Page 28 of The Sun God’s Prize (Child of Scale and Fire #3)

They disarm me, of course, before I’m led into the temple, up the broad staircase, and through the massive, gold-plated doors.

I’ve only been here in daylight, just this morning—years ago--the interior now lit with seemingly endless rows of lanterns that fill the shining interior with an ethereal glow.

It’s a far different experience than it was before, the temple’s main concourse empty and quiet.

Perhaps I’m meant to be impressed by it, but I am not, the seething anger I’ve been simmering in since I rose from the pool—long before then, if I’m honest—bubbling like magma ready to surface and burn all of this down.

On the one hand, I should be grateful. I’m about to get the chance to kill the Sun God.

Please don’t , the dragon whispers to me. That would complicate matters .

We’ll see. Because on the other hand, I’m here for a specific reason and I’ve come too far, been through too much, to throw it all away on revenge.

While it might have to wait, I can cling to the chance to cut him down for the time being, at least.

The temple’s massive interior rings with the footfalls of the guards who surround me, only one of Brem’s former order in their number.

She leads me directly toward the thrones at the far end, though we turn right at the pedestal where those seats rise above us, striding through an arched doorway and into a broad corridor beyond.

It’s lined with open arches overlooking an equally lit garden, lush and quiet at night, but beautiful for its stillness.

The sound of splashing water precedes a massive fountain’s appearance as we exit the hallway and stride into a large, circular opening, paths leading off in the four cardinal directions, the giant water feature dominating the center.

I barely glance up at the golden depiction of the Sun God, massive and towering over us all, one of his carved hands reaching up toward the sky, his benevolent expression only infuriating me further.

The black-clad warrior chooses the right path yet again, and we’re entering yet another of those garden-lined corridors that ends in a massive door depicting a massive sun with rays shooting off in stylized and gem-encrusted golden beams.

I’m unsurprised to find myself in the entry of a throne room, the arching ceiling painted like the sky at midday and lit carefully to look like it’s still light out.

A marvel, but one I can’t appreciate as I’m led as much as I’ll allow myself to be without pushing past the warrior leader down the length of the massive room, polished stone beneath me reflecting back the gorgeous ceiling’s artwork and light, as though I’m walking on a flat, glassy pool of impossibly still water all the way to the base of the dais at the end.

His throne here is backed by another towering statue of himself, this time reaching out toward me with both hands extended, palms up, a sun resting above them, somehow suspended over them in a manner I can’t see. Like I fucking care.

I do not .

The Sun God is not alone, and of course, my former patron and owner of the Dome of Women, Yiratille Rae, is seated at his feet.

She’s sipping wine and eating candied fruit like she’d been there all along.

I’d missed her departure from the Dome. She must have exited the orgy when she’d had her fill, come scurrying here to tell the Sun God that his prize was leaving.

But why does she care? Her excitement when Romouth revealed my identity earlier was paired with an odd understanding, a sort of relief to find me here.

She’s played a part in my arrival, of that I have no doubt, but is she being manipulated by the dragon?

Or is there someone else pulling threads I don’t know about?

Why do either of them give a shit about me?

“Your highness.” The Sun God speaks directly to me, his dark eyes disinterested, his attitude as uncaring as before, though at least he’s addressing me like I’m a person. “Welcome.”

“I don’t feel welcome,” I say, glancing around me at the guards who still circle me. “I feel like I’m still a slave.”

“Unfortunate,” he says, flicking his fingers at the women who brought me here.

The guards salute and retreat, though the black-clad and scarved leader seems hesitant to do so.

Does she know I would love nothing more than to leap onto the raised platform and break the neck of her little toy god with my bare hands?

“You are a guest here, Princess Remalla of Heald.”

I snort a laugh, because he’s got to be fucking kidding me. “I won your stupid game,” I say. “I’m free. So, I’ll be leaving now.”

“You were never meant to the fate that befell you.” He speaks over me, shaking his head, mournful look a melancholy apology that startles me. “In fact, your presence here was requested long before your arrival, and your discovery in the Dome today was a shock to us all.”

I call bullshit. “You saw me on the sand,” I say. “You knew who I was.” My gaze flickers to Yiratille. She doesn’t even flinch. “You had every opportunity to pull me out of the contest. And yet.” I spread my hands. “You left me to fight. So, you’ll forgive me if I call you a fucking liar.”

Someone gasps, the warrior woman in black half-drawing a thick, heavy dirk from her waist, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet.

I know Brem’s moves. I’m prepared and, like it or not, I can take this bitch down with the gift of my friend’s knowledge.

But she’s not alone, and there are only so many I can fight before I die.

Taunting the god king is not what I meant , the dragon sighs with some sarcasm.

Then you shouldn’t have led me here , I snarl back at her.

The Sun God doesn’t seem to notice I’m even unhappy, ignoring the fact I’ve just insulted him altogether.

“You were already engaged in the battle,” he says, sorrow increasing as he shrugs as though we’re discussing a minor matter of inconvenience, not the deaths of hundreds.

“The crowd’s demands had to take precedence.

But I was assured you would prevail, as you have.

Congratulations on your impressive win, your highness.

Your mother’s reputation, and your own now, are intact and reinforced, dare I say, in the hearts and minds of the Sunnish people. ”

I’m about to tell him where he can shove that hollow sentiment, when he rises and comes toward me, clearly lacking in self-preservation, because he has no idea he’s walking into his own death.

“I ask you to accept the apology of my people for their errors and for the way you were treated during your journey here.” Not his apology, though.

I guess gods don’t say they’re sorry. “The guilty parties have been dealt with appropriately.”

Who those parties are, I don’t care, though now I’m really confused. Enough that I don’t take advantage of the situation and kill him then and there. “Fuck you,” I say.

Again, he doesn’t even register my curse, as if he didn’t hear me at all. Is he soft of the mind? Or does he simply not listen to anyone but his own prattling? “You are here to serve me, as was agreed to by your ruler. You will join my concubines, and all of what happened will be forgotten.”

The man is delusional. I splutter, the audacity so utterly ridiculous that I’m unable to speak or protest outside of staring with my eyes widening, my mouth hanging open, and my ability to kill him lost to the shock that rolls through me.

Oh, dear , the dragon whispers.

That helps, surprisingly, and I inhale as I return to myself, my hands clenching at my sides, his life about to end. And to the fire with the consequences.

“It would be a shame,” Yiratille says so casually that she catches my attention and saves her Sun God’s life for the time being, “to have to kill you, Princess Remalla, over such an unfortunate comedy of errors.” She sighs, as equally deluded as her ruler.

Like what I just endured was inconsequential, a simple mistake now corrected, and not the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing experience it was.

“Your fate was decided, as is required of a princess of the Overkingdom, by your ruler, Gyster. I suggest you obey his command to make yourself prostrate and supplicant to your new lord and master, the Most Holy Sun God Glae Isthisahaloun, Tenth Rising of the Lord of All that Rises.”

And now I know exactly who was behind my kidnapping. Not the dragon.

“Hallick,” I whisper. “I’m going to find you and cut you a new asshole.” Right after I—

If you fight , the dragon says in a weary voice, you’ll die .

I’m ready to do just that. I will not submit, I choke, even in my head, while the man who thinks he’s a god observes me without a trace of concern on his face.

I know , she says. But we need you, Flame, alive. Please, endure. We will find a way to finish this before it’s too late . She fades again. I hope .

Escape it is, then.

“I dare you to try and touch me,” I say, quiet enough that only the Sun God hears me. And let him see just what I think of the idea.

Have I finally reached him? Penetrated that obliviousness that seems to consume him?

There’s a new trace of concern in his eyes, and he retreats from me, in short, hesitant and jerking movements, like he’s unused to such treatment, unsure of what to do with me.

When he sits again, he’s visibly bemused, rather than angry, and waves one hand.

The warrior in black resheathes her dirk, and stands down.

“Take my prize to quarters to await my bidding,” he says.

Someone is going to die tonight. And yes, it just might be me after all. But I’m taking a whole lot of others with me when I go.

But not until I get my swords back. The sight of bows and arrows in the hands of guards who line the room also gives me pause.

My mother’s death is suddenly fresh in my mind again, and while it was the way she chose to go, I will not fall like she did in a futile battle when I might find another way to exit this truly ridiculous farce.

It would be funny, absurd, if I weren’t so angry.

I’m taken to a set of quarters far more extravagant than the ones I’ve been living in and even more so than the ones in the princess wing in the Citadel, the wide-open walls draped with gossamer curtains that waver in the breeze, heady scents of lush flowers filling the giant bedroom, centered by a massive, raised bed platform filled with pillows covering the thick mattress.

The large, carved door is locked behind me, the black-clad warrior staring at me for a long moment before she disappears behind the thud and sound of it being locked.

No doubt it’s also guarded, and when I pad to the window, more guards—the Sun God’s gold-clad ones, not her order’s sort, at least—line the walls of the garden, stiff and formal and watchful.

I will have no privacy, then. I could leap up onto the rooftops and escape that way, but they bear bows, and I’m in no mood to dodge arrows as I flee from an unfamiliar place.

If I’m to have any chance of escape, at least I only have his ordinary guards to fight.

If he chooses to send Brem’s former order in numbers, there will be no way out.

So, I will take my bearings first, give him no reason to switch out those fighters, and the fire protect the Sun God if he decides to come visit me tonight.

He will not survive the encounter.

At least there’s another pool here, and another room filled with clothing of floating silks and gold-cut fabrics, cosmetics and perfumes awaiting my pleasure.

A tray of the sticky fruits I first encountered with the slave masterre Vunoshe waits on a tray next to two pitchers, one holding water and the other a spicy scented alcohol I ignore, both slick with condensation.

I pace the room several times, checking exits, looking for ways out of this new cage I’ve found myself in, and finally sit on the bed, scowling at the door.

I have to choose. Either I stay and wait for my chance to escape, or I take a chance and go now, steal weapons on the way, dodge their archers, find the dragon who has led me to this mess that my life has become.

The weariness hits me like a blow, and I fall back into the cushions, but I will not weep. I’m done with crying, embracing my rage instead, letting it simmer and fuel me. All while I scream into the nothing in my head that used to house the kinspark.

ATLAS! ZENTHRIS!

And the kinspark… flickers.

I sit upright, throwing my entire being into them, into reaching them.

But they are so far away, the flicker fading as fast as it rose, and now I am sobbing, but out of rage and frustration, punching the pillows so hard that I burst one into a flight of feathers, the soft result floating around me in a slow, drifting cascade as they settle.

I’m sorry , the dragon whispers.

I can’t do this anymore , I tell her, covering my face in my hands. I’m done .

Remalla , she says. She’s never used my name before. The sound of it is full of her own grief.

I just need to see them , I say. To feel them. Somehow .

She’s quiet, but when she speaks, she sounds hopeful. There might be a way , she says. Go to sleep, Flame. And let me see what I can do to light the spark again .

Sleep, is she insane? But a lassitude falls over me, despite my state, and I realize she’s influencing me. Do I dare rest? Is it even safe to close my eyes? I sink back into the cushions once more, eyes closing, the simmering rage a distant thing as the quiet of sleep calls to me.

I drift into the dark, body humming with the tingle that is my connection to her. And when I open my eyes again, I’m calm, adrift.

But I’m not alone.

Lips brush mine, breath in my mouth, hands on my skin. I’m naked somehow, but unafraid, as their touch drifts in and out, their scents so familiar I ache from the taste of them, the way they feel, the spark rising slowly, almost unfelt until it’s there in a wave and I’m on fire—

Atlas. Zenthris.

Remi , they say together.

As the flames consume us all.

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