Embrace the Fire (19 page)

A slow smile lifted his lips as possibilities crashed over him. This could be a gift; he could wield more control than he had ever wielded in his life. Anyone who came near him, he could freeze with a touch. The heady power lessened his pain.

Let the ones who hated him come at him. He would lift a finger, and they would suffer a vile death. He glanced with satisfaction at the six new statues in the meadow. Such a gift could serve him well.

He rose and pulled his tunic from his breeches, lifting it until he could see the wound in his side. Tentatively, he touched the wound, flinching. Concentrating, he willed the ice from his fingers and watched the frost flake across the wound, layering it beneath a mask of coldness.

The bleeding stopped, at least temporarily.

As did the pain. His hands lingered in near-normal bliss, the iciness of his veins lessened for the time being, though he could feel it in the background, latent, waiting.

Sebastian lifted his gaze. Seer's Crest shone red in the glare of the sunset, the pillared cliffs rising high above the treeline, deep ridges casting dark shadows across the tops of the cliffs. He had meant to find the Seer Fey to rid himself of the Amulet's curse...

But perhaps he no longer wished to be rid of it.

He stared for a long while at the distant dark ledges and watched the light chase the cloud shadows across their depths.

Much later, he grasped the reins of his own mount and pulled himself into the saddle to head down the side of the mountain, leaving the statues and the other horses behind.

S
eer's Crest was farther
away than it appeared. Sebastian climbed steep hills and stumbled down leaf-strewn drops. Many places were too steep for him to ride the horse, so he'd lead the animal on foot until the ground leveled again.

Darkness shrouded his way, and he stopped to make camp, feasting hungrily on the jerky in his horse's saddlebag, staring at the cold moon above him. He didn't dare make a fire, not alone in enemy territory.

Traitors. His men were traitors.

Anger cramped his jaw. As evening had progressed, so had the icy pain, though it remained on a lower threshold than it had before. Still, the cold crackled beneath his gloves, and he wondered if a fire would have helped anyway.

He leaned against a tree and dropped his chin onto his chest, allowing himself to sink into a light sleep. In the morning, he would continue toward the Seer's Crest. He hadn't decided yet what he would ask them—if he wished to rid himself of his icy curse—but he wanted to learn more.

If he did not ask them to remove the curse, perhaps he could arrange to meet with Nicholas Erlane in person again, and this time, he'd enjoy a meeting of hands.

A smile touched his lips as he fell asleep dreaming of gray trenches rifting into the white skin of the Lismarian King.

K
inna and Ayden
stared at the empty Plains that only days earlier had been teeming with tents and creatures and soldiers. Lincoln hadn't arrived yet, and Kinna refused to move on until the Pixie arrived at the western borders of the Forgotten Plains.

“They must have crossed the Channel,” Kinna murmured. “If they had gone in any other direction, we would have seen signs of them.”

“Unless they've moved north to The Crossings.”

Chennuh turned his massive head and snorted a fireball at the two of them. Neither flinched. He spread his mirrored wings, and beat them, each flap sounding like a thunderclap against the ground. He lurched into the sky, and Luasa followed.

“They're going to check which way the armies have gone,” Kinna said, needlessly. Ayden would already know this since he'd achieved
psuche
with Luasa.

“What will you do if they've crossed over the Channel of Lise?” Ayden asked.

“I need to find Cedric.”

They fell into another awkward silence. Kinna wished she could erase the tension that their rather passionate kiss had created. Why did he have to play with the vault where she kept her secrets so securely locked? Not even she would examine her feelings so closely, and he'd forced a crack of daylight into the dark void where she'd obscured her most hidden emotions.

His body warmed her, only an orlach away. He shifted, and she jumped as though an exploding chestnut had burst from a bed of coals in front of her. He glanced sideways at her, his silver eyes lit with amusement. “What has you so uptight?”

“N—nothing.” Kinna stood, brushing down her breeches. “I just wish...” She sighed, her gaze searching the far reaches of the Plains. She didn't know what she wished, but she needed to do something. She needed to find Cedric. She felt ineffective. She wanted to see her parents again. Fear for her father hovered on the edges of her mind. As far as she knew, he was still a prisoner in Sebastian's dungeons, the tool for Sebastian's blackmail that kept her in a loveless betrothal with Julian, but that was just it. She didn't
know
what was happening. She was out of touch.

“What's that?” Ayden's voice held a note of concern.

“I just wish I knew what to do,” she said louder.

“No, not that, although thank you for explaining.” The corner of Ayden's mouth moved upward, sending Kinna's thoughts into a confusing whirl. “That.” He pointed to the south where movement along the treeline had drawn his attention.

A figure staggered toward them, stumbling as it approached. It fell to the ground before pushing itself to its feet again. As it neared, Kinna recognized the tall, lean body structure of an Elf. She started toward him, but Ayden's hand snagged her wrist. “Kinna, wait. We don't know if he's friend or foe.”

“Elves hate the King. He'll be friendly.”

“Aye, but we no longer have only one King to worry about. Nicholas Erlane has proven that.”

Kinna hesitated as the Elf neared, but when he was twenty lengths away, she broke free from Ayden and ran to the creature.

The Elf leaned against a tree. His long, dark hair tangled over his thin shoulders, though his pointed Elf ears peeped through the mass. Twigs and dirt matted the hair into a carpet, and blood crusted one leg of his breeches from his knee to his ankle. His skin was pasty, and his thin lips were cracked and dry. He rested a cheek against the rough bark of the tree, lids fluttering shut over dark eyes, blue veins spidering their surface.

“You're hurt,” Kinna said. “Please. Let me help.”

The Elf didn't speak. With a nod, he sank to the ground, his back against the tree, and Kinna turned to Ayden, who had followed close behind her. “Firewort, if you can find it. Witch hazel if not.” She gently tugged the stiff material of the breeches from the Elf's skin. It did not come easily. “And water, too, Ayden,” she added.

Kinna watched as Ayden weighed the options. It was obvious that he didn't want to leave her alone with the Elf.

“He's injured,” she urged in a whisper. The creature's eyes remained closed, his breath coming in swift, shallow pants.

Ayden nodded and ran into the soggy wetlands that bordered the mountain streams coming from the Ridges of Rue. When he returned, he had filled a spare skin with water, handing it to Kinna with the words, “Be careful. I'll go look for the wort.” With that, he disappeared into the trees.

Kinna hadn't been able to tear the crusted fabric from the wound without reopening it. She opened the waterskin and drizzled the clear liquid across the breeches, darkening the rust-colored blood stains.

“Thank you.”

The Elf looked tired and drawn, full of pain. Worse, his eyes looked absolutely human; the narrowed, blackened pupil had rounded until she would not have been able to tell he was an Elf but for his ears. Elves were well known for their ability to see fieldspans, to notch their arrows and hit the eye of a stag far beyond the normal sight of a human. Such a loss would be staggering for this Elf if his vision were harmed.

“Can you see?” Kinna asked, alarmed.

The Elf tilted his head, blinking rapidly as he looked over her shoulder. “Not nearly so far,” he whispered. “The beast's poison entered my blood.”

“How did this happen?” Kinna returned her attention to his leg.

“A skirmish on the Channel shore. A troupe of Erlane's Dimn slipped through Sebastian's naval net and surprised our company before we could cross the Channel. I got separated from the others. One of Erlane's Goblins did this to me.” One thin hand motioned to the leg where Kinna meticulously worked.

“I see,” Kinna began, and then as she pulled the fabric free from the wound and slit the soaked material with her knife, she
did
see. “He bit you!”

“Aye. The bugger had keen-edged teeth.” A huge crescent ran from an orlach above his ankle all the way to the soft flesh behind his knee.

Ayden returned, his hands full of foliage. Kinna recognized the priceless firewort. Relief flooded her. “Excellent. Make a fire, please, Ayden; tea brewed from firewort provides some pain relief. Give me some leaves to start with.”

Ayden hesitated, and Kinna understood why. As yet, they didn't wish for people to find them. A fire after dark was an invitation for trouble, but the sun had only just begun its downward circuit, so he turned again for the woods, scooping up dry, dead underbrush as he went.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the Elf murmured faintly.

Kinna stared at him, but the Elf's eyes had slid shut. He was hardly conscious. “What is your name?” she asked, hoping to keep him from sinking into the dream world. She plunged her knife into the hem of her tunic and tore a long strip all the way around. She packed the firewort into the material and poured the last of the water from the skin over it.

“My name is Iolar,” he said.

“What an unusual name.” Kinna pressed the cool compress to the bite mark where the bite wound was deepest. Despite her gentle ministrations, blood oozed from the flesh again. “Not everyone names their child after a bird.”

“I am named for the swiftness of the eagles, not for the eagle itself.” The Elf studied her through half-closed eyes. “Not everyone names their child after the fire from which they're birthed either.”

Kinna snapped to her feet. The air had been sucked temporarily from her lungs. “How do you know who I am?”

Iolar's voice was gentle as the wind. “There are many devotees to the true King, Liam, Your Grace. Your presence at Sebastian's Tournament in the spring did not go unnoticed. Your hair is ... distinctive, the same color as King Liam's.”

Kinna's hand moved self-consciously to her fiery braid.

Iolar shook his head. “Never, in all my days, would I have sat on the ground in the presence of royalty as I do now, and I humbly apologize, Your Grace. But you can be sure of my unswerving devotion to you and your brother—mine, and that of our entire Clan.”

The fear that had crashed over Kinna when she realized the Elf knew who she was fled before the mention of her brother.

“Have you had news of my brother? Do you know of his whereabouts?”

“Aye, Your Grace. He escaped Sebastian, but word raced through the ranks that he has been sighted in Lismaria. Our Clan tried to rescue him from a troupe of Erlane's creatures, but our timing was unfortunate. Sebastian's soldiers arrived just before us, and your brother vanished from the melee.”

“He's in Lismaria,” Kinna breathed. “Where exactly?”

“We found the camp at Marron Half-Hinge. When he escaped, there was some evidence that he had followed the Silver Rush River north, but Sebastian's Cerberus lost his scent.” Iolar lifted an eyebrow. “Surely Your Grace does not plan to go to Lismaria?”

“My plan is to find my brother,” Kinna said shortly. “If that means traveling to Lismaria, then so be it.” She felt rather than heard Chennuh's great form circling overhead, and she tilted her head back. The Dragon shuddered into visibility as he descended. Luasa's form also appeared as she landed twenty lengths away.

Iolar's face paled. His hands gripped the roots on either side of him as he tried to draw farther beneath the trees. “Dragons,” he rasped. He struggled to get to his feet, but Kinna stood and pushed him back down.

“Don't worry. Chennuh and Luasa won't hurt you.”

“Th—they are yours?”

Kinna flushed, anger stirring inside her. Before she could speak, however, Ayden's quiet voice startled her. “Nay, they are not creatures to be owned or held captive. So they are not
hers
. However, they respect her as she respects them, and they will not harm you.”

Iolar didn't relax, but he made no further attempts to stand. His gaze fixed on the Dragons as they perched on the rise above the Forgotten Plains, communicating with each other in snorts and grunts only they understood.

Kinna turned back to Ayden and found him crouched on the ground nearby, stacking wood into a chimney and then touching it with a red-hot hand. Flames immediately licked the wood in a merry dance.

Kinna brewed a tea from some of the remaining wort leaves, and Ayden filled the spare skin with the steaming liquid. He handed it to the Elf, and Iolar sighed in relief after the first sip. “It makes it stop burning,” he murmured, though he flinched when Kinna lifted the compress to add more leaves.

Kinna smiled as she worked. “Aye, firewort, taken internally or spread externally, is the best medicine for such a wound. Why did my brother flee your company?”

The abrupt change in subject spread silence over all three of them. After a moment, Iolar answered. “I do not know that he recognized us as friendly. Sebastian's men crowded in first, and we came behind, and even though we were not wearing West Ashwynd's red and gold insignia, I hardly think your brother distinguished us from the ones who were.”

Kinna scraped together the remaining firewort Ayden had brought and dropped the leaves carefully into the pockets of her breeches. “You know for certain that your Clan would support an uprising against Sebastian?”

Iolar leaned forward, his attention focused on Kinna's face. “Your Grace, I swear it. There are already plans afoot for such a revolt. But we've waited only for a figure to follow.”

Kinna did not look up. “Even one who has spent a lifetime far from the throne?”

“If you had spent a lifetime beneath Sebastian's shadow, you would have wilted and died. As it is, you've returned to us, stronger for your exile.”

F
inally
, Lincoln arrived, guiding his horse through the trees that evening. He dismounted with an agile spring and tossed the reins to Ayden, along with a spare tunic Ayden had kept in his saddle bag. “Put some clothes on,” he'd muttered. “Female company doesn't like that.”

Female company likes it too much
, Kinna thought, turning away to hide her hot cheeks. Ayden had tried to don his spare tunic before they'd left, but she had protested that his burns were too severe. Lincoln had retreated, hooting, behind a rock while Ayden had stared at her, eyebrows at his hairline. The spare tunic, however, had mysteriously remained in the saddlebag.

Lincoln's eyes twinkled, his knowing gaze touching her flaming face. He took pity on her and changed the subject. “I just dodged two Ogres, an Ogredimn and a rogue Dryad in the Rues, but never mind about me. How was your Dragon flight?”

Kinna stared at him. “You did
what
?”

“No worries.” Lincoln shrugged as he crouched before the embers of the fire. They'd have to put it out soon; dusk was closing in, and a fire was a beacon at night. “I escaped with my life. And your horse's life.” He nodded to Ayden, who sat silently on the far side of the fire, his clean tunic now covering his torso. “And I heard news. Who's he?” he asked without pausing, nodding to Iolar, who still leaned against the tree in the shadows.

“A friend,” Kinna answered.

“It's rare to see an Elf without the protection of his kind around him.” He raised a brow, and his voice was hard.

“In case you hadn't noticed, Pixie,” Iolar's voice slit the air like a knife, “West Ashwynd is strangely bare of many of its creatures. Or hadn't you heard that there was a war on?”

“Then why under the Stars are you cowering here?”

“Watch your tongue, Pixie, lest I cut it off.”

“Enough!” Kinna snapped. “I realize that Pixies and Elves have had a falling out somewhere way back in history, but we are in the present and in a rather desperate situation, so I will need your full support.” She narrowed her eyes. “Both of you.”

Iolar dropped his gaze. “Aye, Your Grace. I offer my sincerest apologies, Pixie.”

Lincoln's eyebrows winged upward, surprise catching in his voice. “Well, that's a—”

“Linc!” Kinna's voice cracked the tension.

“Aye, m'lady,” Lincoln said, instantly contrite. “Apology accepted and reciprocated, Elf.”

Kinna nodded. “Now, what news?”

“The Dryad was carrying information to the Ogres. A Siren was found, frozen into a statue in her own home, north of the Forgotten Plains. Word reached the Dryads from the Griffondimn who found her; they say she has the unmistakable trace of
taibe
on her body. They said she was frozen by the Ice-Touch.”