“He came under the guise of friendship, claiming he sought the teachings of Moritan,” Simi said, his sudden contribution to the discussion startling her.
Beside her, Xavier stiffened.
The answer that had eluded her had never seemed clearer.
“A dragon came to you and stole it?”
“As is the nature of their kind,” Simi confirmed.
Xavier said nothing, and the two men didn’t look at him. He wasn’t his grandfather, and had nothing to do with the crimes of the ancient dragon, but one glance at him told her the matter weighed heavily on him.
She wondered how much of a desire to right his family’s wrongs drove him now.
“And now Grandmother thinks that we should place our trust in another,” Ahrak growled. “The same thing will happen again.”
“Brother—”
“No. This is anekhra, and you know it as well, Hyraj. This creature wearing the skin of an elf will take from us and we will be worse off for it. We should not show them the way. We should leave them to their fate. If Moritan truly desires their company, he will show them the way!”
“But what if the dragon speaks the truth and dark things arrive to take the treasure?”
“Then we go into the mountain and take it ourselves. We are strong enough to do it.”
“Grandmother forbade that. Going inside that volcano now would be death to us!”
“Grandmother doesn’t know everything.”
Hyraj wheeled back as if he’d struck her. Even Simi flinched. Perhaps in their culture, his words were no different than a physical blow. Rosalia stood by, observing the escalating family argument. She sought Xavier’s gaze, but he stood rigid and facing away from her, refusing to make eye contact.
It wasn’t right.
“Are you going to be the one to tell Grandmother that you disobeyed her command?” Hyraj demanded.
“Hy—”
“No. Your behavior is a dishonor to us all. You spit on Grandmother. You spit on me to suggest I should disobey her, that I know better than her wisdom.”
Visible pain washed over Ahrak’s features. “I did not suggest you knew better.”
“Oh? Then what is it when you say she does not know everything—that we are to strand our guests in the lava fields? You clearly believe this is right, and in agreeing with you, so would I.” The woman dragged in a breath and stared up at him. “I am disappointed in you.”
Rosalia could not have chastised a child more thoroughly Hyraj’s verbal castigation of her brother. By the end, his chin dipped and his head hung—an absurd sight for a man so large and broad in the shoulders as the bald Mori man.
“You shame me, and rightfully so,” he agreed after a heavy sigh. “So be it. We guide the outsiders to Mori’onga.”
“Apologies, Xavier. My brother does not always think with his sense, and at times gives in to the passions of the heart.”
“No harm done.”
Every minute afterward amplified and stretched in length on account of the awkward mood between the three men. Warmth bled from the ground around them and baked the air with stifling heat worse than the desert they’d traveled.
As no one else complained, or even paused to wipe their brows, Rosalia remained silent for the duration of the journey. At last, when it seemed the enchanted soles of her boots could bear no more, Hyraj stopped.
“We can go no further with you.” Hyraj and her brothers remained standing a safe distance away from the shimmering magma field. The area pulsed with heat and the life of living flame. Crackles of molten earth appeared in great fissures that spread beyond her line of sight, creating orange rivers snaking down the cliffs. “Contrary to what my brother says, it isn’t safe for us to head closer to the volcano. We will wait for you here.”
Rosalia wasn’t entirely certain it was safe for her to head up to the active volcano. She stared at the particles of ash and cinder floating in the air then turned her head to glance at Xavier.
“I’m with you,” came his solemn vow, before he placed most of his belongings with their guides, folded his clothes into Rosalia’s pack, and assumed his draconic body. Hyraj stared up at him in wonder rather than her brothers’ disdain, their fear and resentment worn with unabashed honesty.
Rosalia looked resolutely forward at the path ahead of them and inhaled a deep breath. Maybe she was fireproof. Maybe she wasn’t. The one thing she knew with certainty was that she wouldn’t discover the entirety of her ability until she walked forward. The dragon’s massive body provided a small measure of comfort to her as she proceeded down the path.
Heat lapped against her bare feet and licked her ankles. Were she wearing a scrap of normal clothing, it would have all gone up in the inferno within seconds. Magic crackled in the fibers of her enchanted Morrita garments in defiance, a subtle whisper she only heard in the absolute stillness.
It tickled. Comforting warmth surrounded her body every step of the trail. Blistering heat waves trembled harmlessly around her.
Gaining confidence, she strode forward and picked up speed. If the fire troubled Xavier, she saw no visible sign of it affecting his tough hide. His body shimmered with rainbows.
Another molten fissure appeared alongside them and a path of glowing embers spread over the ashen soil. Rosalia watched it sear forward to create a path.
“The Trial of Fire,” Xavier murmured. “It’s really true.”
They walked for miles in the baking heat, curving around one rocky structure on the glowing trail and beginning their ascent up the mountain. Old stone markers showed the way, some of them etched with symbols matching the designs in the Moritta village.
More than once, she lost her footing on the steep climb or a handhold broke free in her grip, splintering into pebbles that rained to the ground below them. Xavier reached for her, but she waved him off and pulled herself onto the cliff.
“I need to do it alone to gain Moritan’s blessing.”
“You are never alone while I’m here, Rosalia. Even a god should know that.” A fragile thread of humor colored his tired voice.
She couldn’t help but smile.
A half hour into their climb, they reached a cliffside edge at the mouth of an enormous cave large enough for Xavier to squeeze in behind her in his draconic form. An orange path lit their way forward, and when she glanced up, she saw fire slugs crawling over the ceiling, their sticky bodies glistening against the rock.
A normal human would have succumbed within minutes to heat stroke, and she was thankful that she had conserved her energy along the way to the volcano by traveling in darkness, rather than pushing her abilities.
Rosalia wondered how she would have fared months ago, prior to her gifts awakening. Gradually, little by little, the air became less stifling and oppressive. Because of Xavier, she’d grown in leaps and bounds, discovering an unknown power within herself.
Over and over, he’d risked his life for her.
“What they said about you isn’t true,” she said suddenly.
“I don’t hold it against them that they distrust my kind.”
“I never said that you did. I’m saying that they’re wrong. Once the stones are safe and we figure out a way to destroy the Eyeglass, we’ll come back to return their gem.” Though she had yet to figure out what Nindar had meant about the Rod of New Life. Xavier had never heard of it, and Elora had been equally clueless.
If not for the ambush by the ice elemental on the streets, Rosalia would have returned to Valanya and inquired with Priestess Falina. Now, with the city watch crawling around the shop and on high alert, they’d be fools to head into Enimura.
Yet they’d have to confront the king and his spymaster eventually. That was inevitable if they were to set the enslaved spirits free.
“We’re almost there,” Rosalia muttered.
“How do you know?”
She hesitated. “A feeling.”
That same feeling told her when to turn and when to climb, how to lead
Xavier to the core of the volcano. Eventually, unpolished rock became smooth surfaces, and the world around them glittered with magic.
Then a whole new world of beauty opened to them and the ruins of the original Moritta city came into view. It wasn’t a small village as she’d expected, but wall after wall of polished stone carved into the interior walls of the volcano. A wide rim spiraled from the apex of the structure to the bottom, where it tapered into a shoreline hugging the bubbling center. Above it, structures hung suspended on platforms connected by bridges anchored against walls with gleaming, unwarped metal. Beneath what appeared to be different districts of the city, lava splashed upward in a myriad of shapes, glowing an intense orange.
The smell was almost intolerable at first, the boiled eggs of sulfur accompanied by the stark and bitter taste of ash and minerals wafting in the air.
“They lived here?”
Xavier gingerly stepped up beside her, taking care where he stepped with his huge claws. “Somehow.”
Rosalia had a dozen questions. How had they tolerated the smell? What prevented the volcano from erupting and wiping away their entire civilization overnight? How long had thrived within the city before Xavier’s treacherous grandfather abused their trust and stole their most valuable treasure?
Since staring below provided no answers, they continued once the fleeting sense of vertigo passed and she no longer felt as if she’d topple over the ledge. Little by little, she acclimated to the heat engulfing her, much like a swimmer adjusting in the moments following a dive into cold water.
Little by little, the sulfurous odor of the volcano faded to the back of her mind, vanishing from her awareness until only the earth and ash remained. Each time she glanced toward the lava pit, the trepidation faded.
It called to her.
A fleeting fantasy flitted through her imagination, born from a desire to swan dive from the edge of the cliff into the lethal pool—
Xavier wrapped one claw around her and drew her away from the ledge.
“I wasn’t going to jump in.”
“I’m not so sure of that. Your eyes are glowing. You’re…” The dragon’s nostrils flared as he took her in with his huge eyes. “Different since we arrived. I think the volcano is awakening your djinn blood.”
“Self-preservation, maybe. We’re almost there, anyway. Isabis said my mother would have placed it on the altar in the temple in the upper level of the volcano.”
The Moritta believed their deity watched over them from above and didn’t dare build their residences higher than the temple dedicated to the god of fire, love, and the desert. They crossed a bridge and climbed a few flights of stairs.
The temple loomed before them at the top.
“Are you ready for this?” she asked Xavier, who had assumed his elvish form and donned his clothing again.
“I have no choice but to be ready.”
A statue of Moritan and his beloved, Islena, decorated the exterior of the temple. Most people of the faith widely accepted that Islena and Moritan married, and they were the mother and father of a host of lesser demigods and goddesses. A sect of his followers in Enimura claimed the god had no need of a wife, for he was the lover of all. It pleased Rosalia to see the Moritta were the former.
The gemstone awaited them on an altar ensconced in flames, their color shifting from purple to red, red to orange, white, and blue in a mesmerizing display.
The presence of something large and powerful hummed in the air.
“He’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“Moritan,” Rosalia breathed. “But he’s weak, as weak as Nindar, and I feel him fading.”
She moved faster, taking off into a sprint, all but prepared to die into the flames to retrieve the precious ruby. “I have to step inside to get it.”
Xavier reached out to take her wrist. “Wait.”
“Why?”
“You don’t know what that will do to you.”
“My mother was a djinn.”
“Yes. Your mother. You may not be able to withstand the heat of magical flames.”
“I don’t have any choice but to try.”
“Rosa…”
The flames beckoned her again with a tangible pull. She wanted to step in them, and they wanted her as well. She ignored the sensation for the moment and turned her face toward Xavier.
“I love you,” he said quietly. When he kissed her, she felt the truth in his words all the way to the bottom of her soul. Somehow, she forced herself to step away at its end.
“I’ll be right back,” Rosalia told him. She refused to believe it was goodbye.
There would be a thousand more kisses and hugs, tender embraces and sweet caresses.
“Hurry back,” Xavier replied with a tired smile.
Rosalia stepped forward into the epicenter of the burning flame. This time she felt it, and the pain washed over her all at once in a single agonizing wave. It was a pain that she felt from within and tore a violent scream from her throat.
“Rosalia!”
He couldn’t get to her, and she knew she’d die on the platform.
The flames weren’t simply burning her. They were pulling her apart into a million pieces. Every fiber of her being was atomized to cinders.
10
Flames of Glory
Before his eyes, Rosalia became a living torch. Her agonized wails echoed over the stone and sent his heart into a panicked rhythm. His blood thundered as he rushed for her without knowing what, if anything, could alleviate her pain. Then, as quickly as it began, the flames self-extinguished and left behind only a blackened husk bearing her ashen features dotted with scarlet embers. Each individual piece, each bit of Rosalia flaked off, and then nothing remained as the ribbons of what had been her shimmered through the air and circled him in a whirlwind.
The jewel, his mate, and every shred of hope they’d brought to the mountain appeared consumed by the flame, yet something remained that felt alien and powerful. A sense and a presence.
Don’t panic.
Xavier breathed. It was too early to panic, and the sensation of her was all around him in the air and infused with the flecks of ash. Her warmth remained.
Refusing to believe she was gone for good, Xavier told himself it would be a tale for their children one day. A story of their mother’s heroism and their father’s stupidity, titled something along the lines of How Things Can Always Become Worse.
Children. It was a nice dream to cling to, giving him faith that Rosalia would return and that this sudden immolation wasn’t the end. She’d return with the gemstone.
She had to.
Distracted by watching his mate become a living human torch, Xavier nearly overlooked the sound of crackling fire to the rear of him. Before he could spin to face the sound, a white-hot jolt of pain cut through his shoulder. The blade that pierced him grazed against bone and came perilously close to severing the tendon.
The sudden assault staggered him forward a step, nearly bringing him to his knees. Heat was at his back, a creature unlike anything he’d ever seen behind him. The fire wraith seethed with hatred, fury burning in two glowing white specks within a face that was once human. The blade twisted, digging in deeper before being wrenched free. Pure instinct launched Xavier into movement afterward. He ducked forward then rolled to the next side, dodging the next swing of a flaming volcanic glass blade.
Blood seeped through his shirt and trickled down his back in a steady pulse, a blood vessel no doubt nicked by the attack. The creature gave him no time to tend the injury, already upon him with swift and brutal strikes he couldn’t parry, lacking a weapon in his hands. With one spell, he crafted a magical shield and surrounded himself with a dome of protective magic. It did no good. It popped, no stronger than a soap bubble against a creature fueled by hatred for the man who killed it.
Until that moment, Xavier hadn’t truly believed in Gehenna and doubted whether a realm of the tortured and damned truly existed. Seeing the
wraith changed that. Where it walked, molten pools remained.
Scrambling over the rough and unforgiving rock abraded his palms. As an elf, he was fragile and no stronger than the average human man. Without magic, he may as well have been a mortal.
At its core, the elemental burned harsh as the lava below them, and were it not for his draconic blood offering a measure of resistance, as it had during the boarding house fire, he would have become tinder just from standing so near to it. Small blessings. On one hand, being a dragon was all that saved him. On the other, the magical bond connected between killer and wraith meant that for all of his might and strength, he was powerless.
“You did this to me,” the elemental accused, voice the garbled sound of crackling flame.
The perpetual odor of burning flesh hung around it in a noxious cloud, its core a tightly compacted man-shaped briquette, all that remained of the human it had been. In its black hand was a smoldering sword made of the very volcanic rock they stood upon.
Xavier swore under his breath while putting distance between them. Rosalia was still gone to gods only knew where and he had to hold his own.
If only they’d brought the water flasks with them from the mage tower. Those had been left with the Moritta guides for safekeeping, because neither he nor Rosalia had anticipated the wraiths would materialize within the volcano while they were retrieving the stone.
In hindsight, he felt a fool.
The wraith fed off of the sweltering environment and grew stronger with each passing second. It expanded in size, growing taller and wider until it was more of a fire giant.
Immeasurable panic crawled down Xavier’s throat and squeezed the air from his lungs before decades of old instinct set in. As a dragon, he’d be one enormous moving target, yet less likely to burst into flame. As an elf, he had his grace, and he used it desperately to keep out of the elemental spirit’s attack range.
“Xavier! Take cover!” a man’s voice boomed from the platform below at the base of the stairs leading to the temple.
He jerked toward the sound of Ahrak’s voice to see the man drawing back his arm for a tremendous throw before rocketing a charmed waterskin through the air. It collided with the fire wraith and exploded in a brilliant font of boiling water and steam. Bits of the molten rock escaped. Some pebbles clattered to the ground with slush and debris as water sizzled against the stone floor and instantly evaporated.
Diamond in the Rough: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 3) Page 7