Fire Walker

by Trudie Skies

  “If Hartnords know how to guard, then whoever killed the Queen—”

  “Was a Hartnord, or in league with them,” Gareth confirmed.

  Thinking about it made Mina’s head hurt. Gods, she hated politics. She didn’t belong in Council meetings or negotiations with foreign kingdoms; this was Talin’s world, not hers. But she’d chosen to join it, chosen to become the High Priestess.

  It was time to start acting like one. “We’ll question him later. We’ve got a war to stop.”

  45

  A NEGOTIATION

  Prince Wulfhart looked the same as when Mina had last seen him in Myryn. He was dressed in his blue tunic and carried no weapon or armor. He’d come alone except for Falkner by his side and stood in the center of the embassy’s courtyard. “We meet again, my lady.”

  She cast a quick glance around the courtyard. It looked less of a defensive fort and more of a traditional Neu Bosan garden like at the Myrbond mansion, complete with a fish pond. Neu Bosan guards lined the edges, standing perfectly still in their green tunics like potted plants.

  A stone wall separated Mina from Garr and the rest of her Fire Walkers, and from Salasar and his men. They were in Hiram’s hands now.

  She bowed. “I’m glad you decided to meet with us, Prince Wulfhart.”

  “You left us no choice, my lady. Although, as we have suffered this discussion before, perhaps we can forego the formalities.” The Prince’s eyes narrowed as they rested on Gareth. “You haven’t brought your Rhaesbond friend? And yet you saw fit to bring my uncle. My kingdom’s former ambassador. How droll.”

  Gareth bristled. “My past is irrelevant to this meeting—”

  “On the contrary, the past has everything to do with this meeting. Seventeen years ago, a Sandarian princess was killed on our land and we were blamed for it. Fire scorched our cities and burned Hartnord bones to dust. And now, we are again blamed for the death of Sandarian royalty.” The Prince’s eyes turned to her. “Your Council wouldn’t believe our innocence, but thanks to the Three-Pointed Star, we have found those responsible.” He nodded to Hiram.

  Hiram clapped his hands. The mansion doors opened and more guards poured into the courtyard. They dragged two Duslander men in their arms.

  Emir and his companion.

  Both men wore thick iron chains around their wrists and ankles. Their faces were flushed and dirty, and the three-forked flame had been branded into both their foreheads.

  The guards kicked the backs of their shins and forced them to their knees.

  “These men are responsible for your Queen’s death, and for my father’s,” Prince Wulfhart said. “They are Rhaesbond.”

  That couldn’t be possible. There were no Rhaesbond left, save Jonan.

  Prince Wulfhart raised an eyebrow at her skepticism. “Do you see why we wished to speak with your Rhaesbond? But no matter. Hiram has verified it. Tell her what you know.”

  “We caught these men in the Emerald Forest,” Hiram explained. “After I learned of my son’s injury, I did not wait for Lord Nazim to act and sent my own men. We recovered evidence of Lotus Bud and Rahn’s Breath—the same purple bottles you warned of, High Priestess. It was then that I made contact with the Three-Pointed Star and learned a sordid truth; these men are former slaves. They killed their masters and escaped, and chose to seek vengeance. They are Rhaesbond blood, bred over many generations.”

  Were these men truly in league with Saeed? Could it be this simple? Though she couldn’t deny their crimes.

  These men had attacked her, hurt Alistar.

  They’d poisoned Fire Walkers, killed them, and hurt so many others.

  They’d framed her people for treason and murder—stolen the freedom of Fire Walkers away again across Sandair—and plotted to murder a king and queen to bring two nations to war.

  She should be pleased. Here was the proof of everything she’d tried to convince the Council of, everything they’d refused to believe. This could end the war. No Fire Walkers need march to their deaths. And Mina’s family wouldn’t need to risk their House to smuggle and safeguard refuges in Arlent.

  But these men were slaves. Desperate men, forgotten by Sandair. Killing their masters was no crime in her eyes. And they hadn’t tried to kill her. They wanted her alive. Why? To listen to a tale no one else would? Fire Walkers were her responsibility.

  All Fire Walkers.

  Even these. “Have you questioned them?”

  “We cannot. They cut out their own tongues to prevent questioning.”

  No, that wasn’t right. They hadn’t been able to talk even before Hiram’s men had caught them. Someone was lying. She glanced to Gareth.

  Gareth caught her expression and shook his head. Had he seen something with his Sight?

  “We have brought you this gift, my lady. You and your Council may dispose of them however you wish.” Prince Wulfhart pulled a silver vial from his pocket. “Now we ask you to return the favor.”

  She locked her hands behind her back. “My House would be willing to test your potion and determine its safety—”

  “We have already verified its safety.” He waved a hand at Emir.

  The Duslander was chained so tight he couldn’t move, but no leech hung from his skin. His blood fire was strong enough to burn this courtyard down, especially if he possessed Rhaesbond blood, but he hadn’t.

  Falkner pulled a purple bottle from a pocket within his tunic.

  Rahn’s Breath.

  “What are you doing?” Mina resisted the urge to slap the bottle from his hand. “Stop!”

  Prince Wulfhart placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Your concern is touching, my lady, but this is merely a demonstration.”

  One guard grabbed Emir’s companion by the hair and yanked his head back. Another punched him in the stomach so that his mouth opened in a grunt. Falkner then forced Rahn’s Breath down his throat. They hurried back, and within heartbeats the raider’s skin began to glow red. Gods, he was going to explode and kill another Hartnord royal.

  She tugged the Prince’s arm. “This isn’t safe. They’ll burn—”

  “Observe.” Prince Wulfhart held out the vial of Lune’s Tears.

  Sweat poured down the raider’s face as he struggled against the tide of pure heat pulsating through his veins. Falkner took the vial from his prince’s hand and poured its silver contents into the writhing prisoner’s mouth.

  The raider coughed, spluttering a drop a silver down his chin, but his skin faded from red to his natural deep brown.

  She stared at him. Lune’s Tears had counteracted the effects of Rahn’s Breath so easily?

  “I see you are impressed, my lady. Lune’s Tears works as intended, and leaves no ill lasting effects.”

  She shrugged from his touch and glared. “What right do you have to force Rahn’s Breath on Fire Walkers as part of your tests?”

  “What right?” Prince Wulfhart raised an eyebrow. “When your kin threaten mine, we have every right, my lady. These men killed my father and your queen—”

  “And they’re proof Lune’s Tears are no longer needed. You’ve caught the men responsible—”

  “But who is to say there aren’t more of your kin vying for vengeance?”

  “Sandair stands on a precipice,” Gareth interrupted before she could argue further. “King Khaled is old, and ill, and ready to pass on his throne. Which son will seize the reins of our kingdom? One fears and hates Fire Walkers as you do. But in his fear, he would control and enslave the Fire Walkers, as his fathers have done for generations. They would be his tools and his weapons. Is this the path Hartnor wishes for Sandair to walk? The other son, Prince Rais, holds no desire to wield Fire Walkers as weapons. He would free them, yes… but freedom means they are no longer slaves of the king, in war or in peace. Support his claim, and both Hartnor and Neu Bosa will live at ease.”

  “Why should I trust your words, Uncle?”

  “Because he speaks
the truth,” she said. “If you can’t trust his words, then see mine. Fire Walkers don’t want to fight. They want to live in peace! Prince Rais supports this.”

  Prince Wulfhart rubbed his chin. “We would be willing to meet with your Prince and reach a compromise. However, if you wish peace between our kingdoms, then you must listen to us. I see no other way for us to proceed.”

  The Hartnord idea of compromise differed from her own. “Then what are your demands?”

  “They’re quite simple, my lady. We ask that you volunteer a handful of your kin so we may prove that Lune’s Tears works. When your Prince is satisfied with its effects, we ask that he apply it to every man, woman, and child in his kingdom. Only then will we support his claim.”

  He couldn’t mean every Sandarian? “Not all are born with blood fire.”

  “Most are. I see it with my Sight. Your people carelessly walk the streets unaware that a taint lurks underneath their skin. Lune’s Tears will cleanse that taint.”

  Taint. Curse. That’s all they saw blood fire as.

  “Women and children are no threat to you or your kingdom. Even if they possessed blood fire, what harm can they cause a kingdom hundreds of miles away?”

  “When we first met, my lady, I spoke of my prophet’s words. Our Keepers believe your kin are stealing the light and warmth from our land each time they cast their magic. Our prophet states there will come a time soon when darkness will reign unless your use of fire magic can cease. Even lighting a single candle by magic diminishes our sun’s power.”

  Gareth snorted. “That’s preposterous.”

  “Is it, Uncle? Our doctrine is clear on this.”

  “The doctrine is wrong. Open your eyes, Wulf. The Keepers are manipulating you like they used my brother.”

  Prince Wulfhart’s silver eyes narrowed. “Don’t you speak of my father. You have been gone for seventeen years. What would you understand of his beliefs or our prophecies? You abandoned us and chose Sandair over your own kingdom, your own blood. You’re too close to these people to see them for what they are.”

  “I see them for what they are. They’re no different from us.”

  “Us.” Prince Wulfhart wore a sardonic smile. “Is that what you thought when you fucked your Sandarian princess? Or did the heat in her blood rise your own?”

  For a heartbeat, silence gripped the courtyard.

  Then Gareth leaped at the Prince.

  Falkner rushed forward. In one quick movement, he grabbed Gareth’s neck and twisted it with a sickening snap.

  Gareth collapsed to the ground. His head lolled into an impossible angle.

  Mina ran to his side and searched his silver eyes, but they stared at nothing.

  He was already dead.

  “You killed him!”

  “He betrayed my father and our kingdom. His execution was long overdue. But now, my lady, we may proceed with our negotiation unimpeded.”

  Hiram stood on the sidelines, watching without emotion or reaction, his lips pursed into a grim line. He knew this would happen. He expected it.

  Both she and Gareth had walked into a trap.

  She closed Gareth’s eyes and positioned his body carefully. As she fumbled to straighten his limbs and tunic, she reached for her mother’s dagger. She stood slowly, slipping the blade into the folds of her sleeve. “Is this your idea of compromise, Prince? To murder the King’s sorran who came here in peace to negotiate with you on his behalf?” She turned her glare on Hiram. “Is this how the Three-Pointed Star honors our alliance?”

  “Fire Walkers are as much a danger to Neu Bosa as Hartnor,” Hiram said.

  “A danger to you? I’ve never seen a Fire Walker keep a Bosan as a slave!” She waved a hand at Emir, still shackled on his knees. “Do you care to explain that?”

  “My House has never owned slaves. These men are property of the Three-Pointed Star.”

  “These men are Sandarian, and we are no man’s property! Have you forgotten what kingdom you belong to? You’re our gods-damn ambassador, and yet you hide the fact that Neu Bosa holds our people in slavery!”

  Prince Wulfhart chuckled. “You’re acting emotional, my lady. Hiram serves the best interests of his people, same as we. I understand this is difficult for you to accept, but the fire in your blood is not natural. It is a perversion. It must be contained.” He pulled another silver vial from his pocket. “This is the antidote.”

  She took a step back. “This is supposed to be a negotiation. It’s no compromise if you force it on others.”

  He cocked his head. “But it is a compromise. Without this, we would have no choice but to subdue your kin.”

  “What do you mean by subdue?”

  Prince Wulfhart’s fake smile was as practiced as Prince Ravel’s, and in his silver eyes, Mina found her answer.

  Gods. He was no different than Prince Ravel.

  But he was right about one thing. Lune’s Tears was the compromise. She could prevent this war—and beyond that, save her Fire Walkers from ever being used as weapons.

  But at the cost of their blood fire, the magic that made them whole.

  If she refused, she would have no choice but to march her Fire Walkers into Hartnor to fight, kill, and die as slaves. And probably ensure the victory and ascension of Prince Ravel to the throne in the process.

  She knew what the Council would choose, what King Khaled would choose: to fight. To maintain their power. To keep the Fire Walkers under their thumb so they could dominate their neighbors to both north and west.

  There had to be another way.

  “This won’t prevent war. Prince Ravel and the Council may fear the Fire Walkers, but they need us. They will march on Hartnor—”

  “Our concerns go beyond this one war. Hartnor has survived a Sandarian invasion before, and we can survive losing this war as well. But we cannot survive forever if the Fire Walkers are allowed to burn away our sun. The world will not survive. The threat is not to one kingdom but to all humanity. Do you understand me? I’m waiting for your consent, my lady.”

  “My consent?”

  He held up the vial. “You will be the first to give up your power and convince your Prince that this is the only solution. That is your role as High Priestess, is it not? To represent your kin?” He prowled toward her with the grace of a mountain lion. “But you like it, don’t you? You like the power in your veins. You like the rush of heat in your blood. You like being able to summon flame and burn your enemies to ash.”

  The Prince read her like a book, and he was right. She gloried in her own blood fire, and she had enough power to scatter the ashes of his bones in the wind. There were at least ten guards between her and the embassy gates. They wouldn’t be enough to stop Salasar’s men if she sent the right signal to Talin through the House bond.

  Talin’s essence burned back with concern. It said, Buy time.

  Falkner watched her through narrowed eyes. He’d snapped Gareth’s neck in a heartbeat. Could he outrun her flames?

  “I see what you’re thinking, my lady,” said the Prince. “Violence is not the answer.”

  Falkner stretched both arms into a fighting stance. His prince nodded to Hiram.

  Hiram clapped his hands once more, and his guards drew their swords. They closed in, forming a tight circle around her and Prince Wulfhart. Now there was no chance of escape.

  “I’m no threat to you, Prince.”

  “Don’t you see, my lady? Every Fire Walker is a threat. All of them. Even the cultured ones. The well trained ones. The subdued ones. They’re all dangerous.” His silver eyes were as sharp and cold as a blade. “Even you.”

  Is that what her stare looked like? Pitiless and empty?

  He popped the stopper from the vial. “Drink.”

  “You first.”

  He smiled like a wolf about to devour its prey. “I see what you’re doing, my lady, but it won’t work.”

  Her heart stilled. “What d
o you mean?”

  “You’re stalling for time. You believe somehow it will protect your people. You’re waiting for the last possible moment to send a signal to the soldiers outside to storm this embassy. Am I right, my lady? Do I read you correctly? But here’s what you don’t understand. This meeting was always intended to be a waste of time. I knew from our dinner in Myryn that you would never consent to relinquishing your fire magic, even before you knew it yourself. No, my efforts are wasted on you.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He closed the vial, tucked it back into his pocket, and waved a hand at the prisoners.

  Emir stood; his clanking chains echoed in the courtyard. Flame burst from his fists and melted through the iron. Metal dropped to the ground in a molten lump.

  Neither Hiram nor Prince Wulfhart blinked.

  Emir wasn’t a prisoner.

  She glared at Hiram. “You! You hired men to attack your own son?”

  “That arrow was meant to take him out of the fight with minimal injury—it was you who burned my son,” Hiram said with disgust. “Thanks to you, he’ll be scarred for life, if not worse. But he placed himself in that position by choosing a Fire Walker over his own House. You both forced my hand.”

  She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “The Rahn’s Breath came from your House. You poisoned the Fire Walkers!”

  “We wanted to show the Council what would happen if Fire Walkers were left uncontrolled. I believe we have made our point.”

  “When the Council learns the truth, your House and our alliance with Neu Bosa will fall. You’re not preventing war—you’ve started a new one!”

  Hiram rubbed his lips, hiding a shewed smile. “I don’t know about that. I think Prince Ravel might be rather forgiving of my plan, don’t you? Perhaps even… generous… to my House. Voting against his claim to the throne had been a foolish move on my part. I needed to earn back his favor somehow.”

  Gods, Neu Bosa was their closest ally and they’d conspired with an enemy. All because they feared Fire Walkers.

  And Lord Hiram was at the heart of it.