he saw them, he opened his mouth to yell for aid, but then Roman held a finger to his lips. Somehow, that single action stayed his tongue, made him choke on his own saliva. Maebhe suspected it was due to the brand on Roman’s wrist, peeking out from under his sleeve cuff.

“Speak,” Roman warned, voice low, “And my friend shoots. Or worse, I’ll kill you myself. You don’t want that.”

The guard must have agreed, because he stayed miraculously silent while Roman used a length of rope from Ivey’s bag to bind him to an iron sconce protruding from the prison-side wall. When they’d made it halfway across the bridge, though, duty outweighed fear and he started shouting for help. Roman swore and broke into a run, the others following.

Back inside, before they could start down the stairwell, Maebhe flung an arm out to keep them continuing. Even as Roman shot her a quizzical look, he heard what her sensitive ears had picked up: several sets of footsteps hurrying up toward them. “What do we do?” Maebhe asked, her long ears pricking toward the sound.

“Get back to the bridge,” Roman said, his tone leaving no room for questions.

Back in the salty air, they found a second guard had arrived to help untie the first. Without hesitation, Kieran raised Ivey’s revolver and called, “Stop! Hands up and step away!”

The second guard stopped, raised both hands above his head, and reluctantly moved away from his companion.

“Do we go back through the prison?” Kieran asked Roman.

Roman shook his head. “A group this size? We’d be caught before we even reached the front doors. We came up a secret path through these barracks — that’s our only hope of getting out.”

“Then we’ll push past whoever’s coming up the stairs,” Ide suggested. “There are only a few of them, by the sound of it.”

“Easier said than done. If they attacked, I wouldn’t have been able to protect you all in that wide stairwell. The bridge will be easier to defend, just stay behind me, out of my way. Kieran, make sure we’re not ambushed on the prison side.”

Maebhe thought of something. “Drys, can you fly? How many can you carry?”

Drys grimaced, but said, “Yes. With the state of my wings, though? Maybe one at a time.”

“Take Ide down to the beach,” Maebhe said, pointing over the side of the bridge, “Then come back up for us. That way, Roman doesn’t have to beat them, only stall. Will that work?”

Drys’ grimace grew, looking at the four of them, but they only sighed. “I have to try.” With that, they scooped Ide into their arms and launched them both into the open air, the snap of their wings accompanied by the rushing wind and Ide’s screams. Kieran’s eyes widened, watching his fiance go, but he resisted the urge to run to the wall and watch for their landing, his gun still steadily trained on the guards.

Then, the barracks-side door flew open, three people stepping out onto the bridge. One was the Enforcer from before, bloody and swollen but apparently spiteful enough to still be on his feet. His leg had been wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet, and he’d recovered his sword. The second was a towering dryad with long, vine-twined hair, the third a woman with vivid red hair and feather-textured skin. Leading the group, she stopped abruptly, her eyes widening when she saw Roman. Though already pale, she seemed to go paler at the sight of him.

After her meeting with Ivey, Maebhe recognized her as maranet.

“You,” the woman breathed. “Impossible.”

“If you say so, then let’s call me a figment of your imagination and let me pass,” Roman said with a cheeky grin. If he recognized her, he gave no indication.

The woman bared her teeth at him, revealing two sets of sharp fangs. Before she could respond, the Enforcer from before pushed past her in a rage, even as she tried grabbing for his arm to stop him. This time, there was no great fight. Roman dodged his blade and grabbed his arm, using his own momentum to carry him into a spin, then throwing him over the side of the bridge.

He screamed as he fell, and Maebhe knew she would never forget the sound.

Trying to take advantage of the chaos, the guard on the prison-side raised his rifle, but Kieran fired a warning shot at his feet. “Drop the gun!” Kieran called. “Over the wall, or I shoot!”

The guard didn’t hesitate to throw his rifle over the side, right after Roman’s Enforcer, but when Kieran sighed and lowered his own gun, the guard seized the opportunity. He threw himself through the door into the prison, narrowly missing Kieran’s second shot. There was no time for a third; the guard was gone, and it could only be to get reinforcements. Who knew how quickly they’d arrive.

Kieran swore and took a step as if to follow, but Maebhe grabbed his arm. “Just wait for Drys!”

The maranet woman chose that moment to spring into action: she drew the sword strapped to her back and surged forward, fast as lightning. Roman raised his sword to meet her, but instead of charging him, she ducked past and headed for Maebhe instead. Only Roman’s speed saved Maebhe; he shifted his weight and launched himself at the woman, slamming her shoulder-first into the bridge wall, making her grunt and nearly drop her sword over the edge. Between one moment and the next, a knife appeared in her free hand, and Roman had to push away fast to avoid its blade.

He couldn’t dodge it entirely. He flung himself to the opposite wall, but he was grimacing when he hit it, the cream of his shirt rapidly turning vivid red. The woman followed him, slashing viciously with her knife, a snarl on her face. Roman dodged and dodged, but when she brought it down in a clean arc toward his heart, he only had time to hold a hand up. It pierced through the palm of his hand to the other side, but the blade stopped there, only an inch from his chest. With a pained hiss, Roman used the grip to wrench the knife out of the woman’s hand, though the movement made his expression twist further.

The woman retreated several steps, as if to give him time to recover. Maebhe thought it odd, but then the woman clicked her tongue, a disappointed sound. “The last time we met, you didn’t fight back. Now you’re holding back this time, too. Won’t you give it your all?”

Roman smiled as he pulled the blade out of his hand. It wasn’t one of his cheerful, fake smiles; it was dark and twisted. “If I gave it my all, Bellona, you’d be dead in seconds.”

“It’s Evelyne!” the woman snapped, charging him again.

Maebhe couldn’t watch. Roman’s injuries happened because of her, because this Evelyne knew Maebhe was a weakness to exploit. She peered nervously over the wall just as Drys reappeared, their wings causing a gust of wind that blew her hair back.

It was then the maranet realized what they were doing, how they planned to escape. She whipped her head around to shout at her remaining comrade, “Go! Gather as many as you can and get down to the beach!”

The dryad nodded and turned to run back into the barracks.

“No, you don’t!” Roman hissed. He threw the knife, and Maebhe watched it spin as if in slow-motion. It hit its target, sinking deep into the dryad’s shoulder and making him stumble, but he pushed through the door anyway and disappeared from sight.

They were officially out of time.

“Get Kieran!” Maebhe shouted at Drys. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll make my own way down!”

“What does that mean?” Kieran asked, but Maebhe was already climbing onto the wall. Behind her, Roman and the maranet woman were circling each other, but seeing this, they both paused to stare.

Maebhe met Roman’s gaze, and he nodded. “Go. Don’t wait for me.”

Maebhe’s heart clenched. Despite the fear running through her in violent tremors, she nodded back. “Good luck.”

“Maebhe, wait—,” Kieran started.

But there was no time. She didn’t know what would happen to Roman, but she knew that if he had to worry about the rest of them, he stood no chance. She took a steadying breath and jumped, hearing Kieran shout her name as the sea rose up to greet her.

Whew, this chapter is intense! I think it's one of my personal favorites, in terms of streams crossing. Evelyne and our orinians, face to face! And what's up with her and Roman? What past do those two have? Also, quite the cliff hanger, huh? (Get it? Cliff hanger?)

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