Hanna Martine - Drowning in Fire

Fists like iron balls at his sides, thick legs pounding into dirty snow, Makaha’s bare chest expanded like a balloon. It filled with magic that singed Griffin’s Ofarian senses. The Chimeran warrior opened his mouth and a flame burned at the back of his dark throat.

A flame meant for Griffin. An attack.

A few years of sitting behind a desk or at the head of a conference table did not soften an Ofarian trained from toddling age to be a fighter. Griffin instantly snapped into his old self, the one he’d been conditioned to become and often wanted to leave behind. Fists meant nothing to this beast of a man coming after him. Even if Griffin had a gun, it would become ash in Makaha’s threatening fire.

Ofarian spilled from Griffin’s lips. He whipped out his magic, snagging every available bead of moisture from the air, the ground, his very skin, and slamming them all together in his palm.

At the same time, in clear view of everyone, Makaha’s ribcage collapsed, expelling the fire from within. Griffin could see it, the barrel of flame coming out from between Makaha’s lips. The Chimeran was going to fry Griffin alive, right in front of the entire Senatus . . . but this was not the way he would die, outnumbered with no magic or power to show for it.

He flung out his water at the exact moment Makaha let his fire loose. Chin tilted up, Makaha’s eyes raged in orange and gold. The warrior’s hand grabbed fire from his mouth, a brilliant, terrifying ball in his grasp.

Griffin aimed his spear of water for that hand holding the fireball. Aimed and struck. Makaha bellowed in surprise as Griffin extinguished the fire burning in the other man’s palm. Griffin instantly merged his water with the moisture on the Chimeran’s skin, taking it all under his control, binding it all together.

Then he twisted his magic.

With a roar of Ofarian words he switched the water to ice, encasing Makaha’s entire hand and making it splinter and freeze, all the way up to his elbow.

The Chimeran made burbling, sputtering, enraged sounds, his eyes bulging. More fire shot from his lips toward the sky, an anguished beacon. He screamed and stared down at his hand in terrified wonder, his whole arm shaking. He was trying to heat himself from the inside out, but Griffin’s hold was too strong.

At last, when Griffin felt like he’d made his point, when he’d killed the fire meant for him, he released his water.

Makaha’s face contorted as he inhaled again, tapping into his magic. Heat made a steaming glow of his body. The ice on his lower arm melted, splashing to the already muddy ground.

Underneath, Makaha’s hand had gone black.

A woman screamed, and Griffin thought that it might have been Keko, as she rushed to her friend’s side, her body a blur in the night. But then Bane dove through the bonfire, charging right through the flames, and took Griffin down to the dirt and wet, knocking out his wind. Pinned underneath the massive Chimeran, Griffin spit out rotted leaves and mud, and finally managed to get control of his breath.

The woman screamed again. Griffin swiveled his head and saw, with surprise, that the awful wail streamed from Aya. And that she was focused not on Makaha, but on Griffin.

The premier and Aaron came over, telling Bane he could ease off, that they could contain Griffin with the force of air. Bane refused, digging elbows and knees even harder into Griffin’s body.

Griffin’s head spun as he struggled, little stars dancing at the edges of his vision. But even in the chaos, he still found Makaha.

Keko knelt in front of him and the chief loomed behind his warrior. Both of her hands gripped Makaha’s black one, her whole body becoming an amber glow. But Griffin knew that not even Chimeran fire could bring back to life the flesh and muscle and half an arm he had destroyed.

• • •

Griffin didn’t run as he headed away from the Senatus circle a short time thereafter, so when the premier’s graveled shouts gave chase, they easily caught up to him.

“You are banned from the Senatus! You hear me? You and every Ofarian in existence!”

The trees shook their bare branches at Griffin as he passed. The winter wind howled in his ears and made a mockery of the warmth of his coat.

“You will never get support from us!” the premier continued to scream. “We will never listen to you! You are on your own!”

That was the sound of failure, that heavy pounding of his boots on the uneven ground, that jackhammer of his heart, that whiz and clatter of his brain as he tried to piece together all that had just happened and attempted to figure out how he’d been blamed as the party at fault.

He was almost to the edge of the forest, where Keko had parked the car she’d ferried him around in all week. It was unlocked and he wrenched open the door, removing his bag from the backseat. He’d hike out to the main road and hopefully thumb a ride back to the airport.

Someone was running through the trees at a steady, breakneck pace as though the cold and obstacles and dark meant nothing. As though she weren’t human.

Keko burst out of the tree line and charged right for Griffin. He was ready for her, ready for another attack, though he did not wish for one. She pulled up feet away, her breathing barely labored. “Makaha will lose his hand. Probably half his arm.”

Griffin could have sworn that tears glistened in her obsidian eyes, but then they were gone, leaving him to wonder what emotion was real and what was not, when it came to her.

“Yes. He probably will.” He had to swallow hard to get the words down.

Her rage came off her in pulsing, sour waves of heat. She was trembling, her hand shaking as she jabbed a finger into the trees. “What the fuck happened back there?”

He gasped. “I could ask the same of the premier. Or your chief. Or Makaha.”

She recoiled. “You attacked him!”

Icy wind raked through his jacket and clothing, scraping at his already chilled skin. “I what? No—”

“You are never allowed to use magic as offense during the Senatus.”

Griffin threw his bag to the ground. “Keko, I didn’t attack. Makaha did.”

“No. He didn’t—”

“I saw what was coming, what he was about to do to me, and I threw the ice as a defense.”

“Defense?” She laughed, that kind of hysterical laughter that often partnered with disbelief. With hatred.

“Fire was coming out of him. I saw it in his mouth. I saw it in his hand. He was coming for me, about to throw it at me. I will swear by it until the day I die.”

“He birthed fire to throw it into the sky. It’s a sign of frustration and warning among my people.”

“Well, maybe if you’d actually told me all that instead of fucking me, none of this would have happened.”

That hit home. She opened her mouth, her lips ready for a retort. Only there would be none because she knew he was right.

She slowly started to back away. “You destroyed him, Griffin,” she whispered, and her voice was broken again.

He cleared his throat. “He will live.”

But she was shaking her head. “You don’t understand.”

“So tell me this time!”

She glared. “He’s a defeated warrior now. Disfigured. Disgraced. When we take him back to the stronghold he will lose his warrior status. He will lose his home and have to go live in the Common House with all the others who are no longer worthy. He will serve everyone above him. He will have no sexual contact. He will lose his familial rights. And I will no longer be able to have any contact with my best friend.”

“ Jesus .” The Primary invective came shockingly easy, the harsh whisper swirling between them. But she just stared at him. Challenged him. “Great stars, Keko, that’s barbaric. It’s medieval.”