Queen of Fire

I charged at her, my rage dispelling all reason, uncaring of the knife. She danced aside, lithe and quick as any dancer. “If you don’t believe me,” she said, spinning to a stop and gesturing towards the cliff-top. “Why not ask him?”

I was about to lunge for her again but stopped as something shimmered into view in the blackness beyond the cliff, something that flared into blinding white fire for a moment before swirling into a familiar form.

I stood frozen, my eyes playing over his face, all thought fleeing my mind save one. “Seliesen.”

He stood there, smiling the smile I knew so well, clad in the simple robes he preferred to wear in private, the robes in fact he had been wearing the last time I saw him. It would be preferable, and dishonest, to record that I had no inkling this was an illusion, that I was completely deluded and my reason undone by the wicked precision of the Messenger’s stolen gift. But, I knew this to be a phantom, I knew I was being lured to my death as I rushed towards the cliff-top calling his name. And I simply didn’t care.

He vanished as I came to within a foot of the edge, flickering like a candle-flame caught in the wind before being snuffed. I shouted in grief and bitter defeat, sinking to my knees and calling out into the uncaring dark. The only reply was the soft hiss of the wind through the grass.

I turned at a hard, choking sound behind me, seeing Fornella pull a knife free of Jervia’s neck, releasing a fine spray of blood as she held her upright. “You should’ve taken the gaoler’s knife,” she muttered before casting the body away with a grimace.

She sank to her knees as I approached, fatigue obvious and unfeigned now, her smile forced and small. “I owed you a life, did I not, my lord?”

I went to the body, fighting nausea and heaving it upright, proffering the still-gushing wound to her. “Drink,” I said.

She watched the blood flow with detached interest for a second, then looked away. “No.”

“It will restore you . . .”

“I am already restored. Please take that thing from my sight.”

I let the corpse slip from my arms and moved to her, catching her before she could fall. She lay back against me, her breath coming in slow, shallow gasps. “It will be morning soon,” she whispered.

I could see only a faint glimmer on the horizon—dawn would be hours in coming—but still I held her close, and whispered, “Yes,” into her ear.