by Trudie Skies
Tira covered her mouth with an exaggerated yawn.
“You’re saying the afterlife is dull?”
Tira laughed with soundless joy and nodded.
How could the afterlife be dull when all the great Sandarian heroes were there? The first kings like King Solus and King Shahsahan, and the first heroes like Malik the Merciless? Just what trouble was her mother getting up to in her death? “One last question. There’s an Ash Maker called Garr. Can I trust him?”
Tira pursed her lips together and made kissing motions.
“Mother, this is serious!”
Tina winked and faded from the flames.
“Who are you talking to?”
Mina spun around. Garr stood by the stairs with his purple cloak wrapped around his shoulders.
“Myself. I, uh, I talk to myself when I need to think.”
“Your nose twitches when you lie.”
She rubbed her nose.
“Now I know you’re lying.” He grinned and glanced over her shoulder to the brazier. “Is that normal?”
Gods, he hadn’t seen Tira? “Is—is what normal?”
“To feel drawn to the fire. Is it a Fire Walker thing? Or a Sandarian thing?”
It was an odd question, but Garr was an odd man. There was so much she didn’t know about him, and much he didn’t seem to know about his own people. She summoned a single flame in her palm and it danced in the wind. “Those who grew up in the shadow of Housemen were taught to fear fire… and fear those who cast it. So many of us suppressed our urges and ignored our calling to the fire. But it’s always been there. It’s part of me whether I like it or not.” Not just a part of her; using her power felt good. It felt right.
Was taking pleasure in it so wrong?
Garr’s amber eyes examined her flame, not with fear or disgust, but… awe. “You carry the sun inside of you. Why be afraid of that?”
The sun? “You mean Rahn?” She closed her fist shut on her flame and it burned back into her skin.
“Rahn. Right. Been spending too much time around Bosan.” He sniffed his collar. “Starting to smell like one, too.”
“Why do you hate Bosan?”
“I don’t hate them. I'd sooner share ale with a Bosan than a Hartnord.”
She placed a hand on her hip. “Then why are you such an insufferable mule? You’ve done nothing but antagonize my friends and rile up my Fire Walkers since the moment you first stepped foot in the temple.”
“I don’t like snotty nobles and haughty priests who think they can order around the rest of us.” He tugged the cloak tight over his shoulders. “Your Bosan friend says Fire Walkers hold all the power, but his people aren’t locked away in the temples and forced to eat horse feed. If Fire Walkers held real power, your precious Keep would be nothing but rubble.”
“Is that your game, Ash Maker? Treason?”
He leaned forward with a glint in his eyes. “Isn’t it yours?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“You bow to your King’s whims and lock the Fire Walkers away whilst proclaiming to protect them, and then you travel halfway across your kingdom to bed with the Hartnords. At first, I thought you were another noble singing a pretty tune whilst lining your own pockets, but now… now I think you’re more ambitious than that.”
She stared at him. “Are you serious? My House is the smallest on the Council. What ambitions do you think we have?”
“A small House need grow, by fair or foul. Why else would a noble volunteer for the priesthood? What do you gain, Lady Arlbond? Power or gold?”
He couldn’t honestly believe her House was protecting the Fire Walkers to gain status? “You’re the biggest fool of the temple. I became High Priestess to protect them. Everything I’ve done is for them! I fought against Prince Ravel in the tournament for them. I gave up the chance of wearing a crown for them! If I wanted gold or power, that would have been the path I chose, not to ride through a gods-damn forest with you.”
He looked puzzled. “A crown?”
“You know nothing about me or my life. I’ve watched children get cut down for their blood fire. I witnessed my own uncle’s death. I’ve seen Housemen use their status to hide their blood fire whilst condemning the rest of us who survive on the streets—”
“What would a lady understand about surviving on the streets? What would you know of cold and hunger?” He snorted. “Survive on the streets indeed!”
“You think I was born into this life? I was adopted into House Arlbond. Before then, I lived in a rotting shack and worked for whatever scraps I could. So don’t you dare tell me I don’t understand what it’s like.”
“You’re a street rat?” he blurted out. “You’re not a lady?”
“Do I look like a lady? It doesn’t matter who or what I used to be. I’m the High Priestess of Rahn. And if you’re planning on harming my Fire Walkers, it won’t end well for you.” The High Priestess. She wanted to laugh. If only her Uncle Dustan could see what she’d become.
“But you—you dance with a sword. That’s not how a street rat fights.”
“It’s called sand dancing. It comes from my tribe. Surely an Ash Maker would know it?”
“Not me. Is this why they call you the Sword Dancer?”
“Sand Dancer. That’s my title and don’t you forget it.” Everyone was so quick to call her a lady or priestess, yet they forgot the real title she’d earned for herself. All because she was Mina now instead of Malik.
“Then I was right.”
“About what?”
“Your ambitions.” He unraveled his cloak and tossed it at her. “It’s cold up here, Sword Dancer. Don’t go wasting your blood.” He winked and headed down the stairs.
What had just happened? Had she finally gotten through to him?
She caught Tira watching her in the lighthouse’s flame. Her mother was giggling silently.
“He’s a fool, you know.”
Tira nodded and vanished once more with a grin.
Why did her mother trust an Ash Maker? And why, Lune help her, did she trust the fool too? She wrapped Garr’s cloak around her shoulders and snuggled into the warm folds he’d bought with her coin.
Come dawn, Prince Wulfhart would expect her. Another prince who wanted to eliminate or control her people, as Garr had said. Could Lune’s Tears suppress blood fire? Was it right to try it? Alistar thought so, but Alistar didn’t understand the call and pleasure of flame. But he was right about one thing: blood fire was a responsibility.
Many would long for a potion that could take that responsibility off their shoulders.
How many? Enough to satisfy the Hartnords and prevent a war?
And what awaited those who insisted on keeping Rahn’s Gift? A life of freedom in Arlent, perhaps. Or would that just bring the armies of three nations marching on her home?
She wouldn’t find her answers in Myryn. The truth waited back in Solus.
The Fire Walkers needed her. All of them.
Even an amber-eyed street rat.
Part Three
The Rogue and
the Wolf
37
AN APOLOGY
A pale-faced fool bumped into me. I almost drew my dagger. He stepped back with a hurried bob of apologies. “Forgive me, gentle lady. Do you know the way?”
The Hartnord spoke in broken Sandarian, his accent thick and with a slur like after a few glasses of wine, but I understood enough to point him down the corridor. He could well be drunk for the state of his tussled golden hair and the creased clothes he’d hastily thrown on. The sorry bastard skittered down the hall and glanced over his shoulder like a frightened rabbit.
Chuckling echoed behind me. The Princess leaned against her doorway, wearing nothing but a silk nightgown, her legs and feet bare. “I wasn’t expecting you this early.”
“It’s mid-afternoon, my Princess.”
“So it is. Come in then.” Pri
ncess Aniya waved a bare arm, inviting me into her quarters. I was about to ask whether she’d prefer to get dressed first, but she poured two goblets of red and sat on the lounger, her slender legs crossed. I took my cup and swallowed a hasty gulp to stop myself from staring.
Gods, she was breathtaking. The most beautiful woman in all Sandair. She’d turned down every suitor that came begging at her feet, and I’d hoped she was my kind of woman. But no, it seemed our princess held a taste for pale men.
“You’ll be the death of that man,” I ventured.
She grinned that smug look only a Solaran could muster. “You’re rather forward, Lady Arlbond.”
“Iman, if it please you, my Princess.”
Her amber eyes gleamed. “Then call me Anni and let us speak plainly. I do tire of politics. Have you met my nephew? He’s a charming little boy. He’s already won the Council over, even those that cursed his birth. At least Ravel will grow up without worrying about killing his brothers.” She took a sip from her wine. “Listen to me ramble like an old spinster. Becoming an aunt has aged me. Are you likely to be joining me soon?”
“Talin’s duties keep him from his marriage bed, though Tira doesn’t want children yet. Not until she’s entered the Academy.” I raised my brow in question.
Princess Aniya sighed. “And so we return to politics, as if I could ever escape it. I’m afraid I don’t bring joy. My dung-headed brother won’t listen to reason. He won’t allow either you or Talin’s wife entrance.”
That wasn’t a surprise. I’d hoped Princess Aniya could convince the King, but if neither she nor Talin could, then that was that.
“I do have one idea.” The Princess traced a finger around her goblet and her bloodstone ring caught the Rahnlight. “I could offer to marry Prince Garet in exchange for certain concessions.”
I choked on my wine. “Marry a Hartnord?”
“Oh, come now, he’s not that unattractive. Khaled will see the potential in a marriage between our kingdoms. No more conflicts at the border, and a chance to bring fresh trade. Even the Council would agree to that.”
Too much bad blood had spilled between our kingdoms, and our visiting foreign prince had admitted his people feared our blood fire. A marriage between Sandair and Hartnor would surely end in tragedy.
Princess Aniya stared into the distance with that dreamy smile Talin and Tira often shared. Gods, she was in love. That would surely be the death of us all.
Mina woke with a jolt.
Princess Aniya had loved a Hartnord prince.
Which meant…
Garet. Gareth. Gods, the King’s sorran was a prince. A Hartnord prince. That’s why Prince Wulfhart recognized him. Why the two of them looked alike. Gareth hadn’t just served as Hartnor’s ambassador. He was one of them.
No wonder the Hartnords seemed to hate him. And no wonder Gareth had such intimate knowledge of them. Why hadn’t Talin told her this detail? He must have realized its importance.
And why was the late Princess invading her dreams? It had something to do with this war and the Queen’s death, Mina could feel it in her gut.
She slid off the stone bed and dressed in her travel leathers, boots, sahn, and sword. Garr’s cloak hung over her arm as she stepped out into the main sanctum. It was empty. Where had that fool disappeared to now?
The temple doors opened a fraction and Alistar slipped inside carrying a wrapped bundle in his arms. “I brought food. Thought you’d be hungry.” He unwrapped a round steaming bread bun and offered it. “Careful, it’s hot.”
She stared down at the bun. “Ali, I—”
“My father sent me to fetch you. It’s almost dawn, and Prince Wulfhart is waiting on his ship. I told my father that I’m still your sorran, so… if you go, I go with you.”
“Why would you go all the way to Hartnor with me? Are you worried I’d burn your father’s new allies?”
Alistar’s cheeks reddened. “Well, you can’t speak Hartnord.”
“I’m not going to Hartnor. The temple needs me back in Solus, and the Council needs to be made aware that someone’s using Rahn’s Breath before they accuse more Fire Walkers of crimes. I’ll pass along Prince Wulfhart’s testimony and convince the Council to delay the war, if only to hear what the Hartnords have to say.”
“You think they’ll listen?”
“I’ll make them listen.”
“Don’t mention this to the Council,” he blurted out. “I’m begging. You see how it looks, right? Like we’re betraying the Bright Solara.” He tugged his braid. “I’m worried my father is making a mistake by helping Prince Wulfhart. I know he has good intentions, but the Council won’t care. They never liked our House or the King’s decision to allow us on the Council, because they don’t trust us.” There was true fear in his emerald eyes. “If this news gets out, it’s not just my House that could suffer. It’s hard enough being a Bosan in Sandair. Everyone already looks down on us. If people start to think every Bosan is secretly in league with Hartnor… Stars, this could make things worse.”
“What are you worried about? It’s not like the Bright Solara would ignore the suffering of an entire group of people just to placate the powerful, the hateful, the ignorant, is it?”
He grimaced. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. I’m a dung-headed fool. Forgive me?” He held up the bun.
She shoved the bun into her mouth and moaned at its sweetness. The Bosan fascination with fish-based dishes was repulsive, but their buns could put Iman’s pies to shame. “You’re forgiven, Myrbond.” They both knew the cost of harboring a Hartnord Prince. If the Council found out, the entirety of House Myrbond could be destroyed, as House Rhaesbond was.
Alistar included.
But if she couldn’t admit to meeting with Prince Wulfhart, then he’d be blamed for the Queen’s death and there would be no chance of reconciliation. Her Fire Walkers would march to war. Smuggling the women and children to Arlent would have to be enough.
Politics was a whole new battlefield. How did her father stomach it?
Alistar smiled, and it warmed through her with relief. “I’ll let my father know we’re leaving and meet you at the stables.”
Garr was already at the city stables, brushing his horse. “We’re leaving, then? I was preparing Dancer for our long trip back.”
“You named your horse Dancer?”
“The perfect name for a grumpy mare.” Garr grinned.
She threw the purple cloak at him and checked in on her own horse. Luna was a calm girl who didn’t mind sharing a stable with Garr’s beast. “I saved a bit for you.” Mina dug out leftover scraps and let Luna lick the crumbs. Fez would have stolen them from her sahn.
By the time Mina finished packing her saddlebags and checking Luna’s hooves and mane, Alistar had returned dressed for travel with his own supplies.
“My father thinks we’re foolish children out to destroy the Neu Bosan alliance with Sandair,” Alistar announced with mock cheer. “Let’s leave before he declares us enemies of the people.”
Garr swung onto his saddle. “No complaints from me.”
It wasn’t how she wanted to leave Myryn, but so be it. She just hoped Hiram’s involvement with the Hartnords wouldn’t add a new front to the war they were trying to prevent.
They guided their horses along the empty boardwalk. Ships crowded the docks, but the dawn Rahnlight gave a lovely view of the inlet. Smoke twirled from some of the Neu Bosan boathouses, though the city remained at rest. Prince Wulfhart’s ship hid somewhere among them.
A Hartnord waited by the city gates. The Prince’s companion, Falkner.
“Lost, Priestess?” he said with a rough, gravelly voice, as though he rarely spoke and found the habit distasteful. “My master’s ship is the other way.”
She brought Luna to a stop. “Tell you master that whilst I appreciate his invitation, I must return to Solus. I encourage Prince Wulfhart to contact the Council and advocate his innocen
ce himself.”
“We thought you cared for your fire kin. Does your heart desire war?”
“I care for my people, which is why I won’t abandon them and head north. Tell your master that.”
Falkner’s sapphire eyes stared through her, as though probing her mind for the truth.
She placed her hand on Hawk’s hilt and edged Luna forward an inch. Falkner stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. Though he carried no weapon, the way he held his body was that of a warrior, and she realized what he reminded her of—the Hartnord fist-fighters of Prince Rais’s helbond ceremony. If Falkner was one of those, then he wouldn’t need a weapon to stop her.
His lip quirked as though he’d read the realization in her mind. Gods, he was like Gareth. He had the Hartnord Sight. Falkner’s stare moved to Alistar and then Garr. Alistar shifted in his seat, but Garr stared back without flinching. She half-expected some quip from the Ash Maker, but he remained uncharacteristically silent.
“My master wishes to make peace with your people, but peace will be impossible whilst he remains rooted in your city. He has sabotaged our efforts. He has attempted to lure my master to his death.”
“Who?”
“You know him as Gareth. That wasn’t his name when he served as our ambassador.”
“I know who he is.” Though she’d have many questions for Talin when she returned back to Solus.
“Do you?” Falkner studied her. “I wonder what lies and truths your King has told you? Gareth betrayed us, accused us of murdering his princess when we did no such thing. He manipulated your king into waging war against us, and now King Reinhart is cold as stone and we ready ourselves for war once more. Whilst Gareth breathes, peace will be impossible.”
Prince Wulfhart had said his pleas to the Council went unheard. Could Gareth have intercepted them, and for what purpose? Revenge, or something more sinister? “I’ll bring your concerns directly to the King.” Or the next best thing, her father.
“Do not trust the traitor you call Gareth.” Falkner stepped aside. “Safe travels, Priestess.”
