Cursed by Fire: The Immortal Brothers

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “Of my choosing,” Dethan said quickly. “And I would have you leave General Firru to the city watch and me to my own troops. It will work better, since we have such differing opinions.”

  “As you like. Although Grannish is much better versed in the workings of this castle and the day-to-day abilities of its staff. You might do well to ask him for a suggestion as to a page.”

  “Thank you, but I think not,” he said, the smile he shot the jenden acidic. “I have someone else in mind and I wouldn’t want to put any undue strain on the household by depriving it of a regular servant.”

  The grand accepted his answer, completely oblivious to the undertones going on across the table. Or at least it seemed as though he were. Perhaps he was choosing to act ignorant. Either that, and he was as sly as a fox for doing so, or he was truly as blind as his daughter had said he was.

  “Very well. So tell me how you plan to tackle this matter.”

  “If you would like to know, I will be happy to tell you so … in private and with your promise not to speak of it with anyone else. The success of my plan hinges on secrecy. I do not trust others when it comes to matters of war, and neither should you.” Dethan dulled any sting that might be perceived by his words with a lazy smile.

  “Too right,” the grand said after a moment of deciding exactly how he should take the idea of a total stranger of low station telling him what to do. If he had been worth the throne he sat on, he would have taken umbrage, would have at least questioned Dethan. But he did not. He did what Dethan believed was an all too common habit for the grand. He accepted the word of another at face value and left it at that. And this before Dethan had even done anything to prove himself. Dethan’s hand closed into a fist on his thigh. This was why the man’s daughter had been driven to all but sell herself to a total stranger, thinking her lot could not possibly get any worse. Fortunately for Dethan she didn’t really see that things could always get worse. In fact, he was rather an expert in worse.

  If he had any say in the matter, he would see that she experienced nothing worse than she already had.

  No. Wait. He could make no such promises. If anything, his experiences had taught him that he was not in control of fate, his or anyone else’s. Only the gods could truly do that. The gods had the final say in all things … and the gods were not known for championing mere mortals. They were better known for punishing them. But there were rewards too, weren’t there? There were stories of great people, mortals, who fought through great ordeals and were then rewarded by the gods. It was these stories, however, that had led him to his folly. He had believed that by following in the footsteps of another great mortal he would deserve the same great reward. But while the gods had been impressed by the first mortal to find the youthful waters, they had taken Dethan and his brothers’ actions as an assault. A raping of their goodwill and power. And they had been right to punish the men for their hubris.

  But did it have to be for so long and in such a way?

  Yes. It did, he realized. Even now, he was fighting the temptation to do the wrong thing, to let himself be distracted from his course. He could not lose sight of his goal. He must win cities for Weysa. To give her power meant an opportunity for her to achieve her ends. And maybe …

  He closed his eyes and forced away thoughts of his brothers. His motives needed to be pure and concise. He could not wallow in undue emotion or get mired by others.

  Unfortunately by entangling himself in the politics of Hexis he was doing exactly that. But he was in the unique position of being able to conquer a city without need of an army and he would be a fool to pass up that kind of opportunity.

  He looked to his left and watched Selinda. There was food on her plate, but she was not eating. She was merely poking at the sausage with the prongs of her fork, stabbing into it again and again very slowly, each puncture allowing the contained grease to bleed out onto her plate until the sausage was swimming in a small lake of its own juices. He could easily imagine her desire to stab that fork into her true enemy, sitting merely a table’s width away from her.

  That brought his attention to Grannish. Grannish was staring hard at Selinda as well, as though he were trying to divine her thoughts for some reason. Dethan knew the very moment she became aware of the jenden’s regard. Her entire body went tense and she dropped her fork to her plate. She forced both her hands into her lap and stared hard at her butchered sausage as if it were the most interesting piece of meat she had ever seen. Dethan decided that he did not like seeing her so afraid. He did not doubt she had cause to be that fearful. But she was braver than she thought. He had seen her stand up to Grannish, had seen her manipulate him in public, where he dared not immediately retaliate or gainsay her. That took courage. Especially knowing the consequences. Grannish was a bully, Dethan surmised. He had a cruel streak—Dethan had seen it when Grannish’s man had been whipping Tonkin. There had been an appetite for the suffering of others in his eyes.

  So in what ways was he making Selinda suffer? Dethan wondered. And no sooner had he thought it than a sickened feeling crept low into his gut. The idea of her being under the thumb of someone like Grannish … No wonder she was scrabbling for something, anything, to save herself with.

  He had known others like Grannish, and they had earned nothing but his contempt. A man made his way in the world using his intelligence and his skills of battle, compensating with one where he was weak in the other. Yes, it was true that innocents fell in battle alongside those who were not so innocent, but the cities Dethan had taken had been in dire need of taking, in dire need of someone at the helm who could manage them and make them flourish. Very often the innocents that died in the taking of the city were outweighed by those already dying from disease or starvation or any number of other things that a mismanaged city was prone to.

  That was exactly what he was facing here. A city so mismanaged it was dying a slow, agonizing death. Perhaps a quicker death with the Redoe outside its walls, sitting and waiting for them to collapse in on themselves. The Redoe were far cleverer than Grannish and the general were giving them credit for. They were whittling away at Hexis more and more each year and their patience was beginning to pay off. They could afford to sit and be patient. They had all the crops they could want at their disposal and no one was challenging them … so why not sit and wait? Dethan’s task was to make it as uncomfortable for the interlopers as possible. But that would require discomfort for those behind the walls as well.

  “I should like to go about inspecting your troops later today,” he said to the general.

  “What, all together?”

  “Yes. All together.”

  “The city guard protects the walls and those within the walls. I can’t just call them all together. It would allow for mayhem in the streets.”

  “They will be called together and will do so in shifts afterward at least once per day. Otherwise, how do they know what is expected of them, what direction you wish them to take?” He grimaced. “Or is it that you don’t give them any direction at all?”

  The general coughed, bits of eggs flying from his lips, his face mottling in fury and indignation. “Your most honorable! I refuse to take such insult from a lowborn piece of—”

  “Be warned,” Dethan said quietly, “I do not take kindly to insults.”

  He did not raise his voice like the general did. He did not have to, Selinda thought. The entire room quieted in response to his warning because they could all feel the coiled threat that he was, like a serpent ready to strike if he was poked or irritated.

  “It is no insult, only truth!” the general hissed, although there was a sudden caution in the lines of his stocky body. “I have been his most honorable’s general for fifteen years! You are hardly old enough to be called a commander, never mind a general. And we still have no proof you are anything but a wastrel off the street, taking advantage of his most honorable’s need and graces.”

  “Are you saying the grand is so weak that he would
not be able to see through a simple charlatan, if indeed I was one?” Dethan asked archly, one of his dark brows lifting high.

  “I …” Firru hesitated, looking away from Dethan to see his liege lord’s expression of interest in his response. “I-I just meant to say …” he stammered.

  “Your grand has hired me to find out what is wrong with his army and to use that army to get rid of the Redoe. I can hardly do that if you plan on fighting me every step of the way,” Dethan said. “If indeed there is an army.” He frowned as he thought on that. “A city guard is not an army. The city guard’s focus is to protect the city while your army’s focus should be beyond the walls. Do you have an army?”

  The general’s gape-mouthed, wide-eyed silence was telling, even if Selinda didn’t already know the answer. There was no army. Firru had always said that the city guard was more than enough to keep the city safe.

  “We have no soldiers and nowhere to find them,” Grannish spoke up, discomfited irritation in the lines of his body. Firru was his man. He couldn’t afford for his man to look bad in front of the grand.

  “That is peculiar, for I saw a mass of soldiers in the center of the city square yesterday.”

  “There were no soldiers in the city square! The only thing taking place in the square is the fair!” Grannish said.

  “Yes, and there were hundreds of healthy men able for battle if properly trained. Many of whom, as I understand it, are idle and starving as their farms are squatted upon outside the walls.”

  “Mud farmers? What do mud farmers know about fighting?” Grannish scoffed. He laughed and many at the table laughed with him.

  “Not much, I am certain, but it is their farms out there, so they will fight passionately for them. They are strong from backbreaking work, tilling muddy fields. A little training and they could be a force to be reckoned with.”

  Grannish laughed again, but there was an uneasiness in his tone that had not been there a moment ago. “And you will convince them to fight how? They will resent conscription.”

  “I disagree. I believe they will readily volunteer. But there is only one way to prove which of us is right.”

  “You are correct. I welcome the opportunity to be proved wrong. The aim is what is best for Hexis,” Grannish said, suddenly magnanimous. He leaned back in his chair and smiled at his grand. “That is all we want. You work for gold, but we work for the love and well-being of our city.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Dethan said sotto voce. But Selinda heard him well enough. She also felt him. When she would have spoken a moment ago, leapt into the conversation, he had stayed her the way she had tried to stay him the night before, with a hand on her thigh and a gentle, insistent squeeze. She very rarely got to speak her opinion on matters, and in public in front of her father was one of the few venues she had. Sure, she might pay for it later, but at least she was able to openly speak her mind to her father, invest her opinion, and hope it somehow reached him on some level. At the very least it would cause Grannish to dance and bow and scrape a little faster to undo whatever damage she might have done. It was a small victory, if it could be called that, but it still made her feel a little better. But now Dethan was holding her back, trying to control her just as Grannish tried to control her.

  No. That wasn’t fair, she thought hastily. He had not proved himself to be anything close to what Grannish was. Only time would tell on that score and on many others. For the moment, she had many other things to be worried about that were far more serious than a missed opportunity to join a conversation.

  For instance, the fact that he expected her to come to his bed tonight. The very thought of it had her feeling nauseated. Not that she was repulsed by him—she had to admit he was exceptionally appealing in a rugged sort of way, with his dark hair left free down to his shoulders and curling at the ends and the thick black of his lashes a perfect framework for his clover-green eyes. He was mind-numbingly tall, and that was to say nothing of his well-muscled body. She had seen all of it, but what she had seen had been covered in burns and scarring, dead flesh and ashes. Yet here he was today and she could see the meat in his biceps, the ropey veins running down and over his forearms. His hand on her leg was large and warm, and it was that touch that made her feel small in comparison to him. His palm nearly engulfed the whole of her thigh and she could feel his strength in his fingers. That strength seemed to seek out an unknown and secret part of her, making her highly aware of the imprint of each finger on her thigh and just how close those fingers were to a place where no man had ever touched her before. To a place that seemed to be … craving his touch, as scandalous as that sounded. Almost as if it were calling out to him. Selinda flushed hotly at the wanton sensation, confusion overtaking her as heat burned her cheeks. Was he doing this on purpose? Or was it just her own cravings making it seem so?

  She suddenly had the idea that he was measuring how much strength he was using to get his message across … yet not hurt her, as if to say, I have the strength to rip the world to shreds every moment of every day, but at this moment I choose to do otherwise. But was that all he was saying? Was he perhaps asking for more? Here? Surreptitiously but in front of everyone? The idea sent wicked, shocking chills down her spine and a wet heat appeared in secret places.

  Selinda swallowed noisily. She wanted to push his hand away, but she found herself ridiculously fearing the skin-to-skin contact. She imagined it might burn her. Why she was suddenly imagining him to be all these dangerous things she could not say, but there it was all the same.

  She stood up suddenly, causing a ripple of similar movement to occur down along the table.

  “Please sit. I find I am not feeling well.” Although she found she felt better now that the pressure of his touch and all its possible meanings had been lifted. “I am going to rest awhile.”

  “I will escort you to your rooms,” Dethan said immediately, talking over a similar offer being delivered by Jenden Grannish.

  She couldn’t deny them both, and the hidden command in Grannish’s eyes made her decision for her quickly. “Thank you, Sor Dethan,” she said, lightly placing her hand atop his and letting him lead her away. It was a new experience, having two men vying for her attention, and she found it a horrible position to be in. To think some women actually enjoyed such things! She supposed it might be different were the suitors men one wanted to have the attention of, but one could never really choose these things, could one? Men would do what men wanted to do, as was proved at that moment. The very man she had sought to avoid was right now walking her up to her rooms.

  “Thank you for remaining silent just now,” he said to her once they were out of the hearing range of anyone, surprising her greatly. She wasn’t used to being thanked for her behavior … or lack thereof.

  “You are … welcome. Why would you not let me speak?” she asked in honest curiosity, amazed to find she was no longer irritated by his silencing of her.

  “Although you have not told me the whole of it, I have gathered you pay for your opinion in some way or another at Grannish’s hands. You will be tempting fate enough with your actions these coming weeks. I’ll not have you hurt over this.”

  “He won’t hurt me,” she hedged. “He needs me too much. There are no other women for him to wed in this family. He has seen to that.”

  “So you truly do believe he murdered your family. I had suspected it was someone, but I did not know who until you put forward Grannish. After all, it is obvious he was the only one left to gain by such a thing.”

  “Yes. Before me were my two elder brothers and after me my two younger sisters. Though I suspect he was not responsible for Arra’s and Gia’s deaths. They were taken by plague. Arra was considered the greatest beauty of her time. It was more likely that I was the one in the way of him marrying her … until she died and left him with no option other than to marry something ugly and scarred.” She touched the ridged scarring on her jaw.

  Suddenly she felt him grab hold of her. She was
dragged into a dark alcove, out of the way of foot traffic, and pressed up against the wall. She gasped, looking up into his fiery green eyes.

  “And that is the last time you will refer to yourself as ugly in my presence. You will not even think it and I will know if you do.” He gave her a little shake. “You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever laid eyes upon, and believe me when I say I have seen the most beautiful women in the eight heavens and beyond. You are not the sum of this scar and it is not the only thing on your body worth seeing!”

  Then, instead of pushing her away, Dethan drew her closer, his hands opening and closing again on her upper arms, almost as though he was fighting himself for a moment over what he wished to do with her. She found herself pressed to the full length of his body, feeling his strength through the density of her corset and her skirts, as though she were not wearing them at all. The thought made her flush hotly and she knew it colored her face because he smiled a little as he looked down on her. Then he reached for the veil that covered the damaged half of her face and pulled it up and away. She gasped and tried to pull it back into place but he grabbed hold of her wrist and held her tightly until she stopped struggling.

  “And this is the last time you will wear one of these while you are in my sight,” he said, pulling the cap completely from her head. It was pinned in place so it dragged at her hair, ruining the delicate chignon it had been sculpted into and Hanit’s hard work. He dropped the cap to the floor, and now that he had started, he finished pulling the rest of the pins free, letting the black mass dump down over her shoulders and back, letting it fill his hungry hands, where he stroked it and fondled it eagerly.

  “Y-you don’t understand. I-I have never gone without my veil! Grannish will be very—”

  “And,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken, “I think I should like you to wear your hair down as well. It makes the blue of your eyes stand out, and I find I like that. I noticed your eyes from the very first and find them stunning.”