Fyrian's Fire Read online

  Tess hardly heard the queen’s last words. She had gone numb. How stupid she had been these past months. Linden did not want her, had not chosen her over the other women of Glademont. His mother had forced his hand. Tess’s thumb itched to touch her pearls again, but she was afraid of crying.

  “Forgive me, my queen,” she said. “But I could never marry the prince knowing he did not want me.” Tess cleared her throat and stared at the ceiling so the tears wouldn’t fall. She thought of the day Linden rode between her apple trees in all his regalia. She could smell the potted geraniums along the steps to her home, hear Dahly giggling behind her while Linden held out a velvet pillow . . .

  “You misunderstand, my lady.” Linden turned stiffly. “I simply have had greater concerns in recent months. The queen’s health and the dione’s security—”

  “Linden, I have told you Lady Tessamine is vital to those concerns. She is the only person standing between Glademont and ruin.” For a moment, a pinkish hue returned to Aideen’s pale face. “We must hide her and hide the shenìl. Pider does not know this exchange is taking place. This is our best chance.” Aideen lowered her eyelashes. A tear ran along her nose. “And you, Linden, must deliver my message to King Nabal.”

  The prince slammed a fist on the sight hound’s head. “The man is a barbarian. The only reason he is in power is because . . .” He faltered, then cleared his throat. “The new Atheos suffers no negotiations, my queen, I promise you.”

  “As you say, Linden, I am still queen,” Aideen replied, her eyes closed. “You will take the letter to Nabal, and you will tell him of Pider’s plot. There is a chance he can be convinced to help us.”

  “I cannot face Nabal. Not after what he has done. Allow me to stay in Glademont. My work is here with the militia.”

  Tess gripped the copper orbs in her palm, her arm shaking.

  “What does it do?”

  Linden glared. “Whatever it does, it cannot possibly protect us from a ruthless magician and the might of the Atheonian army.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at what had developed into frizzy caramel tufts. “Old Glademont never left itself so exposed,” he said.

  “What do you know of Old Glademont?” Aideen’s voice rose. “Old Glademont was laid to ruin because of red magic.”

  Tess let the tears quiver on her cheeks. She didn’t care.

  Aideen took a raspy breath and pushed against the arm of the chaise, sitting straighter. She addressed Tess. “Humans and animals are made of water, earth, and air, yes? But when you listen to that object in your hands, Tessamine, you become a blazing torch. You become fire.”

  Tess swallowed. Linden dabbed the back of his neck.

  “What in the name of Luna is going on?” he said.

  Aideen ignored him. “But that will come later. You are not the thane yet. When you are thane, you will know, dear one.” Aideen pursed her lips and searched Tess’s face. Was it a look of pity?

  Tess looked down at the shenìl. It repulsed her. Nothing made sense. The queen couldn’t possibly mean the things she was saying. “My queen . . . please take it back.” Tess extended her arm and hoped Linden couldn’t see her trembling chin.

  Aideen took the shenìl, and for a moment Tess thought she might faint with relief. But the queen gestured at the floor beside General Bud.

  “Kneel,” she commanded.

  Fighting the dread that rose in her throat, Tess obeyed. Aideen reached behind Tess’s head and unfastened her thick black hair. The strands fell like bundles of rope. Slowly, Aideen wove the long leather strap of the shenìl through a wide triple braid, with the orbs nestled together at the end of Tess’s hair. Her cold fingertips worked haltingly, leaving glossy filaments to float at Tess’s neck. Hovering just behind, the prince tapped the chaise arm in no particular rhythm. Tess could barely keep still, listening to his impatient taps and her queen’s shallow, broken exhales. Finally, Aideen sank into her pillows, her head lolling to the side.

  “Keep it safe.”

  “Mother.” Linden knelt beside Tess, his shoulder brushing against hers. The queen was still breathing.

  “That is quite enough,” General Bud whispered ferociously. “Her Majesty is too weak to be pestered by you two any longer. You know your duties, now see to them.” He pulled an envelope from a low console and placed it on Linden’s knee. “Here is the message for Nabal. You must travel through the Hinge Forest, or it will never reach him in time. Don’t stay in one place too long, and don’t talk to the wild animals. If they try to detain you, you are not a prince and you are not from Glademont. You are a foreigner from the other side of the mountain, and you lost your way. Do you understand?”

  Linden stood. “General, you know as well as I do the futility of this mission.”

  “I am bound to Her Majesty, and this is her wish. I shall look after her in your absence, and”—he glanced at the sleeping queen and lowered his voice—“I will oversee the training of the militia as best I can.”

  Linden raised an eyebrow. “Can you really help?”

  General Bud shook his wiry beard. “Ah, you think our military ranks are empty titles, do you, Prince? Members of the Governor’s Guild receive honors for our domestic service, yes, but our ties to combat are more real than you know. We terriers were warriors generations ago. In the days of Old Glademont. I think you’ll find me more useful than not, Your Royal Highness.”

  In his astonishment, the prince could only nod his thanks. He touched his mother’s elbow and started for the door. Tess didn’t move, still kneeling and holding her new braid in disbelief.

  “My lady,” Linden said. “May I see you out?” He held out a stiff arm. The painted faces of queens and princesses looked down at Tess from the walls. Each one seemed to say, You are not one of us.

  Tess thanked General Bud, though she did not know what for, and strode past Linden into the hall without touching his arm.

  “I suppose you’ll be wanting to get back to your family,” Linden said as he closed the door behind them.

  She spun, ignoring the hot flush rising to her cheeks. “What have I ever done to you?”

  This was a nightmare—a vivid, catastrophic nightmare. How many times had Tess begged the red star for some sign that Linden loved her? And yet she was the furthest thing from his mind. Aideen was dying, a murderous magician hid stars-knew-where, the dione’s greatest defense lay useless in her hair, and Tess had known none of it. Her coronation would have been in one week. If the queen had chosen her as princess of Glademont, thane of the whatever-it-was, why on the continent had no one thought to enlighten her until this late hour?

  Linden straightened. Then, glancing at the servants by Aideen’s door, he beckoned Tess down the hall to an alcove housing a potted tree. They stood on either side of the tree’s peeling white bark, glaring at each other with suppressed rage. Linden stuffed Nabal’s letter into his vest pocket.

  “My lady, you speak too freely,” he said in a low voice.

  “Your Highness, you use my feelings too freely.” Heat spread from her face to her neck. She knew this was not the tone her mother had in mind, but there was only so much Tess could take. “You could not have found a moment to speak with me about your plans to postpone the wedding? Or perhaps the fact that your mother had insisted upon our union?”

  Linden ran a nervous hand through his hair. “As I’ve said, the situation here is one of unusual urgency. Certainly, had I the opportunity, I would have informed you of the state of affairs.”

  “What nonsense,” Tess said. “You hardly thought of me at all. Your thoughtlessness has humiliated me countless times. And I saw your face when the queen gave me this.” She lifted her braid. “You’d rather a goose have the shenìl than I.” Fresh tears formed at the edges of her eyes. “I repeat, what have I ever done to you?”

  After a long moment, Linden’s tall frame drooped. He look
ed away from Tess and gripped a branch with uncertainty. “My lady, you have never wronged me.”

  Tess wiped the wisps from her temples. The pearls around her finger grazed her forehead, and she suddenly had to know. “When the queen asked you to . . . to marry me . . .” The words, though barely audible, hung in the alcove like a thick mist.

  He plucked a waxy leaf. Then another. “You must understand what pressures I have felt since the attack on Her Majesty. The fate of the entire dione is at stake.”

  “And she thinks I am our only hope, remember?”

  “I do not agree.” Linden ripped another leaf from the tree.

  “Were you pleased? When she requested that we marry?”

  “No, by the skies,” Linden replied with sudden energy.

  They stared. The prince’s outline blurred in Tess’s vision as she attempted in vain to process his words.

  “You don’t understand the world, Lady Tessamine. Your only thoughts are of royal fanfare and public admiration. You know nothing of diplomacy, of economy or trade, of the art of combat . . .” He swallowed.

  The edges of Tess’s vision sharpened again. She drew her shoulders back. “I don’t want to be yours any more than you want to be mine, Your Highness. And you can have your diplomats and economy and pointless militia. You can run the dione to the ground, if that is your wish. When this is over, I will be glad to return the shenìl to you. You will be free to give it to a girl with more worldly wisdom than me.” She tried to steady her breath.

  Linden’s brow stiffened. With cold civility, he took her hand and bowed. Then, touching the letter in his vest, he strode away.

  Chapter 4

  Tess turned on her heels and ran, her heart thumping and her slippers clicking against worn sandstone. She needed a moment to herself before she had to face her family. They would want to know where she had been and what the prince had said to her. She couldn’t bear that.

  As Tess neared the door to the royal gardens, she began to breathe easier, knowing solitude would soon be hers. But from the corner of her eye, she caught a sudden motion. A strange man stepped into the corridor. He was perhaps three years older than Tess, with sandy hair combed smoothly from his forehead into a high, thick knot. In his mouth dangled a rough pipe. In his hands were a notebook and a piece of charcoal. He walked to a tapestry, looked behind it, and began sketching in the notebook. From the look of his faded linen trousers, Tess guessed he was a common villager—though she’d never seen anyone so young smoke a pipe.

  Hearing her footsteps, the man clapped the notebook shut and stowed it in his trouser pocket. He took his pipe from his mouth and bowed low.

  “My lady.” The man’s tone startled Tess. He spoke casually, as though the two had come upon each other in the market square. Though Tess could not place his velvety accent, she felt certain he was educated, if not a nobleman. But then why the humble costume?

  “Sir, these halls are exclusive to the royal family,” she said in her most authoritative tone. A tear fell onto her collarbone and she brushed it away.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” said the man. “I do so admire Glademontian architecture.”

  Tess desperately wanted to be alone, but something about the young man’s face held her there. Light stubble grew under his sky-blue eyes. His expression was relaxed, playful. A dimple surfaced on his cheek as he grinned at her.

  “I am Tynaiv, seafarer from across the Stella, my lady.” He bowed again.

  Tess inclined her head. “I am Lady Tess—Tessamine. Of Glademont. Ahem.” Tess tugged at her sleeves. “You came by the Stella Sea? How did you cross the Gull Range from port? It must have been a harrowing journey.” Why was she making light conversation with this man? There were so many more important things to worry about. And yet, his bright eyes looked on her with fascination, even awe. An unexpected thrill played in her chest.

  “I was fortunate enough to find help through the mountains. And for that I am grateful, because tonight I am able to admire Glademont’s finest works of art.” He grinned again, staring unabashedly at her. She lowered her eyes.

  “You flatter where you should not, sir. Remember I am betrothed to . . .” The words died on her lips. The thrill had gone.

  “Of course. Do forgive me, your ladyship. I recall now that yours is the name of the prince’s bride-to-be. I beg your pardon, on the grounds that I was too taken with your grace to remember my place.”

  “All is forgiven.” Tess glanced over the man’s shoulder at the door to the gardens. “In fact, as I’m sure you heard this evening, there may be no wedding at all. At least not between me and the prince. Will you excuse me, please?” She gathered her crimson skirts.

  “Lady Tessamine,” the man said, following behind. “Has the festival been interrupted?”

  “The wedding is postponed and an emergency militia is being formed. Feel free to volunteer your service. Though you may not admire Glademont’s architecture so much as to defend her in battle.” Tess reached for the iron door handle.

  “Lady Tessamine.” The man’s hand appeared on the door, barring her exit. “I trespass upon your time, but permit me to remain in your company. I dare say you are in some discomfort, and it may relieve your heart to speak of it. And if you must speak of it, speak to a poor seaman from a foreign continent, who wishes only to remain in your presence. What say you?”

  The man held out his arm, and Tess smelled a wave of earthy tobacco. It comforted her, as did his firm forearm and soft dimple. She smiled meekly.

  They walked together into the garden, down a pebbled path lined with rosebushes. The path led to the edge of a moonlit pond, where a simple stone bench overlooked the drooping trees beyond. The crisp autumn air filled Tess’s lungs.

  “Sit a moment, my lady.” The man emptied his pipe and slid the stem into a breast pocket. “The breeze across the water will do you good.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. Somehow, sitting made Tess feel guilty. But then her guilt turned to anger. It was she who had been wronged. Let the dione spin in a frenzy of foolishness for another five minutes.

  “Thank you, Tynaiv,” the man corrected. The dimple appeared.

  “Tynaiv,” Tess repeated. “That is an unusual name.”

  “Yes, my lady,” he replied. “Even in Talon, where I was born, it is uncommon. It means, forlorn, or something like it, on my continent. My father and mother had mixed feelings about me, it would seem. Some are ill-fitted for parenthood.” He pulled at the bowl of his pipe, but apparently thought better of it. Tess straightened.

  “I am grateful for my own mother and father, then.”

  “Doting parents are a blessing from the skies, there is no mistake. What is their opinion of this postponement, my lady?”

  Tess twisted her ring. “We’ve not yet discussed it. Tonight was the first I had heard of it. The prince has . . . pressing matters to attend to.”

  Tynaiv whistled. “That is rather unprincely of the prince. Had he no better explanation?”

  Tess paused.

  “Of course, my lady, feel no obligation to share the prince’s doings with me. I only say what any honest man would, and that is that an intelligent woman such as yourself, with the world at your feet and the moon in your hands, does not deserve to be treated so carelessly.”

  A lump formed in Tess’s throat, and she leaned ever so slightly toward Tynaiv’s shoulder. “He may not be your prince, Master Tynaiv, but you must control your tongue. Although, a small part of me thanks the skies for this business with Atheos. I might otherwise have given myself too hastily.”

  “What is Atheos?” Tynaiv said as he picked a yellow three-pronged leaf from the ground. Tess stared at the curve of the muscles in his shoulders. How easily he moved, like a sandy-colored cat. Could he dance, she wondered? Tess felt the thrill again, and redirected her gaze to her lap.

  “Atheos is the ki
ngdom on the other side of the Hinge Forest. It is different there: uprisings and famine . . . And now it seems they have plans to overtake Glademont. Prince Linden is afraid an assassin has slipped through our borders.”

  “An assassin? By my prow. And who is this assassin’s prey?”

  “Queen Aideen. Have you seen her yet? She is beautiful, in her own simple way. And usually so wise.” Tess touched her braid, which had fallen over her shoulder. She knew she should stop there, but Tynaiv was a stranger to their politics, wasn’t he? He was right; a sympathetic, impartial ear would do her good.

  “But she is not herself lately. She is sick from the assassin’s first attempt.”

  Tynaiv shook his head. “How terrible.” After a moment, he held up the yellow leaf. “In Talon, the women put leaves in their hair for wedding festivals. It is believed to make their spirits like trees, pushing roots deeper into their homelands and shading their loved ones with their branches. May I?”

  Tess nodded as Tynaiv slipped the leaf behind her ear.

  “The women in Talon look nothing like you, my lady,” Tynaiv said. “Their hair is light, and the leaves are green. They are like fields, but you are like the night sky.”

  Tess laughed. “Such nonsense. But, I admit, it lifts my spirits.”

  Tynaiv came closer. His breath felt warm on Tess’s skin. The wafting tobacco made her want to close her eyes. “The night sky, Lady Tessamine, is black, deep, and shining. And it dazzles the most when a bright, yellow moon sits comfortably behind its ear.”

  He was inches from her, staring at her mouth and then settling on her eyes. Tess remembered something her mother once said: that Tess’s eyes would land her in a mess of a tangle. They blazed under her thick eyebrows with all the vibrancy of a mosaic—a rich green in the outer rim of her irises, streaked by a starburst of amber. She wondered indulgently if Tynaiv was admiring them.