The Fire Prince (The Cursed Kingdoms Trilogy Book 2) (34 page)

“Halt!” Katlen called, waving her arm.

Harkeld burned the arrow Justen had just released and lowered his hand. He felt like grinning, like whooping aloud.

Katlen crossed her arms and frowned at him. “Could you actually
see
those arrows?”

“Uh...” He gulped a breath that was a half-laugh. “Not really, no.”

Katlen’s frown deepened.

“What are you aiming at, then?” Cora asked.

“I’m...” He tried to find words through the buzzing exhilaration in his head. “I’m watching Justen. I know when each arrow’s coming even if I can’t see it, so I throw my magic at it.”

“Without actually sighting the arrow.” There was censure in Katlen’s tone.

Harkeld began to grow annoyed. “I got them all, didn’t I?”

“You threw your magic at things you couldn’t see! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“He only burned the arrows, Katlen,” Cora said, her voice mild. “Nothing else. How did you do it, Flin? Can you describe it?”

The exhilaration was trickling away, replaced by irritation. “I thought that’s what you meant I should do, when you said to watch Justen.”

“Not quite.” Cora’s smile was rueful. “Can you tell us what you did? How you’re aiming your magic?”

Harkeld blew out a breath. He frowned past the witches at Justen. What had he been telling his magic? “I knew each arrow was there, between Justen and me, because I’d seen him reach for the next one, so I sent my magic to find it. I wasn’t aiming at nothing. I was aiming at a very
specific
something. The arrow Justen had released.”

“Even though you couldn’t see it.” There was no censure in Cora’s voice; it was a statement, not a stricture.

“No, but I
knew
it was there.”

“You could have burned Justen!” Katlen said. “It was incredibly dangerous!”

“No, I could
not
have burned Justen.” He scowled at her. “I was very careful
not
to. I didn’t let my magic ignite each arrow until it was far enough away not to hurt him.”

Cora accepted this with a nod. Katlen looked at him narrow-eyed, as if she didn’t believe him.

“If I’d wanted to, I could have burned each arrow in the bow,” Harkeld told Katlen, growing more annoyed. “But I didn’t. I could have burned the cursed
bow
, but I didn’t!”

“It’s a thought...” Cora tilted her head to one side. “Shall we try?”

“The bow? From this distance?” Katlen’s expression became horrified. “He’ll kill Justen.”

Cora shook her head. “I don’t think so. Look at what he just did with the arrows. That was extraordinarily precise use of magic.”

“Very
dangerous
use of magic.”

Cora shook her head again. “No. Flin was in control of his magic the entire time, weren’t you?”

Harkeld nodded, feeling slightly confused. “Why was what I did wrong?”

Katlen opened her mouth, but Cora spoke first. “It’s not wrong, if it works—as it did for you—but for most fire mages, to aim at something you can’t see is—”

“Catastrophic!” Katlen snapped.

Cora ignored the interruption. “You aimed at something you knew was there, but couldn’t see. A very small, fast-moving object. It was a phenomenal exhibition of control.
I
couldn’t have done it. Nor could Katlen.”

Harkeld shrugged, still confused. “It was much easier than waiting to see them.”

Cora’s lips twitched. “I’m sure it was.” She glanced over her shoulder at Justen, waiting in the rain, his bow lowered. “How would you burn a bow without harming the archer?”

“Uh...” He blinked, focused on the question. “I’d... set fire to it at the top or the bottom.”

“Could you do it at this range?”

Harkeld hesitated. When he’d been burning the arrows he’d
known
he could set them alight in the bow if he’d wanted to. This was almost the same thing, wasn’t it? “Yes.”

Cora turned to Katlen. “Let’s try it.”

“The danger—”

“Flin won’t harm Justen, will you?”

He shook his head.

“You’re rushing him, Cora! Instruction should be paced—”

“To the needs of the student. And this is a student with a bounty on his head.”

Katlen closed her mouth.

“Flin?” Cora asked. “Do you wish to try?”

“Yes.”

“Katlen, can you please tell Justen what we’re doing?”

Katlen hesitated, her frown deepening.

“Tell Justen I won’t burn him,” Harkeld said. “He has my word.”

Katlen’s mouth tightened. She turned away and walked back to Justen, her boots splashing in the puddles.

Cora watched Katlen speak with Justen. “If, when the moment comes, you don’t wish to do it...”

“I’m not going to risk Justen’s life for the sake of my pride.”

“No. I didn’t think you would.”

Katlen returned.

“Justen agreed?” Cora asked.

“
He
has faith in him.” Katlen’s tone made it clear that she didn’t. “You’ll have to make your fire less hot, young man, else you’ll burn him, whether you think you will or not.”

“I know.” But he wasn’t irritated by Katlen this time. He didn’t want to hurt Justen either.

“After the sixth arrow, go for the bow,” Cora said.

Harkeld nodded and took a deep breath and stared across at his armsman. Dusk was closer now, but the rain had eased to a light drizzle. It was no harder to see Justen than it had been before.

“Ready?” Cora asked.

He nodded again, reaching for his fire magic, raising his right hand.

Cora signaled to Justen.

Harkeld narrowed his eyes, focusing all his awareness on Justen’s movements.
Burn
. An arrow flared alight.
Burn
. It was as easy as it had been last time, as effortless. His magic went where he wanted it to, did what he wanted it to do.
Burn. Burn. Burn
. One more and he’d aim for the bow.
Burn
.

He fixed in his mind what he wanted to do, threw his magic.
Burn
.

A small puff of orange flame blossomed at the top of Justen’s bow. The armsman jerked back a step, tossing the bow from him.

No one said anything for several seconds. The light patter of drizzle was loud in the silence. Cora turned to look at him. “Well done.”

Harkeld lowered his hand. He tried not to look smug. “Thank you.”

Katlen crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “In twenty years of teaching fire magic at the Academy, I’ve never seen that kind of control.” She said the words stiffly, as if it pained her to utter them.

“Well, now you have,” said a voice to their left.

Harkeld started. He’d forgotten Rand was there.

“That was quite a display,” the healer said, standing. He clapped Harkeld on the shoulder. “Well done.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

Justen jogged through the mud towards them. “That was incredible!”

Harkeld went to met him. “I didn’t hurt you? The flame wasn’t too hot?”

Justen shook his head, grinning widely. “A
poof
...” He mimed with his hands. “And the bowstring came off. I didn’t get burnt at all.”

“Good,” Harkeld said, relieved. “Where’s the bow? I’d like to have a look at it.”

Justen trudged back beside him. Harkeld crouched and picked up the bow, turned it over in his hands. The top was singed, the bowstring melted through. Exactly what he’d told his magic to do.

“Katlen tried to talk me out of doing it,” Justen said in a low voice. “But I figured that if you could let me shoot at you, I could let you throw magic at me.”

Harkeld glanced at him.

“Mind you, I
was
scared you’d burn my hands off,” Justen said frankly. “Most of the fire you throw is so cursed
hot
.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Harkeld said, standing.

Justen shrugged. “Ach.”

Harkeld headed for the campfire, carrying the bow.

“Were you afraid I was going to hit you?” Justen asked, matching step with him. “Because
I
was.”

“That first lot of arrows, yes. I was rutting
petrified
. Especially when I missed that last one. But I told myself that if they’d learned to do it”—he jerked his head back at Cora and Katlen—“I should be able to, too.”

“I don’t think they mastered it so fast,” Justen said. He turned on his heel and raised his voice. “How long does it usually take a mage to learn to burn arrows from the air?”

“Months,” Katlen said. “Some never manage.”

Justen turned to Harkeld and nudged him, grinning. “You’re a prodigy.”

“T
HERE’S A SINGLE
traveler behind us again,” Hew said.

Harkeld glanced up from his stew.

“The redheaded man?” Cora asked.

“Can’t tell. His hood was up. It could be the person who was behind us from Gdelsk, the horse looks similar. But then all brown horses look the same.”

“How far behind is he?” Justen asked.

“He stopped at that woodcutters’ camp four leagues back, pitched a tent there.”

Four leagues. Twelve miles. Harkeld started chewing again.

“This drizzle looks like it’s clearing. He might have his hood back tomorrow,” Rand said.

“He’s probably nothing to worry about. Just headed in the same direction as us, is all. I mean, one man? What could he do?” Gerit shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth.

Harkeld agreed. But even so, he took extra care sharpening his sword that evening. Beside him, Justen whistled between his teeth as he worked. The drizzle stopped. The clouds thinned, showing them a full moon rising.

Harkeld laid down the whetstone and examined his sword. It was a beautiful weapon—the flames engraved on the blade, the flaring tang.

It had been a gift for a prince. But he was no longer a prince. It was now a witch’s sword. A fire witch’s sword.

He touched the engraved flames with his fingertips. Would King Magnas wish the gift unmade?

H
ARKELD LAY ON
soft, sun-warmed grass, holding Innis. His body was relaxed, sated.
Life doesn’t get much better than this
.

“You really should think about becoming a Sentinel,” Innis said.

Harkeld’s eyes opened. He frowned up at the blue, cloudless sky.

“I’ve never seen anything like what you did today. Even Dareus couldn’t throw fire like that.”

“I don’t want to be a Sentinel.”

“But it’s—”

“I know. It’s an honor being a Sentinel. Protecting the weak. Saving the innocent.” He rolled to face her. “
I don’t want it,
Innis. And I don’t want to discuss this again.”

She sighed. “All right.”

Harkeld tucked her in close to his body. “Sleep,” he told her.

He drifted towards slumber, holding her.

“Did you hear that?”

Harkeld slitted his eyes drowsily open. “What?” He turned his head, but Innis was gone. “Huh.” He closed his eyes and fell asleep in the warm sunlight.

I
NNIS WOKE IN
the dark tent. An owl’s screech echoed in her ears. She pushed up on one elbow. Beside her, Prince Harkeld breathed quietly. He hadn’t been wrenched from their dream.
Maybe I imagined it?

Innis listened. The night was silent. No rain pattered on the tent. No wind blew.

I dreamed it
.

She lay back down. There was nothing to worry about. A shapeshifter kept watch over the camp. No one could creep up on them.

But as she shut her eyes, she thought she heard a sound outside.

Innis sat up. She pushed aside her blanket, crawled down her bedroll, reached for the ties fastening the tent flap—and paused. If someone
was
outside...

It was probably a mage needing to pee.

Or it could be bandits. Or assassins.

Innis leaned close to the tent flap. A cool breeze seeped through the gaps.
If I shift into a dog, I could smell if anyone’s there.

But taking off Justen’s clothes would take time, make noise. She’d likely wake the prince—

Her ears caught a sound. The back of her neck prickled. That had been a footstep, surely?

She needed dog’s ears and a dog’s nose, but partial shifting was forbidden.

The faint sound came again.

Innis gathered her magic.
A dog’s head
, she told it, and shifted.

The disorientation made her lurch, even though she was kneeling. She had a man’s body and a dog’s head, and it was
wrong
. She pressed her hands to the ground to hold herself up, squeezed her eyes shut, breathed deeply to quell the dizziness—and froze, mid-breath. There
was
someone outside. She smelled him.