Daughter of the Flames (26 page)

At the far end of the craft, on a low platform, a small contingent of armed gourdin stood. I could see a dark shape on the floor behind them, but their closed ranks made it impossible to tell what it was. Abheron stood near them, hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at his feet. He looked different. It took me a moment to realize why.

For the first time, he was wearing a crown, a simple red-gold circlet. It was the same one that my father had worn all his life. I stiffened as a dreadful sense of foreboding seized me. I lifted my hand to the canthus flower in my hair, and touched the delicate petals. Hope.

I willed Abheron to look at me. Just a glance, anything, to give me some idea of what he was thinking, what he was up to. Suddenly he looked up and met my gaze. I went cold. The merciless ice of his eyes held a grim mixture of determination and … apology. Then he looked away over my head.

Holy Mother – what is he going to do?

The tense, subdued muttering that had filled the space died away the moment Abheron rested his eyes on his guests. They look and act more like cowed children than lords and ladies, I thought. He’s broken them. Now he wants to do the same to me.

“My lords,” he began, “you have gathered here today to help me celebrate the discovery of my niece, Zahira Elfenesh, and to bless her marriage to my loyal subject Sorin Constantin – or Sorin Mesgao, as he likes to be known. Thank you for making my little party a success.”

As if this was a cue, everyone burst into enthusiastic applause. I kept my hands firmly at my waist.

“Thank you.” Abheron lifted his hands, and the clapping stopped dead.

“Finding that the child of my sister is alive has caused me to think seriously about the succession to the throne of Ruan.” He dropped this piece of information lightly, ignoring the worried rustle it caused among his guests. “I have not been blessed with children, and in latter years this has troubled me often. When I die, who is to lead this nation? The answer, now, seems obvious. Lady Zahira is blessed with royal blood from both her mother and father, and is my only living relation.”

What is he doing? I thought wildly, glancing at Sorin and the gourdin waiting behind him. He promised he wouldn’t do anything unless I agreed.
What is he doing?

“However,” he went on, now addressing me directly, “my niece is blessed with great modesty and delicacy of mind, which cause her to baulk at this idea. I cannot chide her. These very traits will make her a worthy queen. We must simply undertake to persuade her that agreeing to be my heir is the only acceptable path.”

More rustling filled the space as the guests hastily nodded and made gestures of assent. I looked at them contemptuously. Sorin’s face was grim.

“Other traits that Lady Elfenesh possesses are a strong sense of honour, and compassion. Commendable, I’m sure you all agree.” Abheron lifted an eyebrow, his eyes resting on my face. “And thinking on these, I have devised a plan which I believe will persuade her to do as we all want.”

He gestured at the men beside him. The front row of gourdin stepped back, while those behind them bent and dragged something forward into the light.

There was a gasp from the guests. I clapped my hand over my mouth to hold in a cry of horror. Sorin swiftly reached out and put his hand on my shoulder, holding me steady as I stared at the woman on the platform.

She seemed barely conscious. Her face was a swollen, pulpy mess, black and purpling bruises forcing one of her eyes completely shut. A great open gash across her nose bled sluggishly. Through rips in her clothes I could see welts and wounds all over her body. One of her arms dangled uselessly at her side, clearly broken; the other was secured behind her, forcing her to slump on the ground. She had been beaten almost to death.

The woman was Rashna.

“Dear God,” I whispered, tears welling up uncontrollably. “Dear God…”

Sorin’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “Courage, love. There’s worse to come.”

“There is a custom,” Abheron said. “An ancient custom of the Sedorne. It says that when a king chooses his heir, his people, rich and poor, noble and common alike, are given a holiday, a day of freedom to rejoice. On such days, all prisoners must be pardoned – no matter what their crimes – and let free to live.”

He walked across the platform and bent to crouch beside Rashna’s huddled form. She jerked convulsively as he reached out, but he only laid his gloved hand on her head as he studied her.

“This woman is a Rua traitor who infiltrated my staff, no doubt in an attempt to harm my person. When she was found out she attempted to escape, and killed three loyal gourdin before she was arrested. As I’m sure you all know, these crimes are punishable by death.”

He looked at me again, and now his voice was low so that few besides Sorin and I could hear it. “If you agree to become my heir – and to all the conditions which I have already laid out – then this woman may be pardoned under the ancient custom. If you do not…” He lifted his hand, and stood again. “Then she must be executed for what she has done. The choice is yours, Zahira.”

Tears trickled down my face and I bit my lip, hard. Rashna had risked everything for me; she was lying, broken and half dead, at the feet of my enemies. Yet if I agreed I would be betraying Sorin, and all my people, condemning Ruan to suffer under Abheron’s rule for as long as he lived.

I looked at Rashna’s poor, battered face in anguish. Suddenly her good eye flickered open and met mine. The force of her will bored into me as if she had screamed in my head,
Don’t you dare cave in! Stop snivelling and face him!

I knuckled the tears out of my eyes and pushed away from Sorin to stand on my own. Conscious that every eye was on me, I stepped forward and slowly bowed to Rashna – the deepest bow, of a servant to her reia. She jerked her head painfully in acknowledgement.

“What is your decision, Zahira?” Abheron demanded.

I looked up into his face and saw expectant confidence. I longed to smash that face. I will smash it. God help me, one day I will.

I lifted my chin, and spoke so that everyone could hear. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No? No what?”

“I won’t be your heir.”

Disbelief crossed his face, followed by grudging respect. “You’re stronger than I thought,” he said softly. “You will make a magnificent queen.”

“You’re mistaken,” I ground out. “Badly mistaken. I’ll see you dead for it.”

Metal gauntleted hands closed hard over my shoulders, pinching painfully at my skin. I struggled, but the gourdin captain simply lifted me off my feet and clamped his arms over mine. I heard a shout and craned my head in time to see Sorin brought down by a hard blow to the back of his legs with the other soldier’s pikestaff. His cane clattered out of his hand as he staggered and fell to his knees. The gourdin twisted the pike round and pressed the blade to his throat. Sorin looked at me in mute anguish, helpless.

“Gently now,” Abheron said to the captain who held me. “If I find a single bruise on her I’ll reopen that hole in your shoulder.” The captain’s grip on me eased slightly, but he didn’t put me down.

Abheron looked at me. “I am sorry, Zahira. Remember, this was your own choice.” Then he turned to one of the gourdin standing over Rashna’s slumped form. “Proceed.”

The executioner nodded expressionlessly and unsheathed his sword, lifting the blade for a killing blow. I forced myself to watch, nails biting into my palms deep enough to draw blood, my heart booming in my ears; I wouldn’t look away; I wouldn’t abandon her. Rashna, I swear to God I’ll get him; I’ll get him for you … I swear I will.

At the last instant, cowardice overwhelmed me. My eyes snapped shut. I heard a hollow
thacking
, and gagged. One of the female guests screamed. I opened my eyes to see the executioner toppling back, an arrow protruding from the gap in his armour between neck and helmet.

In the sudden silence there came a lone voice, raised in a battle cry: “For Ruan! For Ruan!”

Other voices joined the first, echoing the words: “
For Ruan!
”

The captain’s grip on me tightened and he backed away, dragging me with him. A burning arrow thudded into the platform before the group of gourdin, causing them to step back hastily. The Sedorne guests drew together in fear and confusion.

Somewhere behind me there was a resounding crash, and then, from above, a sound that was horribly familiar: the hungry gasp of fire taking hold. I looked up so quickly that I banged my head against the gourdin’s armour-plated chest. A great whip of fire lashed out across the golden silk canopy above us, burning through the fine fabric with terrifying speed.

The guests saw it too. Screaming broke out, and they ran, fighting and trampling over one another to get off the pleasure craft and away from the flames. More fire arrows lanced through the air, scattering across the deck before the platform. Abheron held his ground as the gourdin hastily surrounded him in a protective formation.

“No, you idiots! Get them!” he bellowed. The gourdin hesitated, not wanting to abandon their king. He shoved through them and snatched the sword from the dead executioner’s hand. “Go. Kill the traitors!”

The gourdin drew their weapons and leaped down from the platform. A group of people rushed forward through the scrambling guests to meet the soldiers. I recognized them with a gasp of shock.

Among the servants, both Rua and Sedorne, I saw familiar faces. Faces that had run away from me at Mesgao a month ago, leaving fire and bitterness in their wake. I saw fighting namoa I had once trained with, Joachim the garden master, temple people. Wielding everything from meat hooks to pitchforks to battleaxes and still screaming the Rua battle cry, they charged the gourdin. The two groups met with a hideous, grinding shriek of metal.

I heard Sorin’s raised voice somewhere to my left, but couldn’t see him through the struggling fighters and the billows of smoke spiralling up from the deck. The captain’s grip around my torso tightened cruelly as he backed away from the fighting. I gasped for breath, thinking my ribs would crack, and struggled wildly. My boot heels banged against his armoured legs, and I scrabbled for purchase over the lacquered metal, searching for any weak points as I heaved my body forward, trying to throw him off balance. An arrow zipped past us, so close that I could feel the disturbance in the air. The captain dumped me on my feet, his grip loosening minutely as he half turned to try to catch sight of the archer.

Suddenly I remembered Abheron’s remark about a pierced shoulder, and how the captain had seemed to favour his right arm. Sucking in my breath, I wrenched my arms free with a grunt of effort and twisted, slamming doubled fists into the right shoulder joint of his armour. My fingers sang with pain as they thudded into the metal – but the captain went white with agony. He let go of me, instinctively clutching at his shoulder.

Released, I skipped back and caught my balance. As he reached for me, his face twisted with rage, I dodged sideways and kicked with all my strength. My booted foot landed hard on the side of his knee and the joint made a sound like a melon hitting the floor. He yelled with pain as he crumpled. I kicked again, clipping him squarely under the jaw with the reinforced toe of my boot. He collapsed.

Gasping for breath – no ribs were broken, but they were certainly bruised – I looked up to find that the sky was on fire. The canopy had gone up, and the blaze had spread to the railings and the deck, joining with the smaller fires from the arrows. The battle between rebels and gourdin was already over. I could see bodies from both sides lying on the smouldering deck. Anyone who was still alive had abandoned the ship while I fought with the captain. Where was Sorin?

I coughed painfully as I sucked smoke and heat in, turning to see Rashna crumpled at one edge of the platform. Standing near by, motionless and still holding the sword, was Abheron.

He was watching the fire, his face shiny with sweat, pupils like tiny pinpricks in the iciness of his eyes. His expression was an uneasy combination of desire and loathing as he watched the flames creep closer and closer.

Then he saw me. Before he could move, there was another crash overhead. I looked up in time to see part of the canopy and its wooden framework cave in. The flaming debris unfolded in an eerily silent drift of sparks and ash over the back of the platform where Abheron was standing. His eyes widened in alarm.

“Get off the ship!” he bellowed at me, flinging the sword aside. The fire seemed to drape around him for a moment, like a fiery cape. Then, in a burst of supernatural speed, he dived under the flames into the dark water, and was gone. The debris collapsed backwards, enveloping the place where Abheron had stood.

By some merciful favour of God, the collapse had left both me and Rashna untouched. But fire burned between me and the platform. I looked around in panic and realized that the flames had taken nearly the whole deck. If I didn’t get us off this vessel now, we’d both be dead.

I took another deep breath, almost choking on the scents of burning and blood that I remembered so well, and backed up slowly, my muscles quivering with tension. You’ve really gone mad now, I told myself.

I ran towards the flames as fast as I could, my breath rasping harshly in my throat as I jumped. The fire roared angrily as I passed over it, just out of reach, and landed awkwardly on the other side, fetching up against the edge of the dais. For an instant I leaned on the platform, clinging to it in sheer relief. Then I hauled myself up and bent over Rashna. I pressed two fingers to her throat and found the quick thread of her pulse. She was alive.

I slid my arms under her and arranged her as gently as possible for the rescuer’s lift. She didn’t even stir, draping limply over my shoulder like an old rug. She felt horribly delicate and light. Trying not to jolt her too badly, I stepped down from the platform – and stopped, dismayed. What now?

I couldn’t get back over the moat of flames, not carrying Rashna. And though I thought I could keep myself afloat in the water, I knew I couldn’t prevent Rashna from drowning while she was unconscious. As I stood hesitating, there was a splash and a thud behind me. I turned so quickly that I almost dropped Rashna – but I didn’t care.