Daughter of the Flames (30 page)

Dear God, he’s fast.

I flung my arms out and spun towards him, my curved blade slashing sideways towards his neck. He twisted like a snake to avoid the blow and went in low to thrust at my stomach again. I dodged and used the movement to flip back, kicking my legs up towards his face. I felt my foot connect with a solid thump as the knuckles of my right hand, clenched on the sword, smashed painfully into the stone, ripping the skin. I dropped, rolled and came up to see him nursing a bleeding lip.

First blood to me, I thought, giddy with the pumping of my heart. I brought my blade up in a two-handed clasp and waited.

The wind rushed at us, finding the gaping hole in my tunic and stinging against my grazed knuckles, drying the sweat on my face. He moved towards me, cloud shadows wheeling across his body so that he seemed to warp and shiver, a black flame.

Suddenly he lashed out, his sword coming up in a crescent sweep at my neck. I twisted to avoid the blow and found myself moving into his second, lightning-fast lunge at my side. I parried, but his sword glanced off mine. I gasped as a line of fiery pain flared across my upper arm, and blocked again just in time as his blade lanced towards my face. We locked, hilt to hilt. My arms trembled with the strain as he brought his superior weight and strength to bear on me. His face was only an inch from mine, his breath warm on my cheek.

“Having fun?” he asked calmly.

I wrenched away, avoiding his quick cut at my face more through luck than skill, and swung my sword up to catch his on the down sweep. I twisted my blade round his and threw my shoulder into it. I felt him falter as the hilt shifted in his fingers. Before he could readjust I pivoted round him to deliver a low kick to the back of his knee.

Our swords disengaged with a flash of sparks and he buckled, slashing at my leg as he went down. I jumped his sword and kicked again at his face. His free hand snapped up and caught my booted foot before it could land. I felt the bite of the metal fingers in his glove, then he heaved, pushing me back as he rushed upwards. Unprepared, I fell heavily and rolled sideways. His sword came down next to my face with a shriek of metal. A chip of stone hit me in the cheek, and I felt blood trickle down my face as I rolled again and came to my feet.

He lunged. I danced back, slashed two-handed at his chest – missed – twisted away from a blow to my side, and slashed again, this time at his face. He dodged just in time to avoid losing his eye, but my sword point opened a long gash down his cheek. He grunted with pain and disengaged to circle me, blood running down his face.

“That’s going to leave a scar, you know,” I couldn’t resist taunting.

“Then we’ll be more alike than ever, my dear.”

“I don’t think so, but come closer and I’ll see what I can do.”

Blood from the wound on my arm was trickling steadily down to my elbow. I shook my arm hastily to get rid of it before it reached my hands and then moved in.

I made a sideways slash at his shoulder. He parried. I twirled, bringing the blade towards his chest. He blocked just in time, and we locked again hilt to hilt, my sword point a bare inch from his chest. My shoulders screamed with the strain as I fought to break his grip. I thought I felt his arm give, ever so slightly. Then, to my horror, I realized it wasn’t his arm but mine.

The blood from my arm had welled down and reached my hand. The hilt of my sword was sliding. I hung on desperately, but my grip faltered. He could feel it.

I saw his lips stretch in a terrifying grin, and then he was throwing his weight forward. The sword slipped from my blood-slick palm and flew away, landing with a clatter behind me. The metal of his gauntleted hand smashed into my face. My head snapped back and for an instant everything went black as I fell.

Then I hit the ground and cried out with pain as my skull bounced off the stone. I opened my eyes to the swirling sky and Abheron’s face as he leaned over me, his sword point resting on my chest like a lead weight. My breath scraped deafeningly in my ears.

I’m going to die. Now. I’m really going to die.

I closed my eyes and lay still, waiting for him to end it. Please, Holy Mother, watch over Sorin and Deo and Mira and the baby… The excruciating weight of the sword grew heavier as he slowly pushed down. My skin opened and blood spilled out, trickling over my chest. I gritted my teeth against the pain – oh, God, forgive me for failing – and jerked as the blade grated against my breastbone. Please take care of Sorin; I love him. A tortured noise of agony burst out of my lips and I opened my eyes to meet the glazed shadows of his as he killed me.

The pressure stopped. He stood over me, utterly still, staring into my face if he had turned to stone. Something was changing behind the opaque ice of his eyes. The darkness that I had deliberately set free was slowly receding, folding back in on itself.

He shook his head. “No.”

I stared at him, uncomprehending, as he carefully removed the point of his sword from my chest and stepped back.

“Pick up your sword, Zahira.”

“What?” I croaked.

“Pick up your sword,” he repeated.

I scrabbled to my knees, grunting with pain. For a moment, I could only clutch at the throbbing wound in my chest. Then I forced my hands away, wiped the blood off on my breeches, and reached for the fallen blade. I kept my eyes on him as I climbed awkwardly to my feet. I was dizzy, and icy cold, as if a layer of skin had fallen away.

“What’s this?” I asked, my voice sounding small and scratchy to my own ears. There was no way I could win now – he must know it. Is this his way of torturing me?

“You wanted to fight me, Zahira,” he said. There was something different about him. He had his control back now, but the usual air of languid mockery was gone. He was deadly serious. “Fight.”

Without warning, he rushed at me. I braced, trying to ignore the pain as I lifted my blade. He feinted left. Moving on instinct alone, I blocked, then lunged, aiming for his chest.

I saw a flicker of a smile cross his face. Then – as the clouds scudded away from the sun and flooded the marketplace with light – he dropped his sword and opened his arms.

My blade went into him up to the hilt, making a soft, wet thud.

I stared at the hilt protruding from the centre of his doublet in disbelief, my fingers slipping away from it. I looked up into his face. He was the colour of chalk, his jaw clenched in pain as his hands came up and grabbed at my shoulders. He swayed, fighting to stay upright, and I found myself clutching at him, the hilt of the sword digging into my sternum. For a moment, we stood there together in a strange kind of embrace.

“Why…?” I breathed, stupid with shock.

He tried to smile, but only managed a twisted grimace, breath rasping harshly through his lips. The metal fingers tightened painfully on my shoulder as I looked into his eyes.

“Curse … broken,” he ground out. His expression changed, and I saw a flare of light, flickering like a blue flame, in his eyes. “Emelia…” he whispered.

Then he crumpled, falling away from me and sprawling on the stone at my feet.

He was dead.

The sword poked out of his chest grotesquely. Some impulse made me reach down and, with a shaking hand, pull it out. Blood gushed up from the wound and pooled around the body on the golden stones, spreading with syrupy, shining thickness. My fingers clenched on the sword hilt.

I wanted to feel something. Anything. There was nothing there. No sorrow, and no happiness either. All I could call up was a distant sense of relief.

I was free. Ruan was free. And I had recognized the blue flicker that had brought Abheron ease in his final moment. The Holy Mother had embraced him. Perhaps even he was free, at last.

I heard a commotion behind me, and then footsteps thudding rapidly across the paving stones. I swung round, lifting my sword.

It was Sorin.

I dropped the sword and threw myself at him. He wrapped his arms around me and we held on to each other, wordlessly.

“That was the worst –
the worst
– thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. Stand and watch you. Just stand by and watch…” he said, the words muffled in my hair. I could feel him shuddering.

“I know.” I sighed. I was so tired, and my head was spinning wildly. “I know. Wait a moment.” With an effort I pushed away from him and turned to look at the marketplace. The human wall of gourdin had gone. I couldn’t see any sign of Abheron’s personal guards. They had fled, probably fearing that they would be mobbed now that Abheron was dead.

Without the barrier, the crowd had come in until they were barely a foot away from us. They formed their own wall, and they showed no signs of moving. Eerily silent and still, they stared at the scene before them.

“What’s wrong with them?” Sorin said quietly.

“Shock. Fear. Anger. We’ve seen people like this before.” I shook my head. “They’ve just watched me kill their king. They don’t know me; they barely know who I am. Everything’s changing. They don’t know what to do.” I had great sympathy for them. I felt much the same.

I turned away and limped towards the abandoned cart. The children were slumped against each other, seemingly half asleep now. I hoped the drugs would wear off with no ill effects. Someone had put the back of the vehicle up again, so I undid it, and then turned to face the crowd.

“Come and fetch your children,” I called out.

For a moment, everything remained still, except for the wind that teased and ruffled my hair. Then, slowly, hesitantly, in twos and threes and fours, people emerged to collect their little ones. They nodded or bowed to me nervously as they came, and I tried to smile reassuringly.

Finally the cart was empty.

“What about the others?” someone shouted.

I turned to look for them, but they were hidden. There was a low murmur of agreement, and the people stirred, like the banners rippling in the wind over my head.

“What about the ones at the palace?” the same voice cried.

I sighed, then winced as the wounds in my chest and arm throbbed. My cheek stung like fire, my whole body ached, and all I really wanted was to curl into a ball and cry. But I couldn’t.

These people had no reason to trust me. I had to give them one.

Sorin groaned as I turned to scramble painfully onto the deserted cart, but he obligingly followed me up, steadying himself on the side of the vehicle.

I looked out at the crowd and saw a few familiar faces tilted up to watch me – Toril and Padmina, and some of the resistance people I knew. I saw Joachim, his head bandaged and his face grim. And there, at the very front, Deo, beaming, urging me on. I took a moment to gather myself, calling on the skills I’d once used to inspire refugee children in the House of God.
If they have pride, I can teach them strength…
My father had said that. My father, the rei.

From somewhere, the words came.

“People of Jijendra,” I began, speaking as loudly as I could. “People of Jijendra, Ruan and Sedorne. My name is Zahira Elfenesh; I am the youngest daughter of rei Toril and reia Emelia, who once governed Ruan. This is my husband, Lord Sorin of Mesgao. Your children will be returned to you as soon as we can get to the palace and find them. That is my promise to you.”

There was another low rumble of noise from the crowd, but I couldn’t tell if it was approving or threatening.

“Before we go to the palace, I ask for a few moments of your attention.” I gulped, then continued. “I would ask you to look at me and my husband. Because we are the face of your future. I ask you to listen to us, because we are the voice of the days to come.

“For many years you have lived under the rule of an insane, broken man – this pitiful dead creature.” I gestured at Abheron’s body, though I kept my eyes away from it. “He tried to break you. He oppressed and hurt you in every way he knew how. Some of you may have fought back, as much as you were able. Others had too much at stake, or were too frightened. Still others” – I allowed my tone to grow steely for a moment – “may have taken advantage of the situation. Whatever you have suffered or gained under Abheron’s rule, I am telling you now: that time has come to an end.”

I paused, letting my words sink in. I glanced at Sorin. He gave me an apprehensive look, but nodded encouragingly.
This is your moment, so get on with it.

The wind was dying down, and my words echoed across the market square.

“Ruan is a great land. A beautiful land. There is enough here for all of us to share – enough for everyone. There is no room for fear, or cruelty and hatred. They have no place in this land, and you don’t have to put up with them. There should be justice and equality between all the people of this country, both Rua and Sedorne. Most of all there should be compassion – from us to you, and from you towards each other.”

I lifted my hands up. “I am your reia. I do not know what sort of reia I will be. I don’t know if I can be great. I do know that you are my family now, and I will take care of each of you – man and woman, young and old, Rua and Sedorne – as long as I live. There will be difficulties, and hard times, I know that. Whatever happens, we all have to remember one thing. You deserve better than this.” I pointed again at the grisly remains of their former king. This time I forced myself to look too, at the man I had killed. “We can do better than this. If you will trust me.”

I stopped, and waited. There was utter silence.

Then, at the front of the crowd, Deo lifted his fist and shook it in the air. In a clear, loud voice, he called out, “Long live Queen Zahira! Long live the reia!”

One by one, other voices took up the cry. “Long live the reia! Long live the queen!”

People began to cheer, stamping their feet, whooping and whistling. The noise rose up like a joyous wave. I saw a puff of colour fly into the wind, and then another, and for a moment didn’t realize what it was – then I saw the crowd raiding the climbing flowers that grew along the edges of the marketplace and up the houses on the waterfront. Suddenly everyone was flinging handfuls of white and yellow and red petals into the air. The wild breeze rose again, caught at the flowers and sent them spiralling up. They swirled around us, catching in our hair and clothes and scattering over the sad remains of what had once been the king of Ruan.