by T. K. Kiser
Bodies of the Heartless Ones lay scattered over the drying mud and sand. Between the bodies lay coins and weapons that a few centaurs were now snatching up.
David helped Carine out of the healing pool, but as soon as she stepped onto dry land, she froze. There was a familiar green cloak laying in a pile.
“No,” she breathed.
David hesitated. “Firebrand’s heir didn’t make it.” He spoke the name with purpose, keeping Carine’s secret.
“Serves him right,” Giles said. “All that power finally killed him. As you two approached the flame, he mispronounced so fast that he was spitting. When you went in, he tried something else, but whatever it was didn’t work, and he fell over, dead.”
Carine was hardly listening. She strode to his frail, pale body and turned it over. Didda’s face was finally peaceful, and the blood that stained his clothes was starting to dry. She held his collar and wept for him, but nothing reawakened his soul.
“You are very empathetic,” Giles said as she searched through the stones for the one that said healing. Holding it and touching the body, nothing changed, but even the pain of the Manakor paled in comparison to her heartbreak.
Didda had loved and protected Carine to the end. But Carine didn’t consider today as the day that her Didda really died. He had been poisoned little by little by his mispronunciation. She watched his face, peaceful now after so many days of frenzied anxiety, and vowed never to mispronounce. Her father’s slow corruption would not be in vain. She would never follow that treacherous path, and she would always remember the sacrifices—however misguided—that he’d made for her sake. She was now the heir to Firebrand’s legacy, and she would let the bloodline end with her.
When ready and with David’s help, Carine pushed the peaceful corpse into the healing pool, covered him in the few blooms she could find, and washed him in the purest water. She brought her fingers to her lips and her heart, and then released them out as he floated farther and farther away.
52 A New Esten
It was fall. The trees were bright red and orange, and the crisp fall air sent a pleasant breeze through Esten. Carine and her mom were wrapped in their cloaks as they crossed the repaired bridge into South Esten. Ahead, the tall limestone dragon breathed onto a torch. This time, it was lit.
“What was it like?” Mom had asked in hushed tones in the dark. Ever since Didda died, they shared the mattress and often fell asleep talking about the places Carine had seen and the beautiful memories they had had with Didda.
“Magical,” Carine had answered, watching her mom blink from her pillow, “in a good way.”
Mom had smiled and sighed.
“Did you know about Didda’s magic?” Carine found the strength to ask.
Mom shook her head sadly. “I didn’t know until just after you left Esten the second time. I didn’t know why he was always so strict about Manakor and Festival, but once you left for the dragon, I was terrified. He ran down the street after the horses you were on with the princes. When I told him where you went, he whispered that language and blasted a brick wall.”
Mom shivered, even now.
“I don’t think he meant to become addicted to it. By the time I figured out that he had the powers, he was already racing after you, mumbling to himself about how to get you home safe. When he left, Esten settled down for a while. I waited at home and fixed it up as best I could.” She met Carine’s eyes, the depth of her love and fear piercing to the core. “When I heard the princes had returned to the city, I told myself I had to resist going to the castle to see you, just in case you weren’t with them. And then you walked through that door.”
Mom squeezed Carine close and kissed her forehead.
Even though the windows were fixed and the shoes replenished by Carine’s hard hours at work, everything about the house made Carine feel that something was missing. It was a similar feeling to when Louise had died, but this time, there was something redemptive about it too. When Louise died, the family collapsed into hiding and darkness.
But this time, the shoe shop seemed always full of light, not because of Didda’s death but in spite of it. Carine was different now. This time, Mom and Carine spent most of their time outside: Carine with the princes, and Mom with her estranged family and friends.
Carine held Mom’s hand. Carine always wore gloves now, like Didda, because she didn’t want to accidentally touch a Manakor word, and because, in a strange way, it made her feel connected to him. Shoemaking also gave her that deep sense of connection, so she decided to stay with that career—at least for now.
Giles suggested that all the knights buy from Carine’s shop, so she was swamped with orders, especially when she agreed to give the knights a discount in exchange for tutoring in the Bastion. David and Giles agreed to share their tutor, Alviar, and once a week, the centaur trained her in the Bastion’s cramped library. She studied history, science, math, and most importantly, Manakor.
To her relief, Alviar never asked her to pronounce in lessons. She merely studied the one hundred published words, memorizing, reading, writing, and learning how the words have affected nature. He told her and the princes stories of the voyage home from Ilmaria where he and Marcel had taken refuge.
As Carine and Mom approached Bastion Park, where the ceremony was to begin, they threaded their way through crowds. At the base of the tower stood Prince Marcel, lavishly clothed like a hero with a shiny helmet, holding his sword to open the sword fighting championship. His practiced smile met the applause of the crowd. His Majesty King Marcel placed a hand on his heir’s shoulder, beaming as though Marcel had been the one to save the kingdom. Of course, everyone believed that Marcel was the hero.
The king knew the truth, as did Alviar, who, standing loyally at Prince Marcel’s side, bowed slightly to Carine, making eye contact.
“It was through true heroism,” said King Marcel, “that my grandson delivered this enchanted flame to protect our noble city. These matches will
test our knights’ heroism and skill as well.”
Mom made knowing eyes at Carine. She smiled back. Two cloaked figures sidled up beside her.
“Psst.”
In the shadow of his hood, Carine distinguished David’s face.
“Hello, Carine,” said Giles, who was not as overflowing with affection but carried his delight in a muted smile.
Carine beamed. “Aren’t you supposed to be up front?”
David took her gloved hand. “Yeah, but there’s something you have to see.”
Mom shrugged when Carine silently asked for permission to go, so she wound through the crowd behind the princes. In another five minutes, she had climbed the wide, white steps of the dragon’s tail. She followed the princes through a doorway within the tower and up a winding spiral staircase to the top and stopped outside a closed door.
“Remember how you said the views from the Bastion were great?” David asked. He swung the door open and light flooded in.
Carine stepped onto the balcony, an enormous white plate beside the carved dragon’s magnificent teeth. A flame burned in the middle of the plate. She stared at the dragon’s form, and then met David’s eyes. They hadn’t talked about their experiences in the flame, but it had forged a bond between them that she couldn’t explain.
“Look,” he said, gesturing out to the sea.
The breeze coolly ruffled their clothes as Carine stood as close to the edge of the plate as she dared.
The blue, calm sky stretched large and beautiful
over the endless ocean and precise horizon. On her left, the ships looked small. Across the plate behind her were the buildings of Esten, which had once been the only city she thought she’d ever know. Beyond the marshes and the autumn trees, she thought she could distinguish a speck of light from another tower on the border.
Her past was small and dim, but with her friends at her side, her present was full, bright, and alive.
“I want to see Kavariel next year when he flies o
ver during Festival,” she said, wondering what Louise would think of that if she were alive now, wondering if Louise would have come with her to the healing pools, wondering if she could ever sort out her mixed feelings of dragons and magic.
Giles raised an eyebrow, but his smile revealed amusement. “Then of course you should join us at the Bastion. Festival inside the castle is a much finer experience than out in the streets.”
“Okay,” she said, ready for anything now. She stretched out her arms and let the breeze surround her.
“But you do realize that the dragon will be there?” David teased.
“Let’s hope so.”
“And there will be wishstones and enchantments.”
“Yes, I realize,” she said as David grinned. She had learned that it wasn’t the enchantment itself that was dangerous, but how it was used.
“And there will be crowds and food and dancing.”
“Good,” said Carine.
“Okay, then.” David shrugged and recited Esten’s most traditional Festival phrase with teasing eyes. “Don’t get burnt.”
53 Blade
By the healing pools, Giles held the torch in his left hand and his sword in his right. The heir of Firebrand still sputtered and murmured as David and Carine ran toward the dragon through the steam, smoke, and fire.
All the world was false or simple, yet here on this sword could be its salvation. Firebrand’s blood thickened on the blade, where it threatened to spill down onto the bare earth. Giles smelled the blood of Firebrand, the blood that had once belonged to a dragon and contained its fearsome powers.
One drop was all it had taken then, and one drop was all that he needed now.
His Majesty Prince Giles, third heir to the throne of Navafort, stuck out his tongue and licked the blade clean.
Coming Soon!
The adventure will continue in The Manakor Chronicles: Book 2. Join the T.K. Kiser Readers’ Group at TKKiser.com for updates, sneak peeks, and more ways to explore the kingdom of Navafort.
Acknowledgements
Publishing a book takes a lot of work and cooperation, and there is no way you’d be reading this without the help of a lot of special and talented people, some of whom are listed below.
For encouraging my work from the start, thanks to my grandparents, my parents, my siblings, my friends, my teachers throughout the years, and my wonderful husband. Thank you for demonstrating such patience and support.
For this book in particular I would like to thank my incredible beta readers: Jasmine, Natalia, Leanna, Sophie, and Abby. Special thanks to Megan Koon and Dr. Feldman for your help and guidance along the way. Editors Courtney Diles Henderson, Kathleen Tracy, and Shannon Thompson have taken great care of this book. Without their thoughtful insight, The Firebrand Legacy would never have turned into what it is today. Of course, I’m also obsessed with my cover design, and can't thank Ami Leshner enough for her beautiful work.
Finally, thanks to you, dear reader, for perusing these pages. May you find courage and hope in all your adventures.
AMDG,
T.K. Kiser
About the Author
T.K. Kiser writes fiction in Greenville, South Carolina. When she isn’t writing, she researches everything, relishes good conversations, and buys too many books.
Find her online on Facebook, Twitter, and at TKKiser.com.
