Forbidden Art Read online

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  Myraza grew distant. A slow twist of Kinian’s head prevented Jarrod from shaking her, and the curls of hot breath mingling with the chill air drew his attention. The floor grew soft and cold, snow where there should be stone. Fear and uncertainty moved him back a pace, yet curiosity and concern for his friend prevented him from fleeing.

  Apparitions of men formed before them, the woman’s transparent form waving her hands and yelling though no sound emerged. Even when the speech met their his, Jarrod continued to stare at Myraza. Her flesh paled to white and the violet hue of her irises cooled to icy blue. The air bent and weaved around her, almost as if in pain, and his hair stood all over his body, pulled by something unseen while his flesh crawled.

  In that moment he understood just how special his friend was. She used the forbidden art of magic as if it were commonplace, but his true fear arose from the insane glee twinkling in his father’s eyes and the vicious amusement lifting the lips of his brother much like a ravenous tiger regarding the last breaths of its prey. Jarrod felt as if two strangers stood before him.

  Jarrod’s fright rose; his breathing quickening, limbs shaking, and sweat beading on his brow. The scene faded and the temperature slowly increase to normal. Myraza blinked and the adults turned their attention to the panicking youth making him feel hunted. Jarrod fainted.

  2

  Weeks passed before Jarrod’s fear of the forbidden art’s impact on his family settled at the hand of Myraza’s pure heart. Despite his anxiety, she continued in her joyous bounding and play while in his presence. He leaned against one of the support beams in the throne room, watching her with a soft smile over his face. None of the other children were anything like her, and he preferred her to them even knowing her dark secret.

  The room was silent other than the padding of her feet on the carpet and stone. His father worked in his office in the back with the door closed, and knights guarded the main entrance. They were safe, but he felt uneasy. He attributed it to his continued fretting over his friend’s power, and decided it was an accurate assumption when his stomach knotted at lines of blue magic trailing her steps.

  Jarrod grabbed her arm when she ran by him. She spun into his arms and the children fell together with Myraza’s laughter echoing. He smiled in spite of himself. “You can’t do that, Myraza. It’s dangerous.”

  Her head tilted, the grin locked firmly in place. “I run.”

  “Running is okay, but not magic.” He stood and helped her. “Don’t—”

  Angry voices filtered into the room, muffled by the barred doors. “I will have you leave. The king is not holding audience,” a knight boomed.

  “Good thing I am not here to see the king.” The waspish words were followed by the screeching of a sword flying from its sheath. “Move or be moved.”

  Swords clashed. Jarrod took Myraza’s hand and ran, tripping with every step. He dove behind the throne and pushed Myraza into the crevice hidden under the red drape. “Stay here. Be quiet.”

  Her eyes lit. “Hide-seek?”

  The throne room doors thundered, horrendous pounding causing the wood to splinter. “Yeah. Hide from the bad men.” He dropped the cloth cover and stood, glancing at the short sword at his side that he didn’t know how to use.

  The thought of drawing the blade fell to panic. He chose a support beam far from Myraza and slid behind it, pressing his back against it in an attempt to remain unseen. Every strike to the wood made him jump. His heart tried to beat out of his chest and he forgot to breathe until his head grew light and he gasped.

  Wood exploded and the jingling of men in chain mail followed. “Search everywhere. I want her found.” The man’s voice resembled the growling of a bear.

  “There are precious few places where a child could be,” the man with the wasp voice noted. “No need to be testy.”

  “You tread dangerous ground.”

  Malicious laughter sounded. “Oh, if you only knew. She hides behind the throne. Go fetch her.”

  “And turn my back on you? Are you daft? I hired you to retrieve her.”

  “False. You hired me to find her. Consider her found.” Whistling, the man departed.

  “Forget him! Get her so we can leave.”

  Shaking, Jarrod drew his blade and ran before the throne. The men held to rough appearance, all bearded and covered in filth. They wore chain mail over padded jerkins, and their pants had enough holes to render them virtually useless cover for their legs. Each sword, however, was sharp and coated in blood.

  “You can’t pass.” Jarrod lifted his gaze to meet that of the leader, whose dense black beard went well with his voice in crafting a bear. “I-I won’t let you.” His youthful voice trembled.

  The man rumbled in mirth, his gut shaking his mail. “And you would be Prince Jarrod.” He rolled his arm in a mocking bow. “What a pleasure it is to meet such a brave young man.” He straightened and flicked his wrist towards the throne. “Claim both the girl and the prince.”

  Jarrod tensed, but remained.

  The office door swung open. “Touch my brother and you die.” Everyone halted at Darius’s declaration.

  “Darius.”

  The men backed away, swords ready. Darius stepped beside Jarrod. “Did you truly think I would allow you to walk in here and claim that which is not yours, Trent? Did you not stop once to ponder over how easy it was to make it this far? I appreciate your idiocy in falling for such a simple ploy. You even hired our demon to help you!”

  Trent sneered. “You lie.”

  “And you will learn your folly through blood. Mazin cannot have her.” He drew his blade with one hand and shoved Jarrod back with the other. “Behind the throne, boy.”

  Stumbling, Jarrod scurried to join Myraza, who sat smiling without any show of fear. To settle his nerves and hold the contents of his stomach, he wrapped his arms around her. Huddled together, they listened to the screams and collapse of every man that fell victim to Darius’s blade. True terror came when his brother began laughing slow and cold mechanical laughter that set chills to his bones. Holding a bearer of forbidden arts, fighting fear on the mention of a demon, and listening to the malicious chortles of a man he admired, Jarrod truly believed that he found his way to Hell.

  3

  Quiet conversation pulled Jarrod from his troubled sleep. Darkness smothered him when his eyes opened, with only the faint outline of the throne drape breaking through. Myraza’s steady breathing lifted and lowered the arm he still had draped around her chest, and her head rested on the other. He remained still so as not to wake her.

  “It will take ages to cleanse the blood from the rug.” Kinian spoke from atop the throne, the chair serving to enhance the volume for the hiding child.

  “No bother. It shall serve as a reminder of the rewards of treason.” Darius snickered. “I could paint for you if you wish; the energy reaped from them was rather satisfying.”

  Much to Jarrod’s shock and dismay, Kinian chuckled. “I take it you lust for another true battle?”

  “Need I beg, father?”

  “No.” He paused to the sound of boots striking ground. “Welcome back, Demon. I commend you for a job well done.”

  “Was there doubt?” Jarrod recognized the wasp voice even though it no longer had an edge, and actually held a glib air. “Our little hero still slumbers with the damsel, I see.”

  “You can see them through the throne?” All levels of curiosity drove Kinian’s words.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know? Enough about my brilliance; you know what you need to do now, correct?”

  “I could never hide her from him.”

  “I can help.”

  Darius growled. “At what price?”

  “Well, seeing how you no longer have a soul, I suppose that’s no longer an option.” A blade squealed from its sheath, and the demon chuckled. “Put that away before you poke an eye out. I want Mazin dead, but extenuating circumstances are preventing me from assaulting him directly. I have a plan
that will take a few years to implement, if you are willing.”

  “Sheath that, Darius.” Kinian shifted. “Interesting. And Myraza?”

  “You have a tower that has been out of use. It’d be a shame to leave it in such a desolate state.”

  “So we seal her?”

  “We seal her curse, your highness. The beast rumored to live within these walls holds a curse too frightening to release to the world, yet it can’t be killed.”

  “I cannot hide her from Mazin.”

  “No, but I can. Gather the child and I’ll give you a hint of what I can accomplish.”

  4

  People filed from the halls as Jarrod stalked forward at a brisk pace, his broad face a raging storm and his blonde hair matted. His leather doublet had a coating of dust, but he lacked the time to groom. Nobles and servants welcomed the teen home as he passed and congratulated him for his recent victory over the belligerent bandits. This darkened his mood further, and his speed increased.

  He stopped at the base of the western tower stairs and waited for the bearded guard before it to speak. “I’m sorry, your highness, but the king said no one is to pass.”

  Jarrod glared, causing the man to fidget. “Will you stop me?” His hand fell on his sword. “Think carefully.”

  The man stepped aside and bowed his head. “I will not. Forgive me, your highness.”

  Jarrod patted the man’s shoulder as he jogged past him. “Good man. I shall speak for you.”

  He darted up the stairs that always seemed longer with each climb. In his anger, the time passed