by Amanda Young
“Eirae,” Mirerien called.
“Over here,” Eirae answered from his seat by the garden, a small book in his hand. He still sat where Kern left him, as though he was waiting for something. Putting the book away, he stood and greeted his sister.
“I require your assistance. There is a young man accused of setting fire to a building. Thankfully no one died, but there were injuries. I know he is lying about not being there, but I cannot get him to admit what part he played in the fire. He is being very non-cooperative. Could you use your persuasion to get to the truth?”
“Of course.”
“Bring him,” she called. The guards led a young half elf boy to stand before them. The boy shook but stood defiantly tall.
Eirae put a hand on his shoulder and spoke with a hauntingly soft voice. “We need to know what happened so we can prevent further injury.”
The boy swayed, his eyes glassing over. Then he snapped to full attention and looked around in a panic. “What am I . . . what is going on? How am I back here?”
“How did the fire start?” Eirae asked without acknowledging his questions.
The boy looked away with a mixture of guilt and pain. “It was my girlfriend. She is Suriaxian. I just wanted to see the fire. She said she could control it, but she couldn’t put it out.” His eyes were haunted. “She didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
Kern felt his jaw go slack. He waited for Eirae and Mirerien to be alone and stepped into the sunlight. “You did the same thing to me that you did to him. You messed with my head, gave me that nightmare.”
“Nightmare?” Mirerien asked. “What did you do?” She eyed Eirae reproachably.
“I only planted a suggestion. Your conscience did the rest,” he said to Kern. “If you had no guilt, it would not have worked.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Look, no offence, but we don’t know you,” he answered matter-of-factly. “And we’ve been burned by family before. I’m not about to let it happen again. I had to be sure we could trust you.”
That made some sense, but he still did not like the idea of being manipulated. “And what, you can just make people see whatever you want?”
“Not exactly. Your mind came up with your torture. You had your own doubts. I just made you face them.”
“Eirae!” Mirerien admonished. “He is our brother, not some criminal.” He shrugged.
“How?” He could worry about the why or being angry with his brother later, Right now, he wanted to understand how something like this was even possible.
“Don’t know. I realized I could do it while interrogating prisoners. It’s a very effective means of getting confessions.” His eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction.
“What are you people? How can you do these things? This isn’t normal. Normal people don’t manipulate dreams or hear strangers’ prayers, or act as some truth detector.”
“Hear prayers?” Mirerien asked.
“Pielere,” Eirae explained.
“Ah,” she said, understanding.
“This is what I’m talking about. You aren’t even surprised.”
They shared a look. “We have felt different for some time,” Mirerien said. “As our names grew, and more people began to ask for our help in settling disputes, we each noticed changes; slowed aging, a boost in energy after celebrations in our name. We don’t understand the cause, but we ceased to be surprised by these anomalies long ago.”
“And we would prefer if they did not become common knowledge,” Eirae added, pointedly.
Kern bristled. “You think I’m going to go around revealing your secrets?”
“I return to my earlier comment. We don’t know you.”
Mirerien put a hand on Eirae’s arm and shot him a look. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”
Kern almost answered automatically that he would not. Then he saw the intense way she stared at him and realized she was using her truth telling ability to see if he would lie to them. “Trust me or don’t. I don’t care. If you are so paranoid that you can’t trust anyone without cheating, then I feel sorry for you.” She had the decency to look away guiltily. “I think my being here is a mistake. I’m thankful our uncle has a safe place to stay, but that little nightmare of yours pointed out a loose end I need to take care of if I want him to stay safe.” Not waiting for a reply, he left.
* * *
Elisteen pulled out a loaf of bread and smiled with satisfaction. It was a perfect golden brown. She checked the rolls and started the next batch of dough. This job wasn’t as easy as when she was younger, but she still enjoyed the work, and she enjoyed creating a good product people could appreciate. She wiped her brow and stopped in shock. Standing on the other side of the counter was King Pielere. He smiled warmly and wished her a good morning. She stumbled over a greeting. One of the three Alerian monarchs stood in her little bakery. No one would believe it. She didn’t believe it. “What can I get you, Your Majesty?”
“What do you recommend?”
“The sweet rolls are a specialty of mine,” she beamed proudly, handing him several on a plate. “Here, on the house.”
He thanked her and sat at one of the tables. Elisteen pretended to clean, all the while watching him from the corner of her eye. He ate slowly with all the refinement of a royal, not dripping any glaze or spilling any crumbs. She almost jumped out of her skin when the back door opened. “Alnerand, what are you doing here? You should be resting.”
“I’m fine.” He pulled out an apron and put it on with a grimace. “I can help you.” He attempted to tie the apron and gave up, holding on to his arm.
She pushed up his sleeve to reveal an array of purple, blue and black bruises. Holding on to his arm tight enough to make him flinch, and thus prove her point, she berated him. “This is not fine. You are lucky you can even use this arm right now. If that horse had kicked any harder, it would have broken the bone.”
“I’m okay, Grandma.” He put his other hand over hers and smiled reassuringly.
“Is that so?” another voice said. Their landlord, Grieland, and his entourage walked up to the counter. Casually on purpose, they knocked over her plants. The glass vases broke into many small shards and soil spilled out on the floor. Laughing, they grabbed some bread out of the display case on the counter and made a point out of eating it in front of her. “In that case, you should have shown up for your work this morning.”
“I am at work,” Alnerand responded, angrily. As a point, he reached around, ignoring the pain, and tied his apron in place.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. You owe me fifty silver for that wagon you broke, yesterday.”
“Your horse kicked me into that wagon.”
“Maybe you should have done a better job shoeing him.”
“I’m not a farrier or a blacksmith. I’m a baker.”
“You are what I say you are if you want your grandmother to keep her home.”
“Is this how you normally treat your tenants?” the king asked, speaking at last.
“Mind your own business,” Grieland replied without looking back. Chair legs scraped against the floor, and the tone in the room shifted as everyone else saw who was in the room. Sensing the change, Grieland turned and backed against the counter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I didn’t know it was you.”
Pielere walked toward the group. All the others parted immediately, eyes darting to the door as they considered making an escape. “Perhaps it is time your permits and licenses came under review. As I know you are aware, we have strong ethics codes that pertain to all business conducted in the city. Violation of these codes can be a very serious offense.” Grieland didn’t speak, too afraid to move. “Now, I believe you were about to pay the lady for the food your group has eaten and the damage you and your friends have done.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Shaking, he pulled out a coin purse and removed a handful of silver. Pielere raised an eyebrow and he quickly added a few gold pieces. “Excellent. Someone will be vi
siting you within the week to go over your business dealings and conduct interviews. You may go.” The lot of them bolted from the bakery. Alnerand laughed and hugged Elisteen. She felt tears in her eyes.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. You have no idea what this means to us.”
Pielere inclined his head in response. “Contact the palace should you have any further problems with that man. Thank you for the sweet rolls. They were excellent.” With that he left. Still in disbelief over what just happened, Elisteen went over to his table to clean and found a small bag sitting there. It was a simple brown bag with gold trim and a leather drawstring. Opening the bag, she found it full of coins.
“Grandmother, what is that?” Alnerand asked.
“A miracle,” she answered. “A miracle.”
* * *
Maerishka looked out her balcony at the city. The fires were mostly out. The initial chaos that followed the night of blue fire was beginning to ebb. Already, people were beginning to master their new skills. She thought to herself, it should make the Tournament of Fire interesting when it restarted in a month. She grinned. Her people were nothing if not adaptive. Of course it was little fun to burn someone who could burn you back. The fire was a great equalizer, making every citizen a dangerous weapon. Those wishing to exploit their new strength on those weaker had mostly crossed the border to Aleria. The Alerians were easy prey. She contemplated sending her troops across the border to wrest control of the city from her sniveling half siblings, but she knew better than to underestimate the strength of their military. Their lands were vast, and they could easily call reinforcements.
“Your Highness,” Svanteese entered. Even he looked nervous to be around her, now. While everyone was effected by the fire, none were as much so as she. Her body maintained an unnaturally high temperature no amount of healing spells could remedy. Her skin was hot to the touch and if she maintained physical contact for too long, she could burn another without calling forth the flames. Another useful side effect was she could not herself be burned, and her mastery of the flames far exceeded that of anyone else.
“Laureen is here to see you.”
Maerishka hid her surprise. They had not spoken in person in almost ten years. Until now, they only communicated via magical means and couriered messages. Travel between the two cities was prohibited as it could lead to others learning of her identity. Travel across the border was not restricted, but it was monitored, especially for palace staff and their families. “Let her in.” The girl who entered looked meek and unassuming. Her clothes were simple servant’s garb. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid. Dirt smudged her face. It was all a lie. Laureen was a deadly warrior within the Flame Guard and one of her main spies stationed in Aleria.
“Why have you come here?”
“I’m afraid I will no longer be able to serve in my former capacity. Getting struck down with blue fire in the middle of a crowded room was a little difficult to explain. The palace now checks all guests and servants for the flame mark on our necks.”
“I see.”
“I did learn one thing that you may find useful.” Laureen hastened to add.
“Go on.”
“There was a member of the Flame Guard by the name of Kern Tygierrenon staying as a special guest at the palace. He broke in to the quarters of the queen, but instead of having him arrested, they gave him a room and servants to attend him. Word around the palace is that he is their brother.”
Maerishka felt her eyes widen reflexively. This was her first confirmation his claim to her throne could be legitimate. If they allowed him to remain in the palace, they must believe him. “Anything else?”
The tone in her voice must have given something away, because Laureen instantly stiffened. “No, your highness.”
“In that case,” Maerishka walked forward and ran a finger casually across Laureen’s arm. She sucked in a quick breath, clearly uncomfortable but attempting to hide her discomfort. “Your services will no longer be needed.” Maerishka walked back to her desk and poured a drink.
Laureen gripped her arm, no longer trying to hide her pain. “What did you do to me?”
“That burning you feel in your arm will soon spread through your veins, into the rest of your body. Your blood is beginning to boil,” she described. “You are cooking from the inside out. Don’t worry,” she said at the look of panic in her eyes. “It will be excruciating, but once the heat reaches your brain, you will go too crazy to know what is happening.” After that, her only response was screams.
* * *
Kern felt déjà vu as he stared at the palace. There wasn’t as much fighting in Suriax as he expected to find, but the destruction left over was evident. He grabbed his spare guardsman clothes, taking a moment to look around his one time home. Seeing his uncle’s chair brought back all the pain he felt in his dream. He shook it off, reminding himself it wasn’t real. His uncle was safe and happy in Aleria. About to leave, he saw something green and blue beside the chair, on the floor. He picked up his mother’s scarf. The yarn was rough but warm. He thought back to the day she gave it to Frex. That was the last day either of them saw her alive. That was the last day either of them saw her, period, he amended. They weren’t able to go to her funeral. He was never able to pay his respects. She sacrificed to keep him safe, to protect him from his father. What would she think of the man he became? Would she think it was all worth it? Feeling unusually retrospective, probably a side effect of whatever Eirae did to him, Kern wrapped the scarf around his neck and tucked it under his coat. It was a little warm to be wearing a scarf, but he did not care. This was all he had of his mother, a woman he never truly appreciated, and he wanted it close to him. Closing the door to his home, Kern left.
* * *
Maerishka stood at her balcony. The room still smelled of burnt flesh. Leaving the window open to let the smell out, she returned to her inner chamber and changed into a new gown for Lord Alvexton’s departure. He was the only visiting dignitary to stay after the chaos of the night of fire. He was to return home briefly to see to some issues needing his attention, but he planned to return once the tournament resumed. She smiled. It appeared she was right to choose him as her paramour. So what if he didn’t know he was chosen, yet? It wasn’t really his choice, anyway. She would get what she wanted, one way or another. And once he was under her thumb completely, she would have access to a great deal more land and resources. Yes, a union between them would be very beneficial to her.
The hair on her neck stood on end, a strange shiver running down her back. Looking around, she confirmed she was alone. Maerishka stepped back into the main room and paused. A flame guardsman stood by the window, leaning casually against the frame. “Hello, Sister.”
“Kern Tygierrenon, I presume.”
He inclined his head in confirmation. “I must say,” Kern ran a hand along the curtain absentmindedly, “your palace is much easier to break into than our siblings up north. You should probably have someone look into enhancing your security.”
“I don’t need security.” Maerishka poured a drink, purposefully turning her back to him to appear unconcerned by his presence. She swallowed the drink and allowed it to fortify her and calm her unease. “You call me sister, but I do not know you?” She turned back to face him.
“I am your half brother. My mother hid me from our father.”
“I suppose you want to exploit our blood connection for some sort of high ranking political or military position. Or perhaps you just wish for money.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I want to be left alone. Call off your guards and leave me and my friends alone. If your desire was to keep our relationship secret it is too late.”
“That changes nothing.” She walked toward him and put her hand on his chest. Kern eyed her suspiciously. Through his jacket and scarf, he began to feel an immense heat. He jumped back and the heat dissipated. He could see the surprise in her eyes. “You do not burn?”
“Just special, I guess.” Anger flared in her eyes.
“What do you want from me?” Kern dodged Maerishka’s flame encircled fist.
“I want you to die.” She reached for him and the fire flared out, burning the side of his face before he could move.
In response to the pain, his hands came alive with fire. Stepping back from another advance, he forced the fire to go out. Whatever else he was, he would not attack his own sister, even if she was trying to kill him, even if she killed their father. He was not her. He wasn’t the mindless killer his brothers thought him to be. Deciding further conversation was pointless at the moment he jumped off the balcony, swinging down on the rope he left tied there. Maerishka jumped off the balcony, her fall slowing just before she reached the ground. Her feet touched down softly on the grass. It figured she’d have a slow descent spell enchanting something she wore. “Royals,” he swore under his breath. Kern ducked as another flame shot over his head and stepped to the right, jumping over a small stone wall to put some distance between them. He needed a plan. The wall of the building in front of him went up in flames. He stopped and turned to face her. “I don’t want your throne. I’m no threat to you.”
She held her hands in front of her, ready to shoot another flame at him at any moment. “Maybe not now, but what is to stop you from changing your mind in a year or ten? I need to get rid of you now, before anyone else finds out you exist and uses it to undermine my authority. You have to die.”
“You enjoy killing your family that much?”
The dig actually caught her off guard. Her hands lowered a fraction of an inch. “I killed our father and my mother in self defense. They were going to have me murdered. Father believed I would betray him.” She didn’t know why she felt the need to defend her actions. She was always more than happy to let everyone else believe her a cold blooded, power hungry killer. But she cared for her parents at one time. Their betrayal struck her hard, killing what was left of her compassion. Of course she wasn’t that surprised her father didn’t trust her, but her mother was another matter. She thought they were close. Her mother taught her to fight, taught her how to lead. Her mother made her who she was, and in an instant it was all gone.
