P.C. Cast - Burned

“Gross,” Aphrodite whispered from the backseat.

“The Great Taker of Heads,” Darius said, his voice hushed with awe.

“Aye, Sgiach,” was all Seoras said, but his lips curved up in a smile that mirrored the pride in his voice.

Stark didn’t speak. Instead, his eyes were drawn from the grisly entryway up and up. Sgiach’s fortress perched on the very edge of a cliff that overlooked the ocean. Though he could only see the land side of the castle, it wasn’t hard for Stark to imagine the sheer face that must present itself to the outer world—a world that would never gain access to her domain, even had the queen’s protective spell not already repelled intruders. The castle was made of gray stone interspersed with the shimmering white marble that littered the island. In front of the thick, double wooden doors was an imposing archway that sat before the narrow, bridgelike entrance to the castle.

As he got out of the Range Rover, Stark heard a sound that drew his gaze even farther upward. Lit up by a circle of torches, a flag flew from the uppermost turret of the castle. It rippled in the cool, brisk breeze, but Stark clearly saw the bold shape of a powerful black bull with the image of a goddess, or perhaps a queen, painted within his muscular body.

Then the doors to the castle opened, and Warriors, male and female, poured from within, crossed the bridge, and jogged together toward them. Stark automatically stepped back as Darius moved up beside him in a defensive position.

“Dinnae look for trouble where nane is meant,” Seoras said, making a calming motion with his callused hand. “They wish only to show proper respect to yer queen.”

The Warriors, all dressed like Seoras, whether they were male or female, moved quickly, but without any sign of aggression, to Stark. They came in a column of two, holding a leather litter between them.

“ ’Tis tradition, respect, laddie, for when one o’ us falls. It is the responsibility of the Clan tae return him, or her, home tae Tír na nÓg, the land of our youth,” Seoras said. “We never be leaving behind one of our own.”

Stark hesitated. Meeting the Warrior’s steady gaze, he said, “I don’t think I can let her go.”

“Och aye,” Seoras said softly, nodding in understanding. “Yie dinnae have tae. You be takin’ the foremost position. The Clan will do the rest.”

When Stark stood there, unmoving, Seoras walked to him and held out his arms. He wasn’t going to let Zoey go; he didn’t think he could bear it. Then Stark saw the gold chieftain’s torque glittering at Seoras’s wrist. It was the torque that touched something inside him. With a jolt of surprise, he realized he trusted Seoras, and as he passed Zoey to the Warrior, he knew he wasn’t giving her up but sharing her instead.

Seoras turned and carefully laid Zoey on the litter. The Warriors, six on each side, bowed their heads respectfully. Then the leader, a tall, raven-haired woman who held the foremost position of the litter, said to Stark, “Warrior, my place is yours.”

Moving on instinct, Stark walked to the litter, and as the woman stepped away, he grasped the well-worn handhold. Seoras walked ahead of them. As one, Stark and the other Warriors followed him, carrying Zoey like a fallen queen into Sgiach’s castle.

The interior of the castle was a major surprise, especially after the gruesome “decorations” on the exterior. At the very least, Stark had expected it to be a Warrior’s castle—manly and Spartan and basically like a cross between a dungeon and a guys’ locker room. He was seriously wrong.

The inside of the castle was gorgeous. The floor was smooth white marble veined in silver. The stone walls were covered with brightly colored tapestries that depicted everything from pretty island scenes, complete with shaggy-haired cows, to battlefield images that were as beautiful as they were bloody. They’d passed through the foyer, walked down a long hallway, and come to immense double stone stairs when Seoras halted the column with a wave of his hand.

“You cannae be a Guardian of an Ace if you cannae make a decision. So yie need to decide, laddie. Do yie wish to take yur queen above and use some time tae rest and prepare, or do yie choose to begin yur quest now?”

Stark didn’t hesitate. “I don’t have time to rest, and I started preparing for this the day Zoey accepted my oath as her Warrior. My decision is to start my quest now.”

Seoras nodded slightly. “Aye, then, it’s to the Chamber of the Fi-anna Foil we will be going.” The Warrior turned from the stairs and continued down the hallway. Close behind him, Stark and the others carried Zoey.

To Stark’s complete irritation, Aphrodite quickened her step until she was almost even with him, and asked, “So, Seoras, what exactly did you mean when you called what Stark has to do a quest?”

Seoras didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder at her when he said, “I didnae stutter, wumman. I named his task a quest, and that it is.”

Aphrodite snorted.

“Shut up,” Stark whispered to her.

As usual, Aphrodite ignored him. “Yeah, I got the word. I’m just not sure of the meaning.”

Seoras came to a huge set of arched double doors. Stark thought they looked like they would take an army to open, but all the Warrior did was to say in a low, gentle voice, “Yur Guardian asks permission to enter, my Ace.” With the sound of a lover’s sigh, the doors opened by themselves, and Seoras led them into the most amazing room Stark had ever seen.

Sgiach sat on a white marble throne that was on a triple-tiered dais in the middle of the massive chamber. The throne was incredible, carved from top to bottom with intricate knots that seemed to tell a story, or portray a scene, but the stained-glass window behind Sgiach and her dais was already revealing dawn, and Stark staggered to a halt just outside its encroaching brightness, bringing the column to a standstill and drawing curious glances from all the warriors. He was squinting against the light and trying to make his brain work through the haze that the sunlight hours caused in him when Aphrodite stepped up, bowed quickly to Sgiach, and then told Seoras, “Stark’s a red vam-pyre. He’s different than you guys. He’ll burn up in direct daylight.”

“Cover the windows,” Seoras ordered. Warriors immediately did his bidding, unfurling red velvet drapes Stark hadn’t noticed before.

Stark’s eyes instantly adapted to the darkness that blanketed the room, so even before more warriors lit wall torches and tree-sized candelabra, he clearly saw Seoras stride up the dais steps and take the place to the left of his queen’s throne. He stood there with a confidence that was almost tangible. Stark knew, without any doubt, that nothing in this world, and perhaps not even the next, could get past Seoras to harm his queen, and for an instant Stark felt a terrible wave of envy. I want that! I want Zoey back so that I can be sure nothing ever hurts her again! Sgiach lifted her hand and caressed her Warrior’s forearm briefly, but intimately. The queen didn’t look up at Seoras, but Stark did. He was gazing down at her with an expression Stark understood completely. He’s not just a Guardian, he’s The Guardian. And he loves her.

“Approach. Lay the young queen before me.” As she spoke, Sgiach made a beckoning motion.

The column moved forward and gently laid Zoey’s litter on the marble floor at the feet of the queen.

“You cannot bear sunlight. What else is different about you?” Sgiach said, as the last of the torches was lit, and the room took on the warm yellow glow of open flame.

The warriors faded into the chamber’s shadowy corners. Stark faced the queen and her Guardian and answered her quickly, without any messing around or time-wasting preamble. “I usually sleep all during the day. I’m not one hundred percent as long as the sun is in the sky. I have more bloodlust than regular vampyres. I can’t enter a private home without an invitation. There might be more differences, but I haven’t been a red vampyre for very long, and that’s all I’ve figured out so far.”