by Ronie Kendig
Haegan shook out his warmed hand. “They besmirched her.”
“So you’d kill them? Over an insult? And this is you not being so easily moved?”
Haegan’s anger had been bubbling again, awakening trouble. He slid his hands into his pockets, fixing his gaze on the grand stairs, where the doors had opened. “They don’t deserve her.” Breath held, he waited.
“But they can buy her, and most of the cities need the alliance and wealth of their king, so they are here, regardless of what they think of her.”
“Surely Thurig will not hand her over like a prize to these buffoons.”
It was then that Thurig stepped into view, resplendent in his official coat and circlet. He held out his arm and drew Thiel forward. A green dress spilled out in a rich, satiny shimmer. Her shoulders were bare, the gold ribbon trim of the dress accenting her naturally tanned skin. An elegant emerald choker rested in the hollow of her throat, pulsating beneath the lights.
“Wha—she’s got hair!” Laertes exclaimed.
Tokar clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth and pulled him back as people scowled at them. Clearly she had donned a wig for the ceremony, for the dark brown curls piled atop her head were more hair than she possessed. Thankfully, the applause and cheers welcoming the king’s daughter drowned the boy’s words.
But they could not drown the drum of Haegan’s heart as he watched her so gracefully descend those stairs. Nobody would ever know the journey she’d been on. The alleys she’d slept in. The Ematahri she’d warred with.
“What say we get that prig’s name and introduce him to Thiel for the first dance,” Tokar suggested.
“She’d never tolerate him,” Haegan said. “She’d punch him.”
Tokar grinned.
Ah. “Then she’d punch you.”
“It’d be worth it.” Tokar set off to put his mission into play. Haegan remained by the pillar. As much as he wanted to go to Thiel and dance with her, keep her to himself, he could not. This was her night with her people.
And there was the whole Fierian disaster. What would these people think if they knew the Reckoner stood in their midst? It churned his stomach. He could not imagine the riots if he were revealed. The thought pushed him into the shadows.
Once the dancing began, it didn’t take long for Tokar to get lured away by a pretty maiden. With each new partner Thiel danced with, Haegan grew more convinced she was lost to him. She belonged here. With her parents. With her people—Northlanders.
Laertes disappeared with one of the servants who’d carried off the empty bowls. Halfway through the night, a young woman in a light yellow gown twittered and shifted her way to the pillar Haegan propped up.
Praegur stood, frowning in consternation, but not looking at her.
“May I help you?” Annoyance wasn’t anger, so Haegan was safe, right? He had no intention of dancing with her.
“I—” Her gaze flicked to Praegur. “I—” She held out her card to Praegur. “Would you dance with me? Nobody—”
Praegur’s dark face went white.
“My friend—”
With a look at Haegan that said to be quiet, Praegur took her hand, tucked it under his arm, and led her onto the floor. The girl beamed, and Haegan gaped. Awareness, acute and icy, cut through him. There was no hope for him.
A sharp pang poked his ribs. Haegan arched his back. A hand clamped onto him. “Don’t think I don’t know what ye did.”
A face slid into his periphery. “Tili.”
The blade jabbed harder. “Spark and run? Is that yer tactic?”
“If it works . . .”
Tili chuckled. Patted his shoulder. “I like ye, princeling.”
Haegan skated a gaze around, nervous someone would hear, but then spotted Thiel. A crowd of nobles buzzed around her as she sipped from a glass. When their eyes met, Haegan felt a strange warming in the pit of his stomach. She smiled.
And made him wish he’d stolen that kiss at the Falls.
“Don’t entertain it.” Tili’s tone had shifted. A warning encased his words, surprising Haegan.
“I don’t know—”
“Ye do.” His features were stern and shadowed. “And I will take it very personally if ye pursue that path.” Tili turned and put his back to the ball, angling his head toward Haegan. “Pursue her, and I will pursue ye.” His dark eyes slammed into Haegan’s. “The path ye are on—ye risk her life, and I will na’ allow it.”
Tili slapped his shoulder and melted into the crowd. As if they’d just had a friendly conversation.
Her brother was right. There was no hope for him. The cruel words sent Haegan out for fresh air. The cold wind—was it ever not cold here?—breathed down from the mountains. He moved to the stone rail that hid in the shadows, wishing he, too, could hide. From this insane prophecy. From Abiassa.
His life as good as destroyed beneath the weight of this prophecy. Once word spread, everyone would try to kill him. He had only a few more weeks—months if he was lucky—of anonymity.
The laugher and merriment were too much, pushing him from the stone balcony to the lawn. He walked the shadows, glad for the soft grass beneath his feet. The quiet. Tugging up his collar, he warded off the biting wind. He strolled until he came to a hill and climbed it. From there, he could see the mountain that hid the Great Falls. The place that radically changed his life.
Beyond that . . . home. Mother and Father. Kaelyria. His sister—another point of futility. He’d inquired about her safety almost daily, but always, they said there was no word. How long did it take to reach Seultrie? Abiassa, show me! How is my family?
A low purr rattled behind him. Haegan held out a hand and soon felt the warm mist of welcome from Chima. She bumped her shoulder against his side, then circled him before trotting over to the river and lapping lazily at the silken waters.
A swishing noise whispered in the night air.
Haegan turned, surprised to find a green blur rushing at him. Thiel, skirts gathered in hand, hurried up the knoll. This must be a dream. She would not be here with him when she had hundreds of noblemen offering their keeps, lands, wealth, normalcy for her hand. Laughing, Thiel lunged at him. “Trying to escape, tunnel rat?”
He nearly fell backward, catching her. Though he helped right her, the soft touch of her bare arm against his palm awakened something in Haegan.
“I saw Tili talking to ye,” she said, twirling to face the same moon he’d been studying. But she kept no space between them and leaned back against his chest.
Haegan’s arms slid around her thin waist, his chin resting against her temple. Somehow, the wind was no longer cold. It was warm. Thick. Wonderful.
“Did he threaten to kill ye if ye asked for my hand?” She almost giggled.
“I think you’ve had too much cordi wine.”
She laughed. Then rolled her head against his shoulder so she could peer up at him. “Did he threaten ye?” Moonslight stroked her cheek and jaw, glittering on the gems at her ear and neck.
Mercy of Abiassa! She was so beautiful. So perfect.
Thiel spun and straightened, her expression tensing. “Tili threatened ye.”
Suddenly cold, Haegan took her hand and drew her back to himself. “Shh.” He had no idea how much time they’d have together, tonight or ever. He wanted to savor this. Make it last. And he couldn’t help it as he stared down into her amber eyes, but he touched the spot at her temple that the moon kissed. Satin.
Thiel’s lips parted, and she went very still. A spell seemed to have been cast—a halo, perhaps, locking them in this moment. He slid his hand behind her neck and traced her jaw with his thumb.
Thiel drew in a quick breath.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, lowering his head.
She leaned up, their lips meeting tentatively. Her brown eyes rose to his, questioning.
Haegan waited, giving her time to push him away. When she didn’t, he kissed her again, this time a bit longer. She melted against him, and
Haegan threw off reserve. Kissing her deeper, he tugged her a little tighter. Liked the way she fit in his arms, hers draped around his neck.
And he was lost. Lost to the rightness of being with her. To the shared passion. To the sweetness of her taste.
The blast of a horn startled them apart.
Haegan jerked around, breathing hard, holding Thiel close. “What was that?”
“The alarm—the main gate.” Thiel caught his hand and started running. “Something’s wrong.”
52
Halfway across the lawn and holding Thiel’s hand as they ran, Haegan saw two officers in green coats exit the grand hall, joining a cluster of green-clad men gathered. His heart vaulted into his throat. He skidded to a stop. Thiel darted around him, caught off guard.
“Haegan?” She looked at him, but his gaze was locked onto the elite guardsmen.
Jujak.
Mallius spotted him first. With a cry, he raised his hand and pointed. “Haegan of Zaethien, you will surrender at once and give no struggle.”
King Thurig stormed across the lawn. “Lieutenant, ye are a guest in my hold.” He turned to Graem Grinda. “Captain, I gave ye entrance, but this is not what ye agreed to.”
A muscle twitched in Captain Grinda’s jaw, but he held out a subduing hand to Mallius. “You’ve killed enough people, Prince Haegan. Come peacefully. Your Father would have justice.”
Thiel tightened her grip on Haegan’s arm.
Haegan wanted to fight the charges, fight being arrested, but the large crowd gathering on the terrace proved too humiliating. When he saw two guards break from the troops, Haegan did not move.
“Ye canna do this,” Thiel hissed at the captain. “Zireli is not sovereign in the Northlands!”
“I will cause no trouble for you.” Haegan looked at Thiel even as the Jujak approached. “I . . . I beg your mercy.” The two guards restrained his hands, and Haegan would have laughed were he not so grieved. If he but exerted his newfound gift, the leather straps would do little more than sizzle as they fell off.
He and Thiel most likely wouldn’t see each other again, not with the state of the Nine and the icy relations between the two kingdoms. His father—
Shouts went up. “Rider! Rider!”
King Thurig waved a hand, and Tili sprinted across the lawn, hopped over the retaining wall and vanished into the dark. The king turned to the valor guard. “Grinda, ye and yer men are surely exhausted. It is well past a riding hour. Come, enjoy the feast. Ye can set out in the morning.”
“Your generosity is kind, but we cannot waste even an hour.”
“Why?”
“Surely you are aware of the situation in Seultrie. Dyrth is encamped about the walls. I must return immediately.”
“To defend yer land, of course. But with the prince? What benefit is he there? Is he not safer here than barricaded in a beleaguered palace?”
Captain Grinda shifted, his barely suppressed rage flickering to the surface. “His safety is not my priority. He faces charges of treason.” He stepped back and saluted Thurig. “I have my orders. The Fire King would have his son.”
“Seultrie is besieged!” Tili’s shout cut off further argument as he raced back, tearing across the grass like a raqine. He skidded to a stop before his father. “The rider—the one we sent to Seultrie to alert Zireli has returned, shot through with an arrow. He was given a warning by Dyrth that any who dared an attempt to reach the Fire King would be killed. The city is razed. Those not dead have fled to Luxlirien.”
Haegan’s heart thudded. “My family!” He nearly choked. “What of my sister? My father!”
“Probably on the battlefield,” Relig offered.
“No,” Captain Grinda said, his voice quiet, his tone dark. “My father—General Grinda—sent word the king had returned to the keep before the Kindling. With what has transpired, I would wager he remained in Seultrie to face Dyrth.”
Tili shook his head. “I asked the messenger, but there is no word. The royal family hasn’t been seen. Windows in the keep are boarded up.”
Haegan walked a circle, hands still bound. Breathing hard. Hard to breathe. “Father,” he whispered. Kaelyria. If she had her gift, if she had not surrendered . . . she could have protected the city while their father-king was out warring. “I must go to her.”
“No!” Thiel cried, tugging at him.
He hated the panic he saw in her, but . . . “I must. She is undefended.”
“Yer father is the mightiest accelerant known to exist,” Thurig said. “Even I could not best him.”
Though Haegan looked at the king, all he saw was death. Death if he did not go. Death if he returned to face Poired Dyrth, the hand of Sirdar. He looked at his hands. Thought of the he-ahwl abiałassø. Could he do it? “You are less. Gwogh is less. My father will be less, too. I must go. I must try.”
A dark shape slipped through moonslight-filled night. Chima’s pace was fast but not frantic. She was coming.
She answers you.
Haegan looked to King Thurig, the heady realization of what he was thinking sinking in deep. To go back. To face Poired.
No. To save Kaelyria and his parents. To save the Nine Kingdoms. This wasn’t just about one family. Zaethien, the Celahars were the strongest obstacle to Sirdar’s domination of the realm. Perhaps of the planet.
“Prince Haegan—”
He singed the leather bindings. They hit the grass with a soft thump. When Grinda and Mallius looked to the ground, Haegan sprinted. Sprinted for all he was worth toward Chima. She came at him, full speed.
“Stop!”
Chima’s front paws rose off the ground. Her wings snapped open
Haegan threw himself at her back. Grabbed a fistful of fur. She shrieked in response, but catapulted them into the air.
53
Fly true, Chima. Fly hard.
Nearly frozen stiff, Haegan rode across the night through the countless hours toward his home. He whispered the words to his raqine many times over, praying she understood. It was only as they were airborne that he realized he had no idea how to fly her.
But that would be him dominating her. Thurig warned against that. So Haegan trusted. He blindly trusted the incredible beast beneath him. He pressed his face against Chima’s coat, warmed by her relentless effort to get him back to Seultrie.
Hold on, Kaelyria. I will not fail you.
As blue streaks cracked the predawn sky, Haegan saw the glint of smoke and fire in the distance. Dread poured through him, bringing with it a jolt of adrenaline. Fieri Keep burned.
• • •
She descended the spiral steps with the elegance that had always captivated him. Even now, in this dark hour, she reigned beautiful. None in the kingdom held a spark to her, save—perhaps—their daughter.
Once Adrroania’s foot hit the dirt floor, Zireli felt the presence of the Deliverer at his back, the unmistakable warmth. And though darkness held this space captive, Zireli could now see unencumbered, hours after the candle had been extinguished.
He watched in silence, concealed by the Void Walker, as she moved through the lower chamber of the library with ease and familiarity. It cemented his belief, his deduction. Broken of heart, he never took his gaze from her as she glided to the long table dividing the room.
She reached beneath the table. Then straightened. Bent again and looked harder.
“It’s not there,” Zireli said.
Adrroania spun, her eyes wide. “Zireli.” She sucked in a hard breath. “You know . . .” Nervous blue eyes took in the room. “How—”
“Ïmnathuæaeteçt hauĝht un mwæth.” A trill of warmth surged through him as he quoted the phrase in the old language.
“She will make the truth known,” Adrroania whispered, coiling her fist back from the table.
“You knew,” he said, the words laced with the anger he’d wrestled with over the last few hours, sitting in the dark, reading the hidden Parchments with that other sight.
“
You do not understand!”
“In this, you are right!”
A strange shriek rent the air, silencing them as the sound penetrated the walls and seared eardrums.
“Go to the tower,” the Deliverer spoke in his mind.
A terrible urgency catapulted Zireli out of the lower chamber. Though he heard Adrroania’s shouts behind him, he ran with singular focus to the tower where his daughter lay, trusting Abiassa to lead him. Show him.
“She’s not in the tower,” he finally heard his wife cry.
Yes—he’d forgotten in that moment of panic. So why was the Deliverer sending him there? Though he could not understand, Zireli ran. Trusted. He burst through the narrow wood door.
A terrible crash exploded seconds later.
He shielded himself as glass and stone rained down on the room. When he dared look, Zireli was not sure what shocked him more—to find his son standing before him, or the raqine perched on the windowsill.
“Chima, go! High,” Haegan said with a wave.
The mighty beast shrieked and tore off into the air.
His son! Abiassa had granted his last wish. Zireli hurried to him, arms out. “Haegan—”
“Stop!” His son threw out a hand.
Fiery embers rushed along the edges of Zireli’s arms and face, tingling. Singeing. Zireli stumbled back, staring. Embers. “It’s true, then. You . . . you can wield.”
“I—I beg your mercy.” Haegan swallowed. “I can’t control it, but do not test me, Father.” He seemed to tremble. Uncertain of himself and of Zireli’s response. “I came for Kae, not your anger. I did not do this, no matter what you believe.”
“I know—no. I believe you.” It was true. As the Parchments foretold. His son—his son!—was the Fierian. How was it possible?
Stalled in his tirade, Haegan stood with a furrowed brow.
Zireli knew how. His entire body shook with the emotion, the thrill of an answered plea. “I asked Her for one chance to defend your honor, to restore what was stolen from you so long ago.” His throat felt thick and raw. “I—”
Haegan’s eyes narrowed. “I shamed you as a cripple, and you disowned me.”
