Flametouched

by Brian K. Fuller

  Trembling, Arianne grasped the back of the bench in front of her, using the strength of her arms to make up for the weakness in her shaking legs. How could Filippa do this to her? The old woman hadn’t even dropped a hint! How could she rally the people behind her now that the Kingdom was crashing down around them all?

  She swallowed her fear and composed herself, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head. At her trial she had learned to stifle her distress to accomplish a purpose. Her people needed her now. They needed someone strong to take the reins and lead them through war. She had no time for weakness or the luxury of fumbling about. Most of all, she knew she had to choke down the gnawing fear that every eligible bachelor would want to wed her, every one but the one to whom her heart belonged.

  As she strode down the center aisle, she worked to relax her face and unclench her hands. Her treacherous stomach, however, she could not settle. As she approached the podium, she remembered what Filippa told her in an idle moment: “No one rules alone.” She would have generals. She would have advisers. She would have Davon Carver. And she would not let him go.

  Chapter 48

  From his perch on a wooded knoll, Davon spied on the Creetisian army spreading across the wooded hills at evening in search of rest and food. Like a blight of insects they seemed, a mighty plague scrabbling over the land. Their pants were the off-white of egg shells, coats a dull gray. Sporadic fires sprang to life as the sun dipped behind the treetops to the west, the evening glow casting a warm light on the sparse, puffy clouds.

  To his sensitive sabercat nostrils, the stench of the army was like sticking his nose into the armpit of an unwashed beggar. His desperate purpose had propelled him northward at a blistering pace. With ears pinned back and paws barely touching the ground, he had streaked like a mighty bullet shot from Bellshire toward its foes. He had kept to the road as much as possible for speed, but turned aside frequently to avoid the frantic stream of human traffic. Refugees from all the northern duchies fled hastily southward toward the capital to escape the grasp of the advancing Creetisians. Davon had rejoiced to catch glimpses of rifles leaning on many of the refugees’ shoulders; Bellshire needed as many guns as it could get.

  He had stopped to rest and watch on a high tree covered hill not far from where the Creetisians had stopped to camp for the evening. Watching the Creetisian horde fan out below him, he knew the paltry reinforcements provided by the influx of refugees would hardly bolster the defenses enough to add one more day to the Bellshire’s freedom; there were simply too many Creetisian soldiers. The enemy army would overrun the city in less than four days, and even that estimate required him to admit some unwarranted optimism into his calculations. The Creetisians would pour into Bellshire, kill and subdue the resistance, and have plenty of time to fortify before the main body of Bellshire’s armies returned from the south.

  Davon transformed back into the form of a man and sat, putting his back to a barkless pine burned bare by a lightning strike. Since the reigniting of the Eternal Flame, he had only seen two shapes in wood for him to carve. While camping the night before, a piece of hickory dead fall had shown him a new snow finch for Ki and a rose pendant for Arianne. These he had carved and finished with his usual speed and finesse before he had fallen asleep that night.

  And now, there to his left, superimposed over the length of a low, living pine branch was the strangest thing his gift had ever asked him to carve: a carving knife. For him. Odd. Pine was a soft wood to begin with. How could a knife of pine be used to carve anything? And most interesting of all, it was the first carving he would create by taking wood from a living tree.

  Despite his misgivings, he carefully pruned the small branch away from its tree, the sticky pine sap befouling his fingers. And then he set to work. It was a simple shape and quickly done, the shavings of wood littering his pants and coat as he worked. The last cuts were to inscribe the symbol of the Eternal Flame on either side of the wooden blade. He tested the edge with his thumb. It was a sharp as pine could be, but not sharp enough to cut anything firmer than butter.

  So engrossed had he been in his carving that time had gotten away from him. The sun had fallen farther than he intended and he wanted to get on the road back to Bellshire before full dark descended so he could camp well ahead of the advancing force.

  He bagged the newly carved knife and scavenged inside his coat pockets for food. He would eat a little and then journey back to the south with dire news: the army of Creetis would arrive in Bellshire in less than three days. Davon had half a mind to find Duke Longford in his cell and devour him whole. What greedy foolishness! What insufferable stupidity!

  Davon put a pine nut between its teeth and bit down, the sharp taste filling his mouth. He rarely ate the seeds, but they were a leftover from his sojourn with the Aua’Catan and readily at hand. He opened his bag to fish around for the dried strips of meat they had gifted him. The clean smell of mint wafted out as he scraped a corner, the scent Ki and Ta had worn to mask their presence from predators.

  Davon shook his head at the memory. The campfires below reminded him of the terror birds the sisters had led into the camp to devour the men chasing him. The Aua’Catan were a strange people, but their brilliance in the outdoors appealed to him. To know the scents and the smells so well, to learn the ways of the animals so completely, to survive in a place so raw—all inspired his admiration. So stealthy had been Ki and Ta that he hadn’t noticed their approach in the dark until they poked a spear point in his back.

  As his teeth worked the tough meat, he glanced below, the dusty, smoky haze and dim light softly veiling the white canvas tents of his enemies. About a mile ahead of the main army he could make out a solitary campfire. The lead scouts, perhaps. He would pay them a visit before he left. He wished he had the twin sisters’ know-how so he could bring a few terror birds with him, as well.

  He stopped chewing.

  An idea sounded in his mind like a bell on a summer morning, its vibration pushing him to his feet. A smile strained his face. It just might work! He crammed the rest of his jerky back into his bag and cinched it shut. Terror birds might be in short supply, but a surly herd of mammoth? That he could arrange. The plains to the east were full of them this time of year. While a man might not have a chance at driving the beasts where he wished, a gigantic sabercat with a roar like angry thunder would.

  In an instant he changed to Khodo Khim and charged off the knoll, weaving in and out of the trees and over boulders with fluid ease. He angled south and east, the scent of the army strengthening and varying with every loping stride forward. Mutton and beef—no doubt plundered from the farms they had passed—stewed in their pots; the dusty leather of their boots; the oil and powder of their guns; the beer in their barrels. All these scents played across his nose, painting a picture of everything around him just as clear as the eyes of the hawks circling about the army for scraps.

  The camp of the Creetisian Scouts waited in a small thicket. The five of them were at their ease, lounging against logs, bare feet to the fire and bread and liquor in hand. Davon surged, snapping slender pine branches as he burst into their camp and let loose a roar that unmanned them all.

  Jittery legs tried to stand and quivering hands fumbled for weapons, but with a push from his back haunches Davon soared through the air and killed two with a whistling swipe from his hooked claws. A third had his hand on a rifle. Davon whipped his head and gored him with a curved tooth, chomping down on the head of a fourth just behind him. The fifth ran. Davon was faster. After a brief pursuit he leaped on the soldier’s back and tore his head from his shoulders.

  Fur and teeth stained red, Davon lifted his head and let loose another roar before loping east with the speed of the wind.

  Go home, Creetisians. Go home or you’ll regret it.

  Davon hadn’t returned. As usual. Arianne massaged her temples as she paced about her new room in the palace. It felt awkward to take Filippa’s larger accommodations so soon after her d
eath, so instead, Arianne chose an adjacent room meant for distinguished guests. While not as big, it was well appointed. There were separate rooms for her bed and her bath, and a small living area where she now waited for sunset and her appointment in the Flame Cathedral—and for one tardy Baron.

  Curse the man! Could he never show up when he was needed? Nearly three days had passed since he had left. He should have returned much sooner. Even if he weren’t dead or lost, an entire Creetisian army was making camp scant miles from Bellshire. Shots had been fired. Tomorrow would bring more. Tomorrow Creetisians would run in the streets. Tomorrow they would swarm the palace and murder her.

  The one remaining General in Bellshire, a Frederick Marsden, had tried to sound as optimistic as possible. “We may yet win the day,” he had said over and over. “The Creetisians are poorly trained,” he would interject, or perhaps, “We have the advantage of fighting in territory we know well.” Arianne suspected he simply wouldn’t say the straight truth and didn’t wish to see a Lady cry. She had felt like it all day. Why couldn’t Filippa have stayed alive long enough to watch Bellshire fall? Why did she have to die and let the ruin of the nation come under the watch of an inexperienced Queen barely three days into her rule?

  The only bright spot to the entire affair was the return of Missa and Orianna. The two had waited at Hightower until they were forced to flee southward. They would come to her shortly and prepare her for the ritual at the Flame Cathedral. After that, a long night of planning and hoping and casting prayers into the Flame awaited. She tried not to think about what would come with the rising of the sun, though if Davon showed up before then, she might just forgive him.

  Her Lady’s Maids arrived a few minutes later, Ki and Ta following them into the room. The Aua’Catan sisters had been relentless in their obedience to Davon’s command to protect her. Their white hair and icy-blue eyes always startled her with their alien beauty. They were, however, nearly insufferable with their comments and questions about everyone and everything. And their unfortunate jerkins! Scandalous. They were excited for the chance to see the Eternal Flame that evening, the first of their kind to visit the Primal Fire in many years.

  “You’ve been worrying at your hair, Your Grace,” Orianna admonished. “It’s a fright.”

  “I’ll fetch the dress,” Missa said. “It’ll have to be one that buttons down the front. You have to face the Flame naked, so you’ll be undressing and dressing yourself.”

  “At least they have that right,” Ki commented, throwing herself onto a stuffed leather chair. Of the two, Ki seemed the most fascinated by the customs and luxuries of civilized people. “I was wondering if the Primal Forces would talk to someone wearing four—or is it five?—layers of clothing.”

  Arianne had learned that the twin sisters were Airtouched, Ki’s extraordinary gift of reading the breath of others as fascinating an ability as Davon’s living carvings. Primal Air had gifted Ta with the ability to walk with complete silence, something she did to play tricks on the hapless House Guard as much as to do anything useful.

  “Are you angry that the Brown Man hasn’t returned?” Ta asked, leaning on her spear next to her sister.

  “Yes,” Arianne answered. Quite angry. “Why do you call him Brown Man and not Davon or Khodo Khim?”

  Ki shrugged. “Because he is brown—nearly as brown as our men—and he is a man. Why do you call him Davon instead of Baron Carver or Lord Ember?”

  Arianne blushed. “Because we are friends.”

  “So we call him Brown Man because he is our friend,” Ta concluded. “Besides, it would be hard to use titles with someone you had to share your body with to warm him.”

  Arianne stopped. “What?”

  Ta wore a mischievous smile. Ki looked up at her. “It may have been better to keep that between us, Spear Sister.”

  “Keep what?” Arianne demanded.

  Ki sighed. “When the Brown Man took the test at the Seeing Wall, he returned nearly frozen to death. We placed him beneath many furs, but Ta and I…well, we used our warmth to help revive him.”

  That didn’t sound so bad. “I’m sure it helped, and that it is a common practice among your people.”

  “Yes, of course,” Ta soothed. “We are not as concerned about our nude bodies as you Bittermarchians are.”

  “Nude? You were all naked?” Arianne was shocked. Orianna stopped brushing, and Missa stopped unbuttoning.

  “Of course,” Ki answered. “It works best flesh to flesh. The skin is where the warmth is. Do not trouble yourself. He was unconscious and remembered nothing.”

  “But you remember!” Arianne protested.

  “Of course,” Ki answered. “We saved his life. He owes us a debt.”

  Arianne thought it best to remain silent. Her flustered, tired thoughts would not be dignified on the other side of her tongue. Curse that man! Every woman in the room was grinning except for her. Davon was going to pay for not divulging that little bit of information, right after he paid for not returning when he said he would. So far, she hadn’t done so well at carrying out her threats of punishment against him, but this time would be different!

  A simple white gown affixed and hair repaired, Ki, Ta, and two of her House Guard accompanied her to the Flame Cathedral in the hazy evening light. The Ember Guard patrolled in double their usual numbers. The extinguishing of the Eternal Flame and the murder of Lord Ember had terrified everyone and cast a bad light on those meant to protect the sacred edifice. Four of the Ember Guard fell in with her retinue as they ascended the steps and passed inside the circular structure.

  The Ember Guard was just as thick here, patrolling two by two through the massive outer hallway. Members of the House of Light dotted the hall, bowing as she passed. The sounds of whispers and the scuffling of the guard set Arianne on edge. The entire building felt even more solemn than Queen Filippa’s funeral just the day before. It was as if everyone was trying to keep the forthcoming doom of Bellshire a secret from everyone else.

  Arianne scanned the numbers on the doors, looking for number sixteen as she had been instructed. Mr. Goodwin and Elaine waited for her there, talking in low tones with Karina, the Steward of the Flame Cathedral. She had run the sacred place in Davon’s absence. He should be here! Tradition dictated that Lord Ember introduce the Monarch to the Eternal Flame.

  Elaine embraced her. Mr. Goodwin bowed, and Arianne was sure he looked younger now. His hair had definitely turned from full gray to black with only flecks of silver.

  “Welcome, Your Grace,” Karina said, bowing. She wore the white robe and the golden stole. “I am honored to have the privilege of introducing you into the chamber of the Eternal Flame. I know you have been here before as a guest, but I must give you some instruction for the ceremony. It is quite simple. You will enter the chamber alone—”

  “She will not,” Ki said.

  “It is tradition,” Karina argued.

  “Lord Ember told us to stay with her at all times,” Ki countered. “I will not disobey his wish.”

  Karina’s forehead creased. “What is your will, Your Grace?”

  “They can come. Davon instructed them to protect me, as they said.”

  “Very well. When you enter the chamber, the door will be shut behind you for privacy. You approach the dais. There, you will trip the lever, and the Eternal Flame will descend in its vessel. You disrobe completely and sit cross-legged before it, palms open toward it. If it chooses you, it will do so quickly, branding your palms with the symbol of the Eternal Flame.”

  “Has a monarch ever not been chosen?” Arianne asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Karina answered. “Only about half have been chosen. King Ostris wasn’t chosen, nor his predecessor, King Orick.”

  Arianne nodded, feeling better. Karina unlocked the door, signaling for her to enter. She stepped in a few paces, Ki and Ta following. Another door waited in front of her and she opened it as Karina shut the one behind her. A breath of cool air caressed her face as the s
pacious, dim room opened up before her. A single lamp—hardly bright enough to illuminate a fraction of the room—sat on the dais. High above in the dark recesses of the ceiling the Eternal Flame hung, casting a small pool of light on stonework.

  “We will wait here by the door,” Ki said, her eyes reverently joining Ta’s in an attempt to see the Eternal Flame.

  Arianne nodded and hiked her dress above her ankles. Heart fluttering, she took the sloped path toward the dais. The dark room, vast with empty galleries of seats, felt like a tomb full of ghosts, the air damp and still. She swallowed and stepped up to the circular dais. The beat up iron lever stuck out of a stone post, and it required both of her hands to pull it back. Somewhere above her, a wheel squeaked, and the pot lowered ponderously from above until it settled with a clink on the stones at her feet.

  The Eternal Flame.

  Beautiful it was, but a bit eerie in the dark. She stepped close to it, transfixed by the tongues of flame soundlessly darting about. The tightness that had clenched her chest for days momentarily loosened its grip, giving enough space for a welcome calm to trickle into her heart. She smiled and removed a strip of paper from where she had tucked it in her bodice. A prayer for Davon. She knelt and slipped it into the fire. While it shed no heat, the Eternal Flame consumed it without smoke.

  After contemplating the sacred fire for a few more moments, she stood and undid the buttons on the front of her dress. A drip of water echoed through the chamber, making it seem all the more empty. She checked behind her, comforted by the spear wielding sisters by the door.

  Her dress fell to the ground, and she worked at her shift and undergarments. She checked the gallery and behind her to make sure only the sisters were there, though the two of them were grinning and whispering to each other. She blushed, imagining what comments the two rascals might be sharing with each other.