Daughter of the Flames

by Zoe Marriott

  When the heaving stopped I was slumped over the side of the mattress, shuddering, sweat trickling along my hairline, disgusted with myself. I pulled the sleeping tunic over my head and wiped my mouth on it – it made little difference, as the cloth was already splattered – then screwed it up and threw it away from me as I slithered down onto the cold floor. Groggy as I was, I now realized that this sickness could not be the result of a nightmare, however horrible. I was ill. I hated being ill.

  I crawled on hands and knees to the chest at the end of the bed to pull out a pair of half-length cotton trousers and a fresh tunic. Once I had fumbled them on, I climbed up the nearest bedpost like a puny vine and then, desperate to get away from the vile smells of sweat and sick, staggered across the room to the door.

  A sharp intake of breath made me jump as I stepped out onto the covered mezzanine overlooking the courtyard. I squinted through the darkness to see one of Sorin’s gourdin leaning idly on the mezzanine rail, his helmet under his arm. He was probably supposed to be patrolling the area outside my and Sorin’s adjoining rooms. He certainly stood to attention very quickly and saluted me snappily. I straightened up, hoping the darkness would hide my damp, pasty face from him, as it hid his expression from me.

  “Alrik, is it?” I croaked.

  “Yes, my lady. Is everything all right?”

  “I just need some fresh air. Don’t mind me.” I walked carefully away. I could feel his gaze on my back, and concentrated stubbornly on placing one foot before the other, until I rounded the corner out of his sight. Then I let myself lean against the rail as he had done, breathing slowly, deeply, trying to suppress the bubbling that wanted to rise up in my throat. Holy Mother, I hate being sick.

  Gradually the cool, fresh night air began to work on me, and the shivering and nausea began to subside a little. I could smell night-flowering jasmine from the courtyard below, and the warm straw and manure scent of the stables. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, and I absently traced the lines of wall, roof and paving that were not quite familiar to me yet.

  In a minute I would go back to bed. Or maybe I would go next door and wake Sorin up. The least he could do was offer me his company in my hour of need. And perhaps a cup of tea… I smiled as I imagined his indignation at being disturbed in the middle of the night and sent off for tea. Yes, I would definitely go back in a minute.

  A sharp cry – a sound of fear or pain, hastily choked off – jerked me upright. The ground seemed to shift under my feet and I caught my balance against the wall. The voice had come from my left, beyond the curve of the mezzanine. The gourdin?

  I opened my mouth – and hesitated as instinct flared like a blue flame, warning me against calling out. Something was wrong. My memory darted to the night Surya died. Zira had felt this way then. Oh God … not again.

  I swallowed hard as I began to move back along the mezzanine, shoulder blades pressed to the wall, ears straining against the quiet. I couldn’t see the gourdin as I rounded the corner. Had he moved on?

  My foot hit something hard. I looked down.

  It was Alrik’s arm. He was slumped face down on the floor. I dropped to my knees beside him, sickness lurching through me again as the hot metallic stench of blood filled my nostrils. I slid my arms under his torso and heaved him over.

  Holy Mother of Flame…

  I had a stomach-clenching flashback to Surya and a strangled sob forced itself up out of my lips. I knew Alrik was dead before I saw the wound gaping wetly above his mail surcoat. His throat had been cut. His eyes glinted, opaque, as his head slipped off my forearm.

  My breath sawed painfully in my throat as I eased him down and clawed my way back up the wall. I left dark, wet handprints on the white plaster. I was right next to Sorin’s bedroom door. It was open.

  Sorin. Sorin will know what to do… Blindly I stumbled through the entrance – and froze.

  I took in every detail in an instant. Muddled shadows and moonlight resolved into lumped-up pillows and blankets; the silky swathe of Sorin’s hair spread over his back; the dark figure leaning over the bed, raising the weapon in a practised killing arc; the knife blade flashing almost liquid through the darkness.

  I screamed.

  The noise shrilled through the deadly quiet like a stone shattering glass. The dark figure jerked round in shock, pulled his arm back and threw the knife at me.

  I ducked just barely in time. The blade buried itself in the wall above my head with a thunk. I screamed again, so loudly this time that my throat burned. On the bed, Sorin didn’t stir.

  Oh God – oh, dear God, please let him be all right…

  The dark figure came at me. I ran.

  The quick, light footsteps were terrifyingly close as I pounded down the mezzanine, rounded the corner and flung myself onto the stairs to the north tower. The gourdin kept watch in the tower. Have to get away from Sorin… Gasping and sobbing for breath, the world heaving around me, I scrabbled up the stairs, legs like weights that wanted to pull me back into the murderer’s grasp.

  I skidded into the tower room a couple of steps ahead of my pursuer – and saw with an absurd sinking of shock that it was in darkness. Empty.

  I had made a mistake.

  There was only a chair and a bare splintery wooden table beneath one of the high windows. Nothing I could use to defend myself. Weak as a newborn calf, no weapons, nowhere to run – trapped. I spun in a mad circle of confusion and caught sight of the shuttered windows again. I threw myself at one, shoving the wooden shutter back. A blast of cold air hit me in the face. Oh, please, please…

  There was a rush of movement behind me. I swung round, grabbing the flimsy table and raising it like a shield. I only saw a shadow, marked by a long line of shining, razor-sharp metal. Then the dark figure smashed into the table shield hard enough to thrust me into the wall. I pushed back, shoving the table forward as hard as I could. The attacker reeled away with a harsh huff of breath, the knife skittering to the floor.

  I swung the table again, with all my strength. My assailant gave an agonized grunt as the edge caught him square in the stomach. He lost his balance and hit the opposite wall. The table collapsed into splintery fragments in my hands. I dropped the pieces and turned to scramble onto the chair, feeling the ancient wood groan warningly as I caught the windowsill. Panting with effort I heaved up so that I hung half in, half out of the window, peering down. I couldn’t make it… My arm muscles shuddered and I felt the chair begin to give way, buckling underfoot. No more time. Teeth gritted, I managed to pull myself up to crouch in the opening.

  I looked back for a second. The shadowy attacker was gathering himself beneath my precarious perch, the dim light glittering from his wicked blade as he drew it back to throw. I was a sitting target here. Only one way out. Closing my eyes on a prayer to the Mother that my memory of the outside of the tower was right – that I hadn’t made another mistake – I twisted up until my legs were outside the window and dropped.

  The night wind pushed me back and I found myself plastered against the tower wall, shivering and weak with relief, my feet planted firmly on a narrow stone ledge. I sucked in a deep breath, thanking God for giving me an accurate memory this time. The fort was spread out beneath me in a muddle of rooftops and shadowy drops. I couldn’t see anyone moving. Surely my screams had woken someone!

  “Help!” I shouted. The wind ripped my voice into feeble shreds and scattered them.

  I looked up. The window was about a foot above my head. There was no sign of the murderer at it. I thought he was at least a few inches shorter than me – and he didn’t have the chair. How long would it take him to get out? What would I do when he did?

  I felt myself sway helplessly for an endless second. Then I was pressed against the stone again, fingers clutching convulsively at the rough blocks. I blinked away tears from the stinging wind and looked up at the window. Still no sign of my pursuer.

  Sweat slid coldly down my face as I began edging round the side of the tow
er. If I could get down onto the curtain wall, then maybe I could make it onto the mezzanine roof below. God only knew what I would do then – but at least it was slightly closer to the ground. I came to the outer corner of the tower and carefully craned my head to look down. About twelve feet below me the curtain wall came to a corner as well, the wall at its thickest. If I dropped here … maybe I’d land all right.

  And maybe I wouldn’t.

  Another wave of sick dizziness washed over me and I snapped my head back against the wall with a thud, sweat prickling all over my body as I gasped for air. I’d never been afraid of heights before, but sacred flames, I didn’t think I could do this. If only my head would clear…

  The wind’s howl quietened for a second, and I heard a stealthy scraping noise to my right. My eyes snapped open. The murderer was halfway out of the window, dangling by his fingers as he felt for the ledge with one foot. Looking up in the moonlight, I could see that his face was covered by a wrapping of dark fabric, even concealing his hair. His eyes alone were revealed. They were like death – completely without mercy.

  I didn’t have to worry about Sorin, I realized sickly. It’s me he’s really after, and he’s not giving up until I’m as dead as Alrik.

  I gulped down a mouthful of bile, straightened my body, inched forward – and let myself fall.

  I landed on the curtain wall with a bruising impact on my hip and shoulder and rolled back from the edge, shredding the skin of my palms as I clutched for a hold. The wind screamed through my hair and in my ears, deafening me for a moment before dying down again. I groaned with pain, terrified that if I tried to stand the dizziness would fell me as easily as the murderer’s knife.

  I heard the murderer land more gracefully behind me and managed to get onto my back in time to see him straighten up. No choice now. I bent forward and, carefully, carefully, got to my feet, feeling myself wobble as I spread my arms for balance. How would the killer react if I vomited at his feet?

  “Who are you?” I screamed. “Why are you doing this?” I didn’t dare move.

  The shadowy figure stepped cautiously forward, spreading his arms too. He didn’t have illness as an excuse – he was less confident at heights than I was. His hands were empty. Had he lost the knife scrambling out of the window?

  “Come on then!” I taunted breathlessly. “Are you too frightened, without your knife? Coward! Murderer!”

  I didn’t expect an answer – but neither did I expect him to drop his arms and rush at me.

  We collided with mutual grunts of pain, teetering on the edge above the mezzanine as I grappled, feet sliding, hands scrabbling for purchase, punching, tearing, kicking at each other, snarling and yelping like animals. I jabbed at his shoulder with a disturbingly weak elbow, taking a punch to the face that made my teeth ache. I wavered back and then latched on to his wrist, sinking my teeth into the forearm to taste blood. He seized a handful of my hair, yanking it out by the roots as he tried to pull me off, his other hand smashing down on my neck, making my left side go numb. I kicked out and felt the crunch as my heel connected with his ankle.

  Then we were plummeting from the wall together, our screams echoing into one voice.

  In mid fall I realized: I know that voice.

  We hit the steep roof in an explosion of shattering terracotta. The roof buckled under our weight and I rolled sideways, flailing fingers grasping hold of a section of coping at the top. I heaved myself across to lie on an unbroken section of the roof as my attacker slid down with the tiles below me. The dark figure grappled with the cascading debris and then wrapped arms around a wooden beam, partially exposed by the lost tiles. For a moment we both hung on, panting, bleeding and exhausted, only feet apart.

  I stared down at the murderer. “Kapila?”

  Her head snapped up. The concealing cloth had been ripped free and the sight of her familiar face – scratched, bruised, grey with weariness as it had been on our trek through the mountains here – made my heart contract as if God had reached in and crushed it.

  “Yes.” She laughed bitterly. “Are you pretending to be surprised? My father is rotting by the wayside because of you!”

  “Kapila, I…” I shook my head miserably, closing my eyes against her accusing face. “I did what I thought was best. The only thing I could do. I didn’t – I never meant…”

  I heard her grunts of effort as she began pulling herself up along the beam towards me.

  “We’ve lost everything! Our home, our lives. Everything that was good. Esha’s baby – I can still hear Esha screaming. And poor little Padma.”

  Shaken and sick, unable to move, I heard her scrabble across the section of tiles next to me, and her grunt of relief as she grabbed the coping above it. We would be lying nose to nose – if I had the courage to face her. I squeezed my eyes shut more tightly.

  “Why did you bring us here? Why? We could have stayed where we were safe, where we belonged. We could have rebuilt and carried on. But no, you had to prove you were the great leader. You sacrificed our own people to do it! Do you think of that when you get into bed with that filthy Sedorne husband of yours? Do you?”

  “You were my friend once,” I said weakly. My fingers, numb with hanging on to the stone, spasmed and twitched. She’s going to kill me, I realized weakly. I don’t know how to stop her…

  “I was Zira’s friend,” she spat. “Zira died in the House of God. Who asked you to be our reia? Who are you?”

  A fleck of Kapila’s spittle hit my cheek. I flinched.

  I felt dizzy again – a different kind of dizziness this time. Something was changing inside me. Distantly I heard Kapila ranting bitterly about her plan. How she had drugged the food Sorin and I ate tonight so that we would sleep soundly through our own murders – which would have worked if my body hadn’t reacted so strongly to the drug. How she had sneaked up on the unprepared guard on the mezzanine to kill him. But my attention was no longer with her.

  Something … something was coming…

  There was an echo of a voice – a terrible, fiery voice that burned my ears, and made my eyes sting with joy – calling out the question that had haunted me.

  Who are you, Zira? Who are you? Who are you Zahira? Answer!

  Me. Not Zira or Zahira. Just me.

  Deep inside, I felt an almost physical shift. It was as if all my bones had been slightly dislocated, and they had suddenly snapped into place. There was a flare of glowing blue light behind my eyes, a sense of endless joy, and of love.

  Then the feeling was gone, and I was alone.

  I sucked in a deep breath, tightening my grip on the stone and wedging my foot into a gap in the tiles so that I couldn’t fall. The dizziness eased away and I opened my eyes to look Kapila full in the face.

  “Stop it,” I said sharply, cutting her off. “Stop lying.”

  She gasped in shock. “Lying?”

  “Yes. You are lying, to me and yourself. Who asked me to be your reia? You, Kapila. All of you. You followed me. You made me your reia.”

  “We were frightened and desperate, but that doesn’t make it right! Those graves by the roadside—”

  “Are the price,” I cut her off again. “You wanted me to make the decisions for you – I did. You wanted me to keep you safe – I did. You wanted to believe in me – I let you. But you have to pay for what you want, Kapila, and you can’t change your mind now.”

  She let go of the coping and flung herself on top of me with a scream of rage. I felt the tiles beneath us start to crack as her hands went around my neck. I choked and squirmed, my hands tightening desperately on the post stone as I pulled my free leg up and kicked hard into her chest.

  Her hold on my neck broke and she fell away from me, sliding down in another avalanche of tiles. She rolled once, screamed, and caught at the very edge of the roof, dangling helplessly. I looked down into her face, into her eyes, burning like black coals with desperation and terror. She didn’t cry out for help. She hung on, waiting.

  K
apila had been my friend. Before everything shattered, before grief and anger warped her into a killer, she had been a good woman. She had gone mad, and maybe that was my fault. If I let her die without even trying to save her, what would that make me?

  The reia.

  My people needed me to survive.

  I watched as Kapila kicked and struggled madly to get back onto the roof. As she gasped and swore and fought to keep her hold. As her fingers began to slip. And, finally, as her grip failed, and she fell away into the darkness.

  Then I just held on and waited for someone to find me.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Lord Tiede found the king in his private armoury. The room had a towering ceiling that seemed to amplify noise tenfold – he believed the old rei had used it as a music room or something, before the invasion – and the violent ringing of swords made him flinch as he stepped through the doorway. He recognized the king’s opponent as the captain of the palace gourdin unit, and felt a small sting of pity for the man. Still, one of the junior palace surgeons stood to attention in the opposite corner of the room, so the captain would receive excellent care.

  Tiede hoped there wouldn’t be too much blood.

  He averted his eyes from the almost hypnotic slide and slash of light on the long blades, and examined his king more closely. Lank reddish-gold hair had escaped from a simple braid to curl around his face, which was damp with exertion. Sweat plastered the thin lawn shirt to his well muscled body. That was good. If he was exhausted then he might be less excitable…

  Tiede flinched again at a particularly loud scream of metal, but schooled himself to calmness. Perhaps this little scene was a blessing in disguise. The languid manner and elegantly tailored wardrobe made it easy to forget that the king was a great warrior. It was best not to forget things about the king. Tiede glanced at the king’s right hand holding the sword, and then at the heavy duelling gauntlet on his left hand. He shuddered, and looked away.