Embrace the Fire Page 36

  Two guards stood on the inside of the portcullis next to the winch that lowered the drawbridge and raised the portcullis.

  Sebastian and his men caught the guards' attention. One shouted, but over the pandemonium above, no one heard. The guards rushed with swords drawn, but they were no match against the band of men around Sebastian. Lianna watched, horror written across her face, as Sebastian's men heaved on the winch, the portcullis rumbled upward, and the drawbridge dropped with a loud clang.

  The courtyard was a tumult as West Ashwynd's forces flooded inside.

  Sebastian dove for the turret where he knew Nicholas Erlane would be, yanking Lianna into the round stairwell.

  “Sebastian, stop.”

  Sebastian turned on the bottom step. “What?”

  She swallowed. “If you persist in this, if you continue this attack and find my uncle—” She paused.

  “Well?” Sebastian waited impatiently. He could smell his victory already; it was so close.

  “I may not have power over you or over Cedric, but I still have power as a Pixie, and I will see that every Pixie in your regiment dies as a result of what's happening here.”

  Sebastian could see she believed her own threat, that she believed that she truly had the power to destroy all those creatures simply because she said so. Perhaps she did, he didn't know.

  But he was not swayed. The Pixies were one of the smaller populations of creatures among his kingdom, and her threat made little impression on him.

  A small smile slid over her face, and he realized her power over the Pixies had nothing to do with being within earshot of them. To cast hexes from a distance was a taibe usually reserved for the Ancients, and yet, she made as if to employ one.

  “I don't think so.” Leaning against a wall, his arms folded over his chest, was that blasted orange-haired Pixie of his niece's; Sebastian recognized him from the Tournament the year before when they'd shown up together. The Pixie's high, clear voice began to chant.

  Sebastian backstepped, but Lianna—

  Lianna clutched her ears, screaming, but it didn't drown out the orange-haired Pixie's powerful roll of words.

  “By the bond of blood and fire,

  By the weight of misspent ire,

  By the Stars who have decreed

  The Fey to grow the Dragon's seed,

  Woe to Fey who turn their back

  On bonds now broken. Now you lack

  The taibe that you thought you had,

  As greed for power drove you mad.

  Judgment's here, the Death that looms.

  Grave's wide open, now consumes.”

  Lianna reeled backward and crashed into a suit of armor that decorated the steps, and suddenly she was a caged animal. She snatched the sword from the stand and ran, screaming, at the Pixie.

  A dagger appeared in his hand quicker than a flash, and steel sang against steel. The two Pixies ranged across the tower, behind the stairs and then back into Sebastian's sight again, their metal ringing.

  An amused smile tilted across Sebastian's lips; the male Pixie impressed him, more so than Lianna ever had. He was quick in both mind and body. He wondered if he could raise the lad to a better place once he returned to West Ashwynd.

  And gained Lismaria, he reminded himself.

  Lianna threw herself at the Pixie, a strangled cry of rage filling the tower. She slammed him against the stone wall, and the smaller Pixie was trapped. Lianna's forearm pressed on his neck, directly across his throat, and a raspy gasp emerged from his lips.

  Enough.

  Sebastian gripped his sword, approached from behind, and rammed the blade through her back.

  She jerked, a gasp coming from her pierced lungs. Stunned realization cloaked her face as she stepped, slowly, backward, turning to Sebastian. Her already pale cheeks turned a delicate gray, and her blue eyes blinked, twice.

  “What have—you done?” she whispered.

  The other Pixie leaned forward, grasping his knees as he caught his breath. He spit to the side. “The Seer Fey used to be great, Lianna. No one could stand against them; our ancestors were the caretakers of our world. Why did you break the bond?”

  She sank slowly to the floor, sagging weakly against the wall. “I wish—I might—have done more—for the cause.”

  A final stillness claimed her body. The orange-haired Pixie turned to exit the tower, his lips thin and hard, a narrow gash across his freckled face.

  Sebastian's sword blocked the entrance. “Wait, Pixie. You fought well. What is your name?”

  “Lincoln.”

  Sebastian motioned up the stairs. “I go now to dispatch her uncle as well—Nicholas Erlane. Will you help?”

  Lincoln stared at him, and hatred blazed from his eyes. He flipped his knife across his fingers and slid it back into his boot, striding out the door.

  A moment later, four of Sebastian's men crashed through the doorway, and Sebastian led them up the tower, taking the steps three at a time until they reached the top.

  His soldiers made swift work of the two guards who blocked the entranceway to Erlane's inner sanctum. Sebastian gripped the door handles and shoved the heavy portals open.

  His mouth dropped in shock as he took in the massive bed in the center of the circular room, the tables and chairs and furs. This had once been Sebastian's father's Council room. Wars were fought and won on parchment in this room long before they were carried outside the castle.

  And Nicholas Erlane had made his bed in it.

  Fury welled inside him so strongly, he hefted the nearest solid oak chair and hurled it against the wall. It crashed against the stone work and then skittered along the wall, coming to rest near the corner of the table.

  A squeak pulled his attention back to the bed. Behind the headboard, cowering against the carved wood, hiding like the sniveling fool he was, Nicholas Erlane crouched, his terrified indigo eyes huge and round as he stared at the chair.

  “Nicholas Erlane,” Sebastian spat. He advanced toward the man, who scrambled backward. Erlane snagged one of the candelabras and held it high as he stood against the wall, cornered. Sebastian's men blocked the doorway, and there was no escape.

  “P—please, Sebastian. For the sake of my friendship with the Andrachen throne, for the sake of the Stars above, f—for the sake of your brother, Liam. I—I was his Guardian—”

  “You were Liam's Pixie Guardian?” Sebastian's growl lashed across Erlane's face.

  The Pixie flinched. “Aye, and I—I wasn't there to protect him when he died.” Guilt shuttered Erlane's terrified gaze. He cast aside the candelabra and clasped his hands. “Please—please allow me to live.”

  “So you can worm your way back into my inner circle again?” Sebastian asked, kicking aside a fallen stand. “So you can use me, use my power to fill your flagging cup of it?” His sword sent a wool robe strewn on the floor to the side, and he continued his steady walk forward.

  Nicholas Erlane shook. “We—we can—I can help you use the Amulet, m—make use of its powers, Sebastian. I—I am Pixie and my powerful relations among the Ancients will—”

  “The Amulet,” growled Sebastian as he bypassed the last obstacle that kept him from the Pixie King, “has already given me its gifts.”

  “You—you have the Touches?” Nicholas Erlane's eyes widened beyond all proportion.

  Sebastian gripped the man's shoulder as Erlane let out a terrified squeal.

  “I'll have my throne back, you whoreson.”

  He plunged the weapon through Erlane's belly and into the wall behind the man. Ice erupted from his hands, lining the sword, flying along Nicholas Erlane's robes, creasing and cracking the Pixie's fair skin, glazing over his eyes, turning his long, white hair into a brittle mass, spreading across the floor and overcoming the tables and furs, even the bed.

  Sebastian's men backed out the door, their eyes wide, and Sebastian released his sword with a huge mental effort.

  Slowly, he pulled the ice back into his hand, watchin
g the gradual thaw of the room.

  He felt limp and tired and vaguely dissatisfied with how easy it had been to corner Erlane and slide his sword into the Pixie's center. The King had died with a weak whimper, and Sebastian gained little satisfaction or revenge for the years of torture the Pixie King had given him.

  With a muttered curse, he picked up the frozen body at his feet and carried it to the open windows. But even when Erlane's body plunged headfirst, shattering on the cobblestones far below, it still failed to give Sebastian peace.

  * * *

  It took less than a day for the battle to die down after news of Nicholas Erlane's death spread across the city of ClarenVale. Sebastian dispatched runners to nearby cities to spread the news eventually across all of Lismaria—a new King sat on the throne.

  Sebastian sank into the throne in ClarenVale's massive hall, smoothing his hands over the marble armrests. Emotions crashed inside of him as eighteen years of blood and turmoil washed across his memories.

  He had fought for this for so long. He'd strained every nerve toward this—the throne on which he'd wished to sit for the last two decades, jealously watching the movements of Erlane from across the waters. Now that he once again owned his rightful inheritance, he wanted to bury his face in the sleeve of his tunic and cry with the utter relief of it.

  Nothing was returned to its former glory yet. His soldiers still walked about the hall lacking formation, their mantles tattered and bloodstained. Bodies littered the courtyard outside of the throne room; the citizens who dwelt in ClarenVale peered in terror from their windows as they watched for destruction and terror to knock on their doors. It would take time to rebuild, but he relished the thought of doing so.

  “Your Grace.”

  A soldier hurried toward him. Sebastian recognized him as second-in-command to Commander Jerrus, a Leader named Gormond. He'd attended every military strategy meeting since Sebastian had left West Ashwynd.

  “What is it?”

  “Your Grace, the head of your Third Pixie Division requests an audience with you.”

  “What does he want?” Sebastian asked, irritated. He wanted to revel in his victory in solitude a while longer. He had no interest in audiences yet.

  “He will not say.”

  A thought occurred to Sebastian. He stood. “What of the girl? Reports have reached my ears that the fire-haired girl and her Mirage were seen in the battle last night, as well as that silver-eyed Dragondimn from West Ashwynd.”

  “Aye, Your Grace, I can confirm that.”

  “Where are they?”

  “We are holding them at the moment, Your Grace,” Gormond sketched a bow. “They have been causing an unusual amount of trouble in their attempts to escape.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It appears the boy has the Fire-Touch.”

  Sebastian's thoughts revisited the night he'd wrestled in the woods with the boy, and of the shattered sphere that had blown him across the clearing.

  Gormond went on. “He's burned any structure we've tried to keep them in. They are currently bound in the open on the rock cliffs where the battle began last night.”

  “And what of the Dragon-Master? Have there been any sightings of him?” Sebastian asked, nearly afraid to hear the answer.

  “He has escaped, Your Grace. Reports this morning have said that he has crossed the Channel of Lise. We believe him to be in West Ashwynd.”

  Fear struck hard at Sebastian's core, followed by white-hot anger. “West Ashwynd!” Cedric would take Sebastian's throne across the Channel, then. He had left his kingdom in the capable hands of his steward, Pomley, and another Commander, Banler, but the boy was insidious. He would snake his way into everything Sebastian had worked so hard to build.

  “Your Grace, may I show in the Pixie leader?”

  Sebastian roused himself from his thoughts. “Aye, send him in.”

  “I'm already here.”

  The dark-haired Pixiedimn strode toward Sebastian, bypassing Gormond, and stopping before the dais where Sebastian stood.

  Sebastian had no time to greet the Pixiedimn; the boy spoke before he could open his mouth. “Your Grace, last spring, you decreed that I was to be wed to Kinna, Pixiedimn of West Ashwynd.”

  “Aye, so I did.” It had been a way to put the girl in her place and keep her there. He could have had her killed, and he'd thought many times since of doing so, but at the time, she had been a pawn he used to bring the best Pixiedimn trainer into his ranks.

  The boy's face flushed darker beneath his tan. “I came to ask Your Grace if you would allow me to set a date for the ceremony.”

  Sebastian arched a brow. “I annulled your betrothal months ago. I have no wish to see your bride trotted before me when the banns are announced.”

  “We could make it a quiet ceremony, Your Grace—family and close friends. We need not bother you with it, only we hope to gain your permission so that it can go forward.”

  Sebastian's eyebrow crept upward. “That does not mean that I will not see my niece make her way slowly toward my throne. No,” he held up his hand when the Pixiedimn opened his mouth to protest. “No, while my niece is alive, my throne is unsafe. The betrothal is annulled and will stay that way.”

  The Pixiedimn's tanned face paled. “Your Grace, I love her; please, if there is any pity—”

  “Pity departed my heart long ago, Pixiedimn. Get you gone; I don't wish to hear any more said on the subject.”

  Gormond stepped forward, his heavy hand resting on the boy's shoulder. The Pixiedimn stared at the king, his jaw tight. After a long moment, he bowed and turned for the exit.

  When the Pixiedimn left the room, Sebastian called Gormond forward. “I want you to send what troops you can spare across the Channel to find the Dragon-Master and kill him and any Dragons around him.”

  Gormond bowed. “It shall be done.” He turned to go.

  “And Gormond.”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Have a gallows set up in the central courtyard, nice and high, off the battlements. I wish to honor my niece's visit to my castle, now that she is finished hiding and is in chains.”

  Gormond bowed again. As the Leader left Sebastian's presence, he was left in relative silence on his throne. People passed through the massive hall, busy with the duties of establishing Sebastian once more as King of Lismaria.

  But West Ashwynd, he'd left open to his nephew's dangerous ability to control Dragons. Sebastian didn't know which he feared more—a dark Dragon cloud smearing the horizon or an auburn-haired boy who was the exact image of his brother, Liam, a ghost sent from the grave to exact vengeance for his death.

  He'd kill the boy first, and perhaps ask forgiveness later, just in case there were deities who disliked Sebastian's methods of regaining his throne.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kinna

  Kinna sat on a boulder with her hands chained around a stake, staring at Ayden, who sat twenty spans away on another boulder in the same configuration. Neither could move more than a length in any direction.

  Lincoln had appeared midmorning. He had been gagged and then led beneath a tree a few lengths from Kinna. He sat with a guard on either side of him and kept his gaze on his lap.

  Dread tumbled through Kinna. She was aware of Lincoln's resourcefulness, and if the Pixie sat captive, what was the likelihood that any of them would find a way out? Sebastian had won; she was in chains. She knew her uncle too well to believe that he would show her any mercy.

  Chennuh crouched behind her, his rumbling snuffs mirroring Luasa's behind Ayden. Tether-chains pinned the Dragons to the rocks. The creatures were uneasy, and Kinna felt Chennuh's disturbance. She nervously twisted her wrists inside the manacles.

  A stir at the base of the valley brought her attention to the tents again. Julian's familiar form appeared on the path. Sage, his turquoise-haired Pixie, walked closely behind him. Julian spoke to the Deputy Officer who commanded the soldiers around them, and then he and Sa
ge strode past all of them toward her. When he drew close, he sat on a nearby boulder. Sage crossed her arms and stared at the ground.

  “You're not here to release my chains, are you?” Kinna asked when he'd done nothing but gaze over the castle for several long moments.

  He turned his attention to her, ignoring her question. “Kinna, I wondered if we could be married immediately instead of waiting until we get back to West Ashwynd. Now that the King is on his Lismarian throne—”

  “Just stop,” Kinna cut in. She shook her head, her gaze on her chains. “A wedding isn't necessary until we return to West Ashwynd, and there's no need to rush the date. Also, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm in chains here, Julian.”

  Julian reached for her hand, stilling when she pulled it back. “Kinna, I know you're not excited about marriage to me, but I can protect you. I have more now than I ever had before. Sebastian raised me up, gave me a place at the head of the Pixies in the regiments. My family is wealthy now, thanks to him.”

  “So you honor him for gold.” Disappointment slunk through Kinna's voice. Her best friend was distant and cold because of Sebastian. Her uncle had been successful in shredding one of the most important relationships in her life, and she despised him for it.

  “Nay, I have no care for gold, Kinna. All I care for is you, and I think you know that.” He faced her and brushed a strand of fiery hair behind her ear. Across the open space, Kinna saw Ayden go still on his boulder. Sage inhaled an audibly shaky gasp.

  Julian withdrew his hand and placed it in his lap. “I still have some time to serve in the army, and I don't anticipate that Sebastian will release me to return to West Ashwynd for some time yet. Kinna, marry me now; we can live here in Lismaria until my service is completed. And then I can take you home as my wife. King Sebastian still holds your father in his dungeons, but our marriage will seal his safety. He's promised.”

  Kinna's vision blurred as she glanced over his shoulder at ClarenVale. She'd hoped—but it hadn't happened. She'd hoped to somehow be free of Sebastian, to see his power broken, and to have gained freedom for her father. But instead, she sat in chains, bound to the rock and still bound in an engagement she did not want.