Heart on Fire (The Kingmaker Chronicles Book 3)

by Amanda Bouchet

  Somehow, when Griffin would insist, low in my ear with a rasp in his voice, that I was made for him, I found that alluring, shiver-inducing, and safe. I reveled in it as much as I reveled in the feel of his big, sword-roughened hands skating up my bare ribs, and I started to crave those words like I craved his possessive touch.

  Hearing that, in essence, he was made for me makes me feel like rocks are churning in my stomach. If the Gods had never given him his immunity to harmful magic with our common future in mind, an alteration that eventually brought him to Castle Sinta and then to me on that fateful day at the circus fair, would his heart and soul have carried him toward someone else?

  With my thoughts still spinning in useless circles, we eventually sneak back into Castle Tarva—not an easy feat with so many people camped out around the royal residence. My feet drag, and exhaustion weighs me down, both physical and mental. All I want to do is stagger up to our room and then sit down on something that’s not a horse, but Griffin has to tell the others what happened, and for better or worse, I’m part of this family now and can’t avoid the painful parts.

  We go to the great room first, finding Flynn, Kato, and Carver playing a game of cards. Jocasta sits near them, sewing, but Ianthe sits alone. She stares into the fire, not moving at all. Bellanca and her younger sister Lystra, the two Tarvan ex-princesses we appear to have kept along with the castle, are nowhere to be found.

  Jocasta’s joy at seeing Kaia again quickly turns into tears and then into the far-off, vacant look of the emotionally overcome. Carver shuts down completely and goes for the wine before Griffin is even done relaying the day’s unhappy events. Prior to his near-death in the arena and watching his lost love wave him away from the Underworld rather than welcome him with open arms, I’d never seen Carver reach for a glass of wine, not even at a meal when his cup was always full. Now, he reaches for a drink far too often—and not only at mealtimes—and stares at people without seeing them at all.

  Carver tilts the earthenware jug directly to his lips, and my heart aches even more. Griffin watches, too, and looks helpless. Maybe even afraid.

  Guilt is a thousand daggers hitting me all at once. Without me in their lives, none of this would have happened. Carver would be laughing and joking instead of drinking his weight in wine. Piers would still be at home in the library, shuffling through scrolls, muttering about ancient history, and getting ink stains on his hands. Kaia and Griffin would never have been in danger today. No one would have lost a brother. Or a son.

  Oh Gods. Nerissa and Anatole. Egeria. There are still parents to devastate. Another sister as well. We’ll have to go to them. Or send a message home. What do you write in that kind of letter? How is that even done?

  I swallow past the tightness in my throat, watching Flynn and Kato quietly rage. The rest of Beta Team. My team. They weren’t particularly close to Piers, and their anger rather than grief reassures me that perhaps I’m not entirely to blame. Piers made his own decisions, after all. No one forced him to dig up ancient scrolls or to use a series of words no one should even remember now, let alone utter out loud. And no one forced him to sacrifice himself in the end, either.

  Bleary-eyed, Jocasta watches Flynn pace back and forth across the room, his boots clomping. He’s agile and fast, but Flynn has never had a light stride.

  “Stop.” Her voice is no more than a tear-thick whisper, but the big auburn-haired warrior halts mid-step. He sets his foot down quietly this time and then turns to her.

  “I need air,” Jocasta says, looking right at him.

  Without a word, Flynn goes to her. Jocasta takes his offered arm, and he leads her from the room. As far as I know, that was the easiest interaction they’ve had in years.

  Kaia, who’s no dummy, looks straight at Kato, the man she secretly adores. Never one to ignore a lady in distress, Kato offers her his arm, and she takes it. I think she’s grown even taller since we’ve been away. Her dark head already reaches his chin, and she angles it toward him as they leave the room in the opposite direction from Jocasta and Flynn.

  Watching them go, I can’t help a small frown. I hope Griffin never catches on to his fifteen-year-old sister’s obsession with his Adonis-like comrade in arms. For that matter, I hope Kato never catches on. He’d be forced to break Kaia’s young heart, and he’s far too soft on the inside to ever want to do that.

  Ianthe is the only one who hasn’t said anything so far. As opposed to me, my younger sister doesn’t shift restlessly in her seat or try in vain to offer comforting words. She sits silently and observes. Ianthe never knew Piers, and I only reconnected with her recently myself. Underneath her rather stiff reserve, though, I wonder how fierce the storm is. As usual, her green eyes are shadowed, like she’s wondering where she fits in here—or if she fits in at all.

  “Ianthe,” I call softly. “How good are you with a sword?”

  She turns to me, her quiet strength an almost visible force around her. Or maybe a brittle barrier. “Better than you are.”

  She would know. She saw me in the Agon Games. “Jocasta and Kaia will need distracting, and they like to train. They’ve been doing it for a while now. I’ve taught them to handle knives, but they’ve only just begun with swords.”

  Ianthe nods. “It’s always helpful to hit things.”

  Despite years of separation, my sister and I are strikingly alike. “So we understand each other?”

  She stands. “I’ll plan a schedule for the next week. They’ll be too bruised, dirty, and exhausted to think.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ianthe nods. She leaves, and I close my eyes, still seeing her in my head. She’s me—younger and with different magic—but still so similar in so many ways that I don’t know if our likeness warms me in a peculiar, panging sort of way or scares the ever-living magic out of me. Even I know I’m reckless and extreme, and I think she’s even more so.

  The others are gone now, and Carver is slumped against the wall, sitting on the hard marble floor. He has one knee up with a hand on it. The other hand is wrapped loosely around the neck of the earthenware jug at his side. He’s more interested in his wine than in any useless platitude I could try to give.

  I sigh. I’ve had it for the day, maybe for a few days, and a bath is calling to me, loud and strong.

  I glance at Griffin. He’s standing by my chair, looking dark and brooding. I hold out my hand to him, and for the first time ever, I wonder if he’ll take it.

  He doesn’t reach for me, and a spasm contracts my whole chest. But then he turns just a little more in my direction, and his eyes change, brightening. He takes my outstretched hand and lifts it, pressing my knuckles to his lips.

  “You must be tired,” he says, still holding my hand. “And you haven’t eaten much today.”

  I let out a slow breath. Griffin’s hand warms mine, making me realize just how cold with worry I’d been.

  “I’m not hungry. But I do want to wash and lie down,” I say.

  Griffin nods, helping me up. To my everlasting humiliation, I lumber to my feet with a groan. Not long ago, I was walking through fire, riding snakes, and climbing a Cyclops. Today, I suppose I proved I can still move fast when I really want to. Otherwise, it feels like I keep doubling my body weight every time I sit down.

  “Gods, Little Bean. You weigh a ton,” I murmur, stretching my aching back. She must already take after her father—big and solid.

  Griffin’s mouth quirks up, the small smile bringing some familiar and welcome lightness back into his otherwise drawn features. “I’m assuming I’m not Little Bean in this conversation.”

  I snort, taking a shuffling step. My body seems to loosen up once I start moving again—thank the Gods. “You’re Big Bean. Look at you… You’re huge.”

  “Not as big as Ares. Your Thanos,” he mutters, an undercurrent of jealousy in his growling tone. It’s neither unexpected nor enti
rely unwarranted. I did jump into the God’s arms.

  “He’s too big,” I answer truthfully. “You’re just right.”

  Griffin is big and strong enough to protect me, should I need his help. He’s big enough to make me feel feminine. And big enough to overpower me in ways I know I’ll enjoy, since I also know I can trust him. He’s a very large and powerful man by human standards, but he’s not Olympian-sized, and I wouldn’t want him to be.

  Gripping my hand, Griffin leads me from the great room and then turns us toward the stairs.

  “Why Little Bean?” he asks, using his free hand to snag a torch from a sconce on the wall.

  I shrug. “It just came to me. Don’t you think she’s the size of a bean? A really heavy but tiny little bean?”

  He smiles more fully this time, and some of the weight lifts from me. Or maybe that’s Little Bean shifting around again.

  “You’re a bean.” He squeezes my hand, and I feel even lighter. My heart seems buoyant after being so weighed down. It’s definitely Griffin making me float.

  Well, not exactly float, but I do manage to pick up my feet.

  “We’re a bean family,” I announce.

  He chuckles. “That sounds distinguished. No wonder we have so many followers.”

  “Absolutely,” I agree with a nod. “Thalyrians are smart. We’re also not prone to random massacres, which probably helps.”

  “Indeed.”

  I glance at him, arching my eyebrows. “Indeed? Is that scary warlord talk?”

  He narrows his eyes on me, but something in the deep gray suddenly dances in the torchlight. “Indeed,” he repeats.

  I laugh, and it feels like years of tension slide off my shoulders.

  “Your belly is hardly rounded,” Griffin says, peering at the area in question. His eyes linger, and then he lets go of my hand to lightly draw his fingers over my lower stomach. “I didn’t think you’d feel her so soon.”

  “Me either.” I eye my stomach, seeing nothing unusual. I expected to be increasingly aware of her life force. I didn’t expect the physical effects her apparent distress had on me today. “But I can’t say I’m surprised that she’s a special little powerhouse.”

  Griffin grunts. I guess he agrees.

  “Where in the Gods damn bloody Underworld have you two been?” A flame-haired Harpy erupts from a darkened side passage, storming into our path.

  I jump, even though it’s just Bellanca Tarva arriving with the explosive energy of someone about my age but not pregnant.

  “Gods! You nearly gave me a heart attack.” I scowl at her. Ever since that three-headed monster leaped out at me in the ice caves, dark corridors make me nervous. To be fair, they made me nervous before that, but now it’s even worse.

  Griffin instinctively draws me closer to his side, even placing me a little behind him. He doesn’t quite trust Bellanca yet, although I think he should.

  Bellanca’s hands fly to her hips. “What’s wrong with everyone here?” she demands, seeming genuinely worried. And spitting mad. Her wild red hair starts to spark, sending hot little flames sizzling down the curls. She bats at them, putting the Fire Magic out. “Everyone’s crying. I can’t find a courtyard where Lystra and I can walk in peace. I thought you’d gone off and gotten yourself killed! You, too,” she adds, glowering at Griffin.

  Bellanca’s bald-faced disregard for the proprieties of rank rivals my own, but underneath her prickles and bluster, I think she truly cares, whether she wants to or not. Since her prophetess sister died to protect me and used her last breath to command her younger sisters to guard my unborn child with their lives, Bellanca has attached herself to me like an annoying and highly combustible leech. It was harder to sneak past her vigilance this morning than past the crowd outside the castle. I have a feeling her loyalty, once given, is an unshakable force. I can’t seem to shake her, anyway.

  Lystra, the youngest recently dethroned Tarvan royal, has mostly been hiding in her room. Or staring at Kato, but all females over the age of ten do that.

  “It was a family thing,” I answer with a worn-out sigh.

  Bellanca’s brow clears of the tight little wrinkles that were marring her forehead. Her stance relaxes, and she nods. For a person who grew up in an abomination of a household much like mine, the word family, said in the way I just said it, explains a lot.

  “Well, don’t go running off anymore.” She huffs, clearly still cross with us. “At least not without me.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, rubbing a little. I feel the start of a headache coming on. “Who’s in charge here?” I ask pointedly.

  Bellanca’s bright-red eyebrows slam together like crossing swords, two fiery slashes across her fair-skinned face. “Oh, that’s nice! Just remind me of how you stole my realm and possibly my birthright.”

  “I will,” I say. “And I’ll remind you of how you helped me.”

  She pales, making her freckles stand out, and I want to kick myself. I just meant that she’d helped us. She chose our side over her power-hungry, cold-hearted, murderous brother’s. I didn’t mean to remind her of how she wrapped her flaming hands around Galen Tarva’s thick neck and burned her own flesh and blood into a pile of ash.

  Not that she did that for me. She did it because Galen had killed her beloved, sight-addled sister, Appoline. Appoline, who took Galen’s knife in her chest for me. For Little Bean.

  Gods, I’m an idiot. I see Bellanca’s throat move on a hard swallow and feel even worse.

  “Thank you.” I reach out and grip her wrist. Emotional conversations aren’t easy for me, and I don’t know her well. “Thank you…for worrying about me.”

  She snorts, rolling blue-green eyes that remind me of Ares’s unusual eye color but without the gleam of unbridled Olympian power in them. Bellanca blows a smoldering lock of hair out of her face. Her magic has been running amok since the takeover battle. The woman needs to learn some control. Then again, so do I.

  “I wasn’t worried. I don’t even like you.” Breaking my hold on her, Bellanca whirls and stomps off, moving into the family room we just vacated.

  Griffin’s face scrunches up. He bows his head, and his shoulders start to shake.

  Uh-oh. He’s finally cracking. Piers. Me. The baby. It’s all too much.

  I lean over and peer into his face only to realize that…he’s laughing?

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  “First Ianthe. Now her.” He straightens and jerks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the great room, still quietly laughing. “I’m accumulating women just like you.”

  I scowl, and he tries to stop smiling. It doesn’t work.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand hotly.

  He puts a large, very warm hand on the small of my back and tries to sweep me toward the stairs. When I resist, he keeps pushing, propelling me along.

  “It means I’m the luckiest man alive.” He drops a kiss onto the top of my head as I reach for the ornate, gilded railing. “And all together, we’ll be invincible,” he murmurs against my hair.

  Heat and pleasure radiate through me, warming my heart. Because Griffin is loyal to me, he immediately loved Ianthe like a sister. She also earned her place with us within seconds of our first encounter, leaping fearlessly to our defense, even though it meant defying a man who’d terrified and abused her. Bellanca earned her place that day as well, but she’s harder to digest.

  “Are you coming around to Bellanca?” I ask, starting to climb the steps.

  Griffin follows. “She has certain qualities.”

  I turn, one eyebrow raised. “Like powerful Fire Magic?”

  He humphs. “And a temper to match.”

  A muffled thump comes from the great room behind us, followed by a low, masculine grunt.

  “Get up, you stupid drunk,” Bellanca snaps.
“Wine never helped anyone do anything but piss.”

  The sharp clatter of pottery smashing against stone reaches our ears. Griffin and I look at each other and cringe. Carver roars a curse. Bellanca screeches, loud and high-pitched. There’s the sound of a scuffle.

  Carver bellows in pain. “You burned me, you crazy Harpy!”

  “Well, don’t touch me! You burned yourself!”

  “Control your hair!” Carver shouts. “Or I’ll cut it all off!”

  “Don’t you dare come near me with that sword!” Bellanca shrieks back.

  Griffin and I gape at each other. Then we take off as one, racing up the rest of the steps.

  They’re adults. They can sort themselves out—hopefully without killing one another in the process.

  CHAPTER 7

  A light meal in my stomach and fresh from a much-needed bath, I kick off my sandals as I walk across the bedroom toward Griffin. I lay my hands on his shoulders and squeeze once, tentatively. When he doesn’t pull away, I start to massage the tense muscles in his upper back.

  His hair is still damp from his own bath, and the gleaming black strands curl softly around his neck and ears. He sits on a simple stool in front of the writing desk in our room—the one we’ve adopted in Castle Tarva—probably having left the larger, more comfortable chair for me. There are discarded drafts of letters all around him.

  “I sent it,” he says, not looking at me. There are splotches of dried ink on both his hands. He can’t seem to take his eyes off the rejected scrolls.

  I smooth my fingers up into his hair and try to work some of the tension out of his nape and the back of his head. After I ate, or rather forced myself to swallow a few bites, I saw him release the dove. I continued on to the bathhouse, the weight in my chest so heavy I thought I might sink. He’d wanted to write and send the message alone, and Griffin doesn’t shirk his responsibilities, no matter how hard or devastating they might be.

  The smiles we managed to share earlier in the evening seem a hundred years gone, replaced by a bleakness in both of us that I don’t know how to dispel.