The Fire Thief

by Erin St Pierre

  Some of the humans hefted their axes.

  Averin chuckled. “That’s the spirit. Turn all that hate and rage on those bastards and their camp, and you’ll do well.”

  Some of the tension drained from the group. It impressed her that they’d been willing to fight even though they knew how hopeless the odds were.

  Hope. Tarik had been right. It was a powerful thing.

  She threw her arms around Klaus. “You’re my hero. See you soon.” He was bright red when she pulled away. She offered Averin her hand. “Ready to go?”

  Averin took it firmly in his. “Lead the way, pit princess.”

  It was time to change the world.

  Klaus was alive! And so strong! The words rang through Stasha’s head as she and Averin scrambled up the stairs linking Section H with the rest of Angharad. Harsh sunlight spilled into the stairwell.

  Averin stopped and held out his hand in warning. From the tilt of his head, she guessed he was listening. Trusting his ears far more than her own, she stopped on the stair below him and waited.

  Even she heard the sound of fighting in the courtyard. And then she caught a familiar smell. She leaned into Averin and whispered, “Lukas.”

  Averin raised his eyebrows and mouthed, “Are you sure?” When she nodded, he shot her a bloodthirsty smile. “Then what are we waiting for?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  As they took the last couple of steps, a shadow crossed the tunnel opening. Lukas loomed, his bulky body almost blocking out the light. He had lost his Pyreack cloak and was covered in blood, and by the smell, none of it his own. “Get to the portcullis!” he rasped. “We’ll hold them off for as long as we can. Just get to the portcullis!” He stepped aside to let her and Averin sprint out of the stairwell.

  At least a hundred fae prisoners fought against twice the number of Pyreack guards. Freed from their chains, some of the fae wielded pickaxes, while others tossed magic.

  On her way to the control tower, Stasha dodged a fireball and skidded across a line of ice thrown by a fae prisoner.

  Averin reached the stone archway covering the stairs first. He grabbed the banister and hit the first step running—only to catapult back as if hit by a battering ram. He tumbled head over heels before landing in a heap at her feet. Still running, she stumbled over him.

  Someone above her laughed.

  Her blood chilled as she fought for balance. She knew that laugh. Had heard it in Ealvera War Camp.

  Shaking with rage and—she wasn’t afraid to admit—fear, she looked up.

  Radomir stood at the control-room window.

  “You bitch,” he shouted down. “Thanks to your escape, I’m here in this dump guarding prisoners. And if you think you and your rebel scum are getting into this control room, then you’re even stupider than I first gave you credit for.”

  Behind her, Averin rolled over and creaked to his knees.

  Eyes fixed on Radomir, she hissed to Averin, “Are you okay?”

  Averin groaned. “I’ve never felt anything like that.” He shook his head. “Now we know why no one ever gets out of Angharad.”

  “A spell?” she whispered.

  Nasty smile twisting his features, Radomir watched them and the battle raging behind her—a battle now futile if they couldn’t get into that tower.

  “Must be,” Averin muttered. “Spells that override schorl. And now this. Wonder what else they’ve got stashed in this death trap?” He still hadn’t stood. That worried her more than the pain leaching into his voice.

  She had to act. Right now, before Radomir sent down troops to slaughter Averin while he was weakened.

  “Move back,” she commanded. “Well back.”

  Averin staggered to his feet but didn’t move. “What are you planning?”

  “Just do it.” She walked purposefully to the archway.

  A second familiar voice called from the control room. “Stasha. No!”

  Suren had joined Radomir at the window. Radomir punched Suren’s jaw, but Suren’s head merely bobbed. He shouted, “The force will kill you! Averin got lucky. Don’t step into the archway.”

  “Then disarm it,” she shouted back.

  Suren pounded his fist on the window frame. “I can’t.”

  “And I won’t,” Radomir yelled.

  “Then you leave me no choice but to do this.” She raised her arms and sprinted for the archway. Despite everything, laughter ran like fire through her as blue-green flames rolled in waves from her body toward the stairs. Radomir would never let her die. As it was, he’d landed here as punishment for letting her slip through his fingers. She could only imagine what Piss Swill would do to the captain if he incinerated her.

  She was still three feet away when the archway exploded into flame. Head held high, she strode through the flames and leapt up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Whatever had affected Averin seemed to have vanished. The door at the top of the landing slammed shut.

  As if a plank of wood could stop her.

  She spread fans of flames from her fingers and was about to slap them on the door when the wood crumbled to ash and sloughed to her feet. Startled, she pulled her hands back to rein the fire in. The flames retracted.

  A long, narrow stone room with a bare stone floor opened before her. A semi-circle of fae armed with crossbows faced her. She guessed their quarrels were made of schorl. Behind them crouched four huge spiked wheels, wound with chains.

  The mechanism to open the portcullises of Angharad.

  She grunted. If she managed to get past the weapons, even with her fae strength, she’d never be strong enough to open even one of them herself, let alone all four. She would need help.

  Her eyes fixed on Suren, standing next to Radomir.

  Her pretty fae was going to open those gates for her. But first she had to get past the archers.

  “Stasha, it’s over,” Radomir shouted. “Stop, or I’ll give the command to shoot you.” But his shifting eyes betrayed fear.

  It fueled her confidence. She sauntered closer. “Stop? But I’m just getting started.” She reignited the flames in her hands. They crackled and burned merrily across her skin. “Drop the weapons, Radomir, or I’ll burn this whole place down.”

  Suren scurried closer. “Stasha, you don’t understand magic. I’ve told you that before. Burn again like you did coming up the stairs, and the fire will consume you.” He sounded genuinely terrified.

  “Scared for me? How sweet of you.” She took one step closer to the archers.

  Sweat glazed their faces. One of them twitched a finger on the trigger of his weapon. She thrust her hand at him. Sparks shot in his direction but didn’t touch him.

  Still, he dropped his crossbow and screamed—a sound totally out of proportion to the fire she’d shot at him. It was so chilling, her hand fell limp to her side.

  But on he screamed.

  She stared at him in horror. What had she done? No flames burned him, yet he contorted in agony. He clutched his head, his chest, his abdomen—his head exploded, shooting scorching blood and gore across the room.

  Stasha staggered back, retching. Had she boiled him from the inside? Was that white heat?

  Crossbows clattered to the flagstones, and fae scuttled away from her.

  Radomir swore—and then vanished. He’d spirited to safety, just like Averin said he would.

  Suren wailed. “Darkness curse you, Radomir! You’ve left me here to—”

  “To open the portcullis,” she yelled at him. Her whole body shook with terror and shock, but to quail now was to lose everything. She would deal with the horror of what she was and what she’d done after she’d freed the prisoners.

  Face twisted, Suren clutched his head. “Stasha,” he moaned. “You’re still burning. Stop. No one can handle this much magic. Not even someone who can shoot white heat like you do. It will kill you. It must kill you.” She’d never heard or seen him more desperate.

  She fought back tears. “Then open the port
cullises.”

  “The portcullises are not what’s important.” Suren yelled at the top of his lungs. “You are.”

  “So you can give me to your king to bleed me dry of my magic.” Hysteria spiked her voice. “Never.”

  “No! So you can live.”

  Suren really thought she would die? Apart from her self-loathing for her heinous crime, she’d never felt more alive. Yet if it forced him to open the portcullises to make him believe that she was dying, then so be it.

  Hand held high, she vowed, “I will burn until I die unless you open those gates.” She pushed more fire out of her body. Great swaths of flame streamed out across the stone floor, only to die with nothing to burn.

  Still Suren hesitated.

  Desperate and running out of options, she fell to her knees and faked a cough. It wasn’t her best performance—at least she didn’t think so—but Suren shouted to his fae, “Open the portcullises. Now.”

  The fae jumped at his command. Probably only too eager to be gone from here, they peeled off to the wheels. Obviously practiced, they heaved, and each wheel turned. Chains creaked, and Stasha imagined the gates opening to let Boa and the rest of the team into the camp.

  Unless Suren was toying with her.

  To ensure his compliance, she collapsed prostrate on the floor and let her flames splutter.

  “Hurry up,” Suren yelled. The wheels groaned as powerful hands clawed them around. Suren dropped to her side. A tentative hand touched her in spite of the flames still licking her skin. “Stasha, speak to me.”

  It hurt her to burn him—he really did seem to care, but she couldn’t let the act fold until the chains stopped rattling.

  “Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

  It took all her self-control not to answer. She didn’t want to think of what Piss Swill would do to him after this failure. Suren was a decent fae in a terrible situation. She wished she could relieve him of his worry, but the portcullises weren’t open yet. So she lay still and burned.

  The rumble of chains ceased.

  “It’s done,” one of the fae yelled. “What now?”

  Still on his haunches next to her, Suren spoke. “I suppose we surrender the camp.” He sounded desperate.

  A raven cawed from the window.

  Stasha peeked at the window through her fingers just in time to catch a flash of blue-black light and a whirl of claws and feathers.

  “Good choice.” Averin stood in the room.

  A flurry of air scooped up the crossbows. Two flitted into Averin’s hands. The rest landed at Stasha’s head. “Burn those, pit princess. This lot won’t be needing them anymore.”

  Not wanting Averin to see her misery at the destructiveness of her power, she sprang to her feet.

  Suren staggered back. “You—you tricked me! Again.”

  She flashed him her brightest smile. “Wouldn’t happen if you were on the right team.” She shot a handful of flame at the crossbows. The wooden hilts smoldered, then the fire caught hold.

  Suren snorted and kicked a burning crossbow across the room. “I knew you were powerful. But this?” His eyes drifted to the dead guard.

  Her face fell. Was this what Eliezar had meant about her power setting her soul alight? Her ability to cook people from the inside out? No wonder soldiers burning with white heat chose a quick death in a normal fire over what she’d done to that guard.

  “Don’t know how you’re getting out of this room, pit princess,” Averin said. “You obliterated the stairs and all their wards. This place is wide open for the taking.” He kept his voice light, but she knew him well enough to recognize his concern.

  She loved him for trying to ease her pain. Like her, he must have realized that now wasn’t the time for grief and self-recrimination.

  She walked slowly to the doorway. The archway and stairs had gone. It was as if they’d never existed. More white heat?

  She wanted to sob.

  A shout from the tunnel entrance below the gruesome arch of bodies where Hathrine hung pulled her eyes away from her destruction. Boa, Trystaen, Eliezar, and Frea sauntered into the camp at the head of Boa’s occupying army. She must have had three hundred rebel soldiers following her. Boa shouted a command to her army to hunt and destroy the Pyreack guards.

  Guards in earshot, who had been fighting fae prisoners, took flight into the many tunnels leading into the mine. Some even scuttled into Section H. Freed fae prisoners and fresh troops pursued them into the darkness to carry on the fight.

  Her stomach knotted for Klaus. She had to trust that he wouldn’t do anything stupid to get himself harmed. She shook her head, impatient with herself. If anyone was dumb enough to be harmed, it would be her, not sensible, wise Klaus. Still, she clutched her belly with both hands. “We’ve actually taken Angharad.”

  “Now we hear the doubt.” Averin joined her at the gaping doorway. “You’ve taken Angharad, Stasha.” But instead of looking out at Boa, he held his hand up, palm facing the Pyreack guards behind them. She turned. Suren and his fae were pinned against the wall.

  Reeking of failure, Suren looked at his feet.

  She called to him. “You could still fight us. Why don’t you?”

  “Why?” Suren’s voice was a mere whisper. “I’ve lost. Everything.”

  “Everything except a fresh start.”

  Suren gave a strangled laugh. “You mean death?” His eyes rolled in the direction of his soldiers. “At least let them go in peace.”

  “I’m not in charge here. Princess Boa is. That’s for her to decide.”

  “Then we all die,” Suren said matter-of-factly.

  Stasha shook her head. “I make the decisions about you. And I’ve decided that you’re coming with us.” She nudged Averin. “Release him.”

  Averin scowled. “Something you aren’t telling me, pit princess?”

  Averin jealous? Not something she ever thought she’d have to deal with. But since he’d told her that he didn’t want her—even if his actions belied his words—she said sharply, “He’s my friend. Sort of. I want him with us.”

  The wind pinning Suren to the wall died. Exuding menace, Averin strode to him. His sapphire eyes bored into Suren. “First sign of trouble, and you stop breathing until I decide you’re trustworthy.”

  Bemused, Suren shrugged. “I’m in your hands.”

  Stasha grabbed the back of Averin’s tunic. “Big Bad Fae, it’s time to get out of here. I need to find Klaus.”

  Averin took her hand. “Yes, ma’am.” He offered Suren his arm.

  A hesitation, and then Suren clasped Averin’s tunic.

  They spirited into the courtyard below.

  Overwhelmed by the carnage in the courtyard, Stasha struggled to balance when she, Averin, and Suren landed next to Boa, Trystaen, and Eliezar.

  Bodies—fae and human—littered the sand, sand wet with blood. Drawn to the bounty, the crows of Angharad skipped across the corpses, fighting for sightless eyes. She covered her nose and mouth to block out the reek of blood, guts, and burnt flesh, but still the stench of death seeped into her like insidious smoke.

  On the other side of the courtyard, Frea tossed over bodies, sending crows cackling into the air. Who was she seeking? From Frea’s wild eyes, the missing fae meant a great deal to her.

  Stasha looked around for Lukas. He was nowhere to be seen among the bemused and wounded fae prisoners wandering the battlefield as if they hadn’t yet grasped their victory. She assumed he’d followed the Pyreack into the mines.

  Suren clutched his head in his hands.

  “Get used to defeat, Pyreack,” Boa said harshly. “The tide in this war has turned.” Her tattoos danced across her hands. “And why isn’t he in schorl?” she snapped at Averin.

  “Because he’s not a prisoner,” Stasha said firmly. “He’s coming with us.”

  Boa, Trystaen, and Eliezar glared at her.

  Boa spoke for them all. “Are you crazy?”

  Not in the mood for arguin
g with Boa when all she wanted was to find Klaus, she started walking toward Section H. She called over her shoulder, “Suren, you better stay with me.”

  Suren followed her.

  Boa grabbed Averin’s arm. “You’re permitting this?”

  Averin shrugged Boa off and quickly fell into step with Stasha. None too gracefully, he shoved himself between her and Suren. “The pit princess knows what she’s doing, Boa. And if Suren so much as hints at trouble, I’ll kill him.”

  “If I don’t do it first.” Boa slid into the spot on Stasha’s other side, effectively pushing Suren away. His shoulders hunched as he walked, reminding her of a whipped puppy.

  Averin called to Eliezar and Trystaen. “Find a way to close the portcullis. We don’t want any Pyreack coming in here. These mines now belong to Zephyr.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And Ocea, of course.” He shot Boa a cocky smile.

  “Lucky save, wind boy.” But Boa’s tone didn’t carry the sting Stasha expected. Boa clenched her sword. “Keeping the mines for Ocea might be more difficult than taking them. I can’t rely on my wards. Not while Piss Swill controls my magic.”

  Averin bumped Stasha’s shoulder. “Now you know why she didn’t try to brain me when I said I was claiming the mines for Zephyr. I just failed to mention that I’m also taking them for Atria.”

  Stasha wished she understood what he meant, but she didn’t.

  Averin must have seen her confusion. “I can set up wards with air magic that no one will breach.” A self-deprecating smile. “Well, perhaps not quite no one. My brother, Rican, is somewhat more powerful than me. And my father, of course. But apart from them, no one will ever undo what I toss over this place. Not even King Darien himself will ever set foot in this mine again.”

  “How humble of you,” Stasha said dryly. “And Atria? Not claiming all power over that magic, too, are we?”

  Boa chortled. Even Suren cracked a smile.