Page 15 of Wild Flame (Wild Bond #2)

Chapter Fifteen

T he moment the sun set and darkness began to fall, I found myself standing with the other residents of the castle in the large courtyard at the entrance of the palace, surrounding the largest unlit bonfire I had ever seen. Everyone in attendance had taken special care with their appearance tonight, but not in the way I would have expected. Everyone was dressed simply—the women in beige or cream gowns and very little adornment or jewelry, while most of the men wore simple pants and tunics, or were altogether shirtless. Their black tattoos and Zehvitian markings gleamed on tanned skin. The restrained form of dress was to represent baring yourself before the Nine and laying everything before them.

I felt entirely overdressed, much like I always did, though Astrid had helped me choose a pale blue gown with shortened sleeves and made of a thinner material. But based on what some of the other women were wearing, I could have just worn my shift.

Malik, of course, looked magnificent, and I couldn’t deny it, not even to myself as he stood in the center of the courtyard before the waiting pile of wood and kindling. He wore dark flowing pants, with a white sash around his waist, and his broad, defined chest and muscular arms were bare. The black markings up and down his arms glimmered in the firelight of the torch he held. Heat pooled in my gut at the sight of him and the thought that he wanted to spend the celebration with me.

What could he ever see in the likes of you?

I shook off the errant thought and took in the large dragon beside Malik. Azrun looked as huge and intimidating as ever as he sat back on his haunches, regarding those assembled with gleaming yellow eyes.

I glanced away and looked around, feeling the quiet anticipation that seemed to permeate the air. The torch Malik held was the only light in the entire city, save for the fading light in the sky and the stars that were just beginning to emerge.

Zara, who stood next to me with Mesmera on her shoulder, must have guessed my thoughts. “It’s customary for there to be no fires or lanterns lit tonight, save those birthed from one initial flame. It’s in honor of an ancient tribal tradition signifying rebirth and change.”

Several red-robed priests and priestesses, many of them no doubt Hollow Ones, stood near Malik at the front of the crowd. As the last of the weak light faded from the sky, they nodded to Malik.

He stepped forward without hesitation and lowered the torch. The kindling caught almost instantly, and then Azrun added his breath to the flames. The bonfire burst into blazing life. The heat from it was intense as everyone cheered.

Runners approached with torches and quickly lit them in the flames, then took off to share them with the rest of the darkened city. Many of those assembled were also holding candles and began lighting those as well.

Zara had continued speaking, explaining more about the holiday traditions, but now I barely heard her as I tried to breathe through my nerves as the sound and heat of the fire engulfed my senses.

When I finally got my breathing under control, I was glad to see Zara hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Malik approached us then, taking me in with a pleased glint in his eye. He smiled at Zara before extending one bare, muscular arm to me. “Shall we?”

After giving her brother and me a knowing smile, Zara bowed her head and left us alone. As we left the courtyard and the palace behind and made our way down into the city streets, sultry music, the sweet and spicy scent of food, and ringing laughter surrounded us. My guards and his walked several paces behind us. They were at a discreet enough distance they couldn’t hear what we said, or at least I hoped they couldn’t. We were also accompanied by Azrun. Malik’s dragon walked on his other side, his presence ensuring most people kept a respectful distance.

Neither of us said anything as we walked, simply taking it all in.

For starting out as having no light at all less than a quarter hour ago, the city around us was near glowing with light now. I tried not to react to all the bonfires and candles and flames surrounding us. My anxiety at being so close to so much fire probably lent some sharpness to my tone as I finally spoke. “I don’t appreciate your strong-arming me into an outing with you,” I told him.

He regarded me from under his dark brows. “Is that what I’m doing, siren?”

I glared at him. “You know very well it is.”

“If you prefer to see it that way, I cannot stop you,” he said. “But I hope what I have planned can in some way make up for any insistence on my part.”

I shot him a look. “What plans?”

The familiar glint was back in his eyes. “You’ll see.” He refused to tell me more as he led me deeper into a part of the city I had not yet explored.

I was amazed at how relaxed but respectful people were around Malik as we walked, and how they, for all intents and purposes, appeared to love their prince. People were, in turn, courteous to me as well. Though I didn’t miss the surprise and confusion on many of their faces as they realized who I was. Why had their future king chosen to spend the holiday with the princess of another kingdom? Why not Priya or one of the other women? Little did they know, I wondered the same.

When we finally reached what I assumed was our destination, I was pleasantly surprised. It was an outdoor theater with tiers of stone benches that led downward to a flat stage floor at its base. People were already filling up the rows of seating around us as the guards cleared a path and Malik led me down to a bench in the front row. The whole place was magnificent. We had nothing like it in Nevgard. Though, I suppose the cold weather was such that for much of the year, an outdoor theater would be impractical.

I could feel Malik watching me as I glanced around in awe. Azrun leapt up and sat on Malik’s other side.

“What is the performance?” I couldn’t help but ask.

He smiled. “A play. The Breaking of Palasia. Considering your love of music, I thought you might enjoy it.”

My eyes went wide. “I’ve never been to a formal play.” Well, except for the one he had interrupted the night he followed me.

His brow pinched. “They do not have theater in Halmar?” he asked. “I find that hard to believe.”

I shook my head. “No, they do . . . I simply was not allowed to attend. My mother . . . sees little value in the arts, though she and my father still attend when required.”

When I met his eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason, he simply said, “Then I am glad to share the experience with you.”

My chest warmed. We continued staring at one another, locked in that same charged moment, when the first actor appeared from behind the tall curtains that had been erected across the open space.

I finally turned forward, and it wasn’t long before I was captivated by the actors, the singing, and the entire performance. At the final heartbreaking note of the last number, I had tears streaming down my face and was the first to stand and clap when they were done.

I turned to Malik as I wiped the tears away, a huge smile on my face. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Oddly, Malik appeared slightly stunned as his eyes traveled my face, lingering on my mouth. He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome.”

As we left the performance and returned to the street, we passed a small crowd of people clustered around a seller holding up a tiny, worn lamp. It looked like nothing special, but everyone was staring at it with awe.

“It holds a djinn,” Malik explained.

I looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

“The lamp,” he repeated, “holds a djinn. Or at least so the seller claims.” At my look of confusion, he continued, “They usually inhabit desert caves and can only be caught through deceit. They’re shapeshifters that grant wishes to whoever owns the object they are tied to. But they are dangerous tricksters. They’re usually ancient, and skilled at twisting truth. Rarely does your wish give you what you truly ask for.”

“Have you ever encountered one?” I asked, curious.

He shook his head. “No. When I was young and foolish enough to be interested in such things, my father forbade it. He told me a man was a fool to wish for something he could make happen himself through his own effort.”

“That is wise advice,” I murmured.

Malik grunted. “He had his moments.”

I had heard conflicting things about the late king’s relationship with his eldest son. As I studied Malik’s profile, I tried to reconcile the man before me with what I knew of the father who raised him. King Nazeem, according to my father and the stories I had heard over the years, was a ruthless warrior and a cunning leader, but also brutal and unforgiving. And if rumors were to be believed, he had been the aggressor behind the twenty-five-year war between Zehvi and Baldor that had only come to an end about three years ago.

I thought back to what Zara had said about her feelings towards her father and Malik’s own complicated relationship with him. They often butted heads. Malik is strong willed, and Father pushed him. It could not have been easy to live up to the expectations of a father like that. Then again, Malik apparently had. Many, my father included, believed him to be his father’s son in every way. Just as ruthless and cunning, if a little less serious and more charming of demeanor. But from what I was coming to know of him, I wondered at the comparison.

I took in the white sash at his waist. “Are you sad that he is gone?” I asked.

His dark eyes shot to me as we stepped around a vendor’s cart.

I quickly backtracked. “I know it is your tradition to celebrate his life—”

Malik held up a hand. “It’s fine, siren. I take no offense.” We kept walking, and it was silent for several more beats before he sighed. “That question has a complicated answer.”

I stared at him. “Why should it be complicated?”

Malik eyed me. “Would you be upset if your own father or mother were to pass?”

I squirmed slightly and looked away. “Point taken.”

His brow furrowed. “My father was a callous and effective king, occasionally a decent father, but not a good man. He taught me many things, how to protect myself and my people, how to lead men and armies, but in watching him, I also learned what I didn’t want to be. So I suppose my answer is I will miss pieces of him, or rather, the father he could have been and sometimes was.”

“I think I know what you mean,” I murmured. “There are times when I get glimpses of who my father might have been . . . who he might have been without the responsibility and what he has let it make him. I think I could have loved that man.” I knew I had to be careful here, since I was technically talking to the king of another nation, but talking with Malik now it didn’t feel like that. It felt . . . refreshing to speak to someone who could truly understand. I realized belatedly that he was probably one of the few people in all the kingdoms who could.

“And your mother?” he asked.

I straightened, and the tender skin on my back pulled. I fought not to wince as I thought of the woman who had birthed me. I considered lying, but then decided there was no point. And this conversation had been surprisingly honest so far. So why stop now? My voice was quiet when I finally said, “No. When my mother is gone, I will not miss her.”

Malik said nothing in response, though I felt his eyes on me. I didn’t have the courage to look at his face and see his expression. Thankfully, a little girl who couldn’t be much older than five or six rushed over and stopped in front of me.

She smiled shyly and held up a small white flower.

“For me?” I asked, bending down so we were at eye level. The girl nodded, and I took it, bringing it to my nose. “Thank you,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”

The child said nothing, simply waved to Malik and me before darting back to an older woman, whom I had to assume was her grandmother, standing beside a cart filled with flowers.

Malik stepped closer to them as I straightened, offering them a few coins, but the older woman held up her hand. “It is a gift for the princess,” she said, stroking the girl’s dark hair as she clung to her leg. “For her first Unari.”

I nodded my thanks and then placed the small flower behind my ear, waving to the little girl as we continued on.

“What are they doing?” I gestured over to the side of the busy street, where an older woman sat before a table and a small cauldron filled with colored flames. Another woman sat before her, leaning forward and listening eagerly to what she was saying.

Malik followed my gaze and then glanced back down at me. “They are fortune tellers.”

“Fortune tellers?”

Seeing the confusion on my face, Malik smiled. “I take it you have never had your flames read before?”

I shook my head. “I have heard of those who read palms or cards, but not flames.”

Malik grinned. “That settles it then.”

“What?” I asked. But he didn’t answer and instead grasped my hand in his much larger one and pulled me over to the woman whose customer had now gone, her cauldron now empty of flames.

“The lady would like her flames read,” Malik decreed, completely ignoring my protests.

The woman bowed her head. “Of course, my prince.”

“No, thank you. Malik, really, I—"

He gave me a cajoling look and I rolled my eyes, deciding it might be best just to get it over with, before sitting at the woman’s little table. As I arranged my skirts, Malik paid the woman and came to stand behind me. Azrun sat near his feet while the guards stationed themselves around us.

It was only then that I realized I recognized the woman.

“Forgive me, but are you also a story weaver?” I asked. I could have sworn she was the story weaver I had stopped to listen to the first night I snuck into the city.

She smiled and winked. “One of my many talents, my lady.”

I smiled back at her.

Malik muttered something from over my shoulder that sounded like, “Two in one day.”

Before I could ask him what he meant, the woman spoke.

“I’m guessing you have never done this before?” she surmised as she adjusted the red woven cloth in her graying curls. When I shook my head, she nodded. “Having your flames read on a Burning Night is one of the best times to do it,” she informed me. “More accurate when the gods are listening.”

I had no idea what that meant, but didn’t like the sound of it. In my experience, only bad things came of the gods being involved. All I said was, “I’m sure you’re right.”

She poured some oil into the pot before us, then lit it using flint to spark a flame. I took a steadying breath, trying not to flinch as the flames ignited. Once that was done, she gestured to nine small earthen bowls to one side of the table, each filled with a different colored powder. “Each contains bone dust from different magical creatures. Choose,” she ordered. “Then add a pinch to the flames.”

I instantly knew the different bowls represented each of the Nine gods. Predictably, the powder representing the three gods of light—The Warrior, The Maiden, and The Child—were all depleted, particularly The Warrior. Which was no surprise, considering he was the favored god nearly everywhere. The three bowls representing the gray gods had less missing, and the three dark gods were nearly untouched.

“Choose the one that speaks to you,” the woman repeated, watching me shrewdly. I ignored her flash of surprise when I grabbed a pinch of the dark-colored powder from The Assassin’s bowl and threw it in. I sensed Malik’s interest as well, but he didn’t say anything.

The fortune teller closed her eyes, then chanted a few words I couldn’t quite make out. There was a pause, and when she opened them again, her eyes had a strange quality to them. Not quite glazed over, but as she stared hard into the flames, it was as if she wasn’t truly seeing them any longer. She was seeing something else.

When she spoke, her voice had a haunting, almost breathy quality to it.

“I see a young girl and a bloody dagger. Loneliness and pain mark your past. A dragon and a flaming flower. Many choices and paths lie before you. Love and a new beginning, but also sorrow and uncertainty.”

I leaned closer to the flames, something I never thought I would do. But I was unable to see anything in them. I wondered about the validity of this practice. All the magic in Palasia was derived from either the land or its creatures. People had no innate magic of their own, which was why I questioned her ability to read the flames. Her use of the bone dust made it slightly more believable since it came from magical creatures, but I had always been skeptical of fortune tellers, mystics, and the like. It was most likely a simple parlor trick.

Only. . . there was a certain weight to the words that I couldn’t readily dismiss. And her eyes . . .

“Your future is harder to see . . .” she continued. “The images are shifting too quickly. Black and white stones, a scorpion, sailing ships, and storms. Battles and compromises. Betrayal and sacrifice. Secrets revealed and kept.”

The woman sucked in a deep gasp and blinked several times as her vision seemed to clear. When her gaze finally met mine again, she studied me with more interest.

“What does that all mean?” I asked. Everything she had said was all too vague and convoluted to make sense, only adding to my skepticism.

Her dark eyes flicked to Malik over my shoulder, then back to me before she answered. Her lips pursed. “Only you can determine that. But it would appear you are a study in contrasts. Many shifting forces are attempting to find balance in and around you. A change is coming, it would seem. Several changes, as the opposing images illustrate. Some in your control and some not. Everything has its opposite, after all. The gods always offer checks.”

My eyes darted unwittingly to Malik as I considered what she had said about love and a new beginning.

As we thanked the woman and left, Malik inquired, “What did you think?”

I shrugged, ignoring the chill down my spine as I replied, “It certainly gives one something to think about.”