City of Mages

Chapter 4: Quenti

The trip to Cielo gave Quenti too many hours to think. Each day that passed, her hope of escape drained from her. She knew that once they reached the teeming tunnels of the Haven, there was little hope of coming out. Her mother had told stories of the city beneath the mountain and the magia users that disappeared into its depths.

Terror gripped her throat and refused to let go, growing with each mile traveled. She had failed her mama. After all the times she had saved her, here she was heading directly to the center of their country, to the Council her mother had all but despised.

She spent each night huddled against the cold, away from the dying fire as her captors turned in. Plans of escape flooded her mind every evening. But it had been a hopeless thought. Each night, her eyes burning with exhaustion, she watched the guards pace their campsite, unerring as they took their shifts. Her weariness weighed on her body like a stone as she watched the guards standing dead still against a tree, eyes focused on her. By the fourth night, without her permission, her eyes closed and didn't open until the bustling of the camp woke her, the sky a pale mauve.

She knew she needed to sleep if she had any chance of escape. She tried sleeping in the day, ignore the prattling of the idiot girl beside her and the banging of the wagon along the stone path. Sunlight filtered between the trees, sending a constantly dance of light and dark across her eyelids. It was impossible to relax surrounded as she was.

By the time the cart had made its way into the shadow of Cielo, her entire body was heavy and sluggish. She hadn't even managed to find a moment to slip away when she was left to do her business. There was always a female councilguard casually leaning on a tree near enough to grab her if she ran.

Quenti looked up as the city rose above them, eyes burning and body numb. The mountain loomed large—larger than any of the more shallow hills around. And rather than the rich green of the cloud forest, it sparkled with color in the late morning sun. The white walls of the city sparkled and a rainbow of rooftops stretched across the cascading levels of streets. At the top, a dome made entirely of crystal and stone overshadowed the entire city. She couldn't help the small gasp that fell from her lips at the sight.

But when the dense doors had shut behind them and the cold councilwoman—Emaru—had jumped down from her l'lamaga, Quenti's mind went into high alert. There was no time for exhaustion. She was in enemy territory now. She almost smiled at the irony of this thought—enemy territory—the capital city of her own country.

As Quenti followed her dull-witted companion Alara out of the cart, the councilwoman waved her hand toward them. A sharp breeze pelted the two of them, almost threatening to knock her backward. She seized up involuntarily, anticipating a follow-up attack until she noticed its purpose. The flurry of air was cold, but it dried the loose water on her skin and clothes quickly. Quenti felt her caution morph into annoyance. She could have driven the water away using her own abilities, thank you very much. In a mark of defiance, she did just that, pushing the remaining moisture off of her body and clothes, leaving it almost completely dry within seconds.

The councilwoman smiled, which was the exact opposite reaction Quenti had hoped for.

Damn.

Quenti knew it was petty, but behind enemy walls, every detail of her abilities could be used against her. She took a deep breath and smelled the musty scent of damp earth, nothing like the clear, crisp scent of her hometown.

She cast her eyes around the large cavern where their unloaded collection of carts and camping supplies sat. The coachmen ushered the l'lamas and l'lamagas off through a corridor to the right, which Quenti assumed led to a stable of some sort.

The councilwoman guided them forward to where the cavern narrowed into another corridor. She stood straight as she walked—almost stiff—making her tall, thin frame oddly formidable. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and pulled back in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Quenti winced as she stared at the woman's hairline, which was pulled taut, with the base of the hair bearing a red tint. This detail, of all things, made her realize how much she did not want to be on this woman's bad side. Anyone who could put up with that much self-inflicted pain likely warranted some form of fear.