by Trudie Skies
She glanced between her father and Gareth. Why was Talin speaking so carelessly about their plans in front of an outsider? A potential traitor?
The King’s Hartnord sorran cocked his head. “You don’t trust me. That’s wise.”
“Gareth is our ally,” Talin said. “His Sight has proven valuable to us.”
“You defended Prince Ravel! You said he was speaking the truth—”
“Because he was,” Gareth said. “Or he knows how to manipulate the truth. That remains to be seen. As for Wulfhart, I am unsure what his intentions are, but if he has any information about the Queen, we must weigh it. I will need your protection, High Priestess. My talents don’t include swordplay.” He smiled with genuine warmth. The first time she’d ever seen him smile, and there was something disconcertingly familiar about it.
“And what of your intentions, Lord Gareth? You’re one of them. A Hartnord prince. Is it revenge you want?”
His smile faded. “I’m no lord or prince. My life lost its worth long ago. I am here to see justice done.”
Talin squeezed her hand. “Trust me on this.”
She didn’t trust any of these gods-damn Hartnords, allies or not, but she trusted Talin. “Tell me what to do.”
Talin nodded his gratitude. “I’m not keen on sending you to this meeting, but it will act as the distraction we need to smuggle Fire Walkers from Solus, especially now that Prince Ravel is beginning to suspect something. Iman is on her way here. We must be ready to act as soon as Prince Wulfhart lands on our shores, which means Jonan cannot accompany you—he’ll be needed in the temple. And we must tread carefully. Prince Ravel is going to have you watched. You can’t step a foot out of line.”
“I figured. How is the King?”
“Recovering. And what I tell you must not be repeated.” He drew in a breath. “I have been giving Khaled my blood.”
“What? Why?” No wonder Talin looked so tired. “Surely there must be someone else—”
“There’s no one else. The Green Hands, even Jonan, tried, but the King’s blood is rejecting them for some reason. He’ll only accept mine. Perhaps because of the sorran bond. My blood is helping him to return to strength—”
“At the cost of your own! Look at yourself!”
“It’s a sacrifice worth making, Mina.”
“Not to me!”
“If the King dies, then Prince Ravel will gain the crown.”
And Talin would die with him. “Prince Rais—”
“Isn’t ready—yet,” he added, as she opened her mouth to argue. “Prince Ravel is making his moves, and so I’m making mine. I’m telling you this so you will understand what games are being played, what is at stake, and what your role will be.”
She leaned back in her chair.
“I’m listening.”
“Prince Ravel builds relationships between Houses by bribing them with gold or power, or threatening those who don’t comply. You see how the Solander Houses feed off his every word. They’ll be the ones who profit from this war whilst their people are the ones who’ll pay the price. The attack in Grenai and Nazim’s injury are no coincidence.”
“You think the Solander Houses are being spared on purpose?”
“I’m discounting nothing. Rais needs allies like Nazim. He’s eager, but inexperienced. I’m giving him that experience. I’ve sent him to the city guard to work alongside them and build Solus’s defenses. It’s not a glamorous task, but he’ll gain skills, become a leader, remain safe from any assassination attempts, and most importantly, he’ll be seen working alongside the very men that Prince Ravel so callously endangered at the Solend. Whilst Prince Ravel cozies up to Housemen in Council meetings, Rais will be out there getting his hands dirty and winning the hearts and minds of the people.”
It wasn’t enough. “Is that all?”
“It’s only the start. I have persuaded the King to name Rais as his heir.”
She swallowed a gasp. “Truly?”
“Yes, but not immediately. To do so now, with war so close, would only drive the Solander Houses to publicly declare support for Prince Ravel’s claim and cause more division. First, Prince Rais will formally challenge his father to the crown, as per the Code of Honor. Khaled will accept and duel his son, who will win and claim the crown for his own. This is why I must build Khaled’s strength to at least be able to act out a duel.”
“But won’t Prince Ravel challenge Rais to a duel for the crown? It’d be his right.”
“You’re learning,” Talin said with a hoarse chuckle. “But it’s only the threat of war that gives Prince Ravel such a strong hold over the Council. Take away that threat, and none would dare to publicly oppose King Khaled’s right to name his own heir, not even House Fellbond. Everything depends on negotiating peace with Prince Wulfhart before blood is spilled on the battlefield.”
“We will speak with Hartnor on Prince Rais’s behalf,” Gareth said. “We must convince them that a lasting peace is possible with Rais on the throne.”
“Prince Wulfhart doesn’t trust you,” she said.
“With good reason. But Wulfhart isn’t yet king of Hartnor. If he isn’t amenable, there is another Hartnord prince who may be.”
Was there? She knew nothing about Hartnord royalty.
“Our hope is to convince the Hartnords that there is no threat to their kingdom so long as Sandair is under Prince Rais’s leadership and the Fire Walkers are under yours,” Talin said. “I’m depending on you to sway them. For better or worse, Prince Wulfhart wants you at the negotiating table. Tell him that Rais will refuse to use the Fire Walkers as weapons in war, which should also appease Neu Bosa as well. Under Prince Rais, we have a chance to unite all three nations into one alliance. With their support, Rais will be in the best possible position to rise. There is just one final piece.”
It was a good, thought-out plan. A devious one that went behind Prince Ravel’s back. They were finally turning his tricks against him. “Which is?”
“He’ll need a queen to further solidify his position as a ready-made king. I know I gave you a choice, but we are running out of options.”
“I’m the Priestess—”
“Which, ironically, makes you a powerful choice. It will demonstrate to Hartnor, and all of Sandair as well, the respected position of Fire Walkers in Rais’s kingdom, as well as secure your ability to keep the Fire Walkers, and Arlent’s people, safe for generations to come.” Talin paused a moment as if to give Mina a chance to process the importance of his words. “Prince Rais cannot challenge his father until this war is averted. Then, we’ll have to move quickly and you’ll need to stand down as high priestess. It’s either you or Salasar’s eldest daughter.”
“Lady Kasara?” she choked out.
“Yes. She was to wed Prince Ravel, if King Khaled had his way—and he would have eventually, although Salasar resisted the match. A marriage with Rais would be equally fruitful to the Bright Solara and more to Salasar’s liking. One of you will need to make that sacrifice. Rais needs a queen.”
Mina sank into her chair. It was too much to ask of her, and Talin knew it. She could barely follow the Council meetings or write a report, and he wanted her to be queen? Of all Sandair? It was ludicrous. She was a desert rat born in the sands, not some lady like Kasara—a woman who’d grown up with the intricacies of noble etiquette.
It was a sacrifice Mina couldn’t make.
And yet Talin was sacrificing his own blood to put Prince Rais on the throne. To secure a better future for them all.
Though there was a dark part of her that wondered if Prince Rais was ready for this.
If he could carry the full weight of the crown.
Talin patted her shoulder. “Think on it. I have faith in you to do what’s right.” His belief in her warmed through the blood bond, but it left Mina feeling cold inside.
43
THE PLAN
Good news arrived with the scent of s
pice and wine. Mina ran out of the temple and into the arms of her aunt.
Iman laughed and squeezed her tight. “I wasn’t gone that long, girl.”
“I still missed you.” Mina withdrew from the hug. “How’s Arlent?”
“Ready.” Her eyes shone with bright determination. “Show me what you and Jonan have been up to.”
Mina led Iman inside the temple, past the watchful eye of the city guard, to where dozens of Fire Walkers were engaging in breathing and stretching exercises. This had been her idea—they always calmed her before a battle, and her Fire Walkers were likely to face all manner of dangers before the season ended. They needed to be prepared for anything. Samira lectured them while they stretched, though most weren’t paying attention. Hundreds of years ago, the Temple of Rahn once served as an academy for Fire Walkers, to train them how to harness their gifts for the benefit of man. Samira certainly enjoyed her position as a lecturer and wasn’t at all perturbed by her students’ dismissive behavior. An unexpected guilt burned in Mina’s stomach. Soon Samira would lose her Fire Walkers. Her home. Her purpose.
Garr pulled faces behind Samira’s back to a giggling Kamran. He winked as Mina strode past. She raised a critical eyebrow, though she had to bite back a smile. Whatever his game was, it brought distraction and laughter to the younger Fire Walkers, which was precious indeed.
“That one’s got eyes for you, girl,” Iman said, not missing a beat. “Does he know about your vow of celibacy?”
Mina’s cheeks warmed. “Everyone knows I’m dedicated to Rahn.”
Iman smirked. “I’m sure they do.”
They found Jonan inside Leila’s glass room. After warm greetings and lengthy discussions of their various preparations at the temples and in Arlent, the topic inevitably turned to politics.
“Do we truly have Hartnords on the way to negotiate?” Iman asked.
“The crown prince himself,” Mina said. “He wants me and Jonan at the meeting.”
“Why Jonan?”
Jonan shrugged. “Men who seek Rhaesbond blood rarely do so for good reason. Though I won’t be indulging them. Not when I’m needed here. This negotiation will prove our best distraction.”
“No doubt,” Iman said. “In fact, I have a plan to empty the entire temple whilst Mina is busy entertaining our cold-blooded guests.”
Mina stared at her. “You’re taking them all? But—there are hundreds inside this temple. The Prince will suspect our House if they all disappear. He’ll send half the army to—”
“Not if they’re all dead. Poisoned. Incinerated to ashes.” Iman tapped her nose.
“An attack on the temple in the middle of negotiations,” pondered Jonan with a delighted grin. “It’s exactly what our rogue Fire Walker would do.”
“I thought you’d like that. And who could blame poor Mina when the Council forced her to take her best Fire Walkers to keep watch on the Hartnords and leave the temple undefended?”
“And naturally, the attackers would leave nothing behind but ash and dust,” Jonan added.
“And don’t forget a little evidence of Rahn’s Breath.” Iman pulled a purple pepper pod out of her sahn.
Could they truly pull off such a plan? “That would require a lot of fire to look convincing,” Mina said.
Jonan cracked his knuckles. “Allow me.”
“Whilst the entire city guard is running toward the Temple of Rahn, who will notice a flood of pilgrims pouring out of the Temple of Lune?” Iman said.
“Perhaps we should leave behind the Ash Maker and let him burn,” Jonan mused. “His screams would add to the illusion.”
Mina scowled. “We’re not killing anyone.”
Iman patted her shoulder. “We don’t kill anyone unless they get in our way. Take the Ash Maker with you to the negotiations. I’ll deal with Leila’s acolyte.”
What would the Council do if their “greatest assets” were wiped out on the eve of war? They were Sandarian; they could win this war with steel. But the cost in blood and lives would be catastrophic to the kingdom, likely for generations. The pressure on the Council to actually listen to Prince Wulfhart and reach a compromise would be tremendous. This could end the war.
Prince Ravel would be furious.
It was win-win.
Mina sat with Iman and Jonan and began to plan.
Iman burst into the temple and stomped across the sanctum. “What is this!” she bellowed and thrust a scroll in Samira’s face. “Over a hundred seras! This cannot be accurate.”
Samira batted the scroll away. “Our High Priestess said we could charge your House any excess—”
“Excess! Five seras is excess, not a hundred!” Iman waved Mina over. “You authorized this, girl?”
Mina snatched the scroll. It was a list of items charged to House Arlbond’s personal treasury—clothing, food, bedding, cushions, lamb, toys for the children, and… “I didn’t authorize wine.”
“Not just any wine,” Iman said. “A rare vintage. This alone cost half our budget!”
Samira’s face turned bright red. “Well, I, ah, I’ve never drunk wine. I don’t know what’s rare, what’s expensive, and—it was his idea!” She pointed a finger at Garr.
The Ash Maker lounged on a stone step with his arms crossed behind his head, Kamran by his knee, as usual. “I barely touched a drop. Your merry crew of temple dwellers finished nearly the entire shipment while you had me off galloping about the country. You need to teach your followers how to share, Sword Dancer.”
Iman’s anger rolled through the blood bond and she whirled on Samira. “Where are your books? Your records? I demand to see them at once.”
Without saying a word, Samira turned heel and ran into the tunnel.
But this left only Mina to face the brunt of Iman’s temper. “And you! You should know better, girl. Do you think our House can be throwing money around right now? When we expect so many…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “So many guests at our door soon? We can’t be funding all this luxury. Didn’t I teach you the economics involved with running a House?”
“I wasn’t expecting Samira to buy wine,” Mina grumbled, though she didn’t pay much attention to Iman’s lessons when numbers were involved.
“The damage is done. Besides, it’ll keep her occupied. You need to get that fool under control.” Iman glared at Garr. “We need him out of the way, but it’ll be no good if he sabotages this meeting with the Hartnords. He needs to at least act the part of a Fire Walker.”
“What makes you think he’ll listen to me?”
“Because the blood bond doesn’t lie, girl.”
Mina sighed. She didn’t agree with Iman’s assessment—that he’d listen to her, or had eyes for her, whatever that meant. She approached the Ash Maker.
He wore a playful smirk. “Am I in trouble, Sword Dancer? You look angry, but honestly, it’s hard to tell.”
“A word. Now.” She jerked her thumb to the archway.
“He’s not in trouble, is he?” Kamran asked.
“I’ll bring him back alive.”
Garr dragged himself up. He ruffled Kamran’s hair and followed Mina into the hallway. “Is this about the wine?”
She marched down the corridor, searching the doors for an empty room.
“I tried to stop her. I said, listen, our High Priestess won’t be happy if you drink all the wine, she’ll want some too—”
“Do you ever stay quiet?”
“My ma says I could talk a corpse back to life.”
“I bet.” She shoved him inside one of the empty dormitories. The stone beds were covered with silk sheets and down-filled pillows. If Farzad Fellbond saw this, he’d die of shock. “Prince Wulfhart is coming to Solus to negotiate with the Council. I’ll be part of the welcoming delegation, and I’ll need guards to make sure nothing goes wrong. That means you.”
“Prince Grayface couldn’t convince you to sail all the way to Hartnor, so instead
he’s coming here to make time with his favorite Fire Walker?”
“He’s coming to talk, that’s all.”
“That’s all? And what if your Council gets so excited about his little antidote to fire magic that they decide they want it for themselves? Stabbing a Hartnord prince in the back is a small price to pay for the solution to all their problems. Then it’ll be me and Kamran on our knees with poison in our blood.”
“I told you—as high priestess, my duty is to protect the Fire Walkers, even against the Council if it comes to it.”
“Giving the Hartnords a chance to brag about their new poison doesn’t sound like a smart move, but I’ll play. What are your orders?”
“It’s time you started acting and looking like a Fire Walker.”
“You mean like a simpering coward?”
“If you’re willing to obey my commands, then obey this—take off your clothes.”
He grinned. “So direct, Sword Dancer. Shall I fetch the wine?”
“This isn’t a game. Fire Walkers are supposed to dress a certain way—”
His grin faded. “And why is that?”
“Because cloth is flammable, for one—”
“And forcing them to disfigure their own skin? It’s humiliating.”
“That’s the point.”
“I have my dignity.”
She held her breath and counted ten heartbeats. “I’m a warrior, not a priestess or Houseman or lady—or whatever other title the Council gives me. I hate all of this cowering and posturing even more than you do. But I accept it, for now, because we can’t carve a path out of Solus for the people in this temple with a blade. That’s not how we win.” Her own words surprised her. Patience and politics had never been her game. "If all you want is to save your own worthless skin, then go. Find your own way out of the city and never come back. But if you want to protect Kamran or anyone else in this temple besides yourself, then shut up and do as I command.”
