Daughter of the Flames

by Zoe Marriott

  “Your colour is back,” he said, nodding. “Excellent. Dearest niece, of course I understand your husband’s wish to enjoy a small, intimate wedding. But now that this has been accomplished, I must claim you for myself. I have an uncle’s right, after all. I insist that appropriate celebrations take place, befitting your rank. You must come to the summer palace. Half the court is there already, you know – the heat in the lowlands is dreadful this year. I will throw a ball in your honour and arrange delightful entertainments to amuse you, and in return I will have the pleasure of introducing my newly discovered niece to the court, and of getting to know her better myself.”

  Trapped. The gleam in his eyes – and the watchful expressions of the gourdin – told me that he had us. He knew it. The only reason we weren’t dead was that it amused Abheron to play this game, whatever it was. I tore my gaze away from his expectant face, and looked up at Sorin.

  “An invitation we could not think of refusing,” Sorin said, lips quirking. Only I could see it in his eyes: the horrible realization that our plans were in ruin, and that we were now in mortal danger.

  I forced my lips to stretch into an answering smile as I looked back at Abheron. “Thank you, uncle. We would be honoured.”

  He laughed. “Wonderful! Leave everything to me. And now – though it pains me – I must leave you for a short while. I will travel on to the palace with all possible speed, make everything ready and wait there to welcome you. I expect you’ll need the rest of the day to prepare for the journey – I wouldn’t want you to arrive exhausted – but I shall expect you by the end of the week.” The flat warning in his voice belied the casual words as he smiled. “I shall of course leave my special guards behind to escort you. There are far too many dangerous elements roaming my kingdom to trust your safety to anyone less than the best.”

  “Who will protect you, on your journey?” I said, knowing it was useless.

  “Oh, I can look after myself, my dear” he said quietly. “Don’t worry, though – I left another unit of gourdin on the outskirts of the town. They will accompany me.”

  Sorin inclined his head. “You are, as always, perfectly prepared, Your Majesty.”

  “Of course.” Abheron stepped forward. “Now, before I leave, I must embrace the couple and bless them. I believe that is the Rua custom?”

  “No!” I burst out. “No, I’m afraid not, Your Highness. In fact, it is considered very bad luck for a relative of the bride to offer a blessing. It – er – might encourage … bad spirits.”

  Despite our dire straits, out of the corner of my eye I saw Sorin press his lips together to hide a smile. “Yes. Bad spirits,” he agreed, nodding seriously.

  “Oh.” Abheron tilted his head. “Well, that is unfortunate. But I presume I may still embrace my niece?”

  Before I could think of anything else to say, he had put his arms around me. It took every drop of selfcontrol that I possessed to stand still. Nausea rolled in my stomach as a lock of his hair brushed my nose, and I swallowed frantically. Let go, let go – let go of me… Then he brushed a kiss to my cheek. My scarred cheek.

  I flinched back with a wordless cry of revulsion, planted my hands on his chest and shoved him away. We stared at each other, inches apart and tensed like opponents in a battle. For a split second, I thought I saw something in his eyes, a flare of some darkness unfolding behind the glassy irises. Then he blinked and it was gone. That charming, rueful smile curved his lips again.

  “Until we meet again, Zahira,” he said softly.

  Then he turned and swung up into the saddle, wheeling his mount and trotting away through the crowd without a backward glance.

  The unit of foot gourdin spread quickly to surround us, effectively separating us from the crowd. Our allies seemed to have disappeared; there was no sign of them among the anxious faces that I could see through the gaps in the soldiers’ ranks. Even Fareed had taken the opportunity to slip away.

  Sorin turned to me, ignoring the presence of the gourdin. “By Ioana, woman.” His face was grey and suddenly he looked exhausted. He leaned heavily on his cane. “You’ve more courage than sense.”

  “What are we going to do?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know, Zahira. I don’t know.”

  With firmness that held little pretence of courtesy, Abheron’s gourdin escorted us back to the fort. They marched through the open gates like a conquering army, taking Sorin’s unit of ten lightly armed men by surprise and overwhelming them easily. With the Mesgao guards locked in their barracks, Abheron’s gourdin made all exits secure and took up strategic positions throughout the building. No one was to enter or leave without their permission – by order of the king.

  The shock and outrage on the faces of our people as the intruders took over told us that the slightest sign from Sorin or me would be enough to start a battle. But the fort’s inhabitants stood no chance against the heavily armed force of elite gourdin, our so-called allies had disappeared, and any attempt at resistance could only end in a massacre.

  Our plans were destroyed. There was nothing to be done.

  So we walked composedly into our bedroom – ignoring the gourdin who stationed himself outside it – and closed the door. I pushed down the bolt on the inside, more from defiance than the idea that it would keep anyone out.

  Sorin sank onto the bed. “I should have seen this coming,” he said dully. “You tried to tell me – to warn me about spies – but I wouldn’t listen.”

  I sat down next to him and jabbed him sharply in the arm. Panic made my voice sharper still. “Stop it. You don’t get to wallow in self-doubts and guilt. I need you to stay alert and reasonable and, most of all, alive.”

  “Ee–ow.” He rubbed clumsily at the area I had poked.

  “I’m sorry.” I pushed his hand away and rubbed his arm myself. “Just don’t frighten me. This is bad enough.”

  “Bad enough, she says.” Sorin laughed feebly. “Some thing of an understatement. Come here.”

  He drew me against his side and kissed me, the warmth of his lips finding the spot of icy cold on my cheek where Abheron’s had touched. I leaned my head against his shoulder. After a moment he sighed deeply, disturbing the fine hairs on the back of my neck. A tiny, involuntary shiver went down my spine. Suddenly I was very aware of how close he was. We were curved into each other, our thighs touching, my breast pressed against his chest.

  I hid my face in his doublet self-consciously, and felt his breath quicken. His hand lifted from my back – leaving a glowing imprint where it had rested – and cupped my cheek, tilting my face up. His fingertips were slightly rough against my skin. I looked at him. Tentatively, keeping his gaze on mine, he touched my scar.

  I arched against him like a cat, gasping in surprise. His fingers traced the puckered line of flesh, barely grazing the surface of the skin.

  “Is this all right?” he asked softly.

  I swallowed, turning my face wordlessly into his touch. His fingers slid into my hair. He pressed a kiss to the ruined lobe of my left ear. I felt a starburst of sensation as his lips moved, moistly, against my skin.

  I breathed in the warm smell of him, and reached up to touch his cheek as he had touched mine. His stubble prickled on the palm of my hand as I cupped his face.

  “Yes,” I said.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  The next day we left Mesgao for Lake Jijendra. The whole town turned out to watch us go. The silent, grim-faced people who lined the road were very different from the cheering crowds of our wedding day.

  They knew they might never see us again.

  The rattle and clank of the gourdin’s armour surrounding the carriage was grating. It almost drowned out the thin wail of a small child somewhere behind us as we came to the outskirts of lower Mesgao. Poor baby, I thought as the high-pitched cry stretched on. Woken before dawn, probably not even fed yet. Take the child home, for the Holy Mother’s sake – there’s no need for it to see this.

  I leane
d forward to look out of the window. The rising sun had not reached the fort yet; the building was hidden against the hillside, a square hump of shadow. I stared at the shadow, wishing desperately for the sun to rise a little higher, so that I might catch at least one glimpse of the place before we left. One last glimpse, before I was gone. If the sun reached the fort before it disappeared, everything would be well…

  Then we rounded the curve of the road, and the fort was hidden from sight.

  As the great grey Subira mountains marched west across Ruan, they met the smaller, greener peaks of the Arphat range curving up from the Bluecaps in the south; and where the two crossed briefly, there was a great valley, sheltered from the harsh winds and heat of the lowlands. It was here that the River Mesgao had its source, in Lake Jijendra, the largest body of water in Ruan.

  Five hundred years ago, a rei had built a summer palace high on the west bank, overlooking the lake. The term palace was an affectionate one rather than factual, for the building was low and built of intricately carved wood, its airy windows and open verandas designed for comfort and coolness rather than stateliness. Over the years a little village had sprung up around it, at first inhabited only by the artisans, tradespeople and merchants who were required to maintain the palace. But as the centuries passed, the village had grown and spread down the bank and a lively fishing trade had drawn more people into the valley, until the village had become a town, and then a city that was strung out along the west and north sides of the valley. Most of the casadors had built their own homes there – far grander than the palace itself – so that they could follow the rei on his summer journeys and the court and business of governance could continue.

  The Jijendra valley was a lush, green place. Trees grew tall and straight, towering above the banks and overhanging the water with vast spreading canopies of silver and purple leaves. The water itself was the colour of the night sky, so deep a blue that it was almost black. When the sun set over it, it turned milky pale, shot with lights of orange and kingfisher blue like a living opal.

  Of course, I didn’t remember any of this until we had been travelling for four days – until the moment when our carriage rattled down the road and broke through the lush forest that surrounded the lake. Looking out of the window, I saw the late afternoon sun spray through smoky shredded clouds and down on the summer city, setting the pale walls of the palace above it alight, and turning the lake into a glowing pool of liquid fire. The mountains rose up behind, black in the golden sky, their shapes suddenly as familiar to me as my own face.

  Vivid images began to flood my mind; I was bombarded by a million remembered smells, tastes, sounds and emotions.

  Figs, picked from the tree and still warm from the sun, sweet and soft, juice running down my chin…

  Squealing with laugher as Kiran splashed me with lake water – then guilt as Mama scolded him for wetting my dress…

  Cool, moist mosses under my bare feet as I walked along the bank, looking up at the trees towering over the water…

  I clutched at my head, gasping.

  The high, hoarse barking that sounded from the forest at nightfall – fear of the strange noise, then comfort as Dada showed me the tiny auburn-haired monkeys that made the sounds…

  Distantly I heard Sorin’s voice, harsh with concern, but I was lost in a whirlpool of sensations.

  The smell of the waxy white starflowers that grew around my window as their bell-shaped petals unfurled at dawn…

  “Stop it!”

  There was a stinging pain on my cheek and I jerked out of the well of memories like someone waking from a dream, my breathing sawing in my throat. I found myself on Sorin’s lap, clasped hard against his chest. I looked up into his face and found him staring at me with a mixture of anger and concern.

  “It’s all right. I’m all right now,” I said, my voice rough, as if I had been screaming. Had I been screaming?

  “Thank the goddess,” he muttered, closing his eyes in relief.

  I raised my hand and rubbed at the hot aching place on my cheek where he’d slapped me. “Ow.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his tight grip on my shoulders loosening a little. “But you didn’t seem to hear me.”

  “No. No, I didn’t. Thank you.”

  I sat up properly and slid off his lap to sit next to him, by the window. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and peeked through the opening again. Nothing new came. The memories seemed to have settled into place now. It was a new layer of knowledge: an important one, fresh and clear.

  “What happened to you?” he said, voice still low with emotion. He put his arm round me, and I could feel him shaking.

  “I remembered this place. You know things often come back to me – memories – of the time before the fire. But this was like … like the first time, when the Holy Mother spoke to me. It hurt.”

  “Why would your memories hurt you?”

  I had tried to describe my walk into the sacred fire to him, but I had not been very successful, partly because he did not worship the Holy Mother and it was hard to talk around the parts I wasn’t allowed to mention, and partly because … well, the experience seemed beyond words.

  Still, I tried to explain. “Because there were so many of them at once. Too much. It was like drowning in memories. Sorin, the summer palace was where I lived. Mama couldn’t stand the heat in Aroha, so we spent nearly all our time here. I hadn’t realized. Practically every memory I have of my life before is of this place.” I turned to look out of the window again. “This was my home. Look!”

  There was a flash of spotted brown and gold fur among the trees and then a splash of water, and I laughed in shock and delight.

  “What was that?” Sorin asked, surprised.

  “It was a tamul!” I said, leaning forward to try to catch another glimpse. “They’re a type of antelope, but they can swim underwater for minutes without coming up for breath. They eat the fruit that falls out of the trees onto the lake bed. This is the only place in Ruan where they can live.” I sobered suddenly. “My father taught me about them.”

  Sorin rubbed my shoulder. I sat back with a sigh, realizing that the tamul – and the brief moment of happiness – was gone.

  “Well, I’m glad, even if the territory belongs to the enemy, that it isn’t completely unfamiliar,” he said.

  “No. I know this valley as well as any place on earth.” I paused. “We should have made Deo stay with Mira.”

  Soirn smiled. “Short of cutting his legs off, I doubt we could have managed it.” He leaned his head back against the squabs tiredly. “He loves you, Zahira. He couldn’t let you go into danger alone. In any case, Deo will be very helpful to have around, and Mira supported his decision to come. We need all the help we can get.”

  “I know. I just hope Rashna is having some luck.”

  He smiled again, and this time the smile held a hint of its old arrogance. “That woman doesn’t need luck. We’ll probably arrive to find that she’s taken the palace herself and tied Abheron in a bow for us.”

  I snorted with laughter. I could just imagine the look on Rashna’s face – half smug, half disdainful. The laughter died as I realized I couldn’t imagine anyone besting Abheron, not even Rashna.

  When Sorin had suggested that we send a couple of agents ahead of us to the summer palace, to pose as servants and try to discover Abheron’s plans, Rashna had been the last person I’d expected to volunteer. Especially as it would involve working with a Sedorne man, picked for the task by Sorin.

  “Why do you want to do this?” I asked her seriously.

  “Why do you think, Reia?” She tapped her foot impatiently. “You’re walking blindly into a trap. God knows what the Pig has planned for you. You need a secret weapon, and I’m the best person for it.”

  “Rashna…” My voice trailed off uncomfortably as I tried to think of a way to ask my question without offending her. Why do you care?

  “Look,” she interrupted, “you know what I think of
you, and I know what you think of me. But that has nothing to do with it. I may not like you much – or that cocky Sedorne you married – but you’re the only reia we’ve got, and we can’t afford to lose you.”

  I blinked. “Very well. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She bowed – her graceful, sarcastic bow – and turned to leave, but I said her name as she reached the door.

  “Um… Don’t get killed or anything, will you?”

  “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, thanks. You worry about yourself.”

  I sat back, put firmly in my place, and she disappeared through the door.

  She’d gone that night disguised as a bent old namoa whom Abheron’s men had dismissed as harmless. Riding a pair of the best horses in Mesgao, Rashna and Stefan – Sorin’s man – had crept out of the town, intending to ride hard for Jijendra. She should be there by now, hopefully blending in with the rush of servants that the palace would have to hire to pull off this impromptu ball in my honour. Please, God, she would find some way of helping us.

  If only we could figure out what Abheron was up to. His actions, contradictory and apparently impulsive, made no sense. If he intended to kill us, then why not just do it? Why this elaborate charade? What did he hope to achieve? Unless even he didn’t know…

  “Sorin.” I picked absently at the embroidery on my blue skirt. Mira had persuaded me into Sedorne dress for this journey, telling me that it would put Sedorne men at their ease in my presence, causing them to underestimate me. I knew her argument had merit, but I still felt horribly overdressed and uncomfortable.

  “Yes?”

  “Why is he doing this?” I asked. “All this – it isn’t his normal behaviour, I know that much.”

  Sorin sounded as frustrated as I was. “You’re right that it’s out of character. Abheron’s not a sadist. He’s a murderer and a traitor, yes; but I’ve never heard that he enjoys playing with his victims.”

  “I don’t think what’s happening now is part of any clever plan. I think he intended to kill us but he changed his mind.”