by Trudie Skies
What kind of priestess did she make? So far, she hadn’t helped any of them. The Fire Walkers of the temple didn’t trust her, Garr outright despised her, none of the Housemen or guardsmen showed her title any respect, and two Fire Walkers had died as she watched. If it wasn’t for her sahn, the horseman may well have shot her, too.
“What power do you think you have?”
None. Absolutely none.
She splashed water on her face and scrubbed until her cheeks stung. On her return, a campfire was smoldering—barely. “Did you put any effort into that at all?”
“I didn’t want to use too much of my power and burn the whole campsite down.” Garr rose to his feet and strode for the rocks.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m taking a piss, Priestess. Do you care to watch?”
She shot him a contemptuous look and kneeled beside the campfire. Lighting torches and campfires was the first thing Jonan had taught her. The ability to create light and warmth was a Fire Walker’s greatest asset, and their main purpose back in Solus until the war rolled round. She didn’t like to think of her blood fire being used to melt or harm. She much preferred Iman’s usage—lighting candles, baking pies, and heating baths.
The thought of her aunt set a spasm of flame in her palm. This little flicker was stronger than fire created by mere oil or flint. Those fires didn’t last without fuel and could be easily undone by strong winds or a spot of rain. Blood fire burned fiercer. Only sky fire—the weapon of the gods—could match it.
She lowered her palm to the carefully arranged wood and allowed her fire to flow until it took hold. Tira’s face formed in the flames. Mina glanced over her shoulder, but no one had retuned yet. Good. She wanted a private word with her mother.
“You can see me in any fire, can’t you? And you watch me all the time?”
Tira nodded and furrowed her brow—questioning. Mina had spent enough time having a one-sided conversation with her mother through the flames that she’d begun to translate Tira’s rather expressive facial features. This one asked yes, why?
“I’m not complaining. I wonder… what else do you see? Can you see other people, and not just me?”
A nod. Yes.
“So you could, say, spy on other people?”
A nod and a raised brow. I could.
“Can you be my eyes? I have no way of knowing what’s going on in the temple. If there’s trouble, alert me somehow, like you did when Kamran got out. It’s a lot to ask—”
Tira shook her head and smiled. It’s no trouble.
“I… I wish I could speak to you.” Gods, she did. “I miss you. And I never even knew you.” Her mother. Murdered so brutally the House bond refused to show her those memories, even though she’d asked. Iman had once said some memories should never be shared.
And her father, forced to endure a life where he believed his daughter to be dead. She’d been cruelly stolen from the life she could have had, a life she was now trying to make up for, all because of her uncle’s fears. Uncle Dustan. The man she’d called Father. “Is Dustan there? With you? Talin said he’d burned his body…”
Tira faded into the fire and was replaced with a familiar male face.
Dustan Hawker.
Her father—uncle—stared with an apologetic expression. He was exactly how Mina remembered him. Young, but weary, as though exhaustion filled his blood. Except now, a scar stretched across his neck.
She’d watched him bleed. And she’d dreamed his lies.
His lips moved in a silent plea. Tamina.
Mina leaped up and kicked dust into the campfire. The flames hissed, and the face of Dustan faded. She staggered back and tripped over a rock. Sparks flew from her hand as she fell and burst into life on a cloth tent.
Oh gods.
Flames crept up the tent with surprising speed. Mina smacked at the fire with her palms, but she had no idea how to stop a fire. Starting them was child’s play! But her lessons hadn’t progressed enough to know how to manipulate and halt their spread.
Water. That’s what put flames out. Gods, she was being foolish!
She ran to her saddlebags and drew out her canteen. By the time she returned, the flames had completely engulfed one tent and were now inching toward its neighbor. Why’d they have to pitch them so gods-damn close? She emptied her canteen on the flames now licking at the second tent—at least she could save that one—but the water barely had an effect.
Rahn curse the strength of blood fire!
Footsteps came running up from behind. Alistar reeled to a halt and stared agape. “Stars above! You burned the tents?”
“It was an accident, I swear—”
“Can’t you do something?”
“I tried! They’re burning too quickly—you bought the cheapest gods-damn tents from the market!”
“Don’t blame this on me! You’re the one with candles for fingers!”
The second tent collapsed into a heap. Alistar hissed a curse and skipped back. Both tents were little more than glowing ash.
Raj ran into the campsite with a bunch of flowers in his hands. He dropped them and dove for the tent. “My herbs!”
Alistar grabbed him before he could plunge into the burning remains. Mina kicked dirt over them, smothering the lingering glow in case they spread to the remaining two tents.
Garr scrambled into the campsite.
“And where were you?” Alistar yelled.
Garr blinked and barked a laugh.
Alistar scowled. “I don’t see what’s so amusing. We’re down two tents!”
“Relax, Bosan, that’s plenty enough.” He grinned at Mina. “If you wanted to share, Priestess, you only needed to ask.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m not sharing a tent with you.”
“Well, I’m not sharing with him either!” Alistar said.
“I’ll sleep outside,” Raj offered.
“Don’t worry yourself, Houseman,” Garr said. “I’ll sleep beside the fire and keep the rats away. You’re short and he’s tall, so the two of you fit together like dogs and fleas.”
Alistar glared at him.
She forced a smile. “Did you, uh, manage to hunt anything?”
Alistar’s glare turned to disbelief. “No! I saw fire and came running! And this is why we didn’t camp in the gods-damn woods.” He stomped over to the horses to calm them.
Raj whimpered and ran after him.
Garr nudged the remains of the tents with his boot. “So, did those campfire lessons help, Priestess?”
Mina didn’t have an answer for that.
29
THE STEEL WALL
Mina couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the howls of distant wolves that bothered her, or the buzz of insects trying to invade her tent. Such discomforts didn’t compare to her early life sleeping in a dirty wooden shack in Khalbad. But every time she closed her eyes, two faces stared back. Two old men who’d died trying to protect their families from being captured and enslaved for the fire in their blood. Both had died right before her. One was a stranger who’d tried to escape from a temple in Nasiri with his grandson. The other was the father who’d died to save her.
Camping wasn’t the same without Talin’s calming presence nearby. She could feel her family’s essence like her pulse. Iman slept to the south somewhere in the desert under her own tent. Jonan lay on hard stone in the dusty temple back east in Solus. And Talin… his essence hummed with vigor. Which meant her father wasn’t sleeping either.
And she missed Fez. The fennec fox had slept by her side in the Academy, either at the foot of her bed or snuggled into her side. His soft warmth had been a constant comfort. His tiresome whines were company. Even with Alistar and Raj sleeping nearby, she felt alone.
Staring into the darkness didn’t make dawn rise any quicker. With a groan, she rose to her feet and slipped out of the tent. Her muscles were sore from riding, but a dance under Lune would ease out
the stiffness.
The campfire was still lit and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light. Its warmth kept the Soland chill at bay. A figure sat beside the fire, though at a sword’s length. Lime green beads in his hair caught the light. Alistar.
“Where’s Garr?”
His attention remained fixed elsewhere. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
If the Ash Maker had run in the night, it would be one less problem. She glanced over to the horses. Still four. He must be lurking in shadows, somewhere. She settled down next to Alistar. “You can’t sleep either?”
He said nothing but stared at the night sky. Lune had woken, joined by her glittering children.
Heavy silence pushed between them, filled only by the crackle of flame. “I’ll pay for the tents once we reach Darasus.”
“It’s fine.”
“It was an accident—”
“They were cheap tents anyhow.” He turned and wore a sheepish smile. “I doubt they’d be thick enough to stop Raj’s snoring. He breathes like a camel.”
“That’s why you’re awake?”
“You try sleeping with him.”
“I’m not his kind of man.”
“I tried to find his kind of man, but you turned out to be a woman.”
She elbowed him.
He huffed a laugh and shuffled closer so that their knees touched. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Missing home, I guess.”
He pointed to the western sky. “When I miss home, I look to the stars. See there? That’s Neu Bosa. It’s always in the same position so Bosan can find their way.”
“Just as Sandarians can follow Rahn to Solus.”
“Right. In Neu Bosa, it’s customary to travel by starlight. To read them like a map. That’s why so many of us are late risers. We like the night.”
“Sounds like an excuse to sleep in.”
“We can’t all be hotheads that prefer to burn under the sun.”
“The sun. That’s what Hartnords call Rahn, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. There are some in Neu Bosa who believe the sun, Rahn, is a type of star. A big bright one. But you can’t say that in Sandair or you’d be hanged for blasphemy.”
It made sense. If stars were Lune’s children, then Rahn must be their father—the biggest star of all. Dustan Hawker once told her that stars were the souls of the Lunei, and that’s where her silver eyes came from. “You know a lot about this.”
“All Bosan do. We can track and read the constellations—the patterns in the sky. That’s how I know we’re on the right path. Look, see that triangular pattern?” He traced his finger through the air. “That’s the constellation of the fox. He heralds the end of Rahn’s Dawn. Those born under different constellations are said to inherit their personalities and their fate.”
“Like how being born in Gai’s Dawn makes you a Green Hand?”
“Something like that.”
“Sounds like nonsense.”
He smirked. “Maybe it is.”
A twig snapped in the night.
The smirk on his lips faded. Alistar scrambled to his feet. She drew her mother’s dagger and faced the danger.
Garr leaned against a tree. “Looking rather cozy there, Priestess. Don’t forget your vows.”
Had he eavesdropped on their entire conversation? “Where were you?”
“Getting some air. If you’re sharing your tent with your Bosan lover, would you mind keeping the noise down? Some of us need sleep.”
Alistar clenched his fists and stepped toward Garr. “What did you say?”
“Ali, leave it.” She grabbed Alistar’s arm and pulled him back.
“What’s going on?” Raj said. He stood barefoot in his robes and rubbed his eyes.
“Nothing,” Alistar snapped. He returned to their tent and pushed Raj back inside.
Garr stretched out by the fire. “Your friends don’t like me.”
“Perhaps if you stopped antagonizing them, they would.”
“Perhaps if they weren’t such bores, I wouldn’t need to.”
He’d been acting this annoying… for fun? Gods.
What was Mina going to do with him?
It took almost a week to cross the plains.
Alistar and Raj kept their distance from Garr, though he reined in his tongue where they were concerned and chose to complain of his hard saddle or sore legs instead. Each night they camped, Alistar would hunt, Mina would tend the fire—for practice, more than anything—Raj would cook stews or skewers, and Garr would be Garr with his endless inane comments. And each dawn she’d wake with the hope that he’d abandoned them, but for all his complaining, the Ash Maker remained.
They followed the Giant’s Arm west until they reached the road to Darasus.
Not even reading about the Houses and their cities could prepare her for the fabled steel wall of Darasus. The city was a circular fortress that curled into many layers, not too dissimilar from the isle that formed Solus or even her home back in Arlent. However, the lower wall was made from hundreds and thousands of swords melded together. Curved thick sabers, long thin scimitars, polearm blades, and javelin heads. Straight swords like the kind the Hartnords used. Smaller knives to fill the gaps. The jagged, twisted mess of metal nearest the earth looked a muddy rust color, though the reds and browns faded into grays and silvers toward the top. The glittering top edge of the wall kissed the sky, five times Mina’s height at least.
Garr whistled.
Alistar eased his horse next to hers. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Where did they get so many swords?” she asked.
“War.”
That’s right. She’d read the tales of Darasi warriors in one of Iman’s books.
House Darabond was the youngest of the Solander Houses. They owned no mines and little land to harvest, and so chose to prove their value the Solander way—with battle. They were the first to charge to the front lines, the first to raise their swords and bleed for Sandair. They’d long been overshadowed by the other Solander Houses, mainly House Sarabond, but they’d made a name for themselves in the last war. Every sword in their wall belonged to a downed enemy.
A wall of trophies.
With another war on the way, how high would this wall reach? Tents had already been set up outside on the plain, along with wagons and horses. Soon they would march north to the Ruby Coast or the Cold Path.
Alistar nudged his horse forward and she copied. They weren’t going to stay in Darasus long. They needed fresh supplies—food and two new tents—and she longed to sleep in a real bed, if just for one night, and to wash away the dirt and sweat. She supposed she needed to visit the Temple of Rahn and meet with the Fire Walkers there, though the thought of visiting another decaying prison to speak with tired and depressed faces didn’t appeal.
They’d almost reached the town gates when a guard blocked their path. “Hold there, Duslander. Which House do you represent?”
“House Arlbond.” She shifted in her saddle so the purple sahn was visible.
The guard sent for another. The two engaged in whispered conversation before turning back to her. “Wait whilst we summon our master.”
She exchanged a glance with Alistar. The Darasi soldiers didn’t open their gate or offer any further greeting or water. Instead, they watched her with unwelcome stares.
“Well, this is awkward,” Garr commented behind her.
She hushed him.
A familiar face leaned over the wall. A Solander man in a blue sahn. Lord Darian Darabond, a member of the Council and a man who’d voted in Prince Ravel’s favor.
“What do we have here?” he called. “A Fire Walker priestess who pretends to be a man, a Bosan who pretends to be a Sandarian, a Green Hand who pretends to be a lord. And whatever that street rat is pretending to be.”
His tone made her bristle. “Is this how you welcome guests in your city, Lord Darian?”
“You insult House Myrbond and House Enaibond—”
“A House of foreigners and a House of drunken weavers. And your own House is nothing but uneducated tribesmen. This is the Solands, Lady Arlbond. We care little for Gaislanders or Duslanders here.”
“Houseman gold doesn’t teach manners, then?” Garr whispered.
“They’re Solanders,” Alistar muttered. “What do you expect?”
“Um, we don’t want to offend them,” Raj said. “Lord Darian sits on the Council.”
Mina bit the inside of her cheek and addressed the Lord atop his steel wall. “I’m the High Priestess of Rahn. Your Fire Walkers are my people. Would you deny me entry to the temple?”
“There are no Fire Walkers in Darasus.”
She snorted. “Your Temple of Rahn is an actual temple?”
Lord Darian’s expression hardened. “Our temple is a training ground in honor of Rahn. Fire Walkers are not permitted in our city.”
“Then what do you do with them?”
“We kill them.”
She hadn’t read that in her books. “You—you kill them?”
“House Darabond has no need for blood fire.” He waved a hand at the wall of swords. “We rule as Rahn intended us to, as true Sandarian warriors.”
Garr snarled. “Your king lets you murder innocent men?”
“They’re Fire Walkers. We have no obligation to house and feed them.”
“They’re people, not criminals!” she yelled.
“The law begs to differ on that, Lady Arlbond. But what would a woman understand of our Code of Honor?” He laughed and his men laughed with him.
Her grip tightened around Luna’s reins. “What would you understand of honor, Lord Darian? I believe you fought in the tournament last Solend. Against Prince Ravel, wasn’t it? What real man would throw their match?”
“Watch your words. You may be Talin’s daughter, but our courtesy only travels so far.”
“What courtesy? You’ve refused us entry and insulted us.”
