by Trudie Skies
She thrust her dagger at him.
Prince Wulfhart moved quicker. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it back, snatching the dagger from her grip. She grabbed his wrist with her other hand and flame burst from her palm.
The Prince plunged the dagger into her thigh.
Its sharp point tore through skin and muscle. She screamed and fell to one knee.
Prince Wulfhart withdrew the knife. Her shaking hands pressed against the wound as blood poured between her fingers. The embers in her gut crackled, sending a wave of nausea through her. But no flames came at her call. Her fire was lost to her.
The Prince turned the dagger in his hand as though admiring the crimson smeared there. “A Fire Walker cannot burn without her blood, no?” He cleaned the dagger with a cloth and shoved it into his belt. “My father taught me never to harm a lady, but then…” His lip curled into a smirk. “You are no lady.”
“And you’re no king,” she seethed. Once the flow stopped, she’d burn this embassy down, starting with Hiram and his gods-damn Hartnord allies.
A Shadow shimmered at her side. It lingered over Gareth’s body.
Gods, she’d almost forgotten Hartnords could rise as Shadows.
“Curious,” Prince Wulfhart remarked. “You can see it.”
“You see the Shadows?”
“We call them ghosts. My Sight has always been able to perceive them, but they don’t usually appear in daylight like this. What do they look like to you?”
“Dark, like… like shadow.” How in Lune’s name could a Hartnord see them? Was it due to his silver eyes, so eerily similar to hers?
“They appear white to us.”
“Do they attack?”
“Attack?” He raised an eyebrow. “Ghosts don’t attack. They merely haunt crypts.”
His Hartnord words made no sense. “Hartnord Shadows may not attack, but Sandarian ones do.”
“How fortunate for us that my dead uncle is a Hartnord.”
She turned to Gareth’s Shadow and willed him to listen. “He lived in Sandair for seventeen years. He’s no Hartnord. Shadows form wraiths, take on a physical form and fight—”
“Irrelevant.” Prince Wulfhart cupped her cheek. His touch felt smooth, none of the rough callouses of a man used to wielding a sword. “Our time is up. Thanks to Hiram’s slave, we know there are tunnels hidden beneath your temple, and we know you plan to use them to smuggle your kin. Our boats came empty, ready to collect them and bring them to Harvera.”
No.
They’d tricked her, drawn her to this gods-damn meeting and distracted her so they could steal the Fire Walkers from under her nose. And she was trapped here, along with half of Solus’s guard and her most powerful Fire Walkers.
Jonan, Iman, Samira… Gods, they were all in danger.
She tried to stand, but Prince Wulfhart pushed down on her shoulder.
“I’d hoped you would join me, my lady, but your death won’t be in vain. Our friend here will burn this courtyard and all inside it. Hiram and I will barely escape with our lives, and this attack—this insult—will not go unpunished. Sandair will acknowledge that it was your kin responsible for our failed negotiation. And your death will spur action. Truly, it’s for the best.”
She spat in his face.
The Prince wiped the saliva from his cheek and his smile twisted into something more sinister. “Burn her.”
Flame flickered in Emir’s hand. He took a menacing step forward.
A burst of wind blasted them both.
She shielded her eyes as Gareth’s Shadow formed a whirlwind of grit and dirt in the heart of the courtyard.
Gareth had heard her words.
“Impossible!” the Prince yelled.
Falkner hissed Hartnord words and backed away. The guards began to scatter, but Hiram barked a command and most regained their composure. It was a fatal mistake not to run while they had the chance. Plants, rocks, tiles, pots—anything not secured to the ground or walls pelted them. The ones who dropped their swords saw the blades sucked away into the whirlwind to join the swirling mass. Their steel contorted and bent, forming jagged points in the shape of a man.
Gareth became a wraith of swords.
The guards yelled and ran as Gareth’s blades began to cut a path through them. Falkner grabbed Prince Wulfhart and dragged him to safety. Mina crouched with her hands over her head, but Gareth’s form didn’t come near her. Instead, he tore through the guards and made a path straight for the Prince.
Emir seemed all but forgotten in the chaos, but he had not forgotten her. He stalked slowly toward her, a ball of flame in his hand.
She yanked her sahn free and hastily wrapped it around her thigh. A jolt of pain shot through her leg when she tried to stand and she sank back on one knee.
With a sudden shift in the driving wind, Gareth’s wraith turned from the Prince to face Emir. But there was no fear in Emir’s eyes, as though he’d seen wraiths before.
Gareth’s bladed fingers slashed through a foolish guard who stood between him and Emir—slicing through his armor and flesh as though he were nothing.
Emir dove to the ground and scrambled to safety.
Gareth did not follow him. Instead, he reached out for Mina with his gleaming, jagged, mangled steel hand and grabbed her shoulder. A shock of sky fire surged through her blood.
And then all went dark.
46
THE BURNING TEMPLE
The wagon rattled onward. Anni leaned against my shoulder and slept on. Even in sleep, she looked so content. So beautiful. Her lips parted, her eyelashes fluttered, and she rested a hand over her stomach.
I saw the colors pulsing underneath. The life blooming inside.
She hadn’t told me yet, and I hadn’t dared ask. I didn’t want to scare her with the extent of my Sight, with what I truly saw. We both knew this would cause problems. Her brother was wary of a Hartnord suitor, and I didn’t blame him. My people still saw Sandarians as fire-breathing monsters and my own brothers had warned me that my venture south was foolhardy. I’d argued that it was ridiculous to assume that all Sandarians possessed devastating fire magic. I’d travelled to Sandair for the thrill of adventure and to see if our prophet spoke true.
I came to Sandair with an open mind, but I saw fire everywhere and thought I’d made a grave mistake.
And then I saw her.
God, she was so beautiful in heart and soul and mind. And she too burned with an inner fire beneath her skin. I couldn’t help myself; I was drawn to her, despite the danger and warnings. She never summoned her fire once and I knew in my heart the prophet spoke lies.
I was in love.
Scared, too. Like a lost boy. I wanted to bring her home to my brothers, to show them proof that Sandarians weren’t monstrous creatures. How would they react when they learned I planned to marry her? When they saw the seed I’d planted inside her?
We were growing something new together. Would the child have her fire magic? My Sight? Whose eyes would it take—my silver Hartsire or her golden Solaran?
Those eyes fluttered open. “Garet.”
I couldn’t stop myself from grinning like a fool. She still couldn’t say my name right, not that I ever liked it. Gerhart. I’d long stopped being a Hartsire, and depending on how my brothers reacted, my name could well be chipped from the family monument. Perhaps it was time for a new one. Garet. Gareth, maybe.
The wagon carried on north across the border. She trusted me to keep her safe. By my word and honor, I would.
Reality snapped back into focus with a sharp pain in Mina’s leg. Someone was pulling her up.
“We need to go, Sword Dancer.”
The embassy was in chaos. The storm of Gareth’s rage battered everything and everyone in the courtyard. The last surviving Neu Bosan guards were running for cover inside the embassy building. Prince Wulfhart and his lackey were nowhere in sight. Neither was Hiram.
Gar
eth’s wrath allowed the final guards to flee. When they were gone, the violent winds came to a sudden stop, leaving swords and rocks hanging in midair. The Shadow within that deadly steel body was watching her. No, not her—Garr.
Words echoed in the wind. She couldn’t understand what they meant.
“Do you hear that?” Garr asked.
“I hear… something. What is it?”
“I—I don’t know what I hear.”
The Shadow spoke Hartnord, the same few words over and over, but they meant nothing to her. With a thunderous clatter, the mangled hunks of steel crashed to the ground all at once, but the pure black Shadow remained before them. One dark hand reached for Garr.
Garr held out his palm and shuddered at the Shadow’s touch.
“You can see it?” she whispered.
A mournful cry carried through the wind. As that sound filled her ears, colors appeared before her eyes, not shining out from the Shadow but clinging to it like steam clung to the damp earth in Lune’s Shadow—dark blue and then gray. And she knew those colors for what they were: sorrow and regret and longing and loss and something else. Something stronger. The same emotion she’d felt from Talin when she’d joined House Arlbond.
Absolution.
Fire burst behind them. Mina turned to see Gareth’s body crumbling to ash inside a brilliant red bonfire. And behind the flames stood Emir.
Garr drew Hawk and raised it. “Don’t come any closer.”
Gareth’s Shadow no longer lingered with them. Gone forever. Would he join with Rahn? She had no time to ponder it.
Emir scooped one of the discarded scimitars.
Mina had neither flame nor blade, and Prince Wulfhart had run off with her mother’s gods-damn dagger. But she’d strangle Emir with her bare hands if she had to.
But before either side could make their first move, the embassy gates crashed open. The Sword of Solus raced into the courtyard at the head of a dozen royal guards.
Once again, Emir turned heel and fled.
Mina launched herself up to pursue him, but her wounded leg buckled at the first step. Garr wrapped his spare arm around her waist to keep her from tumbling to the ground.
Salasar spotted her and came running. “Arlbond, report.”
“The Hartnords are headed for—”
The temple.
Gods damn it, she couldn’t tell Salasar that! He’d send half his guards running, right when Jonan was burning the whole thing to glass. If her House were caught trying to rescue the Fire Walkers on the eve of war, that’d be treason—and execution.
“I don’t know, they said something about the Keep,” she said. “Protect the King.”
Was sending Salasar on a merry chase to the Keep the right thing to do? She didn’t know, but she didn’t have time to think of a better plan. She needed to get to the temple as fast as possible without dragging any of the royal guards along with her.
“Stay here. Green Hands are on the way.” Salasar barked at one group of guards to secure the courtyard, then ordered another to follow as he ran for the embassy doors.
“Can you walk?” Garr asked.
She flexed her leg. Sharp pain caused her to dig her nails into his arm. “I’ll walk it off.”
“You’re bleeding.”
She snatched Hawk from his hand. “I said I’ll walk it off!”
They pushed past the guards and she hobbled out of the embassy gate. She expected to find her acolytes waiting, but they were nowhere in sight. Only more of Salasar’s guards.
“Did you send them back to the temple?”
Garr frowned. “No. They were here when I jumped the wall. Are you going to tell me what happened in there?”
“You jumped the wall?”
“Scrambled over it, really. We just faced a big metal demon made out of the swords of its enemies, and that’s the part of the story you want to dwell on?”
She explained as best she could between gasps of pain as they staggered toward the temple. Each step sent an agonizing stab through her leg, but the bleeding had stopped at least. Through the House bond, she felt Jonan unleashing the full power of his Rhaesbond blood, but not in anger. He was still burning the temple, so the Hartnords hadn’t interrupted their plans just yet. Iman’s essence was on the move, likely in the tunnels, leading the Fire Walkers to the Temple of Lune. Talin remained farther north, still in the Keep.
As they made their way up the hill to the Temple of Rahn, thin tendrils of smoke seeped out the open doors of the pyramid and rose into the sky. There were no guards outside to raise the alarm. Had Salasar pulled them away to watch the Hartnords?
A scream came from inside the temple.
She hoped it was part of the game. Garr ran for the door in genuine panic.
Gods damn it, he wasn’t in on the plan! She stumbled after him.
Flame filled the inner sanctum with a deafening roar. She almost slipped on the smooth floor. The whole room had been burned black and parts of the sand had turned to glass. Piles of bones were slowly disintegrating into glowing ash everywhere around her and up the stone steps—animal bones carefully placed to mimic a massacre.
She could sense Jonan inside the heart of the flames and it sent an odd thrill up her spine. She knew his blood fire dwarfed her own and the others in their House, but to see him work… he was an artist who painted in Rahn’s colors.
Garr tried to push through the flaming wall, but Jonan’s flames held him back. He glanced at her, his eyes wide and frantic. “Do something! You need to stop it!”
She held her palm against the fiery wall. The heat was incredible—no shield could stop it from scorching her skin. Hopefully, the bond would carry her intentions. She thrust her hand into the fire.
Alarm flared through the bond and the wall of fire fell before it could do real damage. Jonan slumped against one of the stone seats, his face and clothes covered in sweat and soot. Mina limped up to him and grasped his arm.
“Thank the gods you’re safe!”
“You stopped my fire,” he whispered. “What happened?”
“The Hartnords know what we’re planning. They’re—”
But Garr was now at her side. “Where are the Fire Walkers? Did the Hartnords to this?”
Jonan covered his face—the very picture of shock and grief. “Poisoned… Rahn’s Breath… In the water. I did what I could to stop it—to absorb their fire. But it was too much.”
Garr stared at the crumbling bones throughout the sanctum. “They’re dead?” His voice cracked and he staggered on his feet. “They can’t—they can’t all be dead. They can’t be…”
“Jonan—the Hartnords are coming!”
She reached out with the blood bond to make him feel the honesty and urgency of her warning.
“Back,” she added, with a glance at Garr. “They’re coming back. Through the tunnels this time.”
Jonan’s face and essence sparked with panicked understanding. “How?”
What could she say in front of Garr? She didn’t have time to be subtle, even if she’d had any gods-damn talent at it. She spun on the Ash Maker. “Go find my acolytes!”
“What?”
“Find them. Find out if they’re safe. They went missing right when this attack happened. It can’t be coincidence.”
“I can’t leave, not when—”
“You have to. I can’t go, not with my wounded leg, and someone has to find them.” She needed him not to argue. She thought of the night Dustan Hawker died and drew tears to her eyes. “Find them. I’m trusting you with this.”
The fire in his amber eyes softened. “I’ll be quick.” Garr gave her one last lingering look and ran for the temple doors.
Jonan was looking at her leg. “You’re hurt.”
“Never mind that. The Hartnords know about the tunnels, and they’re coming to take Fire Walkers for their twisted tests. It was Hiram, he did this. He has Fire Walker slaves—Rhaesbond slav
es, he said.”
Jonan’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible.”
She stretched her leg, trying to ease out the stiffness, but it just sent fresh waves of agony down her thigh. “We’ll deal with him later. I need to warn Iman. Stay here and keep watch in case the Hartnords or Salasar come this way.”
Jonan sank against the steps. His exhaustion wouldn’t be for show should the guards turn up.
Mina hobbled down the corridor to the lower level and barged through the door to Leila’s glass chamber. Iman beckoned the last of the Fire Walkers into the tunnel that usually lay hidden behind the room’s only decoration—a wooden bookcase filled with jars of sand of every color of the Dusland desert.
“The Hartnords know about the tunnels—and our plans to use them,” Mina declared. “They’re coming to seize as many Fire Walkers as they can. I don’t know which direction they’re coming from. They could be in the tunnels right now.”
Iman shot a panicked glance at the tunnel. “Kasara’s at the front of the line, leading the way. Her mother’s waiting at the Temple of Lune. But if the Hartnords know about the tunnels, they may have arranged another way inside.”
“Emir was hiding in the temple, spying on us. It’s anybody’s guess how long he’s been here and what he’s discovered.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” said Iman. “Everything’s in motion. It’s too late to change plans.”
“If they know we’re leaving the city, it won’t take a spy to figure out we’re headed to Arlent. But I don’t think the Hartnords will dare chase us across the desert. If they want Fire Walkers, now’s their one chance to get them.”
Someone tugged her tunic and she turned around to Kamran holding Fez in his arms. “The big lady says we have to go soon. But Fez likes it here, and I’ve never been to the desert.”
Mina tried to soften the panic from her expression and ran a calming hand over Fez’s head. The fox cooed and leaned into her touch. He belonged in the desert. The real desert, and not some mockery of one. “Where I come from isn’t all sand. There’s a river with an oasis and lots of goats. Fez doesn’t belong here. Someone needs to return him home. Can I trust you to look after him a little longer?”