Embers in a Dark Frost

Page 8

“Does it wave like this on its own?” Daya asked from the floor, rising up to touch my hair, which was down now thanks to Ciara.
“Aye.”
“She has eyes the color of copper.” Was that Bryn or Mab who spoke? I couldn’t tell them apart.
There was no disgust or superiority in their regard. In fact, I felt more like a fine material they might inspect for a gown.
“Tell us about the House of Anu,” Edanna said. “Is it true you possess power over water? We’ve heard the priestesses can bring rain and flood, and control the tides.”
“Aye, it’s true. But only the most powerful can control the tides. My mother was High Priestess of Anu,” I said with pride. “But I only remember the water games she played with me.”
“Will you show us?”
Suddenly, I was not so proud. I had no power. Unlike the direct descendants of Anu, I held no control of her precious element. “I cannot.”
“Please,” Daya said, sitting forward.
“I’m a halfling. I have no power.” The words hurt coming out. “There were others like me . . . before during the Old War. Do you know about them?”
They shook their heads in unison. Then, Daya said, “You have no power at all?”
My face grew hot. “None.”
They were quiet. I closed my eyes, trying to enjoy the luxury of having my hair combed and ignore the embarrassment I felt.
“Well,” Ciara said gently, “everyone has power. Perhaps you haven’t discovered yours yet.”
“No, I’m like my father. The power of the goddess doesn’t run through my veins.”
One of the women sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to see a man, a human.”
The others laughed. Nuallan rolled her eyes at them. “They find favor in tales of old, in the days when our two peoples mingled freely, and—” She gave them a stern look— “in things barbaric and forbidden, no?”
Several chuckled in a low, intimate way.
I considered telling them the things my father had written about in his books and papers; all the things he’d loved, the history he knew.
But I didn’t tell them.
I remembered, sitting up straighter, I’d left my satchel and all my writing instruments in the tent. The comb pulled. Ciara scolded the sudden movement with a soft cluck, gently working out the tangle I’d just made.
I went to inquire about writing services anyway—surely they had parchment and pen with them, but Ixia entered the tent with Balen and my inquiry went unspoken.
Her eyes were red. Her arm was linked tightly with his, unmoving as he tried gently to free himself. He dipped his head and whispered something in a low, comforting tone.
They looked so . . . perfect together.
One by one, the dancers left me and approached Balen, giving him a small curtsy and then a warm kiss to his hand or cheek. My hands itched to twist up my hair into a veil. Out of sight. And away from the fiery eyes that locked onto mine.
He stared at me for what felt like ages, before giving a curt nod to the dancers and leaving the tent.
Shaken, I rose, ready to go back to the tent, to be alone with myself and away from their teary eyes.
I’d had enough for one night.
Nuallan led me to the exit. Ixia didn’t move aside as we approached. For a moment, I thought she’d strike me, but her words were far, far worse.
“He dies because you live.” She swept her long hair behind one shoulder, pushing by me. “I wish we’d never come here.”
CHAPTER 6
Ciara and Nuallan escorted me outside. “What did she mean?”
Ciara drew in a deep breath. “You were foretold by our queen, Balen’s mother, at his birth. She was mad, but her foretellings were always right.”
“With hair the color of flame, she will return the Light and deliver the land from darkness, and the champion will fall in her stead,” Nuallan spoke, reciting words of old.
“Balen will die.” Ciara’s voice was grief-stricken. “His fate has been written. You’ve been found, and soon he will be no more.”
The anguish in their eyes elicited the same feeling in me. The memory of Balen’s expression and words came back to me. The sadness I’d seen in Orin’s eyes. The mood of the legions. They all believed Balen would die.
No. There was no way in Annwn I’d ever believe it. “I make my own fate, my own choices. And so can Balen. He won’t die because of me. I cannot be this person you speak of. I’m a halfling. I have no real power and no fate to save this world.”
Their jaws dropped. Their eyes widened. And I left.
I paid no attention to the path I took or the activity around me as I relived the past few hours, letting the reason Balen had taken me set in, and determined to set whatever foretelling they spoke of on its head. No one, not even a mad soothsaying queen, would make my choices for me. I’d be a scribe, not a savior. And that was that.
Aye, I was determined. I had my freedom and my own path to follow. No one would die just because I’d been found.
Pain shot through my scalp as something snagged my hair and jerked me back. “Ow!”
Fire balls lit up the night sky.
The camp erupted in shouts and screams.
Arms wrapped around me. I screamed as Fire Breathers appeared in the lane.
But their attention was fixed beyond me. Fire grew from their bare palms and generated enough wind to shift the hair off their stark, confident faces. That same hot wind blew over me as they launched the fire overhead. It hit behind me and exploded with a loud roar.
Splinters flew like missiles as I struggled, kicking my feet and fighting against the arms that held me. But I was dragged into a dark spot between tents as the Legion of Annwn swarmed down the avenue and into camp.
My gut tightened. I knew what held me. A member of the fifth house of Innis Fail. A Fallen warrior. The dead.
Holding my breath, I looked down at the arms around me. Bones. My screaming and struggling began anew, fueled by the terror of what held me so close.
The ground shook from pounding hooves. Shouts and cries echoed. Smoke billowed around us, making its way into my lungs as I coughed and gasped for air. The Fallen kept pulling me deeper and deeper into the darkness. If it succeeded in getting me away from camp, I’d never make it back. I had to do something.
Thinking quickly, I ceased struggling and threw my weight with my captor instead of against it. It lost balance and its hold eased. As soon as it did, I buckled my knees, dropped out of its bony arms, then scrambled to my feet. I ran, my heart pounding, adrenaline flowing quick and hot as I dodged horses, fire, Nox’s army of Annwn, and his creatures of the Underworld.
I narrowly missed colliding with an enormous white battle hound with ferocious red eyes as it lunged at a group of three Sydhr warriors. In the panic and chaos, I realized I was lost. All the avenues and tents looked the same. I had to get back to the tent, had to get my satchel—it held the only things of value I had in the world.
I skidded to a dead stop, trying to get my bearings.
There. The half circle of tents. The meat roasting over the fire pit. I ran into Balen’s tent, found my satchel and slung the strap across my chest. I made for the back of the tent, but fire hit, exploding one side of the tent and sending me flying. I landed at the entrance, the breath knocked out of me.
Flames ate up the material in a loud, crackling frenzy.
Heat stung my face as I struggled to get up.
Coughing and shielding myself from debris and flames with one arm, I crawled outside and staggered to my feet.
The lane was blocked by fire.
Another tent erupted into a ball of flame. Then another, until I was trapped in a ring of fire. I spun, pulse thumping wildly, searching for a way through, the smallest break. The heat was scorching. I covered my mouth. If only I could summon water!
And I tried. I stood there and tried with my whole body, mind, and heart, but nothing came.
I had to go through the flames.
I scanned the flames, looking for a place where they were weakest. I was going to get burned, I knew. But burned was better than dead. My fists clenched at my sides. I found a spot and readied myself. I took two steps toward the flames when, suddenly, they wavered and Balen, clad in black armor, stepped through, larger than life.
He never faltered, never hesitated, just marched right up to me, picked me up before I could move, threw me over his shoulder, and strode back toward the flames.
We didn’t make it.
A white hound leapt the flames and landed squarely before us.
Balen set me down, pushing me behind him. “Stay back,” he said as the hound crouched down, the hairs on its back stiff and straight. Its lips pulled back in a bloody snarl as Balen drew his sword. Flames danced in the reflection of the blade.
The hound leapt. Balen waited . . . waited . . . then he rolled forward, came up on one knee, and stabbed the hound in the belly as it sailed over him. The blade slid in effortlessly. Blue flame spread from the hilt of the sword, down the blade, and into the hound’s body, engulfing it. Almost instantly, it became ash, which fell softly to the ground.
Balen shook the ash from his hair with a muttered curse, then found me and held out his hand. I couldn’t move. I was shaking and sweating and scared.
“Deira,” he beckoned.
I slid my hand in his. He tugged me close, wrapping me in his arms, his big armored body protecting me as we walked through the flames that did not burn.
Beyond the flames, a group of battle-ready Sydhrs, Orin included, waited atop eager horses, two of which were without riders.
“Orin!” Balen shouted above the chaos. “Secure the encampment!”
Balen lifted me onto one of the horses then mounted the other. Orin moved his mount close to Balen and they clasped hands. “May the blessings of Sydhr go with you.” His features were set in grief, his eyes bright with it. “It has been my honor to serve with you.”
“And you, Orin.” Balen reined the horse around to face me. “Keep your head down, stop for nothing, halfling.”
I needed no other encouragement. I hadn’t really ridden since my father left, but I knew enough to grab a handful of mane, dig my heels into the horse’s flanks, and hold on. The horse charged down the avenue with Balen beside us.