Torn From Hope
Chapter Seven: A New Kind of Magic
by starzsong magick

A/N: Very very long. I was planning to break it in two, but I didn't want all kinds of reviews & flames saying that they hated me for killing... um... well, you have to read it. Or maybe I could've put both chapters up at once. I dunno.

I'd better get a lot of reviews for this... or else! Just kidding. This is probably the hardest I've worked one any chapter. AND I started crying, when I got to the... uh... yeah. The part. You gotta read to find out. And I'll stoip rambling now... disclaimer below... and then story! Yay!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters below, except for the weather-mage boy Peseli, and the Mithran priestie guy. All is copyright of Tamora Pierce! Plot is mine though; don't you dare steal it! :)


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To the average passer-by, Numair looked as if he had something slightly annoying on his mind, or was waiting for someone who was late, perhaps. Daine knew better. That set, almost distressed look on his face always meant one thing: he was angry, and as he was the most powerful mage in the Eastern Lands, whoever he was mad at had better look out.

"Maybe you should shape-shift and fly to Tortall," Numair suggested in a whisper, in case any spies were about.
Daine shook her head. "I'm still too weak to go that far." The young woman pushed a stray curl out of her eyes. "And even so, what would I say? 'Oh, the duke of the Yamanis is after me; I need help'? No... I don't believe it would work. We should tell him that we know of his plan, that we have all of Tortall behind us, and... and..."

"But what if he refused to give up, and decided to have you killed here, on this ship? No. Right before we get to the islands, you will shape-shift and escape, understand? I'm not taking chances." Numair's chin was set stubbornly before he added, softer, barely audible, "No chances. Not for my magelet."

Daine turned around. She'd been watching the sea below. "What?"

Something changed within his eyes. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

That night, Daine sat on her bed, worrying. She had been in near-death situations before, ones with even slimmer chances to live than this. This would be easy. She didn't know how she could fly before wearing out, but at least she could still escape.

But a new thought came to her mind: What about Numair? Surely the duke would find out that Numair had told her of his plan to kill her. He'd be executed, too.

Daine slid off of her bed, landing on the wooden floor with a small thump. I'm exhausted, she thought vaguely, before standing and leaving her room. She walked down the hall until she found the room with the number '34'. Before she had a chance to knock, the door opened. The man in the doorway jumped back.

"Daine!" Numair looked surprised. "I was just coming to tell you something."

"Oh, um..." Daine smiled. "Me too."

"Come in for a moment," Numair whispered. Daine walked in and took a seat on a bench as the mage checked the hallway, then warded the room with a spell to keep anyone from spying on them. Finally he sat down beside her.

Daine glanced into his eyes and gulped. He seemed deeply troubled.

"Daine..." Numair stopped, then continued. "I overheard the duke telling one of his men—"

The wildmage cut him off. "You 'overheard' again? You must have very sensitive ears..." she muttered.
"As I was saying." Numair tried to glare, but couldn't. The uneasy look returned to his face again. "He said he's decided to have it done tomorrow."

"It?" Daine frowned, but remembered. "Oh. It. Me. My death." She shook nervously.

"And you obviously won't have enough strength to fly much more than a mile by tomorrow, so our only alternative would be to confront him, and... let him know."

"What about you? Does he have anything... planned... for you?"

"Yes, about a month from now." No matter how hard they tried, they could not say the 'd' word.

She continued shaking; Numair put a starved arm around her. "Should we go now?" he suggested.

Daine nodded. "It would be better to get it over with."

They stood, and left the room. Numair took away the ward, and Daine shut the door, still shivering nervously. The shadows in the hall seemed alive, dancing, evil. It made her feel slightly disturbed to look at them; she moved closer to the mage.

Moments later the stood in front of the duke's special chambers.

"Ready?" asked Daine.

Numair nodded mutely.

She pushed open the great double door and found Dulong sitting on a low bench, smiling evilly. "I knew you'd come, Veralidaine," he whispered softly. She covered her ears. The sound of his awful voice tore at her, yet it beckoned. Numair put a firm hand on her shoulder, giving her extra confidence inside.

"Give up. We know your plan," she whispered back, eyes intent on his emerald ones.

"Actually," he said, almost politely, "It's quite the contrary to what you think."

Numair stepped away from Daine. "It doesn't matter the steps you take to acheive it. The purpose all the same: taking over these islands."

Daine kept her eyes on the duke's. "And I'm not going to let it happen. Even if this isn't my home."

Dulong rose, still with that odd, half-crazy grin on his face. "How will you stop me?" he called quietly. Suddenly his eyes glazed over, and he looked more insane than ever. The man pulled a lustrous silver object out of his robe pocket: a dagger. Without warning, he threw it straight at Numair.

The knife caught the mage in the chest; with a choked gasp, he fell. Daine grabbed his arm with a screech, letting his weight pull her down with him.

"Numair!" she cried, grabbing at the dagger embedded in him.

His hand came up and weakly brushed hers away. "Don't..." He coughed wetly. "It—won't—save me..." Numair's eyes closed.

"Numair!" Daine shrieked, her voice rising into a wail. "Numair! Numair Salmalín! Arram Draper! Noooo!" She collasped onto his body, weeping desperately. "You can't leave me!"

Memories of times past clouded her vision: when she had first found him, trapped in hawk form in a forest while tending to Onua's herd of horses; when he first taught her about her magic, years ago; when they were in the Divine Realms. "No," whimpered Daine, sobbing loudly. When he'd been sentenced to death in Carthak, when Daine had thought he'd been dead, and attacked the emperor's palace. It had turned out that he'd simply used a simulacrum; now it was different. He really was dying.

His hand, sticky with his own blood, closed around hers. With a loose, raspy breath, he muttered something incomprehensible, then was gone. She kissed him once, on the cheek. "Goodbye," she murmered.

Trembling, Daine rose to face Dulong, her eyes red with tears, and the front part of her dress soaked with Numair's dark blood. "You! Dulong! I hate you!" she screamed, " And I won't regret what I'm about to do!"

Turning, she pulled the dagger out of Numair's chest, and in one motion, threw it at the duke. He leaped out of the way, missing it by a matter of inches. It landed with a thud in a wall.

Daine growled, then threw herself on him, clawing with her fingernails for all she was worth. "Damn you!" she howled, voice twisted with grief and fury, before shape-shifting into a ferocious tiger.

"Damn yourself!" he cried back, reaching into his pocket.

Daine the tiger jumped back. He's probably getting out another dagger, she thought, but he didn't. Dulong kept his hand there as she froze in one spot, planning her next move. Moments passed, but neither moved. Forget the dagger, she thought. I'm getting him! Now!

She pounced into the air in a wide arch, then landed on him, her two-hundred pounds of tiger bowling him over. The man didn't have time to think. Daine bit once, hard, into his neck as he let out an anguishing scream, shaking all over. Then he stopped, and was still.

Daine quickly changed back into her human form. "Duke Dulong?" she asked. There was no answer from the lump on the ground. He was gone, too.

She turned away, and collasped onto a royal lampskin chair, staining it with the blood of two men. "Two royalties down... how many to go now?" she whispered to herself, attempting a joke. A few years ago, she had killed the former emperor of Carthak; now the Yamani Island's duke lay dead, too. She didn't feel happy though. How could you feel happy when you'd just ended someone's life, even if they were evil? And Numair...

She rolled down to the ground and weakly crawled over to the spot where the mage lay. Though he was covered in blood, with a large hole in his shirt, he looked so... peaceful. Daine squeezed in beside him, weeping softly.


Daine didn't know how long she lay there sobbing, half-asleep, just that it was morning now, and that no one had come in to check on the duke, which was odd. At last she sat up and looked down at her dress with a sorrowful smile. It was a wrinkled, bloody mess.

She stood, and turned away to gaze out the window, recalling the events of the previous day. Then she remembered Numair, and ducked her head. It had been her idea to confront Dulong, not Numair's. I'm the one who killed him, she thought, then repeated it aloud.

There was a slight pause as it echoed around the duke's chambers. "I'd rather you didn't think that was the cause of Mr. Salmalín's death," a loud, educated voice said behind her. "It's quite a contradiction of the truth."

She frowned. She had to be in denial, or hallucinating. Daine turned, and squeaked when she saw the owner of the voice. It was Numair. He walked over to her; Daine noticed uneasily that there was still a large rip in his shirt, where the dagger had killed him.

She backed up slowly, and Numair stopped when he saw the look on her face.

"What's wrong?" he called softly, "It's me."

"But you're supposed to be—" Daine stopped. She couldn't say the word.

Suddenly two palace guards burst in the room, faces covered in sweat. "The murderers are in here!" one shouted outside. Within seconds, the room was swarming with copper-skinned Yamanis, who pulled her arms behind her, tied them, and tied her feet together also.

They towed her off and down the hallway. She blushed with humiliation. Nobles were staring out at her from safely inside their rooms; many made the Sign against evil. Moments later she sat, gasping, on the dirt floor of a cell in the ship's temporary dungeon.

"This will be your home until your trial," her captors said, pushing Numair in also. There was a screeching noise as one sealed the jail with his Gift before walking away. Daine stared at the dirt floor as the jeering calls of prisoners in other cells echoed throughout the room.

Numair gazed at her, thoughtful. "You think you're delirious, don't you? I'm supposed to be dead and gone."

Daine nodded mutely.

"But the world is full of complex things," he said sensibly. The mage sat down close beside her, putting his hand beneath her chin. He lifted it gently.

"Tell me what you see." Numair whispered, watching her intently. He sat absolutely still.

She quivered slightly, all too aware of his hand on her chin. "I see..." Daine swallowed hard, then started shaking crazily. "I see you. I see Numair."

"Yes, magelet." He took his hand away, then put his arm around her.

"But it's not possible!" she murmered, and began to cry again. She took the kerchief he offered her and blew her nose.

"You used magic to bring me back." Numair put his hand over Daine's mouth before she could answer him. "You used love."

"But how? It's not possible. Are you sure? Love?" she whispered.

"Yes, love, my lovely love."

Daine buried her face in his torn shirt, weeping joyfully. She didn't know how it was possible, but somehow it was Love... a new kind of magic.

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A/N: That's not the end... there's still the trial thingie, you know. And don't ask me why Numair knows that love is how he came back to life. He's the one saying it, not me!