King of Fire and Flames (Courts of the Star Fae Realms #2)

Chapter 2

Leaf

When I woke up, I found myself tied to a pole, a wall of flames surrounding me. Heart pounding, I struggled against the chains that linked my hands together behind my back, unable to even wipe sweat out of my eyes.

I released a volley of curses and bucked against the restraints.

Moaning, I squinted through the ring of fire magic, but couldn’t see shit. Heat licked over my skin, scorching hot, but somehow the magical flames didn’t burn me. Beyond them, only darkness loomed, and low voices murmured beneath the whoosh and crackle of fire.

Dust, where in the hells was I?

“Melaya,” a male voice barked out.

The fire mage’s smirk appeared between the flickering flames, and then the owner of the menacing voice sidled up beside him. A tall fae with a wiry build, chestnut hair falling in loose waves to the middle of his back, and an unpleasant aura hovering around his shoulders.

“Take care, Melaya,” he said, the casual cruelty of his voice chilling, despite the suffocating heat. “I don’t wish to roast the human just yet. She may turn out to be compliant.”

I seized upon the word yet and let it tumble around the chaos of my mind. The fire fae planned to kill me. Perhaps not immediately, but eventually. That much was clear.

The mage shouted a command, and the ring of flames disappeared.

The fae issuing the orders strode toward me, and I finally got a good look at him. A crown of black flames writhed like windswept shadows around his brow, and flakes of charcoal sloughed off its wood, eddying around the male’s shoulders.

The crown was a magical thing, as was the fae who wore it—Azarn, the Fire King. It had to be him.

Boot heels clicked over flagstones as he stalked a tight circle around me. My eyes adjusted, and shapes emerged from the shadows, the light from braziers dotted throughout the courtyard revealing figures huddled in a far corner, whispering secrets.

Probably Esen, Raiden, and perhaps a few counselors or torturers, all smacking their lips in anticipation of making me scream and confess to deeds I’d never committed.

Behind crumbling arched columns, the top section of a black tower thrust its turret through a star-studded sky, making me think that the courtyard might be located somewhere high, near an outer wall of Taln’s palace.

At my feet lay Arrow’s cloak, the embroidered feathers dulled by dust and grime. Given how much I hated it, the sight should thrill me, but it only made me sad.

The king seized my chin, turning my face for his inspection. “Are we certain this is the girl?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Of course,” Esen replied, the staccato clack of her boots echoing as she strutted from the shadows. “I know the human well. Check her teeth. Not even the best glamour can hide bones. And she has the feather glyph on her neck, too.”

A rough thumb prized my lips apart.

Azarn chuckled. “Yes, I see the gap. By all reports, it fascinated the Storm Idiot unduly.”

Storm Idiot? I approved of this new nickname and planned to adopt it for my own use. That is, if I lived through the night.

The king’s hand slid over the Aldara mark on my throat, but he pulled away with a hiss as the glyph activated, causing him pain.

“Curse Arrowyn Ramiel,” he snarled, then turned to Melaya. “Can you remove the mate mark?”

The mage, a fae of few words, shook his head, unbothered by his king’s growing fury.

“For your sake, Melaya, you had better find a way.”

Not blinking once, the mage stared him down, and the king looked away first.

Helpless frustration rippled through me. I wanted to scream, spit, bite, and curse, but I gritted my teeth instead and focused on the Fire King’s vivid gaze.

Those green eyes flashed bright against his dark jacket—padded shoulders tapering to a tight waist, embroidered with flames and tiny roosters of all things, all outlined in shiny red thread.

My first impression of Azarn was of a bitter sorcerer with low self-esteem, rather than the warrior king that Arrow had told me tales of. The fae who stood before me was a ghoulish crow. A gaunt raven king with the beginnings of a slight stoop weighing down his shoulders.

A smile spread over his face, the warm-toned skin stretching over sharp bones, creating cruel hollows below his cheeks. Two long streaks of gray framed his face, and a soft curve of flesh flopped over the silver belt at his hips, aging him beyond the youthful fae I’d pictured in my imagination.

Stroking the point of his short beard, he studied me intently. “You have no gift of tears for me, Zali Omala? No pleading and begging for your life?”

I spat on his boot, my teeth clacking as his swift backhand crashed my skull against the pole.

The king laughed and waved his hand at Esen. “The girl is exactly as Arrowyn described. Take her away before I lose my dinner. The stench of the human sickens me.”

Raiden emerged from the shadows and unfastened my chain from the pole before locking my wrists in front of my body.

“Here we are again, king’s guard ,” I said. “You mishandling me at a corrupt ruler’s bidding. Demeaning duties for a fae warrior, don’t you think?”

Avoiding my gaze, he said nothing.

Esen seized my arm and tugged me toward an overgrowth of ivy creeping its way over an arched wooden door. “And you ,” she grumbled, “still can’t keep your foolish mouth shut to save your life.”

I opened my foolish mouth to lash out a response, but the king’s voice boomed behind me, thankfully interrupting my reply.

“Wait,” he said. One more thing, Princess of Dirt and Bones—”

“Dust and Stones,” I said, “if you wish to be correct. But you can call me whatever you like. Unkind words don’t trouble me.”

“May I suggest you consider how to use your words more wisely, human, because tomorrow, you will meet my son, Prince Bakhur. And if you wish to live, he had better like you.”

Shit. That didn’t sound good. And why in the realms should I care what his son thought of me?

As Esen creaked the door open and tugged me through it, laughter tittered behind me. Female laughter.

“Who were the ladies? Azarn’s queen and her servant?” I asked.

“No, the king’s sisters—Marcella and Ruhh,” she replied.

Esen shoved me along a dim hallway lit by flames flickering in a bank of mirrors that lined the walls. Strange, but there were no sconces opposite them, and the flames seemed to burn from inside the mirrors themselves.

“Esen, I know Azarn had two sisters, and in the carriage, you told me one of them was dead.”

“Yes, I did. Ruhh is deceased.”

I stumbled on the first step of a wide staircase. “If she’s dead, how can she be cackling in the shadows of a courtyard with her sister?”

“You’ll see tomorrow,” said Esen ominously.

I glanced over my shoulder at Raiden who had Arrow’s cloak slung over his arm. “Did you carry me unconscious from the carriage and tie me to that pole?”

Silence was my only answer.

“What’s wrong with you, Raiden? Left your tongue in Coridon?”

Esen paused on a small landing. “Stop pestering him,” she said. “He hasn’t been feeling himself of late.”

I shrugged. As if I cared about the feelings of my captors.

We stepped through a door leading to a narrow staircase that spiraled up the inside of a tower, and other than a few well-placed sconces, the stone walls were bare. We started up the stairs, Raiden behind me and Esen in front.

On the sixth step, with my hands spread as wide as the chain allowed, I lunged and ripped the knife from the sheath at her waist and kicked my boot up behind me, hitting Raiden’s groin. Holding my breath, I drove the blade toward the blue-haired fiend’s chest as a blast of magic threw me against the stone wall.

“Fucking dust.” I dropped in a heap and stared up at Esen’s grinning face. “How did you do that?”

“Same way your brother Quin did.” Esen grabbed my throat. “Now stop wasting our time with old tricks and get up.”

“What can I say? I’m a creature of habit,” I said, wishing I could reach around and rub the bruises blooming on my back.

With a hand cupping his balls, Raiden groaned, then pulled me onto my feet.

“You all right?” Esen asked.

He nodded.

“Didn’t I warn you to watch out for this one? She’s worse than a feral orc.”

While they dragged me up more stairs, eventually stopping on the seventh landing, I wondered why she’d needed to warn Raiden when he was already well-acquainted with my fondness for violent escapes.

Had he lost his memories as well as his entire personality?

Two winged trolls stood on either side of a carved oak door, and to my left, stars shone through a small, unglazed window. I stood on my toes and peered through it.

Raiden dragged me away, but not before I’d seen the jagged black rocks at the bottom of the tower. There would be no easy escape from my new lofty prison.

Esen unlocked the cuffs around my wrist and hung the chain from her belt. “Go inside,” she said, opening the door.

Ignoring her, I smiled at the troll guards, but neither met my gaze, which was disappointing. During my time in Coridon, I’d learned much could be achieved by treating my captors with kindness—alliances forged and escape plots hatched once friendships were firmly established.

I should probably remember that whenever I spoke to Esen. If I could soften her up, she might prove useful. But was it worth befriending someone who sold their loyalty to the highest bidder?

She frowned as I stared at her, unmoving. “Zali, I won’t ask again.”

“Esen.” I tried a smile, which she ignored. “Please tell me why I’m here in Taln.”

Gripping my shoulders, she gently pushed me backward into the room. “You will stay here in your new chambers until the morning. You won’t starve. Food will be served. At some point tomorrow, you’ll be brought into the Great Hall. There, all will be made clear.”

“But—”

Raiden swept past Esen and threw the cloak inside the room. As he started to close the door, I pressed my weight against it. “Wait, Raiden. Please. Can you get a message to your king?”

“Azarn?” he asked, his voice a little rougher than I remembered.

“No. The Storm Idiot.”

Brown eyes stared at me, and Esen crossed her arms, tapping her boot against the floor.

I released a loud sigh. “If either of you can get word to Arrow, please inform him that he’s a worthless piece of lizard shit, and that an unbroken fire dragon would be more loyal, more honorable than him. And tell him… tell him when he least expects it, I’ll come for him, and it won’t be a pleasant reunion.”

Raiden snorted and slammed the door in my face, locking it briskly and leaving me to gape, slack-jawed, at my new temporary residence.

It looked comfortable, which surprised me. I wondered why the fire fae hadn’t thrown me into a stinking dungeon far beneath their dreadful palace, like the Storm Idiot had done when I first arrived in Coridon.

I strolled around the room, taking inventory of all it contained.

Three metal oil lamps hung on hooks on the semi-circular walls, illuminating a canopy bed, a plump couch, a desk, a mirrored dresser, and a tall wooden closet. Behind a screen painted with flames, I found a door leading to a bathroom containing a tub, basin, and a toilet. Except for the white fur blankets and cushions, every item in the large room was black or a shade very close to it.

A bank of arched windows ranged on the stone wall facing the sea, unfortunately too high to access, but I sighed in relief at the window seat on the right side of the bed. Even obstructed by bars, the view of the crescent moon and dark ocean was beautiful. A pleasant place to sit, contemplate my fate, and plot my escape.

The palace was perched on formidable cliffs at the far point of a cape, so even if I somehow prized the bars off the window and jumped, I would wind up splattered on the rocks. Food for the crabs when the tide lapped hungrily in.

Although the room was attractive and comfortable, with air heated to the perfect temperature, and according to Esen, I would be well-fed, I hoped I wouldn’t live here long. Even if that meant the fire fae killed me. Because if I couldn’t escape, death was preferable to living out my life as a prisoner.

I shook the dirt from the Storm Idiot’s cloak, contemplated throwing it through the bars of the window, and then folded it neatly on a shelf inside the large closet made of glossy red wood.

Then I stripped off my sweaty leathers and bathed in the tub before sliding into a black nightdress that had been laid out neatly on the bed.

Fighting tears, I slid under the covers and spent at least an hour or two worrying about Van and Ari, wondering if they’d heard the news of Arrow’s betrayal. Praying they were safe.

Eventually, I fell into nightmares set in the pavilion in Coridon, with the Storm King touching me everywhere. And worse—whenever he stopped, I moaned and begged him to continue.