Flametouched

by Brian K. Fuller

  Between him and Arianne stood the sabercat, its transparent form alert and ready to pounce. Davon yelled for the executioner to stop, yelled for the sabercat to move out of the way. The line between vision and reality blurred, the execution of the Lady Hightower consuming his mind. He had to stop this. He had to get to her. And in the ferocity of his desperation to save her, he pushed his hands forward.

  And the ice gave way.

  The sabercat pawed toward him as his footsteps carried him into the encasing ice, the frozen wall melting away in front of him and freezing behind. At last, the sabercat met him nose to nose—and then merged into him. The vision of Arianne’s impending death vanished. He tried to back away, but the ice froze around him, trapping him. He had no space to breathe, unable to open his mouth even a fraction of an inch. He was drowning in ice.

  The light he had seen earlier still burned somewhere before him, a campfire of white tongues flickering cheerfully before him as before. But it grew. The cavorting dark figure had gone. Panicked, Davon could only watch as the fire bloomed outward, its glow suffusing the ice, everything burning impossibly bright, enveloping him in a maternal warmth and peace.

  And something was changing. He felt his body moving, twisting and writhing in its icy cocoon. Pain erupted down his back and cut into his limbs, a stretching sensation pulling his skin. He could yell now, and he did, the sound of it more like a bestial growl than a human scream. And then the light was gone. The entombing wall exploded, blasting him backwards onto the frozen pool, shards of ice skittering with his body as he slid along the frozen pool.

  For a moment he just lay on the smooth surface, feeling worn to his bones, but no longer chilled or numb. He tried to get to his feet but he didn’t feel right. His body didn’t want to work. He turned back toward the Seeing Wall, the hole of his expulsion already knitting together, filling and polishing as if he had never been inside it. The glimmer of light and the shadow had gone now, leaving the icy chamber dark, though his vision was nearly perfect.

  He stirred. Had he failed the test? Was the expulsion a sign that he was not worthy or had chosen badly? Would the Aua’Catan kill him? But as he tried to get to his feet, he noticed his hand. His hand was no longer a hand, his feet no longer feet. Both were mighty paws covered in white fur. His body was that of a massive sabercat almost the size of a horse.

  He yelled in shock. The guttural sound, low and beastly, shook ice and snow from the ceiling. He scrambled to his paws. The weariness nearly took him down again. He was famished, his bones and muscles still aching in exhaustion. What had happened?

  Listlessly he pawed his way out of the cavern, a chill breeze ruffling his snow white fur. He could smell the Aua’Catan and their fire some distance off, and he padded toward it, heading down a slippery, steep incline that continued to sap what strength he had left. He had to get free of Jun’Kal. He had to get to Arianne. He had to figure out why he felt like some kind of beast.

  He found the A’Kor and the Kai on a small outcropping of rock, huddled closely around a fire. They shot to their feet as he approached, eyes wide. Davon’s greeting came out as a roar.

  “He is Khodo Khim!” Ju’Jal said in awe.

  “It cannot be!” the A’Kor added, face stricken.

  Davon just stared at them, hot breath steaming out his nostrils, until he could stand no more. His drained body failed him, and he fell onto the cold, packed snow.

  Chapter 37

  Arianne stared glumly out of the carriage window as it rolled through the streets of Bellshire in the late morning. The clouds veiled the sun in fitful bursts, a brisk wind roaring through the trees, bending them in obeisance to its power. The men and women walking the streets clung to hats and bonnets to keep the thieving gusts from snatching their headwear and tossing it to the skies.

  Arianne wished to be a bird, to spread her wings and let the wind carry her effortlessly to the solitude and freedom of the Ice Fire Mountains looming in the east. If nothing else, she desperately wanted to turn north and go back toward her beloved Hightower to enjoy its green hills and pleasant flowers once more. Like a soldier going off to war, she longed for one last embrace from what she held dear before it was ripped from her, possibly forever.

  A deep foreboding settled into her bones, tightening her chest and constricting her breathing. That two clerks, long faithful to the family, could perpetrate this slander upon her defied her best reasoning. But their duplicitous behavior could only mean one thing—whatever scheme her late husband had embroiled himself in was of a serious and criminal nature.

  The crushing sensation in her chest continued to build the closer she came to her destination, and she forced the constricting thoughts out of her head and pulled in a lungful of air. Just as Emile Ironhorn had cried and sobbed and frothed on the way to Frostbourne, she had done much the same on the rushed journey back. Missa consoled her, as did Orianna, who had flatly refused to serve her mistress anymore. Arianne loved them both dearly for their kindness and for their hopeful confidence that everything would turn out well.

  And she had to hope. The Queen was her personal friend. The accusing clerks of low rank. Her name in good standing. And if it came to the worst, Orianna assured her that one Davon Carver would battle the entire contingent of the sheriff’s best men to bring her out of imprisonment.

  This thought brought a smile and a longing. She fingered the rose pendant on her neck absentmindedly. How she wished he were here. His earnest and passionate care for her in every trial she had recently faced warmed her, and she wished for a return of those wild and alive feelings that had so pleasantly plagued her before she left for Frostbourne. No garden grew in her heart now, and in her mind’s eye she was traveling into a cave, the light of the opening slowly fading behind her the deeper she went.

  Arianne leaned back and pulled the shade over the window, a sudden shame upon her. How many people knew of the charges against her? What rumors ran rampant through the streets and in the assemblies of her peers? She shuddered to think of what lies and rumors greased the tongues of the idle nobility. Her tears threatened to break forth again, and she shut them down.

  Missa reached out and grabbed her hand. “Nearly there, Milady. The sooner we arrive, the sooner it will be over.”

  “And maybe Lord Carver will be there,” Orianna speculated.

  Arianne nodded. The carriage slowed and she lifted the shade once more, hoping for some distraction in the view. As they neared the palace, it was quite clear that something was amiss. Armed men marched everywhere, an entire regiment mustering just outside the gates. The Queen’s army was on the move. Arianne wondered what could have happened to necessitate such protections.

  After some trouble at the gates over proper authorization, they rumbled inside past more soldiers, rifles leaning against their shoulders and pointing high into the gusty air. As the carriage turned into the roundabout, she spotted a party waiting for her on the steps. No Davon. No Queen. Just the Lord High Sheriff, two of his soldiers, and a man with white hair and a long, wrinkled face.

  Her heart sank again and she fought against the despair. At least she wasn’t headed to the dungeon or to the sheriff’s prison in town. That was some cause for cheer, though she didn’t feel it.

  The driver pulled at the reins and the carriage stopped. One of the soldiers stepped forward and pulled open the door. Arianne closed her eyes, breathed in, and let the soldier help her step out. Her Lady’s Maid and Orianna debarked after her while she walked toward the stairs and the men that waited for her there.

  The Lord High Sheriff, dressed formally in his black uniform of office, bowed. “Lady Hightower. It is good to see you.”

  “Thank you, Lord High Sheriff,” she answered, trying to read his face and finding it difficult to tell what the man thought.

  “And this,” he said, indicating the gray haired man, “is Delmont Redd. He is your lawyer.”

  He bowed to her. “It is an honor to represent you, Lady Hightower. I don’t w
ish to alarm you, but we must begin work immediately.”

  They ascended the stairs, Arianne’s face troubled. “Why so soon?”

  “Your trial begins in two days,” Mr. Redd said gravely. “It is a matter of national urgency. I do not wish for you to despair, but we are at war. I suggest we say nothing more of the matter until we are alone. We will have your maids put in the servants’ quarters for now, but we cannot delay.”

  Arianne felt like someone had drained the blood from her body. War? National urgency? Where was the Queen, her friend and confidant?

  The Lord High Sheriff opened the palace door for her, eyes meeting hers. “I will tell the Queen you have arrived. Do not fret, Lady Hightower.”

  The reassuring words did not match the gravity of his face, and Arianne clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. Being inside the familiar environs of the palace calmed her. Mr. Redd and the two soldiers accompanied her upstairs and into an office that bore her lawyer’s name. They passed inside, and Mr. Redd dismissed the two soldiers, indicating they should close the door and stand guard outside.

  Once they were alone, Mr. Redd took a seat in a leather chair behind the desk, inviting her to take one of the three that sat on the opposite side. Shelves of books and parchment lined the walls, a stack towering on one side of his desk. The troubled sky passed by on the other side of a single, long window stretching up the wall behind her lawyer. He pulled a pair of round spectacles over his eyes and began searching among the documents.

  “Now,” he began, “Lady Hightower. I imagine you have a lot of questions. Time requires that I be blunt. We are preparing for war with Creetis, and the act that precipitated the conflict is someone, I’m afraid, beloved by you.”

  “Davon?” she asked, heart skipping a beat.

  Mr. Redd’s bushy white brows dipped. “Lord Carver? Heavens, no. I meant the one who had been courting you, the Earl of Longford.”

  “Uticus Longford?” she asked, surprised. How had he started a war?

  “The very one. He assassinated the Creetisian Ambassador in open court.”

  Arianne’s mouth fell open. “That’s impossible! The Earl is hardly a man of politics or passion. This is a mistake, surely. Is the evidence conclusive? What did he say?”

  He held up his hand. “I wish I could bring you better tidings, Lady Hightower, but the fact is that after he committed the murder, he marched into the Main Hall and boasted of the act.”

  Something was very wrong here. “Why? Why did he do it?”

  “That we will never know. I am sorry, Lady Hightower, but the Ambassador’s attaché, Melchor Raines, took immediate vengeance upon the young Uticus Longford for his crime. I don’t wish to be indelicate, but he stabbed him through the heart right there in the Main Hall.”

  Arianne paled. Uticus dead. Why would he shoot the Ambassador? It seemed too ludicrous to be true. The soldiers outside the palace made sense now. An assassination of an ambassador by an Earl would mean war. Had the Queen known this was coming?

  She hardly knew what to say. “It is awful, Mr. Redd. Awful and absurd.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. The world was simply falling to pieces.

  “Gather your strength, Lady Hightower,” Mr. Redd cautioned. “You have more ill news to face today, I fear. It is related, I believe, to this latest turn of events.”

  She wiped her eyes and exhaled. “Say on, Mr. Redd.”

  He leaned back and steepled his fingers. “As you know, your estate was paying out a sum of money to an unknown source, and you claim to have had no knowledge of these transactions.”

  “I had no knowledge!”

  “Yes,” he replied, leaning forward. “I have been informed that this would be your stand. Now listen for a moment, if you please. The Lord High Sheriff has investigated this matter quite thoroughly. Your clerks claim that you had full knowledge of the disbursement of these funds, and they are prepared to testify in court that you threatened their very lives if they went public with the information.”

  “The scoundrels!” Her fury rose. It felt better than the deadening despair. “I was the one whose door was knocked down. A man came to my house and tried to recover those ledgers before they could come to light.”

  Mr. Redd nodded. “Yes, we will try to use that to your advantage in court. But after rounding up various employees of the Boot and Wheel Caravan Company and connecting the shipments and people together, what has emerged is that the funds from the Aid Society scandal, along with the funds from your estate and others, were used to purchase weapons and supplies. All the permits were faked, but we know many of the weapons were taken north.”

  “To what end, Mr. Redd?” she asked.

  “There are two possibilities, both equally traitorous. One is to provide the Creetisians with arms, which would be useful to them in the coming war, though the weapons’ northerly trek would seem evidence against that theory. The second is to help start a northern rebellion against the crown. You and a number of other northern nobles have been implicated by a Mr. Paige, the handler of these funds. The Longfords themselves have been implicated, though there is no clear evidence to prove it, as yet. While work is ongoing, the only conclusive evidence of contributing funds comes from your estate. We’re trying to recover other ledgers, but we fear some of the nobles have gotten wind of your arrest and are burning their books as we speak.”

  A numbness settled on Arianne, and she found Mr. Redd observing her closely above his fingers.

  She folded her hands in her lap and tried to compose herself. “I swear, Mr. Redd, that I knew nothing of this. This was my husband’s affair.”

  “So you claim,” he said, “and I can believe you, but I fear no one else will. The amount missing from your estate was enough that most would expect you would notice. With the testimony of the clerks, and with one particularly damning letter uncovered by the Lord High Sheriff’s men at Justus Paige’s place of business, I am afraid the case has swung against you, Lady Hightower.”

  “What letter?”

  Mr. Redd shuffled through the papers and handed her one. “This is but a copy of the text, you understand. The original will be presented at trial. The letter uses code names, but our experts have identified the handwriting on the original as your husband’s, and it is dated a year before his death at the hand of Lord Carver.”

  He handed her the paper, and she took it tentatively, almost afraid to read its contents.

  Mr. Bird,

  I have been informed of the scheme in full, its risks and its rewards. I am pleased to say that my wife and I are in complete agreement with the goals of this endeavor and we are happy to contribute a sizable sum to its prosecution and success. I am aware that it will take some time to put in place, but I will be patient and await my return.

  I have authorized my clerks to debit my estate the sum of one hundred fifty pounds a month to be paid to the man you indicated during our last conversation.

  Regards,

  Mr. Elm

  Arianne wanted to crumple the paper, stomp on it, and then throw it in the fire. Lord Cornton and his stupidity! And then to imply that she had any part of it without her knowledge. She had half a mind to return to Hightower, exhume his grave, and have Davon Carver shoot him again.

  She slammed the paper down on the desk, startling Mr. Redd. “I assure you with all the sincerity of my heart that I knew nothing of this scheme and had not entered into any sort of agreement with my husband or anyone else.”

  He exhaled. “I understand, but I need you to consider something very carefully, Lady Hightower. As it stands now, I cannot win this case for you. If you fight the charges, you will lose, and you will be sent to the Drowning Bridge the next day.”

  Her blood ran chill. “What are you suggesting?”

  “I am suggesting that you admit you knew about the debits to your account, but that your husband had not informed you that it was for weapons or any scheme. That is much more plausible and will either win you your freedom or simply a removal of yo
ur rank. There are no witnesses that saw you threaten your clerks with assassination, nor any assassins who have come forward claiming your hire.”

  “So you suggest I lie?” she asked, surprised.

  Mr. Redd regarded her with a serious face. “To save yourself from an unjust death, yes, Lady Hightower, I do. Your life is worth the lie.”

  It had all come too quickly. She stood. The office offered little space for pacing, but she did it anyway. So to survive the treachery of her husband and her clerks, she would have to act the stupid girl and tell a court she knew what she didn’t know and that her husband had hidden the truth from her. At least one part was true. But still it hurt to do it.

  Dissembling to give satisfaction to her accusers rankled her. What would Davon do? Besides shoot them through the heart? What would he counsel me to do? She walked a little more, turning back and forth while Mr. Redd sat lost in thought. And where is Davon when I really need him?

  “Lady Hightower,” Mr. Redd said at last. “I know this has all come rather suddenly. Take some time to think on it. I know you have your principles, and I do not wish you to go against your conscience. My office and my charge from the Queen is to see you safe, to keep you alive.”

  “I understand,” she said. “I would like some time.”

  He rose. “Very well. I will meet with you first thing in the morning. The Queen asked me to send you to her directly after our meeting. The two guards will escort you to her.”

  Arianne sat in the drawing room, heart heavy for her friend, the Queen. While Filippa was old, her lively spirit had always defied her dying frame. The spirit, however, had sunk to the level of the body, though the monarch’s eyes still radiated intelligence and fire. The Arrow Asp walking stick supported her, its steadying presence apparently a need now despite the fully healed ankle.