Crown of One Hundred Kings (Nine Kingdoms Trilogy Book 1)

by Rachel Higginson

  His smile broke through and he fanned his face with a distinctly feminine flair. “Arrick,” he sighed, in a poor imitation of me.

  “I did not say it like that.”

  “Arrick,” he giggled.

  “I hate you.”

  He grinned at me. “You don’t.”

  I didn’t actually hate him, so instead of responding, I leaned forward in my saddle and stared at the road again. The road, not the back of Arrick’s head.

  This journey was nothing like I had expected it to be. Somehow, I’d become wrapped up in the very rebellion I would have to squash once I was queen. And while Arrick was an unbearable man, I did not distrust him like I should.

  He had grown on me over the last week. I had grudgingly come to respect his proficiency with his men and the way he held himself. He was wise and insightful and hard when he needed to be. But then soft too, or not soft exactly, but warm, even charming.

  I clasped the necklace around my throat and enjoyed the weight as the gemstones settled against my chest. For a moment I allowed myself to wonder about the boy that had given me this pendant.

  What would he be like? Would he be as fierce when it came to commanding an army? Would he be as stern and direct with his men? Would he have been as playful? Or smile like that?

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. No. These thoughts were foolish. Neither man had a place in my head anymore. Arrick was a means to an end.

  And the boy from my memories would remain that—a memory.

  Arrick and the memories I treasured would disappear eventually. Until then, I would cling to the journey, to the steps taking me closer and closer to my home.

  11

  A day later we approached a village that could only be described as the exact opposite of happy and peaceful.

  Smoke billowed, darkening the sky. The rebel army kicked their mounts into a gallop, sensing danger long before we could see what caused the blaze. Oliver and I hurried after them. We weren’t as skilled on horseback and were forced to trail behind.

  Ash fell like snow. My nostrils clogged with the stench of burning wood and oil. And something stronger, something that wasn’t tangible. Something like fear.

  Oliver and I arrived in the burning village just in time to watch the rebels dismount with haste, a wall of fire surrounding them from three sides. They moved into action with practiced speed, making it clear that this wasn’t the first inferno they’d extinguished.

  Or the first village they’d seen destroyed.

  Oliver and I hovered near the edges, coughing through the blackish smoke as cozy homes and centuries-old trees burned. The fire consumed everything it touched, greedy with death and destruction.

  From where I watched it, the blaze was a living, breathing dragon that swept high up into the thick-leafed canopy overhead before dropping back toward the ground to eat at grass and horse and men alike.

  The great, fiery beast flapped hellish wings and licked with its forked tongue as branches snapped and plunged to the ground, making more kindling for the roaring firestorm. The fire beast jumped from tree to tree, splitting into more creatures, more death, spreading like a plague through this once-picturesque village.

  I blinked and the beast turned back into mere fire. Fire that ravaged everything it touched.

  Throughout this journey, I’d seen that all the villages in Tenovia were built among the trees of the Tellekane Forest. Houses mingled with shops and temples, all connected by a spider web of rope bridges.

  The main highway snaked through the village, undisturbed by the community living over it. Some houses towered stories high, built around massive black cedars, extending outward on sturdy branches as thick and durable as any castle rampart. Likewise, merchants conducted business from their lofts in the trees. A blacksmith or goldsmith would have everything he needed built on solid platforms reaching from trunk center to middle of the branch. An alchemist mixed potions from the carved out laboratory of a gigantic cedar. Wells and a series of pulleys and water wheels brought water to each dwelling.

  Rope bridges connected one tree house to the next. The walkways went side-to-side as well as up and down so the different levels of the village could be easily accessed. A lift system made it possible to ride from the ground to the first level of the village easily.

  Tenovian citizens were used to containing and controlling fires. This was how they existed. How they cooked, conducted business, raised their children, and worshiped. Fire was as common in a Tenovian village as daily meals and kilns and alchemy.

  The fire that raged through this village with unrestrained frenzy proved that it had not been accidently set. Nor had it been designed to only damage a little.

  Whoever had set this inferno had meant to kill. To completely obliterate.

  “There are people up there!” I heard someone shout.

  Arrick’s men moved into action. While half the army remained with the well and pulley system, sending buckets of water down the line to drown the fire as best they could, the other half raced for houses where dozens of villagers were trapped.

  I slid off my horse, ignoring my stiff bones and sore muscles. I slung my satchel over my abandoned saddle, tucked Shiksa inside, and rushed into the blaze.

  The smoke billowed around me, creating curtains of black, choking agony. The fire blazed hotter than anything I’d ever experienced. My skin immediately felt as if I’d lazed in the sun all day and let it redden my complexion to the point of pain.

  “Whoever set this fire, locked them inside,” Oliver gasped next to me.

  Fire, as hot as the flame that blazed around me, set my blood to boil. “Who would do such a thing?”

  Oliver shook his head. This was beyond any horror he had ever seen.

  Arrick’s strong voice called for more water overhead. My mind swirled with our latest conversations. Had this been the work of the Tenovian royal house? Or the Ring of Shadows?

  I shook my head, determined to focus on the fight ahead of me.

  I raced to help the army, leaving Oliver screaming after me and the Crown of Nine abandoned on my horse. Leaping to the small platform that would raise me from the ground to the corded walkways, I clung to the rope tethered to the four corners.

  My weight set the platform moving and I looked up at the image of Denamon overhead. I struggled to swallow through a singed throat. Letting my courage take flight, spreading sturdy wings that eclipsed my fear, I pulled hard on the rope dangling above my head and began my ascent. The rope seared with the heat above, burning my fingers.

  The fire made the rope unstable and I swung widely in the air, the platform trembling beneath my weight. I pulled harder, faster, trying to end the journey swiftly.

  It was not a short distance to the first dock. The black cedars were so tall in this part of the forest, that to reach the first level of branches and bridges was like climbing from the ground to the roof of the Temple. The rope frayed as the fire bit into it, singeing away the thick strands little by little.

  A single strand of rope snapped overhead and I lunged to the side, releasing a surprised screech. My fingers bit into the hot rope while my toes dragged across the shifting base beneath me.

  The platform dangled in the air, tilting precariously. One of the corner ropes had snapped. I held onto the pulley, but another rope broke above and the platform rocked and quivered aggressively.

  I leveraged my body against the nearest corner rope. With one hand gripping the pulley so I didn’t plunge to my death, I reached for the docking platform. My fingers brushed the smooth wood, but I couldn’t grab on.

  Oliver yelled something at me from the ground, but I couldn’t hear him clearly over the roar of the fire. In fact, the blaze had grown so hot around me that my skin prickled with sweat and seemed to be as hot as the flames that raced toward me.

  I used my forearm to wipe the moisture out of my eyes so I could see properly again, but smoke clouded my vision.

  I reached for the dock one last time j
ust as the fire finished eating through the rope.

  My mouth opened to scream, but before I could fall to my death, strong hands clasped my forearm. My weight pulled heavily against my savior, making me wince, but he did not let go.

  The platform crashed to the ground with a resounding splintering of wood I could hear even over the roar of the flames. As I clung to the strong arm suspending me above my near-death, breathing in shaky gasps of relief, I watched Oliver leap out of the way of the debris.

  My body continued to hang uselessly while the man holding me worked to pull me to safety. I wasn’t that heavy, but I weighed enough to fell a weaker man. When I looked up, Arrick was staring back, straining against my weight and the forces of gravity working against us.

  Growling something unintelligible, he began to lift. His feet slid against the slick wood until he planted them against the carved ridge and gradually brought me to safety.

  At last, his actions garnered attention from his men and soon three and then four other soldiers rushed to help, grabbing all kinds of limbs and parts of me to drag my helpless body over the side of the walkway.

  I collapsed on the heated dock, struggling to catch my breath.

  I could have been crushed.

  Impaled.

  Snapped into a hundred pieces.

  By the time I’d gathered my wits and managed to stand up again, Arrick had already jumped back into the fray. I owed him my gratitude, but now wasn’t the time.

  I staggered over to the nearest cluster of men, desperately working to open a door. The window had been boarded shut with thick planks. The men had given up on the window, choosing to pick the lock on the door instead.

  This I could help them with. I might not have the brute strength needed to pry stakes out of thick wood. But I did have hair pins.

  “Move!” I shouted at them over the roar of the furnace around us. Surprisingly, they did.

  I crouched in front of the lock, recognizing the royal detail and craftsmanship. It would have been impossible to open without a key. Unless you had older brothers who had been making you break into royal wine stores since you were old enough to carry something back.

  I pulled a hair pin from my braid and tried not to touch the scorching metal as I worked the heavy lock. But my fingers, knuckles and palms burned as I brushed against the metal more than I would have liked.

  I struggled to breathe through the smoke and tried to ignore the hysterical screams from inside the building.

  I closed my eyes and forced it all to fade into the background. I focused on my brothers’ instructions. I pictured their bright eyes teaching their little sister something forbidden so that they had someone to blame their mischief on. I remembered their laughter, their cheers when I finally picked my first lock. I remembered dragging wineskins from the cellars to my giddy brothers waiting in the hall. I remembered my father’s fury when he found out what they had done. And my mother’s laughter as Father relayed what had happened later that night.

  I let ghosts lead the way and memory guide my fingers until at last, the lock snicked free. I leaned back with a garbled breath of relief. The men grunted their approval, pushing me out of the way as they kicked in the door.

  I followed them, gasping at the bodies on the floor. Some lay unconscious on the ground, their faces frozen in agonized masks. Others screamed or clung to each other as they waited for death.

  A dozen people had been locked inside this dress shop and if we hadn’t come upon them, they would have died here, crumpled in clumps on the floor.

  Clinging to each other, hopeless, miserable, and trapped.

  They would have burned alive.

  The soldiers immediately started pulling bodies from the room. They scooped up villagers with impressive strength and tossed them over their shoulders.

  I couldn’t lift adults, but a small child caught my eye. He lay tangled in a heap next to a woman that had to be his mother from the way her limp fists gripped his curly hair and her body lay over his protectively. His pale little face fell with a listlessness that made my heart gallop in my chest.

  I rushed to them, stepping over grown villagers and the rebel soldiers working to save them. I grabbed the tunic of the man closest to me. “I need help!” It was Eret.

  I pointed to the little boy and his mother. “I’ll get the child.” I paused to cough and gasp, desperately needing clean oxygen to clear this lightheadedness. My fingers curled into his shirt. “You get the woman!” I ordered him.

  He nodded wearily. The smoke took its toll on all of us. For a second I worried that this giant of a man didn’t have the strength left in him to carry a woman half his size. But he had no choice. If he didn’t rescue her, she would die. And I refused to let this little boy be orphaned.

  I refused.

  Scooping him up into my arms, I swayed from his weight. As slight and fragile as he looked, he weighed heavily in my arms.

  “All right?” Eret huffed with the woman slung over his shoulder.

  “Fine,” I lied. I nodded for him to lead the way.

  We rushed from the room and raced through the village. As we moved, the air cleared and the heat receded.

  The fire was being contained, even if it had not yet been extinguished.

  At last we reached a lift that would take us to solid ground. Eret held my arm as we stepped onto it, joining soot smeared villagers and victim-laden soldiers.

  The platform swayed beneath our weight, but the ropes held strong. I leaned against Eret, thankful for his steadiness.

  As soon as the platform landed on the forest floor, we jumped off, following soldiers even further from the village. The air continued to clear and I could at last take a deep breath.

  Even if it hurt.

  Down the road, a medic station had been set up. Oliver stood next to four of Arrick’s soldiers tending to the worst of the wounded while other villagers waited their turn.

  Eret laid the woman on the ground, examining her. When he was satisfied she would live, he took the little boy from my arms and did the same.

  “They’ll be fine,” he informed me gruffly. “They had too much of the smoke, but when they awake, they’ll be all right.”

  I nodded. It was all the strength I had left.

  He led me to the nearest well. Dipping a cup into cool water, he handed it over. I drank greedily. Water splashed over my dirty dress, smearing ash and soot on my skin.

  When I finished, Eret handed me another cupful. I paused long enough to nod gratefully before using the drink to quench the fire inside me.

  “You ready to do that again?” he asked when I had drunk my fill.

  I set the cup down, wiping the back of my mouth on my sleeve. Holding his gaze, I saw the challenge there. “Yes,” I told him.

  “Let’s go.”

  He turned and raced for the platform that would send us to the top again. I followed him, catching Arrick’s eye as he stepped off, his arms full of a bloodied woman I wasn’t sure was alive or dead.

  He held my gaze. I passed him, never dropping his stare. Our shoulders brushed against each other, sending a spiral of tingles through me.

  As I stepped onto the platform, I was forced to look away from Arrick. When I turned back his attention was fixed on the medic station and the woman he held.

  I shook off the buzzing sensations still rushing through me, convincing myself that I had imagined our interaction. And that if I hadn’t, it was pointless to dwell on my feelings anyway.

  Eret barked out instructions for when we reached the top. I focused on the mission ahead. I let the task overwhelm me until I became something more than I was, until I became the thing that this village needed the most.

  I stayed that way well into the night, until the last fire had been extinguished and the last villager had been accounted for, dead or alive.

  When a raven cawed overhead, I wasn’t even surprised.

  There was something amiss in my realm—something dark and poisonous and destructiv
e.

  12

  Dawn broke, lighting the smoky, sleepy world with a different kind of fire than the one we had fought yesterday.

  I lifted my tired eyes from the woman I was tending to admire the pinks and oranges that shone through the ravaged limbs overhead.

  I rubbed a hand over my sore right arm and took a shaking breath. My lungs hadn’t recovered from the smoke yet, nor had my throat felt anything but parched and aching.

  Still, I was proud of the work we’d done, of the villagers we’d saved. Even if the village itself had gone up in flames.

  Looking down at the woman once more, I lifted a cup of water to her bloodied lips. “Here,” I coaxed. “Drink. Slowly, now.”

  Her trembling hands took the cup from me and lifted it to her mouth. She sipped carefully. Meanwhile I smoothed singed hair out of her face and checked her over for worse wounds than fatigue, smoke inhalation, and minor burns. She had none.

  I left the water with her and moved to my next patient. The villagers had been rescued and deposited out of harm’s way without a second glance while I worked with the army to douse the fire. We had struggled into the night to stomp out the last bits of flame and then moved directly to the abandoned villagers waiting to be helped.

  I was exhausted. But we had saved lives.

  Arrick interrupted my path, stopping me from reaching my next patient.

  “You need to rest,” he said tersely.

  I looked him over. His clothes were badly singed. His usually tanned skin had been blackened with soot, dirt, and blood.

  “As do you,” I returned.

  “There is much work to be done.”

  “Yes,” I agreed easily as I tried to walk around him. He stepped in my path again, placing two hands on my shoulders.

  “Tess.” He reached up to tug at his hair with a filthy hand. I had started to look for this gesture whenever he was frustrated with me. Arrick was used to men blindly and obediently following his orders. “Sit down. Rest. The work will wait for you.”

  “And what will you do?” His eyes moved impatiently to a group of soldiers interrogating villagers coherent enough to give an account of how the fire had started. They’d been moving from person to person, hoping to gather as much information as possible.