Embrace the Fire Page 19

  “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.”

  * * *

  Finally, 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.”

  “What's the Ice-Touch?” Kinna asked.

  Lincoln rubbed his hands together over the coals. “Mind if I hold your fiery hands tonight, Ayden? Mine are cold.”

  Ayden snorted without deigning to answer.

  “The Ice-Touch is a myth,” Iolar spoke from beneath the tree. “When the ancient Seer Fey wove their magic in the mountains of Lismaria, myths and legends said that the Ancients could command the elements of nature to pass into living beings, and so command their destiny. An Ice-Touch was one tradition. Others have said a Fire-Touch emerged, and still others, an Ash-Touch. Some boasted of a Healing-Touch. All of these were tales told by fisher-wives as they wove their husbands' nets on the shores of the North Sea and passed the stories down to their children.”

  Kinna's gaze darted to Ayden, who stumbled to his feet. Loaded silence fell over the gathering.

  “What did I say?” Iolar asked, breaking the tense silence.

  “The Touches are not a myth,” Ayden said quietly. “The Amulet of the Ancients has the power to do those things. I've found many mentions of it in the Clan libraries in recent months.”

  All of them stared at Ayden. “What?” Iolar's whisper eked out. His skin had turned an even whiter shade in the darkening air. Lincoln fidgeted.

  “Aye, it's true. Helga gave me the Amulet to break my Ash-Touch curse, but in so doing she also ran the risk of inflicting me with one of the other Touches.”

  “She didn't say anything about it,” Kinna murmured.

  “No.” Ayden turned his bleak silver gaze on her. “I doubt she knew for sure, and she wouldn't have wanted to plant false hope where there was none.” He dropped his gaze. “The only hope there is for me, then, is to find the Amulet.”

  Lincoln looked up.

  “Find it—and destroy it,” Ayden finished. “I will never be free of it until I do. I must seek out Sebastian.”

  Lincoln shook his head. “Look, mate—”

  But Ayden didn't stay to hear his words. He brushed past Kinna and into the darkness.

  “Ayden, wait,” Kinna called, but he didn't stop. She hurried after him. “Ayden.” She grabbed his arm when she caught up with him, and he yanked it free.

  His hands curled into fists at his side. “Kinna, the scrolls are beginning to make sense. The Fire-Touch and the Ice-Touch are two halves of the same thing. If I have the Fire-Touch, then it must be Sebastian who has the Ice-Touch, the other half of this Amulet curse. And if Sebastian has the Ice-Touch, he's the one who killed the Siren. Kinna, Sebastian is using the Amulet that I gave him to kill more creatures. It didn't break my curse; it redirected it, and it handed the power of life and death to both Sebastian and me. Don't you see, Kinna? This is my fault. If I hadn't tried to break my Ash-Touch—” “Sebastian would still have the power of life and death. Ayden, please, can't you understand? Just because he wields an Ice-Touch doesn't mean that he's any more deadly than he was before. He still killed before. He still separated families before. His position on the throne gives him the power of life and death, not this new ability. It is not your fault, Ayden.”

  He was silent as he stared at her. She reached for his hand that was so hot with inner flame. “Besides, if you think about it, fire melts ice.” She held up his hand between them, spreading her palm against his, and flames enveloped their joined skin in the darkness. The heat sank into her bones, tracing her arm, igniting a fire throughout her body.

  Ayden reached with his other hand for her face, his thumb lightly brushing over her cheekbone. “Fire melts ice,” he whispered, “but it cannot break stone.”

  He dropped his hand and strode away, disappearing into the night. His cryptic comment lingered in Kinna's ears long after he left. She wrapped her arms around her chest.

  He was wrong. His fire had shattered her stone fortress. But Julian's hope limped through the remains. And fear for her father kept her from betraying the crumbling walls.

  * * *

  When Kinna awoke the next morning, her back ached from the root on which she'd slept most of the night. Ayden's horse grazed nearby, and Lincoln still rested near the ashes of the fire. Iolar's head nodded on his chest where he still leaned against his tree, his face creased with the memory of pain.

  Kinna stretched, searching for Ayden. He wasn't nearby; he must have gone for wood. She dusted off her breeches and pulled her long braid over her shoulder, digging the twigs and bits of grass from it. She needed a bath. Many times over the last four months, she'd gone longer than she wished without one; finding privacy and water at the same time was nearly impossible. Lincoln was good about leaving her alone long enough to wash herself and her clothing, but when her courses came upon her once a month, it was rough. Then, she lived from stream to stream, washing the spare bits of linen she'd torn from her clothes as often as she could. Fortunately, her courses never lasted longer than a few days.

  Disturbance lit her mind. Chennuh was awake. He sat some lengths down the hill, facing away from her. His wings trembled across his back, and his thoughts spiraled in black fury and howling sadness.

  Luasa was gone.

  “Chennuh?” Kinna whispered. She ran down the slope toward him. “Where are they?” she asked, placing her hand on Chennuh's hot neck.

  Gone. It didn't have to be spoken language for Kinna to understand Chennuh's thoughts. Ayden and Luasa had left before anyone else was up that morning, flying over the flat Forgotten Plains toward the Channel of Lise.

  Everything in Chennuh raged to follow his mate, but his psuche connection to Kinna kept his talons anchored to the ground.

  Kinna whirled, running back to the others. She shook Lincoln's shoulder. “Up, get up, Linc.”

  He blinked sleepy eyes at her, the confusion of sleep rapidly giving way to a wary keenness. He jumped to his fee
t. “What's the matter?”

  “Ayden's gone to Lismaria already. Let's follow.”

  “What? Why?”

  Kinna flushed. Ayden had spoken of the Amulet, but she was fairly certain it was more than that. He needed distance; he must have hated it when she rebuffed him because of her betrothal to Julian. Suddenly, she wasn't able to draw in enough air into her lungs.

  Lincoln's wise gaze stilled on her red cheeks. “I see.” He kicked the few ash-laden logs from the fire ring, spreading the pieces apart. “I'm gonna kill him next time I see him.”

  Kinna leaned over Iolar, ready to touch his shoulder, but turned at Lincoln's words. “Why?”

  “He made you fall in love with him, and then he left. Again! He's daft.”

  “I—did not. That's—ridiculous, Linc. You—have the nerve to say—”

  “I have the nerve to say what I said, and your saying it's not true doesn't make it so. Iolar, wake up and shake your lazy bones,” he called loudly.

  The Elf blinked awake.

  “We're leaving for Lismaria, and you're not well enough to stay here by yourself, so we're packing you up to take with us.”

  “Good thing for you, arrogant scamp,” Iolar muttered. He glanced around the clearing. “I can see farther than I could yesterday.”

  Kinna studied him critically. “Yes, your eyes look more normal today.”

  Iolar sighed before straightening against the tree. “Is it your wish for me to travel with you, Your Grace? I will slow you down.”

  Kinna's thoughts raced. “Your wound needs more help than I can give. If we can get you to the medic tents with Sebastian's army, we can leave you there, and I will continue my search for my brother.”

  The Elf studied her for a moment before nodding. “As you command.”

  Kinna shook her head. “I don't command, Iolar. It is an idea, that's all. If you prefer to stay here with those of your Clan who remain on West Ashwynd's soil, then we can take you there.”

  The Elf pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the tree, his face a dull, pale shade. “Nay, I wish to go with you.”