Maiden of Fire

by Ishabelle Torry

  He removed his cloak and covered Ramona. “Once I return you to safety and Greselda looks you over for injuries, I will return to this site to gather evidence. And then we will talk later this evening.”

  She drew the fur lined garment tighter around her shoulders and leaned back, melting into his embrace. “I’m sure Meg is having a fit right now. She's going to be so freakin' mad at me.”

  The truth of Megan’s demise bellowed inside his head, yet his mouth refused to utter it. She’d already suffered enough this afternoon, he’d not burden her anymore. For at least a few hours until this evening, after he’d returned from gathering more evidence, she would remain happy and unassuming. He wrapped an arm around her waist and took Lacaux’s reins in the other. “I am sure she will understand, my petite. We will not worry about it until later this evening.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Buried beneath a fortress of covers, Ramona cried into Megan’s pillow. Her life had become a fucking nightmare. No. Nightmares weren’t real. People woke up from bad dreams, the pain they'd experienced nothing but a memory upon opening their eyes. She could never blink this agony away with morning light. She trembled with pent up frustration. “I wish you were here. It’s not fair. We survived Armageddon for God’s sake, only for you to die here. It’s not fair!”

  Two days since Meg's murder at Sandread’s hands had passed, which Ramona spent in a blissful, drunken stupor. Why didn’t the sadistic bastard kill her instead? Why take her best friend? Her sister in every way but blood. Had he murdered Megan because she chose the wrong brother?

  A knock resounded, barely audible above her sobs. “Go away!” It was probably Greselda coming to drag her from bed by Jalomar’s orders, again. Fuck him and his orders. He could choke on them, right along with his attempted consolation. It was his fault she was dead. No amount of going for long walks and talking about her feeling would ever change that. Anything she thought she felt for the arrogant warrior died with Megan that day. “Go away, you old hag!” She sat up and threw the empty cup from the nightstand at the door. “Wait! Bring more ale!”

  The door opened slowly. Breandra poked her dark head inside. “Ramona? Can I come in and talk to you?”

  Damn. They had resorted to using the kids. Ramona sniffled, wiping the wetness from her cheeks. “What's up? How is Hope doing? Everything okay?” She tried to smile, but her mouth refused.

  Breandra sat beside Ramona. “Lena has her spoiled to being held all day. And Kald pretends he hates being on guard duty, but he's always whispering and singing to Hope when he thinks no one is looking.”

  Ramona clasped Breandra's hands. She felt a twinge of guilt for pushing the kids away. No doubt Breandra was as traumatized as she, having been present during Megan's assault. “That's awesome. Look, I'm sorry for hiding away the last couple of days. I didn’t mean to neglect you and your sister.”

  “It's not neglect. It’s grief. At least that's what Greselda says. Besides, Gus has been super sweet to me. He's teaching me how to ride a horse!”

  Ramona ruffled Breandra's hair, laughing despite her somber mood. “That better be all he's teaching you.”

  Breandra blushed brightly, even her hands reddened. “It is, I promise! Also, Mrs. Steele came by to see me this morning. She says there's a little chapel just outside the southern wall. I was thinking we could go to church this evening for mass since it's Sunday. I can say a prayer for Megan.”

  Ramona clenched her lips tightly. There is no God in this world. What was the point in going to church where no one heard your prayers?

  “Ramona? Did you hear me?”

  Ramona blinked several times, nodding. She wouldn’t deny Breandra her faith no matter how deep her own resentment. “Yeah, I did. Sorry, was thinking is all.” There was at least a small comfort knowing a piece of the past had survived the asteroid impact. Albeit a piece she wanted no part of. “Why don't you take Hope and go to the service tonight? I'm sure Lena won't mind being your escort.”

  Breandra hugged Ramona tightly. “Thanks, Ramona! Mrs. Steele said to make sure you know we won't be home until after dark. They have a get together after and eat like piglets. So don't worry and stay up too late.”

  Ramona kissed Breandra on the forehead. “I've got some…errands to run as soon as I get dressed.” Because my booze supply is dry. “Go find Lena and tell her I said it was all right for you to go, and that I'd like her to watch you and Hope. Okay?”

  “Okay. Just don't forget, if I'm not home when you get back, I'm with Mrs. Steele and Lena at the church.” She made a dash for the door, beaming with a smartass grin when she turned around. “And you're not supposed to be running errands. Greselda said you were supposed to be resting!”

  Ramona feigned mock anger and tossed a pillow across the room. “Get outta here, you shithead!”

  The empty cup rolled out from the behind the closing door. Ramona groaned at the reminder. She should have sent Breandra for a fresh cup before telling her to run off. Or she could just go to the church herself and guzzle the sacramental wine. She tried to picture the church, seriously contemplating the idea, but drew a blank. Where did Breandra say it was? The southern side of the village belonged to the peasants, but Ramona couldn’t recall seeing any buildings resembling a church. In fact, this was the first mention of Christianity since her arrival nearly two weeks ago. She’d been under the impression the Vespa were considered the new God. She snorted to herself. At least their existence could be proven.

  She retrieved her crumpled clothing from the floor and dressed without care to appearance. The floor beneath her seemed to sway, extracting a giggle as she spun in circles and admired the flip-flops Greselda desperately tried to throw away on a daily basis. First, she’d verify the church’s location. And then it was off to find more liquor. She eagerly skipped from her room and down the hall.

  Ramona turned the corner at the end of the hall just as Jalomar descended the winding flight of steps to her floor. Motherfucker. Instant sobriety. She quickly turned around and ran back toward her bedroom in hopes he didn’t see her.

  “Where is it you're darting off to?” he shouted and gave chase. He caught up to her before she could retreat back into the sanctuary of her chamber.

  She smiled up at him sweetly. “Anywhere you aren't.”

  He blocked the bedroom door. “Are you trying to avoid me?”

  Ramona bobbed her head. “I am, actually. Could you move over a smidge so I can continue ignoring you somewhere else?”

  “We need to talk, Ramona.”

  “No, we don't. You may need to talk, but I am just freakin’ dandy. Excuse me, please.” She tried to slip around him, but he leaned into the side of the doorframe.

  “We both need to talk. About Megan.”

  Ramona clenched her fists. “Don’t ever say her name again. She's dead because of you!”

  He scowled. “I had nothing to do with her murder, milady. We both know it to be someone else.”

  “Someone else? Try your brother. He wanted to hurt you, so he killed Megan!”

  “Be assured, he will stand trial once he is caught. If he is found guilty, he will hang the same day.”

  Holding a hand high, she rolled her head with all the twenty-first century attitude she could muster. “If? Who will be the judge? You? It doesn’t matter if he hangs or not. It never should have happened, and that is on you!”

  His nostrils flared; he grabbed her by the shoulders and pinned her against the closed door. “Do you know why it happened, Ramona? Because you went out traipsing through the forest without protection. You knew Sandread looked for you.” His forefinger traced a path from her lips, down her neck, to the low neckline of her tunic. “You wanted to find Sandread and finish what you started the day he took you from me at the stream.”

  She gasped. “You’re insane. I would never endanger Megan and the kids on purpose. How was I supposed to know he had free rein on your land?”

  Jalomar leaned into her harder. “You
do not refute craving Sandread's touch?”

  She was tired of wasting her time denying what he’d never believe. Why did it always have to be hot or cold between them? No warmth. No common ground. Just…hot or cold. Like in the library. He wants her, and then he doesn’t. In true Ramona style, she lashed out to hide her hurt. “No, I do not,” she said, exaggerating each word as it passed from her lips deliberately slow. “But I do deny your existence as a man. A leader. I wish your brother would have rescued us instead.” Sting. The corners of her mouth lifted in a victorious grin.

  He released her and clasped his hands behind his neck; the coldness in his icy blues matched his tone. “You should leave, milady. But I promise, I will seek justice for Megan's murder and maintain your safety as charged by the Vespa. And if you try to forsake my orders to keep you from harm, I will lock you away in the dungeons below and never lose a night's rest over you again.”

  The sound of Jalomar's boots echoed down the corridor before she could form a retort. She balled her fists so tight, her finger nails bit into the flesh of her palms as she watched him walk away and out of sight. Fuck him…and not in the way she caught herself imagining either. She’d make it her personal goal to disobey his every command from this moment on. If he thought she infuriated him now, he’d soon realize it was only the beginning. What the hell had the Vespa been smoking when they gave him the job as her guardian? Damn. Damn. Damn. It was clearly the same thing she was smoking, because for all her anger and resentment toward the pig-headed warrior, her body hummed when he was near. And her brain turned into goulash. Someone pass the paprika, I’m about done.

  What in this world had the Vespa been thinking when they’d bestowed upon him the curse of protector to the Fiery Maiden? She was a she-demon to be feared more than the Shema. He’d marched off without an inclination to where he was heading and now realized he meant to go the other direction. Pride kept him from turning around and passing her room, even if it meant forsaking his own office for a bit longer. He decided a light meal would restore his mood and energy.

  The maid curtsied deeply, exposing two fleshy breasts on the verge of falling out of her bodice as Jalomar entered the servants' kitchen. “Are you hungry, milord? I can prepare anything you might…crave,” she offered with a provocative smile.

  The open invitation earned a grunt from Jalomar. The lusty scullery maid, whose name escaped him, was new to his staff, having migrated from Gypsy territory. Rumor told of her voracious sexual appetite and boasted her many sexual talents. She looked up with big doe eyes, approaching with graceful, calculated steps. The sharpness of her fingernails breached the fabric of his tunic as she raked a hand down his chest. The beauty silently promised a liaison capable of forgetting his current frustration. Yet, her sun-kissed skin didn’t excite him like it should. Nor did the bow of her lips forming a seductive moue. He cleared his throat. “I only seek a quick bite to hold me over. I have much business to attend to.”

  “I can be attended,” she purred.

  Jalomar grabbed a handful of her hair and rolled it between his fingers. A hint of vanilla wafted upward as the silky strands soothed his callused hands. He imagined fire red locks in their stead. He willed his focus back to the inviting maid unlacing her bodice. His groin tightened as she rubbed her body against him. “And just how do you like to be attended, my little whore?”

  The maid giggled and dropped to her knees; she unbuckled his belt with expertise. Jalomar gasped when her long fingers closed around his shaft. “Ramona…”

  She gave his cock a squeeze. “Lulu,” she corrected, whining when his erection fell flat. “My Lord Jalomar, do you not like me?”

  Jalomar raised her up and hurriedly redid his belt. “I'm sorry, love. I need to be elsewhere. I promise, I find you lovely in every way.” Except you're not the flame-haired she-demon sent to torture me.

  “Then why must you leave me, when I'm in such desperate need?”

  Jalomar shook his head, cursing his cock’s spurn of the temptress caressing his balls through his pants. “I must go.” He made a rush for the door to escape the maid’s determined advances. Pushing the swing style door open, he came face to face with a pair of angry emerald eyes. The same eyes he craved to see looking upon him as the lustful kitchen wench had. He stopped, awaiting Ramona's verbal assault.

  She merely moved to the side. “Good night.”

  He considered explaining the situation, but what would he say? I wasn’t able to fuck the maid because I was thinking about you? It was better he said nothing. Not that it truly mattered. Ramona didn't want him. She lusted after Sandread. Even in her dreams, she ached for the traitorous bastard.

  He shook his head as he passed her. The one woman he wanted, wanted someone else. And worse yet, he was sworn to protect that very female from the man she craved. Perhaps he should throw the wench in Sandread's direction and let the world defend its damned self.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cynthe assessed the outline of the outer walls enclosing Dilseacht. They would never provide adequate protection against Labelle’s forces should she gain the power of the Fiery Maiden. Her majik would be triple fold that of even the strongest Vespian, and Cynthe’s protection spell on the castle would shatter with a simple thought from the dark sorceress. Dilseacht's only hope lie in the Fiery Maiden.

  Daylight quickly faded; gray clouds hung low and promised oncoming precipitation. Cynthe shuddered. More than rain would come this night. She had foreseen it. “Azer,” she whispered softly. “Where are you to guide me tonight?” She pictured the High Priest. His flowing hair of silver, and piercing azure eyes much like her own—a Vespian trait she'd inherited from her mother.

  Her mother, Lady Vye was a full blooded Vespa, captured by her father Lord Ganth in his prime. He'd become smitten with her ethereal beauty and spirited her away to Dika. He never mistreated or abused her in anyway. However, he couldn't set her free. In turn, Lady Vvy came to love her captor and birthed him three daughters—the Sisters of Legend. After two decades, an unknown illness struck Vye down.

  A tear slid down Cynthe's cheek as she recalled her mother's death. It was dawn, and both nobility and peasants from near and far filled the courtyard. Before the funeral pyres could be lit, golden rays engulfed all of Dika. The Vespa had come for Vye’s body, refusing to allow one of their own to be buried as a human. It was the night Cynthe learned of her true heritage and met Azer. He quickly became her mentor. As Cynthe matured, their relationship blossomed into more than teacher and student, despite neither being allowed to act upon their desires.

  The wind gushed. Its coolness caressed Cynthe's flesh through the thin, silken wraparound.

  “My dearest, Cynthe.”

  She smiled as a bright ball of plasma floated down from the night sky. Azer materialized before her moments later. “You have come.”

  “Aye, I have. The wind carried your calls to me, and then carried me to you.”

  She rushed into his open and waiting arms. “The time draws near.”

  He squeezed her tightly. “You should come with me. We can fly away together. Leave this all behind.”

  Cynthe lowered her head. She couldn’t stand to see the hurt in his eyes when she refused him, again. “You know I cannot do that. And where would we go? You know as well as I the prophesy will remain; it will only change its means of reaching fruition. That is not a choice I am willing to make. I will not allow someone else to take my place. Their blood would be on my hands.”

  “Why do you want to die for them?”

  “I do not wish to die. It is what I must do. What's the purpose of living if my eventual death has no meaning?”

  “These humans aren't worth it! They do not deserve our protection and guidance anymore. They are all but extinct, and yet they cannot put their pettiness and greed aside to thrive. They kill one another and rob from the land. They have become a pestilence among the Earth.”

  She sighed. If only it were that simple. Humankind had barely su
rvived the bombardment. Instead of concerning themselves with survival and regrowth, they chose to continue their prior course of violence and domination, ultimately dividing what landmass had survived amongst the most powerful warlords. Regardless of their flaws and failures, Cynthe was resolute in saving them as a whole. After all, she too, was half-human.

  She placed a hand on Azer's chest, and nestled deeper into his embrace. “Azer, my beloved. I will fulfill my destiny not only to save humanity, but the Vespa as well. Without man, you have naught a purpose. Your majik will fail within a few generations, and it is your kind who will become extinct.”

  “We've survived for millions of years without the aid of humanity. We will survive millions more.”

  She met his gaze with sadness. “Nay, you cannot. We are born of the Great Magi, given our majik to preserve life. Should a time come when our majik is no longer viable to whatever outside race, it dissipates. You know this. You’ve taught me this.”

  He thrust her from him, but didn’t let go completely. He held her arm’s length; his aura flickered between its normal bright white and various shades of gray. He struggled to release her, but she didn’t encourage him either way.

  “I can take you here and now,” he threatened. “Spoil your majik. Defile your innocence. Take you away with me!”

  “Aye,” she conceded calmly. “You can do all of those. If you decide to, I am powerless to stop you.” She stared him directly in the eyes. “And I wouldn’t naysay you, my love.”

  He crashed his body against hers, holding her captive with one arm around her waist and the other supporting the back of her head. His lips hovered a hairsbreadth above hers. “Why do you tempt me? Come into my mind. See the struggle I feel at this moment. Show me what you want me to do.”