Embrace the Fire Page 18

  Lanier's men were loyal; Sebastian had nearly been the victim of a palace coup months earlier when he'd replaced Lanier with that cursed Dragon-Master—his nephew, Cedric. He forced the tremble from his hand and kept his sword tip on Lanier's chest.

  “Speak clearly, Commander. I wish to understand what you did.” Sebastian's voice could have carved granite.

  Lanier stood immobile, his face wiped clean of expression. “I took the Amulet to the Channel as you ordered, Your Grace.”

  “And?”

  “The bag was empty.”

  “What do you mean, it was empty? Did I not place it in the bag myself? Did you not carry the bag to the boat? Did you entrust the bag to anyone else?”

  “Nay, Your Grace. The bag stayed with me the entire time. But when I reached the water and boarded the boat, it was gone.”

  Absolute silence hovered over the camp. At last, Sebastian asked, “Why wasn't I informed?”

  For the first time, Lanier's expression cracked. His jaw tightened. “It seemed unnecessary, Your Grace.”

  “Unnecessary? Was I not clear in my instructions that it must be cast into the sea?”

  A long silent moment ensued before Lanier finally replied. “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace. I should have told you.”

  “Indeed. You should have.” Sebastian's hand shook now from the weight of the sword. He dropped the sword point to the ground, and the tension in the camp eased.

  “Leader Chane.”

  A dark-skinned man stepped forward, his gaze swinging between the Commander and Sebastian. “Your Grace?”

  “Dispatch a message to my steward at The Crossings. I wish to have Elise Lanier swinging from the gallows the morning the message is received.”

  “No!” Lanier's expression melted into a mask of horror and anger. “Sebastian, my sister—”

  “Is payment for a lost Amulet. Surely you will learn to be more responsible next time, Lanier.” He turned away, leaving Lanier gasping and stuttering.

  “Please, Your Grace, I offer myself in her place. Please!”

  Sebastian folded his arms across his chest.

  Lanier dropped to his knees. “Please, Sebastian, have I not served you well? This one error, can it not be overlooked?”

  “Touching, Lanier. I didn't know you had so much passion in you.” Sebastian smiled. “But unfortunately, your mistake has far-reaching consequences.” Ice swept through his hands. He clenched his fists. “My answer is unchanged.” He swung his gaze to Leader Chane. “Well? What are you waiting for? The gallows await, and the day hurries onward.”

  Chane sketched a bow, glancing at Lanier still on his knees, before striding away.

  Lanier's eyes filled with tears. “Your—”

  “Your mother will swing next to your sister with another word, Lanier.” Sebastian's voice was quiet and deadly. Absolute silence smothered the clearing.

  Lanier's eyes, so intent and grave, shuttered. He stood and executed a stiff bow, at last turning and striding into the woods.

  Sebastian watched him leave. Part of him wished to push Lanier over the edge, to gleefully watch his character self-destruct before his eyes, and part of him hoped that his loyal servant would withstand this test like refined steel. He'd thought Lanier would bear up beneath the pressure, but a portion of him wondered at the man; the terrible pain that grayed Lanier's face planted a seed of doubt.

  Sebastian sighed, turning to Commander Jerrus. “Where are we?” he asked.

  Jerrus glanced at the sun's rays peeping through the foliage. “Some three hundred and fifty fieldspans southwest of Erlane's castle, Your Grace. Several days march at least.”

  “I'm not worried about timeliness,” Sebastian said. “However, I want steady movement toward Nicholas Erlane's capital. My time to sit again on the Lismarian throne is long past due.”

  Jerrus bowed his head. “Aye, Your Grace.” He wheeled away at the same time as a scout burst into the clearing.

  “Your Grace, some news.”

  Sebastian stepped closer, and the scout bowed.

  “Well?”

  “I bring word, Your Grace,” the scout puffed. “There has been a sighting of the Lady Lianna.”

  “What say you?” Sebastian's hands curled into fists. “Where?”

  “In these very mountains. The runners you sent north brought word of it to me. She was hiking the ridges of the southern Marron Mountains, and we believe she is seeking the dwellings of the Ancients. The Seer Fey.”

  Black looks crossed the faces of those near enough to hear the scout's words. Superstition ran rampant in Sebastian's ranks, and the ancient Seer Fey were dreaded. They were regarded as witches, full of black taibe who targeted helpless creatures with their dark fancies.

  Sebastian dismissed the scout, but was surprised to see Lanier standing at the edge of the wood, his arms crossed over his chest. Sebastian arched an eyebrow. The man surprised him sometimes. Sebastian raised his voice so Lanier could hear. “Now what would my former betrothed be doing in the misty dwellings of the makers of that cursed Amulet?”

  Lanier's jaw twitched beneath his beard. “It's only legend that they live there, King Sebastian, a fisher-wives' tale. If you wish to make all speed to ClarenVale and Nicholas Erlane's seat, we do not have time for a detour to the fabled Seer Fey dwellings.”

  “Nay, you have no time,” Sebastian replied. “You will continue northeast until you reach the gates of ClarenVale. I will seek out the Seer Fey and Lianna, and then meet you there.”

  “Your Grace, the Seer Fey—”

  “Are the stuff of legend, I know. Are the mystic might in the mountains, yes. Are the ones who commune directly with the deified Stars, of course. Certainly, I have every reason to fear them.” Sarcasm wrung his words. “Simply for the fact that they hate me, though, I believe I shall have an interesting journey. But they have answers to questions I have about the Amulet.” As he spoke, frost plumed the outsides of his gloves. Sebastian cursed under his breath.

  * * *

  Sebastian's horse shifted, and the steady tromp, tromp of soldier's feet shuffled across the leaf-strewn forest floor. Lanier had ridden to the back of the line, but Sebastian could see him now, his bay gelding sure-footed even on the sloped ground. The Commander drew his horse near Sebastian.

  “Are you certain you do not wish me to accompany you, Your Grace?”

  “Aye.” Sebastian inclined his head. “I will meet you at the gates of ClarenVale, and I will have the Lady Lianna with me.”

  Surprise lifted Lanier's dark eyebrows. “Your Grace, is that wise? The King's niece held hostage at his gates, in front of his own men? They will be driven into a frenzy.”

  Sebastian half smiled. “What could be better? We will show them what it means to hold absolute power.”

  Lanier didn't smile in return, though he inclined his head.

  Sebastian turned his horse, motioning the six soldiers accompanying him to do the same. “Oh, Lanier,” he turned in his saddle, “send word to me immediately if you hear even a whisper of the whereabouts of the Dragon-Master.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Lanier spurred his horse to continue up the line, and Sebastian and his men urged their mounts up the hill through the trees. They crossed uneven ground, leaving the noises of a moving mass of men and beast behind.

  * * *

  Sebastian knew the general layout of these woods and ranges; as a boy, he and his brother Liam had visited nearly every part of them. From the eastern reaches of the Marshlands of Cayne and the southeastern Dreadwood Forest to the western Marron Mountains, they had acquainted themselves with their homeland.

  Liam had looked on it all with the pride of the throne's heir; Sebastian had seen it through a haze of envy. This was his homeland; these were his people, his creatures, and Liam's inept handling of pockets of his nobility had nearly destroyed a kingdom.

  They reached a clearing near the top of a ridgeline, and Sebastian checked the sun's position as the group dismoun
ted to rest and stretch.

  One of Sebastian's men asked. “How much farther, Your Grace, until we reach Seer's Crest?”

  “We'll be there by nightfall if we don't tarry long here.” Sebastian glanced at the horses, and pressed his gloves together. The burning iciness shot streaks of pain up his arms, into his neck and chest. He clamped his jaw to keep from crying out.

  “How far does Seer's Crest extend, Your Grace?” asked the soldier, his arm pointing into the distance. “Would you be so good as to show me the points?”

  Irritation ruffled Sebastian. He had no patience to answer the questions of a curious upstart. His pain had intensified since that morning, and he didn't understand why. Perhaps the gloves exacerbated it, trapping the ice even more firmly inside his veins than his skin already did?

  He yanked off the gloves, staring at his hands. The hair on their backs curled white, coated with frost, and his skin had turned blue, like the deep clarity of an ice cave. His breath came in spurts as his nostrils pinched.

  “Your Grace?” The soldier's pestering words sounded far away as Sebastian stared at his hands. He glanced at the man, who seemed ... flushed, distracted.

  And then, a step sounded behind him. He whirled.

  A sword caught him in the side, but his unexpected turn had saved him. He'd barely missed a killing blow.

  Sebastian threw himself to the ground, rolling. The pain in his side blinded him with rage.

  All of them came at him, weapons drawn, the traitorous dogs.

  Sebastian's breath came in gasps. He dodged a swinging blade and sprang to his feet, his bare hand catching the man's wrist.

  “You dare to attack me, your King?”

  The soldier's eyes widened in terror and pain as his arms froze and his face hardened into a mask of surprise and horror. White frost tipped the soldier's hair, and he became an ice statue.

  Sebastian dove at the next soldier, who turned into a kneeling ice man, sword outstretched before the first statue. A third hit the ground in a frozen ball. The other soldiers turned to their mounts, but Sebastian closed his hands around one's neck, freezing him instantly, ramming the next with an outstretched arm, and he tackled the last remaining soldier as the man reached his horse.

  Sebastian stood, panting, and leaned his hands on his knees. Blood soaked his tunic, spreading outward in a crimson circle.

  He looked over his handiwork. Six frozen statues littered the open meadow, their icy whiteness a stark contrast to the reds, golds, and browns of the autumn woods. The vermin had tried to kill him. In the strength of his anger, a seed of fear slowly spread roots.

  He was losing his grasp on the kingdom. The loyalty that had been his reward as he'd played off of his brother's deficiencies, the rewards he'd given his armed men, was no longer enough. He'd nearly died on a hillside, alone and forgotten.

  Sebastian sank to the ground and held his hands before his eyes. He inspected the palms, squeezed his fingers into a fist, and spread them again.

  The icy blue was gone, though a prickle of cold still traced through his veins. The intense pain from earlier had also disappeared. His hands felt nearly normal, at least in comparison to what he had been suffering.

  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.

  * * *

  Seer'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.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kinna

  Kinna 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 Sebastia
n'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.