Firefrost: A Flameskin Chronicles Novel

by Camille Longley

  A man stepped forward and drew his sword. “Who are you, giving orders?”

  “Your superior deserves more respect than that, Officer Osten,” Kelan said. “Now stand down before I run you through.”

  “Lieutenant Burke?” Osten asked.

  Kelan grinned. “Miss me?”

  Osten scowled, then sheathed his sword and saluted. “I apologize, sir,” Osten said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t recognize you with the beard.”

  “Make that mistake again and I won’t give you a chance to apologize before I ram my sword up your—” Kelan glanced at Sol and coughed into his hand.

  Sol stared at Kelan. She had always known he was a soldier, but this snappy military version of him seemed so incompatible with the Kelan she knew, the one she called her friend.

  “Weren’t your orders to stay in the pass?” Osten asked.

  “We were attacked. I had no choice but to come here.”

  “Attacked?”

  “Are you all just going to stand there? We’ve been hiking through these mountains for the last few weeks and we’re starving. Take us to camp. I need to speak with the commander.”

  The soldiers saluted, and their officer motioned Kelan to follow. Sol hung back. Her knees were too weak to carry her forward. What were they doing? Kelan really expected her to walk into a Flameskin camp?

  He put a hand on her back and pushed her forward. “Trust me,” he whispered.

  She met his turquoise eyes. This was madness. She was still wearing her blue Tokken uniform underneath her fur coat. But she had no choice but to follow the soldiers through the snow.

  The camp appeared around the other side of the bluff, nestled at the edge of the trees. About one hundred small tents had been erected in neat lines. The smell of smoke clung to the air. Soldiers marched and sparred and flung fire at each other around the edges of camp. Some cackled madly, others hissed as they talked. Only a handful of them wore red coats, the higher-ups; the others wore mismatched and poorly mended clothes. But everyone’s sleeves were charred and their hems burned.

  Sol stepped in close to Kelan. Possessed. All of these Flameskins were possessed.

  “How do you control all the de—possessed Flameskins?” she whispered.

  He frowned. “Pyri have only two directives: self-preservation and destruction. The punishment for most crimes in the army is death, which conflicts with a pyra’s central drive. Disobeying isn’t an option. We rule our camps with fear. Fear is the only emotion a pyra can’t consume, and it prevents the pyra from having too much control over the host.”

  “Why would the Flameskins even join the army?”

  “Because we have nothing else, and because they want to destroy. And it’s safer to run with a pack.”

  She shivered as she watched them. They were little more than intelligent beasts. She couldn’t imagine Kelan becoming one of them.

  “Is the commander here?” Kelan asked Osten. “I expect he’ll want my report.”

  “No, sir. But he should be back soon. You’ll report to Lieutenant Ager for now.”

  Kelan frowned. “Lieutenant Ager, as in Nilsa Ager?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He bit his lip and met Sol’s eyes. He looked worried, and it made her stomach queasy. She trusted Kelan, which surprised her a little. But even with Kelan on her side, this was still dangerous. People didn’t walk out of Flameskin encampments.

  “Take us to Nilsa, then,” Kelan said, his voice casual, though Sol could see the tension in his face. “And bring us some food. We’re starving.”

  Sol tugged on Kelan’s sleeve. “My coat,” she hissed.

  His eyes went wide, and Sol pulled the two sides of her pa’s fur coat tighter around her, hoping there wasn’t any blue visible beneath it.

  “Any chance we can get a fresh change of clothes first? And a bath?” Kelan asked. “I’d like to look presentable.”

  Osten stopped. “What about your report?”

  Kelan waved a hand. “It’s not urgent, is it?”

  “You were attacked. She’ll want to know right away what the situation is.” Officer Osten’s eyes rested on Sol. “And who’s this?”

  Sol gave Kelan a wild, desperate look.

  “Sol . . . Jensen,” Kelan said. “She’s a mage. Newer recruit. She came with me through the pass and is the only other survivor.”

  Sol saluted the same way she had seen the soldiers do.

  Jensen? He couldn’t have come up with something less generic than Jensen?

  “I don’t remember her,” Osten said and narrowed his eyes.

  “Why would you? You were only at the camp a couple days. She was one of our scouts.”

  Osten gave Sol a nod and waved them toward a large circular tent that had been erected in the center of the camp. Inside it was dark and sparsely furnished, and devoid of soldiers.

  Kelan sprawled on the floor mat as if he owned the place. “So, where’s Lieutenant Ager?”

  Osten frowned. “She must be meeting with the scouts or gone to Olisipo with Haldur. I’ll find out.” He saluted and left.

  Kelan leapt from the ground and yanked off Sol’s fur coat and her Tokken uniform. He crushed the dirty, blue coat in his hands and set it on fire. It burned rapidly and viciously between his fingers, filling the room with smoke. Sol coughed and backed away from him as she pulled her fur coat back on.

  Kelan lifted one of the tent flaps in the back to vent the air and smothered the ashes in the snow outside. “Cinders,” he swore. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “What do we do?” Sol asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get us out of here.”

  “Us?”

  He stepped closer and took her hand, but the tent door flapped open again. He stepped away from Sol as another woman entered. This soldier looked about their own age, and had brilliant violet eyes. She wore a lieutenant’s pin on her red coat that matched Kelan’s.

  She sniffed the air as she walked in. “What’s burning?”

  “Something’s always burning when I’m around,” Kelan said and grinned.

  The lieutenant laughed and threw her arms around him, and Sol had the uncomfortable impression that they knew each other very well.

  “Ashes, Kelan. What happened to you?” she asked, plucking at his burned and tattered coat.

  “Exactly what it looks like. Ambush, avalanche, and four weeks starving in the Ulves.”

  “Avalanche?”

  He smiled and shrugged.

  “And who’s this one?” the woman asked, nodding toward Sol.

  “She’s the only other survivor.”

  “Four weeks alone with Kelan. How was that?” Lieutenant Ager purred and turned her violet eyes on Sol.

  “Difficult.”

  Lieutenant Ager laughed, and Kelan gave Sol a dismayed look.

  He misunderstood. The journey hadn’t been difficult because of Kelan. He had been the one bright spot in all the hunger and cold and suffering.

  “I can’t believe it’s been a year since I last saw you,” Ager said. “And you’ve been promoted! Does that mean you’ve been possessed?”

  He stiffened. “It’s getting closer.”

  “It’s impressive, isn’t it?” she said to Sol. “Not many can deny possession for so long, but he’ll be unstoppable once his pyra takes him. It’s no wonder his uncle promoted him. I can’t wait to see what he’ll be like.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lieutenant Ager’s eyebrows rose.

  “She’s a mage,” Kelan said quickly.

  Sol’s heart raced. She was supposed to know these things if she was part of the Flameskin Army.

  But Ager shrugged. “The longer someone resists, the stronger their pyra grows, until it becomes more powerful than the host. People who give in earlier work in tandem with their pyra. But people like Kelan become their pyra.”

  Sol swallowed and Kelan looked away.

  Lieutena
nt Ager walked up to him and tapped his skull. “It’ll be just his pyra in there.”

  Ager looped her arm through Kelan’s, and Sol had to swallow a scowl. They were obviously very friendly with each other. Not that she should be surprised. The lieutenant was beautiful and Kelan was . . . Kelan.

  “Of course, now he’s practically hobbled by the resistance,” Ager said, oblivious to the anger burning in Sol’s eyes. “It’ll be better for him once he lets go.”

  The tent door parted again, letting in a draft of cold air. A man in a decorated uniform strode inside.

  Kelan breathed in sharply and stepped closer to Sol. “Hello, Uncle.”

  Chapter 28

  Kelan

  Uncle Haldur coughed as he entered. “Who was burning things in here?”

  “Sorry,” Kelan said. “You know how hard it is for me to resist.”

  “What are you doing here? Where’s the rest of the troop?”

  “Dead,” Kelan said. He felt a pang of shame and grief as he said it. He hadn’t given much thought to his troop since the attack and the avalanche. He hadn’t been close with any of them, but they had still been his responsibility.

  “I trusted you with their lives,” Haldur said.

  “We were ambushed. They took some of us prisoner, but then an avalanche killed everyone else.”

  “Who ambushed you?”

  “Lady Isabella’s party.”

  “And where’s Isabella now?”

  “Dead. The only ones who survived were me and Sol.”

  Sol saluted Commander Haldur. She had always been level-headed. She was the kind of person you wanted at your back on the battlefield, the kind who could keep her cool no matter the situation.

  Haldur strode toward the table in the middle of the room and sank onto the floor beside it. “Troop Thirty-Seven is gone and so is Lady Isabella.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How did you get here?” Haldur asked. “Osten and I lost our way a dozen times in this snow. The horses didn’t even make it.”

  “Sol is somewhat familiar with the Ulves.” Kelan smiled inwardly. Sol was the Ulves.

  Haldur looked up and studied Sol’s face. “I don’t remember her. I didn’t know there was another soldier in that troop who knew the Ulves.”

  “Mage,” Kelan said quickly, his heart beating fast. “She’s a newer recruit. She comes from an Ulve village.”

  Haldur nodded absently and let out a long breath. “Lady Isabella is dead. I needed some good news.”

  Nilsa scowled. “We just got word. Saint Katrine’s returned to Tokkedal.”

  Kelan opened his mouth, but for a moment, no words came out. “What?”

  “She’s come back from Omdren to fight with the Tokken Army,” Haldur said.

  “What does that mean for us?” Kelan asked.

  “It means the war is over,” Nilsa said, her voice sour. “She’ll kill us all.”

  Haldur gave her a look. “It means that we have to regroup with the southern division and defeat her or risk losing the war.”

  “So, we’re leaving the Ulves?” Kelan asked.

  He glanced at Sol. She was biting her lip, and he could tell she was trying hard not to smile. To him, the arrival of Saint Katrine was damnation. To her, it was salvation.

  “We’re waiting for marching orders,” Haldur said. “I assume they’ll want us back in the valley. We’ll have to abandon the raid on the Ulves.”

  Kelan nodded slowly. At least Sol’s village would be spared. He should be happy for Sol, but knowing that Saint Katrine had come to Tokkedal to rid the kingdom of its Flameskins made his blood run cold.

  Haldur sighed. “Maybe it would be better if we stayed here. We’ve put too much work into getting our troops here, and now that you tell me Isabella is dead, Prince Turullius won’t be riding to Tokkedal’s defense. We need the food the villages will supply us. This is too good an opportunity to give up.”

  “Of course,” Kelan murmured.

  “Don’t you want to see the mountains burn, Kelan?” Nilsa brushed her hand against his arm.

  His pyra responded to the heat that radiated off her body and the prospect of flames and destruction. But he shoved his pyra away before it could seize any part of him. “We have to do what the general orders.”

  Nilsa scowled. “You’re no fun. I’ll like you better once you’re possessed.”

  Kelan ignored her. “Uncle—”

  “Commander.”

  “Commander, we haven’t eaten much for the last few weeks, and it would be nice to get some fresh clothes.”

  “Fine, fine. You’re dismissed. I suppose there’s nothing else for you to report if everyone is dead.”

  Kelan saluted, and nudged Sol’s elbow. She saluted as well. Her face was calm, but he could see the panic in her eyes. He needed to get her away from this camp as fast as possible.

  “Lieutenant Ager, find them clothes and places to sleep,” his uncle ordered.

  Kelan hurried out of the tent with Sol and Nilsa behind him. He turned slowly, taking in the guard posts and fortifications. This wouldn’t be easy. The camp was guarded at all times, and deserters were killed.

  “I have a larger tent,” Nilsa said to Sol. “You can share with me, unless Kelan wants to.”

  Kelan grinned and put a hand around Sol’s shoulders. “I think she’ll be wanting to sleep in mine.”

  Nilsa’s eyes narrowed, and Sol blushed a deep red.

  “Four difficult weeks in the mountains can really bring people together,” Kelan said, and squeezed Sol’s arm hard. How could she have called him difficult?

  “Apparently.” Nilsa’s gaze was cool.

  She was angry. He had known her long enough to recognize the signs. But Nilsa could claim no hold on him. He could never love her like he loved Sol. And Nilsa knew their relationship had only been a way to pass the time.

  “Clear out a tent for us,” Kelan ordered. “I’m exhausted.”

  They had retired early to Kelan’s requisitioned tent and stayed there as the sun set and evening faded into the blackness of night. Sol had fallen asleep as soon as she had laid down. Kelan was exhausted as well, but he couldn’t let himself rest, not until they were both safely out of the camp.

  They couldn’t go to Olisipo. His uncle had spies all over the city, and they would know what Kelan looked like. It would be impossible to hide among all the fair-haired Cassians. If he could find Sol a bow, they could go back to the mountains, and she would keep them fed.

  He tried to think of a way to snag them supplies and weapons and clothes, but no solutions presented themselves that didn’t end up with the two of them getting executed.

  Their priority was to get as far away from the Flameskin camp as they could, as fast as possible. Haldur would try to hunt them down once he knew they were missing.

  Going into the mountains without anything to eat wasn’t much of a choice, but he’d rather take his chances out there with Sol than give himself back to the army. Returning to the war was a sure road to possession.

  He gently shook Sol. “It’s time to go.”

  She rolled over and blearily opened her eyes. “Now? Is it safe?”

  “As safe as it will ever be. But we have to hurry. The watch is changing soon, and they’ll be distracted for a moment.” Hopefully.

  Sol pulled on her belt and tugged her hat back onto her head. “If you just get me out of the camp, I can find the way to Olisipo.”

  “You . . . don’t want me to come?”

  She fell silent and looked down at her hands. “This is where you belong. This is your army. The commander is your uncle.” That last word was a jab.

  Maybe he should’ve said something about it before. But he hadn’t wanted to mention that his uncle was commander of the Flameskin Army that had terrorized the Ulves for the last five years.

  “I don’t want to be a soldier anymore,” Kelan said. “I want to stay with you. We could go back into the mountains.”

  �
�I have to report to the Tokken garrison and tell them what happened to Lady Isabella.”

  “But after that—”

  “If you leave the army, they’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

  “I won’t let them find me.”

  She met his eyes in the darkness. “I don’t want to be hunted for the rest of my life.”

  Kelan opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak. His heart shuddered in his chest.

  She parted the tent door and peeked outside. “Let’s go.”

  “Sol—”

  “You said we had to hurry.”

  They slipped into the starlit night, past the rows of tents. They avoided the lights of the lanterns and the Flameskins that passed by with tiny fires cupped in their hands, but they couldn’t muffle the sounds their feet made as they crunched through the snow. They had abandoned the snowshoes, knowing that would look suspicious, and Sol had brought only what she wore and the seal of Lady Isabella’s house, which she had stuffed into her pocket. They slipped past a sleeping guard and began the downward hike toward Olisipo through the woods.

  She stopped them not far from the camp. “I can make it from here.”

  “Let me go with you to the edge of the city at least, to make sure you get there safely.”

  Please. Please, let me go with you.

  She hesitated, but then nodded and set off again. Kelan trudged behind her.

  She was right. If he left the camp, he’d be hunted by the Flameskin Army. Sol would find protection in the Tokken garrison, but he had nowhere he could go to be safe.

  Their journey together through the mountains was over, and now they were supposed to return to their separate lives. But how could he do that? He could never go back to being satisfied with his life as a lonely soldier, not after knowing Sol.

  She stopped again and turned on her heel.

  Please, Sol. Don’t send me away.

  But she was looking at something beyond him. He turned and found Nilsa standing behind them in the snow.

  He stepped in front of Sol, his heart thumping. “Hey, Nilsa.” He tried to keep his voice light, but panic surged through him in a flood of fire.