The Burning City.
Blue flames surrounded it in a half circle, as though it would be attacked by beasts from the sky any moment. The flames moved on their own, the breeze feeding their frenzy. The city was built on a hill so that the streets went upwards. An enormous white palace sat in the middle of the city on the top of the hill. I stared at it in wonder as we got closer, noticing the chill the breeze carried with it. A cold that seemed to get stronger the closer we got to the city.
“Are we going in?” I asked.
“No.”
I frowned in disappointment. “Why not?”
“There’s only one entrance, and it’s highly protected. I don’t like to be closed in.”
“I guess assassins need more than one escape plan, huh?” For some reason, words just flew out of my mouth around him. He didn’t reply, but I barely noticed as we passed the Burning City. The flames were cold enough that I shivered and wondered how cold it would be inside. We stopped on the other side of the city, just far enough away that the chill didn’t touch us.
Weston set up camp while I mainly stared at the city in the distance. It was a bright light in the dark night. I ate the last of my rations and knew that I would have to start hunting soon. I wasn’t completely weak; I could hunt. I did often in Alger, but I preferred my bow which had been the last thing I’d thought of while Grandmother upturned my life.
My heart jumped when someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me to my feet.
I relaxed slightly when my body recognized the man as Weston. I might have let out a little squeal from the sudden attack.
Okay, I did. I wasn’t proud of it.
I hadn’t even seen him walk behind me, I’d been so consumed with my thoughts. His arm was tight around my waist, and I imagined he wanted to start the lesson for tonight.
The sudden attack had me feeling breathless.
Yea, that’s all it was.
His voice was rough in my ear. “Go ahead, Princess. Show me your skills.”
I practiced this position many times the night before; it would be no problem tonight. I leaned back, but quickly realized I had no idea how to get his vise grip off my waist.
“You didn’t teach me how to get out of this position,” I said, pulling at his arm, so I could maybe get some air into my lungs.
“I thought that you could handle anything I dished out.”
I groaned. So, that’s what this was about.
“I didn’t know you were so touchy,” I said, digging my nails into his forearm. It was only a warning hiss. In truth, it was the only thing I could do.
“Why don’t you admit how wrong you are, and maybe I’ll decide I don’t need to prove it to you.”
I wanted to say, ‘Please don’t.’ But my mouth and brain were on two different wavelengths. My brain was a smooth line while my mouth looked like my hair in the morning. In short, a bloody mess.
“Oh, got a complex about not being as tough as you think you are?” I jeered.
He squeezed me tighter. “You’re pissing me off, brat. Go ahead, get away. Let’s see how tough you are.”
“Fine, I will!” Stupid, stupid mouth, why did you get me into this mess? I didn’t know if it was normal to speak to one’s mouth, but I’d realized a long time ago that normal didn’t hold a large residency in my life.
I knew I was screwed at that moment, but I wouldn’t accept defeat. I tried to pry his arm off me, with no avail. I dropped my weight, but I only hung there. I threw my head back and hit him in the chest, but he didn’t even flinch. My body was plastered to his and I couldn’t have hit him in the groin if I wanted to. And I wanted to. I squirmed around, but it got to the point I couldn’t move an inch. And that was when I gave up. With much reluctance.
“I don’t know what to do! Are you happy? If I can’t get out of this, then it’s because you are the worst damn teacher out there!”
“I think I want to hear you say the words: you can’t take what I can dish out.”
“No.”
Bye-bye, Self-preservation. Hello, Tenacity.
You’re going to get me killed.
He rested his hand on my stomach; it seared my skin as if it were on fire. And when he moved it, I was sure there would be an impression left.
“Sure you want to play this game?” he asked with a gentle, mocking tone that gave me the shivers.
I wasn’t sure what game we were playing. But if all he’d do was rest his hand on my stomach and think that would scare me off, I could have laughed. However, that’s not what he did.
He slid his rough hand down the smooth skin of my stomach and drew circles around my navel with this thumb. The soft touch had my insides liquefying and settling like molten lava in my stomach. My breaths became shallow, and I suddenly was not laughing.
I was unexpectedly aware of every shift of his body against my back while a hazy warmth clouded my mind. I was lost in it. And I didn’t think I even cared. His hand traveled south, bringing fire with it and rested an inch underneath my waistband. There were flames under my skin, and I wanted him to put them out.
“Say the words.” His rough voice ran down my spine, but there was a hint of darkness in it. He was growing angry with me, but I couldn’t seem to care about anything.
I’d forgotten how this even started, but his voice made reality come back to me full-force. I was enjoying the touch of a man who had almost gotten me killed and had no remorse. I pulled his hand to stop its descent, but as it went a little lower, the fire it brought with it eradicated any thoughts I had.
My hand lay on his, while my head rested on his chest. My breathing grew ragged as I wondered how hot his hand would feel if it went a little lower.
Just a little lower, I thought before I was stumbling back as he stepped away.
It took a moment for my breathing to even out and my senses to come back before I turned around and smacked him across the face. Or I would have, except he caught my wrist.
“Don’t ever do that again,” I snapped. The heat under my skin had morphed into an angry inferno, mostly from him taking it so far, but also from how hollow and flustered I now felt. I realized I didn’t want him to stop. This was an experience I wanted to have, and apparently, I didn’t care if an assassin was the one to show me.
I knew he could hear the thought because his eyes hardened before he said, “I don’t fuck princesses.”
The comment stung as he dropped my wrist and walked away, revealing the cold city in the distance.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
POOR LIFE CHOICES
I sat cross-legged near the fire, and my mood was as hot as the flames in front of me. He made me unbelievably angry.
As soon as he’d disappeared, it festered like a disease, and I was washed away in a haze of angry thoughts and plans of his demise.
The only thing that kept me sane was—I didn’t say the words.
I could take whatever he dished out.
Okay, I knew I couldn’t. But he still hadn’t proved me otherwise.
I didn’t want to sit here and stew in a pile of anger alone, and I kept thinking the city would have been a refreshing contrast to my heated skin.
I stood up in a state of uncertainty. What would it hurt if I went to take a look? His comment rolled through my mind, and my decision was made with the next flare of fierce heat that ran through my body.
I grabbed my cloak and some soap, planning to find the bathhouse so I could bathe the dust off my body. I decided to go by foot; I could run and be there in a few minutes. I took off across the field, the air growing colder the closer I got to the city. I walked up to the massive entrance. The only reason I noticed it, was that every once in a while the fire flickered out in this area and a rider would exit. Then, the fire would begin again.
“What is your business here?” a deep voice asked from an indiscernible location.
“I would like accommodations,” I said. The blue fire flickered out in an arch, and I felt apprehensive but stro
de through the entrance. When I was enclosed in the city’s flames, I was surprised to feel the temperature. It wasn’t cold but warm. I could see my reflection in the immaculate white, stone streets as if no one ever walked on them. I almost cringed as I knew my boots were leaving some dust behind.
The houses were all made of colorless stone. They were rectangular in shape, a foggy-paned window on each side of the wooden door. Each house stood taller than the other as the streets went uphill. The only similarity the Burning City had to Alger was the revelry taking place. Men still inhabited the taverns and prostitutes the brothels. Except for the women who all wore pastel dresses that covered them from neck to foot. I was grateful for my cloak because I was grossly underdressed.
I stopped at an inn, and the innkeeper pointed me in the direction of the bathhouse. I walked down the spotless white streets until I found the right building. There was only one giant bath with a long thin divider covered with blue flames that ran down the middle. It was the only light in the room, sending a blue glow throughout, and I quickly noticed no one else was present at this hour.
I scrubbed up and washed the cloths covering my cuffs; they were dark brown from Sylvian dust. I tucked them into the waistband of my shortened pants. I couldn’t tie them back on myself—not that I was going to ask Weston to help me. I’d rather stab myself.
When I was done, I headed out of the building and began my walk back to the gate. I’d passed a tavern on the way to the bathhouse, but there hadn’t been any men outside of it like there were now. My hood was low over my face as I strode by on the far side of the street.
“Where are you going?” one of the men shouted with a slurred voice. My legs moved faster as fear snaked through me. When I saw a man out of the corner of my eye start towards me, I took off. I ran a few feet before running into a man as he stepped out of the alley. I hit the man straight-on, and he stumbled back a step. I quickly tried to move around him.
“Where are you going? I have a coin for you, but you have to earn it,” the man slurred as he grabbed my arm, and I could smell the ale wafting off him. No matter how drunk he was, his grip on my arm was painful, and I winced at the pressure he held me with.
“I’m not a prostitute,” I urged, hoping that he would let me go when I cleared up his mistake. I tried to pull away from him, but I swore I would’ve pulled my arm off if I continued because his grip was secure. A couple of men stood behind him, watching the scene and my mind screamed at me for being so stupid.
“I don’t care what you are. I’ll tell you what you will be: on your back.” His smile was malicious as he tried to pull me into the alley.
Fear clawed through me when he started to drag me behind him. The second I got the right footing, I stepped in front of him and kneed him in the groin.
He groaned and fell to his knees while I turned to run, but one of the other men was close enough that he grabbed me by the cloak. The neck ripped, and it fell to the ground. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, and I cried out when it felt as though he had ripped a chunk out as well.
“A Sylvian woman! They are free with their favors. Don’t pretend you are not,” he said while he took in my clothes and then my cuffs as well. “What fine cuffs . . .” he said while he reached for one.
“No!” I yelled, but he ripped it off before I could finish. How could I have been so stupid? The thought was a mantra inside my head, but could barely be heard with my heart pounding in my ears. I elbowed the man in the stomach. He made a noise of protest but didn’t release my hair. He did after I threw my fist back into his groin.
“Fucking bitch!” he yelled while he grabbed himself and dropped my cuff. I snatched it off the ground and ran, but something tackled me from behind, and my head bounced off the stone. All the air was squeezed out of my lungs while spots flew around behind my eyes. My lungs burned and panic assailed me while I tried to catch my breath.
I was flipped over like a rag doll and was too dazed to do anything to fight it. My mind was blank as I stared at the man on top of me. I barely felt the hit when he backhanded me. The pain of it was nothing compared to the sharp ache in my skull. He was saying something, but I heard nothing but a ringing noise. He ripped my pants open and smiled at me while I lay there stunned, with no fight left in my body.
He died with a smile on his face and a knife in his forehead.
He fell forward, and I barely moved in time to dodge the handle. My movements were slow and choppy, the ringing in my ears a constant. I lay there for a while, struggling to breathe with the man’s heavy body on me. I had no energy or strength to push him off.
A boot kicked the man, and he rolled off me. I took the time to suck in a couple of breaths and feed my hungry lungs to capacity. Weston stood before me and for a moment, there were two of him.
Two bloody hims. Two ragged breathing hims.
He crouched beside me and helped me sit up. Blood ran down the rivulets in the white streets; a slow current of death and my saving grace.
Four men lay dead by the alley with more blood covering them than a simple knife wound would cause. My hearing returned with a popping sensation in each ear. Some women were screaming, and some men were standing uncertainly outside of the tavern.
I looked at my bare wrist; having the cuff off was too strange to have forgotten. Weston slipped it back on before I could ask for it. He threw my cloak over his shoulder and picked me up with an arm around my back and one under my knees. I saw the city’s guards running down the street, shouting. Weston carried me through an alley and stood in front of the city’s blue shield of flames.
I didn’t know whether it was my aching head and hazy thoughts or complete trust that had me void of any worry while he set me down and wrapped me up in my cloak. A tinge of cold came off the fire; we were so close that I could reach out and touch it. I stared at the dancing, flickering flames in a mesmerized state of nothingness.
He hauled me back up, and we both looked to see the city’s guards running down the alley. Weston’s eyes met mine for a moment before he looked to the flames and took a deep breath, his chest moving with it.
And then with the fortitude that I was sure only an assassin could have, he walked us into the fire.
I kept my eyes open. If this was how I was supposed to die, then I wanted to see the flames that were my undoing. I felt nothing as blue consumed my vision. It was as if I were underwater in a pool of icy flames. Weston halted for a moment, his body cold and tense against mine.
I felt his chest inhale hard when we stepped out. His skin was beyond chilled, and there was visible ice on his face while his lips had to have been numb in their blueness. Other than that, he seemed healthy. Alive.
The first feeling I felt since I had hit my head was astonishment. We shouldn’t have been able to walk through the flames. Because the flames killed a man with one touch.
I now knew he wasn’t human at all.
But what did that make me?
* * *
The ache in my head was a constant all the way back to the camp. I assumed the guards would be running at us any minute, but no one followed. The only sound behind us was the swish of the long, dry grass and the song of the cicadas. I could still see the flames when I closed my eyes as if they had left an imprint on me forever.
“Why aren’t they following us?” I asked, my thoughts of Weston leaning toward the uncomfortable side after my realization that he wasn’t human. I knew human men. They were motivated by sex, money, or power, weren’t they? But what drove Weston? I didn’t know how to understand his motives, and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to.
“They don’t care what happens outside the city,” he said as he made his way into the camp. Color had returned to his lips, and the ice had melted, dripping down his face. No one would have ever guessed that he had just walked through man-killing flames.
“How did I live through that?”
“I shielded you,” he said as he sat me down next to the fire. I couldn’t decide if I
felt better that he’d shielded me than I would if I were some kind of immortal farm girl from Alger. I wasn’t familiar with that girl, and she kind of scared me. But maybe . . . just maybe she didn’t exist, and I only survived because of Weston.
“How did you survive that?” I asked.
“Enough questions,” he sighed. Walking through the flames distracted me from the real problem I now faced. The cuff had come off. For enough time that I was sure it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Weston, we need to go,” I said as I stood up, wincing at my aching head.
“We aren’t going anywhere tonight.”
“You don’t understand. We have to leave.” I put a lot of emphasis on have. I didn’t know how to explain it to him, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to elaborate.
He raised a brow. “Why don’t you make me understand, then?”
I swallowed. “There are men after me.”
“I’ve been aware of that since we left Cameron.”
“They know where I am now.” My shortened pants started to slide down my hips under my cloak, and I grabbed them with a fist to keep them up. What happened in the Burning City slammed into me like a tidal wave and I felt too exhausted to stand, but my worry over the cuff was like a tug-of-war of emotions keeping me standing.
Weston looked down at my fist and then back up to my face with fury simmering underneath the emerald green.
Nobody at that moment could have convinced me Hell was red. No, it was most assuredly contrived of green flames.
“Let them come,” he said darkly as he sat down, leaning against a tree trunk and focusing the intensity of his stare on the fire.
“They can’t find me,” I breathed.
He glanced at me. “They won’t.”
Maybe I was a naive girl, but I felt impeccable trust at that moment. Maybe it was that no one had ever really wronged me until this trip. Or maybe it was that my thoughts were foggy, and my emotions were begging me to latch onto something so I wouldn’t float away in the maelstrom and drown in its depths. Whatever it was, had me lying down on my pallet.
A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria Book 1) Page 11
