Heart on Fire (The Kingmaker Chronicles Book 3)

by Amanda Bouchet

  The urgency in his voice makes my breath hitch. I banish the dampness from my eyes.

  “I don’t care if the Gods changed me for you. They changed you for Thalyria. The gifts. The Oracles. Your whole life. That doesn’t alter how I feel about you. My love isn’t conditional. We are who we are.” He holds me close, surrounding me, speaking to me straight from his heart. “The first time I saw you, it was like a thunderclap hit me. My ears rang. My heart raced. I knew I would never be the same again. So what if they chose me for you? Planned me for you? Something like that can never be a path with only one direction. If they made me for you, Cat, then they made you for me, too.”

  I nod, but he grips my head, making me stop.

  “No, don’t just nod. Believe it. Believe me. I don’t care who came first, why, or which God played a role in any of it. That thunderclap? It didn’t come from them. It came from you, and me, and what was inevitable between us, even though I’m the arse who kidnapped you, and you’re the spitfire who fought me for all she was worth. I love you. There is no place in my heart where you don’t belong. Do you understand me, Cat?”

  My chin trembles, and I press my lips together tightly. Finally, my voice wavering, I manage to ask, “Are you still expecting me not to cry?”

  Griffin’s grip relaxes on the back of my head, and he searches my eyes with a softening gaze. “You’ve changed so much.”

  I sniff. “I know. It’s awful.”

  He chuckles. “It’s not awful. You’re finally living.”

  Is this what living feels like? Beautiful and painful all at once?

  I swallow hard, and my tears ebb back down my throat. Hate is an easier emotion to deal with than love. Hate is cold, with a strong, hard shell. Love is burning, with a thousand fragile cracks that lead straight to your soul.

  “My heart is on fire, Griffin. I don’t know when it’ll stop.”

  His expression seems to light from within. “It won’t ever stop. I won’t let it.”

  I nod, understanding better now. This isn’t a bad thing, this living, loving, feeling. It’s a gift. Just as Griffin was a gift to me, and I’m his gift as well.

  “Thank you,” I say, touching his cheek.

  “For what?” he asks.

  “For showing me that I can be loved unconditionally, and love wholly in return.”

  He smiles. It’s small, crooked, and perfect, and I love him even more. How can joy make a person want to both laugh and weep?

  “I was so stupid,” I say. “I can’t believe I ever fought you. Fought us.”

  “You had every right to fight me. I’m not perfect, and I don’t always do what I should. You don’t need to be perfect, either, Cat. You just need to be you.”

  I kiss him gently. “And together, we’ll do our best.”

  Griffin nods. Holding me, he starts to move. We let our bodies speak for us, and I wrap myself around him and feel.

  CHAPTER 18

  The army grew exponentially while we were away.

  “Where did all these people come from?” I ask, just barely keeping my eyes from popping out of my head.

  “Everywhere,” Flynn answers. “That whole group over there is from Fisa.” He points to a far-off gathering of people and tents.

  That many people came from Fisa? “How did they get past Lycheron and his minions?”

  Kato chuckles. “Apparently, the Ipotane round them all up, bring them to Lycheron every few days, and then he does a sniff check, one by one. He reads their worth right from their scents, they say.”

  Huh. He sniffed me pretty hard. He sniffed Ianthe even harder. “That’s disturbing.”

  “And useful,” Flynn says. “They’re good people, those Fisans. Brave.”

  “They’d have to be to face Lycheron,” I murmur. “Have any of them seen Ianthe?”

  Flynn nods, squinting and shading his eyes from the sun as he scans the sprawling encampment with an assessing but satisfied gaze. “She’s fine, they’ve told us. Or she at least looks that way. But Lycheron doesn’t let her out of his sight. She’s on his back at all times, and they see that as a sign—a Fisan princess joining the fight. She’s encouraging them to come to us, rallying people to your side.”

  “Some turn back,” Kato says with a shrug. “They take one look at the Ipotane and then head back into Fisa.”

  Griffin grunts. “Good. If they’re scared of being sniffed, the Gods only know how they’d react on the battlefield.”

  I nod. I’ve been in plenty of battles but not on an actual battlefield, with armies involved. I don’t have to have been, though, to know he’s right.

  After greeting Kato and Flynn and gathering the most essential news, we all move toward the Fisans. Carver and Bellanca are apparently among them, and since we arrived without fanfare on the opposite side of the camp, they still don’t know we’re back. As we progress in their direction, I see Tarvans and Sintans mixing together in one big, spread-out group. They soon realize who we are, though, and stop what they’re doing to watch us pass, seeming awestruck.

  Griffin takes the sudden attention in stride, surveying his soldiers, his warlord face firmly in place. I do my best to shake off my nerves when I see the way people are looking at me—like I’m not even human, but something more. I manage a small smile. It’s probably more of a toothy grimace, but it’s better than nothing, and I turn it on all sides, not wanting to exclude anyone.

  On the south side of the camp, Carver is deep in training with a new recruit, his focus undivided, even when everything in the Fisan area starts grinding to a halt.

  “Zeus’s bollocks! How many times do I have to tell you not to drop your guard?” Carver pulls up short, inches away from skewering the man he was just sparring with.

  Stepping back, his opponent nods to us. Carver swings around, and the tip of his weapon drops to the ground. His whole body seems to relax. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and then sheathes his sword as he strides toward us.

  “Took you long enough.” There’s a layer of tension in his voice, his words both teasing and not. “Bellanca was threatening to go after you.”

  That doesn’t surprise me in the least. And from the way Carver just said it, I think he was planning on leaving with her.

  Carver’s Fisan trainee stands there staring at us with eyes so wide I get the insane urge to look behind us, just in case there’s something there. But no, he’s watching me. He’s probably in his mid- to late-twenties. He’s broad-shouldered, good-looking, and lean, with unusually close-cropped sandy hair. I very much doubt he’s used to holding a weapon because he lets his sword drop to the ground, unheeded.

  “Kneel!” he suddenly calls out to his compatriots—maybe even to the whole army. “Kneel before the Queen and King of Thalyria!”

  Hearing our intended titles ring out like that is a shock to my system, and my pulse leaps into action.

  He kneels and then bows so low that his forehead touches the ground. The whole encampment goes incredibly silent. It’s a big space with a lot of people, and yet there’s not a whisper of sound.

  And then every last soldier—Fisan, Tarvan, and Sintan—drops with a creaking of leather and the thud of knees on dirt.

  Good Gods. Fire and ice shoot through me at the same time, and my poor heart just stops. It doesn’t know how to react any more than I do.

  Only Beta Team is still standing. I see Bellanca now that everyone else is down, still fire-bright, one hand on her hip, and packing enough attitude to make Olympus shudder.

  Griffin looks to me to speak. I clear my throat.

  “Rise!” I say, because this is just too weird. Um… “And continue!”

  All these people are showing us deference. I’m pretty sure I need to add something good, something motivating.

  Damn it! Nothing comes to mind.

  The
army slowly rises. No one dares disobey me, but nobody really moves, either.

  “Good work here. We’re impressed.” Griffin nods all around. I nod, too, feeling wholly inadequate with my awkward smile and bobbing head.

  “Carry on, soldiers!” Griffin’s simple order in his commanding, brook-no-argument, I-conquered-realms voice fills the hole left by my silence and my utter lack of leadership skills. Thank the Gods we’re a team.

  It’s like a spell breaks, and everyone breathes again, including me. No one really goes back to what they were doing before, though. They mostly keep watching us like we’re riding a rainbow from inside a sparkling golden chariot drawn by Pegasus. Gods, the pressure. Griffin seems fine with it, but I feel like ants are crawling up and down the back of my neck.

  Smiling, Griffin claps his brother on the back. “Carver.”

  Carver claps Griffin back, flashing us both a genuine smile—the first I’ve seen in what feels like months. His face is even leaner than before, like he’s been training too hard and not eating enough, and his eyes are slightly bloodshot. He hasn’t shaved in days, and his hair looks like it could use a thorough wash, but he still looks better than he did when we left.

  Caught by impulse, I rock up on my toes and plant a kiss on his scruffy cheek.

  Carver’s eyebrows fly up, his gray eyes lighting in surprise. “I knew you’d wise up and choose the better brother one of these days.”

  I laugh. “You want to be the King?”

  Grimacing, he scratches the back of his neck. “Hmm… Forget that. Griffin can have you.”

  Griffin snorts. Kato and Flynn chuckle, and it feels so good to have the group back together again that my cheeks start to hurt from smiling.

  After catching up with Carver about the almost daily influx of Fisan volunteers, I’m ready to get out of the sun and rest, but I can’t help noticing that the man Carver was sparring with is still looking at me. And not just looking. Staring. He’s close enough to start making me uncomfortable. Not because I feel threatened—far from it—but because he gazes at me like I’m the sun, the stars, and the moon—maybe the whole damn sky. And that’s even worse.

  “My Queen.” He addresses me directly when I really look back at him, his voice a rasping whisper. His hand trembles as he drags the sorriest-looking bunch of dried flowers I’ve ever seen out of his breast pocket and then holds them out to me.

  Okaaaaay…

  Stepping toward me, he says, “I prayed every day for your safe return.”

  Guilt sinks sharp claws into all my softest places, and it turns out there are plenty. I ran away. I left Fisa. I let him down, failed him for years—this person, and so many others.

  The abysmal bouquet of small meadow flowers stays outstretched between us. His hand still quakes. His voice strengthens, though. “Your sister was kind and generous, but I always knew it would be you.”

  What? The blood washes from my head so fast I feel queasy. Is he another oracular soul? Someone who knew my fate before I did?

  No. He’s Hoi Polloi. Otherwise, I’d feel his magic.

  Something about the way he’s holding out the flowers and willing me to take them plucks at a memory. It only takes a second for it to punch me in the heart, and a long-ago day of hard-won freedom comes rushing back.

  “You’re the shepherd boy.” The realization flies from me, taking my breath along with it.

  He nods, his whole face lighting up. It’s a handsome, strong face, with dark-brown eyes and a square jaw that seems even firmer and more angular without any of the usual longish, masculine hair to obscure it. He stands taller. Prouder. He’s thrilled I remember him.

  And why wouldn’t he be? I am his Lost Princess. I am his Queen.

  “We met on the hillside,” he says. “My father was there.”

  I nod. I remember that day perfectly. I’ve dreamed about it multiple times. Eleni and I ran into him and his sheep. Literally. We barreled over a rise without knowing, or caring, what was on the other side, and we knocked over half the flock as well as the boy tending to the beasts. Fisan royals never showed mercy, and his father was terrified we’d kill them both on the spot just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. My magic didn’t work like that, although I could have done it in myriad other ways, even as a child, but Eleni could have easily ended them both with the simple conjuring of a flaming bird.

  The thought never occurred to either of us. I gave the boy the flowers I’d picked earlier that day. They were already crushed and half wilted, but he’d looked so frightened, and I didn’t want him to be scared. Eleni took her hair down and gave his father a jeweled clip that probably fed their village for years.

  My heart races like water in a rushing stream—bubbling, tumbling, slightly out of control. “How did you know?” I ask, my voice surprisingly soft considering the torrent of emotion inside me. “How did you know it would be me?”

  “Gamma Fisa had rounded edges,” he answers, this shepherd turned soldier.

  Gamma? That’s right. We were still young. Eleni was Gamma Fisa, and I was Delta, fourth in line for the throne.

  “You were as sharp as a blade.” There’s pride in his voice, like that was exactly the right thing for me to be—a weapon.

  “That should have scared you.” I was scary. Wild. Unpredictable. Often, I still am.

  “It did. You were this force of nature. Packed with power. But then you held out these flowers, and you glared at me until I took them.”

  “Glaring isn’t usually reassuring,” I point out wryly.

  He shakes his head. “You wanted me to feel better. To not be scared anymore. But you did it so fiercely, like you were ready to fight about it. I knew then. I knew you could protect us. I knew that you would.”

  My heart swells to painful proportions in my chest. “The sword and the shield,” I murmur, reminded of something Griffin once said to me. Am I the blade and the shelter? Maybe Griffin is, too.

  The man nods. I don’t know his name. I never did. He sinks to his knees again, still holding out the dry and brittle flowers.

  I sink down with him. “Keep them.” I gently push his hand back toward his chest, careful of the old blooms. “Wear them into battle.”

  Tears flood his eyes. Mine flood, too. Quelling the tide is beyond me. I don’t even want to.

  “My Queen,” he whispers after a hard swallow.

  “My Fisan commander,” I whisper back.

  A heartbeat passes, and then his eyes widen. They’re the deepest of browns, like good dirt to grow good things in.

  “Cat…” Carver’s voice holds a hint of warning. “He doesn’t have any experience.”

  “Do any of the Fisans?” I ask, blinking rapidly so that I can see the crowd, all these dusty, tired people watching us with rapt attention. They look like farmers and tradesmen, people who have never held a weapon in their lives. They left their homes and families anyway. For Thalyria, but also for me. For the Queen on her knees.

  I glance up at Carver, finding his lips pressed flat as he surveys the group of Fisans with a critical eye. When he doesn’t answer, I take that as a no. Not a trained soldier among them.

  “What’s your name?” I ask the new commander of my Fisan ranks—under Griffin, me, Carver, and all of Beta Team, of course.

  “Lukos.”

  I nod. That’s a good, strong name. “Will you follow me?”

  “I will,” he answers without hesitation.

  “Do you think we’ll win?” I ask.

  I’m smaller than he is by a head. The Fisan shepherd looks down at me as we face each other on our knees.

  “You climbed a Cyclops and killed it with Poseidon’s own trident. You can do anything.”

  My breath catches, and my bones burn. He believes that. Unequivocally. Magic whips through me, and I’m reminded of all the people I read at circus fai
rs over the years, asking them questions and my body reacting to their answers. Feeling truths used to be so rare. Now, more and more, I feel the ones that carry the fervor of powerful belief, and Lukos’s conviction is stronger than any lie.

  “Do you know what Elpis means?” I ask.

  He nods again. “There’s not a person here that doesn’t know. And more will come.”

  More will come. To follow me. To die for me.

  Steeling myself against that thought, I ask, “Do you know what I have in my heart?”

  This time, he shakes his head, because how could he possibly know, when I’m only just figuring it out myself? In less than half a year, I’ve changed completely. Maybe I’ve finally become the person I was meant to be. The person I want to be.

  “I have hope.” Standing, I reach out and draw Lukos up with me, holding what I now see is a raw and sword-blistered hand in mine. “And I’ll share it with the world.”

  * * *

  Griffin quickly sets about organizing quarters for us in a more central location, so I go to Carver’s nearby tent with him to catch up and rest. There’s no question that Carver will remain in charge of the Fisans. Without a single swordsman or career soldier among them, they need the most guidance and training. Flynn and Kato will continue to supervise mixed groups of Sintans and Tarvans, which is the unity-promoting organization they’d already put into place while we were away. All three of them will again report to Griffin, who’ll oversee everyone and everything.

  “You don’t have to stay at the camp,” Carver says, letting his tent flap drop back down behind us to block out the bright splash of autumn sunlight. “You could live in Castle Tarva with the rest of the family.”

  Without Griffin? No thanks. Although I am the only one without a real job here. Unless being stared at and incubating Little Bean count. And inspiring troops with rousing speeches like “Rise and continue!”

  “I’ll stay here.” I grimace. “Maybe babysit Bellanca.”

  Carver chuckles. Then his expression shuts down, darkening, as if he didn’t mean to let himself laugh.