A Promise of Fire (3 page)

The warlord breaks eye contact. “Basil,” he calls out flatly, motioning another man forward.

A blond man takes Carver’s place. He’s handsome without being remarkable, strong without being overwhelming. He blends in. I guess that’s what he’s good for. Warlord, Flynn, and the fifth man don’t blend. They’re too big, too powerful. They demand attention. Carver doesn’t blend, either. He’s lean and angular, with wily eyes. Basil is just…
blah
, as far as I can tell.

Basil moves to the right, away from the warlord and closer to the fifth warrior who has watchful blue eyes and a colossal mace that could probably crush three skulls at once. Basil’s movement is minute, and I only notice because I’ve trained myself to look for body language that will help me fool people into thinking I’m not a fraud.

Great
. The warlord’s question suddenly makes sense. This is a party to out Basil. Too bad I’m invited.

“Basil, is it?” I ask even though I already know. I’m just stalling the inevitable.

The man nods.

I take a deep breath and lock my muscles, bracing for a false answer. “Where do your loyalties lie?”

Basil looks smug. Like most southerners, he has no idea of the power of magic and words. If he did, he’d be running away.

Fire explodes in me at his deceitful answer, agonizing. Bones fry. Organs roast. I try not to blanch as truths ignite along with his lie, scorching my insides like red-hot coals.

In a sudden burst of movement, the warlord disarms Basil and grabs him by the throat. “Who do you work for?”

“I’m loyal!” Basil squeaks, looking as stunned as I feel.

His lie blasts me again.

“I saw the look on her face.” The warlord squeezes Basil’s neck until the other man gasps for air. “You’re a liar.”

He saw my pain?
I’m more worried about
that
than I am about anything else. I controlled my reaction. I always do. How does some Hoi Polloi warlord know what a little flinch means anyway?

Basil plunges his hand into his pocket and pulls out a thin, glass vial filled with gray powder that glitters silvery in the torchlight and impresses the magic out of me. He draws back a gloved hand, ready to smash the poison into the warlord’s face.

I leap over the table, taking its black wool covering and my fake crystal ball with me, and latch on to Basil’s arm. It takes all my weight to keep his hand from moving.

“Back off,” I warn the warlord. “It’s Medusa’s Dust. It’ll turn you to stone.”

He uncurls his hand from around Basil’s neck and steps back, leaving me dangling like an idiot from the traitor’s wrist.

“How do you know that?” His question sharp, the warlord shifts his focus to me, and I think maybe I should have let him die.

“Poison expert.” Sort of. I blow a damp curl out of my eye. The only thing keeping Basil from shaking me off is Carver’s very long and very lethal sword at his back. We’re surrounded by big men with scary weapons, and no one’s
doing
anything. “Someone cut off his arm. Or kill him. If I let go, he’ll throw dust all over the place.”

Flynn hefts his ax. “That would be suicide.”

“Thank you, Flynn.” I roll my eyes in the auburn-haired man’s direction. “Do you really think he cares?”

Flynn shrugs. “He’s dead anyway.”

Exactly. So get on with it.

Before I can say as much, Basil twists his arm with me still holding on and somehow smashes the vial against my neck. My eyes shoot wide as Medusa’s Dust burrows deep into my skin, the powder as hungry as a swamp leech. The onslaught of magic shatters my equilibrium, and I stumble back against my table, gasping for air, giddy and slightly outside of myself.

His face turning terrible, the warlord roars and lunges for me.

“Don’t touch me!” I cry, evading. As soon as the magic works its way into my system, the poison will infect anyone who touches me. I don’t know how long that takes. It’s fast for a normal person. Longer for me.

My limbs get heavy quickly. More slowly, my skin hardens, turning gray. I’m not worried. Medusa’s Dust is magic-based. My body will chomp the poison like lamb steak for dinner. Force enough toxic berries down my throat or stick a few adders in my bed and I’ll die like anyone else, but magic won’t kill me.

The warlord watches my skin lose all color, his eyes somber, his jaw tight, and his hands clenched at his sides. Something in his gaze shocks me. I don’t ask why he cares, although I almost tell him that in a few minutes, I’ll be pink and soft and poison-free again, but that’s not something he needs to know.

I turn to Basil. He’s smirking, obviously glad he took that pesky soothsayer down with him.

“Thanks for the present.” I offer him a smile fit for the bloodthirsty maniac I was meant to be. “Here’s one for you.”

I grab his wrists with both hands, just above the gloves that protected him from the poison. Medusa’s Dust races up his arms. He hardens, freezing solid on a gasp, his mouth half-open and his eyes wide with terror.

I let go, disappointed. “That was fast.”

The warlord stares at me, his expression almost comically thunderstruck. “Why aren’t you dead?”

I throw him a saucy look. “You think I’m that easy to kill?”

Relief floods his face. He grins, and a tiny lightning bolt zings down my spine. “She’s the one,” he announces to his men. “I want her.”

Whoa. What?

Who? Me?

What for?

His warriors close in. I throw out my arms, creating a poisonous perimeter. “Back off or you’ll end up like Basil.”

“Is there a problem, Cat?” Aetos’s blue face towers above their heads. The warlord looks small in comparison, despite standing over six feet.

I shake my head. “Tell Selena we have a new gargoyle. She likes that kind of thing.” I slide a look toward Basil, trying to ignore his petrified expression and crooked teeth. His nostrils are flared, like he’s still trying to suck in air.

After sparing the human statue a quick glance, Aetos arches his eyebrows at me, picks it up, and then carries it away. Desma and he were right. I might accidentally kill someone tonight. Or not so accidentally.

Annoyance flits across the warlord’s face. “I’ve been trying to flush him out for days. Now I have no one to interrogate.”

“Some Tarvan woman wants your head in exchange for Basil’s brother’s life.” Shock vibrates through me. The words slipped out without my consent. I swear to the Gods I hadn’t even formed the thought before they were out there, hovering damningly between us. Who in the Underworld is in control of my mouth tonight, because it is
not
me!

The warlord’s lips part, not in surprise, but in some kind of satisfied expression I don’t understand and don’t like.

My gut clenching, I turn my hands palms up and shrug. “Soothsayer, remember?”

“You’re exactly what I think you are, aren’t you?”

The woman who divines the truth through falsehood? The most coveted diplomatic weapon in the realms? The Kingmaker?

I back my still-toxic self away, careful not to bump into anyone. I feel like the Gods are peeing on me from Mount Olympus. I was happy here. The circus was my family.

“There’s one of you every two hundred years.” The warlord stalks me through the crowd, his long strides devouring the space between us. “Kingdoms rise and fall for you.
Because
of you.”

His intense gray eyes are readable enough now. He’s thinking of ways to contain me, to catch and use me. He’ll expose me. He’ll put me in a cage and make me sing like a siren.

Strike that. He’ll
try
to make me sing like a siren. “Touch me and I’ll kill you.”

His mouth flattens. “You could try.”

If it means getting away, I’ll expose another talent in front of all these people. It doesn’t come to that, thank the Gods. I slip backward through the performers’ gate, and Cerberus steps between us, blocking the warlord’s path and making him draw up short. The hound’s enormous fangs glint in the torchlight, drops of venomous saliva hissing when they hit the ground. Three low, ominous growls shiver through the dark passageway as I quickly exit the amphitheater. Hades has a thing for Selena, and his watchdog guards her circus instead of the gates to the Underworld. Cerberus will hold the warlord back. Too bad he’ll keep Jason and my berry ice away, too.

I wish I didn’t have to move on. Thank you for taking me in. “Oikogeneia.”

I say the word for family out loud as I write it in the ancient language of the Gods, hoping someone in the circus can read it and knows the power and promise it holds. Aetos doesn’t have that kind of schooling. Desma and Selena might, and I trust them to use the magic only if they have to. Aetos would die for me. Desma would die for me. Vasili and Selena might, too, and probably a dozen others. If they call me, there isn’t a threat in the three realms that will keep me from coming back to them.

Before I came to the circus, there was only one person I wouldn’t have been willing to kill, if it came to that, or let die for me. Now there are more than I have fingers and toes, and it makes me weak.

Family.

It irks that a word so contaminated in my mind contains such power. I gave it power and gifted it to my friends. I would kill myself before letting it cross my lips for any of my remaining blood relations.

My few belongings are packed in the old brown satchel I stole off a sleeping merchant on the Fisan coastal road eight years ago. Some clothes and a pair of old boots, a cloak, three throwing daggers, a few hair ties, a comb, and my stage cosmetics—everything I possess. I strap the circus’s bedroll and blanket to the ties at the bottom of my bag. I don’t think Selena will mind. It’s hardly theft at this point.

Straightening, I think about my next step. When Poseidon gave me my gifts, he also gave me his obsession. The frigid northern lakes and the Fisan Ocean are both about three weeks out of my reach. As usual, that means settling for a Sintan stream. It’s still water, even if it’s warm. I’ll stop at the creek, somehow get out of my pants, clean up, cool down, and then… I don’t know. Nothing will ever change, no matter where I go. I’ll still live in fear, the black crow of dread circling my head.

The circus was different. With Selena and Cerberus here, I almost felt safe—safe until that dratted warlord decided to stick his big, hooked nose into my life.

Growling in frustration, I look around my tent for the last time. No one will see me leave. Where I’m concerned, stealth reaches an entirely new level.

The warlord’s taken this from me. Home and family mean something to most people. I never understood what it was until Selena took me in, and Aetos and Desma decided I was theirs. They’re mine, too. Leaving them is like cutting off a limb.

Deep breath in. Long breath out
. Cats don’t cry.

My tent flap snaps open, and the warlord fills the doorway, a mass of shadow and steel.

I freeze, stunned. Disbelief leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “H-How did you get back here?”

He steps inside, crosses his arms, and leans casually against the tent post. The torch pops, sending a flicker of firelight over him that illuminates his inky hair and sun-bronzed skin. The wavering glow highlights the hard muscles rippling under his rolled-up sleeves, tapering down to corded forearms, thick wrists, and powerful hands. Hands that could break me in two.

His teeth flash. Wolfish. Confident. “I have my ways.”

My mouth falls open, and a shiver scrambles down my spine. I’m rarely at a loss for words.

“You took my copper and didn’t evaluate my last man.” He nods to his final companion. “Kato. You’re up.”

The last man ambles forward, casual, followed by Carver and Flynn. They’re all so relaxed. What’s wrong with these people? Don’t they know the world is falling down around my ears?

The man called Kato stops a few feet from me. I take him in with a glance. He’s big, blond, and almost impossibly handsome, with startling cobalt eyes. The mace he carries tells me he’d rather bludgeon than slice. I get that. There’s something satisfying about whacking people over the head.

Backing up, I dig around in my pocket, which is
not
easy, and pull out one of the warlord’s coppers. “Here’s your coin. Now get out.” I throw the copper at him.

He catches it on reflex and then tosses it back, hitting me in the chest.

I glare at him, fuming.

“I’m loyal,” Kato volunteers cheerfully. He looks like he’s always happy. There are smile lines etched into the tanned skin around his mouth and eyes, and perfect teeth like his are just made to be shown off with a grin.

I scowl at the blond warrior now, reluctantly noting that he’s a rather perfect specimen of a man while giving him a heaping dose of the evil eye. There’s no soul ripping this time, and everyone knows it.

Apparently satisfied, the warlord steps closer. “Now that that’s settled, you’re coming with me.”

I snort, stepping back. “Never in a billion suns. Not even if Zeus showed up as a swan and tried to peck me in your direction. I wouldn’t go with you even if my other option was Hades dragging me to the Underworld for an eternal threesome with Persephone.”

The warlord pierces me with a hard stare. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“Or no way,” I retort.

He lunges for me. The tent is small, and he’s shockingly fast. His hands close around my upper arms, and satisfaction flares in his eyes. “Not poisonous anymore?”

“A shame.” I stomp on his foot, crushing with the heel of my boot.

He laughs.
Bastard
.

I disappear. I’m still there, just invisible, and he lets go. They always do. The warlord lets out a sound somewhere between a snarl and a grunt and stares at his empty hands. It never occurs to people to just hold on.

I inch away, silent. Four men block the door. They shed their casualness like it’s a second skin, becoming battle ready in an instant, alert, the air around them charged with tension.

“Guard the door,” the warlord rumbles. “She’s still here.”

Gods damn it!
I glance around. There’s no escaping under the tent. The material is tight and flush to the ground. Aetos drove the spikes in for me, and it’ll take Aetos’s muscles to get them out again. There’s a knife in my belt. I could slice the canvas, but by the time there’s an opening I could fit through, the warlord would be on top of me. My only option is to draw them away from the door. If Flynn and his giant ax would move about a foot to the right, I could probably slip through.

The silence in the tent is absolute. I don’t even hear them breathing. Then the warlord turns and looks straight at me.
Impossible
.

Still one moment, he pounces the next, grabbing me. I’m so shocked I lose my concentration and pop back into sight. One big hand is clutching the better part of both breasts, and the other is clamped over my ear, his fingers digging into my braid.

I suck in a sharp breath and pound on his wrist, trying to dislodge his hand from my chest, shaken by how large the warlord is, and how ungodly hot his hands are on me—a firestorm of muscle, sinew, and bone.

His eyes flaring, he adjusts his grip, banding hard fingers around my left arm. I fly at him with my right fist and punch him in the neck. He jerks, taking the blow on the muscular column instead of the sensitive front. I draw back for another hit, but he plucks my fist out of the air and then forces it down, easily shackling both wrists in one hand. He uses his other hand to disarm me, slipping the knife from my belt and into his own.

I nearly cringe at my own stupidity. Eight years with the circus has made me soft. I had a knife, and I didn’t even think of stabbing him when he couldn’t see it coming.

Snarling, I bang my forehead into his jaw.

A muscle feathers along the warlord’s cheek. Grasping my upper arms, he lifts me clear off my feet. “That is
not
a good idea.”

He’s conveniently put his nose within reach. I drive my head toward it, but he dodges, growling a curse as my nose slams into his cheekbone. Pain makes my eyes water. Gasping my next breath, I go still, dreading the gush of blood. When there isn’t any, I screech like a Harpy and kick him in the shins.

With eyes like thunder, he sets me down, spins me in his arms, and then crushes my back against his chest. “Settle down, Soothsayer.”

Settle down? Settle down!

“Could you see me?” I wheeze, his heavy arm compressing my rib cage.

“No, but I knew where you were.” The warlord sniffs loudly and then exhales, his hot breath tickling my ear. “You stink.”

Lovely.
“Who
are
you?”

He turns me back around, keeping hold of my arms. “Beta Sinta.”

I go numb with shock for the split second before fear surges through me in a paralyzing rush.
This
is the warlord who put his sister on the throne?
This
is the Hoi Polloi who somehow overcame the previous royal family’s magic?
This
is the man now second in command of all of Sinta?

No wonder he got past Cerberus. All he had to do was order someone to bring him back here. He owns us all. He could have Desma arrested, Aetos executed, Tadd, Alyssa, Vasili, and all my other friends tortured until they begged for mercy. Selena deprived of her life’s work. No explanation necessary. He’s Beta Sinta.

“The better question is who are
you
?” He studies my face. “Fisan. I can see that even through all the paint.”

I almost say I’m Beta Fisa just to see his eyes bug out, but that joke wouldn’t really be funny for anyone. “Cat,” I answer tightly. I don’t deny being Fisan. My olive skin, light green, elongated eyes, dark hair, and long, straight nose give me away. It doesn’t matter. A lot of people are Fisan.

“Just Cat?” He cocks his head. “I don’t believe you.”

I stare at him, an inferno of hatred in my eyes.

Beta Sinta’s mouth flattens into a hard line as he nods to Kato. The Adonis-like blond takes a rope from Beta Sinta’s belt and then ties one end loosely around my waist and the other around Beta Sinta’s. The second we’re attached, the warlord lets go. I start working on the knot, and no one tries to stop me. It’s more of a bow. There’s nothing to it, so why won’t it budge?

“An enchanted rope.” Beta Sinta’s smug announcement has my eyes widening in astonishment. “Only I can untie it.”

My mind rebels. “You don’t have that kind of magic.” He doesn’t have any magic.

“You’d be surprised at the treasures one can find in the bowels of a despot’s castle.”

Actually, I wouldn’t. “But the Medusa’s Dust…” I sputter a curse. “I saved your life!” Obviously one of my stupider ideas. I used to be good at this stuff. If people could have gotten the better of me this easily when I was a kid, I’d be dead.

“You
think
you saved my life, but I appreciate the gesture, which is why you’re still conscious.”

I gasp and swing at him again.

He catches my fist before it can connect, crushing it slightly. “Control your temper,” he advises, releasing my hand with a soft shove.

There are some things about my blood even I can’t deny. Temper is one of them. “I’ll show you temper, you oversized, egomaniacal, murdering son of a Cyclops!” I ram my foot into his groin.

Beta Sinta doubles over with an explosion of breath. I’d do it again, but I’d rather run. I swipe my knife from his belt, bring the blade down hard on the rope, and plow my way toward the door.

A second later, I’m on my ass. The rope is perfectly intact, and three men are looking down at me, identical smirks needing to be wiped off their faces. Permanently.

Flynn’s foot lands on my wrist, stomping just hard enough to make me let go of the knife. Beta Sinta uncurls himself, glaring at me while he picks up my blade and slips it into his boot.

I change tactics and start sucking the magic out of the rope. Power nips at my skin and seeps into me, but the rope retains its enchantment. I keep sucking, and it keeps giving—a perpetual supply of magic!

Gods damn it!
I pound both hands on the ground and howl.

“Up,” Beta Sinta orders.

I twist and lash out at him with my feet. He jumps to avoid my sweeping kick, and fury erupts in me. I’m fast and well trained, but he’s always a step ahead. Part of me is awed by his speed and agility. Most of me wants to grab Kato’s mace and thump Beta Sinta over the head with it. Repeatedly.

He fooled me at the fair, this man with the quick smile and midnight hair. I thought the warlord was just another warlord. I flushed at his interest and jumped into his dance of teasing threats. I had fun. Now, looking at him reminds me of something much stronger than fleeting attraction. There’s nothing in this world or the Underworld I hate more than royals.

“I’d rather let Cerberus slobber me to death with poisonous drool than go anywhere with you.”

His jaw muscles flexing, Beta Sinta pulls on the rope until I’m forced to either scramble to my feet or get dragged to his. “Come and I won’t have your friends arrested one by one while you watch.”

I feel myself pale. There’s no lie in his words. He’s not bluffing.

So this is it, exactly what Mother was trying to teach me, to pound and torture into me. Love is weakness, an exploitable flaw.

My surroundings fade, and I feel her sharp-nailed fingers digging into my chin as she turns my face and forces me to watch my older brother gut my nursemaid, the only woman who ever held me. Mother beat me when I cried, gave me a puppy the next day, and then ten months later, just when I loved that dog more than anything except for my sister, started the lesson all over again.

I blink, and Beta Sinta’s handsome, treacherous face comes back into focus.

Poseidon, protect me.
I pick up my satchel, swing it over my shoulder, and don’t look back.