Stolen (Magi Rising Book 1) Read online

  My gaze darted to the other Serîk in time to not only hear his strangled protest but to see the emotions narrow his eyes and harden his jaw.

  Bîcav was taller than the other magî, and less tanned than the other two Serîk, but still not as pale as Rünê. The guard was built, big muscles and broad-shouldered, and his entire frame stiffened with the order. He opened his mouth and then slowly closed it. Giving a sidelong glance to Rünê, Bîcav grabbed my arm and said, “I hope you’re right, but I still don’t like it.”

  “I’m not crazy about the idea either, just so you know,” I ground out. I looked down at the scrap of fabric in my hand, the piece of Esi’s tunic, and Svîk’s necklace—the evidence of my naiveté. How was it possible the magî I thought was my best friend actually killed my best friend and I didn’t know? My throat clogged with emotion—loss, hurt, betrayal, and guilt—but after everything else that had happened today, I refused to bawl in front of these monsters. I scrubbed the tears from my eyes and cleared my throat, but my feelings continued to swell, making me nauseated. How did he fool me? How could the magî of Pûleêr let him control them? How was it even possible for him to manipulate so thoroughly?

  “He was not what you think,” Bîcav said as he crouched down to glare at me. “And you better not throw up on me.”

  We mounted the horses and started to ride, but the guard behind me grew more rigid every second until he finally bellowed, “I know. I heard it—every single time.” He exhaled and pulled his horse closer to Rünê and muttered, “You’re practically shouting it at me. Stop apologizing and tell me what happened instead.”

  There was silence for several minutes, and I turned in the saddle to see Bîcav wide-eyed, looking from me to Rünê. “She told him—you—that?”

  “What?” I sat up, balling my hands. “What are you saying?”

  Bîcav looked down on me, his eyes glistening, but his face was filled with pity—for me. “In the clearing, you told Ruin, the panthera, to gut the Serîk who’d attacked you.”

  I exhaled, and all of the fight left with my breath. That memory was seared in my mind, and the only one who would know it was Ruin. While almost nothing else made sense, they’d told the truth.

  “Will you help me get the rest of my answers? Help me find out who I am?” I swallowed back the hope and fear, both battling through me, and added, “Please?”

  Bîcav’s gaze went to his leader, and I shifted to stare at the dark-haired magî.

  The air around him seemed to sizzle, and I had to stuff down the yearning to reach out to him. He leaned forward, and Bîcav coughed—or chuckled—making the panthera-magî straighten.

  “Fine,” he growled. “We want the same answers anyway.”

  I took a deep breath and decided to play nice. Because right now, in this moment, finding answers was enough.

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  Illusions—Sneek Peek

  I glanced back toward Pûleêr, and my stomach lurched. Would I ever go back? Sadness gripped my chest and twisted because everything there was a lie.

  “Probably not,” Bîcav answered my question from behind me. “But would you really want to?”

  I didn’t bother answering him or asking how he knew my thoughts. He must have telepathy magîk or something like it. Instead, I probed for more information—the only thing I could think of to distract me. “Are we really going to Yândarî?”

  Bîcav didn’t answer, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t know or if he didn’t want me to know. I opened my mouth to ask him another question, but he cut me off.

  “Don’t. Not now. I need to listen so we don’t get caught.”

  Not getting caught sounded important. And while I wasn’t sure I agreed with their plan—Rot, I didn’t even know what their plan was—I was equally unsure about my disagreement. I felt worse than I had when I came to my senses in the clearing with Ruin because I had no one to trust—including my own judgement.

  We rode all day, staying on the Western Rê, stopping once when Nebe asked to use the bathroom. We ate fruit from the Nerazî and then continued our journey. I stared at the muddy earth and the foliage of the Nerazî for hours, and the longer I looked, the more perplexed I became. The Western Rê was completely clear; the ground muddy, but not overtly so; the horses didn’t struggle with their steps, and the muck didn’t cling tenaciously to their hooves. There were leaves mixed in with the dirt, but most shocking of all, there were no workers beating back the growth from the Nerazî. The dense jungle just stopped at the edge of the road. Why was it different here? Did Svîk come to Puleer for me, or had he been hiding, like he said? Were these magi telling the truth or manipulating me with their lies? Because if Svîk had known who I was, why did he say he didn’t? He’d been so angry—

  “That way, Rünê,” Bîcav said, suddenly yelling over my head. “There’s another small outpost down the next path on your right.”

  “Bawêrî? Is it good?” Rünê asked, slowing his mount. Of course the horse was all black like the fur of his beastly form, probably like his soul.

  “I’m picking up mostly minor magî,” the other Serîk answered. “But there’s a few with some strength. It’s as good of a place as any.”

  Rünê glanced up at the canopy. The deepening hues of light filtering through the leaves declared the day almost done. “Do we know the name of this post?”

  “Not yet,” Bîcav said. “We’ll be close enough in a few minutes for me to hear their thoughts. Then I’ll let you know.” He took a deep breath, his chest pushing me forward, and then, just loud enough for me to hear, said, “That was Svîk’s amulet.”

  “How would you know?” I asked, turning in the saddle to examine him. I was desperate to know if I could trust them, and something about Bîcav’s reaction to Svîk’s death—especially toward Rünê—gave me a wisp of hope.

  The emotion ravaging my captor’s face made me gape. I blinked and turned around without saying anything more—mostly because whatever other questions I’d had were gone in the face of his pain.

  Bîcav cleared his throat and then whispered, “He was my brother.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to shut out his anguish while processing this new bit of knowledge. My thoughts flitted from piece to piece of information, loosely grasping for meaning as well as attempting to put them in an order that made sense.

  “Bîcav?” Rünê snapped. “The name!”

  The Serik swore under his breath, and pity welled up from inside me. Keeping my eyes closed, I muttered, “This is Terit.”

  The outpost Terit was almost exactly like Pûleêr. A branch off the Western Re led into the post with a bell tower at the junction of the Little Re and what I assumed was their perimeter road. Inside the entrance was a communal area with a large building I assumed was a kitchen. To the left of the kitchen were privy houses—much nicer than we’d had in Puleer—and to the right of the communal kitchen, a small chicken coop and a pen of goats. Several dozen tables filled the clearing, far more than in Puleer, and the magi of Terit sat enjoying a hearty meal of taro and plantains when we arrived.

  Bêrde’s friendly magi-illusion called a greeting, and the group froze, the clatter of dropped dishes a forboding welcome.

  Before I could mutter a snide comment, female magi burst into tears, followed by the screams of young ones. The distress in the clearing became palpable, and I glanced at Rünê. He clicked and urged his mount into the clearing and then descended, the rest of our party following.

  “Nice welcome,” I muttered, feeling my own alarm simmering anew. What was I doing here with these men? I’d promised Rünê to go with him so he’d spare Rojek, but did that matter now?

  “It matters,” Bîcav said, lifting me off the horse. “If you promise Rünê, or anyone who means something to him, it matters.”

  Right. Dise
mbowelment. I liked my guts right where they were. Bîcav stepped away from me, and my morbid thoughts jumped back to Svîk’s death, and then my stomach turned. Why did he go to such lengths to manipulate me—to isolate me? Poor Esi—Fetid rot. Esi had a cousin in Terit. Could I find her? And then what . . . I looked past the clearing to the darkening Nerazî. Could I escape in the jungle?

  Bîcav snorted.

  “Please,” the smiling man said, waving his hands at the villagers. “Please, calm yourselves. We—”

  “Don’t promise them false,” Rünê growled, almost like he’d overheard my conversation with Bîcav. “We’ll have to find at least one or two here to take with us.”

  Bêrde frowned, and the image faltered before solidifying again. “We will sup with you tonight,” the illusion said. “And please accept our gratitude for your hospitality.”

  Hospitality. The occupants at the table nearest to where Rünê stood lashing his horse to the rail by the kitchen cleared out, most of them leaving their plates. That was some serious permissiveness—or fear.

  “Don’t say anything to them,” Bîcav said. He stared at me and added, “Any of them. You don’t know her cousin’s name, and it wouldn’t do you or her any favors if you did find her.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I snapped. I was pretty much done with being told what to do and not do. I was pretty much done with today.

  He merely shrugged as he stepped around me. “Suit yourself. You’ll only make it worse.”

  I grimaced, not even sure what it he was referring to. And worse for who?

  The air smelled of sweat, mud, and overripe fruit. I filed through the kitchen, saying nothing as the server slopped taro on my plate. Nebe stood in front of Bawêrî who stood in front of Bêrde who stood in front of Bîcav. I turned around, looking for the last member of our party, and met the dark gaze of Rünê.

  He said nothing, just watched me with those predatory eyes, his pupils so wide they swallowed all of the blue. He smiled, a tight expression that reminded me I was his captive.

  How had I believed I was safe with him? How could he be Ruin? Why the rot did I promise him anything? My skin crawled, and I narrowed my eyes, my witty retorts abandoning me. I faced forward, and Bîcav’s dark eyes pinned me, the depths brown instead of black or blue but just as hardened. “What?” I snapped, finding my voice. “What’s your problem?”

  Bîcav pursed his lips, his features pinching into a troubled expression. “Nothing,” he said, raising his gaze over my head. “Nothing.”

  I grabbed my plate and stepped out of line. Whatever fare I was missing didn’t matter. My appetite was gone, just like my freedom. “I hate you both.”

  I marched out into the clearing and to our table, skirting past Nebe, Bawêrî, and Bêrde to the opposite end. I pushed back a plate to make space for my own and dropped the dish to the table. I shoved a bite of plantain into my mouth, hardly tasting the dry, starchy sustenance as I forced myself to chew and swallow.

  Someone set a mug of liquid in front of me, and I caught a flash of his black jerkin. He came around the table and sat on the bench across from me, but I kept my gaze down, not wanting to know which of the men was showing concern.

  “It’s not about concern,” Bîcav said. “It’s survival. If you get dehydrated, you’ll slow us down. Every member affects the entire party; the collective strength is only that of the weakest member.”

  “I’m the weakest?” I asked, jerking my head up to glare at him. “Then why bother?”

  A second mug slammed to the table, milky coconut water sloshing over the rim and puddling on the wood. A moment later, Rünê’s scent wafted across to me, and he said, “Don’t answer that.”

  Maybe I should be scared. Nebe seemed plenty scared, sitting quietly by Bawêrî while she picked at her food. I glared at the two magî across from me, the livid simmer making it impossible to think rationally. Why couldn’t I remember who I was? I had to know something, but all I got for my frustration was a dull headache. I needed a break.

  “Drink your water,” Bîcav said. “Before you take a minute to yourself, finish that entire mug.”

  I swung my leg over the bench, ready to leave when Rünê cleared his throat. “If he tells you something, it’s the same as if it came from me.”

  My gaze darted from him to Bîcav who pointed at the mug. Was he kidding me? I had to obey them when they told me to eat and drink, too?

  The rest of the villagers remained sitting at their tables, and I wondered if there was an understanding I was unaware of. Probably. Undoubtedly.

  I rotated back toward them and leaned over until Bîcav met my gaze. I spoke slowly, enunciating every word. “Stay. Out. Of. My. Head.”

  Rünê growled, and I swung my head to glare at him, but he merely pointed to the mug.

  I picked it up and sipped at the tepid fluid. I hated coconut water. I hated coconut everything. I wanted cheese, creamy, tangy goat cheese. Maybe with some nuts and fruit. I dreamed about my favorite foods while I sat, playing with my taro and sipping on the disgusting liquid.

  “No,” Bîcav said suddenly, drawing my attention. “There’s too much suspicion, and they know too much. That won’t work here.”

  He frowned at Rünê and paused, the silence between them stretching, his expression darkening as if listening to bad news.

  “My limitation is not a failure,” Bîcav said, clenching his hands. He leaned over the table and continued in a low voice, “At least we have an answer so we don’t do anything foolish.”

  I tilted my head back as I finally understood. While Rünê was silent, Bîcav was pulling the questions out of the panthera-magi’s mind. But Rünê lacked telepathic power, so Bîcav had to answer out loud. I was hearing one side of the conversation, leaving me to wonder what Rünê’s questions were.

  “You could take one or two here and then go to the next outpost and see. It all depends.” Another pause, and then Bîcav shrugged. “I can’t know until we’re there.”

  Rünê clenched his teeth, and his nostrils flared. “We’re running out of time.”

  The last of the sun’s light melted away into the encroaching darkness as I finished my water. The people of Terit remained in the clearing, but torches suddenly sparked, lit either by magîk or flint, and I saw people moving in the shadows as they worked. The orange glow bathed the common area in contrasts, and I glanced at the members of this outpost, wondering why they didn’t band together to fight against the small group of Serîk.

  I drained the last of my mug. The warm liquid might be good for me, but it didn’t taste good. I set the clay mug on the worn wooden table and asked, “Now, may I be excused? Or would you rather I relieve myself in your presence?”

  Rünê looked at Bîcav who nodded. Yeah, he so wasn’t staying out of my head.

  “You have five minutes to be back,” Rünê said without looking at me. “Or Bîcav will come in and get you.”

  “What if I’m blocked up?” I asked, wiping a lock of my dark hair away from my face. The retort escaped before I had time to think it through, but as soon as it was out, I realized I didn’t care. I doubled down and glared at him.

  Rünê dragged his plantain through the sticky taro paste. “Then he’ll have to smell your excrement. I reckon he’ll find his own way to make that even with you.”

  Bîcav grimaced and shook his head.

  “You’ve got four minutes—” Rünê dropped the plantain and looked up. “—and forty-five seconds, Taja. Better go.”

  Hate wasn’t a strong enough word.

  **Preorder Illusions HERE**

  Acknowledgments

  This story has been such a journey ,and I’ve had SO much help getting it out to readers. So thank you to Julie, Anne, Susan, and Melissa for being early alpha readers. Second round was even more mammoth, so thanks to Kelly, Melissa, Meg, Wendy, Kel, Dawn, and Kristin for all the input on this story. Krystal, I never would’ve gotten it out if not for you. Thank you for the revisions x ad
nauseum. I feel immensely blessed to have such a supportive network of friends. Hugs and kisses and chocolate and all the other good things!

  And Joy, I’m not sure I’d get anything done without you. Thank you for being the yin to my wacky-yang. lol

  Thank you to my family for all your support! Jason, Jacob, Seth, and Anna—I will love you forever and always. No matter what.

  To Leia and Kim who inspired me to look into the law of attraction. #LOAfortheWIN

  To my parents who continue to inspire me—Thank you for your friendship.

  To the Father and Son—It is because of Your sacrifices and love that we have the opportunities of eternity. Words are insufficient to express my gratitude.

  About the Author

  RAYE WAGNER hates writing bios. She’d much rather tell you a story. She’s partial to fantasy, with dragons or magic or something so she can lie and not feel guilty.

  When she isn’t writing, dreaming, or lying, Raye is with her family . . . preferably at the beach.

  You can sign up for Raye’s newsletter, HERE to be notified of new releases and to get exclusive sneak peeks.

  Connect with Raye on social media here: Instagram|Twitter|Facebook|Website

  Also by Raye Wagner:

  Magi Rising

  Stolen

  Illusions (May 2019)

  Betrayal (July 2019)

  ***

  The Sphinx Series

  Origin of the Sphinx: A Sphinx Prequel Story

  Cursed by the Gods

  Demigods and Monsters

  Son of War: A Sphinx Companion Story

  Myths of Immortality

  Daughter of Darkness: A Sphinx Companion Story

  Fates and Furies

  Sphinx Coloring Book, Vol. 1

  Forthcoming: