Embers

by Ronie Kendig

  Snick!

  The panel to the right of the hearth opened.

  Like a tepid bath, warm air rushed over him. Drew him down . . . down . . .

  • • •

  “I look like a right lord, I do.” Laertes stood before the reflecting glass, holding the brass-buttoned jacket together at his waist. He turned, angling his head this direction and that. His blond hair was shinier than Thiel had ever seen it. Had he let someone trim it?

  She tucked a smile aside, knowing it’d irk the young lad. “And quite handsome. I had no idea yer hair was that yellow beneath the dirt and grime.”

  He licked a hand and smoothed it over his hair. “A little too clean, iffin you ask me.”

  A servant entered.

  “Could we—?” Thiel straightened. Shock flashed through her. Not a servant. “Tokar.”

  Though his chin lifted in pride, he stood silent for a moment, his eyes traipsing over her in the burgundy dress. Clearly he was as surprised by her appearance as she was by his. But perhaps his gaze lingered a little too long.

  Praegur joined him, thumping Tokar on the back.

  Tokar twitched. Shifted, obviously embarrassed at the way he’d stared at her. “The shirt itches.”

  Rolling her eyes, Thiel approached and straightened the tie around his throat. “They’re silk. Too soft to itch.”

  He made a choking noise. “This thing strangles.”

  She gave him a playful push. “Ye would do well to be grateful my brothers loaned ye clothes, or ye would be out in the bailey with the pigs.”

  “I’m grateful for a warm bed and meals I don’t have to scrounge for, but the clothes—” He tugged at the tie.

  Shoulders down, Praegur moved to a chair. Though he, too, wore a new set of clothing, what defined Praegur was his presence. Much like Haegan. Her heart hurt remembering what had happened to Praegur that night in the tent. He was still unable to speak. No explanation, though the king had a pharmakeia examine him.

  She touched his shoulder. “Ye look very nice, my friend.”

  He nodded. His gaze roamed the room and came back to her in question.

  “Haegan?” When he nodded, she smiled. “Resting.” She shrugged when he groaned. “He sleeps a lot.”

  “Did he tell you what happened?” Tokar joined them around the table that offered a basket of fruit and warmed cordi juice. “The explosion and all?”

  “And does he have special powers and all now? You know, powers what She gave him for to rule the world?”

  “Grow up,” Tokar said.

  “I am growing up. Can’t right stop that.” Laertes trotted to a small sofa and sat. He tugged at the socks and stretched his legs.

  “Haegan hasn’t talked much, but no—he has no recollection of what happened at the Falls.” She watched as her friends enjoyed the simple snack that was to them, after years traveling from once place to another, a luxury. “What of Drracien? Perhaps we should ask him. Where is he?”

  Tokar chomped into an apple, then tucked the chunk of fruit to the side of his cheek like a squirrel. “Haven’t seen him all morning.”

  Praegur rolled his hands over one another, gesturing something.

  Thiel wasn’t sure what he meant by that. It seemed—

  “Accelerant,” Laertes said around a mouthful of orange.

  “Yes, Drracien.” When her mute friend shook his head, she finally understood. “Oh! Pao’chk. Ye think he went down to see the healer?”

  “Or the o’fer one. The tall one wif the beard what tried to save Haegan.”

  “Gwogh,” Thiel spoke. Yes, that would make sense. Curiosity tugged at her—were Gwogh and Drracien perhaps talking about Haegan? About what happened? She rose. “If you’ll excuse me—”

  “What is that?” Tokar screwed up his face tight. “Why are you going all stiff on us?”

  Though she felt the flush of embarrassment, Thiel held her poise. “I was just trying to be polite.”

  “What? Are this house and the clothes changing you?” Tokar growled.

  “No.”

  “Because you don’t need to change. We liked you just as you were. And what’s with the way you’re talking now? It’s all . . . Northlander.” Lifting his hands, Tokar stood. “If that’s how this is going to be, maybe we shouldn’t be here.”

  “This is my home—in the Northlands, in case ye didn’t notice. And this is my family.” Incredulous, she set her glass of juice on the table. “I know not what ails ye, Tokar, but I would strongly suggest ye exercise some humility, as ye are guests in my home.”

  “You don’t live here!” Tokar shouted. “You lived with us. Fought with us!” His lip curled. “Are we nothing to you now? Have you changed so much in a fortnight that you do not remember your friends?”

  “I haven’t changed,” she bit out, moving away from him and his condescension.

  He reached for her.

  “Don’t ye dare.” Heart pounding, she stepped back. “I might not have lived here for a while, but this is my home. And unlike ye, I’ve always had good manners and courtesy. Ye should try some.”

  “Naw,” Laertes said, sinking his teeth into a cordi. “It’d just make him itch.”

  Tokar swiped at Laertes.

  When she turned toward the door, Thiel stopped short. Tili and Relig stood there, their matching scowls locked onto Tokar. Older than Relig by ten months, Tili turned sideways, holding a hand toward the grand hallway. “Kiethiel, I would have a word.”

  Frustrated that Tokar, who’d been a strong friend and companion in the last two years, had made such an unfavorable impression, Thiel moved toward her brother.

  Passing her, Relig gave a nod.

  “Relig,” she said, touching his arm—she blinked at how corded his muscles had grown since she was last home. “He meant no harm.”

  His slanted look expressed his disapproval quite clearly. Though he gave no reassurance, she was sure that his silence left the future of Tokar’s presence in Nivar Hold up to his behavior and attitude.

  “Kiethiel,” Tili urged her away from their brother, offering his arm.

  As they stepped into the large marbled hall, she blew a breath between puffed cheeks. Guilt hung on her at Tokar’s accusations. She must admit she loved being home. Loved wearing clean, comfortable dresses. Hand laced around her brother’s arm, she detected the tautness. “Ye’re angry.”

  “He’s insolent. Treated ye with disrespect and abuse.”

  She laughed. “If ye only saw what I have endured these last years . . .”

  “I care not—nay, I do. But that is passed. Ye are here, in our father’s house.” Tili’s jaw muscle flexed. “If I see him touch ye like that again . . .”

  His protectiveness had never waned. She rested her head against his shoulder, surprised at how the years had vanished between them. “Ah, Tili. How I have missed ye, brother.”

  “Do not think to deter my anger with yer womanly wiles.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Wiles?”

  “Aye, ye and our mother are far too practiced.”

  As they walked the stairs to the third level slowly in companionable silence, her levity faded. “I am so conflicted.”

  “About?”

  “Everything. I think it will take years for me to acclimate. I just want to be here, to remember how to be an Asykthian daughter.” She sagged beneath her thoughts. “He is right—I have changed.”

  “Do not tell him that before Relig has a chance to inflict some humility upon that impudent thin-blood.”

  Thiel raised her head. “What is Relig going to do to him?”

  “Probably give him over to Aburas.”

  Thiel widened her eyes and stopped. “The captain of—”

  “Colonel. He is second in command only to myself and Father now.”

  Thiel couldn’t help but chuckle. “That will definitely teach him some humility.” She stared up at the paintings of their ancestors as they walked the long hall. “Being back here, with ye and ou
r parents, is an answer to a prayer I whispered every night though I never believed it could happen.”

  “Yet . . .?”

  “It’s so strange. The beds too soft. The dresses”—she lifted her skirt—“too . . . airy.”

  He laughed. “And what of the prince?”

  She gave him a startled look as they stopped before the solar. “Haegan?”

  He snorted a laugh, then nodded, indicating she’d just answered his question.

  “What?”

  Hands on his belt, he heaved a breath. “Ye address him by his given name.”

  “So?”

  “It is too intimate! He is the prince of the Nine, Kiethiel! Were it to be heard, ye would be punished for addressing him so casually.”

  “He’s not like that.”

  “He is.”

  “He’s not!” She almost stamped her foot.

  “By his very blood, he is, because he was born to that title. He is a royal!”

  “As am I!”

  “Who must address a future king appropriately. Even if he’s not yer future king.”

  Future king. She touched her forehead at the heady proclamation. However . . . “Haegan won’t be king. His sister is set to rule.” He’d said that, but, of course, that was before he was healed.

  Tili sighed and held her shoulders. “He is alive. No one’s rule is guaranteed. Even if Princess Kaelyria should take the throne, she could be killed. Or overthrown.” His dark brown eyes probed her. “As long as the prince lives, he is in the line of succession.”

  Thiel wrested from his grip, frightened and pained at the thought of Haegan succeeding. “He is my friend.”

  With a knowing smile, Tili shook his head. “Do not think me a fool, sister. There is more than friendship that lingers in yer eyes each time ye look at him.”

  She turned away. Searched for an escape. “Is this why ye pulled me from my friends?” Would that she had her dagger.

  He huffed. “Ye are no easier to corral now than when ye were but a lass.” He bobbed his head toward the double doors of the solar. “Our father would have a word.”

  Thiel blanched. “Why? About what?”

  Shrugging, Tili opened the door.

  Smoothing her hands down the front of her gown, she stepped into the solar. Their father sat in his favorite chair, a cigar in his mouth as he read documents. Mother, situated near the window with a book in hand, glanced up. “Thurig.”

  “Eh?” Her father shifted the papers and brightened when he saw Thiel. “Ah, Kiethiel!” He tucked his cigar in a tray and set aside the papers. “Come in, my lass!”

  “As’Tili said ye would speak to me?”

  “Yes, yes.” He was on his feet and ushering her toward the settee. “Please.” When she took the seat, she folded her hands, feeling awkward.

  He peered at her. “How are ye?”

  “Well, Father. Tired, but well. It will do me good to rest and just have some peace and quiet with my family.”

  Her father’s eagerness waned. “Yes. Well, that will happen . . . eventually.”

  Her stomach twisted into a knot.

  “Notices were sent out this morning.”

  The knot tightened. “For?”

  “A ball! We are inviting all the Northlands to celebrate yer return!”

  • • •

  “Mastering the finer art of sitting up?”

  Haegan tore his gaze from the window and his thoughts from how similar the view was to what he had at Zaethien. One of Thiel’s brothers propped himself against the doorpost. Haegan glanced down at the embroidered chair Pao’chk had put him in, feeling inferior in every way possible—looks, strength, position. “It was only supposed to be for a moment, but I think my absent-minded healer may have forgotten me.”

  “More like got lost on his way out of the tavern.” Tili folded his arms over his chest. “The king thinks ye should have daily exercise on the lawn to speed your recovery.”

  “Oh.” Haegan glanced around and nodded. “I’ll notify—”

  Tili stepped out, then rolled a wheeled chair into the room. “Yer carriage awaits. Have ye yer bonnet?”

  Haegan wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be insulted. In Fieri Keep, no one would ever talk to him as such. Yet he liked the teasing. It reminded him of Kaelyria. “Very well.”

  Tili lifted him from the chair.

  “I can—”

  And grunted. “Might lay off the stew,” Tili said as he lowered him onto the wheeled chair.

  Another taunt. “As I was trying to say, I can walk.” Just not for long.

  Wheeled down the passage, Haegan felt the draft through his clothes, though he wore both a tunic and pants. In fact, very nice clothing at that. A woman in tan skirts and a white cap stepped into the hall but jumped back with a yelp.

  “Chariot races, Atai,” Tili said in a warning tone as they rolled past her, then trounced down a short flight of stairs to the main floor.

  A screech echoed through the entire hold.

  Haegan tensed, the sound vaguely familiar and . . . haunting.

  Without warning, Tili popped the chair back, thudding Haegan’s head against the top, and spun around in the opposite direction. Tightening his grip, Haegan tried to pretend he wasn’t startled. The king’s son drove him down a long hall, passing several large rooms and a kitchen. Then through a pair of double doors onto a paved garden area at the back of the hold.

  “A little slower, perhaps?” Haegan said, shifting nervously.

  Tili continued, right off the stoned area where bumps were limited to the joints between pavers.

  Another shriek sliced the air, then turned to a low rumble.

  Haegan’s nerves jounced. “Wha – what was that?” He glanced up at his driver.

  Grinning, Tili quickened his pace but gave no answer as he drove Haegan right off the end of the pavers onto the pebbled path, the chair vibrating hard.

  Haegan could feel the low, mournful sound as if it were in his own chest. He touched his head, feeling a faint wave of nausea. Perhaps it was a reaction to the wheeled chair and being violently pushed across the gravel and onto grassy lawn. Bumping. Jarring. Up a hill. Faster. They crested it. The other side spread out into a lush meadow with a river cutting through it.

  “Tili—”

  Out of nowhere, a large shadow dropped over them. Haegan froze. The chair stopped. A gust of wind blasted the back of Haegan’s neck. Massive and black, a large beast swooped down and landed with a soft thud against the grass. Wings folded. Black. Muzzle. Blazing eyes. The creature launched at Haegan.

  He screamed. Threw himself sideways, away from the horrible creature. The chair tilted. The world upended. Haegan scrambled, fought against weakened limbs.

  Laughter—laughter pervaded the afternoon.

  Haegan looked up, sun blotting out the features of man standing over him, chortling. “What—?”

  But Tili only laughed harder. Wiping tears from his eyes, Tili clapped. “That was priceless.”

  “Ye fool, Thurig as’Tili!” Thiel’s voice hissed into Haegan’s awareness. He pulled himself upright and glanced to where her voice had come from. “I will end ye, brother!” Running, the skirts of her blue and silver gown gathered in her fists, Thiel barreled at her brother.

  Knocked him over.

  Tili laughed harder, then clamped his hands on her wrists as she fought to hit him.

  “That was cruel!” she growled at him.

  Haegan scrambled around, searching for the beast, surprised when he found it lying on the grass, panting softly, a look of pleasure squinting its eyes. As brother and sister fought, Haegan dragged himself off the ground. When he finally gained his feet, he started.

  The creature—a raqine. It had to be a raqine—now stood. Staring at him.

  Haegan braced himself, both for physical reasons but also for the terror that beset him. He took in the raqine’s enormous body. The lean frame could easily have been mistaken for a cat’s. But very muscular. Tautly m
uscular. There wasn’t a spot that didn’t ripple with the slightest twitch. His—her?—eyes were black, and yet they blazed with intensity and deliberate focus.

  He wanted to get closer, but dare he? Haegan took a tentative step forward. He moved slowly on shaky legs, afraid to spook the creature. The raqine seemed to bob its head.

  Giving me permission to approach.

  “Ye have gone mad, prince,” he could imagine Tili saying if he knew Haegan’s thoughts. A half-dozen paces, each one oddly strengthening instead of weakening, had Haegan at the raqine’s side.

  “Her name is Chima,” came Thiel’s soft voice beside him. “She’ll need to accept ye.”

  “Ho–how does she do that?”

  Chima stretched her neck, nudging her wet snout beneath Haegan’s chin. He stumbled back, the force of her nudge not violent, but in his weakened condition, nearly strong enough to knock him off his feet.

  “Like that.” Hand to his back for support, Thiel chuckled.

  “Then I’m accepted?” He held out his hand, palm up.

  Thiel turned it sideways. “Neither party—the raqine nor the human—is subservient. Give her that respect by holding your hand straight.”

  Chima sniffed, then rubbed her face along it. Haegan smiled. She pushed harder and stretched into his hand, forcing his fingers to run along her neck, then her spine.

  His laughter grew. “They’re real.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it was too incredible.

  “She saved yer life,” Tili said, arms folded once more as they watched Chima return to a spot on the grass and slump down, paws crossed. “Nearly destroyed the den and bailey escaping.”

  “What?” Haegan frowned.

  “She woke us all out of a dead sleep with the commotion. I ran to the window in time to see her burst out of her den, which they normally give no complaint about. Then, with a shriek that would curdle yer blood, she tore into the sky and took off.”

  Another raqine emerged from the woods, this one a touch smaller than Chima but no less fearsome.

  “That’s Zicri,” Tili said. “He is bonded to me.”

  “Bonded?”

  Tili had the same dark brown hair as his sister and the same intensity in his eyes. “Each raqine chooses a human with which to bond.”