A Kiss of Fire (A Kiss of Magic #2)(3)

But she had been born with power that had shown itself in her early childhood. She had been apprenticed to an influential Torrenic house, learning from a young age how to use her majic and how to utilize it in all the ways she could to gain advantage in the world.

When her father had died he had left control of the Vento Territory to her. The armies and populace of Vento had followed her banner eagerly, her ability as a powerful Torrenic majji leaving them in respectful awe of her. It had been only natural for her to inherit his seat in the triumvirate.

Mason Hittite and Jutsin Felone had been rulers on the triumvirate at young ages as well, but they had both been leaders far longer than she had upon achieving her seat. Mason was a ten autumns veteran of his seat. Jutsin eight. That had been five autumns ago. She had taken her seat just as the Kiltian war was beginning. It had been her first big decision. She had had to decide life and death for thousands of soldiers. It had weighed on her greatly. She had been relieved to see it come to an end two autumns ago.

However that peace had come at a price. And it had not been an overnight success. To this day the Kiltians were still treated with distrust and prejudice. However, it was a more frequent sight to see Kiltians in Capitol City. It was more accepted that they be there. But it was far more likely to find one of the brave, dark-skinned Kiltians in Capitol City than it was to see a Saren in one of the Kiltian towns or villages. Still, there were those with stomach enough for it. Those who had gone to teach the Kiltians how to work the tough Saren soil.

Correction. Kiltian soil. It was theirs now.

Ariana’s lady maid entered the dressing room, a gown for the evening draped delicately over her arms. It had to be fitted and pressed for the evening.

Ariana stood up and reached for the fragile lace chemise and drawers she would be wearing under the dress and slid them on. Once her drawers were tied on, she walked up to Mariah, her lady maid, and held out her arms. Together she and Mariah navigated putting the dress on without disturbing her coiffure. The dress fell into place with nary a wrinkle nor a curl out of place.

Tonight the triumvirates were having a ball. All of the highest of their society would be there, as well as ambassadors and leaders from other countries all over the world. She would have to be at her best tonight.

But it was exhausting sometimes, this call to be perfect at all times. She had to be beautiful, to satisfy the gossip columns in the papers, she had to be poised to make the best impression on others, and she had to hold an air of power around her constantly, so no one would see her to be weak in any way. She was the youngest of the three triumvirs and she always felt like she was having to prove herself the equal to them.

She shouldn’t really. She should just be content in her own power and to hell with everyone else, but she was not so arrogant. At least, she didn’t think she was. She knew herself to be fallible. It was simply that she could not show it to anyone else. It would be like bleeding in front of a savage fortit beast. One would call to another and another and you would be set upon before you knew what was happening and torn to pieces.

As much as she loved her people, she knew just how savage they could be if they smelled a weakness on her part.

The high-waisted gown hugged her ample breasts before falling away to the floor in nearly sheer sheet of midnight blue gauze silk. The underskirt was of a slightly heavier silk to prevent the gown from being seen through, but the top layers were thin and frothy. Beneath her breasts beading and gem work had been encrusted into the waist in a small stripe. The short puffed sleeves were also banded at their ends with similar patterned beading. The neckline was square and as daringly low as was still proper.

She moved to the floor length mirror and eyed herself critically. She was tall for a woman. Her build slender and willowy. Graceful bones and features could be seen beneath pale skin. Her eyes were of a light amber color, almost coming across as gold. She had always thought they did not suit her hair. She should have had green eyes or blue. Those would have complemented a redhead better.

Mariah came up to her holding up the fenwa necklace she was to wear, the beautiful midnight blue fenwa stones a perfect complement to her dress. The necklace would drape elegantly against her upper chest, accentuating the long, graceful lines of her throat. There were small stone earrings to match. Nothing gaudy. Delicate. Simple.

Yes. She would be beautiful. And it was not conceit that said so. She worked very hard at being the paragon of beauty her people demanded her to be. Very hard. But that beauty, along with her power, was also a curse. No one had the nerve to come up to her and approach her as a man would approach a woman. Her lovers were few and far between because she not only had to judge them acceptable for her to be seen with, but they had to be brave enough to put themselves in her purview to begin with.

There were very few with that type of nerve that she could find herself even remotely interested in.

She pulled on her long evening gloves, tugging them up to her elbows and a little bit beyond. They were black lace. As she did this, Mariah moved her slippers onto the floor in front of her. She stepped into the little beaded things. Every time she took a step black faceted beads would sparkle from beneath her gown’s hem.

Her last touch was a black lace fan looped around her wrist. It hung there ready to be picked up, opened, used with coy flirtation as she charmed dignitaries from around the world.

She turned her head and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was time.

It was time.