Embers

by Ronie Kendig

Haegan breathed a little easier at Thiel’s defiance of her captor, and yet he feared for her. Feared the retaliation the rider would exact against her. They were a violent sort, Asykthians, prone to use of their swords over words of peace. Preferred bloodshed to negotiations. In the Histories were many a telling of their bloodlust.

  He should intervene now, before she was injured. Haegan shifted around the tree.

  The raider held up his hands and took a step back, stilling Haegan. He tucked himself back behind the cover of the trunk. The raider stood a foot taller than Thiel, and his dark-brown hair seemed to melt into the shadows. He placed a hand on his scabbard.

  Flames! Now would he run through an innocent girl?

  Haegan gulped and took a step forward . . . yet nothing happened. Except discussion. Thiel spun toward the man, arms rising and falling. Angry? Yelling at him. What was this? She seemed to be talking to him as if she . . .

  Haegan drew up short. “Isn’t she one of them anyway?” Laertes’s words invaded his mind. Haegan hauled in a breath. And drew back.

  Snap.

  He cringed.

  A sudden wind swept over him as his gaze struck the two, who stood unmoving. Then something in the shadows drew his gaze. Movement—the shadows and darkness morphed into a hulking creature. Not the mighty horses the Asykthians rode. This was more agile. Lower to the ground—though not much. The beast swung around in a fluid motion, its ebony coat making it difficult to sort where it started and ended. But the horizontal spread of—

  “Wings,” Haegan gasped.

  In terror, he watched as the beast crouched, dark eyes sparking, then lurched into the air.

  Raqine! His heart seized. It could not be. He struggled to breathe.

  Wits gathered with an effort, Haegan scrambled behind a tree, hugging the bark as he searched the sky for the creature. This can’t be. This can’t be. This can’t be.

  Though the raqine flew upward till it was naught but a speck, Haegan knew the second the beast locked onto him. A tingling zipped through his spine as the beast’s black eyes stared into his soul. Impossible!

  A roar like rushing wind filled his mind, deadening him to anything but the beast. It’s not real. They have passed beyond the Shadows. They’re extinct!

  Yet he felt it crowding his mind. But . . . he could not . . . could not yield. Even as the raqine’s gaze ensnared him, Haegan saw Thiel and the Asykthian turn in his direction.

  Move, you idiot!

  Holding his ears against the beast’s roaring, Haegan slid into a crouch. No good. Still screeching. He turned and marked a crooked, stumbling course away from the raqine. Away from Thiel. What happened to his head? Why could he still hear the roaring?

  Then as if someone had slammed a door shut, silence dropped. Haegan now only heard the thundering of his heart. The crunch of his boots over the leaves. Gasping hard, he worked to slow his breathing. To calm himself. He must to get back to camp. Tell the others.

  No. They would not believe him. He would be made a fool. And Thiel . . . with the raiders. What did it mean? How could she even speak with those brigands?

  “The Northern Riders are as violent as they are coldhearted,” his father-king had said many times. Too many. The topic so distasteful his mother often fled the room. And Haegan’s tutor had been similarly harsh regarding the Asykthian, especially regarding their king, Thurig.

  Knowing the others would be merciless in their mockery, Haegan diverted from the path to camp and headed up a hill, desperate for solitude to sort all that had happened. Less than a half-month past he lay in a tower, all too comfortable in his paralyzed life. Now, he stood—stood—on this mount.

  But he was alone. Perhaps more so now that he had not the comfort or love of his mentor.

  Haegan trudged up the incline and broke into a clearing. No larger than a small dwelling, the area boasted a massive jutting of granite, one part broken off and smooth, like a giant—throne. He turned a slow circle, throwing off the weight of the last few hours and taking in the outcropping. Abiassa’s Throne, the locals had named it. Something about the legendary seat of her wisdom and power drew him. Haegan hauled himself up and let the moment settle in his brain. His challenged, exhausted brain that refused to accept the beast.

  It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. No way a raqine existed. Gwogh . . . Gwogh was smarter than anyone, and he said the beasts died with the Drigo and Unauri.

  Can’t be real. Impossible.

  My mind is fractured.

  In the far distance a glimmer of something pulled his attention. He could barely make out the delicate curve of a mountain against the ever-darkening sky. What could be there, sparkling as if stroked by starlight?

  Haegan’s breath caught in his throat. Could it be? He mentally referred to the maps Gwogh and he had scoured, the Histories. His gaze hit the faint lights of Hetaera, the glittering valley city, then slid up the base of the mountain, and once more he settled on the tree-darkened spine and the trail of silver.

  “The Falls.”

  15

  Sensing the hope and tug of freedom and healing—restoration—after seeing the Great Falls, Haegan jumped off the giant boulder, took one more look toward Hetaera. His gaze rose to the sky, to the Tri-tipped Flame, the place his people had long believed to be Abiassa’s home before she came to Primar.

  Help me, Abiassa. I’m alone. Verses said she was a friend to the lonely.

  He wasn’t even sure how to be a friend anymore. It’d been a decade since he had one, and even then he’d been a prince—a stranger, perhaps, to true friendship. Haegan turned as he slid his hands in his pockets. ’Twas a fool’s errand to seek a friend in Abiassa when he had nothing to offer in return.

  A shape shifted at the far edge of the overlook, shoving his stomach up into his throat. He froze as Thiel eased into the moonlight. His heart thumped hard. Betrayer.

  And yet, this slight girl had been his only ally. One among their number who had given a measure of hope that he could make it to the Falls. Though she heaped condescension on him at every chance, he saw in her a friend. An intelligent one, who missed little. Endured much. For that reason alone, he held his tongue. What was he to say anyway? I saw you with a raqine? Cavorting with a coldhearted savage?

  Yes, that would gain her trust and respect.

  Her enduring silence pushed his gaze down. What would not sound as an accusation or insult? He should depart. Go in silence down the dark path that led to the camp, to some fledgling hope that he could reach the Falls and save his sister.

  Haegan crossed the flattened overlook to the path that had led him down. He stepped around her, felt his sleeve brush hers. His boot hit a rock as he turned the first switchback.

  “I know.”

  Stilled by her words, Haegan stared at the hard-packed earth, telling himself not to talk to her. That they stood on tenuous ground and should merely bide their time. Endure this journey without giving rise to the tide of anger. And yet, his strict upbringing, at first in the court of his father-king, and then under the gruff tutelage of Gwogh, would not allow him to walk away, delivering a slight.

  How could she have knowledge of his secrets? He’d given no indication of his past or his birthright. He’d been careful and diligent. Haegan shifted in place. Looked to the side, then to her. “Know what?”

  Hard light glinted off her cheeks as Thiel folded her arms over her bound chest. She tilted her head, the brown hair sticking out in angles around her face. “Did you do it?”

  She would ask questions of him but not answer his? Haegan grew weary. “Do what?” A wind riffled the air, tossing leaves along the path he so desperately sought for escape. The more he talked to her, the more he’d soften. Because he’d never been one to hold grudges. Not even against his father. What rested in his chest was a raw ache grown in years of neglect and shame.

  Thiel shot him an expression of frustration but then pointed to the boulder he’d just climbed off and went to it. “You saw me in the woods. If
you have questions to ask of me, do it now.” She made quick work of reaching the top, then crossed her ankles and sat down.

  “Me? You are the one asking questions but not clarifying.” Just go back to camp. But he was tired of being alone. Tired of not understanding things around him. Haegan trudged over to the rock. “I have no desire to pry answers from the unwilling.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so cross. Sit down. I’m not going to bite.”

  “No,” he said as he hauled himself up next to her. “But that raqine bites.”

  Wide brown eyes met his. Moonlight caressed her pale face and shone against her skin. She recovered but not quickly enough. “You know they are things only of myth.”

  Haegan hated the way his stomach threatened each time she looked him in the eye. That was a reaction for a weakling. Not a prince. He pushed his attention out, toward Hetaera. “What do you want of me, Thiel?”

  “Who says I want anything?”

  He gauged her expression and saw the same hunger consuming him—one for friendship and belonging. “Your eyes.”

  Thiel flicked her gaze away. “Says the person who says he saw a raqine.” When Haegan pushed to his feet, she caught his hand and pulled him back down. “I’m only teasing.” Lingering light danced in her eyes, bouncing off flecks of gold. “You . . . you’re”—she leaned in closer—“the prince.”

  Haegan drew back. How did she know that? In his panic that he might be revealed and captured, anger sparked in his chest. “I—No!”

  “Don’t deny it.”

  Challenged by her words, Haegan recalled the debates with Gwogh. The training. The tutelage to think and not necessarily speak. To weigh an adversary and rout weakness. “I could speak the same of you.”

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “The raqine? You jest!”

  Haegan let his statement be his response. “Not just the raqine. The Asykthian raiders. You were with them.”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  His cheek twitched but he steeled the smile.

  “It’s not.” She glanced to the side, at the city of lights. Leaned in closer. Touched his arm.

  No, not touched. Gripped. Held it tight.

  “You must swear by the Flames—”

  “That is a sacred oath.” To take them lightly, to speak them casually, was forbidden. Especially for the royal line tasked with upholding them. Especially by him.

  Victory danced in her eyes. “Do you count me as a friend?”

  Did he? Associating with the Asykthians—the closest thing to an enemy of Zaethien without actually being an enemy. And she was connected to them? “We met but two weeks past. Is that what you would call me?”

  Sultry and mischievous, she did this jig with her neck that threw her right eyebrow up. “I haven’t driven my dagger between your ribs.”

  “And that is your measure of friendship?” Haegan chuckled. “No wonder you spend your days wandering the plains with rogues and thieves.”

  She looked away, pained somehow. “You know nothing of me. Of what I have been through and fought for.” The searing reprimand stung the air between them. “Not every child of Abiassa can be raised in opulence with private tutors and servants placating your every need and whim. Some of us have had to fight to survive, deprived of warmth and safety.” Thiel’s brown eyes widened, as if surprised by the words that seemed to have fled a sacred vault in her heart.

  Her words, the ferocity of them, and the now-present panic, tugged at his honor. Flooded him with guilt that choked his pithy reply. “I . . . I beg your mercy.” He saw her then, not as the fighting girl hiding beneath the clothes of men, but the wounded young woman he would call friend. “My tutor . . . he said often that my tongue is quicker than my mind.”

  A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “I would think we were born beneath the same moon, then. I’ve been quick with many weapons and training, but none quicker than the retort.” She drew in a measured breath and let it out. Thiel wet her lips, which now glistened under the tease of the moonlight. “I left my family when I was twelve. Of my own choosing. In fact, that is why I chopped off my hair and traded luxurious satins for rough wool. I did not want them to find me.”

  Haegan frowned. “Why?”

  She tossed her chin at him. “You must answer first—did you do it?”

  Should he play her game, would his secrets lay bare on the cool stone before the first rise of the sun? And yet, leaving her . . . “Do what, precisely?”

  “Are you always so stiff?”

  Haegan arched an eyebrow. “Stiff? I am confused—you ask an incomplete question, my lady.”

  She went serious, her dark eyes expressive and probing. “Did you betray your sister to take the crown?”

  16

  Haegan twitched. Angry at her question. Angry that she must ask to know the answer. That she believed him capable of such wickedness. He sighed, suddenly drowning in the volatile memories of that day. Of the moment that altered his life. Seeing Kaelyria lying there, weak and powerless as he had for far too long . . .

  “No,” he whispered, aching.

  “Then you are him.” Thiel hopped onto her knees, pressing intimately closer. Too close. Her face was vibrant. “You’re Prince Haegan.”

  Jerking away did nothing but prove her right.

  “But they said you were paralyzed!” She touched him, gripping his arm as she sat down once more. “Tell me what happened.”

  “You know too much already.”

  She laughed. “And I’m not leaving without more answers, prince.”

  “Don’t.” He glanced around, concerned. Hating the sneer that invariably came with the title.

  “We’re alone.” She settled in, legs crisscrossed. “Now, tell me—what happened? How’d you end up in that tunnel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, c’mon!”

  “I don’t—I woke up down there.”

  “Very well. But with the princess, what happened?”

  “This is not some opera or jester’s court,” Haegan spat, pushing to his feet. He stood at the overhang, his heart beating out of his chest to escape the horrible truth. Abiassa, what is this nightmare you have placed me in?

  A light touch on his sleeve startled him—that he felt it was one surprise. That it was Thiel’s touch was another. “Now I beg your mercy, Prince Haegan. I meant no offense.”

  He studied her, curious at the formality in her language. Was she mocking him now? But the sincerity of her expression told him she was trying to reach him through the only world he’d known—court. “It’s of no consequence.” He felt foolish now, and tucked his head. “It was . . . a mistake.” But if he spoke of it, if he explained what happened, would he betray Kaelyria? Which would ultimately be a betrayal of the crown itself.

  “Whose mistake?”

  Kaelyria’s. No, he could not—would not blame her. “It matters not, Thiel. What matters is that my sister lies there, paralyzed, and I am here.” Free. Whole. It hurt too much to admit, to recall. To speak out loud.

  He wouldn’t do this. He started for the path.

  Thiel caught him. “Haegan.”

  It was strange, so incredibly strange, to hear her use his real name. It also pained him. No longer was he worthy of that name it or the attached title.

  “Oh. Should I be calling you ‘Your Highness’ or something?” She looked around, and he was sure the question a jest until he saw her confusion.

  He tugged his arm free. “Rigar must be my name. Jujak hunt me. Accelerants as well, if my father-king has done as I would expect.”

  “The king, your father, hunts you.?

  “I believe he blames me. Believes me a traitor.” He hunched his shoulders. Anything to get away from her and this conversation. “It’s who I am now.”

  “Rigar, talk to me,” she said. “You said it was a mistake—whose mistake?”

  “An accelerant’s.” Yes, Cilicien ka’Dur would shoulder the blame for turning the ways
of the Flames upside down. For using them for unintended purposes. In all the Parchments, use of the Flames as such demanded recompense. It was a wonder the Deliverers had not come for Cilicien. But they no longer existed. Having fled into exile, their kind had simply vanished after Zaelero II took the throne and established peace, returning the Nine to the ways of Abiassa.

  Thiel angled to the side, trying to peer at his face. “You speak as if you hate accelerants.”

  Haegan remained unmoved, watching the twinkling lights and their varying colors. “It is hard to hate a line you are issued from, but I do protest the one who deceived my sister into relinquishing—”

  Thiel touched his hand, the soft gesture pulling his gaze to hers.

  He must change the direction of this discourse. “You were with the Asykthian in the woods.”

  She sighed. “As’Tili.”

  The name pulled him up. “A son of Thurig,” Haegan muttered, his mind caught on the way she’d said the prince’s name. With tenderness. Affection. “You have feelings for the king’s son?”

  Why did that anger him and stir up so many illogical feelings? He must protect her from the raider. Encourage her to be cautious. Clearly she did not understand the way of the Asykthians. “Waste not your breath or time on them, Thiel. The line of Thurig is filled with marauders, driven only by their thirst for power and—”

  Scowling, Thiel popped his shoulder.

  Haegan frowned. “I seek only to protect you. They are lawless—”

  She punched his side.

  Haegan doubled, groping for air. “Have you so firmly set your affections on him that you would injure a man you just called friend?”

  “Man? Hmph!” But then she craned her neck toward him, her brows digging into that pert nose. “Wait—you’re . . . you’re jealous?”

  “I assure you my intentions—”

  “Now you have intentions toward me?”

  Heat filled his face. “That is not at all what I meant. I only intend—meant to say that—”

  “He’s my brother, Prince Haegan.”

  The way she spat his name warred with the words that hadn’t quite caught up in his brain. Her brother? But that meant—