Embrace the Fire Page 21
“Let's find water. I'm thirsty.”
He rubbed the Dragon's neck gently and headed for the edge of the clearing. Her figure flashed across the rocks ahead of him, tense expectation in her form as she waited for him. She was so unlike Chennuh; Kinna's Dragon lurched ungracefully in a thudding stomp whenever he moved. Luasa made little or no noise, and all her movements were quick and tense, like a bird's.
They entered the darker areas beneath the treeline. Ayden strained his ears for soft sounds of the unnatural—the shifting of a body, the sharp report of a cracking branch, the whisper of breath not from the wind. The only things he could hear were the quick, lithe shuffles of Luasa ahead of him and the quiet footfalls of his own boots. No sign of any other man or creature disturbed the forest.
Midmorning daylight filtered through the leaves before they found a mountain stream splashing into a brilliant clearing. Luasa dove for the water, pulling in deep draughts. Ayden approached the water and cupped his hands beneath the clear surface, quenching his thirst.
Once his throat no longer burned, he pulled the remains of a rabbit he'd roasted the afternoon before from his pack and tore off a dry piece with his teeth. It certainly wasn't culinary genius, but it would fill the empty hole in his stomach.
When he was finished, he tossed the bones aside and crouched by the riverbank to cup water into his mouth. A sharp pain sliced his upper leg, and he jerked to the side, fingering a rip in his breeches where a jagged rock had cut through the skin of his thigh.
“Stars above!” The edges of the torn leather tinged red, and Ayden hissed in pain as he widened the gap in the leather to see the damage done to his skin. A scrape the size of his palm oozed blood, running in small drips downward. Ayden twisted for better light and swiped his finger across the bottom edge of the scrape to catch the blood before it sank into the leather.
The wound smoked.
Ayden snatched his hand away, watching the blood sizzle on the wound before drying, leaving a light brown residue.
“What under the Stars...?”
Luasa's snort startled him; she'd come over to see what he was doing. “Luasa, look.” Quickly, he ran his finger across the rest of his scrape and watched the wound smoke and sizzle again. When it cleared, the same brown residue covered what he'd touched. Ayden swiped again, and the residue fell off like powder, leaving unmarked skin underneath.
“How do you think that worked, Luasa?”
Her heated snout nudged his shoulder, and he looked up.
There was something in the expression of her smoky irises that raised the hair on the back of his neck.
The stillness in the air spelled danger.
Ayden's hands erupted into flame, startling him. Until this moment, he'd been managing to control the urges to release his inner fire. Intense pain rocked him.
Something was wrong, and his body reacted to an instinct that refused to connect with his rational thoughts. The Fire-Touch was more complicated than he'd imagined; when fear had overcome his reasoning, he'd lost control of the flames in his hands.
He sank back onto his heels, considering this. Perhaps his control of the Touch had everything to do with overcoming fear.
He snuffed the fire that lit his hands, but a moment later, another jolt of fear burst through him, and his skin blazed again. He shot a glance at Luasa. She, too, crouched in the meadow, fear coursing through her thoughts.
Ayden's Touch reacted to danger before he even knew what it was. His thoughts flew to Kinna at the same time as Luasa's went to Chennuh. He searched the still-dark depths of the forest, finding nothing, but the sense of danger refused to leave him.
Luasa paced to the head of the clearing, her tail twitching in the water and sending steaming pillars of mist skyward. Her thoughts circled in Ayden's head. She was as confused as he, and panic built in her blood.
Before Ayden could blink, she stood at the western edge of the meadow, her smoky-colored eyes watching him, waiting for him to come with her.
Ayden stood. “Let's go,” he breathed. His out-of-control hands blazed even brighter as he ran along the creek bank toward the edge of the clearing. “And let's hurry.”
He clambered onto Luasa's back, fitting himself between her fins, and wrapped his fiery hands around her neck as she streaked through the trees to the west, to Kinna, to the unknown source of Ayden's fear. Kinna, Kinna, Kinna. What's wrong?
* * *
“Stop,” Ayden said when he could hear the distant thunder of the surf from the Channel. Luasa slowed, creeping through the foliage, nearly invisible as her mirrored scales reflected the forest around her. “Let me down.”
She stopped and waited, searching the dense undergrowth.
Death-like quiet reigned, and then, a thud, a grunt, and the sound of battle not far below them. Ayden crouched as he ran down the hill, hurling a thought behind him to Luasa to stay put.
She ignored him, following the path he'd carved.
He crested a short hill, peering down the steep slope at the mess below. The roar of an Ember shattered the air to his right, and a trail of flame flattened a flank of Ogres as they lurched through a mass of creatures, swinging small trees, root-side out, at their enemies.
Ayden watched in horror as a Pixie took a broadsword to the stomach, his song cut off before he could even finish the long, high note he'd carried. His Dimn shrieked and threw herself on his body, taking the slice of the sword as it swiped through the air. Blood spattered the ground around them.
Three Cerberuses—nine heads—snarled at a pack of Direwolves, both sides slavering across the mulchy ground. Four Direwolves bit as they lunged, and a sharp yelp from one of the Cerberus heads split the air.
Ayden looked frantically for Kinna. He knew she would be there; the jolt of fear in the clearing had told him. And where under the Stars was her Guardian? Orange hair shouldn't be too hard to spot, but the noise and confusion were great. The numbers increased by the minute.
He saw her, then, small and fragile beneath the towering darkness of a Valkyrie. Her hair glowed in the filtered sunlight like the fire of her spirit, and she wielded her dagger with all the skill and finesse for which she'd trained during the previous winter.
In spite of the battle, in spite of everything, she was losing; the Valkyrie was too large, its strength so terrifying, that when Kinna slammed her blade into the Valkyrie, Ayden's mouth dropped open in shock. She'd done it!
He started toward her and then lurched to a horrified stop as the Valkyriedimn behind the fallen creature plunged his own dagger to the hilt into Kinna's stomach.
The world shuddered to a silent stop, and the only thing Ayden could feel was the thick beat of his pulse in his neck. How could his heart continue to pump when surely Kinna's did not?
His dead feet started forward again, and somewhere in his shocked haze, he noticed his hands engulfed in flames as they shoved aside Dimn and creatures from both armies—noticed, and didn't care. From somewhere, he heard the high, clear song of a Pixie. Only one voice could have carried such power.
A flash of orange hair lit his peripheral vision, and he watched as Lincoln slammed into the Dimn who had stabbed Kinna, the power of his song picking up the Dimn and slinging him against a tree. The Dimn writhed on the ground for only a moment before the Pixie's song levitated him and hurled him onto the spear of another Valkyrie. The irony, thought Ayden, woodenly continuing his path to Kinna.
She lay like a shell on the ground, her pale skin nearly translucent in the shifting light of the woods. Blood, too much of it, flowed into her tunic, and Ayden collapsed beside her, cursing the fact that he hadn't the knowledge of herbs that she had; all his experience in doctoring wounds ran to Dragons and Dragons alone.
For so long, he'd only been able to touch Dragons, because any contact with another creature would have turned them to ash. And so he'd hidden his curse beneath thick leather gloves until he'd broken it with the Amulet.
And replaced it with the Fire-Touch.
“Touch her!” Lincoln croaked. Desperate tears streaked his white face as he crouched over Kinna.
“What?”
“Touch her, you fool!”
“It won't do any good.”
“By the Stars, I will slay you where you stand if you don't touch her now!”
Kinna lay too still. It terrified Ayden. He felt helpless. He couldn't control the flames in his hands; they licked his skin, enfolding him in their searing heat.
He took a deep breath and placed one hand on the dagger that still protruded from Kinna's stomach. His other hand touched her tunic where the entry wound leaked blood. Holding his breath, he yanked out the blade. Blood welled up, a river of red around his hand. With a guttural cry, he leaned his weight on both hands to staunch the flow.
“Her skin, Ayden. Not the tunic,” Lincoln rasped.
Ayden peeled up the tunic and pressed again, his hands flaming across her blood-slicked flesh.
The bleeding stopped as suddenly as it had started.
Flames spread from his skin, tasting the blood where it pooled in her navel, drying it. Smoke sizzled from the wound until it closed and sealed. A tiny red line was all that remained, though it had been much deeper than Ayden's shallow scrape. He brushed away the brown silt left behind, frantically searching for any signs of blood still puddling on the ground.
Ayden's gaze moved to Kinna's white face. She still showed no sign of life, no flicker of her eyelids or movement of her lips. The only thing he could see was the slow, steady pulse in her neck, and that was all that mattered.
“Did it work?” He looked at Lincoln. “What did I do? How did you know?”
Lincoln looked haggard; gravity lined the creases of his face. “I didn't know; I guessed. I need to talk to Helga to see what happened for sure, but my guess is that curse you originally had from Sebastian got turned around by the Amulet, leaving you with the Fire-Touch, but the Fire-Touch wasn't all there was to it. You could only touch Dragons before, right?”
Ayden nodded. His neck felt stiff with the movement.
“I wondered if perhaps something of your original curse carried through in the transition. You could touch Dragons before and heal them. Everything else would melt beneath your touch. Well, Ayden, Kinna was birthed in a Dragon's egg.”
Ayden stared at him, shock blunting the import of the words. “You mean—I could have touched Kinna before when I—when—”
“It's just a guess,” Lincoln shrugged. “Next time I see Helga, I'll ask her about it.”
“But—how did you think to have me use that ... now?”
Lincoln rocked back on his heels, wrapping his arms around his legs, and sighed. “I'm her Guardian, Ayden. This is what I do; her well-being is in my hands, and I was scrambling for even the faintest hope when I saw you come stalking down the hill. And all at once, it scripted itself before me like a play.”
Ayden looked around, realizing the fury of the battle had dissipated. To the west, up the slopes and over some of the ridges, he could still hear the clash of armor and cries of war. He glanced around for Luasa. He couldn't see her, but he felt her presence on the beach, and the familiar presence of another Mirage beside her.
She'd found Chennuh. Of course.
Ayden's worried gaze returned to Kinna. At last, the flames that shivered on his fingers died, and the intense heat faded as his fear dissipated. He slid his arms beneath her, lifting her carefully so her head didn't flop backward, but laid against his shoulder.
“I'll take her to the medic tent,” he said. “She'll need more help than my Touch can give, and the battle has moved on.”
Lincoln leaped to his feet. “Ayden, that's what she's been trying to avoid. Hair like that? Sebastian will be at her bedside in less than a day.”
“What else do you propose, Pixie?” Ayden's voice was hard. “I'm open to suggestions.”
Lincoln pointed up the slope behind Ayden. “The Ancients. We take her to them.”
A new voice interrupted their conversation, and Ayden's heart dropped in his chest. “Word has it that Sebastian is headed into those very mountains himself, and that's the last place you need to be taking her.”
Julian stood in the shadow of an oak, his gaze not leaving Kinna's limp form. He moved forward. “Kinna.” His voice was husky with emotion. He rubbed a hand over the stubble that darkened his chin. “Bring her to the medic tent. I'll take charge of her, and they won't question my orders,” he said. “It's a long journey into the mountains, and she will need attention long before the Ancients can give it to her. As the King is away, her danger is lessened.”
He turned and strode away. Ayden glanced at Lincoln, who, for once, looked truly regretful. “I'm sorry, Ayden. She's his—”
“Betrothed. I know. Don't say it.” He bit the words out, hefted Kinna higher in his arms, and followed the PixieDimn through the trees toward the clearing and the tents ahead.
Chapter Fifteen
Cedric
“Halt! State your business, stranger.”
Cedric let the yoke fall from his shoulders, spreading his feet and crossing his arms. The guards lowered their spears, and on the battlements above the massive gates, six archers appeared, their shafts notched and drawn.
“I come to see Nicholas Erlane.”
“What business have you with the King of Lismaria?” The bearded guard closest to Cedric didn't relax his stance. “And what of the body you bring?”
“She is alive, although only just, and I come because Erlane has expended a great deal of time and energy to bring me to his kingdom.”
The guard's steely gaze flicked to the side and then returned to Cedric. “Your name, stranger?”
“Cedric, Dragon-Master of West Ashwynd.”
Resounding silence followed Cedric's words, and then the guard raised a hand. The soldiers in front of the gate edged around Cedric and Ashleen where she lay on her pallet, surrounding them completely.
“Well, Dragon-Master,” the head guard spoke, “I will accompany you into the presence of the King.”
The gates groaned open, a deep shuddering croak that echoed Cedric's inner fears. He controlled his expression, blandly picking up the yoke and hefting it over his shoulders again.
The guard turned for the inner courtyard, and Cedric followed, scraping Ashleen's pallet carefully over the cobblestones.
The turrets of the palace dwarfed him as he stepped inside, and he glanced around in awe. Sebastian's palace at the Crossings, grand though it was, looked like a child's playhouse compared to Erlane's seat of power. Tiers stacked on tiers, which stacked on other tiers, and the interior stretched in massive marble halls that yawned into darkness. The keystone of the archway into the palace reached at least fifty spans over Cedric's head. Once again, he dropped the yoke, slid his arms beneath Ashleen's still, feverish form and hefted her against his chest.
Worry spiked at the burning heat from her body. Her hair was plastered against her head with leaves and dirt embedded in it.
“Where is an apothecary?” he asked the guard in the echoing entrance hall.
“You will see His Grace first.”
“She will not last much longer without attention.”
“What is that to us?”
“She is Lady Lianna's own handmaiden.” Cedric's voice was hard. “Surely you will not let her die.”
“Lady Lianna is noticeably absent.” But uncertainty hovered in the guard's eyes.
Cedric pressed his advantage. “Lady Lianna instructed her handmaiden to bring messages to His Grace, Nicholas Erlane.”
Indecision flickered across the guard's face. After a moment, he relented. “Aye.” He gestured to someone behind Cedric, and a palace servant appeared. “Take the maid to Master Beetel.” He turned to Cedric. “Dragon-Master, come with me.”
Cedric eased Ashleen into the servant's arms. “Be careful of her side,” he said. “I
t is infected.”
“Aye.” The servant carried Ashleen into the darkness, and Cedric felt the absence of her warmth.
The guard handed him a white tunic. “You cannot appear before His Grace without proper garments.”
Cedric donned the tunic and tightened it with the belt the guard provided. Then, with a deep breath, he followed the guard beyond a set of yawning double doors.
* * *
Nicholas Erlane looked different from the way Cedric had imagined him. The King waited while Cedric approached, perched on the edge of his throne like a bird, his slender frame shrinking in the gloomy half-light of the throne room. His hair glowed with pearly luminescence, braided in two plaits hanging over his chest to his waist. His eyebrows and lashes were almost invisible against his pale skin.
“I understand you call yourself Cedric, Dragon-Master of West Ashwynd.” His voice was high and reedy.
“You may understand that I am Cedric, called Dragon-Master of West Ashwynd,” Cedric corrected. He had never given himself that moniker.
Nicholas Erlane raised a white eyebrow, blinking as if he hadn't planned for Cedric to speak, and he wasn't sure how to handle the interruption. He cleared his throat. “Quite so. You—you look very like your father, Dragon-Master.”
Cedric stiffened. He hadn't been prepared for mention of his father, and he'd nearly forgotten the history he'd heard of his father's friendship with Nicholas Erlane from Rennis, Erlane's spy who had died in Sebastian's dungeons.
“So I've been told,” he forced himself to say. Though he held no memory of his father, he had been proud to hear his father well-spoken of. Nicholas Erlane's friendship with Liam flummoxed him. Before Lianna had shackled Cedric and dragged him from the Forgotten Plains, he'd regarded the Lismarian King as a distant benevolent leader. But once he understood that Lianna's avaricious power-grasping curled the man into a cornered dog in his own throne room, he wondered how his father could have regarded such a man with anything resembling friendship.