by Trudie Skies
“So, we’re leaving for war,” Garr said. “Your Council meetings are proving productive.”
“We have no choice. The Hartnords took our people, burned half the temple—”
“Did they?” His brows raised.
She bit her lip.
Garr jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Kamran. “It’s odd how his mother supposedly burned to death and he doesn’t seem bothered by it. Does he look like a grieving boy to you?”
Fez nipped Kamran’s finger and he giggled.
“He’s in shock—”
“And Samira, she’s positively glowing. Is she also in shock?”
“I won’t tell people how to grieve.”
Garr leaned close, his amber eyes so alike Prince Ravel’s it made her want to scream. “All that time spent teaching your Fire Walkers how to make campfires. You should have been teaching them how to lie better.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s easier to lie if you believe the lie to be true, Sword Dancer.”
“Are you speaking from experience, Ash Maker?”
“From what I hear, you have more experience than I.” He turned to watch Kamran play with Fez and his smile faded. “What’s your intent?”
“My intent?”
“Will you march us to Hartnor and burn their cities? Burn their people? Your acolytes seemed happy to melt Hartnord flesh, but I’ve seen enough innocent people get caught up in battles to know war makes monsters of us all. I want no part in slaughter.”
“You think I do?”
“They have your Houseman. Your brother by bond, you said. I’d burn a kingdom to the ground to save my family. I won’t judge you for that.”
She thunked her head against the wall. She wanted Jonan back, but she didn’t want to sacrifice her Fire Walkers in exchange. What choice did any of them have?
She’d been gods-damn foolish to hope they could stop this war.
Now her only hope was to end it quickly with minimal bloodshed.
You won’t be able to save them all.
She met Garr’s amber eyes. There was a fire hidden in those golden-brown swirls, but they didn’t hold hate. He was an Ash Maker, not unlike Emir, and his past seemed to hide scars not so dissimilar. Were the Lunei’s tales of Ash Makers true? Or were they as misunderstood as House Rhaesbond? She should hate Garr for his bloodline—and Emir, too, for that and so many reasons—but she didn’t have the stomach for it.
Neither did Garr. He’d not once summoned his flame in all the time she’d watched him. “You’re scared of your fire.”
He jumped as though she’d startled him. “What—what makes you say that?”
“You’ve not used it once. You act the fool, but I see you, Ash Maker. I see your scars. What happened to you?”
The light in his eyes dimmed, and for a heartbeat she thought she’d never get her answer. “I have a sister back home. When I was fourteen, there was an… accident. I burned—I burned her face. Not as bad as your Prince Rais, but the scars are still there, four years later. I still have nightmares about it. I… I hear her screams. My scars are punishment.”
“You were a child, and children rarely have control. That’s why we train in the temple. You don’t deserve to torture yourself for it. I’ve burned people, too.”
“People you care about?”
She thought of Alistar. “Yes.”
He ran a hand atop his bald head. “My sister didn’t blame me, but I’ve yet to forgive myself. What monster deserves forgiveness?”
She put a hand on his arm. “Monsters enjoy inflicting pain, Ash Maker. We don’t. I can teach you control, if you’ll trust me. You are the master of your own self.”
He put his hand over hers, rough with the callouses of a man who’d earned his strength. “I’ll help you get your Houseman back. I’ll join your march. Someone needs to keep him safe.” He glanced to Kamran. “I swear to protect his life with mine, High Priestess.”
Mina could ask for no more, but how many lives would she have to sacrifice to get Jonan back? Would anyone be left to return to her temple by the end? “I’m barely a priestess. I don’t even know the prayers.”
“You should learn some. We’re going to need them.”
The evening sky swirled with the murky pre-grays of Lune’s Shadow and not the usual purple shades of Mina’s House. Lune’s rains would come before this war ended. She leaned over a railing at the docks and stared east. Endless water stared back. Being trapped inside it had terrified her, but staring at it now filled her with a sense of calm she’d surely need in the coming weeks. A warrior’s calm.
And still the bond lacked Jonan’s essence. She knew he still lived—she’d asked Tira to keep watch over him, but his absence hurt deep in her gut.
The bond warmed once more with the combined essence of rain on sand and sweet spice. She didn’t take her eyes from the swell of the Lapis as Talin squeezed her shoulder and Iman wrapped an arm around her waist.
Mina squeezed them back. Her family.
“He’s a tough nut, girl.”
“That he is,” Talin said, though concern ached through the bond. “We’ll get him back.”
“How can we get him back when I’m being sent west across the Solands to the Ruby Coast and not north into Hartnor?”
“Let me worry about that. You have enough to shoulder.”
Mina wiped moisture from her eyes. “I’m scared. Not just for Jonan, but for the Fire Walkers.”
“They’ll be safe in their new home.”
She turned to Iman. “When are you leaving?”
“At dawn. Through the south gate.”
Mina’s heart ached. She’d be marching the opposite direction with Salasar’s men. When would she see Iman again? Or Arlent?
Talin pulled her into a hug and she clung onto his bony frame. Gods, how much weaker would he become in her absence? He withdrew and held her at arm’s length. His dark eyes searched her, as though trying to memorize every dimple, mark, and scar on her face. “With Gareth gone, I cannot leave the King and march by your side, as much as I wish to.”
“Gareth was a good man,” Iman said. “He deserved a better end.”
Gareth, a Hartnord Prince. The lover of Princess Aniya. And she’d been carrying his child. Did King Khaled know? Was that why she’d been killed? Those secrets hadn’t died with his death; they’d become Mina’s. Though she supposed they meant nothing now.
“We once invited him to join our House,” Talin added. “He wouldn’t have been able to make the bond, but he would have been one of us.”
No one had never mentioned that before. “Why didn’t he?”
“He was a stubborn old goat who couldn’t move on from the regrets of his past.” Iman gave Talin a pointed look. “Sound familiar?”
Talin grimaced. “Gareth felt it would be inappropriate for him to join a Sandarian House.”
“Because he was Princess Aniya’s lover or because he was a Hartnord prince?” Mina asked.
“Both, and other things besides. I’d almost convinced him this Solend, thanks to you turning the whole kingdom upside down, but then the Hartnords turned up.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Some men can’t outrun their shadows.”
Shadows. Gods, she still didn’t know who killed the Queen, not that it mattered anymore. There was no chance of reconciliation with the Hartnords whilst Prince Wulfhart breathed, and Hiram as well. “Gareth was going to assassinate Wulfhart, wasn’t he?” And pave the way for another.
“If things went wrong,” Talin said. “Wulfhart has a younger brother—Prince Leonhart. There are rumors that this Leonhart is leading a coup against the keepers of their faith. Gareth wanted Leonhart and Rais to meet.”
“What about Hiram? What do we do about him?”
“Political maneuvering is my battlefield. Let me deal with the Bosan. You must focus on the battles ahead. Listen to Salasar and follow h
is commands to the letter. He’ll keep you safe. Especially when he learns you’ve taken his daughter for a sorran. Was that to spite him or me?” He gave her a wry smile.
“It wasn’t to spite anyone. Kasara volunteered.” It was just a coincidence that both of Prince Rais’s potential queens were currently indisposed.
Iman barked a laugh. “She’ll be good for you, girl.”
Talin pulled her into another hug. “I’m sending help to the coast,” he murmured. “They’ll keep you safe where I can’t.”
She strained a look up. “Who?”
“You’ll see.” He kissed her forehead. “Lune guide you, always.”
“Enough of this,” Iman said. “I’m not spending my last night in Solus moping. You’re both coming with me to the tea house, and by Rahn, you’ll enjoy it.”
Talin chuckled and wrapped an arm around Mina’s shoulder. “You leave us no choice.”
Mina squeezed him back. It had been too long since she’d indulged in tea and cake with her aunt, and Lune knew Talin needed more meat on his bones. She’d spend the night with her father and aunt for possibly the last time.
Zavar and his men came to collect the Fire Walkers before dawn. Mina had done her best to prepare them. With Iman and Kasara’s help, they’d procured adequate clothing and boots. Zavar, however, ordered them back inside to remove their clothes.
She stomped outside and met his foolish order with rage. “Prince Ravel expects the Fire Walkers to march naked and barefoot? They’ll die of cold before they even make it to the coast! I refuse to authorize their travel unless they have wagons at least.”
“They’re Fire Walkers, not Fire Riders,” Zavar said with a sneer. “Besides, if they cannot keep themselves warm, then what use are they in war?”
“None. So let them stay.”
“Oh? Shall I inform our Prince that the High Priestess refuses to follow basic commands?”
Mina flexed her fingers into fists. “Even soldiers are allowed boots to protect their feet. My Fire Walkers will be useless in combat if they’re crippled on a march.”
Zavar’s lips formed a tight line. Making the Fire Walkers suffer was the point of this foolish expedition, but there was also a war to be fought. Her Fire Walkers would be needed when Hartnord ships arrived on the Ruby Coast. “Boots, then. Nothing else.”
“And Kamran rides in a wagon. He’s barely a man. The walk will kill him.”
Zavar jerked his head into the briefest bow. “Fine. Ready your men.”
One by one her acolytes save Samira stepped through the temple doors into the cool dawn air. Dahn had volunteered to carry the Fire Walker’s red banner, though she’d try and attach it to her horse as soon as she could. It felt wrong to ride Luna when her own men had to make the journey by foot.
Garr stepped out of the temple last and her jaw dropped. Gone were the awful red smears of paint from his chest, and in their place were real markings—tattoos in the shape of swirling flame with Rahn himself in red and gold.
The Fire Walkers were destined to attract attention, but Garr's markings were the colors of the Bright Solara and he would stand out like a king. He was a walking blasphemy.
Garr met her stare and winked.
She found Samira waiting in the pyramid’s shade. “What did you do?” Mina said through clenched teeth.
Samira smirked. “I made art.”
Fez snuck out of the temple doors and rubbed his head on Mina’s leg. She scooped him up and gave him one last nuzzle. “Stay inside and be a good fox.”
“I’ll watch over him,” Samira said.
“I thought you hated him.”
“If he lives in the temple, then he’s one of us, whether I like him or not.” Samira bowed. “Rahn watch over you and our men, Priestess. Return to us whole.”
Mina felt guilty for offering Samira the promise of a new life and then snatching it from her grasp. But Samira understood her place, and the temple would do well with her in charge.
Some duties were more important than blood and bonds.
A supply wagon rolled by and Kamran sat among the crates. He waved cheerfully as he passed, but her heart sank. Even he had been assigned a personal guard.
Another spied on her as well: a tall Solander with a face as expressionless as a rock. He stood across the street, not quite watching her, but she felt him follow her like a Shadow.
She mounted her horse and steered Luna toward Kasara, who sat waiting on her own horse—a beautiful golden mare in contrast to Mina’s Lune-kissed white. They would be meeting Salasar and his battalion at the north gate. Kasara still hadn’t told her father she was Mina’s sorran, which meant he didn’t know his daughter would be marching with them—yet.
There’d be trouble when he found out.
Mina gave the order, and her Fire Walkers began their march.
They were not alone on the streets. Numerous other small bands of soldiers were on the march as well, all headed to the muster at the north gate. Soon there were hundreds of them crowding the streets together. A parade of soldiers. Women and children leaned from their windows as they passed, waving and calling. Some looked proud. Others looked grim.
Mina had been so focused on her own people and her own part in the war, she hadn’t realized the enormity of this morning’s departure. They were but nine soldiers among thousands, perhaps tens of thousands leaving home for possibly the last time. Most were Solanders, common folk of all ages from boys growing their first chin hairs to hardened soldiers whose braided beards had long since turned gray. Any Housemen were mounted, with bannermen marching before them: orange for House Khalbond, silver for Xanbond, and turquoise for Salasar’s House.
If Mina were still Malik, she would have been marching as a warrior instead of a priestess. No, if Mina were still Malik, she’d be sitting comfortably at home as Talin’s only male heir. Another privilege the Housemen could afford that common folk couldn’t. How many sons wouldn’t return from the Ruby Coast? How many fathers?
Prince Rais waited by the north gate. He gestured for her to dismount, and she did so, despite grumbling from the men around her. She was blocking the procession, but no one would deny a Solaran prince his whims.
He positioned Luna so the march could continue. “Were you about to sneak off and leave me for another adventure without saying goodbye?”
“No, my Prince, I—”
“I’m teasing you. I heard about the attack. I regret I wasn’t there to help. Lord Talin wishes me to remain in Solus and prepare the defense, but I would sooner join the charge at the Cold Path and help rescue Lord Jonan.” He glanced to the soldiers marching past. “I cannot wait here whilst our men take the fight north.”
“It would be safer if you remained here, my Prince. Sandair needs you, and you can’t serve her if you’re dead.”
“How can I serve her by hiding behind her skirts?” He smiled, but there was an edge to his words.
“We need you, my Prince. Sandair needs you. Alive and strong.”
His smile widened. “And do you need me, Lady Arlbond?”
“Of course, my Prince.”
“I can’t tell if you’re just saying what I want to hear or the truth. I wish you would speak plain.” He took her hand. “That’s why I wanted you for my sorran. Because you’re honest. You didn’t—you didn’t hide the truth behind a mask.”
“Malik was my mask.”
“I think Tamina is your mask. Malik is who you really are.”
What did he mean? Mina and Malik were the same. This was another game, so different from his brother’s, but she needed to play it if Sandair were to crown a half-decent king. “I do need you. I need you to be more than Rais. More than some Solaran prince in a pretty palace. I need you to lead your people. I need you to become a king. And sometimes that means making hard choices and sacrifices. Sometimes it will mean sending your men to die so that you may continue to live. But you will make those hard choices becau
se you will be king.”
“You’re wiser than Salasar.”
She chuckled. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Prince Rais lifted her hand to his lips. “The desires I have probably make me a bad king.” He kissed her knuckles so gently, it sent a bolt of sky fire in her stomach. “If you were Malik, I would have made you my brother. I’m fortunate that you’re Tamina so I can make you my wife.”
The march of a thousand boots roared in her ears. “My—my Prince?”
He kissed her hand again and she fought the urge to fling herself onto the nearest javelin. “You are the Lune to my Rahn. I want what you want—a united Sandair. Together we can achieve it. You don’t have to march. Come with me. Marry me now, today, and you won’t need to leave. You’ll remain in Solus and another can lead the Fire Walkers in your place.”
She pulled her hand free from his grip. “It’s my responsibility to lead them—”
“But that’s what you were saying. A queen must make those hard decisions. And sometimes that means sending men to die in her place.”
No, no, no! She wasn’t a queen; she didn’t want anyone to die in her place!
Talin couldn’t still mean for her to make this choice? This sacrifice? Gods, he must know. Her father had likely sent him. Was this Talin’s idea of help? To offer her a coward’s way out? She searched the crowds and caught the flicker of their temple’s banner, now far ahead of her. They were her men, and she wouldn’t abandon them now.
Perhaps Prince Rais was right. She was more Malik than Mina.
Malik wanted to fight.
Prince Rais cupped her cheek. “Isn’t this what you want? To protect your Fire Walkers?” He puckered his lips and leaned forward.
She placed a finger on his lip. “I’ll protect them. I’ll fight for them, as I expect you to fight for us. And should we both still live at the end of this war, then—then you’ll have a warrior queen who commanded her Fire Walkers in the defeat of our enemies. What better way to start your reign, my Prince?”
