Fire Walker Page 5

  “Who do you expect to fight, girl?”

  “There’ll be Hartnords at the ceremony.”

  “Who’ll be under watch by guards—”

  “And is Prince Ravel going to be at the ceremony?”

  “Yes, I’d imagine—”

  “Then I’m taking my sword.”

  “You’ll scare off the boys.” Iman’s raised brow implied a certain younger prince, but Prince Rais’s interest was in her sword, nothing else.

  “If I wanted to attract a boy, I’d attend the ceremony naked.”

  “Fine, fine. Get dry so we can begin this farce.”

  Mina kissed her aunt on the cheek and twirled the silk dress in the light, getting a better look at the twilight of colors and sparkling silver. Tonight, she’d keep her promises to the Fire Walkers and make her mother proud.

  In the lamplight, Mina caught a glimpse of her mother, always watching through the fire. Tira smiled and nodded her blessing.

  Mina followed Fez along the marble path into the palace gardens, breathing in the scents of rose and jasmine. The royal gardens were a hidden paradise within the Keep, but tonight they buzzed with activity. Housemen sat on the benches or stood beside the fountains, chatting and enjoying the early evening Rahnlight. They were all dressed in their finest silks and colorful gemstones. Iman had once offered to pierce Mina’s ears, but jewelry could be grabbed in a fight and turned against her.

  The dress covered her chest well enough, but ended shorter than she would have liked, exposing her legs below the knee and the silver tattoos on her arms. Its length offered one key advantage—she’d be able to draw her sword, bend her knees, and move in a fight. Not that she expected trouble, but as Iman said, her choice of clothes sent a message, and she wanted that message to be that she’d be ready for battle no matter the occasion.

  Fez screeched and ran from underneath a bush. The fronds parted and a tall Gaislander boy waddled out. Leaves clung to his fine green silk robes and the lilac sahn wrapped tightly across his shoulder. He ran a hand through an unruly bunch of curls on his head.

  “Mina? Is that you?” Raj’s eyes opened wide and he grinned. “It is you! I knew Fez wouldn’t lead me astray.” Raj bounded to Mina and grabbed her hands, squeezing them. “You look healthy! How have you been—no, tell me later. Ali is around here somewhere.”

  She plucked leaves from Raj’s sahn. His chin also bore a patch of hair, like Alistar’s. Both of her friends were growing into men. “It’s good to see you too. Have you been crawling in bushes?”

  He gave a bashful smile. “I, um, I was admiring the flowers.”

  She looped her arm around his. “Course you were.”

  Raj beamed and allowed her to guide them back to the path. They joined the main crowd of Housemen headed to the throne room where Prince Rais’s helbond ceremony would take place. Jovial chatter and laughter lightened the air, much different from when the Hartnords first arrived, though this number of people hadn’t visited the Keep for Prince Rais alone.

  Through the bond, she could tell Iman and Jonan were close by, and Talin waited farther on ahead, no doubt by the King’s side. The Housemen gave her and Raj odd looks. She supposed the two of them made a strange pair. Raj stood at least two heads taller than she, and he carried no sword. He’d never been one for the fighting arts like Alistar and her, but his skills as a Green Hand won different types of battles. He pointed out flowers in the garden as they walked, explaining which were native and which had been imported from Gaisland. She wasn’t following his words—her attention remained fixed on Fez running in and out of the bushes—but she chimed in where necessary if only to elicit a smile.

  The crowd poured into the throne room. Saeed and Samira stood guard by the main archway, scanning people as they entered. Both glared as Mina approached. The pair of them looked almost like twins with their bald heads and identical red flame tattoos and matching scowls, only Samira stood a few inches taller. Samira whispered something in Saeed’s ear and shot her a scathing look.

  Saeed stepped before her and held up his hands, blocking her entry. “You recover from blood loss remarkably quickly. Is your Rhaesbond aware that it is a perversion to partake in rites protected by priests?”

  She ignored Raj’s confused stare and offered her sweetest smile. “I trust a Rhaesbond to do the right thing more than your priests.”

  A couple of Housemen muttered as they walked past. Mina moved to join them.

  Saeed grabbed her arm. “What do you hope to achieve here?” he whispered.

  “To support the Fire Walkers, same as you.” She yanked her arm free.

  “Then you’ve heard the rumors of Fire Walkers attacking Hartnords by the border? Or Fire Walkers burning trees in Gaisland? Or Fire Walkers threatening families in the lower city?”

  Mina swallowed. She hadn’t heard all of those rumors. “Fire Walkers aren’t monsters.”

  “No, but they’re angry. And angry men with fire in their blood make a dangerous combination. It will take one spark for our entire kingdom to burn itself to the ground.”

  “You’re being dramatic.”

  “Am I? You’ve not spent your entire life in the temple. You’re nothing but a pampered noble sticking your nose into matters you can’t understand.” He fixed a smile as more Housemen walked by.

  “You don’t know my life. My uncle was murdered for being a Fire Walker, so don’t you dare—”

  “It always has to be someone’s uncle or parent or child before people care enough to take action. Your heart may be in the right place, but that’s no excuse for ignorance—”

  “I’m ignorant? You’re the one who believes Fire Walkers deserve no freedom!”

  “Our people are safer in the temple. They have no one to protect them from hatred—”

  “They have me.”

  “Do they?” Saeed crossed his arms. “And what will you give up to protect them?”

  She wanted to laugh. She’d almost sacrificed her House, her family, her own life to keep Prince Ravel off the throne and save the Fire Walkers from genocide. “Haven’t I done enough?”

  “An answer I’d expect from a Houseman. You can’t just change a law spanning hundreds of years without transition and care.”

  Raj gently nudged her. Some Housemen were staring at them.

  Mina matched Saeed’s disdain with her own. “Are we done?”

  Saeed stepped to one side and swung into a mocking bow. “I hope you’ll be there for them, Mina Hawker, when the kingdom burns.”

  She brushed past him and scowled over her shoulder.

  Raj hurried to her side. “What was all that about?”

  “Just another fool.”

  They followed Housemen inside. Space had been cordoned off in the middle, presumably for Prince Rais. From what Iman had explained, the point of the ceremony was to recreate his bondrite for the benefit of the Houses. Then a night of feasting and celebration would await. It promised to be as eventful as the Solend, more so since they’d be entertaining foreign guests.

  A troupe of Neu Bosan musicians played a soft melody on their flutes in the corner. Raj tugged her arm and pulled her toward a Neu Bosan standing close by, listening to the music.

  “Ali, look who I’ve found!” Raj said, tugging her along.

  Alistar spun round. “Who’s your frien—” His mouth opened wide. “Malik?”

  Raj giggled. “It’s Mina, remember? Doesn’t she look—”

  “Why are you wearing that?” Alistar blurted out.

  Heat filled her cheeks. “Warriors don’t leave their sword behind.”

  Alistar’s emerald eyes traced down to her hip. “You brought your sword?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re wearing yours.”

  Alistar wore a black silk shalwar kameez in the Sandarian style with a green trim embroidered into the edges, matching his lime sahn. They were richer clothes than he’d normally wear, and
his hair looked different too. Slick and brushed back. The green beads that usually dangled on a braid beside his neck were missing, and his chin had been clean shaven. He looked like a prince.

  Did he know of his fate?

  Raj pointed to the dais. “The Hartnords are here.”

  The silver giants with their pale faces strolled into the room. Only their King had forsaken his armor, graced instead in cobalt blue, the Water Bearers color—the color of death and mourning. Inappropriate for Prince Rais’s helbond. Didn’t these Hartnords know anything about Sandarian culture? Seats had been placed on the dais beside the royal throne, and the Hartnords moved for the ones at the far side.

  The Queen of Sandair stepped onto the dais next, earning a cheer from the Housemen. Her round belly looked ready to burst with child any day. As the young Princess Aniya helped the Queen to her seat, Mina spared a glance to Alistar. He stared into the distance, frowning. She wanted to say something, but what? He wasn’t technically her sorran; there was no bond between them that she could pull, but she didn’t need a blood bond to understand his mood, nor did she blame him. His life was being dictated, and who’d want Prince Ravel for a brother-in-law?

  A loud cheer filled the room next as Prince Rais walked onto the dais and waved to the Housemen with a broad smile. He wore his hair tied back, revealing his scarred face to the world, and his hand gripped the sword strapped to his hip—the sword that now named him a man. He looked so different from the skulking boy who had once hidden in his brother’s shadow.

  That shadow stepped into the hall next. The disgraced Prince himself.

  Losing the Solaran tournament hadn’t dulled Prince Ravel’s polished charisma. He paraded his fake smiles with all the enthusiasm of a snake charmer. The crowd welcomed him with a cheer as well, and not even a subdued one. Mina felt the embers in her gut surge and heat flooded through her arms, making her fingers tingle. She flexed them and took a steadying breath. This night wasn’t about him.

  The loudest cheers welcomed King Khaled, who was followed by his two sorrans—Gareth and her father. The Bright Solara sat. Each wore varying shades of reds and gold to match the banners and braziers above. Both the King and his sons dominated the space with their presence, as though in competition with each other.

  Housemen continued to fill the throne room. The Sword of Solus and Guardian of Gai guarded the bottom of the dais, both dressed in their finest scale armor as guests and warriors of the King. Salasar eyed the crowds with a wary expression. No doubt he remembered the disaster of Prince Ravel’s helbond ceremony a year prior.

  A Houseman bumped into her and cursed. Some commotion was going on behind her. A noblewoman yelled something about a rat. Mina grabbed the hilt of her sword and waded through the crowd.

  An orange furball had grabbed hold of the woman’s scarf and was tugging it with his teeth. A few of the Houseman pointed and laughed as the woman struggled. Another girl pulled at the scarf and tried to shoo the fox away. Gods damn it, he must have followed her inside.

  Mina leaped into the fray. “Fez, stop it!”

  The fox refused to drop his prey. Raj fished out seeds from his pocket. “Here.”

  Fez’s ears sprang up at the sight of food. He abandoned the poor woman’s scarf and attacked the seeds instead. Mina mumbled an apology and scooped the fox. Her dress did nothing to protect against his sharp claws. “You’re not on the guest list, you little bug-biter. Stop ruining my dress.”

  Fez screeched in protest as she carried him away from the crowd.

  A girl followed her—the same Solander girl who’d tried to help. “He’s a feisty one. And you’re the Sand Dancer, aren’t you? Tamina Arlbond? I watched you win the tournament dressed as a boy.”

  Mina’s heart skipped a beat. Iman had said winning the tournament would send a message. “That’s right.”

  This girl stood taller than Mina and wore a flowing turquoise dress and matching ribbons braided into her long black hair. Two silver doves dangled from her ears, but compared to the other noble girls, she didn’t flaunt her wealth. “And you studied in the Academy. As a boy.”

  Where was she going with this? “They don’t let girls into the Academy. I did what was necessary to get inside.”

  “But that’s not right. Girls are capable of learning academics and swordplay. Why shouldn’t they be allowed in the Academy? You’re proof we have a place there.”

  “Tell that to the King.”

  The girl’s cheeks flushed pink. “Yes, exactly! I—forgive my manners. I’m Kasara.” She dipped into a quick curtsey. “I was hoping you’d be here tonight. Would you be willing to lend your voice and help me convince the King to admit girls?”

  “I’ve already asked. The King refused to—”

  A flickering brazier caught Mina’s eye. Tira waved at her from the flames and pointed to the throne room entrance. A pale-skinned man dressed in blue silks slid past the doors to the gardens outside.

  A Hartnord.

  Alone, without a guard or chaperone.

  She’d not been able to approach a Hartnord yet. Everywhere they walked, they were accompanied by the palace guards, and they didn’t eat in the dining hall.

  But this could be her chance to speak to one.

  She juggled Fez in her arms. “If you’ll excuse me, I should take him outside.”

  Kasara blocked her path. “Perhaps if we drew up a petition and approached the King together—”

  “Another time.” Mina brushed past her and carried Fez outside into the gardens.

  She shuffled between late-arriving Housemen, but the Hartnord had vanished. Fez wiggled free and she let him down between the bushes. A passing firefly caught his attention and he crouched into a hunt. She brushed stray strands of fur from her dress and straightened its ruffles as best she could. He’d left a few superficial scratches on her bare arms, but no one would notice those among her silver swirls.

  It had been a foolish plan anyway. How could she even speak to a Hartnord? She knew nothing about them or their language, only that their land was supposedly hard as stone and devoid of warmth.

  The bushes rustled behind her. Alistar and Raj must have followed. “We best return now before Fez notices—”

  Mina jumped. The Hartnord stood before her.

  6

  THE SILVER PRINCE

  “You have the Hartsire gaze,” the Hartnord said with a lilting accent like the pitter-patter of rain. He stood tall in a blue silk tunic edged with silver embroidery that matched the shimmering stars of Mina’s dress. It hugged his slim body and the top collar flopped open, exposing a tuft of light hair. His pale face was clean shaven and smooth, making him look young—certainly no older than Prince Ravel—and his short-combed hair glowed white in the early evening light.

  His bright silver eyes mirrored her own, cut from starlight.

  He was Lune in male form.

  Mina stared at him. “You speak Sandarian?”

  He smiled with perfect teeth. “I am ill-practiced in your speech, but learning.”

  There was something unnerving about him and his silver eyes. “Are—are you lost? The other Hartnords—uh, your people, they’re waiting in the throne room.”

  “Your palace is hot, even at night. I was in need of air. Are you one of them?”

  “One of who?”

  He pointed to her arm. “They all have markings, yes?”

  “I’m a Fire Walker, if that’s what you mean.”

  “They’ve been hiding you. Your kin. They wouldn’t let us meet you, but your King says you are safe and can be trusted.”

  “My King speaks the truth.”

  “Then why hide you? It’s why I came. To see you for myself and know if the stories are true.”

  This was it. Her one chance to convince these foreigners that Fire Walkers were no threat. “The tales are… exaggerated. Fire Walkers are normal men and women who wish to live their lives in peace. None of them ask
ed for blood fire. They’d give it back if they could.”

  “Then where did it come from? How does it work?”

  “It’s in our blood as a gift from Rahn—our god.”

  “The stories say you stole it from god.”

  Even Hartnords told the same children’s tales of the Fire Walkers? She tried to imitate Talin’s reassuring smile. “I’m no thief. I wouldn’t know how to steal from a man, let alone a god. He’d surely notice if we all stole his fire, wouldn’t he?”

  The Hartnord didn’t return the smile. “When one of your people cast your magic, it takes from the sun. And so its light diminishes, and the days get shorter, and the nights longer, until at last there will be no light at all. Only darkness. So our prophet speaks.”

  “Forgive me, what do you mean by the sun?”

  “The light in the daytime sky. Rahn, I believe you called it?”

  When her childhood tales spoke of Fire Walkers stealing their power, she’d never considered what it meant—that they were literally stealing Rahn’s warmth and light. If that were true, then Rahn would have shrunk over hundreds of years, wouldn’t he? “But the days and nights are the same. They don’t change.”

  “They do in Hartnor. Our days shorten and our fields turn brown. Come winter, the darkness presses heavy and our lands freeze. Only by prayer, and by committing to the laws of our god, do the light and warmth return.”

  What was he saying? That Sandarian blood fire was responsible for their seasons? Surely Hartnords weren’t foolish enough to believe that. “We don’t steal Rahnlight from your lands. How could we? Our fire is something else. It’s part of us, it’s part of our blood.”

  “May I see it?” The way he looked at her wasn’t with apprehension, but eager curiosity. He wasn’t scared of her. Perhaps she’d misread him and he was as skeptical of childhood tales as she was.

  She held up her palm and summoned a single dancing flame.

  It lit up his face, and he stared at it with wide eyes. “How is that possible? Does it not hurt you?” He reached out to touch it.