by Trudie Skies
“We have a plan for that, Mina.” Jonan pointed to the tunnel above them.
Talin placed a hand on her shoulder. “Seventeen years ago, Jonan and I were called to war. Arlent hadn’t been established for long, so we didn’t have many resources to contribute, but as Housemen, we were expected to fight. We did. We joined the King on the front lines. I fought side-by-side with Salasar. I watched good men die. I killed good men. I did it all for the King, for his sister, and for my oaths. War is ugly, but you know my past. Blood and battle don’t bother me. What did bother me was how the Fire Walkers were treated.
“It was new for me, a tribesman, to see men with blood fire imprisoned. In the tribes, there are no restrictions on blood fire. Men and women who are born with the gift simply learn how to use it and manage it. There’s no fear, no hate. When I arrived in Solus for the first time, I was confused by the law banning blood fire. Iman caught on quicker than I did and urged me to keep our own fire secret. Housemen tried to convince me that Fire Walkers voluntarily joined the temple—that they chose their own imprisonment. It wasn’t until I met Jonan that he informed me of what life was really like. He opened my eyes to their suffering.”
Jonan chuckled. “You were a fool.”
Talin inclined his head. “That I was. When the war started, I saw Fire Walkers being forced to fight. They had no choice. Those who lacked the strength either burned through their blood and died or were cut down. Those who refused were killed, no questions asked, no chance to beg. It horrified me. With Iman’s help, Jonan and I smuggled some of the Fire Walkers out of the camps and sent them to Arlent. It was then we turned her into a sanctuary.”
“We used these tunnels.” Jonan waved his hand above him. “We rescued Fire Walkers until Leila noticed and blocked them.”
Talin squeezed her shoulder. “And we shall do so again with your support, High Priestess.”
A thrill pulsed through her blood. “You’re going to smuggle them out?”
“I’ll run trips between here and Arlent,” Iman said. “It worked well the first time.”
“We’ll get the children, the weak, and the elderly out safely,” Jonan added. “It’ll be easier without Leila breathing down our necks.”
“Some will need to remain and fight,” Talin said. “The strongest and those willing. You’ll be expected to travel to the temples across Sandair and send Fire Walkers to war. Instead, you’ll send them to Arlent. It won’t be your fault if travelling Fire Walkers get lost on the way.”
After days of fretting, she’d cling to any hope she could get. But would it be enough? “Why should any Fire Walker fight for the Bright Solara? Why not fight for our freedom instead? Arlent could be its own kingdom. Together, we have so much power; no army could march on us.”
“That’s treasonous talk, girl,” Iman murmured.
“Fire Walkers have tried,” Jonan said. “Throughout history, they have rebelled through peaceful means and violent means. Neither were successful. Violent rebellions ended in more death, more laws designed to keep us down. Without support, neither path will bear fruit.”
“We need a king to fight for us,” Talin added. “I’d hoped that would be Khaled. Now we must hope the correct prince rises to the throne.” The way he looked at her sent a rush of heat through her stomach. “We’re not here to tell the Fire Walkers what to do. They’re not our pawns. Most want to be left alone to live as everyone else lives, as part of Sandair. And starting a civil war will only play into the Hartnords hands. We’re still at war, after all.”
One battle at a time, in other words, though if the wrong prince gained the throne, she knew where this would eventually end. “What about Prince Ravel?”
“Leave the Prince to me. So long as he believes he has power, or is gaining it, he won’t notice us.”
“You… You’re making him believe you’re weak so he can walk all over you.”
Talin smirked. “I’m not a complete fool.”
“Careful, Talin,” Iman said. “Play that too hard and he’ll challenge you.”
“What do you mean?” Mina asked.
“The Prince could challenge Khaled for the throne,” Talin explained. “A duel to the death. As the King’s Right Arm, I would be allowed to fight on the King’s behalf while he recovers. Prince Ravel is no fool either. He’d only make the challenge if he knew he could win.” Talin’s dark eyes sparkled. “It’s almost tempting. But no, I’ll keep him distracted. All I ask is you play your part and trust me. Don’t let him goad you. We cannot allow him to suspect what we’re doing.”
Mina breathed deeply. “I’ll try.”
“Don’t try too hard, girl,” Iman said. “If you start acting all demure now, that’ll raise his suspicion quicker than missing Fire Walkers.”
Talin chuckled. “Iman is right. You can get angry. Just don’t get carried away.”
“Get angry. That, I can do.”
“We have to work together. We have to trust each other. No more secrets. No more lies. We are House Arlbond and we’ll survive this together.”
Iman slapped Mina’s back. “Together.”
“Together,” Jonan grunted.
Mina wrapped her arms around Talin’s waist. “Together, then.”
Talin kissed her forehead. “Lune guide us all.
Part Two
The High Priestess
of Rahn
21
LESSONS IN FLAME
The traditional robes of a Fire Walker high priestess were thick, heavy, and itched like sand. Its length restricted movement and would be useless in a fight. And they were a red as bright as Rahn himself.
But as Samira said, Mina needed to play the part. It wasn’t just the hearts of Solus she needed to win, but the Fire Walkers themselves. Dressed in her black leathers and purple sahn, she looked like a Houseman. Now, she tucked her sahn neatly away, and for the first time since Arlent, she’d unbuckled Hawk and left her precious sword behind.
Gods, she’d never felt so naked.
Fire Walkers filled the sanctum—more than Mina could ever remember seeing. Solander and Duslander sat on the stone steps. Most were clothed as normal and chatting with one another. Men tossed dice, women stitched fabric, and the young played with wooden toys that certainly hadn’t belonged to the temple before. It was a relaxed atmosphere compared to the harsh rule of Leila, but Mina didn’t want them to become complacent. In only five short weeks, they’d be marching north, and they had enemies closer to home.
“There’s our High Priestess,” Samira declared with a beaming smile. The acolyte was back in her usual Fire Walker garb of breast-band and loincloth. Her head was clean shaven, and her arms bandage-free. She’d gone over her tattoos with fresh red coloring to hide the scars. “Though you’d look more welcoming if you didn’t scowl.”
Mina tugged at her robes. “I’m not scowling.”
“All you do is scowl.”
Jonan approached with a smirk. Mina shot him a glare, and his expression quickly changed to something more solemn, though his amusement tingled through the blood bond. She gave him a shove.
He chuckled and pointed to the center of the sanctum. “We’re ready to begin.”
Piles of wood were stacked and ready to be turned into campfires. Learning to start a fire, maintain it, and snuff it out was the first lesson Jonan had taught her—and the only one she’d managed successfully. It taught the necessities for controlling blood fire without letting it get out of hand: a perfect start for any Fire Walker who hadn’t mastered their flame.
Training the Fire Walkers would appease the Council, although Mina had no intention of letting anyone use their skills on or near a battlefield. Instead, these were survival skills they could take with them in life—building campfires, cooking, remaining warm in dire situations, using blood fire to navigate through darkness, and protecting themselves from attack.
Waiting beside stacks of wood were five older men whom she’d
carefully chosen to serve as her new acolytes—to guard her and assist her in performing rites about the city. They were the only men in the sanctum wearing the traditional loincloths of a Fire Walker.
She rolled up her sleeves, exposing her silver markings, and bowed before them. “I know the Housemen and their Council see us as weapons to be used in war, but that’s not the side of you I want Sandair to see. I want them to see you for who you are.” She raised her arm and twisted it to display her tattoos. “I’m a Fire Walker, but I’m also Mina. My markings say who I am: a Lunei.” She nodded to the tallest of her new acolytes, who eyed her with suspicion even now. “Who are you, my friend?”
“Dahn.” He crossed his muscular arms. “I’m no one’s friend.”
“I’m Bahri,” volunteered a thin-looking Solander, the same one who’d argued with Dahn before the vote, once again coming to her defense. “My flames are waves, see.” He pointed to the markings on his chest, which were indeed the shape of waves. “Because I was a fisherman. Before all this.”
“Bahri.” She smiled. “I grew up beside a river, but I can’t say I liked the fish.”
“Ah, but did you ever try them smoked on a stick?” He nudged a Gaislander standing beside him. “You taught me that.”
The Gaislander offered a sheepish smile. He was a round man and his tattoos stretched across his belly in thin, fiery strokes. He, too, had spoken out in her favor. “I ran a kebob stall and grilled them with my own flame, not that the city guards approved.” He shook his head. “They liked my food, but not how I cooked. Everyone’s a critic. I’m Qareem.”
“Amin,” said the next, a Solander who beamed and waved at the crowd. “My flames are the musical notes of the Dusland winds, after my blood-bonded, to prove we’ll never be apart. And this—” He grabbed a Duslander by the shoulders and squeezed him— “is my blood-bonded husband, Marek.”
The Duslander nudged him playfully. “My markings are for Amin’s penchant for fine wine.” His flames were designed in patterns of flowing water with dots of grapes. “Because I’d play my setar and he’d get drunk.”
“How long have you both been in the temple?” she asked.
Marek snorted. “Too long.”
Amin fluttered his eyelashes. “We married in the temple.”
“Leila let you?”
“Oh no. We bonded in secret. She threatened to bury us in stone if we continued our relationship, but I told her we weren’t doing any harm. It’s not like we could make a child between us, and trust me, we tried! Many times!” Amin flashed a wicked grin. “She sent Marek to the far end of the Duslands, to Baiasra. It was only after the King granted our freedom that we followed our bond and found each other again.”
They gazed at each other like young lovers, and she thought of Raj. It warmed her heart to think a love like this might be in his future. Leila had tried to break them, but their bond held true. “So long as I am High Priestess, you’ll stay together.”
The pair of them nodded in appreciation.
Dahn rolled his eyes.
Mina turned to the Fire Walkers sitting on the stone steps. “Those of you gathered here are new to the temple and therefore new to our rules. Not all of you will know how to summon and control your blood fire. My acolytes and I will teach you.”
“So we can fight in your war, Priestess?” Garr the Ash Maker called. He sat on the front step and was picking at his nail. “That’s all you’re training us for, isn’t it? To burn and bleed for King and kingdom?”
Some of the Fire Walkers murmured.
She bit back a retort. “We’ll teach you how to use your fire as a tool, not a weapon. Every Fire Walker must learn to control their flame for their own safety—”
“Because you fear we’ll burn some poor Houseman?”
“So you don’t die from blood loss.”
Garr looked confused. Did Ash Makers not burn through their blood?
“Everyone inside the temple is expected to train as per the law,” Samira called. “This has not changed. We’ll begin with building campfires—”
“Campfires?” Garr said incredulously. “How is learning to make a campfire going to protect us when we’re thrust into war?”
Mina ground her teeth. “Because it’ll teach you control—”
“And then you’ll teach us how to burn the enemy? That’s the only reason we’re here.”
A flicker of warmth bloomed in her gut. If she were in that crowd sitting beside Garr, she’d probably be arguing the same sentiment.
“Are you a fool?” Samira snapped. “Do you understand anything of the law?”
Garr leaned forward with his hands on his knees. “Housemen write the laws and use their gold to enforce them on everybody but themselves. But gold is nothing compared to the fire we have in our veins. Any one of us could overcome any Houseman. And all of us together—”
“I fought in the last war,” Jonan said. “Some of the Fire Walkers thought as you do. They thought there was strength in numbers. But Housemen have perfected the art of slaughtering Fire Walkers over generations. Those who resist face the sword.”
Garr’s amber eyes stared not a Jonan, but right at her. “Fire can melt steel.”
Some of the Fire Walker men nodded, and anger flashed in their faces.
What was Garr’s game?
To deliberately stir them into rebellion?
Mina swept her gaze across the many faces watching her. Most knew the reality of the law. They had suffered it all but twelve short weeks of their lives. “Once this war is over, I swear to you that the law will change. I won your freedom once, and I’ll do so again. But you must have patience. My House will see to it that all cities of Sandair become like Arlent. You will not be prisoners or slaves. Just give us time.”
Samira shot her a startled look.
Garr didn’t look impressed. “Sounds like an empty promise, Priestess. You Housemen are full of them. And even if I did believe you, which I don’t, how many of us will live through the war to see it happen?”
“You’ll live a lot longer if you keep your mouth shut and train.”
He nudged a Fire Walker next to him. “See? Housemen always want us kept quiet. Your training is wasted on me, Priestess. I’m already the most powerful Fire Walker in here.”
“Are you now? Do you care to prove it?”
Jonan’s unease passed through the bond. Garr’s boasting could be true for all she knew. Ash Makers were feared for the strength of their blood fire, or so the tales said.
“I’m not your pet.” A glint of mischief shone in his eyes. “But why don’t you demonstrate for us? Surely our High Priestess can show us how it’s done.”
Trying to start a bonfire wouldn’t win any hearts or minds. She was more likely to make a fool of herself in front of so many gods-damn people.
Jonan caught her eye. “Our High Priestess has better things to do with her time—”
“Oh, so the rest of us are required to train, but not the High Priestess?” Garr turned to another Fire Walker and mouthed Housemen.
“Fine.” She snapped her fingers and summoned a single flame. If this would help to convince them she wasn’t just another Houseman, then she’d dance to Garr’s tune. She strode to the pile of wood and kneeled before it. Like in the tournament, she ignored the many eyes watching her and focused on the task at hand. “Blood fire is a gift from Rahn, not a punishment. It’s as much a part of you as sand is a part of the Duslands. If you remember anything from training, remember this: you are the master of your own self and the fire is yours to control.”
She lowered her palm to the wood and allowed her fire to flow with the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat. This was the key to control. The more erratic her emotions, the less control she had over her flame. Dancing was one way to calm, but the breathing exercises Talin and Jonan had taught her helped immensely. Finding that inner stillness took the edge off her temper, and with the Council breathing do
wn her neck, she needed greater control now more than ever.
The raw power of her blood fire tingled in her veins. She’d feared it for so long, she’d never realized how pleasurable it felt—like a release.
She lifted her head and met Garr’s stare. His amber eyes burned through her robes and skin, as though trying to find the embers hidden inside. Such scrutiny reminded her of Gareth, and the way he’d stared into her soul with his Sight. Her heart skipped a beat, and her flame flickered. Garr’s lip quirked into an arrogant smirk that was all male.
It sent her pulse fluttering.
A whoosh of flame burst from her palm, earning a gasp from the crowd. Jonan nudged her through the bond. She bit her lip and tried to calm her breathing. An ache already throbbed in her head—the sign to pull back. She yanked her hand free and shook her fire out.
The campfire roared with a hearty flame. She’d been aiming for a slow, glowing burn, but at least there was no doubt of her power.
She stood and gestured to the campfire. “As you can see, blood fire can—”
A warning rang through the blood bond. She glanced to Jonan, who was subtly pointing at her legs.
Her robes had caught fire.
Flame raced up the fabric. Mina stumbled back with a curse, but Jonan was by her side in an instant. One press of his hand and the flames were gone, leaving her robes crumbling into ash and her legs exposed.
The Fire Walkers laughed.
“Is this the control you’ll be teaching us, Priestess?” Garr called amid the laughter.
Samira ducked in front of her and tried to hide Mina’s legs with what was left of her robes. “And this is why Fire Walkers shouldn’t wear clothes.”
Mina had worn the traditional loincloth and breast-band and hated it. She wasn’t about to force it upon these newcomers. It was another rule change that Samira didn’t approve of. “Continue training. I’m getting changed, and don’t you argue about it.” She stomped away before Samira could say anything, and laughter followed her out of the sanctum.
