A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(55)

His words strike fear into my heart. His next words rattle me like the gong of a death toll.

“It sounds like Fisa’s ripe for a takeover.”

“You have Sinta,” I say, swallowing stronger protests I can’t explain.

“Egeria has Sinta.”

I don’t say anything. I’m not about to encourage him to take over Fisa now that I’m tied to him for life. His life, anyway.

“So why was Otis so bent on killing you rather than bringing you back to Fisa?”

I shrug. “I don’t know if he wanted to kill me or capture me. It didn’t get that far.”

His eyes meet mine, challenging. “He looked like he wanted to kill you.”

He did, didn’t he? “Andromeda wants me alive. I’m certain of that. Maybe he wanted to thwart his mother. Or make sure someone else didn’t get me instead.”

“Your eye is twitching.”

Damn eye! “Dust.”

He snorts.

Fine. I didn’t believe me, either. “Otis knew it was him or me. It was Andromeda’s mistake for sending him instead of someone else. She doesn’t understand human emotion, or attachment, so it didn’t factor into her decision, but Otis knew I’d kill him for what he did to Eleni. She was good to me. We were…close, and she did her best to protect her sister. I only got away thanks to her. She died, Lukia took off, and with all the confusion in the castle, I was able to slip away. I owe Eleni my freedom. I owe her my life.”

He nods, believing me this time. “You must have enjoyed killing Otis, then.”

My lips twist in a smile Mother would be proud of. “You have no idea.”





CHAPTER 13


Beta Sinta wakes me up, darting back to avoid my fist. “You’re whimpering and all curled up in a ball.”

Lovely. He’s on watch. I only have nightmares now when Beta Sinta—Griffin—isn’t snoring a few feet from me. Well, he doesn’t really snore, at least not much, but he got me used to sleeping next to him with that bloody rope, and now I don’t sleep nearly as well without him.

Knowing that makes me want to kick him. I resist. I don’t want to end up with his tongue in my ear like I did earlier.

Not really.

Really, no.

No.

I clear my throat.

“Watch with me,” he invites.

I regard him warily. “Why?”

“So you can tell me about the Tarvans.”

Oh. I get up, my blood still pounding hot and cold. I shudder, rubbing my arms until I see Griffin watching me with a frown.

“Do you dream?” I ask.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I guess, but are your dreams just scenes your mind conjures up, or are they real?”

He rubs his hand back and forth over his jaw, his fingers rasping on thick stubble. “Real as in memories?”

I nod.

“No, they’re just normal dreams.”

“Huh.” Must be nice.

“And yours?”

“Memories.” And sometimes premonitions.

While we walk the perimeter of the camp, I force the nightmare aside by concentrating on a dream from earlier in the night. Not all my memories are bad.

Eleni and I are running up a hill, about to crest the rise and tear down the other side. I’m pushing hard, my seven-year-old legs straining to keep up with her longer, stronger, nine-year-old ones. I’m only a few feet behind, and her laughter whips back to me on the wind. My heart soars. We escaped. It won’t last long, but we escaped them all.

We hurtle over the top of the hill and run smack into a shepherd boy and his flock. Eleni and he crash to the ground in a tangle. I stumble, too, scraping my knee and knocking over a lamb. It makes a pathetic bleating sound, hops to its feet, and scampers away. All three of us stare at each other, stunned, and then the boy’s father is there, picking everyone up.

The color leaches from his face when he sees the Fisan royal crest on Eleni’s shoulder clasps. Stammering apologies, he falls to the ground, prostrate, dragging his son down with him until both their foreheads are flat against the grass. Eleni commands them to stand, but they’re too scared to rise farther than their knees, keeping their eyes downcast.

I barrel around a few sheep with my usual finesse and then shove a half-wilted posy of flowers I’m clutching in my hand at the boy. He’s about my age. I don’t want him to be scared.

The wind tosses my dark hair. It’s loose, and I know I look like a wildcat, with dirt and bruises and scrapes all over me. The boy’s eyes widen. He hesitates, but when I try giving him the flowers again, frowning and huffing, he takes the drooping blooms from my grubby hand.

The shepherd murmurs endless apologies, begging for Eleni’s mercy. Begging for their lives. She smiles sweetly and kneels in front of him, taking a jeweled clip from her hair. Her blonde locks lift on the breeze, pale dawn sunbeams framing her shining face. The clip is entirely encrusted with sapphires, tiny Fisan pearls forming a row of delicate sea stars across the center. Blue and white. Ocean and ice.

She places the treasure in his hand and gently wraps his work-worn fingers around it. “To feed a village,” she whispers.

My breath shudders, and Griffin slides me a sidelong glance. “You all right?”