The Fire King

by Amber Jaeger

  Sula

  “Child?” she protested, gripping the expensive parchment in my hands. “She is only four years older than I am.”

  “She is still your wicked stepmother,” Bennet said, his tone somewhere between teasing and hate.

  A glance at Lian showed he was going to explode. Katiyana slid her arm through his and pulled him up. “Come on, we need to talk. Upstairs.”

  He snatched the letter from her and let himself be led. Bennet followed at a distance and Alma hurried after, noticing them all leaving.

  Once inside his room, Lian kicked a chair over and flipped the small table.

  “Stop!” Katiyana protested, as he went to smash the crockery lined up on a decorative shelf. His hand rose higher and she flung herself at him, swinging from his thick arm.

  He froze, arm high above his head. Finally he sought out her furious, glaring eyes. “Control yourself,” she hissed.

  When he finally swallowed and nodded, she released her hold on his arm and dropped lightly to her feet. He lowered his arm, checking the fabric for rents made by her nails and found several.

  She straightened her gown and looked up, taking in Alma and Bennet’s stunned faces. “What? He has to learn to control his temper.” They nodded vaguely and she turned to snap at Lian, “Pick up this furniture. You are not a wild animal.”

  He had the good sense to look ashamed and put the table to rights. She bent to gather the basket of fruit that had been on the table but was strewn all over the room in his temper tantrum. Alma helped her and everything was quickly put to rights.

  “Now,” she said, settling down in one of the cozy chairs by the fire. “What do we do?”

  Bennet shook his head but it was Lian that spoke. “No, first we must know how she knew.”

  “Everyone knew by then,” Katiyana said. “It could have been any of them.”

  “No,” Alma said quietly. “There was not nearly enough time to get a message to Sula and one back in the time since your identity was announced. She knew before.”

  “No one knew before,” Bennet argued.

  Lian leaned against the table, his eyes dark but his face soft and thoughtful. “Someone had to know, and to hate me enough to tell Sula.”

  Katiyana’s heart clenched in her chest. “Or me.”

  Lian raised a brow. “No one hates you, you are perfect.”

  Alma snorted and Bennet turned wide eyes on the king but he seemed not to notice. He was picking over the bruised fruit that had been put back in the basket.

  “No, they would have to hate me. What pain would it cause you if she were to hurt me?”

  At that Alma and Bennet turned their unbelieving eyes to her.

  “Oh, right,” she corrected herself. “It would ruin your plans for her.” She got up from the chair and began pacing, thinking of all the people she had met and who would like her or Lian the least.

  When her mind settled upon the name, she stopped dead still, unable to believe she had not realized it earlier. “Wilemina,” she breathed.

  Lian looked up, his knife poised over the fruit in his hand. “Nonsense, she would never do such a thing.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but only air rushed out from her constricting chest as she saw the piece of fruit her king had sliced into.

  “No,” she cried, barreling into him as he raised a slice of a Dark Heart apple to his mouth. In her terror, time slowed and she watched as one perfect drop of the fruits liquid dripped from the edge of his blade to the finger holding the apple. His eyes drooped as she crashed into him, sending the poison soaring away from them.

  Lian fell hard and she wrapped herself around him, spinning, trying to take the brunt of the fall. His weight crashed down on her, driving all the air from her lungs. In an instant, Bennet was there, trying to pull him off. But even when Alma joined him, they could not and had to settle for rolling him off Katiyana.

  She sat, dazed, looking down at her king. He appeared to be merely sleeping. His chest rose and fell with regularity, his parted lips were moist and his face still held some of the color from his recent loss of control.

  Bennet was yelling, his hands fisted in the kings jacket. When he began to jerk him, Alma began sobbing but still, Lian did not respond.

  The fog in her mind began to slowly lift and Katiyana raised a hand to her head, finding a large knot. Noises began to rush in and she was immediately overwhelmed with the shouting and crying.

  “Stop,” she commanded, even as she winced. Alma shushed her cries and Bennet stopped his yelling, only to drop his head to Lian’s chest in defeat.

  “He is not dead,” she said, climbing to her feet as her body protested each movement. “Poisoned but not dead.”

  Bennet raised his head and took in the king’s prone form. “You are right,” he breathed.

  “Of course I am. Send for some help, we need to get him into bed. And get rid of that fruit, do not touch it.” Alma scurried over with the fireplace tongs and Bennet shouted out the door. Katiyana stood back as the fruit was thrown into the flames and several soldiers came in to lift the king to his bed. She grabbed one on his way out. “Send for Iago.”

  As the three of them waited, they gathered around the bed, watching the kings still features. Finally, Katiyana broke the silence. “Who sent the basket?” she asked.

  Alma pulled a small piece of paper from her pocket. It read, ‘For the future queen’.

  “This is Wilemina’s stupid, flowery handwriting,” she said with a scowl.

  “That fruit was meant for me,” Katiyana responded quietly.

  “How did you know it would harm him?” Bennet asked.

  She shrugged. “Apples are rare. There would not be one this far from my kingdom unless Sula allowed it or wished it. And that variety is named Dark Heart for the almost black skin and the tartness that borders on bitterness. I am sure that is not a coincidence.”

  When Iago arrived, he shooed Katiyana and Alma from the room. “Bennet will help me undress him,” he said firmly when they protested.

  The girls paced outside the door for several moments before Alma broke the silence. “Let us get more comfortable. I am sure this will take some time.”

  Katiyana agreed and went to her room. When the door was firmly shut behind her and she was alone, she slid down its smooth length until her forehead rested on her knees.

  “He will be fine, he will be fine,” she chanted to herself, ignoring the tears slipping down her cheeks. Grief and fear wound around her heart, squeezing painfully. She could remember each painful moment of mourning first her mother and then her father. She could not do it again, not for Lian. “He will be fine,” she whispered again, before forcing herself to back to her feet.

  Determined not to give in to panic, she stripped off her fancy gown and replaced it with a silk slip and a simple dress. She piled her hair up on her head, away from her face and off of her neck and speared it with a jeweled stick. Grabbing the soft sweater that had become her favorite, she went back Lian’s room, determined to enter whether Iago was finished with his examination or not.

  The healer protested at her intrusion but she just ignored him, taking her seat next to the bed. Iago sighed and finished his prodding. Bennet stood by, his jaw clenched.

  “Well?” Katiyana finally asked.

  “It is poison,” Iago said, clasping his hands together.

  “I figured that,” she snapped. “What are you going to do for him?”

  “Without knowing which poison it is or how it was concocted, there is little I can do but start with the basic remedies and work from there.”

  “So start already,” Bennet growled from his post in the corner.

  Rather than be annoyed or intimidated, he gave the man a faint smile. “We will find a way, I am sure.”

  As he left, Calia and Valanka entered. Her face was drawn and his seemed frozen and cold. “Iago is the most skilled healer in our kingdom, he will reverse this poison,” Calia said gently, letting her
hand drop to Katiyana’s. She could only nod.

  Valanka cleared his throat. “Lian will return to us. And when he does, we will rid this world of that evil woman,” he vowed. Bennet nodded absently, not taking his eyes from the rise and fall of his friend’s chest.

  Other well-wishers came but Katiyana did not allow them to enter. Alma accepted their kind words and vows of loyalty to fight against Sula just outside the door. Bennet stood guard over the bed and Katiyana sat curled up in the chair, willing his eyes to flutter open.

  All three of them stayed late into the night. When the maid finally dropped off to sleep, Bennet carried her to bed, promising to return. When he did not, Katiyana could guess he had crawled in with her and fallen asleep himself. Stifling another yawn, she stretched her sore legs out and stood from the chair, arching her back.

  Lian’s fingers twitched and she nearly fell over rushing to the bed. “Are you waking up?” she gasped, waiting for him to open his eyes. He moaned and rolled his head and she hopped up and down, grasping his hand. “Wake up, please.”

  “I am sorry father,” he mumbled, his face contorting with pain.

  Katiyana ran a hand down his cheek. “What? Lian, wake up.”

  “I have failed you, I will always fail you,” he said, his voice a low, pained moan.

  She climbed onto the bed, taking his face in her hands. “Wake up,” she said loudly. “You are dreaming.”

  Lian groaned and began to thrash but did not open his eyes. Katiyana jumped from the bed to grab a pitcher of water and dumped the whole thing over his face. It did not interrupt his pained mutterings. Astonished and frightened, she gathered up towels to dry him and traded his pillow for a fresh one. As he winced and mumbled for forgiveness from his father, she finger combed his damp hair away from his face.

  “Wake up,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He did not respond to her voice and finally she laid down next to him, wrapping an arm around his chest while he cringed and cried for forgiveness.

  Sometime in what was left of the night, Katiyana woke as she flew out of the bed, landing hard on the stone floor. Her face slapped the surface soundly just as her elbow and knee and hip all hit. “Rot it,” she groaned, pushing herself up.

  Lian thrashed in the bed and she quickly guessed he had pushed her from it.

  Faint sunlight began to creep in the room and it illuminated the lines of anguish etched deep in the king’s face. His lips were dry but his forehead shone with sweat. Limping with pain, she wetted a rag and wiped his face before spooning some water to his mouth. That seemed to sooth him a bit and he stopped repeating, “I am not a man, I am not a man.”

  Exhausted, she curled back up next to him and slept until Iago came to check on him.

  She opened her eyes as he moved about the bed. “He is having nightmares,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Nightmares? He is sleeping?” he mused, rubbing at his chin.

  “Can poison do that?” Katiyana asked, sitting up. “I thought it was just supposed to kill you.”

  “They can do that and many other things. Although I have never heard of one that causes nightmares…”

  “I do not think that is what it was meant to do,” Katiyana said softly. “He did not actually consume it, one drip of the juice from the apple dropped on his hand.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said, sounding mildly irritated. “But I cannot imagine what a whole bite would cause if just one drop causes such nightmares.”

  Katiyana blew out a frustrated huff of air, causing Iago to look up from his herbs. “Go, clean up, get something to eat.”

  “No—”

  “Now,” he said, and for the first time, she was intimidated by the gentle man.

  She moved woodenly to her room across the hall and forced herself to go through the motions of bathing and dressing. She put on the first gown her fingers touched and was glad to see it was simple and hid her weapons well. After everything that had happened, she would not be without them.

  On her way down to the kitchens, Calia found her. “Katiyana, my dear,” she murmured, slipping her warm hands into hers. “How is your king?”

  Katiyana shook her head. “He sleeps. And dreams terrible things. We cannot wake him.”

  Calia frowned and walked with her. “There is no doubt that Sula is responsible.”

  “No, but someone assisted her. She did not send that basket on her own, she did not learn of my identity on her own. Someone told her.”

  Calia eyed her and the venom in her voice. “Do you suspect someone?”

  “I know who it was. And her pretty little head is coming off her neck the next time I see her.”

  In the kitchens, Valanka skirted the long counter to place his floured hands on her shoulders. “He will be well,” he said, his voice and eyes earnest. “Iago already has many remedies to try. He will be fine.”

  She gave a wan smile. “I know,” she lied. “It is just hard to see him this way and not be able to help.”

  Valanka glanced at his wife. “I cannot imagine. But let me feed you so you can return to him.”

  They left her in peace as she ate her meal and she wandered like a ghost back to the king’s room.

  Iago sat next to the bed, pouring over large books filled with handwritten notes and sketches. “Anything?” she asked hopefully.

  He shook his head. “Nothing yet. But we will find something. The fact he is not dead already gives me much hope.”

  Katiyana crossed the room to his bed and pulled a plush chair close enough she could hold his hand and see his face.

  Throughout the day, few visitors were permitted. Bennet stood rigidly at the door, refusing to rest or take a break. Alma paced the room, continually dusting and rearranging and cleaning and fretting. Even the air felt tense and heavy. The clocked ticked loudly as Katiyana waited by the bed for him to wake up.

  As the sun began to set again, she hurried to her room to change before rushing back. She paused at Bennet’s side. “You should get some rest,” she said softly.

  “I will rest when he wakes,” Bennet snapped.

  “Then at least get something to eat and drink.” He ignored her and she looked to Alma. “Both of you, please.”

  Alma finally nodded and Bennet led himself be led out, his head bowed.

  Katiyana stoked the fire and opened one window just a fraction to let some fresh air in. Gazing down at the king, she frowned at the lines bracketing his mouth. He had seemed peaceful when she left, now he seemed almost in pain.

  Leaning over him, she whispered, “Are you all right in there? Can you at least squeeze my hand?”

  He gave a low moan and his brow creased.

  “Lian?” She jumped on the bed, gently shaking his shoulders.

  “Mother, where is all this blood coming from?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “No, it is, Katiyana, Tree Girl,” she said, stroking his arm. “There is no blood, you are dreaming. Wake up.”

  His arm jerked from hers and he covered his face. “Father!” he shrieked through his fingers. “She is dead, she is dead…”

  “Wake up, Lian!” Katiyana frantically begged. The bed dipped under her as she climbed onto it. Kneeling beside him, she tried to pull his hands away but they did not budge. “Please,” she begged as he continued to cry in low, guttural sobs. His entire body had tensed and his tremors were shaking the bed.

  “That was a long time ago,” she said, wrapping her arms as far around him as she could. “That is not happening now, please just wake up.”

  His sobs cut off suddenly and she sat up, praying to see his eyes open but they were still covered by his hands. Touching his shoulder, she could still feel the tension in his body. Hopeless, she felt a tear slip down her cheek.

  “I have failed,” Lian said quietly. His voice was still broken but it was clearer than it had been.

  Katiyana pulled at his hands again but could not move them. “You have not failed anyone,” she whispered miserably. “Please
just wake up.”

  “Fool,” he said, his voice low and broken and full of self-loathing. “Imposter. Weakling.”

  Katiyana watched in horror as his hands curled into claws and he dragged them down his face.

  “Lian, no!” She climbed onto his chest and dug her feet into the soft mattress next to his shoulders, trying to find leverage to pull his hands away from his face.

  “You are not fit to lick the books of your ancestors,” he growly, tearing down his cheeks.

  “Stop it,” Katiyana demanded. Even with her teeth gritted and using all her strength to pull his arms back, he raised his hands again, raking them over his skin. Some of the scratches began to ooze blood. Panicking, she shrieked, “Bennet! Help me!”

  Bennet burst into the room with his sword drawn but stopped at the sight of her perched on top of the king.

  “Help me,” she said through gritted teeth. “He is trying to hurt himself.”

  In the end it took four guards to pull his hands away and secure him to the bed. Katiyana watched silently from the corner as tears slipped down her cheeks.

  Iago came in with small pot of foul smelling brew and spooned it into the kings grimacing mouth.

  “Will that help?” she asked quietly.

  The healer sighed and shook his head sadly. “It will only let him rest until it wears off, it is not a cure.”

  “Can you find anything to help?” she pleaded.

  He looked to her sharply. “This is not a fairy tale. He was poisoned. And if I am to find a cure, I must know which poison it was.” Her shoulders slumped and he reached out to pat her arm. “I will not stop looking, I promise.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Slowly everyone slipped away, leaving only Katiyana. The sky was still dark and she pulled the chair as close to the bed as she could and curled up in it with a soft blanket. In the soft firelight, she could see the lines on his face had smoothed but he was also paler. Her gaze shifted to his chest and she noted it did not rise as high or as often as it had. Her heart clenched painfully as she realized he was slowly fading away.