Rise of Fire Read online

  Luna’s voice burrowed past the growing fog of pain. “You can get me inside the capital, Fowler. You know the city. You have to know people there. Maybe you still have friends who—”

  My laughter slipped out again, unbidden, and rusty as a forgotten plow blade in one of the fallow fields all across this land.

  “Why do you continue to laugh at a time like this?” she demanded.

  “It’s just that the only reason you want me around is to help you on your suicide mission—a mission that would bring me back to the place I swore never to return.”

  “You can’t run away from this.”

  I sobered, levity disappearing as I shook my head. “All I do is run. It’s the only thing I know.”

  She nodded, understanding.

  I added flatly, “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. You need to give up on this insane quest.”

  “What do you mean even if you could? You’re saying you can’t. Be honest for a change. Tell me the truth. What you’re really saying is you won’t.”

  I wished it were only that.

  I took a slow breath, wondering when I should tell her that I might not be able to make it twenty yards, much less trek across the country to Relhok City.

  She continued with a sneer, “He’s your father. They would fling open the gates for you. Throw you a grand party.”

  Something twisted inside my chest at the way she said that. She thought less of me because of my blood. She thought less of me and she always would. “Don’t call him my father.” Even if he gave me life, he was no father to me. Nor was he any kind of husband to my mother. The man knew nothing of paternal bonds. Nothing of love or loyalty.

  Moistening my dry lips, I tugged at my shirt, peeling it over my head and off my burning flesh with a wince. “Fact is, I’m not leaving this cave.” I balled up my shirt and wiped at my arm with the fabric. A hiss of pain escaped between my teeth as I attempted to wipe it clean.

  She stilled, her arms wrapped around her knees. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m asking you not to go.” I settled my gaze on her face, not above manipulating her with my grim reality. I always knew it was a matter of time before I died. It wasn’t as though I expected to live to a ripe old age. In this world, that wasn’t a possibility. “My dying wish, Luna. Will you deny me that?”

  She uncurled her arms from around her knees and inched over to my side, her expression giving away her concern. “What are you talking about? You’re not dying. We made it out—”

  I held up my arm. “Can you smell that? My arm?”

  She froze, her nostrils flaring as though she was in fact smelling me—inhaling the bittersweet aroma of poison.

  “It’s dweller toxin, Luna.” I glanced down to the glimmer of it on my skin. “It’s all over me. The worst of it on my arm.” I grimaced. “I didn’t get out unscathed. Like I said, you shouldn’t have come for me.”

  She lifted her hand to touch my arm, but I pulled it out of her range. “Don’t touch it. You don’t want to get it on you.”

  “Fowler,” she whispered, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, her stricken expression forcing me to confront the truth of things.

  I laughed roughly, but the sound twisted into a hacking cough. I had always prided myself on being so very skilled at surviving. Even when I didn’t particularly want to live, I always somehow managed to survive. Not anymore, though. Now, when I might want to live, when I might have found someone I wanted to live with—someone to live for—this happened.

  She shook her head. “I fail to see any humor in this.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You, who wants to save the world. You still risked your neck for me even when you ran out on me, even when you want nothing more to do with me.” I brushed my good hand against her cheek. “You’re too decent for this world, Luna.” Too good for me.

  “Fowler.” There was such pity in that single sound of my name that I felt relief. At least it wasn’t hatred. Me dying stopped her from despising me. I snorted. That made me pathetic, but there it was. I had a flash of that kiss underground. Too bad I hadn’t died then, swiftly amid the swirling windswept taste of her. No, instead my death would be a lingering agony. “I—I don’t want you to die.”

  I sighed, lowering my arm back to my side. “I’m already lost, Luna.”

  FIVE

  Luna

  I SPENT THE next day trying to make Fowler as comfortable as possible. I went out and left him to fetch water several times. He slept more and more. Half the time he wasn’t even aware of my comings and goings. I rinsed his arm with water until I couldn’t smell the toxin on the surface of his skin anymore. It wasn’t really gone, though. The poison had buried deep, settling past his flesh and coursing through his blood. I lifted his head and guided him to drink, hoping that helped in some way. Whenever I had been ill, Perla always pushed for me to drink. I missed Perla now more than ever, certain that she would know how to help him. I, on the other hand, was less than useful.

  I washed off Fowler’s face, chest, and arms. Then I turned my attention on myself, washing up as best as I could, too. My situation was hopeless. I gave up on my matted hair. I’d managed to get most of the mud off my skin, but my hair was a lost cause. Not that I worried much about my appearance. I had bigger concerns.

  Fever trapped Fowler in its grip. There was no more conversation. At least nothing intelligent. He muttered, thrashing on the cave floor, incoherent words tripping from his lips. More than once he cried out for Bethan. The name made me flinch. Obviously she was someone important to him. Someone he had never seen fit to tell me about. It was another reminder that there was a great deal I didn’t know about him.

  Sitting beside him, watching him die, my mind roamed down paths better left alone. He’d been there when his father killed my parents and seized the throne. He was just a child then, a boy, but he’d been there. He’d reaped the benefits, living in the palace, taking my place, enjoying what should have been my life as the king’s heir to the throne.

  I knew nothing about that and yet I thought I loved him. I believed that maybe he loved me, too. Enough to die for me. I shook off the thought. He’d never shared anything real about himself with me. I didn’t really know him at all. And now I never would.

  I picked up his hand, clutching it in both of mine as I hovered over him, feeling alone even though he was still here with me. It was a shell of him, whimpering and shaking with fever.

  “You’re strong, Fowler. You can beat this.” I squeezed his hand, attempting to convey what strength I could to him.

  I racked my brain for everything Sivo or Perla had ever said about dweller toxin, thinking there had to be something more I could do. They’d said it was lethal, but they didn’t know everything. What had they done except hide away from the world and all its dweller problems? There had to be a way to survive it. He only had it on his arm and he was young and vital.

  A scratching outside the cave brought me lurching to my feet. I clutched my knife, flexing my hand around the hilt, bracing myself to use it. Dweller or man, I would defend us.

  A sudden low growl accompanied the snuffling outside the cave. A dweller wouldn’t make that noise. Besides, they never roamed over anything except penetrable earth. Sivo said it was because they didn’t want to be caught far from underground access should they have to flee to home quickly.

  Even so, this growl was familiar. Not dweller familiar, but familiar.

  My grip on the knife relaxed a slight fraction. Still wary, I whispered, “Digger? Is that you?”

  The tree wolf’s nails clacked over the rock floor at an easy pace as he stepped inside the cave. He greeted me with a whimper.

  “Digger,” I breathed, my shoulders slumping as the tension melted from me. My arm fell to my side, the knife loosening within my fingers.

  The wolf snuffled at me, slipping his muzzle under the palm of my free hand. I stroked the velvety texture of his nose. “You found me, Digger.” Dropping to my knees in front of hi
m, I looped my arms around his neck, my chest lifting and falling in quick succession—like a tightening and loosening of a knot. Suddenly I didn’t feel quite so alone anymore. “That’s a good boy.”

  I buried my face in his coarse mane of hair. The beast whimpered again, but didn’t pull away from me. My fingers delved deeper into the thick fur. Right now, he was all I had, my only friend in the world.

  He abided my embrace for a few moments, the swish of his long, looping tail over the rocky ground a comforting sound. Until he decided he had enough. Never one to stick around for long, he licked my face and departed. I listened to the light clack of his nails, not worrying if I would see him again. He’d be back. He’d gone through the trouble of finding me. I was confident he would return.

  I curled up beside Fowler to wait, forcing sips of water down his throat and feeling his scalding-hot brow, holding out hope that his fever might yet break. That he might be immune to the dweller’s toxin. It could happen. Perhaps. In this world, anything was possible. The last seventeen years had taught me that.

  Digger returned a few hours later, perhaps more, perhaps less. It was hard to know. Usually I was a good judge of passing time, but I felt like I was in a haze where time ceased to exist.

  The pungent scent of his fur and clatter of his nails announced his arrival—along with the hare clamped between his teeth. He dropped the dead animal at my feet and then sank to his haunches, tail swishing, waiting for his praise, expecting it as his due.

  “Good boy, Digger,” I crooned, petting his head before turning and dressing the animal. Even though Sivo had usually performed the task, I knew what to do: from skinning the animal to preparing a fire and setting the hare over the flame to cook. I busied myself, glad for the task. It beat watching Fowler with my heart in my throat, jerking at every ragged breath, terrified it would be his last.

  As I prepared the hare, Digger shifted his weight and inched closer to where Fowler rested. He sniffed at him cautiously. I paused over the hare, tensing, making sure Digger’s intentions were friendly and he wasn’t going to take a bite out of Fowler. He continued sniffing, nails scratching rock as he edged closer and closer, and then there was a slight snuffing and blowing against Fowler’s hair.

  I half-smiled, suspecting he was trying to rouse him. Digger gave up with a huff and then settled down close to Fowler. It made my chest ache a little—that this wild beast could find tenderness inside him not only for me but for Fowler, too. It made the world seem just a little bit better. Not entirely dark and hopeless. A little less bleak.

  I focused on cooking the hare over the fire, mindful not to burn myself. I couldn’t afford the injury. I had Fowler to tend. It was up to me to pull him out of this. And I would. I had to.

  Cooking was a risk, I knew, and not because I might burn myself. The aroma could attract dwellers willing to risk the rocks, but I needed the food. I needed to keep my strength up.

  They would not risk the rocks. We were safe from them for now. I let the mantra roll through me, needing to believe it. It was my sole thought as the hare finished cooking over the small fire. I sat beside Fowler, coaxing more water down his throat, talking to him, letting him hear my voice.

  Digger reclined nearby, his great furred back a warm pillow alongside my body. It almost felt safe, warm and comfortable. If only Fowler weren’t fighting for his life.

  Digger’s hackles flared up an instant before the low rumble of his growl filled our small sanctuary. My apprehension was misplaced. I didn’t need to fear dwellers finding us. I patted his back, feeling every hair there standing on end. “What is it, boy?”

  Digger hopped to his feet and trotted out of the cave to investigate. I bit my lip, resisting the impulse to call him back, even if I did feel alone and vulnerable. Indeed, I had no wish to make a sound at all, to make myself a more obvious target.

  Instead, I reached for my knife again, all of me as tense as a slat of wood. My hand flexed around the knife’s edge, palm growing slippery with sweat.

  My free hand reached for Fowler, clasping the hard curve of his shoulder. Even like this he still felt vital and strong. Maybe that was simply the fever. The heat of his skin imbued with warmth in the chill of the cave. Warmth that intimated health and comfort and well-being.

  I patted him for reassurance—for me, I supposed. He was out of his head with fever, unaware of me.

  I felt every sound. The flap of a bat’s wings in the far distance outside the cave. Breaths panting in exertion. The sound of multiple footsteps reached my ears long before I heard voices to alert me that men were approaching. I knew their gait, so very different from the dragging steps of dwellers.

  I released my grip on Fowler and lurched to my feet, my blade brandished before me in hands that were slippery with sweat but surprisingly steady.

  I counted three as they appeared, one by one, squeezing through the mouth of the cave.

  They invaded our space, filling it with their smell: sweat and an underlying odor of horseflesh. That meant they weren’t traveling on foot. Somewhere outside the cave, horses waited for them. On the rocks, no doubt. They wouldn’t have left them in the open, vulnerable to dwellers. My mind raced, thinking about the ground Fowler and I could cover if I we had those horses.

  And then reality crashed down on me. How could I get Fowler atop a mount? How could we travel at all? He wasn’t even awake.

  “You were right, Jabon. There is someone up in here. Two somebodies, it looks like.”

  Another voice, presumably Jabon’s, answered gruffly, “Always trust my nose, Kurk. Never leads me astray, especially where food is concerned, and I told you I smelled roasting meat.”

  The words made me want to kick myself. Cooking the hare had brought them here. I’d led them here. I’d brought them to Fowler.

  I did this.

  There was a slight chink as one of the men moved, and I instantly recognized the sound of chain mail. Sivo had kept his chain mail in a trunk. As a child I had donned the much-too-large tunic of mail before, playing dress-up, pretending to be a grand knight like Sivo. Like my father. Of course, Perla would fuss at me whenever she caught me, reminding me that I was a girl . . . the one true queen of Relhok. According to her, queens did not don chain mail. My chest ached and burned. I missed them. Especially now as I faced these men and whatever degradation awaited me at their hands.

  “Come, lad, put down your blade.” It was the rough, guttural voice again.

  I shook my head, lifting my knife higher. “Get back!” Thus far, experience had not led me to count on any soldiers in chain mail being remotely like Sivo or my father. I wasn’t so naïve to expect that.

  “We don’t aim to hurt you,” another voice volunteered, still male, but decidedly lighter and younger than the voices of the other two men. “We’re a convoy returning home from Relhok.”

  They came from Relhok? Just this admission gave me a small measure of hope. If they came from there, then I could get there.

  He continued, “I’ve lived all my life in these parts, and I have to say you haven’t the manner or speech of a Lagonian.”

  Lagonian? As in the country of Lagonia? I knew enough from studying geography with Sivo to know that Lagonia bordered Relhok. Had we drifted so far east that we crossed into the neighboring country?

  For a moment, my chest lightened. The kill order on girls was a Relhok edict. It was not a Lagonian law. If we were in Lagonia, I was safe from that threat at least.

  The moment the thought entered my mind, I shoved it out. I was never safe. Not even here. Especially not among these three strangers. Soldiers. Even worse. Soldiers were a rough, brutal sort. I knew they had to be to survive, but I still wanted no part of them. Astonishingly, I would rather be back in my tower with my loved ones. I’d taken them for granted.

  “We mean you no harm,” the soft-spoken one continued. “How about you share a bit of your meal with us and we’ll provide you escort into Ainswind.”

  We must be fairly close
to the city if he was offering escort into the capital.

  “What makes you think I need an escort to Ainswind?” I snapped, doing my best to keep my voice deep. I still couldn’t reveal my gender. Even if these were Lagonians, we weren’t far enough from Relhok for me to announce that I was female.

  They doubtless knew of the decree. By their own admission, they’d just journeyed from Relhok City. My head would fetch a nice price for them no matter their country of origin.

  “Oh, you don’t want to go to Ainswind, then. The nearest bit of civilization . . . safety . . . is there. Why wouldn’t you want that? People are dying, truly dying, to get in its walls.” He paused, and tense silence stretched between all of us. After a few moments, his smooth voice continued, “I’m only suggesting a trade. Our escort for a bit of that delicious hare. It’s just the two of you, yes? And your friend looks in bad shape. We can help you. My name is Breslen. What’s yours?”

  It was tempting to believe Breslen. Fowler needed care, and I might not have it in me to give it to him. I might not be enough.

  “We’re stronger in numbers,” he coaxed, his easy tone suggesting I already knew that. It was reasonable. Logical. Weeks ago I would have agreed with that logic even though Fowler had never believed that. He thought the bigger the number, the greater the target you were.

  Only what choice did I have? There were three of them, a nearly dead Fowler, and only one of me.

  I lowered my knife, deciding that aggression would get me nowhere. I would have to figure my way through this. I motioned to the ground like it was some fine table before us. “Have a seat. There’s not much, but I’ll share it.”

  “Good lad.” The three soldiers sat near my fire and fell upon the hare. I waited, not demanding anything for myself. I doubted I could eat anyway. My stomach was suddenly tied up in knots. I was too tense, essentially alone and defenseless in the company of three strange men.