Maiden of Fire

by Ishabelle Torry

  Azer leaned over and whispered in her ear, “What is the matter, love?”

  Those images, so vague, yet familiar, burned her memory. Recognition of the legendary scenario left her shaking her head in denial. Azer placed a hand on her shoulder, while the other rested on the small of her back. He searched her face as he awaited an answer. How could she tell him, or the council, of her latest vision when she herself couldn't accept what she'd seen? She held no reservation in the identification of the Vespian with the dagger. Horen—the murderer of Ramona's father, and near slayer of Lyrene and Ramona. But how was Bolderis connected to the Horen of generations yet to be born? Could her sight be wrong? Or skewed because of the knowledge of a crime predicted to happen in the far future?

  She shivered; Azer gave her back a quick rub. “Are you feeling well? Has crossing realms caused you physical discomfort? I can redo the incantation to attune your human side if need be, my love.”

  Cynthe forced a smile. “Nay. The original incantation has proven sufficient.” She caught Shaila watching her with skepticism. There would be further discussion in private. But for the moment, Cynthe was content with keeping what she'd witnessed to herself. Curiosity bade she heard what Bolderis had to say. “I believe I am merely overwhelmed by the majik I feel in everyone's presence.” It wasn’t a lie. “It is most intimidating, to say the least.”

  Azer nodded his agreement, and Shaila gave a slight head bow before acknowledging the impatient Vespa tapping his foot. “You may speak, Bolderis,”

  Bolderis thrust his robust chest out as he approached the speaking podium, standing tall to address the assembly. With a slow, dramatic head turn, he scanned the U shaped bar to meet each fellow Vespian's curious stare. “I can tell by your expression that Cynthe's words have caused concern. Utter shock. But I ask you, my brethren, who is she to contradict the Sacred Scrolls? She is naught but a half-breed”—he held up an open hand to silence the outbreak of whispers—“and if that weren’t enough, she is also one of the Three Sisters of Legend. Her very birth is what set the prophesy into motion! So why should we take anything she has to say into consideration?”

  Cynthe's legs faltered; she sent Azer a silent thank you for keeping her upright. The assembly buzzed with excitement. She searched for the words to defend herself, but only managed a soft moan. “Why are they attacking me? I do not understand.”

  Azer passed Cynthe off to Shaila. “You are dismissed,” he told Bolderis through clenched teeth.

  Bolderis scoffed. “I am not done speaking.”

  Azer nonchalantly waved a hand, as if swatting away a pesky insect. Muffled high pitched squeals erupted from Bolderis' sealed lips when he tried to speak again. Azer bowed mockingly. “Have you finished saying your mind yet?”

  Bolderis' face reddened, and his eyes burned with hatred as he nodded his acceptance of Azer's authority.

  Azer removed the enchantment with another wave. “You are now dismissed. Please take your seat.”

  The entire assembly fell into silence. None dared to challenge their High Priest in defense of Bolderis' right to be heard. Bolderis purposefully brushed against Cynthe as he passed, earning a scowl from Shaila and granting Cynthe another premonition. It was a short glimpse. Beyond overwhelming as it illuminated the affiliation between Bolderis and Horen. Cynthe swallowed the bile rising to her throat. Nay…how could I have not known? She held her breath for several seconds as she faced Shaila. No longer was silence acceptable. “I've…something to reveal to you, Hope Mother. It is Bolderis who initiates the death of Lyrene and her human mate. He will leave behind a missive for Horen to find with the details and identity of the maiden.”

  Azer’s hold around Cynthe tightened as his gaze sought out Bolderis. The elder Vespa spoke in hushed tones to those seated beside him, his anger unmistakable by the harsh actions of his hand motions and red face.

  Shaila’s expression didn’t falter. “And so it has been known for generations.”

  Cynthe jerked away from Azer’s embrace, and gawped. “I don’t understand. The Sacred Scrolls told you Bolderis is a traitor, and you do naught to stop it?”

  Azer closed his eyes momentarily, inhaling deeply. “We must not interfere with Fate.” His gaze then locked with hers. “No matter how much we desire another outcome.”

  Shaila bowed regally and nodded her head toward Azer. “Return Cynthe to the human realm before the council senses her upset. We cannot risk anyone else learning of such future events. The path must remain clear, and all will prevail in the end.”

  Azer extended an arm to Cynthe. She accepted with a heavy sigh and downcast eyes. “I am ready to leave. Guide the way.”

  With a simple nod, the council chamber disappeared from view. Cynthe’s body hummed with Azer’s energy as he blinked them away.

  The portal inside Gullymouth Cave swirled into life as Azer and Cynthe approached, only activating when Vepsa blood was detected. It was as much of a precaution for the Vespa as it was for humanity. The majikal current within the Vespian realm would rip an ordinary man apart within minutes of entering without the ancient protective incantation.

  Azer came to a sudden halt, claiming Cynthe in an embrace before she could step back into the human world. He'd been waiting patiently for a moment alone with his beloved ever since he sensed her anxiety the first time Bolderis brushed past her on the dais. Her humanity gave her emotions away, and the terror she'd experienced had reached out to him. He hated that she’d glimpsed the future, uncovering secrets only he and the Hope Mother had known for countless generations. It was burden he’d hoped to keep from her shoulders.

  She allowed her body to meld into his, staring up at him with mouth slightly parted. He forced himself to focus on her face, but it proved futile in squashing his rising desire. Cynthe returned his stare with half closed lids, her breath becoming shallow. “Azer. Your aura gives you away.”

  He grinned. “As does yours, milady. Why are we doing this to ourselves?”

  Cynthe broke the embrace and backed away. “We are doing naught to ourselves. We must not interfere with Fate. Those are your words. What you taught me all those years ago.”

  “Forget what I said. I was naïve and misguided. How much more proof do you need to see these humans aren’t worth the effort anymore? They've chosen their destiny through ignorance and obstinacy.” His body trembled, despite the determination to control the rage that threatened his light. The High Priest of Vespa couldn’t allow such an evil emotion to enter his soul. But even as he stood before his beautiful soulmate, the darkness pulled at him. What if he tainted her innocence? Her sacrifice would no longer be sufficient. She'd be free to finally become his. He retook her into his hold and held her in place with one hand supporting her head, and an anchoring arm around her waist.

  Cynthe turned her face upward. Their mouths hovered so close he could taste her warm sweetness. She placed her palms on his chest, but offered no challenge. “I cannot stop you”—her lips quivered—“but be warned what you are contemplating will alter everyone's future, not just ours.”

  She closed her eyes, parted lips silently begging to be claimed. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with feather light strokes of his tongue, coaxing her to open to him fully. Her head fell back, and a raspy moan escaped her. “Azer,” she whispered softly as he caressed her back with long strokes. “Is this what you choose?”

  He pressed his groin into her lower belly. “Are you really so innocent, my love? That you cannot fathom a man's desire when presented? Or does your own desire confuse you?” She gasped when he brought a hand around to cup a breast. He thumbed a hardened nipple through the thin gown she wore, smiling when she arched into his palm. Her body responded to his touch eagerly. He'd waited decades for this moment, sweet surrender. To whisk her away from a cruel, undeserving fate.

  Tis not your fate to change…his conscience protested. His natural light was gaining on the darkness that fed his lust and greed. He tried to ignore it. Aye. He lusted
for Cynthe, and he'd often contemplated taking her as his, though not for purely impious reasons. He'd loved Cynthe since she was a young girl, having tutored her for many years. As she matured, so did his yearning.

  Cynthe slipped her arms around Azer's neck. “Your aura flickers. What is it that unsettles you?”

  Nothing. Everything. Her eyes glistened over, and he knew she tried to access his mind. He shut her out. “You do not want to be privy to the darkness that haunts me this evening.”

  “And what darkness could you possibly contain in your heart?”

  He nuzzled her cheek. “You, my love. You tempt me to forget my duties to not only the human race I vowed to protect, but my own brethren as well. You challenge my light.”

  Cynthe withdrew from his embrace, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. “I beg your forgiveness.” She sniffled. “Perhaps all these years I should have sought another to confide my fears to. Our bond should never have become more than teacher and student.”

  “Nay!” Azer denied heatedly. How could she say such a thing? He'd never trade their time together. If loving her cost him his light, so be it. “You misunderstand me, love. I would trade everything for you. Give anything for you.”

  “That is what I fear most.” She raised her arms above her head. A ball of plasma filled the gap between her hands. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

  Before Azer could ascertain her intention, the majikal sphere hit him and froze him in place. It wouldn’t contain him for long as his power was triple fold hers. Although it allowed her the time needed to slip through the portal. To slip back into the human world where her fate awaited.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Ramona strained as she pointed her forefinger at the pile of clean laundry on the sorting table. “Come on. Give me something.”

  Greselda rounded the corner with a wicker basket full of bedding and plopped it atop of the huge pile Ramona had been ordered to fold. She slapped at Ramona's finger. “If you start another load on fire, milady, I will be taking a whip to you!”

  “Oh, it was one time, Gressy. I've got to learn to control my power, you know.”

  “Well, why don't you try to scorch the latrines clean? Save me a day of scrubbin'.”

  Ramona wrinkled her nose. “Eww…there's poop in there. What if I make it explode?”

  Greselda snorted. “I won't be the one cleaning it. I'll tell you that. And if you ain't here to help out like you offered, then shoo. I've work to do.”

  Reaching for the closest article of clothing to fold, Ramona stuck her tongue out at the cranky, yet lovable matron. “I'm on it. Jebus. Anyone ever tell you how bossy you are?”

  “Aye. You do all the time, milady. As well as Lord Jalomar himself, and the entire castle, if you must know.”

  Ramona giggled and rolled her eyes. “As if he has any room to call anyone bossy. Maybe he should be renamed Dictator Jalo.”

  Greselda shook her head as she grabbed up one of the several sheets and began to fold it. “I’d be careful of speaking so loosely, milady. There be ears everywhere. You wouldn’t want the lord to hear of your wagging tongue, would you?”

  “Pfft. As if I wouldn’t tell him myself!”

  “Why do you hate him so much?”

  The shirt Ramona was folding fell from her hands back onto the table. Her eyes darted around the basement-like room as if the answers could be found in the cracked stone walls. “I hate things about him,” she confessed. “I don’t hate him, per se. He's just so…so damn arrogant, and overbearing. I mean, I guess if you grew up in the world I did, it’s hard to grasp this whole alpha caveman attitude the men here have.”

  Greselda tsked her tongue as she was known to do when preparing to scold someone. “But this is the world you live in now, milady. I’m not a learned lady like you, but I do know times change, and nothing is set in stone. Now let me ask you a question. Do you think it's easy to be the leader all the time?”

  “I suppose not. But why should I cut him slack when he refuses to get off my case?” She held her arms out to the side and spun around. “Do you think I asked for any of this? Nope. I was told this is what I was going to do.”

  “Neither did he, child. His role was decided by his heritage.”

  Ramona shrugged. “No one said he had to do it.”

  Greselda retrieved another sheet. “Nay. They did not. But much like you, should you fail, the world suffers. Had Lord Jalomar not accepted his birthright, Labelle be ruling this entire continent by now. And there be nothing worth saving then, milady.”

  Labelle. Another name to add to the forbidden list of words. Soon she'd be forced to invent a new dictionary. “Yeah, about that. How the hell am I supposed to beat the most powerful threat to mankind? I can't even control my powers.” She snapped her fingers, willing a flame to appear on her fingertip. “See! Nada.” She snapped again, sending a spark of fire toward the pile of clothes. The laundry whooshed into flames.

  Greselda groaned and yanked out a pail of water from below the table and doused the spreading fire. “I was prepared after the last incident.” She scowled and pointed to the door. “Go find something else to do, milady. You are banned from the laundry room!”

  Hope yawned and stretched vigorously as Miori passed her to Ramona.

  The young nursemaid curtsied. “The child last ate within the hour, milady. She should be content for some time. I will come for her next feeding, unless you need me beforehand.”

  “Thanks.” Ramona leaned to the side to peek around the doe eyed Miori. “Where's Breandra?”

  Miori blushed. “The young miss ran off with Gus. I bid her to return by midday.”

  “Ah. Young love. I suppose that'd be all. See you later.” The maid curtsied once more before leaving. Ramona chortled. Her twenty-first century brain would never comprehend the whole bowing thing. Or the antiquated formalities. Who would have thought the customs of ancestors past would become the standard for the future? Ramona carried the baby over to the bed. “Let's take a looksee at you, little bits.”

  Hope stirred slightly, stretching her limbs out as Ramona placed her in the center of the mattress. She snorted and tooted in her sleep, extracting another laugh from Ramona. How could a gassy infant be so damned cute? She eyed the tiny body, made even tinier by the backdrop of the large bed. The child had grown quite a bit since birth. Just how old was she now? Ramona crawled into the bed, careful not to wake Hope. Glancing down at the date on her wristwatch, she counted the days since Hope's dramatic birth.

  No freaking way. She double checked. Yep. Eight flippin' weeks since Hope's delivery—and Armageddon. In such a short time, she'd managed to survive an asteroid, her mother's death, and a kidnapping gone awry. At least the poor thing would never remember any of it.

  A heavy knock sounded. Ramona crawled from the bed and sprang for the door, not wanting to yell out and wake Hope. She whipped the door open before whoever was on the other side could knock again. “Hello—” The welcome died on her lips when she saw Jalomar and Kald on the other side, a grimace on their faces. “Can I help you?”

  Jalomar nodded, and Kald pushed past her. He scooped Hope up in one arm and withdrew his sword with the other.

  What the hell? Why was Jalomar and his right-hand gofer storming her room and stealing the baby? She searched Jalomar's face for an answer, but he remained impassive to her inquisitive stare. “Hey.” She waved her arms. “You wanna tell me what the heck is going on here? Should I be worried?”

  “There is no time to talk now, Ramona. Do as you are told for once.”

  He continued to stare past her. She followed his glower to the only window. What was he looking at? The hairs on the nape of her neck raised. This intrusion was odd, even for Jalomar.

  “How long have you been in this room? Is there anyone who can corroborate your whereabouts this morn?

  “Come again?”

  “It is a simple question, Ramona. Where were you this morn?”

  “Grabbing a coffee
at Starbucks.” Peripheral vision caught Kald raising his weapon her direction. She snapped her head to the left. “Don't even.” Her blood warmed inside her veins, surging to life in her fingertips. The last time she’d experience such rising heat, Mrs. Steele burst into flames. “Seriously. Don't do it.” Her raspy tone gave him pause. “If I were you, I’d put that kid back down where you found her.”

  Kald's gaze darted over her head to where Jalomar stood outside in the hall. “Milord? The maiden wishes the child—”

  Jalomar groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I heard her, Kald.”

  Although unable to visually see Jalomar, she knew he and Kald communicated a silent plan by the way Kald nodded and Jalomar’s hands motioned as if he were an umpire at a baseball game. “You know, I can see you, right?”

  Kald offered a weak smile. “Aye, milady. I beg your forgiveness.”

  “For what?”

  Oomph! She hit the ground belly first. Jalomar straddled her, pinning her arms beside her head. She looked up in time to see Kald retreating with Hope, his shoulders slumping when she screamed curses his direction. Ramona fought Jalomar's hold, bucking and throwing her head back in hopes of nailing him in the face. Somewhere in the midst of the struggle, she managed to get turned around. Her hair covered most of her face and made it difficult to focus. She went on a biting spree, blindly sinking her teeth into whatever parts of flesh she could get to. Regardless of her efforts, Jalomar held her immobile against the hard floor. Why the hell did all their meetings end up like this?

  Ramona shook the curls from her eyes. “What is wrong with you? Get off of me!”

  His jaw twitched.

  “Answer me, Jalo. What do you want with the baby? From me?”

  His name fell from her tempting lips with ease as she writhed beneath him. Her chest heaved in between sobs as she pushed at him in an attempt to dislodge his weight. Jalomar searched her face for any sign of betrayal—a telltale. Defiance. Anger. Bewilderment. Fear. But nay an inkling of malevolence reflected back in her emerald stare. He groaned inwardly, hating what he was forced to do.