A Promise of Fire

by Amanda Bouchet

  “Out!” Griffin barks.

  “Did you leave your sense of humor somewhere?” I ask, treading water and trying to take my boots off at the same time.

  Granite eyes flash to mine. “It must be in the cave.”

  * * *

  I can live in the castle or the barracks. I choose the barracks, but instead of being housed in the women’s wing, I’m given the room between Kato and Flynn. I guess Griffin wasn’t bluffing about everyone keeping an eye on me.

  Griffin lives in the castle, and as I settle into my new room, I feel annoyingly dejected. I was getting used to his solid presence, hearing him breathe in the dark. I’ll miss sleeping through the night.

  Alone and bored, I take a nap because it’s impossible to resist the bed. Later, Griffin arrives, cleaned up, shaved, and looking striking in much finer clothes than I’ve seen him in before. He informs me that I’m having dinner in the castle and then shepherds me across the courtyard with a firm hand on my lower back, nudging when I balk at the entrance to the formal dining room.

  “I’m not dressed enough,” I mutter, digging in my heels.

  He looks me over. “You look dressed to me. I recall a lot more skin when you’re not.”

  The blush that instantly hits my face sparks a teasing gleam in his eyes. Once it’s back, I realize how much I missed it.

  “And a few freckles over here,” he adds, trailing his fingertips up my ribs and coming dangerously close to the swell of my breast.

  A wave of pure heat crashes over me, and I jerk away from his hand. “I’m about to dine with Sintan royalty. Not that I take any of you seriously, but there is such a thing as tradition.”

  He shrugs. “I’m wearing pants.”

  “Are the women?”

  His expression turns resigned. “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow.”

  “I can go shopping by myself. I’ve been to Sinta City before.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re not leaving the castle without me.”

  “You have other things to do. Send Kato. Or Flynn.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  He goes from resigned to belligerent in a heartbeat. “Do you need me to say it in—”

  “Sign language won’t be necessary,” I interrupt, scowling. Disgruntled, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin. I’ll show these people how a curtsy is done, even if I am wearing soggy boots and a bloody pair of pants. Literally. There’s blood on them, and I can’t get it out, no matter how hard I scrub. At least it’s not mine.

  I take a step forward only to get jerked back.

  “Are there things men need to know about court etiquette? Things I need to know?”

  I huff. “Men just stand around looking ferocious, frowning, and flexing their muscles. It’s very unfair.”

  Griffin chuckles and raises his hand. I flinch—old habits die hard—and he frowns at my reaction. He smooths his hand down my braid, his calluses snagging on strands of hair. The tips of his fingers brush the side of my neck, and their roughness makes me shiver.

  “You should really stop resisting me,” he murmurs.

  I swallow, fighting the urge to step away. Or step closer. Gods! What is wrong with me? I hardly recognize my own voice when I speak. “Why?”

  He leans down to whisper in my ear. “Because you don’t want to.” He slips his hand around my waist, and his lips graze my cheek, soft and warm.

  I freeze, disturbingly aware of how my body tries to gravitate toward his. When he lifts his head, his gray eyes are stormy and full of things I can’t have, or even think about. My heart starts thumping, the wild, erratic pounding leaving me breathless. I step back, grumble something about arrogant warlords, and straighten my clothes, which were straight to begin with. Looking smug, Griffin offers me his arm. I ignore it and step into the room first, breaking etiquette just to get away from him.

  Still hot and flushed, I dip into a court curtsy. It’s less pretty without the flowing folds of a dress around me, but it’ll have to do. I hold the pose. And hold. My thighs start to burn. “Alpha Sinta is supposed to tell me to get up!” I hiss to Griffin.

  “Egeria!” He mimes something I see out of the corner of my eye.

  “Cat!” she cries. “Please stand.”

  I do, suppressing a groan of relief.

  “That was a lovely curtsy.” Kaia beams, clapping. Definitely the youngest. So enthusiastic, and completely inappropriate. “Can you teach me?”

  Griffin gives one of her loose curls an affectionate tug before taking an intricately woven hellipses grass crown from the leather pouch at his side. Kaia looks delighted, and there’s an odd pang inside me when I realize he must have made it for her. “That’s part of Cat’s job,” he says, positioning the circlet on his sister’s head with exaggerated care and concentration. “She’ll teach us all about court etiquette, especially you ladies.”

  Egeria smiles warmly. “Where did you learn court etiquette, Cat?”

  “In Castle Fisa.”

  “What were you doing there?” She sounds genuinely interested, and a little awed.

  “Mostly getting tortured,” I answer. “Loads of fun.”

  Everyone gapes while I look over Piers and Anatole. Gods! I thought Nerissa was old. Griffin’s father looks like he can’t even stand up. Piers resembles Griffin except he’s not as solid or weathered, and there are ink stains on his fingers even though he was out patrolling today.

  “Tortured!” Jocasta finally breaks the silence. “How awful!” She’s close to me in age. Like all the siblings, she has dark hair. It’s braided and pinned up. Brilliant azure eyes set her apart from the varying gray tones of the rest of the family.

  “Never happened to you?” I ask as if getting tortured were as common as lamb stew.

  Her jaw drops before clacking shut again. “Griffin would never allow us to be tortured.”

  Something twists in my chest. I wonder what it’s like to feel that secure.

  “Please sit.” Egeria indicates a chair between Griffin and Piers, ranking me above everyone except for Griffin and herself. I don’t say anything. Griffin is still standing and pulls out the chair for me.

  Servants dressed in traditional tribal clothing begin piling my plate with dolmades, fat green olives, and glazed dove breasts. I stop them. Etiquette lessons begin now—for everyone. “Alpha Sinta is served first, then Beta, and so on. I’m last.”

  “But you’re our guest!” Egeria protests.

  I almost snort. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

  “Isn’t she?” Egeria looks at Griffin, apparently confused.

  He shrugs, and I grit my teeth. “You’re the royals,” I say. “You’re first.”

  “I fail to see how being royal changes the rules of hospitality,” Egeria huffs.

  Hopeless. They’re all hopeless. “Is that how things are done in the tribes?” It occurs to me that I know as little about their way of life as they know about mine.

  Egeria nods, her eyes wide.

  I sigh. “You’ve already shaken up everything else. What’s one more thing?” Besides, the idea of being served last rankles, and I’m not even sure where to fit the parents in. They’re usually first, or dead.

  Egeria beams and motions for the servants to continue.

  “What else have my children shaken up?”

  The question comes from Anatole. I’m surprised his voice doesn’t wobble like the rest of him. He’s a big man with bushy white hair and craggy skin, but his body, which was obviously powerful at one point, is passing into frailty now. His mind seems intact, though. There’s a definite twinkle in his eyes, telling me he knows exactly what his family has shaken up.

  “In a traditional royal family, one parent is Alpha until he or she weakens and is eventually killed off, usually by the next in line wa
nting to be Alpha. So, Anatole—may I call you Anatole?”

  He nods, and I continue. “Egeria might have murdered you in your sleep a long time ago. But since Griffin is clearly stronger and more ruthless than Egeria, it’s probably Griffin who would have eliminated both you and Egeria to take over the realm.” I turn to the lovely, round woman at Anatole’s side. “Nerissa, you’re just the Consort. You don’t matter.”

  Griffin’s mother lifts one eyebrow. Slowly. I could probably have phrased that differently.

  “Piers, while likely a capable warrior, doesn’t strike me as the type to care about ruling.” I glance at the other brother again. He looks fit enough, but he’s not part of Griffin’s essential team like Carver is, and those ink stains on his fingers make me think he lives for learning, not conquering. “However, Carver might have slit Piers’s throat anyway just to move up a rank. Then Carver and Griffin would be at odds, waiting for one or the other to make a move.”

  I turn to the younger sisters. “Jocasta and Kaia aren’t nearly brutal enough to get involved, so they would be married off to royals or nobles from Tarva or Fisa to form alliances that never last. The realms aren’t attacking one another at the moment, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. The girls would be miserable but probably not dead, which is always a good thing. Their children, though, like all of yours”—I sweep a hand around the table, indicating the six siblings—“would get caught in the race for power and start trying to kill each other off as soon as they could walk. Royals call it the nursery bloodbath. It’s why they have so many kids. It’s like throwing vicious puppies together and waiting to see which ones live.”

  As the whole family stares at me in shocked silence, I raise my glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to court life!”

  Anatole’s slate-colored eyes turn bright with humor. “So, Cat—may I call you Cat?”

  I nod, my mouth twitching.

  “I’m heartily glad we prefer shaking up tradition to killing each other off.”

  “You never know. Griffin might still murder you all in your sleep,” I joke, setting my glass to my lips.

  “He could try,” Anatole says with a chuckle, and I nearly spit out my wine.

  The servants clear away the first course and bring in the next, once again serving me first. I stare at the lamb steak slathered in butter oregano sauce with tiny red potatoes fried until they’re crispy. I look at Griffin, realize my jaw has come unhinged, and snap it shut. He winks, and I kick him under the table.

  “Everyone knows Magoi royals are bloodthirsty,” Nerissa says. “Among themselves and their people. We’ll give a new example to the realms.”

  “Good luck,” I say. It comes out less sarcastically than I planned.

  “Griffin says you’re a soothsayer.” Kaia smiles at me from across the table. She’s pretty and fresh. Too bad she’s been dragged into this mess. “Can you see my future?”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t work that way, at least not for me. I do more of a character reading. It helps determine who can be trusted.”

  “That sounds useful,” Piers says, looking interested for the first time.

  “Yes, well, that’s why Griffin abducted me. To be useful.”

  Silence. Egeria clears her throat. “Griffin says you’re very knowledgeable, and that your magic is vast. What else can you do?”

  Do I need something else? Against my own better judgment, I say, “At the moment, I can breathe fire and burn you all to a crisp.”

  Kaia giggles.

  “You think I’m joking?”

  She giggles some more.

  “Why at the moment?” Egeria asks, perhaps shrewder than I gave her credit for.

  I try to look apologetic. “I can’t explain unless the stars align just right and Zeus makes me his wife.”

  Griffin chokes on a bite of lamb. Carver coughs into his fist. Everyone else looks like they’re trying to decide if I’m serious.

  “Breathe fire for us,” Kaia begs, bouncing in her seat.

  I shake my head. “That would break etiquette. No fire breathing at the dinner table.”

  “Why Zeus?” Jocasta frowns. “He’s so…mercurial.”

  Yes, well, so am I. “I’m forgetting to eat.” I pick through my plate for the crispiest potato and combine it with a big bite of lamb, chewing slowly to get out of talking.

  Kaia bounces again. She can’t be more than fifteen, probably an unexpected last gasp from her mother’s womb. She’s so different from me at that age that I find myself oddly fascinated by her. “Show us. Please. I’ve never met anyone with real magic before.”

  “Real magic?” Is there any other kind?

  “I wish I had magic,” Jocasta says. “You can do anything.”

  Eh… no. “I can’t fly,” I offer.

  Griffin isn’t even trying not to laugh anymore. I put my knife down before I slip and stab him. “Do you have something to add, Your Highness?”

  “Good effort at discretion,” he whispers, still laughing.

  I give him the evil eye.

  Kaia pops a potato into her mouth. “You were gone for ages. What have you been doing all this time?”

  When no one answers, she plasters a truly pathetic look on her face. “Breathe fire for us, Cat. Pleeeease.”

  Anatole, Nerissa, and Jocasta beg, too. Egeria looks like she’s using all of her self-control not to join the chorus. Piers couldn’t care less. He finished his dinner and clearly wants to go back to the library. As it is, he’s reading a scroll at the table. Carver is grinning like an idiot, and Griffin… I’m not looking at him.

  “It’s really not done,” I hedge.

  Griffin leans close, heating my entire left side. “Stage fright?” he rumbles in my ear.

  Me? Ha! I flick my wrist, smacking his chin as he draws back. “Sorry. Gnats.”

  The ladies gasp. Griffin’s eyes spark, I’m not sure with what.

  “Learning court etiquette is one thing. Knowing when to apply it is another,” Nerissa says primly. “Right now, it’s just family.”

  How in the Underworld do I qualify as just family? I look around the table and almost groan. “You’re all so spontaneous. And innocent. Court etiquette is awful. I’m not sure I want to change you.”

  Griffin snorts, and I scowl at him.

  “Except you. You could definitely use improvement.”

  “Innocent?” he asks, arching a dark eyebrow.

  I roll my eyes. “Hardly.”

  “Spontaneous?”

  I shrug, noncommittal.

  Carver clears his throat, his dark eyes laughing. “What about me?”

  “You’re an incorrigible flirt and a pain in everyone’s backside.”

  Kaia claps her hands, beaming. “Cat’s wonderful, Griffin! I’m so glad you found her.”

  I put my elbows on the table and bury my head in my hands. To the Underworld with etiquette. No one else has any, so why should I? “You’re hopeless! All of you.”

  “Why are we hopeless?” Egeria asks, reaching for more potatoes.

  “Because you’re all so nice.” I’m pretty sure they can’t mistake that for a compliment. “The Power Bid is about to happen. You’re going to get annihilated.” I glare at Griffin. “Except for you.”

  “I’m not nice, or I’m not going to get annihilated?” he asks, casually taking a bite of lamb. He’s completely unconcerned about the enormity of having obliterated an impossibly old system of ruling. And no one seems at all worried that every forty years or so—now—a new generation of Alphas and would-be Alphas decide they just have to go to war with one another and burn down the realms in the process. What’s wrong with these people? I feel like I’m at the circus.

  No, wait—the circus was saner than this. “I doubt you’ll get annihilated,” I answer him. “You’re impervious to magic, and it’s
bloody annoying.”

  “Is that appropriate language for the dinner table, Cat?” Nerissa scolds.

  I blink at her. Good Gods! I already have one mother, and she’s more than enough.

  I rise from my chair, kicking it back with a flourish. “Forget etiquette. Let’s see some fire!”

  They cheer. The Sintan royals cheer.

  Wasting any of the power I’ve gathered, or even revealing it, is stupid. But I’m arrogant and a show-off, and self-control has never been my strong suit. Otis’s fire whip is gone. There’s still a tiny seed of Desma’s colors in me, a large dose of Chimera’s Fire, and everything I could possibly absorb from Sybaris’s blood.

  I separate the currents of magic slumbering in my veins and call upon what I want. A ball of Chimera’s Fire blazes to life in my hand. I take the top and stretch it into a thin line, throwing it up and out. It forms an arc, which I call back toward me, connecting it to the original flame. A sphere.

  I turn the circle so it’s parallel to the floor, step inside, and then draw it up, stretching it until I’m encased in a cocoon. The flaming cyclone crackles around me. It’s searing and loud, and I can barely stand the heat. The royals stare at me, entranced, their awestruck faces vacillating behind the burning wall. They remind me of that spellbound audience at the last circus in southern Sinta, and a knot forms in my chest. I miss my friends.

  “Friends and lovers make you weak.”

  “But what about Father?” I’m barefoot and wearing a shredded dress that barely reaches my knees. It used to be white. I’m dirty and starving, and she’s eating a spice cake dripping with cinnamon honey right in front of my cage.

  Mother laughs, but there’s no joy in the sound. It’s cruel. “You think I care if he lives or dies?”

  I stare at her, frightened. I don’t think she cares if anyone lives or dies. Except perhaps me.

  Mentally stomping on my memories, I punch through the burning cocoon. The explosion blasts through the room, rattling the dishes on the table. Sparks flash off the bright lapis and gold of the ceiling frescoes. I consider roaring like Aetos, but that would probably be ridiculous. Instead, I release a puff of Dragon’s Breath and launch into a series of back flips while my nostrils still glow, leaving orange streaks in the air. When I straighten, it’s in a shimmering haze of more colors than even the Gods can name.