Scorched (A Ballad of Fire #1)

PROLOGUE

Months after the touch of the fire stone.

The realm of The Lost Wailing known as, The Azure.

“I am my father’s daughter.

Serene Deskyiara.

I will follow the prophecies' footsteps and be crowned the Scorching Queen.

But will I be burned in the process?”

ASH KICKS UP IN THE wind, irritating the shit out of my eyes.

I suck in a deep breath, tasting the scorching heat that bakes my skin.

Damn it. Why did I have to touch the stones? I should have known better.

With an irritating glance, my eyes scan the arena. The crowd above watches me intently, their eyes glued on me. Most of them are waiting to see me die.

But I won't, the Gods cannot take me today. I won’t allow it.

Not when revenge is coursing through me, ready to combust at any moment.

Foam spilled from mead rolls down the bricks of the arena from the drunken bastards that have been here for hours, using these games for their own sick entertainment.

They should know if their realm has the chosen victorian, their curses will vanish for a year.

Yet here they are, childish and useless.

They live life, freely, knowing the Queen would never choose them to fight.

Maybe the curses should last forever, so they can slowly be tortured till the day they die.

“I can’t believe people die for this shit,” I mumble under a deep breath. “Just to protect those who are cursed, and their Realm, only for a year.” My eyes lift, beaming a raging glare at them all.

But no matter how badly I want to run out from this pit, I’d never make it past the walls.

They all swarm around me in the stands like predators ready to pounce.

Hundreds of them. Most in battle gear, midnight-black leather suits with multicolored stones along their arms. Some in dresses, most likely those in cahoot with the Royals of Azure. All craving power.

Yet, I know none of them.

Most of them hate me. I’d hate me too.

The others want me to succeed in this test and yearn for my family line to continue to be warriors—the Royal bloodline.

Most of them are beginning to believe I am her. The one.

The tale of the one true Royal who would be able to take control of any of the four.

The one who would be able to ride them all.

Those of the Realm believe the one true Queen or King, would be able to connect on a deeper level with the gifts from the Gods compared to any others that walk this realm—most of the Realms believe I am her.

But in this moment, with the ash that floats across my boots and the flames that heat the arena around me, my body feels it may be scorched alive. I will fall, die, before I can ever rise to what they want me to be.

But I can’t be her. I just traveled here.

I am lost.

“I can’t wait to watch you die!” a man croaks to my right. His voice sends chills down my spine.

I don’t flinch.

I won’t give in to what they want me to do. Which is to feel weak.

To believe I cannot do this.

Despite the pain it will cause me to remember, I take a deep breath and remind myself of the training I have undergone the past few weeks. Especially with the two of… them.

I clench my eyes shut, my fingers rolling into fists, digging into my palms.

The countless hours of physical exercise and mental fortitude guidance. The bruises along my body still ache in misery with each movement. As well as the stitches that tug on my ribs, a wound that is still fresh from when I fought him.

The final men, twenty-two now if he is dead, and I have constantly been preparing for this, and we are nowhere close to being one of the chosen eight to fight the one they call the Wailing Mother. The fallen Queen.

No one has ever defeated her. Every year, Queen Antavianna, the ruler over the realm Azure, always handpicks the chosen eight that have shown strength not only physically, but deep in the core of their being. Deep in their soul.

She sees it in their eyes.

She sees it in the way they fight.

Year after year, throughout the battles to see what realm will be protected by the Light Stone, she pulls every man who fights in the battle games and brings them to her palace for a ritual.

She has the gift known as eidetic memory.

With the touch of her hands against any man or woman's head, she can replay their memories like a movie.

Through this, she determines who will be courageous enough to try and bring down the Wailing Mother.

To break the curses for good.

Even though only men have been chosen, I feel in my heart I am more ready than ever. If I can prove to them all to be something they need, maybe I can find Tilly.

Maybe I have a chance to save Alice. She is here. My body feels it.

My heart can feel her heart beating.

But as I stand here with men who scream for my death, I pray to the Gods I am right. That I have been chosen for this path for a reason.

Am I ready to be a part of the chosen eight? More than likely not.

As I am the only woman to ever be a part of the games.

The only woman to ever try to be one of the eight.

The only woman to ever be thrown in or considered by the Queen to have a chance to hold the Light Stone.

No matter who in the crowd screams or what they throw my way, they cannot stop me. I am ready for this beast, ready to face it head-on and rise from the ashes. I will be victorious. I must do everything in my power to fight anything and anyone who comes in my path… for my sister, Tilly.

The training I have received from those who do not believe I am the one fills me with a raging fire as thoughts replay in my mind, as if every fiber of my being is on the brink of combustion.

My stomach continues to churn. Sweat still runs like a river down my spine as I recall his lessons: remain calm in danger, be aware of every strike, and take control of your breathing.

Your breathing will be your biggest weakness.

Remembrance of his voice sends goosebumps along my body.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I recall his lips close to my ear.

“You are the chosen. You are Deskyiara.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a split moment. He isn’t here. I need to do this without him.

The echoes of stringed instruments and horns pulse into my soul, reminding me of the years back at home with my father and sister. We would sit on the patio swing and listen to the sounds of the rain bounce off our metal roof. The rhythm was almost like a song, a melody that soothed me.

I wondered if I would be like the King, Tyiesk Deskyiara, the man they believe is my father, known as the last true King of Azure, powerful and swift. He never hesitated. He never feared.

I must not fear my destiny.

My breath comes in shallow gasps as I peer into the darkness with a cautious eye.

I begin to count my breaths as my chest rises and falls, creating a steady pace for my body to withstand the battle that is to come.

The darkness in the cage is still while I wait for any sign of movement, nothing seeming to stir within its depths.

Yet still I feel something powerful lurking there.

Waiting to strike.

Waiting to kill me.

Fiery embers begin to sparkle in the darkness. Low popping and crackling sounds roar in the tunnel. Warm, amber light creeps along the dark gravel until finally, the whole tunnel is full of fire and smoke.

The crowd around me erupts into a deafening roar as the massive being prances out from behind a curtain of flames. It is none other than the legendary fire mare, an ancient creature forged by flame throughout its body.

Shit.

Of course she would throw me in here with the one that can burn people to ash.

Rule number one of surviving Azure, don’t piss off the Queen.