A Promise of Fire

by Amanda Bouchet

  The addict slips from my mind as soon as he’s out of sight, growing hazy like everything else. Cheerful, carefree, I hum, floating up and down the market rows. There’s something else I need. What?

  Can’t remember. Don’t really care.

  I stumble. Beta Sinta catches me, his hands circling my waist.

  “You’re high on euphoria.” He’s holding on to me. I think he’s holding me up. His large hands skim up my ribs, steadying me. “A strong dose, calibrated to a man twice your size.” He gazes down at me, and I see my face reflected in the darkest part of his gray eyes. “How did that happen?”

  I motion for him to lower his head so I can whisper in his ear. His cheek brushes mine, and warmth rushes through me. I press into his jaw, curious about the feel of the two days’ worth of beard on his skin. It prickles, but not unpleasantly.

  “I can steal magic,” I tell him. “If you had any, I’d steal yours.”

  He lifts his head, his eyes shadowed. I don’t know what to make of his expression. I don’t know what to make of anything. I’ve never felt this way before—disconnected from myself, confused, and happy. It’s a relief not to be scared anymore. So freeing. I should do this more often. I’m having the time of my life!

  “I can give it away, too.” I direct some euphoria at Beta Sinta. It bounces back to me with a shudder, and I frown. “You don’t want any?” Is he supposed to have a choice? I try again, and the same thing happens. “There’s something very strange about you.” For some reason, that makes me laugh so hard I sound like a donkey.

  After I stop braying, it occurs to me that the problem might be me. I wiggle out of Beta Sinta’s grasp and throw some magic at Kato.

  Kato grins and leans to the left. “Everything’s pink!” He turns, loses his balance, and upends an entire display of boots, belts, and other leather goods.

  “For the Gods’ sakes!” Beta Sinta mutters. He hands the furious vendor a silver coin for the inconvenience. “Flynn! Take care of him. Take him back to the inn. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, knock anything else over, or kill anyone by accident.”

  “Oh, no!” I cry. “We mustn’t kill by accident. Only on purpose.”

  “My sentiment exactly,” Beta Sinta grumbles, taking my hand and pulling me down the street. He looks a lot like I might be on his kill list.

  I giggle. Carver follows.

  “Where are we going?” I dance a Fisan jig around Beta Sinta, making him turn in circles. The dust I kick up shimmers like ice crystals under a winter sun. I long for the cold, the kind of cold that makes your brain freeze.

  Where is my brain? I can’t feel my head!

  My hands fly up, and I dig through my braid, pulling it apart until I feel scalp. Oh, good. Still there.

  “We have one more thing to buy,” Beta Sinta says.

  “I knew it!” I yell, clapping in triumph. “What?”

  “A drying cloth.”

  That sounds boring. Something shiny catches my eye. I veer to the right, taking Beta Sinta with me. “A sword! I want a sword. Can I have a sword?”

  “You can’t even lift a sword,” he says, but he follows me along the vendor’s table anyway.

  “I can. Watch me.” I reach for the biggest, shiniest blade in the merchant’s wares. It won’t budge. “That’s odd. Someone must have glued it.” I lean over the sword and keep going until my face lands on metal.

  “Ow!” I rub my nose, and my finger comes away bloody. Seeing the red smear should worry me, but I can’t remember why.

  “Blood.” Mother’s voice haunts me from far away. “Spill it. Shed it. Bathe in it. Make people fear you.”

  Laughter bubbles up inside me. I’ve never found Mother funny before. This euphoria stuff is great!

  Beta Sinta leans close to inspect my nose. He brushes hair out of my face with callused fingers that are light and warm.

  On impulse, I lift my hands and trail my fingers over the dark stubble shadowing his cheeks. “Hmmm. Scratchy.”

  He stares down at me as he catches my hands and slowly lowers them, keeping my fingers trapped loosely in his. His thumbs skate over my knuckles, and a lovely flutter tickles my ribs.

  “The cut’s nothing,” he says, his voice unusually soft. A few heartbeats pass before he lets me go and turns to the vendor, nodding to a half-sized sword at the far end of the table.

  The merchant hands it to him, and Beta Sinta inspects the weapon, testing its weight and balance and making sure the blade is straight.

  “We’ll take it,” he finally says. “And your smallest sword belt with dagger loops.”

  “You’re buying me a sword? And a belt for my knives?” Thrilled, I leap on him like an octopus, clinging to him with arms and legs. So more like a quadropus. Does that even exist?

  Gods! His skin is on fire!

  Beta Sinta’s arms lock around me. Thunder rolls in my ears, and I cock my head, listening for more. He goes utterly still. Does he hear it, too? Then he inhales so deeply that his chest expands, pressing into me. A dizzying sensation sweeps through me. Against my neck, his shuddering exhale stirs my hair and sends a rush of goose bumps down my spine.

  I shiver, giggling breathlessly. “Ack! That tickles!”

  With a strained chuckle, he untangles my limbs and sets me back on my feet, standing protectively over me. I can’t help smiling up at him. He’s such a contradiction. So arrogant and yet so reasonable.

  “The sword’s really for me?” I ask.

  His hands linger on my waist, his splayed fingers pressing lightly into my sides. “You said you wanted one.”

  My smile widens. “In that case, I want two! One for each hip.” I can already imagine my swagger.

  He laughs, his expression a disconcerting mix of humor and indulgence. “Let’s start with one,” he says, pulling me a shade closer.

  I gaze up at him. My brain is fuzzy, my limbs are light, and no one has ever looked at me the way he does. The undisguised heat in his quicksilver eyes makes it hard to breathe.

  Beta Sinta pays for the sword. It’s short, about two and a half feet long, with a rounded guard shaped like a loosely woven basket of laurel leaves.

  “Can I have it?” I ask, bouncing next to him. “Can I? Can I, please?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “You can have it when I can trust you.”

  That sounds logical. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” He arches dark eyebrows. “That’s it?”

  “What’s it?” There’s a bee buzzing in my ear. I swat at it, laughing. It turns into a Centaur and gallops away. “Did you see that?” I cry.

  “See what?”

  “The bee. The Centaur bee. The pink one.”

  Beta Sinta rolls his eyes—something I never thought he’d do—grabs my hand, and drags me through the market. Colors, sounds, and spicy scents swirl through the fog in my brain. I float through them. I have to dance. I dance and skip like the child I was never allowed to be. I’m happy. I fear nothing. I don’t have to watch my back. There’s a giant butterfly doing that.

  It lands on my shoulder, flaps powdery wings, and whispers, “I’ll take care of you.”

  I look up, beaming. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Beta Sinta says.

  “Not you.”

  He frowns, and I laugh, dancing some more. When I fall, Carver helps me up. I smile and give him my best curtsy. It’s really well done. There isn’t a princess in the three realms that could do better.

  Carver bows back, and it’s awful. I laugh until I snort. Mother would not approve.

  Beta Sinta lightly tugs my hand, and I stumble to the right, landing in a sea of drying cloths. They hang and flap, rainbow sails in the afternoon breeze. I jump, trying to touch the highest one while he plows through the stock on the table, looking fo
r something in that efficient manner of his.

  “This one,” he tells the merchant. It’s mid-sized and a disgusting shade of yellow.

  “Is that for me?”

  He nods, and I scrunch up my nose.

  “Not that one. It looks like Cerberus threw up on it.” I look around. “I want that one!” It’s bright red and three times too big. I love it!

  He throws the yellow cloth back on the table and buys the red.

  Done with the market, he tows me back toward the inn again. Suddenly light-headed, I plop down in the middle of the cobbled street, hearing Beta Sinta’s grunt when the rope cuts into his hips.

  I squint up at him. “Serves you right. You could just untie me. Or let me go.”

  He smirks. “And miss all this fun?”

  I burst out laughing. A second later, he grins back. His smile is broad and makes my heart thump an irregular beat. His nose is a bit hooked, but that makes his face different, interesting. So does the scar. I can’t remember why I don’t like him. In fact, I—

  My head snaps around. I felt something. I want it. I jump up, my feet flying.

  “Where are you going?” Beta Sinta falls into stride next to me. Carver is on my other side, easily keeping pace.

  I don’t answer because I don’t know, not until we turn a corner and race up the steps of a bathhouse. I barrel through the front doors, startling a couple on their way out. Their white robes are cinched with matching hammered-gold belts. Shiny!

  I reach for the woman’s belt. She slides away from me, and I let her go. There’s something more important here.

  There’s a side for women and a side for men. I don’t care which is which, and I don’t stop to find out. I turn right and run down the marble hallway. There are waves under my feet. Cool foam curls between my toes. I shriek with laughter as a Satyr chases me, trying to pinch my cheeks.

  A tall, heavy door stops me in my tracks. I reach for the latch, but for some reason, I keep missing it.

  “I get the feeling you’ve never been high before,” Beta Sinta says, leaning around me to open the door.

  “Have you?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. His eyes dance with silver streaks. They glitter like far-off galaxies in the deep of night. I stare into the scatter of stars, falling, falling…

  “Looks like fun,” Carver says, pulling me out of space.

  I turn to the wiry swordsman. “Want some? It’s fabulous!”

  “No thanks.” Carver grins. “Offering anything else?”

  I giggle and blush. Then my smile turns into a pout. “Don’t flirt.”

  Carver does his best to look stricken, ignoring Beta Sinta’s glare. “Why not?”

  “Don’t you know? Poseidon sent your incredibly annoying brother to me with an oracular dream. Once-in-a-lifetime thing. Except for most people. Most people never have one. Anyway”—I roll my eyes—“he probably thinks it means something.” I snort. “I’d rather eat goat balls. Or goat shit.” I frown, confused. “Or goat cheese!” I shout triumphantly.

  They stare at me. I could catch flies in their open mouths. I don’t want any flies, even pink ones.

  “Oracular dream?” Beta Sinta says.

  “She’s a wealth of information,” Carver murmurs.

  “What? Never heard of one?” I shrug. “I’m hot.” Remembering the water, I turn, trip over my own feet, and crash to the floor.

  Beta Sinta sets me upright. I run again, driven by blind need. Booted footsteps follow. The rope draws taut and then gives as we burst into a bathing chamber with three naked men. I laugh at their startled expressions and then yank my tunic over my head.

  Beta Sinta’s eyes widen. “For the Gods’ sakes, Cat!”

  I keep stripping, tossing my clothes into a messy heap.

  “Out!” he barks to the room.

  There must be something scary about him because all three men jump out of the pool and run, leaving puddles on the floor.

  They disappear, and I turn back to Beta Sinta. He doesn’t look that scary to me. I tilt my chin, inspecting him. His hair is the color of a starless night, shiny, and curling softly around his neck. I reach up, playing with the silky strands. They look like ink splashed across my fingers.

  Smiling, I smooth stray locks away from his face and then pat his head. “Good Beta.”

  There’s a low rumble in his throat.

  “Woof!” I bark back.

  He grins. Then his eyes drop to my bare chest. His smile freezes, his nostrils flaring as his hands curl into fists.

  Heat explodes inside me along with a thousand tiny wings. A flush sweeps up my neck. My nipples harden under his smoldering gaze, and I’m suddenly intensely aware of my own breasts—the sway and the weight, the roundness of them. A muscle ticks in his jaw before his eyes drift down, taking in the rest of me. His expression reminds me of a starving man who just stumbled upon his next meal. Focused. Hungry. Ready to pounce.

  “Untie me or get in.” My voice is husky. There’s a butterfly colony inside me.

  Beta Sinta steps closer to shield me from Carver’s view, ordering his brother out of the room. Carrying most of our purchases, Carver backs away with his usual bravado. I blow him a saucy kiss over Beta Sinta’s shoulder, startled when a violent sound rattles in Beta Sinta’s chest.

  Carver laughs his way out of the room. Quickly.

  Warm air brushes my skin. All of it. It’s Beta Sinta’s heat. He’s that close. I think I’m forgetting something important.

  Silver eyes meet mine. “Give me your binding word you won’t leave without me.”

  “All right.”

  “Say it.”

  I roll my eyes and bow, adding a pompous hand flourish. “I won’t leave the bathing chamber without you, O Imperious One.”

  His mouth twitches, and I preen, oddly elated that I make him laugh.

  Beta Sinta unties the rope, which I think I should care more about. His fingers barely brush my waist, but the contact makes my breath catch and my belly tighten. Tiny flames lick my skin where he touches. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.

  The moment the rope drops away, I take a deep breath, dive into the pool, and swim the entire length underwater. Bliss.

  I pop up, laughing, and then swim for what feels like hours. My hands and feet wrinkle like month-old grapes, but I keep swimming, Poseidon’s ocean in my ears. Beta Sinta paces the length of the pool, shadowing me. I splash him, and he frowns. I invite him in, and he shakes his head. I don’t know why he won’t join me. I haven’t had this much fun in…well, ever. Too bad he’s such a grump.

  Sometime after dark, exhaustion hits me like a Cyclops’s fist. I go limp, my muscles used and tired and so heavy I can barely move. Nothing is pink. Nothing is wonderful. I’m not dizzy or happy, and Beta Sinta watching me swim around naked isn’t even remotely funny anymore. Gasping, I try to turn invisible—that important thing I was forgetting earlier—and can’t. I’m too weak. I try again, but nothing happens. The blood drains from my face so fast I see spots.

  Beta Sinta’s eyes sharpen. He takes a step forward, hesitates, and then stops, hovering on the edge of action.

  My face flames as humiliation sweeps me into dark places. I’d rather take a hundred beatings than this. This is torture.

  My eyes sting, and I fight back tears. Cats don’t cry. But this time, I think I might. Years of dread crash down on me, and I shudder, wondering if I can just let myself drown to save the realms from the calamity of Cat.

  Standing in the water, I hang my head, my dark hair floating around my shoulders like a peacock’s fan at midnight. I can see my toes through the water. I can see everything. So can he.

  “That’s why addicts stay high,” Beta Sinta says from the side of the pool. “It’s too awful when it ends.”

  I sniff. I can’t look at him. I won’t.
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  “Come.” He holds out the gaudy red drying cloth I chose. It’s hideous and oversized.

  He averts his eyes while I crawl up the steps. My eyes hurt. There are shooting pains in my head. I’m shivering. I’m not cold, but I can’t stop shaking. My teeth even chatter, which is an entirely new experience.

  Barely holding myself upright, I let Beta Sinta wrap the cloth around me. He pats me dry, his hands surprisingly gentle. His touch is efficient, not overly invasive, and—good Gods, I can’t believe I’m even thinking this—oddly comforting.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, for once hating myself more than I hate him.

  “Why did you take it?” He leans over me to wrap the cloth more snugly around me. Sooty lashes shield his eyes. Black hair sweeps forward, brushing my bare shoulder.

  A tremor runs through me, warmer this time.

  “The magic wanted to be inside me.” My voice is as weak as a wisp of smoke. It sounds like I feel. “I couldn’t control it. I-I didn’t even try.”

  “It wasn’t his magic. It was a spell.” Beta Sinta straightens. Shadowy in the torchlight, his eyes are like the ocean at night, dark and deep. He’s close, too close, but I don’t have the strength to step back or even look away.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say listlessly. “It’s the same to me.”

  He fiddles with the cloth again before tugging lightly on my elbow. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice thicker than usual.

  I’m not sure I can. I locate my clothes, take one step, two, and then sink to the floor and curl up on my side, my cheek pressed to the cool marble.

  Beta Sinta gathers my things, then puts one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, picking me up like I weigh nothing. I can’t find the energy to protest, and my head flops against his shoulder, soaking his tunic. I close my eyes, feeling the heat of my breath circle back to me from against his neck.

  “You never smell bad,” I mumble.

  “Should I?”

  “It would make you mortal, like the rest of us.”

  “I am mortal. That’s why I need—”

  “—your help,” I finish wearily, forcing my leaden eyelids up.