The Firebrand Legacy

by T. K. Kiser

  One simple directive pulsed through her veins: flight. If home couldn’t protect them, they needed to go somewhere—anywhere—that would, any place where they wouldn’t die like Louise.

  Carine wore her cloak and an old pink surcoat over her thin, white gown. She had laced her boots up to her calves and even tucked an awl into her drawstring bag. But the idea of using the blade for anything other than punching holes in leather made Carine’s stomach turn.

  A breeze channeled through the narrow street and swirled the unswept glass into a dizzying, twinkling stir.

  “Are we really leaving?” Carine asked. Crossing that threshold would mean this nightmare was real. It meant leaving Didda, maybe forever. Carine was not okay with that.

  Tears brimmed in Mom’s eyes. Her voice croaked as she whispered, “We have to.”

  Carine glanced back into the home she had always known. Glass, shoes, and boards cluttered the floor. There was no food, no warmth, and no hope left within. It was a shell of the life she had once known.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Carine lifted her foot and stepped onto the stone of the street outside. She took Mom’s hand. “Ready?”

  Mom shook her head.

  “Me neither,” said Carine.

  Their Didda-made shoes crunched over splintered glass as they trailed into an infiltrated Esten under a star-speckled sky. Remnants of the abandoned Festival—strings of Navafort’s flags and uncollected wishstones—haunted the eerie streets. Their pattens clapped over the cobblestone, no matter how hard they tried to tread lightly.

  Carine peeked around a corner of the square, touching the wet brick with her bare hand before guiding Mom into the narrow street. This was the same street that had been filled with cheery Esteners ten days ago. Today, closed curtains blocked all the windows. The tenants inside must have held their breath as Mom and she walked by. Carine wanted to announce that she wasn’t Selius so they wouldn’t have to cower, but it wasn’t worth the risk of being discovered. Any of them could have also been told to find a heart. Any of them could turn on her.

  They followed the river and passed the ribbon shop Mom adored. Its door was bolted shut, its windows covered with paper from the inside. On any other day, Mom would linger in the window, but today she passed by as a ghost, unstirred by the thought of little luxuries.

  Usually, the river was full of western trade boats headed for the port. Today, the water rushed beneath the impressive, three-arch bridges without a single ship.

  Carine’s palms sweat. A lack of ships meant that either the Navafortians had already heard about the Heartless One upstream, or—worse—other Heartless Ones had attacked the boats’ source towns.

  “We can’t go west,” Carine said, careful to keep her voice low. “Our only hope is a trading ship.”

  “You read my mind,” agreed Mom.

  At the delta, boats swayed softly in the water. No one boarded them; no cargo was loaded or unloaded. While there were usually thirty ships, today were only five.

  But even as Carine calculated their ability to steer a ship alone, her foot caught on something along the road. Her drawstring bag flew from her grasp as her hands hit the gritty pathway.

  Mom spun. “Oh, thank the flames, Carine. You tripped. That scared me half to death. I thought someone…”

  As Carine turned to move the object that tripped her, she discovered it was a pale limb with five stubby white toes. She clenched her jaw, unable to look away. The man’s body lay strewn in the grass, his skin and face looking almost fake in their motionless state. Thank the flames, the body wasn’t Didda’s.

  It was Selius. His open eyes were glazed over like glass balls. To Carine’s revulsion, their expression carried little difference from when he had entered their house.

  “Mom...”

  Her mother leaned to see and gasped. “If the Heartless Ones don’t have a pulse, how can we be sure he’s dead?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Carine backed away. “I don’t know if we can be sure.”

  “But if he’s dead, does that mean we’re safe? We can go home?” Mom’s tired eyes blazed with longing.

  Carine’s heart pounded. Safe…that state was so elusive. Even now with Selius dead, the dragon could still fly over any second. “How did he die?”

  Mom shrugged. She stepped west toward their shattered shell of a home. “Does it matter? Let’s go back.”

  But Carine could not go back. It wasn’t only hunger that turned her stomach. Something else was wrong. “Heartless Ones don’t just die. Someone—or something—had to have killed him.”

  Mom shivered. “Please…let’s go home.”

  Carine ran her fingers through her hair. “Didda didn’t come back when he said he would, which means something bad happened to him. Now, someone has killed the Heartless One —”

  “No one can kill a Heartless One,” Mom said.

  “Then it was someone just as powerful.” Panic flurried through her veins. “We have to get out of here, Mom. We have to leave the city—and the kingdom.”

  Mom relented, and they ran until a door marked with a heart swung open. The man was a baker. Even now as he stood in the doorway assessing the two people in front of him, flour caked his pants and palms. He was thin as a rail and tall.

  Carine stepped back. Baker or not, the man had a knife in his hand and fear in his eyes. His gaze flicked between Carine and her mom until he seemed to decide on Carine. He turned the blade in his hands.

  His eyes and door told the story: Selius had threatened his family as well. Instead of heading for the pig pens, he was searching the streets for a human heart to offer.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, clicking the door shut behind him.

  Carine stepped back, but he stepped forward in turn. When Carine stepped back again, her shoe caught a broken cobblestone, and she fell. Mom swept her arm out to block Carine. The three stood frozen, none of them willing to commit to more dramatic action.

  “He’s dead,” Carine said, blurting out the rest of her explanation. “The Heartless One is dead, I swear. His body’s by the river. I swear! Please, we’ve bought your bread before. I promise he’s dead. Don’t kill us.”

  The baker wavered. Carine scrambled onto her feet, but she didn’t dare to stand.

  “But there’s no flame.” The baker froze. “The only way to defeat a Heartless One is to pass him through two tongues of a dragon’s flame.”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Mom said. His expression said that he wanted to believe them. “See for yourself. His body’s by the river.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I have five kids. They can’t live without me or their mom.”

  Carine’s system pulsed with adrenaline. She and Mom bolted east. The baker jumped after them.

  At a gap between two houses, Carine skirted through the alleyway onto a parallel road, grabbing her mom’s hand and pulling her along. The baker tripped over something behind them.

  “You go on,” Mom said. “I’ll hold him off.”

  Carine pulled her hand, too angry to refuse out loud. They couldn’t split up—not a chance.

  “That ship!” breathed Mom, inching ahead. “That ship on the right, do you see? Someone’s boarding it. It’s going to leave Esten!”

  Just as she reached the end of the lane, thirty feet from the abandoned marketplace, the baker beat Carine back with a heavy hand.

  She crashed onto the stone.

  8 The Prowler

  Mom swirled and shrieked. Before the baker could raise his knife, Mom beat him with a rock, and he tumbled.

  “Go,” Mom said as Carine scrambled to stand.

  The baker jumped up and Mom met his eyes. Carine looked between them, too afraid to leave her mother, but more afraid to stay still another moment.

  “Go!”

  Carine darted toward the ship that rocked in the salty breeze while Mom clattered south, followed by the baker. By the time Carine turned on the sand, they had both disappeared.


  She was alone.

  A rope ladder hung over the side of a cargo ship. Thirty rungs up, a person stepped from the top rung into the boat. Someone else leaned over the side to pull the ladder up.

  “Wait!” Carine yelped.

  Even though the middle-aged man saw her, he reached again for the ladder.

  “Please, wait! I need to board!”

  Carine raced toward the red morning horizon, not even pausing to take off her boots. She ran until she crashed into knee-deep water, soaking her dress.

  “You cannot board, madam,” the man said with a formality that showed he was a servant used to speaking to a higher class. “I’m sorry. You cannot.”

  He didn’t understand.

  She choked on the waves.

  With her free hand, Carine grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder just before it rose out of reach. She coughed, blinking back seawater. Her eyes stung as she looked to the top of the ship. Her loose hair floated out around her shoulders.

  “You must let go, madam. I need to draw up the ladder,” the servant said.

  Not on her life. She held the rope with one hand—now two—and gripped so hard that she lost feeling of her palms.

  “Madam!” he called again.

  Carine glanced back to the shore, a poor decision because it only made her tremble. She couldn’t wait anymore. She had to leave. Gripping the bottom rung with her left hand, she reached with her right. She caught the next rung and kicked her slippery, ruined boots onto the ladder.

  “Madam,” the servant called, “you can’t come up!”

  Water poured off her clothes in sheets. Her dress felt like an anchor, her shoes like bricks.

  The wind rocked the ship. Her ladder leaned away from the hull. The ship and the servant nearly toppled over her. Carine clung to the ladder as the boat rocked the other way. Her body slammed into the hull, knocking her elbow, knee, and forehead.

  “Don’t come any closer,” warned the servant as her injuries pounded. With that, he disappeared into the boat.

  Carine disobeyed and climbed.

  The man reappeared with three additional faces, blurred by the stinging water in her eyes.

  “Tell the captain to move,” said a clear, young voice. “We can’t let anyone know that we’re leaving. It doesn’t bode well for us if someone is already trying to board.”

  The servant nodded and disappeared.

  “She’s not a Heartless One,” another young voice said in surprise. “She can’t be any older than we are.”

  “Power is not restricted by age.” This voice was older, and his tone suggested frowning.

  Carine clenched her jaw and reached for the next rung—success. When she moved her foot, however, it slipped off the rung. She fell, but grabbed the vertical rope of the ladder so fiercely that her palms burned, and she managed to keep herself up.

  “If she was a Heartless One,” said the second boy, “she would use magic to come up.”

  “If she were,” corrected the first boy. “Don’t you ever pay attention to your lessons, David?”

  David? Carine looked up. The formality and youth of the speakers suddenly made sense. David was the name of one of the young twin princes. If these were Princes David and Giles, then she was boarding a royal ship.

  One glance back to shore reminded her that it didn’t matter. Even if princes were on board, this was the ship that was leaving Esten. Carine had to be on it.

  “Hello down there!” shouted the second boy, maybe Prince David.

  Carine wince-smiled and bowed her head in due reverence. Then she reached for the next rung and the next. Just because he was royalty didn’t mean she would stop climbing.

  “Should I shoot her down, Your Majesties?” the older one asked.

  “What? No, Alviar!” said Prince David. “Go check on Limly.”

  Alviar grunted and turned. When he moved away, his feet clopped like hooves.

  Carine reached for the next rung, her heart racing as she approached royalty for the first time.

  The ship was already in motion, not just laterally, but moving away from shore. If she fell off the ladder now, she would have to swim back to that horrible place, the place that used to be home but now meant death.

  “Hey,” Prince David said, near enough now so he didn’t have to raise his voice. “Have you fed your heart to a dragon at any point?”

  Carine looked up, surprised to find that with this last rung she and the prince were face to face. Prince David had oversized ears that stuck out under dark, unkempt hair. His smile was immediately warm, and even though they were eons apart in status, he looked her straight in the eyes.

  She swallowed back nerves, but had no time to answer. Two long fingers pressed the side of her neck. Prince Giles had fierce, blue eyes that steadied on hers as his fingers pushed her vein. This was the check that was done at Navafort’s borders. Carine felt her blood pound as the second prince took note. The princes were twins but looked nothing alike.

  “She has a pulse,” Prince Giles reported, with formal language that matched his perfect posture. It wasn’t just his posture that was perfect. His enunciation, profile, and sleek, dark, straight hair were perfect too—inspiring even.

  He removed his fingers from her neck, and Carine sighed in relief.

  “See?” Prince David turned to his brother. “Told you.”

  “I need to board,” Carine said, hanging with both arms on the wooden banister. Her feet slipped over the rope ladder’s last rungs. She pulled herself over the banister, slopping water onto the deck. It felt like heaven to stand.

  The ship’s sails curved white, glorious, and taut in the wind that propelled them south. Rope piled at the base of the mast. On deck, half a dozen crew members manned various stations, completely disinterested in her surprise appearance. Despite the royalty on board, the crew members wore the casual layered garments of regular sailors. Even the captain, who stood at the wheel on the upper deck, looked frazzled and worn as though he were one with the ship. This was an export vessel, used to take Navafortian cotton down south to Padliot. The princes must have commandeered it for their departure: captain, crew, and all.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Prince Giles. He had an angled jaw that seemed to point at her. “Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m Carine Shoemaker of North Esten,” she answered automatically, hands over her knees now that her two feet were firmly planted on the deck of a royal-laden ship fleeing the country. But after a moment of silence, she realized what it meant to stand in this company.

  The princes, young as they were, donned velvet cloaks over their elaborate vesture: indigo for Prince Giles and crimson for Prince David. Their boots were of the finest leather. Their swords hung clean and sparkling at their sides.

  Carine fell to her knees and covered her face. “Your Majesties.”

  “Do you have any idea what you have done?” Prince Giles asked. “You have trespassed not only on a ship but on the company of royalty. You know what punishment we can give you.”

  Carine clenched her teeth. If they threw her overboard, she would have to swim back to shore where the baker was lurking.

  “Relax, Giles,” said Prince David. “She’s scared as anything. Can’t you tell? She’s shivering all over. Who knows what she’s just been through? Give her a moment.”

  “Please, Your Majesties, give me passage. I don’t care where you’re going. I just don’t want to die.” Carine swallowed hard. She had no money to offer them and no rank to show for herself. Her desperation forced her next words. “I can’t go back to shore, and you don’t want me to either.”

  “Why is that?” Prince Giles moved a piece of his hair back smoothly. His lips were thin lines, his gaze severe.

  “Because,” Carine inhaled, “if I go back to Esten, the city will know that its leaders are abandoning them. What would that say about the honor of the Great Marcels?”

  9 Deck

  Prince Giles raised an eyebrow as a
sly smile curled his lips. “Blackmail?”

  Carine cowered. Her one last strand of courage shriveled at his mocking. “Please, Your Majesty, I’m sorry. I just need to stay.”

  Prince Giles steadied his eyes on hers, but his expression changed from amusement to assessment.

  “You can stay,” Prince David said. He shot a glance at his brother, as though his declaration were more a question than a decree.

  Prince Giles nodded.

  Prince David erupted in a wide grin and turned to Carine. “We have to get to our studies, but Alviar or Limly will find you a place to stay on board.”

  She could hardly believe her luck. “Thank you, Your Majesties.” Still kneeling, Carine looked up as Prince Giles sauntered off, apparently done with the new situation.

  The other prince extended his arm. “I’m David.”

  He was the older twin, but he was more boyish than his brother and seemed younger—or at least, more approachable.

  Carine’s stomach turned as she stared at his royal hand. The extension of hands was only done between people of equal rank. Carine bowed instead, letting his hand stay there. “I know, Your Majesty.”

  He gave a little laugh. “We’ll work on that,” he said, dropping his arm, “and enough with the formalities. We’ll be on this ship for a week.”

  She couldn’t answer. Speaking to a prince was too terrifying even with formalities. “Can I ask where we’re going, Your Majesty?”

  “David,” he corrected, and then answered, “Ilmaria.” The island kingdom was just south of Padliot. “It’s not too far, is it? You’re still coming, right?”

  Carine glanced over at the disappearing Esten and grimaced. The white torch stood empty and powerless, leaving the city vulnerable to whatever magic floated in. “Definitely…anywhere but there… anywhere safe.”

  David nodded, a strain of worry wrinkling his forehead. “I’ll go get Alviar. He’ll find you somewhere to stay.”

  The breeze fluttered over her face as she waited in the middle of the deck. Her stomach roared with hunger and her nerves tingled from meeting the twin princes of Navafort. But above all, a spatter of excitement electrified her immense relief.