The Heir: A Snow White Retelling (The Twisted Kingdoms Book 3)

by Frost Kay

  A scuff sounded, and the door cracked open, revealing the wrinkled face of an old woman. She eyed Tempest from head to toe and inhaled deeply.

  “I can smell the ash on the air,” she said. “We’ll leave. No need to drag us from our bed.”

  Tempest nodded and spent the next hour running to and from burning houses, stables, and fields in between skirmishes with the rebels, saving each and every soul she came upon. She passed Dima, who carried two screaming toddlers in his arms. He nodded to her. Even with all the pandemonium, she could hear Maxim yelling orders.

  A whimper caught her attention, and she paused when she spotted two round faces, peeking out from behind a barrel. Her eyes stung as she approached, the smoke burning her throat. She slowly rounded the barrel and bent low, to make herself seem less scary. Tempest smiled at the two children and held out her hands.

  “Little ones, let’s go.”

  They all but wrapped themselves around her, and she staggered as they moved toward safety. The people had congregated in the large cobblestone square that remained untouched by the fire. Everyone uninjured was working the well, bringing up buckets of water for anyone assisting in putting out the blaze.

  “Temp!” Maxim called.

  Tempest relinquished the children to an older woman and moved in his direction. Dima stood by Maxim’s side, and both of their faces were streaked with soot. She smirked at Dima. Her uncle normally had an immaculate appearance. If it wasn’t for the situation, she might have laughed at his disheveled hair and filthy skin.

  She stood in front of them, aware of the sharp pain in her lungs that said she needed to slow down and take a breath. “What is it?”

  Dima indicated the large home that was burning to the west with his thumb. “There’s a child in here,” he said. “The parents are beside themselves with worry. Entrances have collapsed and we’re too large get through.”

  Tempest frowned, her gut churning as she began moving toward the home. She’d already checked the house prior, and she’d thought there was no one inside. “Didn’t we search in there already? I couldn’t find any—”

  “The mother said her daughter likes playing in the servant’s quarters at the back of the building. It’s possible she’s in one of the service—”

  “Enough said.”

  Primal fear washed over her. She knew what it was like to be trapped in a burning building. Temp wouldn’t leave a child to suffer what she had. She wrapped her scarf around her face and sprinted around the building to the damaged, back entrance, soldiering forward into the hot, smoky entrance vestibule, squinting as her eyes watered.

  “Is anyone here?” she yelled.

  For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. A man stumbled down the burning stairway streaked with sweat and ash, a child in his arms. There was no way he’d fit through the collapsed doorway.

  “Give me the child!” she yelled over the roar of the flames. “Both entrances have collapsed. I can get her out through the back, but you’ll need to break one of the windows.”

  He drew close, and Tempest missed a step as she recognized him. Even through the ash and dirt, she spotted a swath of white hair. Bloody white.

  Mal, also known as Pyre.

  The vile man said nothing. He didn’t even look at her when he handed over the child and rushed past them. Tempest held the little girl close and hustled back the way she’d come.

  Heat seared her arm as she lost her balance and brushed against the burning wall. She gritted her teeth and crouched low. The building groaned ominously when she reached the back entrance. They had just barely exited when the house suddenly gave way, the splintering wooden beams collapsing in on themselves.

  Tempest pressed the child into the ground, using her body to shield the girl from the heat that exploded outward and then receded. Tempest scrambled away, dragging the child with her as she searched through the plume of smoke and ash. Where was Pyre? Had he made it out?

  The little one began hacking so hard her body shook in Temp’s arms. They couldn’t stay here. She moved west and stumbled into the square. A man cried out as he caught sight of them and rushed forward, relief on his face.

  “P-p-pa-papa!” the little girl croaked, wiggling out of Tempest’s arms and jumping into her father’s embrace.

  “Thank you,” the man cried, tears running down his dirty face. “Thank you so much.”

  “It’s nothing,” Temp rasped out. She pulled the fabric from her nose and mouth and bent over, coughing. Bloody hell, it hurt.

  “You all right, Temp?” Maxim’s voice reached her ears.

  Dima squatted down, his hands running over her limbs, searching for injuries. She could barely breathe, and they all knew it. Too much smoke. She glanced toward what was left of the burning home. Where was Pyre?

  She wiped her burning eyes and blinked as tears ran down her cheeks. Surely, he’d gotten out… Pyre had to have gotten out, right? He was the fastest person she’d ever met. Her heart clenched. She didn’t want to feel worried about him, but she did.

  “I think I might need to sit down,” she admitted. Her legs were shaking, it was impossible to catch her breath, and she couldn’t stomach the idea of the kitsune not making it. Her body was thick with the noxious fumes. She needed a gallon of water, at the very least, to dilute the toxins she’d breathed in.

  Dima and Maxim each grabbed one of her arms and directed her toward the unburned village hall that had been turned into a medic area. She spotted Aleks’s familiar face, and her lip curled. That man… He disgusted her.

  Dima took one look at her face, moved her away from her disowned uncle, and sat on the steps that lead up to the building.

  “Take a moment and recover,” Dima said in his no-nonsense tone. “Though make sure you do go to Aleks if you need to. Though he’s busy with particularly bad burn victims, so perhaps wait a few minutes.”

  Tempest could only nod numbly as her uncles left her to it before they went to check in with Aleks. She hated the feeling of uselessness that overcame her when she stopped moving. Chaos embodied the square as crying families were reunited. It should have made her happy, but all she could think about was what had been lost. How many lives had been extinguished? How many homes destroyed? Crops ruined?

  She tapped her right foot on the stair as impatient energy filled her. She fidgeted with her hair, though it felt disgusting. The blaze had died down, but the fields still burned, the sickly-sweet smell of mimkia hung in the air. Her lips thinned. There would be hell to pay for the loss of the precious crop. The Crown would crack down hard upon those who’d led the rebellion, as well as their supporters. Her gaze moved back to the people filling the square. They all would suffer.

  You will have to do something.

  Tiredly, Temp dropped her head into her hands and tried to steady her breathing. She coughed again and spat on the ground, her mouth tasting like ash. Time passed slowly as she rested. When her eyelids began to droop, she forced herself to stand. If she sat for much longer, fatigue would surely claim her, and she’d be asleep before she knew it.

  Padding up the stairs, Tempest edged around wounded workers and moved deeper into the town hall that had been made into a makeshift infirmary. A large screen had been set up to form a surgery room. She paused behind a column near the back of the surgery area and frowned. When had Madrid arrived? Her uncles spoke in low tones.

  She brushed the thought away as the patient on the cot nearest to her moaned. Aleks bustled over to the badly burned villager and carefully applied salve to the man’s skin. Not a single inch of the man’s skin had escaped the lick of the flames. Temp held a hand over her nose and breathed shallowly. Even from here, she could smell the charred flesh. A vivid memory of her mother in their burning home flashed through her mind. Her stomach rolled, and she dry-heaved once before getting ahold of herself. She eyed the man in sadness. Aleks was doing his best, but the man wouldn’t survive.

  She moved away from the healer and crept through the dark
toward Maxim, Dima, and Madrid.

  “…can’t believe she’s truly working with the shifters,” Dima was muttering.

  Tempest concentrated hard to hear what he was saying, and a small frown creased her brow.

  “Did you see the man that came out of the building? He couldn’t keep his eyes off our girl. He knew her. My guess is that he was a member of the Dark Court.”

  Her heart stopped. Pyre.

  “You don’t think he was—”

  “There’s no time for speculation on this,” Madrid said firmly. “And it does not matter how Tempest came to work with the shifters, only that we have them on our side.”

  Tempest flinched.

  “The prejudice she held against shifters ran deep, though,” Maxim pointed out. “She believed they killed her mother. She had every reason to continue hating them.”

  “I told you we should have told her,” Dima growled.

  “She was too young,” Maxim argued.

  “And now?” Dima demanded. “Secrets do no one any good.”

  “Enough,” Madrid cut in. “Protecting the girl from the truth was a sacrifice we all made.”

  Tempest froze as she caught sight of Madrid’s expression. The man was unshakable, and, yet, he was ashen in a way that had nothing to do with the literal ash clinging to his skin. For the first time in her life, she saw sorrow in his eyes. Unspeakable pain.

  “I should not have said that,” Dima apologized. “There’s no point in bringing up past wounds. Better to move ahead. At this point, the news would only harm our girl.”

  Temp swallowed down her questions and backtracked, feeling like she couldn’t breathe—and it had nothing to do with the smoke. She limped out of the building and rounded the side before she did anything rash. Her whole life, she’d been led to believe shifters had killed her mother. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned her palm against the stone wall of the town hall. The shifter from her memories wasn’t made up. He had been there for the fire. He’d killed her mother; she knew it in her bones. Why then had Maxim made it seem like that wasn’t the case? Who would have wanted to hurt her mum? She was a village girl, nothing more. She had no connections.

  Temp bowed her head, her loose hair falling around her face. She stared at its periwinkle color and blinked slowly. She’d been so focused on her mother’s death, she’d never really given much thought about her sire’s actions.

  It was never about your mum, but your father.

  She gasped at the revelation. She’d been so focused on finding the killer, she never really looked into his motives. Her uncles had told her the man had been a lowlife drifter just passing through. But what if it was something more?

  A commotion by the well house broke through her thoughts. She pushed away from the building and began descending the stairs from the town hall as a stately man riding a black horse followed by soldiers moved into the square. Tempest eyed the newcomers, noting the Merjeri crest on the soldiers’ uniforms. Her attention moved to Lord Merjeri as he wheeled his warhorse around, almost trampling a small child in the process.

  Tempest decidedly hated him.

  “Arrest the rebels!” Lord Merjeri called from atop his black horse.

  Tempest rushed through the villagers as Merjeri’s men began rounding up the frightened, soot-stained shifters. Understandably, some of them were fighting back. A battle was on the cusp of breaking out. Her lungs screamed as she bolted through the writhing fray, her target the haughty lord. Even from a distance, she could tell by the way he looked at the people, he thought he was better than everyone else.

  An old man stumbled forward and dropped to his knees near the lord. “Please have mercy!” he cried.

  “Get out of my way, old man,” Lord Merjeri growled, brandishing a wicked-looking club.

  “Please, my lord! We took no part in the burnings!”

  Tempest sped up as Merjeri lifted his club. She burst through the people and skidded in front of the old man, wielding her sword. Her arms trembled, but she held steady. Just barely.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

  “Get out of the way, wench,” he sneered.

  She didn’t budge. “I asked you what you think you are doing. Answer me.”

  Merjeri’s lip curled back, and he lifted his club once again as if he planned to strike her. Tempest gave him a dark smile.

  Just try it, you bastard. I’ll gut you.

  She braced as he swung.

  Maxim jostled her, and Tempest glared as he managed to grab the lord’s arm, halting the blow. Where in the bloody hell had Maxim come from?

  Your uncle doesn’t deserve your rage.

  Tempest shifted her anger toward the lord shouting at Maxim and took one step forward—but a hand on her shoulder stopped her from attacking the lord.

  “Stay calm,” Dima whispered into her ear. “Do not ruin our victory here today. Let Maxim deal with him.”

  “I want to rip his arms off,” she snarled quietly.

  “As do we all,” Dima said softly. “Calm yourself. All will be well.”

  “I do not think there is a need for such violence,” Maxim said magnanimously to Merjeri. “We already rounded up the shifters responsible for the actual attack. The men and women you see before you are innocent. Let us see to their rehoming, my lord.”

  Lord Merjeri cursed and stabbed a finger at Maxim, with a quick glare at Tempest, before he turned his ire back on her uncle. “Your woman should know her place,” he seethed, his voice full of hatred.

  How original. Another woman-hater.

  “May I remind you, my lord,” Dima said, stepping up to flank Tempest on her right, “that you are speaking to your future queen.”

  Merjeri snapped his sullen mouth shut. Shock and disbelief, as plain as day, filled his face, followed swiftly by anger and distaste.

  The feeling is mutual.

  His dark eyes held mutiny, but he stiffly bowed his head. “My apologies, my lady. I did not recognize you in your state. One does not expect to encounter the king’s betrothed among the rabble.”

  “Accepted, my lord,” she said sweetly. “Imagine my surprise when one of the king’s lords almost clubbed me over the head for helping his people. A strange world, is it not?”

  Dima elbowed her in the ribs, but she didn’t tear her eyes from Lord Merjeri. He was classically handsome—sharp jawline, haughty nose, full lips—but it was the hatred in his gaze and the blackness in his soul that made him ugly.

  Merjeri smiled thinly. “Indeed, my lady.”

  Not even queen yet, and she’d already made a powerful enemy. It was clear in the way he scanned her from head to toe that he held contempt for any woman who rose above what he perceived to be a woman’s station.

  Tempest smiled sweetly before completely dismissing the lord and turning to the old man kneeling behind her. She took his gnarled hands in her own, and helped him to stand.

  “Go and find your family,” she said softly.

  The old man kissed her dirty knuckles. “Thank you, my lady. Bless you.”

  Tempest felt the icy gaze of Merjeri on her, but she paid him no mind. There was no going back. She’d sided with the people. Now, she had to handle the fallout.

  Four

  Pyre

  Pyre watched the ensuing drama from beneath the brim of his hat, hidden from the masses in the voluminous swaths of a dark cloak he’d stolen from a burning house. Tempest glared at the lord who stared down at her with murder in his eyes. As Merjeri’s arm lifted the club, Pyre bared his teeth and surged forward without much conscious thought other than to protect what was his.

  But Maxim burst from the crowd and caught the club, just as another Hound took up position behind Temp. Pyre paused, his fingers clenching around the hilts of the daggers he held in both hands. His bestial half raged to set loose on the lord who dared lift a hand against Tempest. The other half knew perfectly well that she could handle herself and that she had the support of her uncles.


  Reluctantly, Pyre swung back into the shadows, forcing himself to continue watching instead of interfering.

  “Tut, tut,” Chesh’s voice purred from his left. “That puss is going to get you in trouble.”

  He flicked an irritated look the impish cat’s way, and ignored his mercurial friend’s twinkling gaze. Chesh couldn’t help himself. He always liked to stir the pot.

  “Go and do something useful,” Pyre muttered.

  The cat smiled and then sauntered away.

  Pyre turned his attention back to the exchange, and a sliver of satisfaction moved through him when the haughty lord paled at Maxim’s introduction. While Pyre hated the idea of Tempest being betrothed to the king, he was thankful for the protection it afforded her in this case.

  Merjeri’s expression morphed once again into something completely false. He smiled, but it was thin and cutting, his dark gaze holding only hostility. Pyre’s hackles rose when the bloody man scanned Tempest from head to toe. He had no right to look at her like that.

  You can’t kill him. Calm down.

  Pyre released a short breath while he seethed in silence. Tempest could handle herself. How many times had she told him that? He had to stop treating her like a damsel in distress. She’d proven herself to be a force to be reckoned with. It was still difficult to set aside his instincts when he saw someone trying to harm her—his mate—and it set his blood boiling. He palmed the blade in his right hand. It would be so easy to take Merjeri out now. The lord had been a thorn in Pyre’s side for long enough. His gaze darted back to Tempest. She was completely against such displays of violence without a cause. And while the murderous lord had retribution coming, now was not the time. Merjeri still had too many moving pieces on the board. If he died now, Pyre wouldn’t be able to root out all his accomplices.

  He bit back a laugh as Tempest effectually dismissed the lord and helped the old man from the ground. Merjeri looked like he was ready to blow a gasket at the dismissal. They’d have to watch him. She’d made a powerful enemy.

  Pyre observed her uncles, who were also watching the lord. At least, he’d not been the only one to notice it.