by Trudie Skies
A sharp sting cut into my neck. It threatened to topple me, but I remained kneeling, fists clasped in my lap. Farther it pushed, strong enough to feel its bite, but not fast enough to remove my head.
Warmth ran down my neck—my life’s blood and the gift contained within.
Emptiness replaced the fire inside. Why did it feel so cold? So dark? Where was the light?
Where was the fire that was promised?
Where was the light?
Mina found herself curled on the ground. Her nails dug into the sand and scraped across the stone beneath, grabbing hold of reality. The emptiness of the memory sapped the warmth from her blood, as though it stripped her naked and left her squirming in the dust. She brought her knees into her chest and hugged them tight with shaking arms.
Jonan crouched beside her and grabbed her shoulders. “What happened? A memory?”
More Shadows filled the cramped tunnel with their unnatural darkness. All held their hands open, waiting to be touched. Wanting their tales to be heard.
She shuffled back until her head bumped the wall. “Don’t let them touch me!”
That wasn’t any of her memories, but... the Shadow’s? Gods, she’d felt the leech suck at her skin, felt the sword slice through her neck, felt her life’s blood spill. It had felt real, all of it, and she’d experienced every moment.
Jonan squeezed her knee. “Are you still with me?”
Footsteps and shouts echoed in the tunnels above. They were running out of time, and the Shadows still lingered. Ten of them. She couldn’t touch them all and relive ten deaths in a row. “I can’t do this.”
“Do you want me to burn them?” His words were gentle.
“No, I… They want me to touch them. I—I don’t know why. I don’t know what they want. A lurrite?”
“We don’t have time.”
Weeks of planning, searching, and digging… and now, time was up. A flicker of light drew her gaze to a torch beside the bones. A face smiled within the flames. Tira, Mina’s mother. Long dead, but somehow still able to watch from the world beyond. No one else could see her. Mina assumed this to be another gift from Lune, but the only other Lunei she knew to ask was Leila.
“My mother helped the Shadows. I’ve seen her in my dreams. What did she do?”
Jonan sat back on his heels. “She calmed them. I watched her, once. She soothed their spirits. Absolved them of whatever guilt plagued them.” He gave her an odd look. “Is this who you want to be?”
Mina stood on shaking legs. “It’s what Lune wants, isn’t it? You fought in the last war. Were Fire Walkers forced to fight? What happened to those who refused?”
Jonan took her arm and steadied her balance. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
The shouting grew louder. Jonan released her and grabbed his scimitar. “Discuss it later. Are you sure you can burn them?”
From the torchlight, Tira nodded.
“I’ll be fine. Samira said Saeed was fetching guards.”
Jonan hissed a curse. “Then be quick. I’ll hold them off. Breathe, Master Malik. Remember, when you feel your limit—”
“Pull back, I know.” She rolled up her sleeves, exposing the silver tattoos that swirled around her bare arms. The hairs stood on end, though not from the air. Jonan ran through the tunnel, passing right through Jahan’s Shadow that he couldn’t see.
She approached the group of Shadows and held up her palms. “We don’t have time for a lurrite. I’m not a priestess. I don’t even know the words.” She sucked in a breath. “You didn’t deserve this fate, and I swear it will never happen again. I’ll send you back to Rahn. All of you. I’ll send you back to the light.” It was the least she could do.
Jahan’s Shadow brushed her arm. They’ll follow your lead, his voice echoed in her mind. A smile bloomed through their shared connection. I wish I could have named him mine. Tell him.
She stared into his faceless darkness. “I’ll tell him, I swear.”
The Shadows moved back, giving her space. She rolled her shoulders to regain her composure. Finding them had been a test of her Lunei abilities. This would test her control. Weeks of training had led to this moment.
Every Fire Walker had a trick to summoning their flame, so Jonan had taught her. Some could summon it with a single thought. Others needed a physical action, such as a snap of their fingers. She’d discovered early on that emotion manipulated her blood’s magic.
She thought of her father. Talin.
He was travelling now with Prince Rais—and with High Priestess Leila. He’d be back with her as soon as tomorrow. Her inner embers warmed at the thought.
In the few short weeks before he’d left with the Prince’s caravan, Talin had joined Mina inside the temple every morning, and they’d kicked off their boots and danced within the main sanctum. Sometimes to an audience—Fire Walkers eager to see the legendary Sand Dancer who’d won the tournament. She could still feel the swish of air against her knuckles, the sand between her toes, the gritty salt on her tongue, and her father’s dark eyes upon her, proud and intense, as their swords curved side by side.
Her father. She woke each dawn and still didn’t believe it. All those years spent idolizing the Protector of the Path, and he’d been her father all along. She’d wanted to travel back to the Duslands with him—to not let him out of her sight in case it had all been a mirage, some trick of the gods. But some duties were more urgent than blood and bonds.
The tingling under her skin turned to prickling heat as her own blood began to boil—the oil to ignite her fire. A red flicker of flame sparked in the palm of her hand.
It didn’t hurt. Even pressing the flame against her cheek didn’t burn, but tickle. Of course, just because it didn’t hurt her, didn’t mean it couldn’t hurt others. This power had been cursed and feared for hundreds of years for a reason.
Flames spread around her entire fist. She hadn’t wanted this gift. No one did. Being born with blood fire was both a sin and a crime—or it had been until twelve weeks ago. The law was different now, and the hearts and minds of the people would follow in time. Mina and her House would make sure of that. Yes, High Priestess Leila and her foolish acolytes would oppose her every step of the way, but so long as Mina drew breath, Fire Walkers would never be imprisoned again.
Never again.
“Rahn, guide these lost souls home.”
Heat poured from her hand and engulfed the bones in a blazing bonfire. She squinted against the light and gripped her shaking arm with her other hand, holding the flames steady. The fire pulsed with her heartbeat, and an ache soon throbbed in her forehead. It wasn’t just fire leaving her body, but her own blood. The cost of Rahn’s gift. It was almost poetic that only blood fire could burn all traces of bone. Life’s blood in exchange for death’s passing. But with so many bones… the cost would be high.
Tira frowned in the flames. She mouthed one word: Stop.
Mina kept her trembling arm up. “Not yet.”
Again, the command: Stop.
Mina looked inside herself at the bright glow of her inner embers and tried to calm them. The bones called to her, latched onto her, and pulled at her blood like a thread. They were stronger than she, and the fire responded to their will, not hers.
Jahan’s urgent voice whispered into her mind: Trouble is coming.
“I know! I’m trying to control it—”
Footsteps echoed in the tunnel.
Trouble is coming, the whisper repeated.
Mina glanced over her shoulder as Samira came running.
“Stop!” Samira yelled, and flame burst from her outstretched hand. The force almost knocked Mina off her feet.
But Samira’s flames weren’t aimed at Mina’s body. Instead, they formed a shield around the bones, blocking her fire from reaching them.
Mina chewed her lip and pushed against it.
Samira stood calm as her flames pour
ed in a steady, controlled stream. “Stop, or you’ll bleed yourself dry.”
“You first.”
“Don’t be so stubborn!”
In a contest of blood fire, Mina stood no chance against a trained acolyte, but she couldn’t stop now. She stoked her inner embers and a torrent of blood fire poured upon the shield. It did nothing but send spasms of pain shooting up her arm. The throb in Mina’s forehead rose from an ache to a hammer’s blow; she was pushing far beyond her limit.
By the smirk creeping across Samira’s face, she knew it.
Then Jahan’s Shadow fell upon Samira, swallowing her in darkness. Samira couldn’t see the Shadow and barely flinched at the touch, but her flame flickered, giving Mina her only opening.
Heat surged through Mina’s veins and she squeezed every drop of blood into one final push. Blinding light tore through the shield and absorbed the bones. Samira stumbled back.
It is done, Jahan’s voice whispered.
Mina’s flames sputtered out and she collapsed into the dust. She tried to sit up, but the tunnel spun and her limbs were heavy as stone.
“You fool, you’ve burned through all your blood, haven’t you?” Samira said, brushing dust from her arms. “Well? Was it worth it?”
The smoldering bones turned to glowing red ash. One by one, the Shadows faded and disappeared from sight.
“Yes.”
“That kind of blood loss is impossible to recover from. Didn’t your Rhaesbond teach you that?”
Mina shuffled back and leaned her head against the wall. Her heartbeat fluttered, fast and shallow. Samira was right—she’d given too much. “Duty—”
“Duty? What do you know of duty? You think you’re so smart, coming into our temple and telling us how to live. You want to help us, but what have you ever done for us?”
“The Prince—”
“We don’t need you to win some foolish tournament to protect us from the Bright Solara or his scheming whelp. You Housemen understand nothing of our people, or our duties, or what it takes to keep us safe! Why else would you care more for the dead than what’s going on in the real world? You think Leila cares for some old bones? She protects the living! Everything she does is for the good of our people.” Samira sauntered forward. “You thought you were tricking Saeed and me, distracting us. But whilst you and your Rhaesbond were digging tunnels, Saeed took Leila’s place on the Council. You have no idea what’s coming, do you?”
“What?”
“You’re dying, Mina Hawker, and it’s your own fault. I didn’t force you to burn through your blood. It was the hubris of youth. And you’re so far down in these tunnels, no one will find you in time. Your Rhaesbond’s too busy trying to keep Saeed out.” She chuckled. “You’re not so smart now.”
Mina lifted her heavy arm and twisted it to show her silver tattoos. “You marked me.” Her arm fell into her lap. “You know what I am.”
A Lunei.
It was why Samira chose to paint her silver, and not the traditional red of other Fire Walkers.
Samira crouched and ran a soothing hand across Mina’s scalp. “I’m no monster. I’ll burn your body. Don’t fear Rahn’s light when he calls for you. And don’t fear for the Fire Walkers. They’ll be safe in Rahn’s temple, where they belong.”
Gods. What a fool she’d been. Did Samira and Saeed truly hate her that much? For freeing the Fire Walkers? No, they were acting on Leila’s orders. Mina tried to shove Samira away, but her blood, her life, drained from her. She’d given everything so the dead could find peace. Was that all Lune wanted her for?
“Unhand my niece!” a woman bellowed.
Samira leaped up. A large figure took up the entire width of the tunnel, a hand on her sword hilt. Mina’s heart soared. Her Aunt Iman.
“Stand aside, or by Rahn, I’ll cut you in half!”
Samira summoned a small ball of flame. “I am an acolyte of Rahn. How dare you threaten me!”
Iman drew her sword an inch—there wasn’t enough space to unleash it fully, but the effect made Samira shrink. “And I am the stewardess of House Arlbond.” The dim light made Iman look even larger and more intimidating. “What are you doing to my niece?”
“She used too much blood fire, you fool. I was help—”
“Touch her and I’ll drag your sorry carcass to the sandsea for the goats!”
Samira shook her flame out. “Fine,” she snarled. “There’s nothing to be done for her anyway. I’ll leave you to perform her lurrite.” With that, she turned and marched away into the far tunnel.
Mina toppled over and would have hit the ground if Iman hadn’t caught her. “Easy, girl. Easy. Did that wretch—”
“How did you find me?” Mina gasped.
“I felt you through the bond. It’s useful for something.”
Iman lifted her up. Mina leaned into her aunt’s warm, soft curves and breathed in her familiar essence of spice and wine. She had no strength to walk as Iman half-carried her to the main temple sanctum and lay Mina on the stone steps that encircled the deeps sands covering the sanctum floor.
Mina closed her eyes. Use too much blood fire too quickly, and it hurt. Headaches were the first sign, followed by dizziness and nausea. It reminded her of Lune’s bloody visits. But the pain now was different than anything before—smothering and yet also distant, as if her mind had somehow separated itself from her spent and useless body.
“I’m not impressed with either of you,” Iman snapped. “You were supposed to watch her! Look at her, she’s barely got enough blood to stand.”
Mina forced open one eye. Iman’s anger wasn’t directed at her, but Jonan. When had he returned? A soft cooing rumbled against her thigh and she glanced down. A blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders and Fez curled in her lap. The little fennec fox often slept by the braziers in the sanctum. The Solus temple was as far from the Duslands as she could get, yet it reminded her of home, a miniature desert in the heart of the city. It was one reason why Mina chose to remain here instead of the Keep.
And she didn’t need to fear running into a certain pompous prince who remained locked inside his palace.
Jonan gently roused Mina and shoved a canteen under her nose. “Drink. Don’t sleep. If you sleep, you may not wake up.”
She complied. The water tasted crisp and refreshing with a hint of cooling mint.
“That kind of blood loss will take a season to recover from,” Iman said.
“I’ll deal with it. Go,” Jonan answered.
“Where’s Talin?” Mina mumbled.
Iman leaned over and planted a wet kiss on her forehead. “Drink as much water as you can, and try not to move.” She used her thumb to gently dry Mina’s forehead from her kiss. “I’ll be back soon.” She stomped away from the sanctum.
Jonan sighed and shuffled into position beside Mina. “You used too much blood.”
“Didn’t.”
“We discussed this.” Jonan poked her bicep and she keeled over. He grabbed the shawl around her shoulders and pulled her upright. “I should have burned them.”
“If I can’t master my fire, what use am I?”
“If you burn through your blood, what use will your corpse be? We trained for this, Master Malik. What went wrong?”
She took another gulp of water and stroked Fez’s soft nape to steady the nausea now rising in her stomach. “Samira, she… She tried to stop me.”
His anger snapped taut through their shared House bond. “Samira did this?”
“She said something about the Council. I—what are you doing?”
Jonan pulled a knife from his sahn and took her hand. “Stay calm. This will last but a moment.” He nicked her palm with a sharp sting, and then his own. He pressed the two wounds together.
Sky fire burned through her arm as it travelled up into her chest. She yelped and tried to pull free, sending Fez screeching from her lap. “What are you doing to me?”
Jonan�
��s grip tightened around her hand and his eyes burned bright red. “Giving you my blood.”
Just as he’d saved King Khaled’s life. The King would have bled to death if Jonan hadn’t been there.
Jonan’s life essence pulsed in her veins. Like Rahn Himself—pure heat and light and righteous anger. But her nerves were frayed. Sheer panic gripped her heart, followed by guilt and shame.
Guilt? Why? What did she—
No, these were Jonan’s emotions.
He thinks he failed me.
With each heartbeat, she felt his strength bolster her own. “How are you doing this? How is this possible?”
His expression turned somber. “This is forbidden blood magic. You and I will not speak of it again.”
“How can it be forbidden if you know about it? You saved the King—”
“Fire Walker priests know it. They keep this knowledge from the rest of Sandair.”
“Why hide it? This can save lives!”
“Blood bonds are not to be played with. Only experienced priests can administer blood. Anyone else could risk forming a marriage bond, or draining a body of its blood, or worse.”
“What’s worse than marriage or death?”
His eyes narrowed. “There are worse things than death.” His grip tightened around her arm. “Swear to me you will never attempt this.”
“If it can help people, I want to learn—”
“No. This is dangerous beyond your understanding. I trained in the temple under the old High Priestess for years before I fled, remember?”
“What if I become a priestess?”
“You’re no priestess, and this is no laughing matter. Swear to me you will never give your blood. Even if the King is dying. Even if it’s one of us. Swear to me you will never do this.”
“I won’t—”
His grip crushed her bones. “Swear it on Talin’s life.”
She swallowed dry air. “I swear it.”
He released her arm, apparently satisfied with her answer. She examined the damage to her palm. The cut had cauterized into a single scar, another for her collection, but her veins still tingled.
The sanctum doors swung open. Iman came bounding back inside, her face flushed with sweat and her anxiety ringing through the bond.
