A Promise of Fire (14 page)

I stop breathing, going perfectly still while my heart throws itself against my ribs. I fight the urge to draw up my knees and cradle him between my thighs. For one charged moment, I’m not sure what will win: common sense, or instinct. It seems wrong for them to be at war.

My lungs start to burn. At my shuddering breath, Beta Sinta smiles, the raw hunger in his expression fading into amusement.

I narrow my eyes and jerk my forehead up, but he dodges, lifting off me in one powerful, fluid twist.

Dazed, I sit up and glance around. Kato, Carver, and Flynn are busy looking anywhere but at us, and I feel my face flame kalaberry red.

“Why would Andromeda send her favorite child into an arena for a fight to the death?” Beta Sinta asks.

Seriously?
It’s over, just like that. No more tussle. No more hard, heavy body on top of mine. No more hot breath in my ear. No more tongue.

Thank the Gods. Gag!

Sort of.

Except not at all.

Gah! I’m going insane!

That fluttering is happening again, almost like feathers whispering over the insides of my ribs. I press my palm to my chest, pushing back while Beta Sinta picks up a twig and holds it to the flames. I watch it burn. There’s too much fire in my life, and I hate the heat.

“Probably because she thought Lukia could win.” I’m surprised my voice comes out steady. I don’t feel steady.

“But she couldn’t.”

I pull my legs to my chest again, locking my arms around my knees. “Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she didn’t even try.”

He turns to me, his gaze intent, his eyes deep and turbulent like Poseidon’s seas. “Where’d she go?”

I roll my eyes. “How in the Underworld should I know? I’m not an Oracle, and it doesn’t matter. You’re asking the wrong questions, Beta Sinta.”

“My name is Griffin.”

“Your name is Beta Sinta.”

“That’s
what
I am, not
who
I am.”

I groan and bury my face in my hands. “You’re hopeless!”

“Call me Griffin, and I’ll ask the right questions.”

“Fine. Griffin. Are you happy now?”

“Yes.”

He also just proved it’s possible for one word to hit me like wine—potent, and a little intoxicating.

“What’s the right question?” He winks. “Cat.”

I huff, clamping down on the need to claw and bite. I haven’t felt this savage in years. It’s his fault. He brings it out in me. “What does it mean if the Lost Princess is still alive?” I prompt.

“What does it mean? …Cat.”

I glare at him. He’s teasing me, and it’s getting to me, making me feel hot, and annoyed, and…happy. Everything about this is dangerous. Worst case—it’ll get one of us killed, and it probably won’t be me.

“It means no Fisan royals after Andromeda can be secure in their reigns. The current Beta, Gamma, and Delta will always be wondering if Lukia is alive—if she’ll come back to challenge them. Fisans will always be wondering if they’re bowing down to the wrong ruler, especially when they’d probably prefer Lukia to anyone who’s left. When people start asking questions like that, of themselves, of others, that’s when realms explode.” I look at Beta Sinta.
Griffin
. “That’s when warlords from the south sweep in and massacre royal families.”

His eyes sharpen. “Are you saying there are people who would challenge Andromeda?”

Adrenaline floods my system, setting my heart suddenly to galloping. “Not without Lukia, or someone else to rally them. But Tarva and Fisa are just like Sinta. The royals here were too busy fighting each other to realize how powerful you had become. You surprised them all. You gathered Sintans behind you with the simple promise of being different. The royal family was left with their magic and their army. How hard did their army fight for them?”

He frowns, considering. “Surprisingly few soldiers were willing to sacrifice their lives once it looked like I might win.”

“Of course not. Who wants to die for selfish, cruel people no one likes to begin with? Eleni and Lukia were different. Fisans liked them, especially Eleni. She’s dead, and Lukia’s gone. If Andromeda falters or dies, it won’t take much for Fisans to rebel if they think there’s a real chance of winning instead of getting massacred. Fisa’s army won’t fight any harder than Sinta’s did. Royals keep their power through fear. Plant a seed of doubt and vines spread. Until Fisans see the Lost Princess’s dead body, or she returns to rule, they’ll never truly accept one of the others as Alpha. They bow down mostly out of terror, but partly out of sheer tradition. Tradition breaks without the true Alpha.”

He’s quiet for a while. When he says my name, something in his tone makes me look up. There’s admiration in his eyes, and it gives me a warm feeling I don’t like at all.

“You’re more than just the Kingmaker. You’re a strategist. You understand how people think and can predict their moves. You’d make a capable ruler.”

His words strike fear into my heart. His next words rattle me like the gong of a death toll.

“It sounds like Fisa’s ripe for a takeover.”

“You have Sinta,” I say, swallowing stronger protests I can’t explain.

“Egeria has Sinta.”

I don’t say anything. I’m not about to encourage him to take over Fisa now that I’m tied to him for life. His life, anyway.

“So why was Otis so bent on killing you rather than bringing you back to Fisa?”

I shrug. “I don’t know if he wanted to kill me or capture me. It didn’t get that far.”

His eyes meet mine, challenging. “He
looked
like he wanted to kill you.”

He did, didn’t he?
“Andromeda wants me alive. I’m certain of that. Maybe he wanted to thwart his mother. Or make sure someone else didn’t get me instead.”

“Your eye is twitching.”

Damn eye!
“Dust.”

He snorts.

Fine. I didn’t believe me, either.
“Otis knew it was him or me. It was Andromeda’s mistake for sending him instead of someone else. She doesn’t understand human emotion, or attachment, so it didn’t factor into her decision, but Otis knew I’d kill him for what he did to Eleni. She was good to me. We were…close, and she did her best to protect her sister. I only got away thanks to her. She died, Lukia took off, and with all the confusion in the castle, I was able to slip away. I owe Eleni my freedom. I owe her my life.”

He nods, believing me this time. “You must have enjoyed killing Otis, then.”

My lips twist in a smile Mother would be proud of. “You have no idea.”

Beta Sinta wakes me up, darting back to avoid my fist. “You’re whimpering and all curled up in a ball.”

Lovely.
He’s on watch. I only have nightmares now when Beta Sinta—
Griffin
—isn’t snoring a few feet from me. Well, he doesn’t really snore, at least not much, but he got me used to sleeping next to him with that bloody rope, and now I don’t sleep nearly as well without him.

Knowing that makes me want to kick him. I resist. I don’t want to end up with his tongue in my ear like I did earlier.

Not really.

Really, no.

No.

I clear my throat.

“Watch with me,” he invites.

I regard him warily. “Why?”

“So you can tell me about the Tarvans.”

Oh.
I get up, my blood still pounding hot and cold. I shudder, rubbing my arms until I see Griffin watching me with a frown.

“Do you dream?” I ask.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I guess, but are your dreams just scenes your mind conjures up, or are they real?”

He rubs his hand back and forth over his jaw, his fingers rasping on thick stubble. “Real as in memories?”

I nod.

“No, they’re just normal dreams.”

“Huh.”
Must be nice.

“And yours?”

“Memories.”
And sometimes premonitions.

While we walk the perimeter of the camp, I force the nightmare aside by concentrating on a dream from earlier in the night. Not all my memories are bad.

Eleni and I are running up a hill, about to crest the rise and tear down the other side. I’m pushing hard, my seven-year-old legs straining to keep up with her longer, stronger, nine-year-old ones. I’m only a few feet behind, and her laughter whips back to me on the wind. My heart soars. We escaped. It won’t last long, but we escaped them all.

We hurtle over the top of the hill and run smack into a shepherd boy and his flock. Eleni and he crash to the ground in a tangle. I stumble, too, scraping my knee and knocking over a lamb. It makes a pathetic bleating sound, hops to its feet, and scampers away. All three of us stare at each other, stunned, and then the boy’s father is there, picking everyone up.

The color leaches from his face when he sees the Fisan royal crest on Eleni’s shoulder clasps. Stammering apologies, he falls to the ground, prostrate, dragging his son down with him until both their foreheads are flat against the grass. Eleni commands them to stand, but they’re too scared to rise farther than their knees, keeping their eyes downcast.

I barrel around a few sheep with my usual finesse and then shove a half-wilted posy of flowers I’m clutching in my hand at the boy. He’s about my age. I don’t want him to be scared.

The wind tosses my dark hair. It’s loose, and I know I look like a wildcat, with dirt and bruises and scrapes all over me. The boy’s eyes widen. He hesitates, but when I try giving him the flowers again, frowning and huffing, he takes the drooping blooms from my grubby hand.

The shepherd murmurs endless apologies, begging for Eleni’s mercy. Begging for their lives. She smiles sweetly and kneels in front of him, taking a jeweled clip from her hair. Her blonde locks lift on the breeze, pale dawn sunbeams framing her shining face. The clip is entirely encrusted with sapphires, tiny Fisan pearls forming a row of delicate sea stars across the center. Blue and white. Ocean and ice.

She places the treasure in his hand and gently wraps his work-worn fingers around it. “To feed a village,” she whispers.

My breath shudders, and Griffin slides me a sidelong glance. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” I answer, wondering how the sun still rises every day without Eleni in the world.

“You can talk to me, Cat.”

I shake my head, but the same sudden, overwhelming warmth that kept hitting me all evening curls through my body again, heating me up. It’s been harder to act indifferent to him since the moment he stretched out on top of me, pressed his body into mine, and told me he wanted to touch me.

I manage—more or less—and we move farther from the others, sitting where we won’t wake them with our talk. I tell him about the Tarvan royals, but my information is mostly common knowledge, a lot of which he already knows. I supply names, which are meaningless since royals are always referred to by rank, but I humor him since he seems to think they’re important.

“Galen is only Alpha because his father came down with a mysterious illness and died before his reign should have been over. Everyone suspects poison—and Galen—but no one can prove it. For all their cruelty, royals don’t usually stoop to poison. An Alpha is Alpha by magic and might. Anything else leaves people antsy, and the door open for challenges. Galen’s two children will pay the price. They’ve already lost their mother, Galen isn’t strong enough to last, and they’re too young to defend themselves. Acantha, Delta Tarva, is the one to watch. She’s Galen’s sister, and she already killed off two of her brothers. Galen and his kids are next. She’s just biding her time since we’re already on the cusp of a Power Bid.”

He nods, and I know I don’t have to explain. It happens every forty years or so, sometimes less, sometimes more. Current rulers pass their primes. Their children reach theirs. Alphas shift. Realms burn.

I glance at Griffin, wondering if he started it all. Wondering about my role. The prophecy rolls through my head, sending ice down my spine.

“What makes her so powerful?” he asks, drawing me out of dark musings.

“Acantha is a Drakon charmer. It helps having giant serpents, usually with multiple heads and deadly venom, hanging on your every word.”

His mouth lifts in that lopsided smile that never fails to make my heart skip a beat. His lower lip is fuller, but the top one has a decadent curve that’s distracting. It’s hard not to think about how it would feel if I touched it—or if it touched me.

“That does sound useful,” he agrees. “Got anything like that up your sleeve?”

“Not currently,” I reply cryptically.

His smile broadens, making my stomach dip in the most annoying way.

“Appoline is next, but with little magic and even less intelligence, no one has bothered killing her off yet. I don’t know much about Bellanca and Lystra, the two youngest sisters. They might have significant power; they might not. Their magic hadn’t fully matured when I left Fisa, and I haven’t been privy to the same information since.”

“Why were you privy then?”

His question is so deceptively casual that I speak without thinking and then don’t see any reason to stop. “I had tutors. Andromeda wanted me to know all about her nobles, her rivals, Gods, creatures, the other realms, their royals and elite…” I shrug. “I had to know what was important, so I could filter the lies.”

“Learn anything useful?”

I gaze into the darkness. “All the time.”

“And what happened?”

Besides burning up inside and being in constant pain?
“If I told Andromeda about it, people usually died.”

“And did you always tell her?”

I arch an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

We stop talking. I don’t know what Griffin is thinking—probably about how often I might lie to him, or withhold the truth.

“Did she know when you lied?” he asks after a while.

Andromeda always knew when I was lying. Kind of like Griffin. I nod.

“And what did she do?” His tone turns cautious, as if he doesn’t really want to hear the answer.

I roll up my sleeve and bare my upper arm to the moonlight. Long, thin scars shine like silver threads, marring my skin from elbow to shoulder. The other arm looks the same. I don’t bother showing him. He’s already seen it. “Do you know what these are?”

“Death Marks. There’s the new one here.” He softly touches my arm, his finger warm against my skin.

“Selena did that. It’s what healers do when you’re so close to death they have to enchant your blood to get it flowing again. They draw it out on a knife, chant over it while you lie there struggling for your final breaths, and then smear it back on and hope for the best.”

“There must be a dozen,” he says grimly, counting both arms. “Andromeda caused this?”

“She tried beating the truth out of me several times. Unsuccessfully.”

His lips flatten into a tight seam, eliminating that distracting curve. “You’re not one to break under torture.”

There’s respect in his voice, which I choose to ignore. I roll my sleeve back down. “I’d rather die, so don’t bother trying.”

Griffin’s eyebrows slam down. “Cat—”

I pop up, brush myself off, and return to my bedroll without letting him finish. My blanket is cold. Oddly, so am I.

Griffin shakes Kato awake, and Kato takes over watch while Griffin spreads his bedding on the ground about ten feet from mine. In a matter of minutes, he appears to be asleep. I argue with myself for a while and then drag my things closer to his, stopping four feet away.

Perfect. Just like with the rope.

Something flashes, and I realize it’s Kato’s teeth. He’s grinning at me. I make a rude hand gesture and roll over, turning my back before he can retaliate.

“You could come closer.” Griffin’s gravelly voice rumbles over me in the dark, teasing.

My pulse leaps, and I flush with embarrassment. “I don’t think so.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I hate you.”

He’s silent for a moment and then very deliberately says, “I hate you, too.”

His lie rips through me along with the truth, searing my bones and charring my organs, especially my heart.