A Promise of Fire (Kingmaker Chronicles, #1)(69)

Kaia bounces again. She can’t be more than fifteen, probably an unexpected last gasp from her mother’s womb. She’s so different from me at that age that I find myself oddly fascinated by her. “Show us. Please. I’ve never met anyone with real magic before.”

“Real magic?” Is there any other kind?

“I wish I had magic,” Jocasta says. “You can do anything.”

Eh… no. “I can’t fly,” I offer.

Griffin isn’t even trying not to laugh anymore. I put my knife down before I slip and stab him. “Do you have something to add, Your Highness?”

“Good effort at discretion,” he whispers, still laughing.

I give him the evil eye.

Kaia pops a potato into her mouth. “You were gone for ages. What have you been doing all this time?”

When no one answers, she plasters a truly pathetic look on her face. “Breathe fire for us, Cat. Pleeeease.”

Anatole, Nerissa, and Jocasta beg, too. Egeria looks like she’s using all of her self-control not to join the chorus. Piers couldn’t care less. He finished his dinner and clearly wants to go back to the library. As it is, he’s reading a scroll at the table. Carver is grinning like an idiot, and Griffin… I’m not looking at him.

“It’s really not done,” I hedge.

Griffin leans close, heating my entire left side. “Stage fright?” he rumbles in my ear.

Me? Ha! I flick my wrist, smacking his chin as he draws back. “Sorry. Gnats.”

The ladies gasp. Griffin’s eyes spark, I’m not sure with what.

“Learning court etiquette is one thing. Knowing when to apply it is another,” Nerissa says primly. “Right now, it’s just family.”

How in the Underworld do I qualify as just family? I look around the table and almost groan. “You’re all so spontaneous. And innocent. Court etiquette is awful. I’m not sure I want to change you.”

Griffin snorts, and I scowl at him.

“Except you. You could definitely use improvement.”

“Innocent?” he asks, arching a dark eyebrow.

I roll my eyes. “Hardly.”

“Spontaneous?”

I shrug, noncommittal.

Carver clears his throat, his dark eyes laughing. “What about me?”

“You’re an incorrigible flirt and a pain in everyone’s backside.”

Kaia claps her hands, beaming. “Cat’s wonderful, Griffin! I’m so glad you found her.”

I put my elbows on the table and bury my head in my hands. To the Underworld with etiquette. No one else has any, so why should I? “You’re hopeless! All of you.”

“Why are we hopeless?” Egeria asks, reaching for more potatoes.

“Because you’re all so nice.” I’m pretty sure they can’t mistake that for a compliment. “The Power Bid is about to happen. You’re going to get annihilated.” I glare at Griffin. “Except for you.”

“I’m not nice, or I’m not going to get annihilated?” he asks, casually taking a bite of lamb. He’s completely unconcerned about the enormity of having obliterated an impossibly old system of ruling. And no one seems at all worried that every forty years or so—now—a new generation of Alphas and would-be Alphas decide they just have to go to war with one another and burn down the realms in the process. What’s wrong with these people? I feel like I’m at the circus.

No, wait—the circus was saner than this. “I doubt you’ll get annihilated,” I answer him. “You’re impervious to magic, and it’s bloody annoying.”

“Is that appropriate language for the dinner table, Cat?” Nerissa scolds.

I blink at her. Good Gods! I already have one mother, and she’s more than enough.

I rise from my chair, kicking it back with a flourish. “Forget etiquette. Let’s see some fire!”

They cheer. The Sintan royals cheer.

Wasting any of the power I’ve gathered, or even revealing it, is stupid. But I’m arrogant and a show-off, and self-control has never been my strong suit. Otis’s fire whip is gone. There’s still a tiny seed of Desma’s colors in me, a large dose of Chimera’s Fire, and everything I could possibly absorb from Sybaris’s blood.

I separate the currents of magic slumbering in my veins and call upon what I want. A ball of Chimera’s Fire blazes to life in my hand. I take the top and stretch it into a thin line, throwing it up and out. It forms an arc, which I call back toward me, connecting it to the original flame. A sphere.

I turn the circle so it’s parallel to the floor, step inside, and then draw it up, stretching it until I’m encased in a cocoon. The flaming cyclone crackles around me. It’s searing and loud, and I can barely stand the heat. The royals stare at me, entranced, their awestruck faces vacillating behind the burning wall. They remind me of that spellbound audience at the last circus in southern Sinta, and a knot forms in my chest. I miss my friends.

“Friends and lovers make you weak.”

“But what about Father?” I’m barefoot and wearing a shredded dress that barely reaches my knees. It used to be white. I’m dirty and starving, and she’s eating a spice cake dripping with cinnamon honey right in front of my cage.

Mother laughs, but there’s no joy in the sound. It’s cruel. “You think I care if he lives or dies?”