Fierian

by Ronie Kendig

  She turned to the older man. “Sir Gwogh, would ye do the honors?”

  “Wait just a minute,” her father objected. “If yer mother misses this, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “My sister as well,” Haegan said. “We should gather them. I will not endure another hour without you as my bound.”

  • • •

  Within the keeping walls were three men Kaelyria loved without reservation. One was mentally absent. Another, once in a deep sleep, now danced jubilantly with his new bound. The other had been engaged in tense meetings with the Council of Nine, the steward—his own brother—and Northlanders, who had fled the Rekken.

  She stared across the great hall, where revelers celebrated her brother’s binding ceremony with the Princess Kiethiel. Dancing. Hennidrile vines. Food. Merriment. While Kaelyria sat with her bound and his family, she wondered if the wake Haegan sent out had done harm to the child she carried. How would she know? What if she lost it? That would ruin Aselan.

  “Are ye well?” he asked, his breath warm along her neck, tickling.

  “Tired, but well,” she said with a nod.

  As dancing continued, Kae debating telling him. He was so happy to simply have her alive and back with him, she could not stand to hurt him if she lost the babe.

  “Elan,” his father said, joining them near the firepit. “I know not how Nivar Hold has fared or what fighting we have left to do when we return, but if we have a home, ye and the princess do as well.”

  Aselan glanced to her. “Thank ye, Father. We may need that.”

  As the feasting died down, she and Aselan left the hall and returned to their chamber. She changed into her chemise, taking a moment to study herself while Aselan’s back was turned.

  It would be awhile before her womb swelled noticeably, but she realized her body had changed. Subtly. Almost indiscernibly. But she knew, and it was enough for her.

  She rolled a tendril of fire around her fingers, joy rising in a sudden wave. How had it come to be that everything once so black had turned to light? Her wielding had returned that terrible day in the tent, though she knew not why. Was it the babe? Had whatever Cilicien done to her finally worn off? It shamed her how much she’d allowed him to take advantage of her all those months ago. Yet Abiassa had been good. Exceedingly and abundantly good. She started toward the curtained bed.

  Aselan turned onto his side, propping his head. “Ye were quiet tonight.”

  “Much to think on. A lot has happened.” She climbed in beside him, kissed him.

  He traced a hand along her jaw and neck. Kissed her. Then stared. For a long time.

  “What?”

  “The Lady is too good to me.”

  The secret threatened to burst within her. “She is even better than you suppose.”

  His brow furrowed, the beard twitching beneath his frown as he sought meaning behind her words. Then she moved his hand to her belly. His eyes sprang wide. “Ye . . . ye are with child?”

  “Not just any child,” she laughed. “Your child.”

  Laughing, he buried his face in her neck. Kissed her. Then drew back. “Will I hurt ye?”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled him back to her.

  He arched away, his large hand going to her belly again. “It feels strong already. A boy.”

  She lifted her chin. “Girls are just as strong.”

  • • •

  One Month Later

  NIVAR HOLD, YBIENN

  Tili stood before the full-length mirror, eyeing himself. The clang of the smithy’s hammer and the rhythmic sawing of lumber echoed outside, evidence of the ongoing repairs to Nivar Hold.

  He’d spent the first few weeks after the defeat of Poired with the Council and Crown Prince Haegan, who had already ordered the rebuilding of Fieri Keep. With the Fire King alive but incapacitated, the Council and the Nine’s rulers voted for Haegan to take the crown with Kiethiel as his queen. But until his father’s death, Haegan refused to take the title of Fire King.

  Just as Tili refused to move forward another day without making his own declaration to his father, who held court today, hearing complaints and requests, and giving consent for bindings across the Northlands.

  The latter of particular importance.

  He snapped down his sleeves. Smoothed the waistcoat. Glancing at the silver circlet he wore, a strict formality his father insisted upon since returning to Nivar, Tili turned from the mirror.

  His mother appeared at the door. Her gaze spoke when she did not.

  Tili must avoid this conversation. “I will no longer break my promise to her, so do not ask it of me.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.” But there was no contrition in her words as she glided across the floor, adjusted the circlet, then rested her hands on his shoulders. “You realize—”

  “Aye.” He squared his shoulders. Set his jaw. “If ye’ll pardon me, I dare not be late.”

  “I am proud of you,” she called softly as he hit the threshold.

  Surprise forced him to look back. “Why?”

  “You do this at great risk.”

  “The only risk is losing her.” ’Twas not true, though it sounded well enough. Losing his father would gut him. Losing his position as commander of the Nivari . . .

  He stalked down the stairs, trusting Aburas had done as asked and would deliver Astadia to the hall at the requisite time. Before the double doors of the great hall, guarded by two Nivari he’d trained, Tili braced. Mustered what little courage remained after the Battle of Ironhall.

  “What is this?”

  Tili started. Turned. Blazes, she was early. And looked amazing in a clingy green gown. “Ye’re early.”

  “For what?”

  Tili straightened.

  Astadia hesitated. “What . . . ? Why are you so fancied up?”

  “Do ye know what it means to set petition?”

  Astadia frowned, her gaze darting over his face, then to the double doors. She widened her eyes. She stepped back, shaking her head. “Tili, you can’t. I’m . . . you know what I am. They—it would ruin you.”

  He slipped his hands around her waist. “What would ruin me is losing ye.”

  “They’ll talk. It’ll look poorly on you. I can’t let you.” Her jaw jutted. “Your brother told me you’d never do this, that you were too smart.”

  “Aselan said this?”

  “Relig.”

  Tili snorted. “He’s often wrong—including now. The petition is already there. I’m to be summoned, but I would not do this if I thought it would anger or upset ye.”

  “I am upset—they will not be kind. I have killed, Tili. I have—”

  “Been forced to do things in the name of survival. As we all were at Ironhall.”

  “It’s different.”

  “It’s not!”

  “To them, it will be! I do not want to see you hurt or humiliated.” She looked ready to cry, but she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t yelling. Or pulling knives.

  He wished to read her better, because it seemed a thread of willingness ran through her objections. “Will ye refuse me?”

  She swallowed. “You shouldn’t do this.” The thread grew.

  “Not what I asked.”

  She wet her lips. “I would shame you.”

  “Only if ye refuse.”

  The doors swung wide and the herald called, “Prince Tili, heir of Nivar and the Northlands.”

  Tili held her gaze, feeling the stares from the main room. He extended his hand.

  Chin trembling, she shook her head.

  “Please.”

  Silence.

  Hopes crashed, Tili lowered his gaze, then pivoted. Stalked through the gathered witnesses, gaze locked on the throne where his father sat with his governors. Surprise, consternation, and curiosity vied for dominance on the weathered features. The Caorian wood cane was propped against his throne. Though some had counseled the king to keep it out of sight, Thurig saw it as witness, as a source of pride for the battle that
delivered the lands.

  Tili clapped a fist over his heart and knelt. “My lord-father!”

  “Stand, my son. What purpose has driven ye to such dramatics?”

  Pulling his knee and courage from the floor, Tili straightened. There was naught for it but to eat his own pride now. “A petition, my king.”

  His father chuckled. “Of what sort?”

  “For binding.”

  His father’s smile fell. Silence dropped hard on the hall, reminding him of that which devoured the battlefield a month ago. “For whom?”

  “Me, sire.”

  A scowl burrowed beneath his father’s crown. “With whom?” The rumble in his father’s question held warning.

  Tili’s heart beat an awkward cadence. He had to do this. It was . . . the only way. “I ask to take as my bound Astadia Kath.”

  Whispers darted through the hall. Naming her assassin, murderer, blood-letter, and even Unnatural. The names were naught to him.

  “This cannot be,” a governor growled.

  “What cause have ye to claim this woman?” his father demanded, taking a lurching step forward. Rejection hung on his brow. “Never once—”

  “All our lives changed at the Battle of Ironhall, including hers. She fought for the Fierian, nearly lost her life bringing down the Dark One. I can think of no greater warrior in our lands, nor a truer woman.”

  “The council calls for Astadia Kath to step forward,” one commanded.

  Silence thrummed among the tension, which grew with no response to the summons. The governor repeated it. Still silence.

  Finally, soft steps tapped behind him.

  Tili released the breath he’d held as she came to his side.

  His father peeled his glower from Tili and shifted it to Astadia. “What have ye to say, assas—Astadia?”

  She pulled straight beside Tili, though her gaze never left the floor. “I would not have him lose his command and his right to the throne for me. Neither do I wish him to lose his family.” Her voice faltered. “I know that pain and would not visit it upon anyone.”

  “So ye do not love my son.”

  Astadia drew in a breath, held it for several painful seconds, then released it. But never answered.

  “Yer king gave ye a question,” Aburas growled.

  “I am homeless and therefore without king or ruler.”

  Tili watched his father closely.

  The king seemed to be hiding a smile. “Binding with my son makes me not only yer king but yer father-king.”

  Astadia started, her gaze bouncing between Tili and the king. She opened her mouth. Jerked her gaze away and snapped her mouth shut again. “I beg your mercy, but the politics of court confuse me.”

  “I know that pain well.” His father grinned, turning her words back on her. “Would ye have him, Astadia?”

  She huffed. “I . . .”

  “Ye hesitate?” he groused. “There are a hundred women who would take him!”

  “Then he should take one of his own,” she said, her voice cracking.

  “Ah, see? Therein likes the poison—he will not have them. His mother and I have not been able to get rid of the troublemaker, despite many efforts.” He shook his head. “Now what is stopping ye from saving the queen and I?”

  “You and your council would have me branded a murderer, yet you suggest being my father-king.” For the first time, she met Thurig’s gaze squarely. “Why? Why would you allow me to bind with him?”

  “Then ye do not wish to.”

  “I am not worthy of it.” She went rigid, looked at the floor again. “Nor of him. You know what I am—”

  “What ye were,” his father corrected.

  “What I have done.”

  “If ye knew what I had done in my many years, what most in this room have done . . . let us just say, there are things best forgotten. The Battle of Ironhall delivered us from a great evil. And I believe the days ahead need sharp minds, not sharp daggers, to keep us from falling into that pit again.” He returned to his throne and met her gaze evenly. “Would ye have my son Prince Tili, Astadia Kath?”

  “This is not done!” a councilmember objected.

  With an outturned palm, his father silenced them. “Well?”

  Astadia shifted. “Aye. I would.”

  • • •

  Though the stench had faded, the gift had not. Vaqar sat on his destrier, staring over the waters that once more fed the Oasis of Shandalhar. The salt spray drenched his senses, making it bearable to exist so close to a city. His gaze drifted to the capital.

  “Think she’s still alive?” Haandra asked from where she stood on the shore with the young captain from the Fierian’s contingent, whose raqine splashed and thrashed in the waves. The great beast then lifted from the water, took flight—right toward Tokar, whom he sprayed with water.

  Laughing, Vaqar answered the girl. “It would surprise me if Anithraenia survived after all the darkness she spread.”

  “Not to mention murdering our families,” Adassi said.

  Vaqar snorted. “We go back there with these senses and we may discover they’re not really our friends.”

  “What are we supposed to do? It stinks in every blazing city, and I don’t know how to farm.”

  “It is time for a new beginning,” came a voice from everywhere and yet nowhere.

  Vaqar turned, then jolted when he saw a young girl standing at the water’s edge surrounded by six overly tall men. There was no need for introduction. He knew her. “Aaesh.”

  “You have all done well with My gift, used it despite the discomfort it cost you, despite the great price of your loved one’s lives.” She inclined her head. “I reward your labors with a gift of time.”

  Vaqar hesitated. “Time?”

  “Forever yours,” she said with a bright smile. “For you, Vaqar, for leading your people, for continuing on when even your sister threatened to kill you, for protecting the Fierian—for that, I grant you a place among my Six.” She motioned to the men with her. “I choose you as a Guardian of worlds and hearts.”

  • • •

  Water rushed from atop the mountain, galloping down over rocks and hills until it crashed playfully at the base, stirring a foamy wake. It then spread out into a broad lake, eventually taking a leisurely southward stroll in a snaking path. It was a stark contrast to the still-blackened fields. And yet . . . green. Sprigs of green pushed up defiantly amid ashes.

  “I understand not.” Haegan glanced at the meadow where, for the years of his life spent in the high tower, he had watched Jujak in sparring drills. Were it not for the ruins of Fieri Keep, he would think himself lost.

  Tucking back a strand of hair, his sister turned a circle. She laughed. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “How can this be?” Thiel asked, joining him with Praegur and Laertes.

  “The water,” he said, choking back a disbelieving laugh. “The Lakes of Fire—there should be lava there. Not an actual lake.”

  “Mother would have loved this,” Kae said, Aselan coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her. They would set out for Nivar a week hence.

  “I heard talk,” Gwogh said from the caravan making its way back to the Keep, “that when you unleashed that wake, it not only destroyed the Auspex and their access to the Void, it broke across the lands. The volcano was sheared away and this spring poured forth with new life.”

  “Remember the rhyme?” Kaelyria said, placing a hand on her rounding belly, “ ‘Red, orange, gold, and blue; Reshaped the lands, people too.’ ”

  Haegan gaped in awe at the land, at the words to the poem they’d recited as children. “It never before had meaning,” he said, closing his hand around Thiel’s as the rest of the words sprang to mind. “ ‘Now to thrive on holy pyre, They unleash Abiassa’s Fire.’ ”

  Alphabetical

  Character Index

  Aaesh – Aaeshwaeith Adoaniel’afirema; Abiassa

  Aburas – high-ranking Nivari officer<
br />
  Adrroania Celahar – queen of the Nine Kingdoms

  Aselan – Cacique of Legier’s Heart; bound to Kaelyria; eldest son of Thurig the Formidable

  Astadia Kath – Iteverian assassin

  Baen Celahar – first Celahar to take the Fire Throne; assumed name Zaelero as king; fought the Mad Queen

  Breab – councilman dining with the Infantessa

  Byrin – Aselan’s right-hand; member of the Legiera

  Cadeif – Ematahri warrior; archon; claimed and protected Thiel years past

  Caprit – member of the Legiera

  Chima – female raqine; bonded to Haegan

  Cilicien ka’Dur – incipient

  Deh’laefhïer – mentioned in the Parchments as the defender of the Fierian; Deliverers

  Diavel – Poired’s black raqine

  Doskari – Aselan’s late wife

  Draorin – Baen’s (Zaelero’s) right hand; Deliverer

  Draorin – colonel with Tili’s contingent

  Draed – male raqine

  Dromadric – Grand Marshal of the Ignatieri

  Drracien Khar’val – fugitive marshal; friend of Haegan

  Ebose – male raqine; Zicri’s brother

  Ederac – epitome of evil

  Eldin Gwogh – tutor to Prince Haegan; master accelerant; member of the Council of Nine

  Eriathiel – wife of Thurig the Formidable; mother of Thiel and her brothers

  Etan – Nivari warrior

  Falip Wrel – new member of the Council of Nine; replaced Baede

  Fhurïaetyr – mentioned in the Parchments; the Fierian; also Reckoner

  Ghor – Jujak under Graem’s command

  Graem Grinda – Jujak captain; son of Kiliv Grinda

  Griese – one of the Council of Nine

  Haegan Celahar – prince of Seultrie; son of Zireli and Adrroania

  Hoeff – Drigo; Toeff’s twin

  Ingwait – elder of the Ladies of the Heart; oversees relational and social affairs

  Kaelyria Celahar – princess of Seultrie; daughter of Zireli and Adrroania

  Kaiade – Haegan’s great-grandfather

  Kedulcya – member of the Council of Nine; from Kerral

  Kiliv Grinda – Jujak general

  Laejan – Jujak general

  Laertes – young boy from Caori; one of four companions Haegan joined