by L. Penelope
She reached for Fenix, grabbing his hand in hers and squeezing. “I don’t know how to thank you. I owe you such a debt.”
His smile was sad. “You owe me nothing.” His gaze returned to Ember. “Is he why you will not leave?”
She swallowed, eyes drawn to the warrior’s sleeping form. She stroked his cheek. “He is one reason.” She set her shoulders and faced Fenix again.
She owed him a truth. “I have to admit that there is a part of me that wants to go with you. To… explore this world. I am… drawn to you. But I don’t want to hurt you. Because my heart belongs to another.”
Fenix sat back and looked out across the moonlit vista again. “He is a lucky man.”
She shifted, tucking her legs under her. “Perhaps in another lifetime things would have been different. Between us.”
His gaze returned to her, intense, as his skin took on its signature glow. “In another lifetime, there still can be.”
She tilted her head in question.
“I’m not giving up on you, Mooriah. I will return here. I will come back every ten years, at midnight on the day of the Frost Festival. I will wait for you.”
Her heart clenched, and she shook her head. “Please don’t. It would be a waste.”
“No, it will be a hope. And sometimes hope is all you need to keep moving.” He pierced her with sharp eyes that made her chest ache. She did not want him to suffer, but there was no way she could give him what he wanted.
He began to glow even brighter, shifting into his other form, the one made of light.
“Fenix?”
“Yes?” His voice came from a luminescence too bright to meet head on.
“Thank you again.”
The light bobbed in acknowledgment and then raced away into the night.
Chapter Thirteen
Elevation of Cheer: Raises sunken spirits and provides warmth when cold.
Combine three pinches salt bronze and half a palm’s worth of crushed water blossom petals. To avoid overheating, use only fresh blossoms, not dried.
— WISDOM OF THE FOLK
* * *
Ember rolled over, pulled out of sleep by a sound he couldn’t place. Memories rushed back, flooding him with vivid images and recollections of intense pain. He sat straight up with a gasp and clutched his stomach.
Only to find it whole. He ran a hand over his chest and abdomen, but the skin was perfect, unmarred. Even old scars had disappeared. His coloring was also higher, he was nearly glowing with health. A sense of wonder settled upon him.
He lay before the firepit in his nanny’s old dwelling. Movement behind made him tense, but he turned to find Mooriah, pouring steaming water into two drinking bowls. She beamed at him.
“Welcome back.” She brought the bowls to him and sat beside him. “Here, drink this,” she said, passing him the fragrant tea. Its scent was comforting, reminding him of his mother and being taken care of when he was sick as a child.
The bowl warmed his hands, and he focused on that as he gathered his thoughts. “What happened?”
“What is the last thing you remember?”
“The match. I struck Rumble—a killing blow. That should have been the end but… He stabbed me. There was… poison.” The memory of pain assaulted him, but he pushed it back. Did he feel disappointment over his brother’s betrayal? He wasn’t sure, but he certainly was not surprised. He should have expected as much from him.
She nodded solemnly, blowing on her own small bowl. “The wards could not have held up against poison. Especially not a poison of the blood. There is no protection for such.”
“So how am I alive?”
Instead of looking at him, it seemed that she was looking anywhere else. Why was she avoiding his gaze? He leaned closer to find tears welling in her eyes.
“I’m sorry that I failed you.” She shook her head, staring at her tea. “And my chance at becoming clan is gone.”
His chest tightened with disbelief. “Why would you think that?”
She swallowed and shakily told him of what Glister had done. How Mooriah had arrived in the arena to find him near death and had lashed out with her power, knocking out the entire clan.
“After this,” she said, sniffing, “I am certain none will feel safe around me.”
Ember set his tea down and put an arm around her, pulling her close. She buried her head against his chest, wetting it with her tears.
“You have not been back there?”
“I brought you here once Fenix healed you. I didn’t want to return until you’d awakened.”
At the mention of Fenix, his mouth grew dry. “The sorcerer healed me?”
“I could not let you die, Ember. I know you don’t think much of his manipulating life and death, but you should not have died. It was not your time, and your blood was not in service to the Mother. I will not apologize for saving you.” She pulled back to glare at him, her jaw set.
He fought a smile at her mulish expression. “I will never ask you to. I’m grateful to you. Thank you. I suppose I owe the sorcerer a debt as well.” He would have to release the wariness and jealousy of the man who had saved him.
“He is gone. You owe him nothing.” Her voice was carefully blank, but she’d stiffened.
“Are you… upset about him leaving?” He held his breath, unsure if he really wanted to hear her response.
Her head whipped around until she was frowning at him. “What? No. I—” She shook her head. “No.”
She set her mug down and stroked his face. “I only wanted for you to be all right. My father is gone too, apparently. Without even saying goodbye.” She smiled sadly. “We were lucky that Fenix was still there. Without an Earthsinger, you would not be alive.”
He felt his silent debt to the Singer in question grow. But was glad the man was gone.
Mooriah leaned against him, placing a hand on his chest. Ember stilled, not wanting her to move. “I don’t know where I will go,” she said. “I doubt I will be able to stay in Night Snow now.”
“We shall see,” he murmured and lifted her hand to kiss the back of it.
“I would do it again though,” she whispered, voice grave. “A thousand times over, no matter the consequence.”
“We are not sure of the consequence yet. Not until we return and face the clan. How long has it been?”
“Half a day. But I don’t want to go back yet.”
The sooner they returned the sooner he could see about setting this right and ensuring her place in the clan. Maybe they would redo the match or maybe, since Ember had rightfully won, the officials or Crimson would rule in his favor.
“We should—”
She silenced him by pressing her lips against his. Her kiss was desperate, seeking. It ignited a strange energy that had been thrumming through his veins since he’d awakened. He felt more alive, more energetic than he ever had before. He deepened their kiss until he swore he could feel it in his spine and ankles and wrists. Mooriah was everywhere; infused into every cell of his being.
As if to reinforce that thought, she shifted to straddle him. He was vaguely aware of the drinking bowls tipping over and tea pouring down into the firepit. But if Ember was feeling more animated, Mooriah apparently was too.
She pushed him down until he lay on his back with her atop him. Her hands explored his chest, running across his pectorals, down the ridges of his abdomen, and back up again.
She lowered her head and trailed kisses across him, laving him with her tongue and gently nibbling his skin. Her teeth grazed his nipple and he hissed, hardening to stone. She ground against him, the heat between her legs inflaming his already needy erection.
He took control, rolling them until he was on top of her. She spread her legs wide to accommodate him. Starting at her jaw, he kissed his way down her neck and shoulder. The fabric of her chestcloth was in the way; he tugged at its tie to loosen it. Mooriah rose and removed the offending clothing, presenting her bared breasts to him.
; Firelight made her skin glisten. He palmed her breasts, testing their weight and running the pad of his thumb across one, dark nipple. The urge to taste was too strong to ignore. His tongue ran circles around first one then the other, and he grazed her with his teeth, satisfied when she bucked in response.
Then he delved lower, kissing across the gentle curve of her belly, gauging her reaction. His hands cupped generous hips, and he nuzzled their apex through her waistcloth.
Her fingers trembled as she undid her belt and slid out of her remaining clothing. Then she was bare before him, and he could feast.
Mooriah writhed and squirmed as Ember’s tongue attacked her core. He lapped at her with a fervency she would never have guessed possible. She squeezed her eyes tight under the assault and whimpered.
Her legs were mobile, kicking at the air when he placed his large hands on her thighs to still her. Then he resumed his attack with even more urgency.
She clutched the mats beside her as the pleasure rose and crested and she breathed out her emotions, chanting his name over and over again.
All was still for a moment. She no longer held control of her body, it belonged to Ember. He crawled up her body in order to claim it.
If her fingers worked, she would have undone his waistcloth, but she was lucky that he attended to the task himself, very efficient. She did manage to lift her arm to stroke the thick length of him. The action made him still, his eyes glittering in the firelight.
This brought back more of her fine motor skills. She stroked him again, squeezing her fist around him. He sucked in a breath in response and removed her hand, lowering his weight onto her.
He licked the shell of her ear and kissed her jaw as she wriggled beneath him, eager to rub against his solid hardness. “Mooriah,” he said, voice husky.
“Yes?”
“I am yours now. Whatever happens.”
She couldn’t respond to that and was grateful when he guided himself into her. The slow push inside made her eyes roll back into her head with relief. It felt like he was coming home inside her body.
She gripped him tight, their breathing deepening. He found her mouth, and they kissed messily, then he retreated from her body to enter again.
She wrapped her legs around him and tilted her pelvis to meet his thrusts, urging him onward silently. He met the challenge and soon was pistoning into her. The mats beneath them slid across the ground with each thrust. She planted her heels on the backs of his thighs and gave herself over to the sensations overtaking her.
When she went over the massive crest this time, he was with her. Spilling his seed inside her and shouting his release.
They lay there afterward, clinging to each other. The fire in the pit had cooled to nothing but embers. Ember—the man—shifted his weight, but she squeezed him tighter, not wanting him to go yet. Not wanting him to ever leave her.
Wishing that when he said he belonged to her, it could somehow be true.
Chapter Fourteen
Enhancement of Vision: Increases patience; nourishes foresight.
Crush phantom rosemary and add two drops of rubia honey. Meditate and await the Breath Father’s voice. Only by his will may the spell be completed.
— WISDOM OF THE FOLK
* * *
It didn’t take long for Ember to convince Mooriah to head back to the arena. She knew she had to face her fate, and Ember’s optimism was endearing but she couldn’t stand false hope. She would pay the consequences of her actions, whatever they might be.
The pathways and tunnels of Night Snow were oddly quiet. They encountered no one on the journey to the arena, which she found strange. This was a heavily trafficked part of the territory, and there would normally be dozens around at this time of day tending to their various duties.
But once they entered the arena, the reason became clear. None of the audience had yet awoken. They were all as they’d been over half a day ago, collapsed where they’d fallen when Mooriah unleashed her Song upon them. Their chests rose and fell with their breaths, but they were all still unconscious.
She reached out with her Song and found that virtually everyone present had the amount of Nethersong they should. Whatever she’d done to them had not harmed them in any way. It was just taking quite a bit longer than she’d assumed for the effects to wear off.
In fact, as she and Ember stood there slack jawed and staring, people began to stir, making soft movements and groans of waking.
“Come with me,” Ember said, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the sparring circle.
They approached the place where his blood still stained the ground, a congealed pool of it which had dried to an unnatural purple hue, due to the poison.
Ember kneeled, tugging on her arm for her to join him.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“No one will know what’s happened. They can’t blame you if this affected you too, can they?” His tone was urgent. Bewildered by this logic, she nonetheless followed his lead.
“Now collapse on top of me like you were mourning me.”
It wasn’t a stretch. This was the exact position she’d been in before Rumble had angered her. She lay across him, resting on his chest. His scent filled her nostrils as she settled and feigned unconsciousness.
All around them, people slowly awoke and began to chatter in low voices. Murmur begin to stir from his spot not far away. Once the noise grew, she then blinked her eyes open, and sat up hesitantly.
Still monitoring the Nethersong of the crowd, she stilled at the sight of a motionless figure across the circle. Rumble lay there unstirring. Not breathing. His body was full of the Nethersong of true death. It filled him completely. Mooriah wondered if the whites of his eyes had turned black—the mark of death via pure Nethersong.
She took in a shaky breath.
The only thing she’d ever truly killed before was the cougar. Had his wards not worked properly for some reason or had her unadulterated vitriol against him pierced the protective spells?
She searched her feelings to find no remorse. He had fully intended to kill Ember, and had he lived he would no doubt have tried again. Though it was not her place to deliver punishment, had justice prevailed he would have died anyway, and deserved it. Still, if what she’d done was discovered then she would have difficult questions to answer.
As the people shook off their grogginess, the arena soon became abuzz with confusion and whispered theories of what had occurred. No one had any recollection of what had happened before they passed out. And all were shocked to discover how much time had passed. None felt that it had been so long.
Mooriah listened to it all silently, immobile as a boulder in the midst of a rushing river. Ember rose and approached his father who stood over Rumble’s body. Glister was there too, staring in confusion at Rumble, and soon a medic was called to verify what Mooriah already knew.
She held her breath and moved no closer, though she desperately wanted to stay near to Ember while she could. But soon, Murmur beckoned her over to where he stood with Oval.
“It seems that no one recalls anything after Rumble stabbed Ember with the poisoned blade,” Murmur said.
“Neither of you do either?” she asked.
Oval shook his head. He wore a thoughtful expression which creased his heavily wrinkled brow. “This is a great mystery,” he said, voice low and gravelly.
Mooriah swallowed. “Some are saying Iron Water must be to blame. That they poisoned the air.”
“That is unlikely but gather what’s needed for the Trial of Purity.”
She froze, she did not have her satchel, having left it in Ember’s hiding place. It was quite unlike her, but the day had been full of the unexpected, and her mind was frayed and at loose ends.
Murmur noted her wide-eyed expression and nudged his own satchel toward her, which lay at his feet. She knelt, shooting him a grateful expression as the two men continued to talk.
“I suspect that this is a message from the M
other,” Oval said. “It has been many years since She has sent us communication so clear.”
“Or so inscrutable,” Murmur added.
“Hmm.” Oval strolled over to the chieftain and Murmur crouched down.
“What do you think? Is this one of the mysteries of the Mother?” he asked.
Her fingers shook under his perusal of her. She dropped the packet she had grabbed and scrabbled to pick it up again. “H-her ways are often beyond our understanding.”
“True, they are. However, if something like this happens again, certain suspicions may arise.” He looked at her significantly. The man who’d raised her and instructed her in the use of her Song was canny, and he suspected something.
She did not want to lie to him but feared his censure. “I— I…” She had no idea what she wanted to say. Fortunately, he glanced away toward the chieftain and his dead son. She finally settled on, “No one was seriously harmed, other than Rumble?”
“No. A few bruises and bumped heads, but nothing major.”
She exhaled slowly still searching for the words to admit to him what she’d done. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Perhaps some things should remain a mystery,” he said, drawing a line in the dirt with a finger.
Her mouth fell open and her breathing grew even shakier.
“Everyone will have their theories. Some will, no doubt, grow more popular than others over time. So long as this never happens again.” His piercing gaze cut through her, and she nodded.
“I’m sure it never will.”
“Good.” He continued drawing in the dirt—another line and then three circles, separated by the two lines.
“Why?” He was effectively telling her not to tell him or anyone else what she’d done. Murmur knew more about her power than anyone, but apparently did not want to have any more information to verify his suspicions. He was trusting her to control herself better in the future—which she fully intended to do. She would train and practice even more until not even strong emotion would push her to where she’d been yesterday. But she didn’t understand why he would bother to protect her.
