3. Maxim, King of Ember
Chapter Three
Maxim, King of Ember
Heatwaves billow across the border, bringing the horrifying scent of burning metal.
I crouch near an Ember Tower, the back of my neck prickling, the scorching sun beating at me as sharply as my instincts warn me of danger.
All morning, I’ve patrolled the border between my kingdom and the Iron Kingdom, assessing my warriors’ readiness for war. My cousin Kaiba, who is also the general in my army, joined me on patrol, heading east with me and now westward again. By accompanying me, he eases my presence near my warriors.
I’m a danger to all of them.
Moments ago, my golden serpent set down on the sand a hundred paces north of this tower located near the midpoint of the border.
I’m far enough away that the Ember warriors manning the tower won’t fear imminent death from my flames, even if that’s an illusion.
If my fire were to burst out of my control, it would reach far beyond that tower.
But I had good reason for stopping in this location.
Here, a break in the mountain range leaves my kingdom most heavily exposed to invasion.
When I became king, I had extra towers built along this flat expanse between mountains, forcing Antony to build extra Iron Towers too. An Iron Tower opposite every Ember Tower.
But Antony is no longer the Iron King.
His youngest brother, Hadrian, has usurped him.
Hadrian is the first Iron Fae with the power to control iron dust, a deadly skill. All fae, even Iron Fae, suffer extreme burns from contact with iron metal. Burns as severe as those caused by Ember fire.
For the past week, I’ve worked to ensure my warriors are ready to burn iron dust from the air.
I’m confident in their skills. After all, we deal with sandstorms all the time.
Their clothing is already fire-resistant and they wear hoods and masks to protect against the grit that swirls in our air.
They even practiced on plumes of sand, mastering the skill of widening their flames to burn every grain to ash.
The insidious metallic scent that now fills my chest sets my teeth on edge.
I scan the border, scrutinizing the quiet Iron Towers, seeking any hint of subterfuge. I’m aware of Kaiba, where he set down on the top of a tower three towers over, also focusing firmly on the towers across the border.
I tell myself that no Iron Fae would dare step from the temperate climate of the Iron Kingdom into the scorching heat across the border. Not at midday, as it is now.
When the False Queen’s curse split our land into three kingdoms, it also created distinct weather boundaries between them.
In the north, the Frost Kingdom’s snowstorms only blow north.
In the south, our hot winds only blow south.
Both of those weather phenomena ensure that the Iron Kingdom, which is situated between us, is protected from snow and drought.
But take one step across the Ember border and the hot sun beats down.
Even Ember Fae and our golden serpents can’t withstand midday sunlight for long.
For generations, this heat has protected us from any sort of daytime attack.
No Iron Fae, not even Hadrian, would risk crossing the border right now.
Just as, in the far north, no Iron Fae would risk attacking the Frost Kingdom during its nightly snowstorms.
Still, the unnerving metallic scent has put me on edge.
Across the distance, Kaiba raises his hand to me, his horn in his other hand.
Normally, he would have already signaled our warriors to seek shelter inside the cool, stone towers and for their serpents to burrow into the nearby dunes.
My people shelter in underground cities and generally sleep through the hottest part of the day.
My warriors and their serpents are well trained to recognize and respond to Kaiba’s commands. He never risks their welfare, and they return his care with loyalty and trust.
I take another moment to scrutinize the border, but the opposing towers appear calm. Not an Iron Fae or eagle in sight.
Trying to shake off my misgivings, I lift my hand, giving Kaiba my agreement for the men to take shelter.
As soon as Kaiba blows his horn, the faint hums of responding horns sound from the distance, indicating that all along the border, our warriors will seek the cooler environment inside the towers.
Kaiba gives me a final wave before he, too, disappears inside.
Within moments, I’m alone.
The sun doesn’t affect me. I could run across these dunes right now and barely lose breath.
A soft hissing draws my focus.
Not so alone, after all.
My serpent has remained nearby, even though he should have slithered into the dunes like the other serpents have.
He tosses his head at me as if he can hear my thoughts.
Like all golden serpents, he has a narrow head, similar to those of ancient dragons, and two long horns extending from the back of his skull, parallel to his body.
Although serpents don’t have wings or legs, they move by snaking their bodies, using their internal magic to remain aloft when they take to the air.
He’s the only serpent willing to carry me.
Even staying near me is a risk, which makes his continued presence now surprising.
“What is it?” I ask him.
He gives another hiss, his focus on the Iron Towers.
Those fucking towers. Last night, my people sighted Iron Fae transporting wooden crates to multiple towers along the border, including these ones.
The crates were made of the same ashen-brown wood that’s immune to my fire.
It’s the same wood, according to Antony, that restricts Thyra’s Oracle power.
Whoever carries a piece of it is protected from her Sight.
When I went to investigate the crates last night, I met Hadrian for the first time.
The encounter was unnerving. First, because Hadrian’s smug self-confidence is nearing fanatical. Second, because I was forced to retreat.
As has happened every night for the past week, one of Thyra’s blade visions struck me. During those visions, my mind is gone from my body, leaving me vulnerable to death.
I fucking hated having to flee instead of burning that cocky fuck to ash.
Well, it isn’t nighttime now, and my fire is at its worst.
Flames dance across the back of my hands as I step carefully toward the border, continuing my visual assessment of the Iron Towers.
Quickly reaching the border’s edge, I peer through the heatwaves that make the Iron Towers appear to shimmer, even though I know the air is cool over there.
For a long moment, nothing stirs.
I’m about to turn away when, from behind the nearest Iron Tower, comes the grinding sound of cogs.
The edge of a wooden contraption appears from behind that tower, the building’s breadth and height concealing the mechanism’s full form until it clanks farther out.
A giant catapult.
The whole thing made of the same ashen-brown wood I can’t burn…
More rapid grinding sounds come from each of the nearby towers, a catapult being pushed into place for each tower within the breach between the mountains.
Iron Fae finally appear behind them, pushing the contraptions into place using rods that allow them to remain at a distance, their furtive glances in my direction telling me they know I could end them.
Well, let them try to load those catapults and they’ll find out how quickly I can turn them to ash.
A snarl leaves my lips as I make out a row of what appears to be ceramic canisters resting in a groove along the mechanism’s lowest beam.
Fuck me.
The catapults are self-loading.
What’s more, the ropey part of the mechanism appears to be made of the same ashen-brown wood, but long strings of it, wound into a chain. Only Antony’s brother Victor could design such a thing. Whether or not Victor did it willingly, well, it doesn’t fucking matter to me.
What matters is that the canisters will undoubtedly contain iron dust.
The Iron Fae can fire the canisters across the border without having to risk their own lives since our winds will blow the dust south, away from the Iron Kingdom.
Raising my fingers to my lips, I give a sharp whistle before I launch into a run, sprinting across the border, racing toward the nearest catapult.
I might not be able to burn the structure, but I can decimate the canisters before they launch.
Fear is my enemy as I grit my teeth and tell myself I won’t burn out of control. My fire will not hurt my people. I will only hurt the Iron Fae.
Behind me, I’m aware of Kaiba blowing his horn and of Ember Fae spilling out from towers, taking up defensive positions in the heat.
They’re ready to fight. Unlike the Iron Fae, who are quickly retreating back into their tower.
Good. I’ll fucking burn them inside it.
Heat scorches through my arms, my power releasing in a rush.
A firebolt spears from my outstretched hand toward the catapult, smashing into the canisters within its lower beam.
Crack.
I skid to a stop, trying to process what’s happening when, instead of turning to molten lava, the canisters light up.
Almost as if…
That’s what they’re designed to do.
The catapult shoots, sending its first flaming projectile across the air above my head and toward the Ember Tower opposite.
All along the breach as far as I can see, catapults fire.
Canisters sail through the air.
The moment the projectiles enter Ember airspace, they catch fire.
My warriors raise their hands, their fire intertwining as they attempt to take the canisters down.
Dear Goddess of Truth and Light…
The burning canisters smash against the Ember Towers, crash against the sand, and blast through my warriors’ defensive lines.
They don’t contain pure iron dust, after all.
Something far worse.
Crimson-colored oil splashes across the sand, the stone, and my warriors, the liquid sickly sweet and metallic. Oil clearly contaminated with iron dust.
It isn’t the oil or the iron that’s lethal.
It’s the fucking black smoke rising from the burning oil, billowing across the air, carrying toxic iron into the chests of every fae breathing it in.
I’m running, shouting at my serpent to get back. “Get to a dune!”
Suddenly, the air fills with the screams of warriors whose throats and lungs are burning out.
Thick, poisonous smoke smothers the air around me.
My warriors can’t fight smoke.
I can’t fight smoke.
Smoke is our weapon. Fire is our weapon. We’ve never had to flee from either of them.
We don’t have stores of water in our towers. We are a people of fire.
“Kaiba!” I roar into the thickening darkness, sprinting through the toxic pall in the direction I last saw my cousin.
Every step I take only compounds my helplessness.
My body deals with the toxic iron fumes, protecting me, but with every beat of my cursed heart, I face the horrifying realization that my greatest power, my flames, are being used against me.
Now I understand why Hadrian brought in the wooden crates last night. He would have transported the ceramic canisters within those crates. That ashen-brown wood withstands heat and would have kept the canisters’ oily contents from exploding in transit.
I reach the tower where Kaiba was standing only moments ago. Before the smoke closed over this structure, I caught sight of him shouting to his men, calling them to retreat into the building.
Ripping open the trapdoor, I find my warriors huddled in the far corner of the first room.
“Kaiba!”
My hand lands on the shoulder of the nearest man, only for his body to fall sideways.
His throat is burned out.
“No…” I push through the bodies, my heart bursting with fear until Kaiba’s muffled voice reaches me.
“They piled on to save me.”
I push through the final bodies to find Kaiba slumped against the wall, his face wrapped in cloths, the material pulled up across his eyes.
“You need to get clear of the smoke,” I say. “Come with me!”
His response is quiet. “I won’t make it, cousin.”
A snarl grows in my throat. “Yes, you will.”
Hauling him upright and casting him across my shoulder, I tell myself I can control my flames.
I will carry my cousin safely to clear air without hurting him.
Through the trapdoor I run, my legs pumping, my grip on Kaiba unwavering.
Around me, a terrible silence has fallen.
Hadrian told me I would hear my people’s screams, but instead, there is only a strangled quiet, broken by the sizzle of flames, the popping of fire against stone, the rush of wind carrying the black smoke farther across my kingdom.
On I run, catching sight of my golden serpent, who soars toward me from the clear air, but I rage at him. “No!” He was supposed to be sheltering in a sand dune by now. “Stay back!”
I will not allow him to die in this smoke.
Finally, I’m clear of the dark pall, and I run up the side of a shallow dune behind which I can find some small shelter.
I lay Kaiba on the sand, rip the cloths from his face, and check his throat.
Not visibly burned out, but he isn’t breathing.
Thumping my fist against his heart, fighting the danger of my fire, I will him to live.
“Breathe, cousin!”
Across the distance, the Ember Towers are clouded in smoke.
Crimson rivers of oil and iron dust spread across the sand, bringing blood-red flames and more smoke with them.
The memory of Thyra’s first command to me beats down on me.
Come for me when the sun turns bitterly cold, and the sand bleeds iron. Come for me only then. Not before. You must earn what you desire, Maxim, King of Ember.
The second of her conditions is met: the sand is steeped in bloodied oil creeping beneath the bodies of my warriors.
But where is my bitterly cold sun?
I tip my head back to the sky. To the still-burning rays of a heartless sun.
My people are dying. My home will bleed.
And still, the Oracle is out of my reach.
“Is this not enough?” As I thump my fist onto my cousin’s unmoving chest, I rage into the choked silence, roaring for Thyra, even though she can’t hear me. “Thyra! Is this not enough?”