A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(13)

Moving with easy, masculine grace, Beta Sinta swings down, still irritatingly fresh except for the sweaty face print on his back. Ha!

“Some privacy?” I grind out.

He arches one eyebrow. You’d think I’d just asked him to catch Pegasus and fly him to the moon. There’s no privacy anyway, not even a bush to squat behind, just sunburned plains, heat haze, dust, and tumble bumbles.

Shrugging, I turn invisible, taking the rope and the warlord along with me. His men shout in alarm.

“It’s all right,” Beta Sinta calls. “I’m still here.”

He can’t see me, though. Right now, he can’t even see himself. Anything attached to me turns invisible right along with me. Clothes, ropes, warlords… It’s a great way to scare the life out of someone. They think they’ve died and become a realm-walking spirit. Nobody wants to end up like that.

The second we pop back into sight, Beta Sinta mounts his big, brown beast and reaches down for me. I’m so stiff I can’t get back on the horse. None of my muscles comply with my brain, and he has to haul me up like a sack of grain.

“Go easy, Griffin,” Flynn rumbles on our left. “She’s not used to riding.”

I almost throw him a grateful glance but then turn it into a scowl, which is easy since I’m squinting into the sun, and Flynn’s shock of auburn hair is so shiny it’s practically a weapon in its own right.

Beta Sinta ignores Flynn’s advice in favor of getting to the woods—and shade—faster, setting a pace that makes me wish my seat bones were even better padded than they already are. I sink my nails into his sides, half to hold on, half to maim him, but he doesn’t even react.

Griffin. I turn the name over in my head, reluctantly curious. A griffin is an exceptionally rare creature, a mix of lion and eagle, king of beasts and king of birds. His parents must have been the pretentious sort. Then again, he did take over Sinta.

He finally slows to a walk, I think for my sake even though we’re not yet to the forest. My stomach growls, louder this time, and he fishes around in his saddlebag, handing me something wrapped in grape leaves. It’s smelly and not quite firm. Goat cheese. Gag!

“Got any bread to dilute this?”

“Dilute?” Beta Sinta sounds like he’s laughing. There’s definitely a smirk in his voice.

Kato’s blue eyes dance with humor as he hits me with a dazzling smile that’s almost as bright and sunny as his hair. “Griffin ate it all.”

I huff. “There’s no need to be so merry about it. Did you abduct me just to starve me?”

“I was hungry, you were sleeping, and you’re hardly being starved,” Beta Sinta says.

It’s hard to argue with that around a mouthful of cheese. I swallow and ask, “Why Beta? Why crown your sister Alpha when you’re the one who did all the work?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s going to answer, so I take another bite of cheese and keep eating until I devour the entire chunk. It turns out goat cheese is edible if you’re really hungry.

We’re almost to the edge of the woods when he finally speaks. “When I was a boy, royal soldiers used to tear through our tribe, searching our homes for twice the taxes we owed, at times abusing our women, and often taking our men for their endless wars. We collected nothing of value because it would be stolen, and thatched our roofs with simple hellipses grass because half the village would be burned to the ground. We’d cut down fields of the stuff for weaving and thatching. It’s supple yet strong. And abundant. We’d rebuild, over and over again, making everything we could from that bloody grass.”

He turns, and I see him in profile, his sharp gaze scanning the meadow rolling right up to the forest. He’s probably noting the abundance of hellipses grass. The tough, long stalks are the only thing that really grows here unless there’s shade, a natural water source, or irrigation. It’s all over the north, too, but greener and softer there, like the springtime grass here before it dries and yellows from the heat.

“One day, my father decided he was done with blind subjugation. He challenged for leadership, won the tribe, and then did the same from village to village until he’d unified a swath of people and land across southern Sinta. Before the royals even noticed, he created an army right under their noses. The next time soldiers came, they only took the taxes we owed, they left our men and women alone, and they didn’t light up a single home.” He pauses to hand me his water gourd, drinking after me before continuing.

“I know what one decision—one person—can change. But I form and execute plans. I don’t second-guess, and I rarely call myself into question. That’s not all Sinta needs. Our goal isn’t just to dominate, like previous royal families. It’s to rule.”

Reality douses the spark of interest flickering inside of me. It’s only been a few months. What will his attitude be once the power and wealth sink in? Will the Beta position still satisfy him? And, if it lasts that long, what will his future children’s attitudes be once they start vying for the throne? From what I’ve heard, Alpha Sinta is unwed and too old to bear children anyway. That means Beta Sinta will succeed his sister on the throne, likely sooner rather than later, and then his offspring will come after him. Probably in every sense of the words. “How terribly noble.”

“Egeria’s warm,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm. “She smiles at people. She has ideas for healing centers and schools. She knows how to comfort widows and orphans. She compensates for what I lack.”