Embrace the Fire (6 page)

Their heat made no impression on his fingers. Desperate, Sebastian picked up a glowing ember, cradling it in his palm. He stared at the skin beneath it. His flesh blackened and then parted, peeling outward, glowing a line of orange along the skin as it melted.

And he couldn't feel a thing.

It should have burned; he should have writhed with the pain of it. His parents, his perfect brother, Liam—they were the Dragondimn, the ones who could hold flames in their fingers; he hadn't inherited any of it, so grasping a glowing ember in his palm should have been impossible for him to bear.

His hands began to shake. He could hold fire. His father, his brother, even his mother had eyed him with empty dismissal when they'd realized he hadn't inherited the Dragondimn flesh.

If they could see him now.

Then another spasm of icy pain gripped his fingers. With a curse, he hurled the ember back onto the hearth. “Guard!”

A moment later, the heavy door groaned open, and a sentry peered at him from the dark corridor outside. “Your Grace?”

“Bring Lanier to the Council chambers and gather Xander and the rest of my Council together.”

The sentry bowed and closed the door. Sebastian turned to the lantern by his bed. Turning up the wick, he studied the wound left by the ember. White, purple, and gray frost splintered from the heart of it, tracing along the lines of his palms.

A different kind of pain throbbed in his fingertips and his arms—pain that had nothing to do with the burn of the ember—as he snatched the tunic and vest from his screen and clothed himself. He should have killed that cursed boy when he had been given the chance.

S
ebastian swept
into the Council chambers, nodding brusquely to the group of twelve that rose when he entered. Lanier stood beside Sebastian's accustomed chair.

“Be seated.”

They sat as Sebastian took his place. Lanier remained standing, his hands clutched behind his back. Sebastian made a concentrated effort to keep his voice even while he fought the pain that burned his arms. “Nicholas Erlane has departed in his ship, escorted by two of our bateaus, given free passage according to our rules of parley. But his navy still controls the Channel of Lise, threatening invasion now that the peace talks have failed.” Sebastian gave a tight smile. “This is the moment we must seize. War is upon us. Commander Lanier, you will leave for the Forgotten Plains today to take leadership of our amassed land forces. Our own ships are gathered in the waters west of the Three Maids, safe from enemy attack. They are ready to sail at a moment's notice. Though our water power does not compare to Erlane's, we will have surprise on our side.”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

“Lanier, you say Commander Jerrus will fall back into the Rues with a contingent of soldiers once you've arrived. Can you offer me the strategy?”

Lanier sketched a bow as he spoke. “Your Grace, Nicholas Erlane's forces are, frankly speaking, large enough to overwhelm us, but we will allow his ships to land. If he lands even half of his ships, we will face difficult numbers. Commander Jerrus plans to withdraw and take the long way as the Lismarian troops advance onto the shore, so we can flank the forces by the sea and close off their escape routes. The Lismarian ships will be vulnerable to Dragon attack by air once they have landed, and we will attack them in harbor, destroying their ability to escape.”

“You mean, if they should attempt to withdraw across the Channel of Lise?”

“Aye, Your Grace. Already, I've dispatched twelve armored bateaus, six to sail up and around West Ashwynd to close the mouth of the Channel of Lise to the north to block any escape efforts, and six will sail through the Camaran Sea to the south and close the southern exit of the Channel of Lise. The remainder of our fleet will move to the southern waters for reinforcement, as the Channel exit is wider there than in the north and will take more coverage.”

Sebastian held out his hand toward one of the Council members on his left. The man placed a scroll into his hand. Sebastian unfurled it, glancing over the markings that mapped out the southeastern portion of his country. “And where are you placing the creature groups?”

Lanier moved closer, pointing at the Rifted River that split the Plains. “Rather than releasing the whole force of our Creatures in one place, we're splitting them into three groups per kind. Here, here, and here is where we're placing the Dragons.” His fingernail clicked neatly on points to the north, south, and along the southern coastline. “We'll mix the Dragons with some of the lesser fighters, the Dryads and the Valkyries.”

A thought crossed Sebastian's mind. “With whom will you be placing the Pixies?”

“Elves and Cerberuses.”

The dark-haired youth who had won the Pixie's bracket of the spring Tournament and now stood at the head of one of his three Pixie Divisions disturbed Sebastian. Julian Pixiedimn had admitted his passion for Sebastian's niece, Kinna, the red-haired minx, and in a strange twist of power-mixed pity, Sebastian had betrothed the two of them, hoping to use the engagement to control Julian. Sebastian fully intended blackmail; the boy was talented, but Sebastian also relished the idea of entrapping his niece into a marriage where she could never escape.

Since Julian had at last agreed to head the Pixie Division, Sebastian had revoked the betrothal; when his niece fled the Tournament with her Mirage Dragon, he'd determined to bring her before him, dead or alive, and one didn't grant marriages to fugitives. He'd sent a message to the Pixiedimn, impersonal and to the point:
The Crown forthwith releases you from your betrothal to a traitor. The girl is now a wanted fugitive and should you receive word of her whereabouts, you are to report it to the Crown immediately.

Sebastian wondered where Julian's loyalty really lay. Though Sebastian had promoted the lad in a world where it was excruciating to earn a living for a family, the Pixiedimn's passion for Kinna could cause havoc in his plans, and Sebastian wasn't sure he could bend this reed before his will.

Uncertainty of anything soured Sebastian's mood. He ruled a kingdom, albeit a smaller one than was his rightful inheritance, and necessarily, he had to trust those he put in leadership under him. But that didn't mean he couldn't lengthen his personal supervision incrementally.

“I'm coming with you.”

Lanier had been in conversation with another Council member. All talk abruptly ceased. “Pardon, Your Grace?”

“I'm accompanying you to the Forgotten Plains. Are you deaf, Lanier?”

Lanier straightened his offended spine. “Nay, Your Grace. I ... did not think you wished to place yourself so directly in harm's way.”

Sebastian whipped to his feet. “Are you calling me a coward, Lanier?”

“Nay, Your Grace.” Lanier dropped his gaze to the table.

Sebastian stared hard at his Commander. Without turning his gaze even half an orlach, his voice rebounded through the room. “Council is dismissed.”

When Lanier bowed to leave, Sebastian gripped the table. “You will remain, Lanier.”

Quiet whispers accompanied the men as they made their way from the chamber, suspicious glances cast over their shoulders. Sebastian waited until the door boomed shut and he was alone with his Commander. He stepped around the table, standing toe to toe with Lanier. To his credit, the man didn't flinch.

“Never forget, Lanier, you are what you are because I made you.
I made you
, have you forgotten?”

“Nay, Your Grace.” Lanier's whisper was barely audible.

“And you live because I have allowed it.”

“Aye, Your Grace. I am grateful.”

“Without me, the vultures would feast upon your bones and then defecate across the moors of the Lismarian plains, filth for the Trolls to feast upon, because I saved your sorry hide from the raider-infested streets of your village. Do you deny it?”

“Nay, Your Grace. I do not deny it.”

Sebastian's jaw tightened as he stared at the man. His left hand gripped the back of the chair next to him. “You will never, not ever, call my judgment into question again, particularly before my Council. I lowered your rank once, Lanier, in favor of a fresh-faced boy, and I can do it again. And next time, I will lower it so far that there will be no rank left and no head upon which to bestow it. Do I make myself clear?”

One of Lanier's eyes twitched in the long silence that followed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Sebastian made a concerted effort to relax his spine. He stepped away from the man and released the chair. His sharp breath resounded in the room.

Frost and ice spidered outward from the chair where his grip had pressed, feathering in furls and curlicues. Lanier's gaze was still resentful. It rested on Sebastian's face, not the chair. Sebastian turned toward the door.

“We leave mid-morning.”

His pain-filled hands gripped the brass doorknob and pulled it open. The first portion of his plan was already in place.

I
t was not
an ideal day for travel. Rain sloshed the dirt roads, miring the carts in mud up to the axles. Horses slipped, neighing as they flailed. The mules were more sure-footed, but the only mules in the mass of men and horses pulled the carts that held weapons, canvas, cages, and food for creatures, Dimn and soldiers: the materials of the battlefield. The soldiers all rode hot-tempered stallions from the Elven Ward, and their hooves were not made for such conditions.

Before the hour was up, mud caked Sebastian's horse to his withers, and Sebastian's own clothing was the same uniform shade of reddish-brown. Water dripped from his dark curls and neatly-trimmed beard, tracing down his clothing, flowing over his frigid hands.

Lanier rode beside him, his head down in the driving rain. “Your Grace, I wanted to understand why you so suddenly chose to travel to the Forgotten Plains this morning.”

Sebastian swiped at a rivulet coursing too near an eye. “I wish to review everything for myself and to speak with Jerrus, as he's been on the ground now for a while. Not,” he added, “that I owe you an explanation for my decision.” He paused. “It is the
honorable
thing to do.” Bitter emphasis rested on the word.

“Your Grace, I do not believe Greyham meant what you've made of his words.”

“Don't you?” Ice cracked Sebastian's voice. “When one man casts another's honor upon the altar of defamation, the only option is to fight.” He narrowed his eyes at his Commander. “Lanier, I am well aware that my brand of honor is not the definition that has passed down through the generations. But I am, at least, honorable to myself. I have ambition, and I will never do something that will take me backward from my goals. There is honor in that, and Greyham cast aspersions upon it.”

Lanier's silence was deafening even in the rain. At last, he opened his mouth. “Did you believe I was pulling you back from your goals this morning?”

“When you challenged me before the Council? Aye.”

Lanier tightened his gloved hands around his horse's reins. “You do not trust me, Your Grace.”

“That's nonsense.”

“Is it?” Frost edged Lanier's gaze. “You never used to question anything I did, because my life is in your service. What has changed, Your Grace?”

Sebastian didn't speak. He recognized the truth of his Commander's words. He
didn't
trust the man. Not anymore. Not after Sebastian had struck at the heart of Lanier's service by elevating Cedric above him months ago.

A shout rang up the line. “Take cover!”

A volley of arrows burst from the steep, tree-furred hills on either side of the road. Sebastian's horse reared, screaming as an arrow grazed its neck.

Movement flickered in the underbrush of the woods on both sides of the road. A blue cloak flashed behind a nearby tree—Lismarian blue.

More horses screamed. Men shouted up and down the line.

“Get to safety!” Lanier shouted. He brought the flat of his sword down on the rump of Sebastian's mount, and the horse lurched into a gallop. Sebastian clung to the mane. He'd lost his grip on the reins in his surprise, and he stretched to reach the leather straps as they jerked wildly in front of the animal's pounding hooves.

He nearly vaulted over the head of the horse before he managed to grasp the reins, straining to slow the animal. The horse, already lathered, tossed his head in protest. A quick glance behind showed Sebastian that he'd left his men, and he was alone.

Fury lit Sebastian's mind. Another betrayal. Erlane had known that his men were infiltrating during their parley. He had the nerve to talk peace, while all the time, his men crept through the countryside. It was an overt act of war.

He should have run the devil through in his Council chamber.

Sebastian glanced behind him. It was several days' journey to the Forgotten Plains. If he rode hard today, he might gain access to the Griffon Pass, bring some Griffondimn back to do battle with the attackers, but by then, it would be far too late.

As he considered his options, which weren't many, his horse cleared the underbrush of a particularly thick section of path. A stone house stood to the right, smoke furling from its chimney.

Sebastian reined his mount to a stop on the stone pathway before the door. He tossed the reins over a hitching post and took the stairs up the stoop two at a time.

At his knock, the door slowly opened and two eyes stared out at him. The woman was white-haired and bow-backed, but her eyes burned an intense blue. “Yes?” she croaked.

“Have you anyone about the place that can ride for help?” Sebastian's icy hands dripped rain, and the burning cold seared him even more strongly now.

The weathered face peered up at the royal crest on his sodden mantle and at the golden crown that wove through the yellow and gold fabric. Recognition and acknowledgment flared in her eyes. “Nay, Your Grace. I am alone.”

The sounds of pitched battle clashed in the distance. Sebastian shook his head, turning for his horse. “Then I must try to make for the Griffon Pass to seek help.”

“If it's help you need, Your Grace, I can offer it.”

Sebastian's eyebrow lifted. “What help can you give?”