Cursed by Fire

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “Yes, milord. I will.” Tonkin gave him a short bow and then hastened from the room.

  Grannish was left to stare at the map as he tried to figure out how to thwart Dethan’s placement of the barracks.

  No, he thought then. I will encourage it. To seem as though I am very much on Dethan’s side and behind the cause against the Redoe.

  He had been naysaying too much, he realized. It was giving Dethan power over him. He had to at least seem to be on the right side of this. At least enough to keep a comfortable hold on the grand. It infuriated him that after years of having the grand completely dependent on him, completely under his sway, now, in a matter of days, he was struggling to stay on top of things.

  True, in a way he was finding himself enjoying this. It had been a long time since he had faced any true challenge. He had dismissed Dethan as not being worthy in the beginning, but it was quickly becoming clear that there was mettle there. Mettle and intelligence. Perhaps enough to actually pull off a good show against the Redoe.

  It irritated him that Dethan had discovered the undermining. It had made him and General Firru look the fools.

  But there was no changing that now. He simply had to see to it that there were no more advantages won by the so-called general of the newborn army. General. Grannish scoffed. So the man was able to fight off one assassin. That did not make him a warrior. Grannish would simply have to find a better grade of assassin. And while he was at it he was going to get his gold back from the failed assassin’s accounts. True, it was only half the agreed upon price, the other half due upon completion of the job, but the man hadn’t come close to making Dethan even half dead … so therefore had done nothing to earn the coin. He would see the coin returned or he would see that the go-between paid the price.

  As for Selinda, he was satisfied that he had gotten his point across to her. She had remained silent, called a mem to heal her, and had sufficiently covered any visual evidence of their altercation. In fact, she was so good at it maybe he wouldn’t hold his temper in check with her as much as he had been. Until yesterday he had never laid a mark on her that she could show her father as evidence of his cruelty to her. For that was what she would deem it: cruelty. When the truth of it was that she needed to be kept in check. Left to her own devices, she, like her father, would run the city into the ground. No. No matter what she said, how much she complained or whined or wept, she needed him. She needed his structure and his discipline. She would do well to remember it.

  And he would see that she did.

  As for her being alone with Dethan … it had been, as he had said, of little consequence. She did not dare defy him. She may want to, may even consider it, but in the end she cared too much for the well-being of her family and knew too well what he was capable of. She knew how far his power stretched. There would be no way she could hide any assignations or flirtations from him. He had eyes in every corner of this fortress … this city.

  Grannish moved to his desk, sitting behind it and relaxing for a moment before he got back to the business of running the city. This city, he knew, would fall apart without him. That was the simple truth of it. Only he knew the everyday workings of it. Only he had the relationships necessary to keep the cogs of it running smoothly. The grand knew this well and that was why the man trusted him so implicitly.

  This was his city.

  His.

  And no one was going to get in the way of that.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  Selinda walked into an alcove just down the hall from Dethan’s rooms. She checked carefully to see if Hanit had distracted the lookout watching the rooms. She had waited until well after juquil’s hour—nearly an hour past—before coming. She fretted that he would think she wasn’t coming. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was looking forward to this night in a way she had not realized she was capable of. Her entire body felt as taut as a bowstring. Ever since she had left him earlier her clothes had felt too heavy … too confining … almost scratchy against the sensitive tenderness of her skin. She couldn’t explain it, could barely understand it. It was such a new feeling to her. Logically she understood it was because she craved him, but logic did not encompass the actual feeling of it.

  She saw the way was clear and she hastened to his door. She did not knock; she just swept into the room in a swirl of skirts, shutting the door tightly behind her. She exhaled a breath of relief. She could not be seen. It would mean catastrophe for her and her family. It was crazy to even do this, but here she was just the same and excited to be doing it. She must have gone utterly mad, she thought. It was the only explanation.

  She felt and saw his hand covering hers where it laid against the door, his body moving up against hers and radiating incredible heat. She turned to see him dressed in spite of his burns. He’d had an hour to heal already and it showed, but he still must be in pain.

  “I thought you would not come,” Dethan whispered softly as he touched his face to her hair and breathed deeply of her. She had no idea how good she smelled when all that had been in his senses previously was the smell of burned flesh.

  She wore her hair loose, the shining black curls falling down her back. It was so rich and beautiful and he had no choice but to touch his fingers to it.

  But he was burned still and did not want to touch her until he was healed, so he immediately withdrew from her.

  “Come,” he said, taking up her hand. “Come to bed. It has been a long day for us both.”

  She followed him, and when she reached the bedside, she turned and sat him down. Then she dropped the cloak from her shoulders, revealing her dressing gown. She had not wanted to come to him armored with all her clothes. She had put on the thin, nearly transparent gown with its intricate gold embroidery and scarlet color and had hoped he would like it.

  “By the grace of Weysa,” he breathed fiercely upon seeing her, “you are beyond tempting to a weary soldier’s eyes.”

  “Thank you,” she said, flushing prettily for him under the compliment. Gods, how he wanted to grab her and throw her down on the bed right then.

  Softly. Easy. There will be time for that, he chided himself.

  “Come to bed,” he urged her. He needed to feel her in his bed beside him, if nothing else.

  “Not yet,” she said firmly. “First, we address these burns.”

  “They will heal,” he said dismissively.

  “They heal faster when I tend them,” she pointed out. It was the truth and he could not refute it. Plus, her ministrations made him feel better.

  He watched her move as she worked, the very sight of her agony, never mind the feel of her. Every time she bent forward he got a glimpse down the front of her loose, deep-necked gown and he could nearly see the whole of her pretty, lush breasts. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep from pulling her toward him, putting his hand down the front of her gown just to feel her, and then lifting the weight of her free of the clothing, raising her to the hungry drift of his mouth.

  He grew hard just thinking in those ways and he had to grit his teeth against the subsequent pain of it.

  “You need to disrobe,” she said to him once she reached the edges of his clothing.

  “No. This is enough,” he said hastily.

  “You will disrobe this very instant,” she said firmly, her tone telling him she would not be moved on the matter.

  Slowly he took off his shirt. When he reached for the drawstring of his breeches he hesitated.

  “Go on,” she urged him. “I have seen you before.”

  And she had seen him in an aroused state as well. But then she had been reluctant and shocked. Now … now she was different, so it made the experience different. He could not execute anything just yet, but the promise of it was right there, hovering close to them. It made him long for her in a way he had never longed for a woman before. But he would heal in a few hours and then he would have her, he reminded himself fiercely. He would have her.

  Slowl
y he drew his pants from his body, the relief of having them off so profound.

  “Do not do that again,” she scolded him softly. “Do not dress. I know how much it hurts you and I do not wish to see you in any more pain than you already must suffer.” He saw her glance at his aroused penis, but she made little note of it as she went about the business of dressing his wounds.

  When she was done she gingerly climbed over him and settled in the bed next to him, drawing the covers around herself but not around him. She snuggled down and laid her head on her pillow.

  “I am so very tired today,” she said with a yawn. “It was a busy day for me.”

  “Me as well,” he said.

  “What did you do today?”

  “Mostly prepared to build the barracks. It is a huge undertaking.”

  “I can imagine it would be. Where will you be doing it?”

  “Just outside the fairgrounds. We will use the fairgrounds as training grounds, since there is no other use for it once the fair is done.”

  “The fair is done as of today. It only lasts a week.”

  “So I was told. All the better. The newly drafted men can focus on the task of building the barracks.”

  “But where will you get the lumber?” she asked. “The Redoe …”

  “There is a full row of vacant, run-down houses in the swells. Even more in other places. We will tear the houses down and reclaim the wood for the barracks.”

  “Why not simply use those houses?”

  “They are in a bad location, too deep into the swells and too far beyond the fortress. I want the army to stand between the city walls and the fortress. When this is over and we have access to more supplies, I will see to it a new home for the royal household is built back behind the city, in the mountain. It will be impenetrable, unlike this so-called fortress with its open bailey and not so much as a moat to stand between it and an invading force. No. You need to be behind stone walls, with a moat of pikes and water, and anything else I can think of.”

  “Pikes and water?”

  “An old trick I’ve used before. You dig the moat, and before it is filled with water, you bury metal pikes in the bottom of the moat in a dense amount, then fill the moat so they are covered by water. Then if anyone decides to jump into the moat to get to the walls, they will find themselves run through on a pike.”

  “I see,” she said with a little shudder as she envisioned just such an act. “And what of children who think the moat will be fun to swim in?”

  “That’s for their parents to warn them,” Dethan said, but reading her worried expression, he added, “If it will make you feel better, I will build a wall around the outer edges and put spikes along the top of the wall. That should discourage anyone from taking a dip and add a little extra difficulty for anyone with a nefarious intent.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “That does make me feel better. But all this building of walls and moats … it feels as though it will distance us from the people. I do not want that to happen. I do not want us to sit up here in our spiked cage while the people lose touch with their rulers.”

  “Then we will make certain to keep the drawbridge down and the bailey open as long as there is no immediate threat beyond the city walls. I will set up a strict guard, though, to see you and your family are protected. Just as I will see to it no one like Grannish will ever hold sway over your father again. It is time your father is rudely awakened to his blindness.”

  “I know it is,” she said softly. “I wish it did not have to be a rude awakening, but all my gentle prodding has done nothing, so I see there is no other choice.”

  “I am glad that you see that.”

  “It is what I have wanted all along,” she assured him. “I want my father back. I want him to rule his own land instead of leaning on others.”

  “I do not think that is possible,” he told her gently. “Your father leans on Grannish for a reason. He uses him as a man with a limp uses a crutch. Take the crutch away and the man cannot walk. There is something flawed within your father that makes it impossible for him to rule without a crutch. I mean to make you his new crutch. You and me. Us,” he said, meeting her eyes firmly. “Me with my strength and you with your connection to the people. Together the three of us can run this city. I have complete faith in that.”

  “As do I. Even crippled we would be far better than Grannish is. He rules with an iron fist. A cruel one. He rules using fear. I mean to rule using love and kindness.”

  “Yet stern, like a disciplining parent,” he injected.

  “Yes. I suppose we are a little like parents and the people are our children. They need guidance and caring for.”

  “Yes.” He paused a beat. “Along with the fortress, I mean to raise temples to Weysa. I must win this city in her name. I must bring the people to her faith.”

  “You can do whatever you wish to do,” she said quietly. “After all, the city will be yours. We would not be worth our ruling blood if not for your strength behind us.”

  “You will find your own strength,” he assured her. “And once you do …” He trailed off.

  “Once I do, you will leave me,” she said.

  “I have no choice,” he said fervently. “I wish it could be otherwise, but I have no choice. I must conquer in Weysa’s name. But as I do, it will bring riches to Hexis. The wealth of the other cities will be ours as well.”

  “I do not care about the wealth of other cities,” she said bitterly, looking away from him.

  He caught her chin in his hand and turned her face back to his. “You should care,” he told her firmly. “I have a feeling that Grannish has been robbing the coffers of this city for years. If that is true, you will be near destitute. It is part of the way he holds sway over your father, I believe. The Redoe have hurt the city’s profits for years now. You have to imagine just how badly this city is ruined financially because of it.”

  “Because of him,” she said tightly. “Why can we not just kill him and be done with it?” she asked him.

  “That may be the only way,” he agreed. “But if I run Grannish through before gaining your father’s trust and his promise to your hand, then all will be lost. I must play this game with your father and Grannish smartly … not with impulse. I will win you,” he promised her. “And I will protect you in the process.”

  Selinda did not respond to that. She did not want him to know that he had already failed to protect her. She did not want him to know just how much danger she was in. She was afraid he might react rashly, in spite of his words of acting with methodical patience.

  “Once I take care of the Redoe, then I will kill Grannish. And quickly too because once he knows he has lost you, he will act with haste and vengeance.”

  “I know.”

  “But this is not to be worried about right now,” he said then, rolling in bed and gathering her close to him. She could feel the incredible heat coming off him and wondered if it was because of the burns on his body. Was he burning even now? Did it never truly stop?

  “Sleep, Selinda. I will wake you in a few hours.”

  Selinda met the startling green of his eyes and knew, just as he knew, what that would mean.

  “Do not forget. Do not let me sleep too long,” she said.

  “Do not worry,” he said softly. “I won’t.”

  With a sigh, Selinda closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  Hours later, Dethan was looking down on her, watching her as she slept, her features soft and quiet. He touched her face, the barest of caresses, with the very tips of his fingers. She was sleeping on the scarred side of her face, so all he could see was perfection and unblemished beauty. Not that it would have mattered to him otherwise, but …

  Something caught his attention. She was wearing makeup, he realized. Heavily, by the look of it. How strange. He would have thought she would have washed it off before retiring for the night. Perhaps she had simply forgotten. He smudged it with a finger.

  She woke with
a gasp, some kind of instinct making her strike his hand away from her. Her sleep-dazed eyes went wide and she shied away, sitting up and turning her face away.

  “I-is it morning?” she asked, looking to the window. It had not even begun to grow light.

  “Not quite yet,” he said sitting up. “Selinda, are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  “No!” she cried, immediately turning back to him, her whole body coming toward him, her hand resting on his bare chest. Her fingertips brushed against scarring, but he could feel them just the same. The smallest touch and it did amazing things inside him. It stirred him, drew him. He had stripped away his bandages an hour ago and was well into the healing process … but he was not certain if he was healed enough that she would not be repulsed by him.

  “I am still not healed,” he said, withdrawing from her before her touch made him feel too good … made it impossible for him to think clearly about what would be best for her.

  “That doesn’t matter to me,” she said, catching him at his shoulder. “You are remarkably healed for so short a time … and even if you weren’t … it does not matter to me.”

  She proved it to him by leaning toward him and touching her lips to his. She had never instigated a kiss before, so she was a little unsure, but that slipped away the moment their mouths meshed together.

  Oh, but she was like the sweetest sugar on his tongue, he thought passionately. There was absolutely nothing sweeter in the world and he had tasted confections from many lands. But she was all the confection that was needed. There was no craving for anything else. Had he ever wanted another woman? Right then he could not even recall. He did not wish to recall.

  He cradled the back of her head, her silky hair filtering through his fingers, and held her mouth to his. The sweet taste of her quickly turned erotic and he felt an instant fever in his blood. Oh, he knew, he absolutely knew, there would be a fire here to rival what he suffered every night. But unlike his suffering, this fire would bring bliss.

  He let his big body crowd her smaller one, raised himself over her until she was fully beneath him, right where he had wanted her to be for what seemed like ages. Had it only been a matter of days? How can something feel so intense with so short a prelude?