Maiden of Fire

by Ishabelle Torry

  Rolling onto her stomach, she used her arms to push herself up to her feet. Her newly cut locks framed her face, highlighting high cheekbones and bow shaped lips. She stared awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head where he’d struck her during their brawl. “I’m Ramona Douglas. I’d say I’m pleased to meet you, but I’m not. What do you want with me?”

  “I want what's in your head.”

  “What do you want with my head?”

  “The prophesy. I want the key you possess. What is it?”

  Ramona blinked several times and took a few steps backward.

  “Come, love. Tell me, what is the key I seek?”

  She shook her head no and continued to move away.

  Sandread chuckled when her gaze darted to an opening off to the left. “I would not advise running. I will only capture you again.”

  “I have no key.”

  Sandread made it a point to shift directly in front of her path. “Ah, I see. But the Vespa granted you an audience, aye?”

  She crossed her arms. “Why should I tell you anything…er…Sanford?”

  “Sandread. So they gave you an audience, but said nothing?”

  “Maybe.”

  What a stubborn woman! He should have known by the way she fought at the stream intimidation wouldn’t work. He bowed as if she were the queen herself, offering his most charming smile. “Perhaps I've made a bad impression, milady. I promise you, I am not the villain here. Can we start over?”

  She snorted. “No.”

  The bushes rustled again. Jalomar’s voice bellowed close by. “Ramona!”

  Fuck. The mercenary had obviously failed in killing the underserving bastard. Jalomar could appear any moment, and he’d yet to coerce the maiden into giving him what he needed. Aye, he could kill his half-brother and take the woman, allowing Labelle to claim Dilseacht. However, without Jalomar to keep Labelle distracted, Sandread’s own plans became complicated. Nay. He needed them both alive until he could dispose of them simultaneously. If the voluptuous beauty before him would give him something, anything. “Come now, the Vespa are not known for meaningless interactions with us mere humans. There must be something they said or prophesied?”

  Ramona rolled her eyes. “I hate that word. My life has become a cheap fantasy book. I'm outta here, Sandman.” She turned to leave.

  He lunged and snatched her back by the upper arm.

  Her free hand whirled around and landed a loud smack to his cheek. “Let me go! Unless you want to go another round with me? And this time you won't win!” She shivered with the narrowing of his eyes.

  “Next time, I won't be as kind as to remember you're a woman.” His arms snaked around her waist as he pulled her into conformity.

  She trembled again. “Let me go.”

  He nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent. He couldn't remember the last time a woman's scent had appealed to his senses thusly. “Do you fear me?” he whispered into her ear; his tongue flicked out to caress a lobe.

  She pushed at his chest. “No. But you should fear me.”

  His mouth brushed against hers, but she turned her head. “Should I? Do tell me why.”

  Holding her captive with one arm, he cupped her face and caressed her cheek. Another shiver racked her body. She lifted her face to his with determined bravery. “I am the Fiery Maiden, remember. I have all kinds of badass powers and shit. You really wanna mess with all that?”

  Her strange accent and choice phrases amused Sandread. He pressed his strained groin against her belly. “I want to do more than mess with you, my gem-eyed enchantress. What are you willing to share with me?” When she opened her mouth to deny him, he captured her lips. After a brief moment's struggle, she leaned into him and allowed him to overwhelm her mouth. The inexperience of her probing tongue thrilled Sandread. He could tell she was more than a maiden by title. He broke the kiss, holding her firmly in case she opted to bolt.

  She panted. Confusion, fear, and aye, lust, intermingled in a flurry of expressions. He reclaimed her mouth, and she met his kiss with uncertain eagerness. He groaned. “This is not supposed to be how it plays out, my little gem.”

  “Because you're the bad guy?”

  A growl escaped his throat. He forced himself to push her to arm's length. Aye. He was the villain. And she was nothing more than the means to take back what was rightfully his.

  “Sandread?”

  The way she whispered his name affected more than his manhood. She's nothing more than an ordinary woman. But she wasn’t, and he knew it. She was the legendary Fiery Maiden. Maybe she'd cast a majikal spell to ensnare him?

  “Sandread?” she repeated. “Are you going to hold me captive like this all day?”

  He released her without hesitation. Captive? Aye. That had been his intention—to coerce the information he needed before turning her over to Labelle. He was, after all, the bad guy. Yet the thought of her thinking of him as such aggravated his pride. “Nay. You may leave on your own accord.” His own words sounded foreign, forced. He was even more convinced she’d cast a spell.

  She stumbled back as if his words had physically pushed her. “Oh…so you're not kidnapping me?”

  He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “There’s been a change of plans. When I am ready to come for you again, you will be willing to follow me anywhere I go.”

  Just like that, Sandread walked away without another word, leaving Ramona to question whether she hallucinated the whole meeting. If it weren’t for her kissed-swollen lips, she’d have dismissed the encounter as a dream. Finding a shady spot beneath a nearby tree, she sat down and made herself comfortable as she tried to regather her wits. She absentmindedly pulled at the grass. It could be worse. I could be buried beneath a store again. But this time she wasn’t trapped. Only lost. She had control over…whatever had just happened, and it was time to pick herself up and do what she did best. Survive. She pushed herself up and dusted her clothing off. Jalomar was the ruler of the western hemisphere, so it made sense to head west.

  Dusk neared by the time Ramona reached the main road she recognized leading to Dilseacht. She sighed when she spotted the side entrance to the stables straight ahead. The last several hours had proven utterly upsetting, and she was close to waving the white flag. Her weary mind kept reliving her interlude with Sandread. She’d been drawn to him. In more ways than she cared to admit. But it wasn’t the mere notion of lust for the bad boy that scared her. There was a familiarity when he touched her—and that kiss. It was as if he’d awakened something deep inside of her.

  Oh man, I must have drunk more of the Kool-Aid than I realized.

  This world, this future, this damned prophesy crap was getting old and about to make her lose her final nerve and mind, obviously. In a blink of an eye—or in this case, a freaking asteroid smashing into the planet—everything changed. She was now a part of something big. Huge. Something so improbable, it had to be real. And to complicate matters, she was now stuck between two men—the bad guy who wanted her, and the warrior stuck with her. Ha! The irony of it all. Megan was going to have fun when she found out.

  She finally reached the side entrance of the stables, its ginormous white gate a sign of heaven. “Hello? Anyone here?” She waited for someone to answer and let her in. “Gus?” Her legs wobbled and her vision blurred as lethargy claimed her limbs. She hadn't eaten since Jalomar had served the rabbit two nights past, and the last time she took a drink was during her near drowning. Saying she needed to rest was an understatement.

  Summoning a final burst of oomph, Ramona forced herself to climb the fence, barely managing to land upright on the other side. She stumbled inside the stables before collapsing to her knees. Her painfully dry throat screamed for something wet. Her gaze fell upon a nearby water trough in the first stall. Not the cold iced tea she wished for, but it was something. A few handfuls of water later, she nestled into a straw bed and closed her eyes. Just a short nap, she told herself as she d
rifted off.

  Gus's excited screams woke her what seemed like only minutes later. “Get Lord Jalomar! Get Lord Jalomar!”

  Weakness overwhelmed her as she leapt to her feet. Several heavily armed guards with swords and daggers drawn surrounded her, blocking the entrance of the stable stall. Gus pushed his way through, swearing violently. “Ya bunch o' idiots! Put your weapons down, ya ass-faced louts! It’s only a woman!”

  None of the men moved. Woman or not, they apparently trusted no one, especially some straggly, shit covered waif sleeping in their lord's stables.

  Gus did his best to block their advance further inside the stall. “It’s the maiden!”

  “Her hair is too short and the color of horse shit!” one of the guards yelled back and shoved Gus to the side.

  Ramona just stood there. She found no point in arguing when she was indeed half naked, covered in dung, and looking like some wild woman. Eventually Jalomar would come and recognize her.

  A rush of ice beset Ramona. So cold it spurred instant teeth chattering and shivers. Water soaked her from the head down, dripping a combination of dirt, shit, and tears down the length of her body. A unanimous gasp swept the stable; the soldier who’d thrown the bucket of water on her fell to his knees begging for forgiveness as the manure rinsed clean from her hair.

  Everything blurred, moving in slow motion. She fought to maintain her footing. Her legs buckled, and she swayed as dizziness and nausea assaulted her weakened body. Gus’s jumbled voice called out to her, but she couldn’t make his words as everything around her faded. She felt herself falling. Lightning flashed beneath her eye lids as pain exploded through her head. Blackness claimed her mind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jalomar walked circles around the library, stopping to poke at the fireplace periodically. A private sanctuary amongst the books he'd studied his entire life now felt like a cell. He’d wasted hours following false trails lain by Sandread—a ploy he should have realized much sooner—forcing him to return to Dilseacht to form a proper search party.

  Kald sat idly in the chair at the cluttered desk. “Do you suppose Labelle wants to ransom her?”

  “Nay. She doesn't want materialistic gain. She wants power and control.”

  “Has the Halton clan heard any word regarding an unknown female prisoner entering Dika territory?”

  “None. If she was taken there, it is being kept hushed. Even from the peasants.”

  Both men grunted their agreement. Labelle wasn’t foolish enough to risk the ire of her meager followers by waving the maiden as a captive beneath their noses. She was as symbol. A glimmer of hope against the darkness the Three Sisters had brought into the world with their unholy births. The ceramic glass pitcher beckoned Jalomar's dry throat to the corner stand. A dark apparition flitting across the room caught his peripheral vision. The shadow came to a rest in the opposite corner. “Kald, did you see that?”

  “Aye, milord.”

  Both men drew their weapons. “Who dares to trespass on my privacy? Show yourself.”

  No response came. The shadow morphed into a human figure. “Lay down your arms. Your weapons are useless, and unneeded.”

  The melodic tone of the intruder was just as soothing as it was commanding. Entranced, Kald complied, placing his daggers at his feet. Jalomar cracked a knowing smile and sheathed his sword. The darkness slowly ebbed, and a beam of light illuminated the corner of the study. Standing regally in the corner, his blood aunt Cynthe stared back, her presence majestic and peaceful. An aura of light as golden as her glorious mane of hair bathed her in an inviting warmth. The lavender silk of her gown fell gracefully to the floor as she stood. Long, shapely legs peeked out from the slits on either side as she approached Jalomar. “My dearest nephew,” she bowed.

  Jalomar extended a hand, placing a gentle kiss upon her palm when she accepted. “Cynthe, it's been too long.”

  “Aye, it has. Alas, here I stand, as I told you long ago might come to pass. I fear I do not bring good tidings, milord.”

  Jalomar cringed. Cynthe’s return surely meant drastic change was to come, and he doubted very much her appearance this shortly after Ramona’s arrival was a coincidence. He motioned to the bottle on his desk. He suspected he may need a drink once he heard what she was about to say. “Are you thirsty? Shall I pour you a glass?”

  Kald cleared his throat loudly. “My Lady Cynthe,” he bowed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He emphasized I with a wink.

  Jalomar rolled his eyes. “Kald, compose yourself, man. This is my blood relation.”

  Kald's cheeks reddened as he muttered an apology. “I shall go try to find any new information on the maiden, milord,” he offered. He dared one last glance toward Cynthe as he inched his way to the door. “I will be your humble servant if you should call upon me.”

  Jalomar waited several seconds once the door shut behind Kald, ensuring he and Cynthe were alone. He retrieved a clean glass from the top drawer in his desk and filled it with ale before passing it to his aunt. “What can I do for you?”

  Cynthe sighed wistfully as she accepted the cup and sipped. She wrinkled her nose as she forced the liquid down her throat. “Is that pepper I taste?” She handed him the glass back. “Do you remember the night ten years ago? The last time Labelle personally entered the castle, before I placed the majikal barrier to keep her out?”

  Jalomar's jaw clenched. How could he forget that unfortunate night? He'd lost nearly half the population of his people in a nighttime massacre. Men, woman, and children. “Aye, indeed I do. With extreme vividness.”

  “Then you recall the deed I asked of you?”

  Images of Labelle on her knees before him with his blade to her throat, begging for her life flashed in his mind. “Once again, with extreme vividness.”

  Cynthe closed her eyes. “I stand before you much the same as then. Only this time, I ask that you undo my folly. It is my wish that you help me end my sister's life. I've come to realize there is naught another way. Labelle must die.”

  Jalomar cringed inside. He never thought he’d live to see the day his gentle aunt condoned murder. She’d always defended the life of the vilest humans as if it were her own. The sadness in her eyes betrayed the difficulty of her decision. “It shall be done,” he said after a long pause.

  A hint of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps you could force feed her your ale, and burn the demons from her instead. Oh, and you will want to answer the door, milord.”

  Jalomar quirked a brow, eyeing his bottle of ale on the desk. “Tis nothing wrong with a little spice in one’s drink. And no one has knock—”

  Frantic pounding cut him off. He didn’t have time to call out permission to enter before Gus burst into the library, his face flushed and arms waving frantically. “Milord! The Lady Ramona has been found!”

  The sleeping maiden lay beneath a mountain of covers, burning with fever. A thorough examination by the castle’s physician found no visible trauma to explain her comatose condition. She remained unconscious nonetheless, and Jalomar was powerless to help her.

  The door slowly creaked open. Cynthe popped her head around the corner. When she spotted Jalomar standing beside the bed, she entered and shut the door behind her. “Milord.” She curtsied. “Standing over her will do naught for her condition.”

  “I suppose not. But there is nothing else I can do but wait.”

  “Perhaps I can aid the maiden then?”

  “What can you do for her that the physician could not?”

  Cynthe smiled warmly. “You were barely the man you are today the last we saw each other that fateful night. There is much you do not know about me.”

  “You refer to your majik?”

  “Aye. My gifts have surpassed the expected degree of someone with diluted Vespian blood.”

  Jalomar waved his permission and stepped aside. “I suppose there’s nothing else to attempt.”

  Cynthe moved to the end of the bed overlooking Ramona
. She traced several symbols in the air with her fingers while chanting what Jalomar presumed to be a Vespian prayer.

  Ramona stirred lightly, but did not wake. “Is it working?” he asked.

  Cynthe’s finished her prayer and bowed, her forehead creased with concern. “There is other majik about the maiden. I cannot be sure of its source, only that it is more powerful than mine.”

  “Labelle?”

  “Nay. I do not detect darkness within. Whatever, or whomever, has initiated this sleeping trance, contains a majik of pure energy. I can only imagine a Vespa being responsible, but the reason is lost to me. We have no choice but to let her dream.”

  “Dream? I would prefer if she woke. Why would the Vespa do something such as this? What purpose does it serve.”

  Cynthe tensed as her gaze traversed the sleeping maiden. “It appears someone believes Ramona is at a crossroads. Her dreams will now decide her fate. Should she come to realize her path, she will live.”

  Jalomar clenched his fists. “Do not speak in riddles, woman. Dreams do not decide fate, the damn dreamer does!”

  “Aye, the dreamer does indeed hold the key. However, should the dreamer not have a purpose to live, what's the use of waking?” Cynthe bowed and left the room with her head held high, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

  Jalomar remained at Ramona's side long after his aunt departed. He drained a bottle of expensive wine he'd traded for years ago, when Dilseacht participated in open trade with the Gypsies. Had Ramona enjoyed wine in her world? How many times had she overindulged in its power of forgetting? There was so much he didn't know about the beautiful and unbelievably stubborn woman lying near death in his bed. Never once had he asked her any personal questions, not that she would have answered him. She was perhaps the second most guarded person he’d ever known, next to himself, of course.