Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) (10 page)

One twin dies tomorrow, the other—provided I can find her and she's still alive—will follow soon after.

He slit his gaze, staring into the cloudy ball, hoping for a shadow, for any sign at all, to show him where he could begin looking for her.

But nothing appeared. Only milky whiteness. Only dead space. Only emptiness.

Like the emptiness that filled him, that had consumed
him for the last thirteen years. What wiseman, soothsayer, or prophet had ever said that revenge carried a measure of satisfaction? Who had insisted that a life for a life reaped a just reward?

All the satisfaction in the world would never be enough to fill Sebastian's empty, bleeding heart.

K
inna knelt on the riverbank
, her hands pressing her mother's dress below the slow-moving water, the suds from other women's laundry floating over her own. Bubbles popped as she stirred the dress, massaging it beneath the clear, cold liquid.

Feminine laughter bounced through the still morning air. The mist was beginning to lift off of the river, and the sun jetted through in brilliant slats onto the water.

Kinna lifted the heavy dress, and a curtain of water tumbled from it into the river. She wrung it out.

“I heard your son did well before the Clan Elders last night, Saria.” Conversation floated down the river from the other Clanswomen doing laundry. A tension-filled quietness blanketed the women before the tones of the comment had fully died away.

The Ceremony was a difficult subject. Those whose children had earned a spot in the Tournament had less to fear than those whose children had failed to place. The King's guards were a common part of everyday life, and always, always, one must be careful what one said. Sebastian was not known for leniency or goodwill.

Kinna hadn't seen Hazel since the royal guards had led the pink-haired Pixie away. Earlier, Tristan had murmured in hushed tones over breakfast hash that the Pixie had disappeared. The Council had received word that morning; the guards hadn't taken care to bind her mouth, and she'd sung them a Pixie song. When they returned to their own minds, she was long gone.

Kinna was relieved. As tense as their relationship had been, she had no wish to see the Pixie in Sebastian's prisons. Now Hazel would be free, as she had always wished.

Saria was speaking. “I did hear that Manley would have won, but they just couldn't get over that Pixie's temporary healing of the Head Elder.” She snorted. “Hogwash. If she had been worth anything, she would have healed him completely. Maybe then she would have merited the Tournament. My Manley could have won the Tournament.”

“Saria, ye sound pretty sure of yourself,” another woman chuckled. “Be ye so certain your boy would have won? He wasn't even in the final three.”

“It makes no difference. He had stiff competition, yes, but I surely think he would have pulled out on top. Well, stiff competition from all but the pink-haired Pixie and her Dimn.” She snorted again. “Obviously, the maid is a talentless wench who didn't properly prepare for—”

“Saria!”

The woman next to Kinna sharply interjected the word, motioning discreetly toward Kinna as Saria jerked her attention down-river.

Kinna's cheeks burned. She glanced at the small pile of clothing she had yet to wash and decided she would do it later. She slung the wet dress over the top of the basket, acutely aware of the hushed silence around her.

She turned and climbed the riverbank, running directly into her mother. Joanna's face was grave. Obviously, she had heard the conversation.

“Back to the house, Kinna,” she said, her voice too loud in the stillness. “I need help with breakfast. We can finish this later.”

Shame blanketed Kinna as she trudged up the hill, crossing the cobblestone roads on the way to their house. Joanna walked beside her, and every glance their way was filled with accusation—or at least, Kinna felt that way.

Kinna glanced at the tight line of her mother's mouth and screwed her courage together. “Mama, is there ... anything I could have done differently?” She heard the plea that feathered her voice.
Mama, do you blame me for what happened?

Joanna didn't look at Kinna. She pulled her shoulders into a tiny shrug. “Last night or this morning?”

“Well, both, I suppose.”

Joanna was silent, and Kinna had nearly decided that her mother had chosen not to answer. She could see their house down the twisting gravel road off the main square. Her mother's voice surprised her, and she stumbled to a stop.

“Kinna,” Joanna's blue eyes looked seriously into her own. “Inside us all, there is a spark that waits to burst into flame. Those around you can fan that spark into life, or they can crush it if you let them. You must
not
let them. You must be strong against those who seek to tear you down. You are the one to decide whose opinion will shape you.”

Kinna's brow wrinkled. “What do you mean, Mama?”

Joanna gently pushed Kinna's fiery braid behind her shoulder, lapsing into the colloquial speech of the highlands. “Ye must be who ye were born to be, Kinna. And ye mustn't let anyone, even me or your father, tell ye who that is.”

When Kinna reached their home, she entered the comparative darkness of the house, setting the laundry by the door. Tristan sat on a woven reed chair, his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him.

Joanna cast a sidelong look at Kinna, picking up the wet gown and carrying it through the house to the back door. “I'll hang this outside,” she murmured to no one in particular.

“Papa?”

Tristan looked up, and Kinna flinched at the defeat that creased his forehead.

“What's happened?” Kinna asked.

Tristan reached for her, and Kinna placed her hand in his. His thumb stroked the back of hers.

“I've lost my position on the Council.”

“No.” The word croaked from Kinna's dry throat. He'd spent years there. He was practically a pillar of the Pixie Clan. They wouldn't do this; they couldn't.

“Aye.”

“Did they say why?” Kinna met his eyes and saw there what she feared the most. It was as she suspected. It was her fault. He couldn't raise his own daughter to the standards of the Elders, so why should they allow him to remain on the Council?

“Nay. They never said it outright.”

“But it was me, wasn't it?”

“I didn't say that.”

“‘It’s the truth, nevertheless.” Tears spilled from her eyes, rolling hot down her cheeks. “I failed, and it affects all of us.”

Tristan shook his head. “It wasn't just you.”

How that phrase hurt. He had acknowledged her guilt.

“The Clan expects—all of its members to—to perform at a certain level.”

But I couldn't. I wasn't good enough.
The unspoken words filled the air around them. Tristan seemed to be searching for something to say, but Kinna pulled her hand from Tristan's and smoothed the front of her dress, looking everywhere but at him. “I—I need to go for a ride. It will help to clear my head.” She swallowed the rest of her tears with an effort, and without waiting for permission or acknowledgment, she ran up the stairs.

Snatching the leggings, tunic, and belt she had worn to the Dragon keep, she clutched them to her chest and bounded back down the stairs. She had no idea how long she would ride, but these were better clothes for it. She hurried to the stables, bypassing Joanna, who paced the tiny garden in back of the house, her fingers worrying the edges of her shawl.

Joanna's concerned blue gaze singed Kinna's conscience, but Kinna drew a deep breath and ignored her. What she did now, she did for the good of her family. Her parents would protest, but she didn't intend to stop and ask them for permission.

In the stalls her horse munched his morning serving of grain. She quickly threw the blanket over the horse's back, and then the saddle, cinching it tightly beneath the girth. She stuffed her extra set of clothes inside the saddle bag.

Pulling the bridle over the horse's head, she buckled it behind the ears. The animal whiffed quietly, swinging back to the grain trough, but Kinna led the horse out of the barn doors. As soon as she hit the gate from the back garden, she mounted the animal, riding astride, ignoring the frown that Joanna shot at her bare ankles and calves.

She touched the animal's flanks. “Go, Render.” Render shot forward, churning through the dusty alleyways to the open fields. Here Kinna turned, without meaning to, in the direction of Julian's family's pastures. She knew he'd be out with the sheep today. He was as dependable as they came, and she took comfort in knowing where she could find him.

She saw him before he saw her. He sat beneath a tree, Sage next to him on the grass. The river rushed below him, and he tossed pebbles into the water as he talked to his Pixie. The sheep grazed in the pastureland nearby.

When Render's hoofbeats trotted within hearing distance, Julian looked up and broke into a grin. He jogged over to meet her, gripping Render's bridle, stilling the horse. His brown eyes sparkled up at Kinna, but quickly grew serious as he eyed her face.

“What's wrong, Kinna? Is everything all right? Is it your parents?”

“They're fine.” Kinna shook her head, her fingers weaving through Render's mane as she searched for the words.

The horse side-stepped, and Julian moved closer, his hand reaching up for hers. “Get down and let's talk.”

Kinna ignored his hand and leaped to the ground. She knew it irritated him. He liked to treat her as he would lady from the King's own court, but the rebel in her insisted on pricking his expectations when she could.

Julian threw her an annoyed glance as she straightened her gown. He led Render to the tree, dropping the reins when they reached the shade. “Sage, I think we're done with our session for the day.” He smiled at the Pixie, but Sage didn't smile back. Her eyes hardened as she looked at Kinna.

“Yes, my lord,” she muttered before striding from the scene, glancing back only once as she made her way across the field.

“She loves you, you know,” Kinna said, watching her go.

Julian's cheeks colored. “Aye, I know. I suspected before
psuche
, but now I know for sure.” He sighed as he sank to the ground again, motioning Kinna to join him. “I don't know what to do about it.”

Kinna nodded. Inexplicably, tears filled her eyes again, and she gazed across the fields toward the distant town.

“I've got to leave, Julian.” The words choked themselves out. Saying the sentence out loud made her decision seem more real, and the idea frightened her. But she could no longer bring shame on her family. She needed to free them from the link with her, so, to keep them from being ruined by the town and by the Elders, she would flee.

“What?” He leaned forward, his thick, brown hair flopping into his face. He impatiently shoved his fingers through it. “What are you talking about?”

“My father lost his position as the Advisor to the Council of the Elders. I can't show my face around town without snide comments, even from well-meaning people, about my failure as a Pixiedimn...”

“That was just a foolish contest, Kinna, not a commentary on who you are as a person—”

“It's not just the contest, Julian.” The words lashed between them, and Kinna dropped her gaze to her hands. “I'm sorry.” Finally, she took a deep breath. “It goes back further than the contest. I—I'm not a Pixiedimn. I can't do it. I've never felt like I fit in; I can't even keep the mark on my own skin.” Her voice had risen, and she flinched when she realized how loud she was.

She shook her head and rose, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “Anyway, I guess this is goodbye. I wanted to be sure and find you before I left.”

Julian scrambled to his feet, his hand reaching for hers. “Kinna, I—I understand, but...”

Kinna saw something there in his brown eyes, recognized it. In a panic, she tried to pull her hand back, but he gripped it tighter.

He forced the words out in one breath. “I've been trying to get the courage to tell you, but I haven't been able. Stop pulling away, Kinna, just let me talk.”

Kinna stared miserably down at her hand, captured gently in Julian's large, tan ones.

“You have to know that I—love you. I wanted to talk to your father, go through the whole process of settling the dowry and everything. I know you don't care about all that, but I wanted to do it right. I know your parents like me, that they would count on me for your happiness, and I believe I could—” His hand tightened on hers. “I
know
I could make you happy, Kinna. Please.”

A refusal sat on Kinna's lips, but the look in Julian's eyes stayed the words. How could she hurt her best friend? How could she say the words that would drive a double-edged blade through his heart?

She hesitated, tracing her thumb along his high cheekbone. “Julian, you know I love you, like my own family. I always have, but...”

“I'm not asking for a family's love, Kinna.”

She opened her lips, not sure how to say it.
It's all I have to give
.

“Just give me a chance.” He took a step closer, his free hand smoothing the wisps of escaped hair at her neck. “Please.”

His gaze lowered to her lips. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

Kinna's fingers on his mouth stopped him. She took a step back. “I'm sorry, Julian. I—I need to figure myself out first. Can you understand that?”

His eyes flamed. “So there's hope.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You said you needed to figure yourself out
first
. You will, Kinna, and I will hold you to that. I will be ready, I promise. Just—think about what I've said. Will you promise?”

Kinna looked into Julian's familiar, comforting eyes and allowed the possibility to nestle deep into her mind. She raised her other hand and gently touched his cheek. “I promise to consider it, Julian.” She took another step backward, brushing her fingers across his hand. “Take care of my parents.”

His arm dropped back to his side. “Kinna—”

“I'll be back. I don't know when, but I'll come to see you again.”

She walked to Render grazing on the lush green grass and swung his reins up over his head, pulling herself up into the saddle. Instead of returning to the road, she took a shortcut, following the river that would lead to the Great Fork and from the Great Fork to the main waterway that cut across West Ashwynd.

She kept Render to a steady trot. She glanced back at Julian, who grew smaller and smaller in the distance before he disappeared behind the crown of a hill.

Only then did she tug on Render's reins, pulling the animal to a halt. She buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly. She had hurt Julian, and she hated herself for it. She had run away from home, hurting her parents, too, and she hated herself more for that.

The drama and events of the night before finally caught up with her as well—the foray into the Dragon Clan, sneaking into the arena, the boy she'd nearly gotten killed in her foolish idea to help Chennuh escape. That boy could never go back to the Clan now. They knew he had released a Mirage, the King's own prized Dragon. He'd be strung from the tallest tree if he showed up again.