Fire Walker Read online

  “What’s happening?” Jonan climbed to his feet and tucked his hands into his pockets, though not quickly enough to hide their tremble. He’d given too much of his blood.

  “Talin’s back—” Iman began, but seeing Mina’s face light up, she raised her hand to keep from being interrupted. “But he’s been called to the Keep. Leila too. They all have.”

  “What’s going on?” Mina asked.

  “Ships,” Iman gasped. “Hartnord ships approaching the harbor.”

  3

  THE GRAY OF DAWN

  Crowds of city folk flooded the streets of Solus. All ran in different directions—some for the docks to see what the commotion was about, though others ran the opposite way, fleeing for the safety of their stone townhouses. Mina found herself awash in a sea of panicked voices as she, Iman, and Jonan elbowed their way through the market quarter. Stall owners hurriedly packed away their wares and fought off opportunistic thieves. The city guard barked for order but went unheard.

  Iman grabbed Mina’s sahn and pulled her into one of the side alleys leading to the Neu Bosan quarter. She was glad she’d left Fez behind in the temple. With so many feet trampling the streets, Fez could have gotten lost or hurt.

  “Gods-damn fools are going to start a riot,” Iman muttered.

  Jonan lingered behind with a hand to his sword hilt. “Can’t blame them. Most still remember the last time Hartnord ships graced our shores. You should both return to the temple.”

  “If we’re being invaded, there’ll be plenty of guards at the docks. And someone there will know what’s going on.”

  “What have you heard at the Council meetings? Anything that could explain this?”

  “I’ve been busy distracting those two fools whilst the two of you were running around underground. I can’t be in two places at once.”

  “You didn’t attend the meetings?” Jonan sighed. “You’ve heard nothing in the Keep? No whispers of Hartnords?”

  Iman shook her head. Unlike Mina and Jonan, Iman had elected to remain in the Keep. She was supposed to take Talin’s place on the King’s Council whilst he was away, but they’d needed help distracting Samira and Saeed—or so Mina thought.

  “Saeed and Samira know what’s going on,” Mina said. “Saeed took Leila’s place on the Council. Samira told me as much.”

  Jonan glared at Iman. “If you’d attended those meetings as discussed—”

  “So I could listen to Salasar and Farzad Fellbond argue who has the biggest sword? I get enough of that nonsense in my own House. And don’t you lecture me about responsibilities!”

  Mina pushed between them. “Can we argue later?”

  Both her elders muttered a curse but otherwise held their tongues. The pair of them were stubborn as goats. Mina had learned to follow Talin’s lead when they bickered—he stood by and let them sort themselves out, knowing the shouting would end in agreement eventually. Jonan was a grumpy cub at heart, and Iman could be placated with a little wine.

  They continued through the back alleys of the Neu Bosan quarter. Mina knew these alleys. They led to a tavern she’d frequented often with her Academy friends Alistar and Raj. Both had left for their homes in Gaisland after Mina’s victory in the tournament but promised to return for Prince Rais’s helbond ceremony. She passed a little teahouse that Raj had managed to drag them into once, and which had become a favorite place for Mina to spend afternoons with Iman.

  Over mint and honeyed teas, she’d been able to ask Iman questions about her mother that would have been too awkward for Talin to answer. And now that Talin had returned and they’d finally have time to spend together as father and daughter, gods-damn northerners were invading.

  Mina jogged ahead with a spring in her step. After receiving Jonan’s blood, she’d never felt more alive, though she noticed Jonan lagged. His fatigue ached through the bond.

  Iman bounded up beside her. “Are you going to tell me what happened? I’ll need to know if Talin’s likely to burn the temple down along with its wretched acolytes.”

  Mina rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t give me that look, girl.” Iman’s breath rasped. “If anyone hurt you, he’d cut them down before you or I could blink.”

  “They tricked us. I don’t know why, but… it’s something to do with the Council. They might know about the Hartnords. How is this going to affect the Fire Walkers?”

  “If this is the start of another war, the King will likely demand the temple send Fire Walkers to support his army. That’s how it has always been.”

  “The law changed. They’re free now.”

  “If it’s war, all men are called.”

  All men? That would mean Talin, Jonan, Alistar, and Raj… But Samira had looked so gleeful. She couldn’t want Fire Walkers drawn into another war?

  The alleyways opened to the canal, which they followed down to the docks. Here, the streets were eerily quiet. The Neu Bosan who wanted to lock themselves in their homes had done so by now, and the rest were already at the docks, which came into view. The loud seagulls and stench of fish reminded her of the little wooden shack of Khalbad.

  A whole lifetime ago.

  Hundreds of boats remained tucked into the docks, both the larger Neu Bosan trade ships and the smaller Sandarian fishing boats. No doubt they’d headed straight back to shore at the first sign of a Hartnord fleet. Sailors stood by their vessels, waving their arms angrily, but the city guards in their royal crimson tunics and bronze chest plates handled the crowds efficiently. A flash of turquoise among them seemed the reason why. The Sword of Solus was in charge.

  The crowds yelled and pointed out to sea. Two tall ships rolled toward the city. Wooden, like Sandarian ships, but twice the size. Gray sails were held taut by the wind and their masts disappeared into the clouds.

  “Those aren’t war ships,” Jonan said, coming up behind her.

  Mina whirled round. “You’ve seen Hartnord war ships?”

  “In the last war. I watched them burn.”

  A loud clanking sound rang in Mina’s ears. The harbor chain was being lowered. Not to allow the Solus ships out, but… to allow the Hartnord ships in.

  The ships lowered their sails as they entered the harbor. Space had been cordoned off at the far end of the docks, and the city guards threatened any who came near. As the two ships began the slow process of docking, a group of Neu Bosan in lime green robes marched through the crowds and met with Salasar and his small contingent of royal guards.

  None of the Neu Bosan carried a sword, except for a younger man skulking at the back—Alistar.

  “I’ll catch up later.” Mina raced down the stone steps leading to the docks before Iman or Jonan could stop her.

  The guards must either have recognized her face as the tournament champion or her purple sahn marking her as a member of House Arlbond, because they let her pass straight through their ranks and catch up with the Neu Bosan delegation. She slipped in behind Alistar and gave him a gentle push.

  Alistar spun around. His emerald eyes opened wide. “Malik!” He cringed. “Mina. I forget.” A sly smile spread across his lips, and he pulled her away from the crowd. “Thank the stars! You’re here to save me.”

  Despite being born Neu Bosan, he and his family were Sandarian citizens—Housemen, no less—and he wore his House’s lime green sahn. But there was something different about him. His hair had been cut short, other than his single braid, and a thin layer of fuzz coated his chin. The overall effect made him look… mature.

  She leaned into his side. “What’s going on?”

  “Your House didn’t tell you? Don’t they sit on the Council?”

  “Ali!” a Neu Bosan man shouted. “Where are you going?”

  Alistar held up Mina’s arm. “Sorran business.”

  “You’re not my sorran,” she said.

  Alistar prodded her side and grinned through clenched teeth. “They don’t know that. Stars above, you can’t condemn m
e to this.”

  “To what? I don’t even—”

  “To all this posturing! It’s all they’ve talked about for weeks and I’m sick of hearing it. How haven’t you heard?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Doing what? Hiding underground?”

  She pursed her lips. In a manner of speaking. Outside her House, she hadn’t explained the Shadows to anyone, or how her Lunei blood attracted them. Her friends wouldn’t understand. To them, Shadows and wraiths were tales, though they’d witnessed the destructive force of sand wraiths during the Solend. They already thought her odd for pretending to be a man while they attended the Academy. What would they think if they knew she could see and speak to the dead?

  Alistar nudged her and pointed. “Look.”

  The first of the Hartnord ships finished docking and lowered its boarding ramp. Statues of silver began descending upon the dock—no, these were men! Giant men with golden hair and pale faces and steel armor covering every other inch of them. Each carried a large triangular shield, the design of which she’d never seen before.

  How could they move?

  But move they did, and their limbs clinked as they walked.

  If Solus were being invaded, this was a strange way to go about it.

  Salasar and his guard welcomed the foreigners and formed a protective circle around them, not that the metal giants needed their protection—they towered over Salasar.

  The circle of guards and the men in steel marched together toward Bloodstone Keep, with the Neu Bosan delegation trailing behind.

  Mina waved at Iman and Jonan to let them know she was safe but kept her position by Alistar’s side among the Neu Bosan procession. The crowds parted for the royal guards, some more willingly than others, but eventually they made it to the Keep’s gates. Housemen and servants stared as Salasar led the Hartnords inside.

  “Where are we taking them?” Mina whispered to Alistar, though her question was soon answered. Their march led straight to the throne room. Guards at every corner turned back oglers, but none hindered Mina until she reached the throne room door.

  Alistar flashed his lime sahn. “We’re with the delegation. Houses Myrbond and Arlbond.”

  The guards allowed them inside.

  The throne room was full of Housemen in their rainbow of sahns, just as it had been the first time she’d stepped foot here after winning the tournament. But this time, Neu Bosan also filled the room. “We’re here to make sure no one starts another war,” Alistar whispered.

  “They’re not invading?”

  Alistar raised his eyebrow and the three silver stars inked above. “You really don’t know? Look—” He pointed to an older Neu Bosan man dressed in a long, flowing shalwar kameez and bearing the lime green sahn of Alistar’s House. His hair was still dark black, despite his age, and his beard curled into a thin wisp, a style common among men of the Neu Bosan quarter. “That’s the ambassador to Neu Bosa. And he’s, uh, my father.”

  “Your father’s the ambassador? You never told me this.”

  “It’s a new thing. Times change fast in Neu Bosa. You know, politics.” He shrugged as the room fell silent.

  King Khaled rose from his hulking stone lump of a throne, Rahn’s Cradle. As he stepped from it, a faint red glow inside the rock faded. Then, the blood bond warmed in Mina’s chest and her heart skipped a beat. On the King’s right stood her father, Talin. The King’s Right Arm. He was still dressed for travel, his purple sahn coated in the beige sand of her homeland. His eyes found hers across the crowd of Housemen and he smiled. His calming presence soothed through the bond. Whatever this meeting was, he wasn’t concerned.

  Good. They’d suffered enough foolishness chasing Shadows. The gods owed them a reprieve.

  All of the Hartnords save one bowed deeply before King Khaled. Salasar said something she didn’t hear over the murmurs spreading throughout the throne room. A hush descended as the King raised his hand to beckon the one standing Hartnord to step up onto the dais and join him.

  “You honor us with your visit, King Reinhart. I, and the people of Sandair, welcome you to our great city.”

  Muffled whispers ignited once again in the crowd. The King of Sandair looked resplendent in his three-gemmed crown, ruby sword, and crimson sahn. He bowed and spoke words in a language she didn’t understand.

  “What is he—”

  “The King’s speaking Hartnord,” Alistar whispered.

  A glint of silver shone in the Rahnlight as the giant steel Hartnords parted for their king to pass. He stood as large as his guards, and he too wore steel wrapped around his body. A blue cloak dangled over his shoulder like a sahn, and a sword hung by his hip. An odd weapon. The blade looked straight, not at all curved like Sandarian swords. Like King Khaled, he was an older man with that strong sense of authority that could command a whole kingdom and bright eyes that spoke of a lifetime of tales. Golden hair curled about his cheeks, streaked with silver like his beard. Odder still, his pale skin looked as bright as Lunelight.

  The Hartnord King bowed and said strange words in return. His voice snapped short and sharp, like the thrust of a dagger. Not at all like the smooth melody of the Sandarian tongue.

  Alistar bent his head close. “That’s King Reinhart, ruler of Hartnor. He’s saying he’s honored to be here—”

  “You understand them?”

  “My Hartnord is a little rusty, but I get the gist.”

  King Khaled spoke in Sandarian: “We celebrate a renewed peace between the lands of Hartnor and Sandair. King Reinhart has travelled far to sign a treaty between our people and usher in the dawn of a relationship to benefit us both.”

  A repressed cheer sounded in the crowd. More Hartnord words were exchanged. It was so strange to see two kings in one room. Beside them, King Khaled’s Hartnord sorran Gareth—the King’s Left Arm—shifted uncomfortably. His face twisted, as though trying to force a smile and losing the battle.

  “What are they saying?” she asked Alistar, but he didn’t get a chance to answer.

  With a loud thud the throne room doors opened, silencing the two kings’ pleasantries in that strange, harsh tongue. All eyes turned to the late arrival. The crowd parted, and a familiar taunting stride approached.

  Prince Ravel, the former heir to Sandair’s throne.

  The King did not acknowledge his son, but immediately returned to his conversation in Hartnord. If the foreigners noticed the slight, they had the grace not to show it. The crowd muttered and turned their attention away from the Prince and back to his father.

  The Prince of Poison didn’t look any worse for wear for being imprisoned in the palace these past twelve weeks. He wore the same lavish red tunic embroidered in golden flames, and his beard had grown a couple of inches, long enough to support a single ruby bead. No sword hung at his hip, she noted with satisfaction. And a crescent scar branded his left cheek—a scar she’d caused with her own flame. A mirror to the scar he’d sliced into her the day he’d murdered her uncle—the man she’d called her father for seventeen years.

  “They’re saying they look forward to negotiating trade agreements, Lady Arlbond.”

  Alistar bowed to the Prince.

  She did not. “They let you out?”

  A shadow of a smile graced the Prince’s lips. “My father occasionally allows me out of my cage.”

  His golden palace hardly served as a cage, not like the dusty temple the Fire Walkers were forced to endure. “Without your sword.”

  “An astute observation. And yet you carry yours, Lady Arlbond, and, ah, whatever that is you’re wearing. Are you still pretending to be a man? You’ll confuse our Hartnord guests into believing such customs are normal. But I don’t recall seeing your name on the list of dignitaries.”

  She rubbed Hawk’s hilt. “I attend as winner of the tournament. Why are you here?”

  “Visiting dignitaries are a grand occasion, and it would be odd for the heir to be
seen hiding.”

  “Yes, where is Prince Rais?”

  “My dear brother doesn’t appear to appreciate the importance of our esteemed guests. This visit could shape the course of our history. Though if you’ll excuse me, I have Council meetings to attend. Meetings neither your House nor my brother consider important, Lady Arlbond. A pity.”

  No one paid attention to Prince Ravel as he strode among the Housemen. Surely they wouldn’t have forgotten the Prince’s crimes so soon? Locking him in the palace and taking away his sword wasn’t much of a punishment for the lives he’d taken and the people he’d hurt, especially not if he could come and go as he pleased and attend the Council.

  Seeing his smug face made her ill at ease. She knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. What interest did he have in these Hartnords?

  It had something to do with the Fire Walkers. Mina just didn’t know what.

  4

  A PROPOSAL

  Days passed in a bustle of multi-colored faces. Housemen swarmed Bloodstone Keep, and not just for Prince Rais’s impending helbond ceremony. From the whispers Mina could glean, the foreigners were locked in meetings for most of their visit. As the King’s sorran, Talin could only spare brief moments to confirm there was nothing to fear, but a nervous energy filled the Keep like sky fire ready to crack.

  Mina lingered in the palace gardens. With High Priestess Leila back in Solus, Jonan decided it would be safer to leave the temple and rejoin life in the Keep. All of the spare palace rooms were occupied by Hartnords and Neu Bosan dignitaries, forcing Mina to share a room with her aunt in the Keep’s apartments again, while Jonan roomed with Talin in his quarters in the palace.

  House nobles sat on the marble benches beside the water fountains, gossiping. Mina wandered the path between the fountains and rose bushes with an eye to the palace as Fez explored the gardens, diving in and out of bushes. The little fox hadn’t been pleased to be plucked out of the warm temple sands and brought back to the gardens, nipping her hand to say so, but he soon kept himself busy hunting birds and bugs. Samira never liked him anyway.