5. Ilaris #2
I recalled the way fire had danced out of him, hovering on his palms, ready to destroy.
He was ancient magic, beautiful yet deadly.
Again I waited for terror to send me fleeing, but all I sensed was wonder and the increasing need to know his story.
It curled within, a buoyancy, a pride in what I’d done to wake him along with a lingering craving.
No one back at the House of Scholars would believe me.
But they’d see when I wrote up my report, when I translated the runes and came back with the true story of what actually happened during the Great Sundering.
All thoughts of finding the Rod, the Heart, and the Stone drifted away.
Knowledge was better than priceless treasure. Wasn’t it?
He paused as we approached the archway. The horned dog trotted around the large boulders, and the giant moved to the left and sat down heavily. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he hid his face in his hands and sat there, unmoving.
Grieving?
Unsure what to say, I sat cross-legged on the boulder across from him and pulled out my notebook.
Flipping to another page, I took out my pencil and started sketching, the way he sat hunched over, the size of his large hands covering his face, the fall of his hair, the way the wind tugged at his pants, as though comforting him.
The longer I sketched, the more a thrill washed over me.
I was sitting in the ruins with, perhaps, the last giant.
I’d made a grand discovery. Should I write to the House of Scholars and tell them what I’d done?
Surely it would be enough to lift the restrictions, to bring me back to the life I desired.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he straightened, and I had a sudden glimpse of the rawness of him, the depths of his beautiful eyes, the slump of his shoulders as though he carried a heavy burden.
It was there, transparent for only a few moments before his expression hardened.
He pulled himself together and faced me.
Even sitting down, he was just as intimidating, and I put down my pencil, fingers smudging the drawing. If I were in his place, what would I want to know? He must have dozens of questions, and I didn’t want to invoke his anger or bring about more harsh questions.
Resting a hand on my notebook, I spoke first. “Experts calculate that it’s been about six thousand years since the Great Sundering.
That’s what we call the event that destroyed your people, the giants, and reduced this city to ruins.
It’s always been a source of mystery and rumors—what actually happened and why?
I spoke to the villagers who treat this ancient city with the utmost respect.
They rarely visit this island and did not seem keen on my coming here.
But I seek knowledge. I’m making a record of the truth, and I’d like to hear your side of the story. ”
“You are not a warrior? You are dressed as one.”
I looked down at my armor. “I. . .it was a gift and I thought. . .better to wear it in case. . .” I trailed off, shuddering as I remembered the beating on the train. “For safety.”
“Then you are one who uses words as magic. A philosopher.”
I bit back a laugh. “I’m a scholar, but I don’t have magic.”
“Is magic widely used now?”
I shook my head. “No, in fact, it’s rare for anyone to use magic.”
Something shifted and a curiosity came over his face. “Then it has happened. There are no mages, no sorcerers? No one who would stand against me?”
I cleared my throat, wondering what he meant. “There are still warriors, armies.”
“There have always been. And you, little one, you are not from here, are you? You speak of a House of Scholars. What is that?”
“I’m from the great city. It’s far north, seven days by train.” I paused. “You probably don’t know what a train is. It’s faster than a horse, man-made, and we can ride on it. Day and night. It will take us far in little to no time. . .”
He waved his hand impatiently. “I understand. We had great beasts we rode on, much faster than horses. The concept is the same, even though the mode of transport is different all these years later. But you are here to study the past, to understand what happened here. The knowledge I have is valuable. What will you give me for it?”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I hadn’t anticipated that he’d want something in exchange. What did I have to give him? I toyed with my pencil, eyeing him again. “What do you want?”
He stood, his shadow stretched long, towering over me.
I sucked in a deep breath, awed by his power, his presence, the way he seemed to drink in the falling light.
His bare chest was in full view: the hard muscles of his stomach, the breadth of his shoulders, the fire still flickering beneath his skin like a barely contained inferno.
Just looking at him left me feeling weak. Soft. Mortal.
Fighting to regain control over my spiraling emotions, I closed my sketchbook and tucked it back into my bag, repeating my question. “What do you want?”
He moved closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. But I could not bring myself to look at him, lest he scan me with his all-seeing gaze and know exactly what kind of emotional response his presence elicited.
“I am Killian, Prince of the Giants. My magic takes the shape of fire and my birthright is to rule this world. I will take back what’s mine, wreak havoc across this land, and get my revenge. You are going to help me.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Help him rule? Not this island or the ruins, but the world?
I shifted back, putting the boulder between us. “The time of giants has ended. Humans rule the world now, and if—if they knew what you wanted to do, they wouldn’t let you. There will be opposition.”
He crossed his arms, his gaze shifting down. “You found the scroll, read it, and broke the spell that held me. You’re going to come with me and do the same for my brethren.”
“There are more of you?” I squeaked.
“It is clear you have a power over words.” His head tilted, those molten eyes raking across my body. “So, I shall spare your life.”
Spare my life. The words hung in my mind, and this time dread tightened across my body like a noose. But there was no time for frozen fear. I had to act quickly to escape from this unraveling situation. My fists tightened around the scroll.
The scroll. It was the key, the only power I had.
Fire underneath Prince Killian’s skin shifted, embers of light captivating yet deadly. I ignored the tug deep in my belly, focusing on logic, not my emotions. If there were no scroll, there’d be no use for me. I had one chance, one opportunity to escape.
With trembling fingers, I hurled the scroll at his face, then spun on my heel and ran.