“You’re not going anywhere, girlie.”
She yanked her knife from her belt and shoved it into him, cutting through his thick coat and stabbing him in the gut. He swore and kicked her in the ribs. She lost her hold on the knife and it got caught in his coat. He ripped the dagger away and tossed it into the snow.
A burst of flame exploded into his back, and he yelped and dropped on top of Sol. The man’s coat had caught fire and Sol wriggled beneath him, trying to push him off, but she was buried deep in the snowdrift.
Two burning hands grabbed the man and yanked him upright. The bandit screamed as the flames ate at his clothes and caught his yellow braids on fire. The air tasted of sulfur and death.
“She belongs to us,” Kelan growled. But the voice wasn’t Kelan’s. It was a dark, hissing voice, a voice that made Sol’s insides recoil and a shiver run down her spine.
The bandit twisted in Kelan’s grasp and slashed upward with his sword, cutting through Kelan’s dirty red coat and slicing through the skin of his abdomen. Kelan roared and blasted the man backward with an arc of fire that struck his face and chest. The bandit fell into the snow and lay still.
Kelan turned toward her, and the twisted grin on his face disappeared. The fire on his hands sank beneath his skin. His coat and tunic were cut wide open, and blood ran in steaming rivulets down his body.
“Sol,” he whispered.
He sank to one knee, then dropped into the melting snow beside the dead Cassian.
“Kelan!”
She tried to run to him, but the air around Kelan seared like the heat of a roaring bonfire. His face was pale, and his eyes were closed. Each breath looked like a labored agony. When he coughed, blood speckled the snow.
“No!” Sol screamed. “Kelan!”
It was happening again. Kelan was going to die just like Pa. Sol’s panicked breath caught in her throat.
She yanked Pa’s emberstone out of the lining of her pocket and grasped it in her fist. Touching it made her immune to the searing air around Kelan. She dropped onto the wet earth beside him and ripped open Kelan’s tunic. Too much blood. The bandit had sliced him across his abdomen, and the blade had sunk deep into the flesh beneath his ribs.
Sol gripped her emberstone in her left hand and tried to calm her choking breaths. She imagined fire running from the stone, through her arm, and into her other hand. She had never done this before, but she had to try. She couldn’t let Kelan die. Not like this.
She pressed her burning hand against Kelan’s wound and winced, expecting him to scream or cry out, but he barely stirred. Heat pulsed beneath her hand, and his skin tingled. When she lifted her hand, the edge of his cut had sealed together where the flames had touched it.
It worked similar to stitching a wound then, by closing the skin together. Her heart beat faster. She could do this. He wouldn’t bleed out here. Kelan would live.
She pressed the skin of his wound together with one hand, covering herself in his blood, and with her other hand she slowly stroked the wound, coaxing fire into his skin to seal it together. When she finished, she splashed melted snow over Kelan’s chest, washing away the blood and checking to make sure he wasn’t bleeding anywhere else. His ragged breathing had slowed to a regular hush.
She pressed a hand to his cheek. “Kelan,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Live, Kelan.”
He would live, wouldn’t he? But when he woke would he still be Kelan, or had his pyra taken full possession? When he had spoken, it hadn’t been his voice.
She pressed her fists to her chest. He had lost himself to save her, and he had done it believing she hated him.
But she didn’t hate him. And now it was too late to tell him.
The bandits.
She jerked upright and quickly scanned the clearing. The air stung her eyes and tasted of fire. There were five bodies lying in the snow, all of them blackened, and the snow around them melted. Kelan had killed them, burned them to death with his fire. She shuddered, trying not to breathe in the scent of ashes and death.
She gazed at Kelan again. When he woke, if it was only the pyra left inside him, would he try to kill her, too? If it came to that, would she be able to kill the demon wearing Kelan’s face?
She stuffed the emberstone into her pocket, shivering as the cold hit her again. Every time she touched the emberstone she was reminded of the power, of the warmth that would be hers if she kept it on her always, but she had already used too much of it. She had tainted herself with it to save a Flameskin.
She unrolled the skins they used for their bed and laid them out on the ground. There might be more bandits, and neither of them were in a state to fend them off. They needed to hide and lie low while Kelan healed. He had said Flameskins healed quickly, and she hoped that was true. Until he could walk again, they’d be stuck there without food.
With some effort, she pulled Kelan’s unconscious form onto the furs and dragged him behind her through the snow. It was hard going, and Kelan was heavy, but at least the path was smooth, an untouched blanket of icy, white snow. She dragged Kelan until she thought her legs and arms would give out, then she left him on an overhang above a small gulch. They were far enough from the road that no one would see them, but the tracks were visible. She covered Kelan with skins and listened to his quiet breathing for a moment before heading out again.
She tromped to the road and searched for her dagger. It was nowhere to be found, so she took one of the men’s swords. Both bows had been destroyed in the fire, and the bandits had nothing else salvageable on them. Kelan, or his pyra, had been thorough. Her stomach roiled as she looked at the bodies. How did she keep forgetting that Kelan was a trained soldier? That with a single blast of flame he could kill?
She would have to return later to bury the bodies under the snow. She didn’t want to draw attention from any travelers that might be in the pass.
She found the bandits’ camp and was elated to find their food. Sol laughed as she dug into their packs and pulled out dried meat, bread, raisins, and a wedge of cheese. It was a feast. She stuffed food into her mouth until she thought she would be sick, then she gathered up the remains into her bag to carry back to their own camp. She’d need to return to bury the bandits’ campsite, too, but she didn’t want to leave Kelan alone for so long. She needed to be there when he woke, to know if he woke as Kelan or as a demon.
She followed the tracks to Kelan, and doubled back twice, making two false trails in the snow. He was still sleeping when she got there. The light was getting dim. She could light a fire, but the smoke would draw attention, and she’d be warm enough lying next to Kelan. Her stomach ached with the richness of the meat and the cheese, and she didn’t dare eat any more, even though her body ached for more food. In the morning she’d eat more, and hopefully Kelan would wake and eat, too.
And hopefully, she wouldn’t have to kill him.
Chapter 24
Kelan
Kelan opened his bleary eyes to the blinding whiteness of snow. He groaned and tried to roll over, but his body ached, and his stomach twisted with pain when he tried to move.
The Cassians.
Kelan jerked upright and gasped as the sudden movement stabbed his ribs. What had happened? Where was Sol?
His pyra thrummed in his blood, but its attention was centered at his ribs, focused on numbing the pain and too spent to bother him.
He turned and found Sol sitting behind him with her back against the stone cliff and a sword in her hand. She woke from her doze and met his eyes.
She gasped and staggered to her feet, lifting her sword. “Kelan?”
He tried to speak but coughed instead, and his spit was mingled with blood and tasted of metal.
“Are you Kelan or the demon?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“It’s me,” he said, his voice weak. He dropped onto his back again and groaned.
She threw the sword into the snow and knelt beside him. She touched his cheek with her gloved hand. “I tho
ught you were gone forever.”
“I tried to keep it away,” he rasped, “but when I knew they wanted to hurt you . . . .”
She took off her glove and grabbed his hand. Her fingers were icy. “How are you feeling?”
“Not good. What happened?” He remembered losing control, he remembered the fire behind his eyes and his pyra roaring out of his throat, but not much after that.
“You killed the bandits, but one of them cut you pretty bad. I think he got your lung.”
Kelan threw aside the blankets covering his body and pulled open his coat. A cut ran across his abdomen and his ribs on the right side, but it had scabbed over already. “How long ago was this?”
“A day.”
He looked up at her. “You did this. You healed it?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded.
She had used fire to save him. She wouldn’t do it to save her own life, but she had done it for him. “Thank you.”
“Can you eat something? There’s food. Lots of it. Eat as much as you can.”
Kelan gratefully accepted the cheese and dried fruit she pressed into his hands.
“It’s the bandits’ provisions. The bread is only a few days old, and they had just enough food for a couple days each, so I’m thinking we must not be far from the city. One or two days at most.”
He nodded as he chewed, and his body let out a grateful sigh. He had missed food. Real food. Not half-charred mouthfuls of strange birds and the lean meat of a starved rabbit.
She watched him intently as he ate, until it made him feel uncomfortable. “What?”
“I thought your pyra had taken you,” she said softly. “I wasn’t sure who you would be when you woke up.”
“It’s me,” he said, and took her hand. “I promise you it’s me. I won’t let my pyra take me again.”
She let out a pained sigh. “I was so worried about you.”
“I bet. Who would you have to boss around if I were gone?”
She frowned at him and he grinned.
“It isn’t funny.”
“Come here,” he said, drawing her toward him.
She lay down next to him and rested her head on his left shoulder. They were close enough that if she leaned forward they would kiss.
Not that he held out any hope she would. She had seen what he was now, the power that he fought against.
“You saved my life,” he whispered.
“Kelan, I was so scared. I thought the bandits were going to take me and—”
“I wouldn’t have let them.”
“And then your voice changed, and I thought you were gone, and you were bleeding, and coughing up blood. I thought when you woke up you might try to kill me, too. That it might be your pyra instead of you.”
He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. She was right to think that. How many more times would he be able to lose control like that before it took him permanently? If his pyra weren’t so busy healing his broken body it might try to take control even now.
“Is the manacle still in my coat pocket? Can you get it for me?”
She sat up and cocked her head, asking a question with her eyes.
“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t have much time left before it takes me. I think . . . I think I should always wear an emberstone.”
Her face lifted, and she smiled as she took the manacle from his pocket. He strapped it onto his wrist and his pyra immediately vanished, and throbbing, pulsing, burning pain ripped through his insides. He groaned and twisted, gasping as the full agony of his wound took him.
“Kelan!” Sol said, her voice frantic. “Where’s the key?”
She reached into his pocket as he writhed and searched for the key. When she found it, she unlocked the manacle with shaking fingers and dropped it into her lap. His pyra sparked to life once more, and slowly, the pain diminished and his breathing felt less like gasping.
He sank into the furs, exhausted and sick and aching. “I’m sorry, Sol.”
She shushed him and lay down again at his side. “Rest, Kelan. That’s the only thing you need to do.”
“Once I’m healed, I’m going to wear the manacle always and never take it off. I promise you that, Sol.”
She pushed herself up onto her elbows and met his gaze. “For now all I want you to do is just to be alive.”
Chapter 25
Sol
Sol bent over her last snare and sighed. Nothing.
It was a long trek back, and she trudged toward camp with shoulders slumped. When she passed into view of the camp and Kelan saw her, he smiled. He was sitting up now without too much pain, and healing remarkably fast. But even at this remarkable speed, they were still going to be there for at least another day. And then there was a two-day hike to Olisipo. The bandits’ provisions were now nearly gone, and the only food they would have was what Sol brought in.
“We didn’t catch anything,” she said.
Kelan was still grinning, and she couldn’t help but smile in return. “What?” she asked. “What’re you so happy about?”
“Come here. You look cold.”
She untied her snowshoes and sat beside him. He pulled her legs across his thighs and she didn’t object. As she sank into the warmth of his body, he wrapped his arms around her. Once he wore his manacle all the time, this would be one thing she would miss: the way his skin tingled when she touched him, and how he warmed her all the way to the tips of her frozen toes and fingers. During the winter, at least. In the summer it would be better if he weren’t so hot.
Sol sighed. Summer with Kelan. That was only a dream. In a few days he would be gone, back to fight his war, and she’d travel home to Hillerod come spring.
“I think tomorrow I can walk a bit,” he said.
“That’s good. We can plan to go half, or even a quarter of what we usually do. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I’m worried we’ll run out of food again. When we’re this close, it would be silly to starve to death.”
He rested his head against hers, and her heart fluttered in her chest.
“We have so little time left,” he whispered.
It was something she tried not to think about, how she would miss looking into Kelan’s turquoise eyes and imagining they were the color of the ocean she had never seen. How she would miss his little touches, and the way he looked at her. And how she would miss lying next to him each night, enveloped in his warmth.
Sol cleared her throat and sat up. “I want to go hunting this afternoon.”
“Hunting?”
She nodded. “If you don’t mind me leaving you alone again. Can you teach me how to use an emberstone?”
He gaped at her and she frowned. “Look, when it’s a choice between dying or using an emberstone, I guess I’ve decided I’ll use the emberstone. I know I’m a hypocrite, but I—”
“No,” he said and smiled. “I’d be happy to show you.”
He kissed her cheek casually, as if it were something he did all the time, and her heart caught in her throat. Then he took out the manacle and its key and handed them to her.
She clicked the emberstone manacle onto her wrist and the tingling warmth of fire filled her. What would Pa say?
Pa was dead. And he hadn’t met Kelan. Sol loved Pa. Growing up, he had been her world. He wasn’t just her father; he had been her mentor and her best friend. But he was wrong about some things. He was wrong to think Kelan was something evil. And if fire was going to keep her and Kelan alive, then she was going to use it.
She nodded. “I’m ready. Tell me what to do.”
She half-listened as he explained the basics of wielding flame, his warm breath tickling her neck as he spoke. She was aware of every place where their bodies touched, aware of the tingly sensation of his skin as their cheeks brushed against each other.
He took her right hand and pushed it into a fist. “You have to be careful though,” he was saying, “because if you lose concentration, the fire can explode in your hand.”
“You can’t be burned, but there’s still the impact of the explosion. You can bruise your hand, or even break fingers if the blast is large enough.”
“Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t try this.”
“No, you’ll be fine. If you start to feel like you’re losing control of the fire, throw it away from you so it doesn’t explode near you.”
He traced his fingers over the back of her hand, sending warm shivers up her spine. “Are you ready to try it?”
She had drawn fire once before, with Pa, and then again to heal Kelan. She could do it.
She took a big breath and pulled on the emberstone. The fire raced up the inside of her arm, passed through her heart, and flowed into her other hand. She startled when the flames appeared and coiled around her fist, and she flung them from her. The fire sailed through the air and disappeared into nothing.
“What happened?” she demanded.
“Not enough fire. That was a good first attempt, and it didn’t even blow up in our faces,” he said, and grinned. “Try it again.”
This reminded her so much of using a bow—pulling back on the string, resisting its tension while she aimed, and then releasing the arrow. She pulled fire into her fist and let it coil there, winding tighter, and tighter, then threw it at the bank of snow. It exploded on impact, and water sprayed in every direction, leaving a hole in the snowbank.
“Is that how you do it?”
“You got it on your second try?” Kelan asked, gaping.
“Was I not supposed to?”
“It took me weeks to figure out how to get it to not blow up in my face.”
“Is that it? Is that all I do?”
He nodded. “More fire for longer distances. A simple move like that should be enough for hunting. Do you want to try it again?”
“No.”
She stood up and fished Pa’s emberstone out of her pocket. She held it out so Kelan could see it before sticking it into his pocket. “In case your pyra returns.”
Firefrost: A Flameskin Chronicles Novel Page 11
