Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

Her hand flexes on the sword, the true depth of the antipathy she has always felt for this creature becoming apparent for the first time. She sees them tense, the seated speaker rising. “He knows what you planned,” he says. “Your cherished scheme, the dream of ruling with that boy at your side, eternal and terrible with the whole world as your playground. Did you really think it would work?”

“If he has no more use for me,” she says, smiling, “kill me. If you can.”

As one their hands reach for the swords at their side. She knows the odds are hopeless, she knows she is choosing death. Watch me, my love, she thinks, knowing he sees her. Watch me make you proud.

But the Messenger stops, all seven releasing their swords and filing towards the door in silence. The speaker lingers a moment, his face now that of a weary soldier called to inescapable duty. “He will always find more use for us. You can keep the boy, if you take him alive. But the matter must be settled.”

Alone once more she closes her eyes, seeking his presence, embracing the steely resolve she finds, joy threatening to burst her new heart. She sees something, a swirl of mist in the darkness, coalescing into a form she knows so well. His words mean nothing, beloved, she says, reaching out to caress his face. The world can still be ours.

He snatched the hand from his face, snarling in fury, his knife coming up to press into her throat. “Never!” he hissed into her face, pressing the blade deeper.

Lemera whimpered, eyes wide with horror, her face quivering with terror, her head drawn back by the fist that grasped her hair, the smooth flesh of her throat exposed and vulnerable.

The air rushed from his lungs as he dropped the knife, twisting away from her to slump on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “What… what is it?” he said when the shaking had faded from his limbs.

Her reply was barely more than a whisper. “I heard shouting… You were dreaming…”

He glanced over his shoulder, taking note of the thin cotton shift that barely covered her, and the depth of fear lingering in her gaze. He turned away, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He had taken over the masterʼs bedchamber, a spacious display of wealth and luxury, the walls liberally adorned with various paintings, most depicting battles of implausible orderliness. The master himself featured in several, a more youthful version standing tall and proud, sword in hand as he commanded his men with stern-eyed courage, a singular contrast to the bloodied, begging ruin that had been left to expire in the courtyard when the slaves tired of him.

“I… have nightmares sometimes,” he told Lemera. “Iʼm sorry if I hurt you.”

“Iʼve been hurt worse.” He felt her weight shift on the bed then a hesitant touch to his back, her fingers spreading to explore the flesh. “You have fought so much, and yet no scars.”

“I had scars, they healed.”

“Weaver?”

“No.” The seed will grow. “No, it was something else. Something I doubt Iʼll ever understand.” He turned again, her hand shifting to rest on his shoulder until he gently removed it. “You should go.”

She drew back a little but made no effort to leave. Her face was shadowed but he had a sense she was smiling. “The sister said you were forbidden the touch of a woman. I thought she must be joking.”

“The Faith requires all we have.”

She shifted again, drawing her legs up to rest her chin on her knees, her head angled as she studied him, now more curious than amused. “And you are so willing to give it?”

“The Order is all Iʼve ever wanted.”

“So the world beyond your Order offers no enticements?”

“Iʼve seen the world, with all its enticements. I find myself content with the Order.”

“After training yesterday, Draker punched a man for telling a story. A strange tale of how you were taken to the palace, along with a woman possessed of vile magics. And together you killed your king. Was he lying?”

“No. He wasnʼt lying and Draker shouldnʼt have done that.”

“Yet your queen let you live and sent you here.”

“My actions were not my own. The womanʼs magics bound me, compelled me to do terrible things.”

She straightened and he felt her eyes roaming his face. Although he couldnʼt see her expression the intensity of her scrutiny was unnerving. He was about to tell her to leave again when she said, “So we are not so different, you and I.”

She uncoiled, lying down on the bed. “May I sleep here? Just tonight. I have dreams too.” She breathed a soft laugh at his evident hesitation. “I promise Iʼll offer no… enticements.”

I should make her go, he knew. There can be no good outcome to this. But he didnʼt, finding the cruelty beyond him. So he lay next to her, trying to force the tenseness from his limbs, knowing sleep would be a stranger tonight. After a few moments she shuffled closer, resting her head against his shoulder, her hand finding his, their fingers entwining.

“There will be no victory for us, will there?” she asked in a whisper.

“Donʼt say that. My queen sails to these shores with a great army. If we hold to our cause…”

“I was a slave, but never a fool. This empire is vast beyond imagining and we have killed but a fraction of the force they will bring against us. They will kill us, all of us, for we are slaves and we cannot be allowed even the barest hope of freedom. Without us, they have no empire.”

The matter must be settled. “If you believe our cause so hopeless, why join us?”

She came closer still, wrapping her free arm around his, clasping his hand tighter, her breath warm on his skin. “Because you offered something I had forgotten could be offered, a choice. And I choose to die free.”

Their numbers doubled over the next few weeks as Ivelda and Lekran continued to bring in recruits by the dozen and ever more runaways arrived at the villa. Soon there were so many that feeding them all became a problem, Frentis finding himself compelled to order some into the fields to harvest more crops. A few were resentful of the order though he managed to ameliorate any discontent by promising that all would take a turn at the same chore, himself included. Conahl, the Realm-born blacksmith, had performed prodigious feats in producing large numbers of weapons but still it wasnʼt enough; only a third of the army could be described as adequately armed and at least as many were still equipped with various farm implements.

“Plenty of weapons in New Kethia,” Lekran pointed out at the evening council.

“We still lack the strength to take it,” Frentis replied. Thirty-Four was well acquainted with New Kethia and had ample intelligence on the strength of its walls. Plus they had to assume the Empress had sent them some reinforcement by now, or perhaps even come herself. He resisted the urge to allow himself to dream again, resuming the nightly dose of Brother Kehlanʼs sleeping draught, despite the headaches. The campaign was moving towards its crucial phase and he was unwilling to risk any chance she might divine his plans when their minds touched. He was also aware she would be raging at the sudden absence of contact, and perhaps even prone to misjudgement as a consequence.

“If we wait much longer, this region will be denuded of slaves,” Thirty-Four said. “Those that havenʼt joined us will have been killed or marched off by their owners. If we were to go south, Iʼve little doubt this army could be made mighty within a few months.”

“We do not have a few months,” Frentis said. “The queenʼs fleet will already have sailed and marching south will not provide the diversion she needs.”