Soul Blaze (6 page)

“Your swords are under the bench, within easy reach.
And Rose,” she cupped my face in her hands, for all the
world a wise grandmother. “Don’t hesitate.”

She strode away through the roses, back into the castle.
I turned my face to the sun, allowing myself, for just a
second, to enjoy the heat. I kicked my boots off and
wiggled my toes in the warm dirt. I had my eyes closed,
half smiling, when I heard someone approach. I opened
my eyes and turned towards them.

“My gods. It really is you.”

The man called Phoenix stood in front of me. His dark
hair hung loose, brushing the tops of his shoulders. He
looked down at me, his eyes full of something that made
me shiver.

Don’t hesitate

I rose from the bench slowly. Suddenly, the thought of
the white fire consumed me, and before I could control
my actions, I’d swung my right sword across my body, on
a path directly towards his throat.

He moved quicker than should be possible. In a flash,
he’d deflected my sword with only a small dagger. I felt
my arm cross down, in a position that I knew I couldn’t
guard from. Obviously Phoenix realised it too, for he
reached down and gripped my wrist tightly until I was
forced to release the sword. It fell to the soft ground with
a thud.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes full of
confusion.

I didn’t respond, instead reaching behind me to the
small of my back from the dagger I kept there. I inwardly
cursed myself for only snatching the right sword, but the
left had slipped from my grip.

Phoenix saw what I was doing, and whilst my hand was
still behind my back, he held it there and pulled me close.
He looked down at me, our bodies pressed together.

“Let me go!” I snapped, struggling, but his hold was like
iron.
“Sky, this isn’t you,” he said, his eyes searching mine.
“Why are you trying to hurt me?”

“I’m not,” I replied, still trying to wrench free of his
grasp. I saw the white fire in my mind’s eye again. “I’m
trying to kill you.”

He frowned, the lines appearing between his bright
orange eyes.
“Why?”
“He’s an accomplished liar. Anything he tells you is
false at best.”

“Because you took my memories from me!” I choked
back sudden tears as I said it. “They said you took my
memories... I lost a whole year.”

Suddenly, all of the pent up frustration of the past few
weeks of being kept in the dark burst forwards. The tears
that had been welling in my eyes spilled down my cheeks
as I felt the full brunt of shame hit me.

I was trying to
kill
this man. Though evidently, I hadn’t
done a very good job, my intentions still stood.

“I didn’t take your memories, my love,” he said as I
cried into his chest. “Iain did. And I know you don’t
remember anything, so it’s purely my word against his,
but I hope you believe me.”

“I don’t know what to bloody well believe anymore!” I
sobbed. “I’ve been played and used and lied to but I don’t
know who by! I don’t know who’s telling the truth. I don’t
know who’s lying. It’s driving me insane.”

He cupped my face in his hands and made me look up
at him.
“Do you remember anything?” he asked softly, and for a
moment it sounded as though he was pleading.
The sunwas setting...

“Something,” I whispered, suddenly recalling my flash
back in Ar Cena. “I remember... a sunset. A sunset over a
forest. And it was so beautiful.”

He smiled, and brushed a thumb against my cheek,
much like I’d done to his portrait.
“Our first kiss.” He told me softly.

“And,” I said, images now flying before my mind’s eye.
“I remember yelling... and screaming,” I narrowed my
eyes, struggling to recall. “Fire, I think. And,” I looked up
into his eyes, which were only inches from my face. “Your
eyes. Immense sadness.”

He pressed his forehead against mine and closed his
eyes. I didn’t mind a bit. His presence was calming the
frantic need for my magic. It was dulling the obsession.

“Our last kiss.” He said finally.

I closed my eyes, my lashes brushing his cheek. I felt
his hand leave the one behind my back and work its way
up towards my hair. I didn’t stop him as he undid the tie
holding my hair in a bun. The long waves cascaded down
and tumbled over my shoulders, the breeze pushing it
back slightly.
“Did you love me?” I asked him.

His thumb brushed my cheek again, but this time his
hand remained there, half cupping my face.
“I still do,” he whispered, and when he leant down to
kiss me I didn’t stop him.

His kiss, though soft at first, quickly became desperate.
He let my other hand go, but I didn’t reach for my knife.
Instead I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on
my tip toes so as to deepen the kiss. His arms went around
my waist, clutching me tightly.

He broke the contact suddenly.

“I have to go,” he said, his voice low. “But we’ll see each
other again soon. I want to help you regain your
memories, Sky. Don’t listen to Iain and Netalia. They’re
the ones who banished you, and they’re using you now.
Don’t be a pawn.”

He kissed me again. I held him to me for one final
moment; the second he’d broken away, I’d felt the
obsessive need for my magic rise again, and I wasn’t sure if
I’d be able to control my actions.

“Go,” I whispered, stepping back. I clenched my fists as
the urge to attack him rose. “Go, now, quickly.”
He frowned, stepping forwards. The tension lowered
slightly.
“Sky, what is it?”

“I’ll explain later, but right now I don’t know how long
I can control this,” I hissed. It was causing me physical
pain to stand there, immobile. “Go!”

He went. I gripped my head as it pounded.
The fire. The whitefire.The power inmy blood, inmy
veins.
I needed the magic or I’d go insane.

“That was quite a performance,” Netalia remarked,
suddenly appearing next to the bench I’d been sitting on.
She had my swords in her hands. “You were meant to kill
him, not kiss him, Rose.”

“You’ll forgive me for not committing murder,” I
retorted sharply, the pain in my head roaring. I clutched
my head. “It might come as a surprise to learn that I’m not
as soulless as you are.”

“The irony kills me,” she remarked dryly. “Come with
me. Now.”
The kind grandmother was gone. In her place was a
bitter old woman who hated me.
She’d always been that, I realised as I followed her. She
was never my friend.
“The fire,” I asked her, and I winced when I realised it
sounded like I was begging. “Please. My magic.”

“You didn’t do what we asked,” she replied. I followed
her into the castle, the cool shadow of the building
enveloping me. “But I will appeal to Iain.”

“You will?” I asked, hope rising in my chest.

It’s a trap! I thought furiously, struggling against my
own consciousness. She won’t hand it over, they’ll never
hand it over, run, go now, don’t be an idiot!

But try as I might, I could turn my body around. Not if
there was some chance that I might get my magic back.
Instead of leading me towards Iain’s office, she took me
down a flight of stairs.
“Where are we going?” I asked nervously. I followed
her against my will.
“Iain is working down here today,” she replied, not
looking up at me.

I knew she was lying, but I couldn’t stop myself
following her. It was no surprise to me when we emerged
into the dungeons below the castle.

Before I could even begin contemplating resisting, she
turned, gripped my wrists and secured iron shackles
around them.

“You knew the end of the bargain you’d get if you
didn’t follow through,” she snarled, anger marring her soft
features. “So here you stay.”

I fought back, managing to get my hands free. I swung
both fists at her, catching her just under the chin. Her
head jerked back, and just as I was feeling guilty for
hitting an old woman, she lashed out at me, and magic my own magic, I realised with dread - hit me with full
force.

I was knocked backwards into a cell. As I struggled to
my feet, Netalia slammed the door closed with awful
finality. Blood trickled down her neck from the wound on
her jaw.

“I’ll be back down in a couple of days to discuss your
trial,” she said through the bars and my blood ran cold.
“Trial?” I asked in disbelief. “Trial for what?”
“I’m sure we can think of something.” She smirked.
I flew at her, the shackles around my wrists clinking as
I gripped the bars that separated us.

“You’re making a mistake,” I told her through the bars.
Our faces were inches apart. “I’ll get out of here, and then
I’ll make you realise just how big that mistake is.”

“That’d be a lot more terrifying if you weren’t alone
behind bars without any magic,” she said, her features
smug. I wanted to hit her again. She turned and began to
walk back up the stairs. “Sit tight, Sky. Your fate is already
decided.”

I repeated all of the swear words that I’d shouted at her
that first day in this very cell, spitting them through the
bars with as much venom as I could muster.

But she didn’t turn around.
She didn’t come back.
I was alone.
~Chapter Eight~

I don’t know how long I stayed in that cell. Days
blurred together, and I slept only out of exhaustion. The
shackles chaffed my wrists. I grew hungrier and hungrier
all of the time, until hunger didn’t exist anymore and
there was only hollowness. My lips dried and cracked and
bled.

I forgot what sunshine felt like. The only light in the
dungeons came from the torches which burned endlessly.
I slept sitting up in the far corner, my chin on my chest.

“What a right mess you’ve gotten into,” the familiar
voice berated me once again. I’d gotten used to this
hallucination. “Is this where you disappeared to, daughter
of mine?”

“Yes,” I croaked. “I’m stuck in here.”

“Then you need to get yourself out,” my mother
propped her hands on her hips and looked about. “You
need to come back to me.”

“I can’t,” I whispered. A tear leaked out of my eye and
trickled down my cheek. “I can’t, Mum, I’m sorry.”
I closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them
she was gone.
“I’m sorry.” I repeated.
The tear had run dry. I was too dehydrated and
exhausted to keep crying.

Hours passed, and only when I found myself growing
sleepy did I realise it must be night. I slept obediently,
though not comfortably.

Footsteps coming down the steps to my cell jerked me
awake. I eyed the stairs off apprehensively; another
hallucination?

Netalia came into view, her robes clean and pure, the
wound on her neck gone like it had never existed. She was
carrying a small tin bowl.

“The date for your trial has been decided,” she was
saying. I barely heard her, my attention focussed
completely on the bowl in her hand. “And I’ve heard
rumours that the outcome is not going to be good.”

She grinned to herself and put the bowl down in front
of the bars. I went to scoot towards it but stopped myself,
assessing her warily. She chuckled.

“It’s alright. We need you alive for your trial,
remember?”

She turned and headed back up the stairs. I dived for
the bowl then. I pulled it through the bars carefully, the
small amount of liquid it contained sloshing around. I
went to plunge my face in it but then thought better of it.
I picked it up in my hands, taking care not to tangle it in
the shackles still clamped around my wrists. I inhaled
cautiously, trying to figure out what it was. I couldn’t
smell anything, so I lifted it to my lips and sipped warily.

It was a beef broth. I took a long draught, swallowed
and took another. When I felt it hit my empty stomach,
however, I immediately tore myself away.

I remembered from my Outdoor Education class in
school the dangers of eating or drinking too quickly when
dehydrated. And I could not afford to throw this all back
up.

I set the bowl down reluctantly, and then stood and
walked away from it. I could already feel a modicum of
strength returning to my limbs. I stretched as high as I
could, feeling my skin pull taught over my ribs. I glanced
down and blanched as I saw them showing clearly
through my skin underneath the thin material of my shirt.

They were going to let my out for my trial. I had one
chance. I was going to take it.

I carefully got down on the floor. It was cold and gritty
beneath my fingers, but I ignored the unpleasantness.
Straining, I pushed myself off of the floor.

I managed three push ups before I collapsed, utterly
spent. I rewarded myself with another sip from the
precious bowl.

I alternated between napping, drinking and trying to do
my push ups. I didn’t know when they’d set my trial for,
but I knew I didn’t want to find out the hard way. I
listened for any sounds of someone coming down the
stairs, but no one came that day, nor the day after.

The day I finished the broth I completed fifteen push
ups.

I sat on the floor, breathing hard. My clothes were
utterly filthy, and I’d accidentally ripped one side of the
pants. I didn’t sleep on that side anymore; the floor was
too cold on my bare skin.

I crawled over to my bowl and picked it up. I licked the
bottom optimistically, but I’d done this so many times
already that all I tasted was old tin.

I sat it in my lap anyway and curled around it. It
retained a small amount of heat, and any warmth was
welcome. I wriggled bare toes on the floor of my cell,
sighing as I yet again relived the moment when I’d kicked
off the solid, sturdy boots they’d given me.

And the man, Phoenix. He said he’d see me again soon,
but whilst I hadn’t conformed to the age-old tradition of
the prisoner scratching tally marks on the wall, I guessed
that it had been about three weeks in my cell. What did
this man classify as soon?

He said he loved me. I was beginning to feel like a fool
for believing him.

I flexed my arm experimentally. I was rewarded with a
tiny bulge of new muscle. I grinned. If anything, I wanted
to land a good solid punch on one of the two. I’d already
guessed that my sentence was going to be the worst of the
worst. What I didn’t understand was why they were going
through this charade of a trial.