The wind kicked up around them. Cynthe chanted in the background in an alien language Ramona assumed to be Vespian. Once again, Jalomar tried to turn his head in his aunt’s direction, but Ramona stopped him by placing a hand over his cheek.
“What if she needs help?” he argued.
“Seriously? You and I both know that woman needs nothing from us mere mortals.” Ramona giggled when he obviously didn’t get the joke. “Trust me. She’s got this, Jalo.”
“I trust you. It’s her—”
Ramona shushed him, already knowing his reflections. The heat of her palms intensified. “Then you’re a moron. I’d bet my hidden stash of chocolates back home that you can probably trust her more than me.”
“Must you constantly call me names?”
She shrugged, grinning guiltily. “If the shoe fits.”
“I should show you what else fits, milady,” he grumbled. “Perhaps your disposition would lighten enough to make you appear less abrasive.”
A tug at the corner of his mouth told her he was now the one making jokes at her expense. The warmth in her hands vanished, taking with it Jalomar’s sullenness. The light she thought she’d imagined moments before flickered into sight again, verifying its existence. A yellow aura illuminated around him for a fleeting second, and then evaporated into a gust of wind.
Certain her touch had been responsible for calming Jalomar’s inner confliction, Ramona tucked the knowledge away for later. Yet another ability discovered.
“Milord!”
Both Ramona and Jalomar’s heads snapped toward the hysterical scream. Sprawled out on the muddy ground, Cynthe moaned softly, her naturally pale complexion flushed with color. A dark headed woman knelt at her side, soothing the golden locks from Cynthe’s face. She looked up at Jalomar.
“Greta,” he whispered.
“That can’t be Greta.” Ramona inspected the woman cautiously. “She hasn’t got a scratch or smudge of dirt anywhere. She definitely was not the one beneath the building.” She inspected the collapsed stone pile. A thick line where Greta’s body would have lain parted the debris. “What the hell?”
Greta rose slowly, shaking. “Aye. I was trapped beneath the Earth only moments ago. I feared I was dead when I felt something lifting me from the depths. Everything became a black void.” She pointed to Cynthe’s still body. “I opened my eyes to this woman lying at my feet…and then I saw you, milord, and screamed.” She burst into tears.
Jalomar rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and drawing her close. “Shh. My blood aunt Cynthe has saved you. Now I need you to rush to the castle and have Greselda fetch the physician. I will follow behind you with her.”
Greta smiled prettily, curtsying deeply enough to offer an ample view of her bust to anyone daring a look. Ramona tsked her tongue when Jalomar’s eyes sampled the purposeful display.
Greta’s innocent smile quickly molded into a snarl when Jalomar bent over to lift Cynthe. She leered at Ramona. “Anything you desire, milord” she rasped, her gaze never leaving Ramona.
Ramona raised her own brow in response, biting her tongue at the unspoken challenge. Psycho much? Whatever. She was definitely not interested in Jalomar the Jackass. Was she? She dared to break the staring contest, chancing a glance at Jalomar’s back as he took careful steps with Cynthe in his arms toward the castle. Muscles bulged beneath the strain of Cynthe’s weight, rippling across his back with each step. She heard Greta snort before lifting her skirts and running off to pass him.
“Are you coming, Ramona?” Jalomar shouted over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Yeah. In a minute.”
“It wasn’t a request, milady.”
Of course it wasn’t. He never requested anything. Only ordered. The fleeing moment of connection they’d shared incinerated just as fast as the straw covered homes destroyed by the blaze. She stared down at her feet. The dirt. The piles of ash. A shiny rock. Anything but him. Yep. Definitely not interested in Lord High and Mighty of Jackassery. She mocked Greta’s curtsy, mumbling beneath her breath. “Whatever you desire.”
The festivity continued on well into the early morning hours. Although thrown in Cynthe’s honor, she’d retired hours ago, leaving Jalomar to oversee the party alone—mostly alone. Greta remained within close proximity, a constant silent shadow. If he moved, she moved, making no attempt to conceal her purposeful chase. The blatant adoration she threw his way since her rescue had become increasingly unnerving and was outside of her normally shy countenance. He feared she suffered from a savior complex, and he refused to become responsible for an infatuation that would cause her emotional distress.
Meandering through the crowded courtyard, he paused briefly to wish the people a goodnight as they passed by and made their way to the castle. With their homes destroyed, he’d opened the northern wing—his mother’s wing that had been closed since her death—to accommodate the peasants while the town awaited reconstruction. He dared a glance backward. Love-struck almond eyes and a charming smile sought his acknowledgement.
He quickened his pace.
“Milord,” Greta called to him as she finagled through. “A moment of your time?” She wasted no time in catching up when he was forced to stop out of duty to hear her speak. From a satchel tied to her belt, she removed a slim dagger encrusted with flamboyant jewels the shape of flames. She bowed, holding it out for acceptance. “For saving my life.”
He waved his hands in dismissal. “Milady, I cannot accept such a fine gift for doing my duty.”
“It is from my father, Gunther. I fear if you do not take his offering, you may be insulting your only blacksmith’s work.” She giggled. “As well as his only daughter, milord.”
Jalomar reached for the dagger, a gracious smile plastered to his face. “Of course, milady. It would be a privilege to accept this beautiful adornment. Please send my thanks to your father.” Her grip unexpectedly tightened on the handle as he attempted to take the dagger. Her other hand covered his. She stroked his fingers as the tips of her rounded nails gently scratched at his rough skin.
“Tis such a beautiful, untarnished offering, is it not? Its each curve is gentle and smooth to the touch. Not a blemish mars the untried body.”
Jalomar recognized the invitation in her chosen words and tone. By the Vespa, she was a beauty with long, flaxen hair and a supple form curved in all the right places, made to welcome and conform into a man as he mounted her—one of the leading incentives in his search for taking a wife only eight weeks prior. Damnation. It was a shame he had to pass. He reminded himself of his vow to refrain from taking advantage of her delicate emotional state.
A single emerald gem on the dagger’s hilt flickered in the pale moonlight, like a fierce cat’s eye narrowing in warning, and triggering images of a certain redhead. The jewel mocked him, just as the sharp-tongued vixen whose feral stare captivated his senses.
Greta brushed up against him, turning her face up to his. She released the dagger’s handle, her fingers creeping up his arm. “Is there anything else milord desires? Needs?”
Jalomar searched Greta’s face, but all he saw was red. Red hair. Soft, parted red lips. A face full of freckles staring back with open veneration. His mouth crushed hers; she opened to him eagerly. “Ramona,” he murmured.
Petite hands on his chest pushed him away. “It’s Greta!” she shrieked.
Jalomar reached for her hand. She jerked away and bowed stiffly. “Goodnight, milord.” She disappeared into the crowd before he could reply.
Cold air crept through the cracks of the shuttered bedroom window, along with the merry sounds of celebration. The candle on the nightstand beside the bed flickered against the intrusion. Ramona yanked the covers up under her chin, her hands poking out of the top to hold the aged book at eye level. After the day’s dramatic events, and discovery of her new powers, she decided it was time to learn everything she could in regards to her destiny. After raiding the library, she retired to her room for the night,
taking in every word of the prophesy.
The Sisters Three will set into motion the struggle for life. One of light, one of darkness, one a medium of between. Two must fall to absorb the unbalance, orchestrated by the arrival of the…
The faded and smudged writing concealed the remainder of the text. But Ramona held little doubt it finished with Fiery Maiden. It was her job to apparently aid the godlike Cynthe in destroying her sister, Labelle.
Another cool draft shook the shutters; the temperature dropped significantly. Ramona set the book aside and sat up. The fireplace burned dangerously low. What she wouldn’t give for a furnace and a thermostat set to eighty. With a snap of a finger, she rekindled the logs on the pit, smiling smugly when the room didn’t burst into flames.
“I see you have mastered, as you call them, the small parlor tricks, Maiden.”
Ugh. She fell back, covering her head with the blankets. Ghostlike, Azer stood at the foot of the bed. “What do you want, Blue Man?”
“I have come to oversee the Lady Cynthe’s recovery.”
Cynthe’s miraculous recovery occurred within hours. After freeing Greta from the coffin of stone, she’d absorbed the woman’s injuries onto herself. The essence of Vespian light Cynthe wielded proved to be an efficient healer. Ramona lowered the blanket to greet her unwanted visitor. “Her room is above mine. And she’s peachy, by the way. Did you miss the party wagon outside in her honor for saving that chick Greta?” The name left a sour taste in her mouth.
Azer fully materialized, and sat at the edge of the mattress. “And what of your honor? Do the people not celebrate you?”
“Why would they? Because I started their laundry on fire, or helped burn down their town? Or because they feel threatened by my doomed-loathing-non-relationship with their lord?”
“How about because you are their salvation. It is you who will bring this world out of the darkness hovering only a hairsbreadth away.”
“Yeah, yeah. Beat up the bad guy. And so on. Just one problem with that. I’m not really sure I can do it. Why can’t y’all just choose someone else, like Cynthe? She’s more suited than I. I’m nothing special.”
Azer bowed his head. “You are everything, Ramona Douglas. Your birth was the very reason the prophesy was set into motion.”
The flames in the fireplace roared, licking out to the nearby chair. Ramona puckered her lips. “What you talkin’ ‘bout, Blue Man?” She snatched up the book beside her, thumbing to find the pages that clearly marked the birth of the Three Sisters as the cause, and shoved the book into Azer’s face. “Umm. No. Thank. You. It says right here—”
Azer took the book from her and tossed it to the floor. “That text was written by a human with scattered facts. The truths this text holds is naught compared to the real events leading to your birth. Open your mind to me, and I shall show you.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good—” Heat spread throughout her body; she clenched her eyes shut as visions overrun her mind.
Stone walls, similar to those inside Dilseacht, surrounded a lone woman. What appeared to be some futuristic version of a fluorescent tube bulb lined a winding passage of stairs. She ran, holding a bundle close to her heart as she descended the stairs in an endless gauntlet of twists and turns. When she finally reached the bottom, she rushed through an archway of iridescent stone, and into an enormous cavern. In the center, hues of blue and purple illuminated a symbolic circle. It was six feet around, and resembled the Star of David in structure, except it had one more point. Engraved writing in the stone encircled it, radiating its own fancy show of flashing colors from the red spectrum.
The woman approached with light, wary steps. Her lips moved as if she spoke, but no words could be heard. Who was she, and what was she clutching as if her life depended on it?
Footsteps clacked off of the stone floor, growing increasingly harder and louder as they neared. Fear and urgency thickened the air. Ramona could sense the woman’s rising paranoia, experiencing it as if it were her own burning in the pit of her stomach. A man rushed into the dungeon-like room behind her. His presence seethed raw hatred as an aura of black surrounded his sinewy body. He raised a bloody dagger and plunged it into the woman’s back. She collapsed to the stone floor, tucking her precious bundle beneath her. The image faded to black as the murderous man kicked the woman’s lifeless body over to reveal a swaddled infant beneath her.
Ramona’s mind became her own again. Wetness coated her face, sending a cold shiver down her spine as the wind from the open window rushed in. Denial welled inside her chest as she found the need to gasp for breath. “That woman…my mother? Why did you show me this?”
“Because this has always been your story, Ramona. You were never meant to live. Until now.”
Chapter Thirty
Ramona stared at her reflection as she sat on the cushioned stool before the vanity. Emerald eyes, thanks to the redness and puffiness brought on by a night full of tears, were a shade brighter than normal. She barely recognized herself anymore. Her chopped hair reached her chin. The bright red she'd maintained for the last few years was fading, and her natural mousy brown roots were beyond noticeable. Having spent the last few weeks outdoors for the majority of days, the sunlight tanned her skin, highlighting the freckles along the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She narrowed her eyes at the ogling stranger. “What are you looking at?”
A mistake. A big ass mistake.
She stuck her tongue out at her reflection. “Go away.”
“If that is what you wish, milady.”
She turned her head to see Miori enter from Breandra and Hope’s adjoining room. She carried a handful of hair clips and a brush. “Sorry. I wasn't talking to you. Please come in.” Miori lifted a brow as she looked around the room. “I saw a spider,” Ramona offered.
The maid's eyes widened. “Did you kill it? I hate those things!”
If only I could squash away my problems and my damning birth. “Yeppers. Nothing to fear.”
Miori let out a sigh of relief. “Shall I pin your hair now?
Ramona raked her bangs back. “Yes, please. I plan on taking the girls out this morning, and I’d like to see where I am walking.”
Miori went to work on Ramona’s hair with the soft bristled brush, gently detangling the curled ends. Once her hair was tangle free, Miori twisted her locks into a manageable arrangement of neatly pinned coils around her head. She pushed the last pin into Ramona’s hair with a snort. “Short hair is not enjoyable to arrange, milady. Damn that assassin for stealing your beauty.”
Ramona giggled, despite her somberness. “I hardly think a haircut has ruined my looks.” She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out in the polished mirror, drawing a hearty laugh from the maid. “In fact, I like it. Sure, it’s a little choppy. And uneven in some spots. But hey, it’s easier to wash.”
One final inspection, a satisfied Miori clapped her hands. “Now to get you dressed, milady.” Her gaze travelled to the bed where fresh clothing awaited. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the black trousers and matching tunic. “Your usual, then?”
“You know what? Not today. I think I need to air out my girlie parts. Nothing fancy though.”
“Milady!”
“Oh, come on. We all have those days, right? Right. Get me something light. Let’s give the people of Dilseacht something to talk about.”
Miori rummaged through the wardrobe. “You are already the talk of the castle. Haven’t you heard?”
Oh God. Who did I start on fire now?
Ramona discarded her robe when Miori turned around with a handful of garments. “What did I do now? Murder? Treason? Walk on water?”
“No one can walk on water, milady. However, it appears you have done the one thing no female has yet to do. Enchant the Lord Jalomar.”
“What?” Not. How could everyone not see the contempt between her and Jalomar the Jackass?
“Aye, it’s true. Last night he called Greta by your name after a passio
nate kiss! Milord is smitten with you, and everyone knows it.”
Ramona’s stomach did a little flip. Not only did she find out she was a huge cosmic boo-boo, but the man she’d developed indescribable hots for was kissing everyone else but her. “Oh? So he put his mouth on someone else, and I am supposed to melt?”
“May I speak boldly, milady?”
Ramona shrugged her shoulders. “Go for it.”
“You did not know him before your arrival, but we did. I did. He’s much different now. The things he lets you do and say are unheard of. He once imprisoned his own cousin and had him beaten for being as bold as you and disobeying orders.”
“That’s not really selling me, you know?”
Miori dropped the bundle of clothes on the mattress. “Rumor has it he’s not seen his mistress of ten years since your arrival. What does that say to you?”
Unable to control her just-for-shock-value personality, she licked her lips and blurted out, “He has performance issues?”
A flushed Miori helped her dress, shrieking in protest when Ramona refused to wear the form fitting bodice. “It is not decent, milady!”
“No. What’s not decent is the squishing of my boobies. Besides, I have my bra on already.”
Miori inspected Ramona. “Is this bra a common item from your world? What is its function?”
“Oh you know, perk up the girls, keep ‘em from flopping, save the nips from chapping. It’s what women of my time wore for undergarments. None of this seven-layer-clothing-salad. Bra, panties, shirt, and pants. Simple.”
“I see.” Miori’s eyes rounded. “I have an idea, milady. Come with me!”
After verifying the burnt body to be the missing maid, Lena, Jalomar increased Dilseacht’s defenses. Overrun with armored guards, the towers now served as a strategic center and social hub for his men. Several dicing tables lined the parapets, allowing the men to rotate their watch duty, but keeping the manpower close if needed.
As usual, the early morning market opened with the rising sun. Merchants manned their tents and the people came to trade their wares. Jalomar frowned as he counted the people in the courtyard below. Only a quarter of the normal populace had shown. Trade had decreased considerably since the fire. The people had become dependent on the castle for their survival, their livelihoods stolen by the fire. It would be a matter of weeks before that, too, came to an end. Without an active economy and everyday items to be bartered and bought, Dilseacht would suffer financial disaster as well as deplete its resources. He’d be forced to reinstate trade with the Gypsies for a cost he’d been unwilling to pay in the past—the land bordering the Great Crater.
Maiden of Fire Page 17
