A Promise of Fire

by Amanda Bouchet

  Straightening, I think about my next step. When Poseidon gave me my gifts, he also gave me his obsession. The frigid northern lakes and the Fisan Ocean are both about three weeks out of my reach. As usual, that means settling for a Sintan stream. It’s still water, even if it’s warm. I’ll stop at the creek, somehow get out of my pants, clean up, cool down, and then… I don’t know. Nothing will ever change, no matter where I go. I’ll still live in fear, the black crow of dread circling my head.

  The circus was different. With Selena and Cerberus here, I almost felt safe—safe until that dratted warlord decided to stick his big, hooked nose into my life.

  Growling in frustration, I look around my tent for the last time. No one will see me leave. Where I’m concerned, stealth reaches an entirely new level.

  The warlord’s taken this from me. Home and family mean something to most people. I never understood what it was until Selena took me in, and Aetos and Desma decided I was theirs. They’re mine, too. Leaving them is like cutting off a limb.

  Deep breath in. Long breath out. Cats don’t cry.

  My tent flap snaps open, and the warlord fills the doorway, a mass of shadow and steel.

  I freeze, stunned. Disbelief leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “H-How did you get back here?”

  He steps inside, crosses his arms, and leans casually against the tent post. The torch pops, sending a flicker of firelight over him that illuminates his inky hair and sun-bronzed skin. The wavering glow highlights the hard muscles rippling under his rolled-up sleeves, tapering down to corded forearms, thick wrists, and powerful hands. Hands that could break me in two.

  His teeth flash. Wolfish. Confident. “I have my ways.”

  My mouth falls open, and a shiver scrambles down my spine. I’m rarely at a loss for words.

  “You took my copper and didn’t evaluate my last man.” He nods to his final companion. “Kato. You’re up.”

  The last man ambles forward, casual, followed by Carver and Flynn. They’re all so relaxed. What’s wrong with these people? Don’t they know the world is falling down around my ears?

  The man called Kato stops a few feet from me. I take him in with a glance. He’s big, blond, and almost impossibly handsome, with startling cobalt eyes. The mace he carries tells me he’d rather bludgeon than slice. I get that. There’s something satisfying about whacking people over the head.

  Backing up, I dig around in my pocket, which is not easy, and pull out one of the warlord’s coppers. “Here’s your coin. Now get out.” I throw the copper at him.

  He catches it on reflex and then tosses it back, hitting me in the chest.

  I glare at him, fuming.

  “I’m loyal,” Kato volunteers cheerfully. He looks like he’s always happy. There are smile lines etched into the tanned skin around his mouth and eyes, and perfect teeth like his are just made to be shown off with a grin.

  I scowl at the blond warrior now, reluctantly noting that he’s a rather perfect specimen of a man while giving him a heaping dose of the evil eye. There’s no soul ripping this time, and everyone knows it.

  Apparently satisfied, the warlord steps closer. “Now that that’s settled, you’re coming with me.”

  I snort, stepping back. “Never in a billion suns. Not even if Zeus showed up as a swan and tried to peck me in your direction. I wouldn’t go with you even if my other option was Hades dragging me to the Underworld for an eternal threesome with Persephone.”

  The warlord pierces me with a hard stare. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

  “Or no way,” I retort.

  He lunges for me. The tent is small, and he’s shockingly fast. His hands close around my upper arms, and satisfaction flares in his eyes. “Not poisonous anymore?”

  “A shame.” I stomp on his foot, crushing with the heel of my boot.

  He laughs. Bastard.

  I disappear. I’m still there, just invisible, and he lets go. They always do. The warlord lets out a sound somewhere between a snarl and a grunt and stares at his empty hands. It never occurs to people to just hold on.

  I inch away, silent. Four men block the door. They shed their casualness like it’s a second skin, becoming battle ready in an instant, alert, the air around them charged with tension.

  “Guard the door,” the warlord rumbles. “She’s still here.”

  Gods damn it! I glance around. There’s no escaping under the tent. The material is tight and flush to the ground. Aetos drove the spikes in for me, and it’ll take Aetos’s muscles to get them out again. There’s a knife in my belt. I could slice the canvas, but by the time there’s an opening I could fit through, the warlord would be on top of me. My only option is to draw them away from the door. If Flynn and his giant ax would move about a foot to the right, I could probably slip through.

  The silence in the tent is absolute. I don’t even hear them breathing. Then the warlord turns and looks straight at me. Impossible.

  Still one moment, he pounces the next, grabbing me. I’m so shocked I lose my concentration and pop back into sight. One big hand is clutching the better part of both breasts, and the other is clamped over my ear, his fingers digging into my braid.

  I suck in a sharp breath and pound on his wrist, trying to dislodge his hand from my chest, shaken by how large the warlord is, and how ungodly hot his hands are on me—a firestorm of muscle, sinew, and bone.

  His eyes flaring, he adjusts his grip, banding hard fingers around my left arm. I fly at him with my right fist and punch him in the neck. He jerks, taking the blow on the muscular column instead of the sensitive front. I draw back for another hit, but he plucks my fist out of the air and then forces it down, easily shackling both wrists in one hand. He uses his other hand to disarm me, slipping the knife from my belt and into his own.

  I nearly cringe at my own stupidity. Eight years with the circus has made me soft. I had a knife, and I didn’t even think of stabbing him when he couldn’t see it coming.

  Snarling, I bang my forehead into his jaw.

  A muscle feathers along the warlord’s cheek. Grasping my upper arms, he lifts me clear off my feet. “That is not a good idea.”

  He’s conveniently put his nose within reach. I drive my head toward it, but he dodges, growling a curse as my nose slams into his cheekbone. Pain makes my eyes water. Gasping my next breath, I go still, dreading the gush of blood. When there isn’t any, I screech like a Harpy and kick him in the shins.

  With eyes like thunder, he sets me down, spins me in his arms, and then crushes my back against his chest. “Settle down, Soothsayer.”

  Settle down? Settle down!

  “Could you see me?” I wheeze, his heavy arm compressing my rib cage.

  “No, but I knew where you were.” The warlord sniffs loudly and then exhales, his hot breath tickling my ear. “You stink.”

  Lovely. “Who are you?”

  He turns me back around, keeping hold of my arms. “Beta Sinta.”

  I go numb with shock for the split second before fear surges through me in a paralyzing rush. This is the warlord who put his sister on the throne? This is the Hoi Polloi who somehow overcame the previous royal family’s magic? This is the man now second in command of all of Sinta?

  No wonder he got past Cerberus. All he had to do was order someone to bring him back here. He owns us all. He could have Desma arrested, Aetos executed, Tadd, Alyssa, Vasili, and all my other friends tortured until they begged for mercy. Selena deprived of her life’s work. No explanation necessary. He’s Beta Sinta.

  “The better question is who are you?” He studies my face. “Fisan. I can see that even through all the paint.”

  I almost say I’m Beta Fisa just to see his eyes bug out, but that joke wouldn’t really be funny for anyone. “Cat,” I answer tightly. I don’t deny being Fisan. My olive skin, light green, elongated eyes, dark hair, a
nd long, straight nose give me away. It doesn’t matter. A lot of people are Fisan.

  “Just Cat?” He cocks his head. “I don’t believe you.”

  I stare at him, an inferno of hatred in my eyes.

  Beta Sinta’s mouth flattens into a hard line as he nods to Kato. The Adonis-like blond takes a rope from Beta Sinta’s belt and then ties one end loosely around my waist and the other around Beta Sinta’s. The second we’re attached, the warlord lets go. I start working on the knot, and no one tries to stop me. It’s more of a bow. There’s nothing to it, so why won’t it budge?

  “An enchanted rope.” Beta Sinta’s smug announcement has my eyes widening in astonishment. “Only I can untie it.”

  My mind rebels. “You don’t have that kind of magic.” He doesn’t have any magic.

  “You’d be surprised at the treasures one can find in the bowels of a despot’s castle.”

  Actually, I wouldn’t. “But the Medusa’s Dust…” I sputter a curse. “I saved your life!” Obviously one of my stupider ideas. I used to be good at this stuff. If people could have gotten the better of me this easily when I was a kid, I’d be dead.

  “You think you saved my life, but I appreciate the gesture, which is why you’re still conscious.”

  I gasp and swing at him again.

  He catches my fist before it can connect, crushing it slightly. “Control your temper,” he advises, releasing my hand with a soft shove.

  There are some things about my blood even I can’t deny. Temper is one of them. “I’ll show you temper, you oversized, egomaniacal, murdering son of a Cyclops!” I ram my foot into his groin.

  Beta Sinta doubles over with an explosion of breath. I’d do it again, but I’d rather run. I swipe my knife from his belt, bring the blade down hard on the rope, and plow my way toward the door.

  A second later, I’m on my ass. The rope is perfectly intact, and three men are looking down at me, identical smirks needing to be wiped off their faces. Permanently.

  Flynn’s foot lands on my wrist, stomping just hard enough to make me let go of the knife. Beta Sinta uncurls himself, glaring at me while he picks up my blade and slips it into his boot.

  I change tactics and start sucking the magic out of the rope. Power nips at my skin and seeps into me, but the rope retains its enchantment. I keep sucking, and it keeps giving—a perpetual supply of magic!

  Gods damn it! I pound both hands on the ground and howl.

  “Up,” Beta Sinta orders.

  I twist and lash out at him with my feet. He jumps to avoid my sweeping kick, and fury erupts in me. I’m fast and well trained, but he’s always a step ahead. Part of me is awed by his speed and agility. Most of me wants to grab Kato’s mace and thump Beta Sinta over the head with it. Repeatedly.

  He fooled me at the fair, this man with the quick smile and midnight hair. I thought the warlord was just another warlord. I flushed at his interest and jumped into his dance of teasing threats. I had fun. Now, looking at him reminds me of something much stronger than fleeting attraction. There’s nothing in this world or the Underworld I hate more than royals.

  “I’d rather let Cerberus slobber me to death with poisonous drool than go anywhere with you.”

  His jaw muscles flexing, Beta Sinta pulls on the rope until I’m forced to either scramble to my feet or get dragged to his. “Come and I won’t have your friends arrested one by one while you watch.”

  I feel myself pale. There’s no lie in his words. He’s not bluffing.

  So this is it, exactly what Mother was trying to teach me, to pound and torture into me. Love is weakness, an exploitable flaw.

  My surroundings fade, and I feel her sharp-nailed fingers digging into my chin as she turns my face and forces me to watch my older brother gut my nursemaid, the only woman who ever held me. Mother beat me when I cried, gave me a puppy the next day, and then ten months later, just when I loved that dog more than anything except for my sister, started the lesson all over again.

  I blink, and Beta Sinta’s handsome, treacherous face comes back into focus.

  Poseidon, protect me. I pick up my satchel, swing it over my shoulder, and don’t look back.

  CHAPTER 4

  Home. Gone.

  Friends. Gone.

  Captured by a ruthless Hoi Polloi warrior who’s going to use me to keep the kingdom he stole.

  Can life get any worse?

  Let me think… I’m tied to the warlord atop his huge horse, I stink, and my skintight pants are driving me insane.

  We ride through the night, the enchanted rope keeping me from jumping off the horse. By dawn, I’m sore and exhausted, my whole body limp with fatigue. My nose still hurts, and my bottom half, which hasn’t been in contact with a horse in years, is aching fiercely, but I keep yawning, and my eyelids feel like someone’s hung marble statues from them. Rage and anxiety usually keep me nice and alert. Right now, they can’t even keep me awake. I slump against the warlord’s back as the sun rises on our right, my last conscious thought that I hope my caked-on cosmetics leave a grimy face print on his clean, white shirt.

  I only wake up because someone is fiddling with the rope. Cracking open an eye, I see lean, tall Carver retying it so that Beta Sinta and I are not only strapped together at the waist but under the armpits as well. I didn’t even feel Beta Sinta untie the rope to begin with and scowl at the lost opportunity. I could have turned invisible and bolted from the horse.

  Carver pulls the knot tight, tugging me hard against his brother’s back. “You sleep like the dead. Kato and Flynn are already betting on when you’ll fall off.”

  I give him the evil eye, and Carver chuckles, flashing that easy smile. Does he think this is funny?

  By noon, the sun is high and hot, beating down on my dark hair and crimson-clad back. My leather pants are officially one of the worst things in my life right now, and that’s saying a lot. I still manage to go back to sleep. I haven’t slept like this in years, maybe in my entire life. I may be strapped to a man I hate, but he would probably do a lot to keep me alive. He might even be good at it. Ironically, I feel almost safe.

  I’m going to escape. After I sleep.

  The afternoon heat is unbearable enough to wake me up for good and make me want to claw off my skin. Beta Sinta is throwing off more than his fair share of heat as well, and all I can think about is dumping buckets of icy water over us both. I keep sane by thinking about the north, the cold, the fiery glow of sunshine through a curtain of ice, and the soft chill of snowflakes frosting my skin, but all that does is fill the hollowness inside me with an even deeper ache. Longing for things I can’t have is useless, just like wishing for freedom and a life no one wants to steal out from under me.

  Stifling a sigh, I blink against the dry summer brightness and look around. Dust, dust, and more dust. Fabulous.

  My stomach wakes up with a low rumble. “Don’t you people eat?”

  “We ate. You slept through it.”

  Beta Sinta’s deep voice vibrates through my rib cage, and I wiggle back as far as the rope will allow.

  “I have to get down.”

  He glances over his shoulder at me. “Now?”

  “I have to… You know…”

  There’s a slight pause. Of course he knows.

  “There are woods and a stream up ahead. We’ll stop there.”

  I squint and can barely make out the greenery on the horizon. It’s miles away. What does he think I’m made of? “I have to pee now.”

  Wordlessly, he reins in his mount, loosening the rope to give me about four feet to work with.

  I slide to the ground and land on wobbly legs, bracing myself against the horse’s steaming flank. I glare up at him. “You have to get down. Or untie the rope.”

  Moving with easy, masculine grace, Beta Sinta swings down, still irritatingly fresh except for the sweat
y face print on his back. Ha!

  “Some privacy?” I grind out.

  He arches one eyebrow. You’d think I’d just asked him to catch Pegasus and fly him to the moon. There’s no privacy anyway, not even a bush to squat behind, just sunburned plains, heat haze, dust, and tumble bumbles.

  Shrugging, I turn invisible, taking the rope and the warlord along with me. His men shout in alarm.

  “It’s all right,” Beta Sinta calls. “I’m still here.”

  He can’t see me, though. Right now, he can’t even see himself. Anything attached to me turns invisible right along with me. Clothes, ropes, warlords… It’s a great way to scare the life out of someone. They think they’ve died and become a realm-walking spirit. Nobody wants to end up like that.

  The second we pop back into sight, Beta Sinta mounts his big, brown beast and reaches down for me. I’m so stiff I can’t get back on the horse. None of my muscles comply with my brain, and he has to haul me up like a sack of grain.

  “Go easy, Griffin,” Flynn rumbles on our left. “She’s not used to riding.”

  I almost throw him a grateful glance but then turn it into a scowl, which is easy since I’m squinting into the sun, and Flynn’s shock of auburn hair is so shiny it’s practically a weapon in its own right.

  Beta Sinta ignores Flynn’s advice in favor of getting to the woods—and shade—faster, setting a pace that makes me wish my seat bones were even better padded than they already are. I sink my nails into his sides, half to hold on, half to maim him, but he doesn’t even react.

  Griffin. I turn the name over in my head, reluctantly curious. A griffin is an exceptionally rare creature, a mix of lion and eagle, king of beasts and king of birds. His parents must have been the pretentious sort. Then again, he did take over Sinta.

  He finally slows to a walk, I think for my sake even though we’re not yet to the forest. My stomach growls, louder this time, and he fishes around in his saddlebag, handing me something wrapped in grape leaves. It’s smelly and not quite firm. Goat cheese. Gag!