Embers

by Ronie Kendig

  The clatter of armor roiled toward him.

  He raised his eyes toward the Jujak. Glared. Why can’t they just . . . leave . . . me . . . alone? A growl rose in his chest. “Why?”

  Light exploded.

  4

  Zireli stormed into his tent, his mind and the backs of his arms still scalded from the explosion. He yanked off his gloves and pitched them onto the table. Rage coiled around his heart and lungs, constricting. His fingers itched to throw the servant fussing over the platter of bread and cheeses. “Leave us.”

  The servant scurried from the tent without a word, leaving Zireli to his anger. Plucking free the buckles of his cloak, he wrestled his thoughts. “See to it Etru’s family is compensated. Their mortgage paid.”

  Grinda nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  Yanking off the armor he’d worn, the simple plates that allowed him to wield but also protected him from arrow and sword, he chided himself. No, he condemned himself. Must. “I could smell it,” he muttered as he set the armor on the stand. He gave a soft snort. “I could smell the resin, but gave no thought to it.”

  “No one could’ve seen that trap coming.”

  “Trap?” Zireli pivoted. “That was a blazing ambush! The amount of resin—the scent was too strong.” He bent over the wood table, palms flat against the surface as he stared at the maps, the missives, the orders . . . “Yet, I allowed my arrogance and pride to block what was right beneath my nose.”

  “Sire, he took a risk—”

  “He baited me.” The maps he’d considered in the predawn lamplight revealed the trail Poired had left. The trail right to that valley. “He’s playing with me.”

  “It makes no sense, this far north, to lay a trap like that. What did he hope to accomplish?”

  “Why did I not notice the taps?” It was simple thing to note. To take into account. First-years were taught to search their surroundings and weigh the costs and effects of wielding in the area. “And because I didn’t, I lost one of my guard.”

  The thought of Etru’s body engulfed by fire pried at Zireli’s conscience. Beat him. Tormented him. “Why . . .?” There were no villages, no main cities worth taking. “Why this far north . . .?” But he didn’t need to ask that question.

  Grinda shifted, but remained silent. A move that drew Zireli’s attention to the man he’d called friend far longer than he’d called him general.

  “Seultrie. He wanted me away from the keep.” Zireli’s mind flew to his queen and daughter, tucked safely within the walls of Fieri Keep. “She is not undefended.”

  “But she is not you, sire.”

  Zireli eyed the grim-faced man who stood across the table from him.

  “Think you the princess’s gift is strong enough to—”

  “It must be,” Zireli bit out, his chest tightening at the thought of Kaelyria facing down such a powerful adversary at her young age. Not even an adult, she was charged with the protection of Seultrie in his absence. “She’s formidable in her own right. Even Gwogh said she had unusual wielding abilities. She’s intelligent, as well.” He’d left her there. Alone. He’d had every confidence in her. The threat against the Nine had come to a head, his presence on the battlefield demanded. “There is naught at the keep save my family.”

  “Aye, but if Dyrth takes the keep, he takes the heart of the Nine. It’s symbolic—the loss would devastate the people.”

  “She’ll hold.”

  “The princess is only nineteen, my—”

  “She’ll. Hold.”

  Grinda glanced at him, speculative grey eyes weighing. Assessing. Thoughts twisted and churned through the man’s granite-like visage. “She’s your daughter—”

  “And you send your son to battle as readily as I set Kaelyria to defend the keep.” Zireli tried to breathe past the tinge of panic that erupted, thinking of his daughter protecting her mother and crippled brother.

  “My son’s a trained Jujak and has been through numerous battles. He’s a leader among his peers. He—”

  Shouts arose within the camp. Zireli strode to the opening and stepped out, eyeing a rider barreling up from the south end of the camp. The red sash across his chest marked him as a Seultrian guard.

  “It’s Captain Grinda, sire!” a guard shouted.

  The general was there at his side instantly, his breath raspy. “This can’t be good.”

  Ten seconds delivered the younger Grinda to the command tent. The young officer threw himself off his mount and dropped to a knee. “Your majesty, word from the keep.”

  Aware of the thickening crowd, Zireli turned back to his tent. “Inside, Captain.” Back in the relative warmth of the tent, he stood at the table, his heart in his throat. Was it Adrroania? Kaelyria? Or had Haegan finally succumbed to the poison that had stolen his destiny?

  “What’s happened?” Grinda demanded of his son as the tent flap closed behind them.

  The two were much alike in looks—both with the dark hair of their Zaethien forebears. The younger had not yet grown a beard, but the colorings and dark eyes were nevertheless piercing and intelligent. Breathless as his gaze met Zireli’s, the captain gave a firm nod. His cheeks were flushed, his green tunic darkened to almost black by rings of perspiration. He’d ridden hard and fast.

  Only bad news would come this way. Zireli straightened. “Go on.”

  “Your majesty,” Captain Grinda choked out. “Information is short but I bring news of your son, Haegan.”

  Haegan? Zireli twitched, stopping himself from stepping forward. His mind raced to the tower that housed his son. My son . . . Had he died? Would Zireli’s failure to protect Haegan from the enemy’s poison haunt him forever?

  “Speak!” Grinda growled at his son.

  “The prince has fled the keep.”

  “Fled?” Zireli shook his head. “Forget you that my son is unable to walk, let alone flee?”

  “He was . . . restored, my king. By some means. Nefarious, it is rumored.” Posture tense, hands fisted at his sides, the young officer barreled on. “A banished accelerant was seen fleeing the keep through a servant’s entrance.” He swallowed, then a storm swept across his ruddy features. “The princess was found ill and bedridden. She’s—she’s paralyzed, sire. As if she traded places with the prince.”

  Zireli lurched. “Traded?” His mind twisted and churned through the words. The impossible words. Traded places? “Captain—are you on the drink?”

  Dark eyes widened. “It’s forbidden for a Jujak, sire. In earnest—your son, the prince, is gone and able to walk and your daughter now lies in a tower, bereft and paralyzed.”

  “Poired?” Grinda asked.

  “No, sire,” his son said. “It’s worse.”

  “Worse?” Zireli couldn’t laugh this time. His hands tingled with the urge to wield. To hurt someone. “Explain yourself.”

  “Facts are short and rumors long, sire.” Graem’s gaze darted to the ground, then to Zireli, but evaded capture once more. “It is said . . .” He huffed. “King Zireli, it was the prince. Haegan is responsible for what has befallen the princess.”

  Singed by the words, Zireli froze. “You realize the words you speak—you realize what they mean? What judgment would be against—”

  “I do, sire. And I speak no falsehoods. I was sent here—”

  “Why?” Zireli turned to the table again. Betrayed by his own son? No. No, he would not believe that of Haegan. The boy might have no use of his body, but he had a brilliant mind . . . and a good heart. “Why would he do this?” It made no sense. It was not in the boy’s character.

  I left him there . . . in that tower. Too ashamed of his own failings to give witness to what that had cost his son, the kingdom. Had Haegan grown bitter after all those years alone?

  “I know not, my king. But the princess . . . she sends for you.”

  “Sends for me?” He felt so witless. Dumbstruck.

  “Yes, my king. Her gifts . . . they’re gone, sire.”

  Numbness spread throu
gh him. Then panicked alarm. “The keep.” It sat undefended save the handful of Jujak left there. “Ready my horse to ride!”

  • • •

  Thud . . . thud . . . thud.

  Thud!

  Haegan jolted upright. Bright light pierced his eyes, hurting all the way to the back of his skull. He slammed shut his eyelids and dropped back down. Pain bloomed against his head and shoulders. Groaning, he wasn’t sure what injury to nurse—his head, his shoulders, or his heart. And beneath it all, a strange rocking motion that stirred nausea.

  “You’re awake.”

  Haegan tried to see in the blinding day. Shielding his eyes, he peered to the side. Three others sat watching him, their backs against a brace support in a wagon that carried them along a dirt road. A boy with golden hair that framed his brow and face grinned at Haegan. Two others sat beside the boy, one a dark-haired teen who looked about eighteen. The other teen had brown skin and black hair. Kergulian, Haegan guessed.

  “Wh-who are you?” Why had they taken him, protected him, helped him?

  The golden-haired youth cracked a smile. “That’s what we’d like to know. Thiel there”—the boy bobbed his head to someone behind Haegan—“says you’re some pretender what stole into the castle and tried to kill the princess so’s you could nick the throne.”

  Something sailed past Haegan and thumped the boy in the head. He held it up, triumphant. “It’s so easy to get Thiel to give up food.” He chomped into the roll.

  “Give it back.”

  The boy shrugged as he took another bite. “Your fault. Shouldn’t ’ave thrown it.” He bobbed his head toward Haegan. “Left you a roll and apple for when ya woke.”

  Haegan glanced down, saw the food, but what really snagged his attention was the fact that he no longer wore his jerkin. A grubby tunic draped his torso.

  “Ah,” the boy said, his cheek puffed with bread. “That’s Thiel’s doing, too. You was all bloody and stuff, but from what, we can’t figure. What with the blinding light and all—anyways, you got no wound for all that blood, but what with that big red stain and all, we would’ve drawn the coppers, so Thiel changed you a’fore we got under way.”

  Haegan tried to peer at his rescuer but Thiel turned his back to him.

  The golden-haired boy shrugged. “Anyway, Tokar here says since you was sleeping in the tunnels near the hidden gate that maybe you wanted to be an accelerant but didn’t have the hang of the Fires.”

  “Flames,” Haegan corrected.

  “Wha’?” the boy asked.

  “You wield Flames. The Fires refer to the Lakes,” Haegan nodded, only to realize he wasn’t sure which direction the Lakes of Fire were now.

  “Wha’ever,” the boy said. “Don’ matter, do it, because you ain’ got nee-ver.” The boy wagged what was left of the roll. “But what with the gate being near Zaethien’s Sanctuary, we all think you must be connected to that.”

  Three pairs of eyes waited, wanting him to prove he could control the Flames. Or had tried—as illegal outside the Sanctuary as being in the lower passages. Haegan would prove nothing. Would say nothing.

  “Aw, blazes!” the boy muttered. “Look, you gotta talk cuz we already got someone what can’t.” He stuck a finger at the biggest of the four, the dark-skinned one. “They cut out his tongue when he stole and lied about it. That’s what happens wif thieves.”

  Haegan straightened, his shoulder aching. “I’m no thief.”

  “Yes!” The boy thrust a fist in the air, his blond hair swinging across his face as he looked to the others in triumph. “That always works.”

  The dark-skinned fellow leaned forward and nudged the boy. “Don’t listen to Laertes.” For one who was purported to be mute, he spoke very clearly. “He’s got more embers than brains. I’m Praegur.” He stuck out his tongue. “Intact, as you can see.”

  Haegan gave a slight nod and worked to sit up. Plucking a dagger from his eye would’ve been less painful. Yet he relished the pain. Yesterday he could not feel anything. Not a touch. Not a pinch. But now, pain riddled him.

  From what? The boy—Laertes—said he didn’t have a wound. Haegan tested the spot he’d felt the arrow pierce but found nothing. So why was he hurting so much? He grimaced and grunted as he used the side of the wagon to haul himself into a sitting position. Heat rushed through him at the effort.

  “What’re you called?” Tokar asked.

  “I’m—” Haegan’s mind spasmed as it registered the terrain the rocking wagon lumbered over. A hill. Grass. Green grass. No fires? How long had he lain unconscious? A strange panic heated his chest. “Where are we?”

  “Three days north of Fieri Keep.” Laertes tugged the hat over his eyes.

  “Three days!” So far from home? What would he do? He didn’t know anyone. Had no means to provide for himself. No friends for help. No family or guardian to watch over him. How many miles . . .? He thought through his lessons with Gwogh—

  Gwogh! What would his old guardian think? The old accelerant had tutored him in the sciences and maths. If they were three days north, then somewhere between fifty and sixty leagues stretched between him and all that he knew and loved. Were they in Caori, the kingdom that bordered Zaethien to the northeast? He struggled to breathe, to not be overtaken by fear and panic.

  You are the Fire King’s son!

  Haegan practiced the calming Gwogh had taught him, but even that made him desperate for the old accelerant.

  “You’ve been out cold since—”

  Tokar elbowed him, and Praegur threw a terrible scowl at the young boy.

  Their gazes bounced to Thiel but fell away just as fast. Sitting on the bench seat beside the wagon master, Thiel gave a sharp shake of his head. Laertes swallowed and swiped his tongue over his teeth, hunching his shoulders and burrowing into himself with a huff.

  “Since what?”

  Haegan might have been holed up in a tower for years, but he wasn’t a simpleton.

  Thiel shifted on the bench that hovered at Haegan’s shoulder. Light streaked across his face, igniting brown eyes to a clear, wild gold. Suspicion rimmed his features. Grungy vest and tunic. This was the same one who’d tripped over Haegan, then punched him. The leader of these four, clearly. But Thiel seemed too young, too soft in the face. No whiskers yet. But there was much fire in the young leader.

  In the tunnel, Thiel had yanked him onward when his courage flagged. He’d argued. Wrestled. Refused to budge when Haegan insisted they move. Shouted at him. Called him names. Haegan had to force Thiel out of the tunnels. Even to the point of pushing his chest . . . a chest that wasn’t quite . . . flat.

  Haegan hadn’t thought twice of it then. Armor? Thiel wore only a simple tunic that hung loose. Haegan skated a gaze around the wagon. No hulky bundles that might be armor. So . . . if it wasn’t armor . . .

  Curves. His face heated as the realization sank in, the words on his tongue before he could stop them. “You’re not a boy.”

  “And you’re not an idiot,” Thiel said. “Good to know.”

  The snickers of the others didn’t faze him. “Why do you dress like that?”

  Lips drew tight. She lifted her chin. “You’ve not given us your name. Who are you? What were you doing in the lower tunnels?” He—she leaned forward. “Are you a spy? An assassin?”

  With a snort, Haegan shook his head. He’d spent a decade matching wits with one of the sharpest minds in Seultrie and all the Nine. He would not be bested now by a girl dressed as a boy. “I could ask the same of you. It is forbidden to be wandering the tunnels.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding? One word from me and this driver will dump you.”

  Haegan knew better than to look at the man bent over his task of urging the beasts of burden onward. But he did. Because he couldn’t look into her sun-lit eyes any longer.

  “Why were you down there?” Thiel demanded. “I saw an accelerant dump you and lock the gate.”

  Haegan blinked. An accelerant dumped him? W
ho—Gwogh? His tutor wouldn’t dare abandon him like a dog. But what other explanation could exist? He’d been standing there, refusing to leave Kaelyria, when—

  Someone hit the back of my head. Knocked him unconscious.

  “Answer, tunnel rat! Why were you down there?”

  His heart sped at the demand. He’d never had anyone speak to him in such a disagreeable manner—well, except Kae, but that was her way. “A disagreement.” It couldn’t be Gwogh who dumped him—they had too much history. The bejeweled accelerant had fled. Then who . . .?

  “What happened in the tunnel?”

  Haegan’s attention popped to Tokar. “I told you, a disagreement.”

  “No.” Quiet confidence oozed out of the dark-haired teen’s unusual gold eyes. “Not when the accelerant dumped you. After, when you were escaping”—he bobbed his head toward the lone girl of their company—“with Thiel.”

  Confused, Haegan looked at her again. “I . . . I don’t understand.” He frowned. “Are you talking about when I pushed you—”

  “The light!” Her face reddened, whether under embarrassment or anger he wasn’t sure. “The explosion.”

  “What explosion?” Haegan shook his head. “I have no idea. The guards must’ve thrown a cluster or something.” His answer didn’t satisfy them by the look in their eyes. “What?”

  Tokar watched warily. “It’s just that the light, it—”

  “Leave off.” Thiel slipped from the bench and sat between Tokar and the young boy. “We want your name, tunnel rat.”

  “And if I withhold it?” Something about her impudence steeled his resolve to conceal his identity and purpose. That and being pursued by the Jujak.

  “We’ll turn you over to the nearest accelerant once we reach Luxlirien.”

  Flames. Accelerants and Jujak were equally ominous. Whatever happened . . . whatever Kaelyria had done, he would be punished. “Rigar,” he supplied the name unwillingly. But not in the manner they believed. Because he detested liars. There was an imperative nature to a false identity, so he felt justified. But still guilty.