The Fire Within Page 2

  Dragon hide.

  Suppressing a shiver, she ducked to enter and stepped aside to allow him to move past her. Uneasy, she watched him, trying to control her reactions no matter what he did in the privacy of his tent. He vibrated with menace when he chose, but he didn’t have that dark edge of cruelty that her brother wielded so terrifyingly well. Something deep in the pit of her stomach stirred when she looked at the Keldari. It wasn’t fear, exactly. Fascination, perhaps?

  Sighing softly, she forced herself to admit the truth. She found him very intriguing, even attractive, much more than she expected. Darius had sent her to plenty of beds over the years, but she wouldn’t mind sharing this Keldari’s at all. If Zahak’s brother was half as appealing, then she had nothing to worry about, but despite such rationalities, she couldn’t suppress the twinge of disappointment that he had not bought her for himself.

  He moved silently about his tent gathering various implements and then returned to sit cross-legged on a cushion. Gesturing before him at the low table, he invited her to sit. His face was closed and hard. She had no idea what he was thinking. Uncertain, she sat before him and placed the flask on the low table between them.

  He poured a small amount of water into a clay teapot and spooned in some dark leaves and sticks. The unusual tea hit the water and released a rich, spicy aroma into the air. Her nose and throat burned as the tea steeped without fire or heat.

  Into a small bowl, he poured another measured amount of her water. He took a square of cotton, dabbed it into the water, and lightly pressed it to his lips, forehead, and heart. “May Somma’s waters cleanse us of our devalki.”

  Meticulously, he washed his hands and face with the little cloth. Suddenly, she realized how precious water truly was to the Keldari. She thought of the hot springs beneath the Palace and the many long baths she’d taken in the months since Darius had ascended the High Throne. She’d been completely immersed in steaming hot water, while these people used less than a thimble full. Her eyes filled with moisture, whether with sympathy or fumes from the tea she could not be sure.

  “You’re surprised.”

  At his voice, she twitched before she could control her reaction. Smoothing her face, she met his fathomless gaze. “I was merely thinking how strange you would find our baths in the Green Lands.”

  She swore flames flickered in the dark depths of his eyes. “This is not a true Keldari bath. Perhaps...” Muttering beneath his breath, he turned his attention to the tea. A curse? “Cleanse your hands and face, azharana.”

  She did as he demonstrated, taking care to treasure the fluid and use very little to actually wash away the grime of travel. As soon as she finished, he poured tea into a cup. Thick and black, it looked more like tar than any tea she’d ever drunk before. Her nose itched, and she feared she might sneeze at the burning spice. He took a sip, turned the cup in his hands, and held it out to her.

  Stomach fluttering, she took the small cup he offered. His eyes held hers, gleaming in the meager light of the tent. A challenge? Why? Cursing the lack of Keldari documentation, she lifted the cup to her mouth, hesitating at the sudden intensity of his gaze.

  Steeling herself, she took a small sip. Her throat convulsed, blazing with heat, but she got it down. Heat spread in her stomach, burning just shy of pain. Eyes watering, she fought not to shudder or make any facial movement.

  Nodding with approval, he smiled slightly. “Fire Tea feeds the Fire within, if it doesn’t kill you. So, tell me how you came to be captured by the trader, azharana.”

  Warmth flowed through her veins, relaxing muscles she hadn’t even known were tense. What exactly did they put in that tea? She probably didn’t want to know. Staring into his chiseled face of weathered granite, she felt her eyelids getting heavy. How long had it been since she’d slept more than a light, restless doze? “Azharana—what does that mean?”

  “Bright eyes.” His voice lowered, husky and soft. “Your eyes glow like the silvered moon on water. You’re a White indeed.”

  Sitting up straighter, she fought to retain her alertness despite the weariness suffusing her limbs. Any mistake could get her killed. Did she dare tell him the truth? That she’d planned her capture and subsequent “sale” down to the last detail? That she carried Our Blessed Lady’s blood, yes, but she was also corrupted by Shadow?

  Her eyes were heavy. She was so tired. She needed to rest, just for awhile.

  Confusion and terror flickered across her face before she could suppress it. Darius waited in nightmares. He would know everything. “Did you drug me?”

  “Everyone reacts to the tea differently, especially the first time. You must be weary after your journey. You may sleep without fear in my tent. None shall harm you here.” Zahak’s face softened slightly, his head tilting as he watched her. “You are a treasure indeed.” His face flinched so quickly she was sure she imagined it. “For my brother.”

  “No sleep.” Even to her ears, her voice sounded thick and heavy. “I can’t. Please, don’t let me fall asleep.”

  As if in slow motion, she started to fall. He stood and flowed to her, easily catching her as she collapsed. His arms were hard yet gentle, holding her carefully as though she might break. Had she ever known a man’s touch in gentleness? She couldn’t remember.

  “Ishtay, azharana,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. The heat and spice of tea filled her nose again. No, that was his skin, his neck against her face. “You’re safe with me, bright eyes.”

  No, there was no safety. Nowhere in the world could she be safe, not while her brother lived. The warmth inside her faded, swallowed by the Shadow bubbling up to suck her down to oblivion.

  * * *

  She walked on blood-red sands swept across a blasted land riddled with ravines. A full moon blazed down in the velvet sky, lighting the strange landscape. Ahead, a twisted black Spire pierced the sky. She wanted to run as far away from that Spire as possible, but it sucked her ever closer, her feet heavy and dragging through the sand.

  Something in her blood stirred at the sight of that dull-black rock, like worms wriggling in a corpse.

  At that thought, Darius appeared, walking across the cracked ground as though he were emperor of the world. She waited for the familiar flood of adrenaline, the rushing of blood in her ears, the vicious clenching of her stomach. Yet all she felt was a spreading warmth in her veins.

  Tea. Fire Tea.

  Keldar is a hard land.

  She remembered Zahak, the feel of his arms sliding around her as she fell. The raw silk scent of his skin, dust and spice and sweat and man. He’d lived hard years of suffering and warfare, of drought and blazing sun, without ever attaining cruelty or malice in his eyes.

  A dry, hot wind lifted her hair, swirling strands into her face. She tasted something foul on her tongue, dry and powdery like desiccated corpses. A faint whiff of death tainted the wind, which grew ever stronger, darker, until it crawled through the air like shadowed fog.

  Suddenly, she realized the wind and the stench of rotting flesh came from her brother. He was miles away in this dreamscape, yet she saw his face clearly. The cruel gleam in his eyes sliced her mind into ribbons.

  “What a strange place you’ve brought me to, dearest. But I like it. I like it a great deal. In some ways…” Standing in the shadow of the Spire, he sighed, a deep rumble vibrating the ground like thunder. “I feel like I’ve come home.”

  Closing his eyes, he stretched out his hands. One palm caressed the dull black stone of the Spire. The other reached toward her. Smoke exploded from his palm, thick and blacker than the night.

  Fire blazed higher in her stomach. Every instinct clamored that she should run. If that foul smoke found her, she would never be the same again. She would never wake again. The moon disappeared, swallowed by the tar spewing from the spire and Darius.

  Death and shadows were everywhere, stretching out across the sands.

  Despite her fear, she found herself standing beside him, gaggi
ng at the rotten stench filling her nose. Her ears hurt from some silent agonized scream shrilling just beyond hearing. The Spire was evil, Shadow, she knew it, as surely as she knew Darius reveled in the sense of pain and suffering in this place.

  “What do you know? Have you won the allies we seek?”

  She swallowed, steeling herself to lie—or at least to omit as much as possible. Every fact she kept secret was another weapon to use to protect herself. “A Keldari warrior bought me from the trader.”

  “What does he want with you?”

  Her heart thudded in her chest, sweat trickling down her back despite the goose bumps crawling down her arms. “I don’t know yet. He—”

  Casually, Darius dropped his hand onto her shoulder, and she tensed, waiting for the pain. Pain always came when he touched her. Revulsion slithered through her, her heart slamming against her ribs, trying to escape the cage of her body. The taint in him was stronger than ever, a thick black slime that oozed from his skin.

  His eyes were swallowed with Shadow. Smiling, he tightened his grip, his thumb pressing painfully against her collar bone until she feared it would break. She hated this numbing terror that blanketed her mind. She hated the useless sense of duty she still felt for him after all these years. How often would he hurt her before she realized he cared nothing for her?

  “You will do exactly as he orders. If he wants to bed you, you will do so as enthusiastically as you went to the Duke’s bed last fall.”

  A blazing inferno burned inside her, bubbling up like a volcano. Surely the Spire must be affecting her, too, tainting her, corrupting her emotions. Yet the fire felt good, right, a fierce beacon in the night that blazed in her heart. She had no idea where such courage had come from, such defiance, but she embraced it.

  Darius held her close, leaning down to sneer in her face. So she planted her fist square on his nose.

  With a roar, he flung her sailing backward through the air. Fire roared higher, wrapping around her, carrying her away into the night sky. Distantly, she heard her brother scream, but flames engulfed her. Hungry, searing fire burned her to a crisp.

  I don’t care.

  Fire obliterated the world.

  * * *

  Jerking awake, Eleni clawed at the blackness stifling her.

  “Ishtay, azharana. You’re safe.”

  She lay in the Keldari’s arms, in his tent, his bed such that it was, a simple pallet on the ground.

  She pulled back, untangling herself from his arms. He let her go immediately. Aching loneliness swamped her, but still she put a safe distance between them. She could smell him, fire and spice.

  Heart pounding heavy and sore in her chest, she whispered, “There is no safety. Not for me.”

  He shifted beside her and she closed her eyes, drinking in the sound of his breathing, his rich scent. A silent, deadly battle raged in him. “I will keep you safe, even from myself.”

  Oh, dear. He felt the attraction as well. This was certainly a complication neither of them needed. She needed sanctuary, and the supreme leader of Keldar was the perfect one to beg for help. Zahak, too, had other plans, other obligations. She fully understood his loyalty to his brother.

  Meanwhile, Darius would hunt her every time she closed her eyes.

  She rolled on her side and wrapped her arms around her knees tight to her chest. Remembering Zahak’s gentle hands, the warmth in his eyes, she ignored the ache in her heart. “I understand.”

  “I wish...” His voice was rough, ragged in the darkness, but he made no move to close the distance between them.

  “I know.” She let a tear slide down her cheek since he could not see her face. “That’s more than anyone else has ever given me.”

  THREE

  “Drink as sparingly as possible,” Zahak told her, lashing her flask on the saddle which was little more than a mat of leather molded to the horse’s back. “We’ll ride fast and hard, with no breaks, until the heat forces us to stop. We’ll rest during the worst of the day, but we’ll ride another few hours at dusk.”

  Eleni stared doubtfully at the horse he’d saddled for her. Shaggy, knobby kneed, and ugly, it glared at her and snorted derisively. With its long spindly neck, scrawny legs, and oddly pointed snout, it looked more beast than horse. In fact, if it had wings and scales, it could almost be a dragon, at least from sketches she’d seen in the Palace Archives.

  In a sing-song chant that sounded lovely to her ears, he talked to the horse in his language. The animal calmed beneath his hands and allowed her near enough to mount. She’d ridden all the way from Shanhasson without problems, but the pace he promised, combined with the coming heat of the day, threatened to tax her beyond her limits. It was still dark, almost chilly in the hour before dawn, but she knew as soon as the sun started its climb, she’d pay dearly in sweat and exhaustion.

  “Stay in the saddle,azharana, and the mare will do the rest.”

  Clutching at the stringy mane, her hands felt awkward and useless without reins to hold. “How do I guide her?”

  Zahak swung up on his own shaggy horse colored the same indiscriminant shade of red-brown dust. Without looking back, he clucked and his mount immediately moved into a hard trot. Hers leaped after him, the pace jarring her teeth. “You don’t. I’m her master, and she will follow me wherever I go.”

  At first, the Keldari talked companionably, but as the sun rose in the sky and the heat increased, so did the silence. One hour into the bone-splintering ride, Eleni had to consciously work to keep the grimace of pain off her face. After another hour, she didn’t care who saw how much she hurt. Every bone in her body ached, and some joints felt permanently jarred out of place, while the heat worsened every passing moment.

  Suffocated in the black cape swathing her from head to foot, she quickly dampened the linen shirt and pants he’d given to her. As the cruel sun broiled every living thing, her body dried up. Her skin withered and cracked; her eyes felt cooked in her skull, hot and swollen and tender. Thanks to the miserably hot cloak, at least she didn’t sunburn.

  Raising the flask to sandpaper lips, she licked the last drop carefully from the limp leather. No more water, and it wasn’t even time to rest yet for the worst of the heat. She felt feverish, her eyes bright and hot.

  The desert floor disappeared in shimmering waves. The merciless sun hammered down on the riders, yet they never eased the punishing pace. Torture at Darius’s hands in the dungeon began to sound less dreadful. At least it was dark and cool in the depths beneath the Palace.

  Hands settled on her. Blinking stupidly, she looked down into Zahak’s weathered face. His black eyes gleamed with sympathy. He didn’t say anything as he lifted her down, but he didn’t set her on her feet. One look at her, and he knew how badly she fared. She doubted she could even stand.

  Blessed Lady, he must think me a worthless waste to be so helpless and weak.

  * * *

  Zahak carried her into the shade of the lean-to created by partially raising his tent. He was tempted to take the time and request a full raising so she could rest in privacy and complete shade, but time worked against him. Every moment they rested, she’d have to wait for water; conversely, every moment in the saddle was another drain on her fragile reserves.

  A White would do them no good if she died before they could present her to the tribes. Yet his brother, his tribe, even all of Keldar, paled in comparison to the lines of exhaustion on her face and the curious ache in his heart each time he looked at her.

  “How did you come here?” To me, he added silently. He hated making her talk in the midst of her suffering, but he had questions that must be answered. Her arrival in Keldar could not be mere chance. “Were you betrayed?”

  She cracked an eye open. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her dry lips, and his belly clenched. A flood of Fire washed through him, fierce and overwhelming, leaving him shaken. Too much emotion. Too much Fire. The dreaded Last Days could not come quickly enough, before he loosed this beast on the wor
ld, on her.

  “Truth?” Her voice was ragged and hoarse.

  Silently, he nodded, staring into her eyes, bright as the full moon shining on a dark pool of water, if any such pool existed in the midst of these poisoned sands.

  “Allies.”

  He frowned, every instinct sharpening, honing on her words. Any threat to the tal was his grim responsibility as saif to eliminate. “With the Keldari?”

  She toyed with the hem of the taamid she wore. “My brother.” She swallowed, wincing at the pain in her throat. “Darius is High King of the Green Lands. He sent me to find allies.”

  “You came to the wrong tribe, then. Your King wants Tellan, not us.” Despite the blood ties she shared with Tellan, they would surely sacrifice her once they learned she was White. After all, that’s how they’d gained the Well of Tears. With such a wealth of untainted water, they found themselves the recipients of jealous warfare from all other tribes.

  Senses wary and alert, he strained to hear any threat or attack. He must protect her. For Amin. Not because of the constriction in his throat at the thought of her death.

  “No,” she whispered, her voice so painful his heart clenched again. “Tellan would kill us all if they knew why Darius needs them. Their true kin are his—our—enemies.”

  “You know nothing about the Keldari,” he replied flatly, shaking his head. “We have a saying here in the desert. My brother is my enemy unless my cousin threatens; the tribes are my enemy unless one not Keldari threatens. We would never unite with munakuri, foreigners like your brother.”

  “I’m glad.” The fierce glint in her eyes surprised him. “And your brother is very formidable? He’ll protect me from Darius, even if he sends soldiers after me? Even though I’m a foreigner not of your blood, he’ll still want me?”

  Heat banded Zahak’s chest, tightening every muscle in his body. How could Amin not want her? “He’s tal’Cobra, so our entire tribe will die to keep you safe.” Some argued he was not hard enough, especially Malum, but then that’s why Zahak was saif. He was hard enough for them both. “Where most of us tend to violence and ferocity, my brother is known for his gentle nature and wisdom.”