The Firebrand Legacy (7 page)

“Like you, I believed many falsities that led
me to fear and despair. Fortunately, that dragon looked at me, and
it changed everything.”

“How?”

“When his gaze fell on me I felt…my soul
stirred. I felt my destiny. Kavariel opened his mouth and breathed.
Fire spilled forth, and thank the flames, I caught only the edge of
the blast. And,” he hushed in reverence, “along with the fire came
a word unlike any other.”

“What was it?”

“It was my name. In Manakor, I supposed, but
the consonants and vowels had nothing to do with it. I often wish I
had remained standing there, to bask in the gift I had just
received, but terrified as I was, I fled, my face and hand still
burning.”

He gestured to a burn on the back of his hand
that she hadn’t noticed. The skin of his right side was wrinkled,
as though there was too much skin for his fingers, all of it
cracked and folded. Carine couldn’t bear to look. Her sister had
suffered much worse in the same fire.

“Before that moment, I had never known that
every drop of this universe is unified. Everything and everyone has
a name, a meaning, and a call. That included me. And that gave me
hope. It should give you hope too.”

Alviar delighted in the memory, and as Carine
heard his story, something stirred within her too. But instead of
hope, it felt like fear—and then anger.

“Not everyone is as lucky as you were,” she
said, though the observation came out softer and more personal than
she had planned.

“Indeed,” he said, guessing that she had lost
someone. “Everyone dies, many tragically. Who can know why death
acts when? Our limited folk minds can understand but a drop of
water in this ocean.”

“The world is simpler than you think, sir.”
On one hand was goodness and safety, on the other disaster and
magic.

“I can see it in your eyes, young Shoemaker;
you think the world is crueler too.”

Carine didn’t answer.

“No wonder you’re running away from it.”

It wasn’t long before Prince David skipped up
the stairs and interrupted her thoughts. His inch long hair poked
in every direction. He didn’t seem to look in a mirror much, not
that it would have done him any good. He was the least attractive
of his brothers, but his presence was the most comfortable. At
least, it had been before Giles and he had labeled her as a freak
like everyone else in Esten did. With any luck, he was coming up
here to speak to the captain. His dopey smile told her
otherwise.

“Hey,” he said, staring her right in the eyes
so she couldn’t pretend not to see him.

She bowed at the waist to break eye contact
and wished his message would be quick.

He raised his hands in the surrender
position, folding his rich surcoat in soft lines. “I didn’t bring
anything enchanted—promise.” The prince slowed until he stood right
beside her at the banister, and then he folded his hands and looked
over the water. After a moment, he said, “Seen any dolphins? Alviar
said he’s seen a couple dolphins out here since we’ve been
traveling.”

Carine tried to keep mopping, but after a
moment decided it was rude and stood still, smiling politely,
leaning on the mop for support.

Prince David rolled back his head and
groaned. “Look, I feel like a total jerk. I didn’t mean to offend
you or anything.”

Carine plastered on a smile. “No need, Your
Majesty.”

“I think your hair looks nice—really.”

Carine suppressed a groan.

“I’m making it worse,” he said, covering his
face. “I just don’t know; I mean, I love dragons. I never met
someone who didn’t—at least, not someone who hates them. First I
made you uncomfortable with all that enchanted stuff and then today
pointed out your haircut. I’m usually not this obtuse, I swear.
Please, just forgive me. Say you don’t think I’m a terrible
person.”

“I don’t think that, Your Majesty,” she said,
but it didn’t satisfy him.

“Look, let me make it up to you.” Prince
David’s eyes lit with energy. “I know. Do you like fireworks?”

It didn’t surprise her that the prince had
some with him. They always lit off fireworks at Bastion Park the
day after Grievance and when the fencing championship concluded. “I
don’t like fire, Your Majesty.”

“Right, okay.” He inhaled and then snapped
his fingers, smiling. “I know! You’re going to love this. Wait
there. I’ll be right back.”

Prince David jumped down the stairs to the
lower deck and raced into his cabin, swinging the door shut behind
him. Carine watched, her heart softening. The breeze whistled
through her short hair, making her neck feel exposed. When he came
back a moment later, he pulled a scroll out from under his arm and
uncurled it just in time for the wind to pick it out of his hands.
The colorful page flapped over the edge of the upper deck and
sailed feet above the ship.

Carine dropped the mop and ran down the
ladder, watching the flying sheet, fearing it would land in the
water below. She didn’t have to know what was on the picture to
know that the page itself was valuable. Paint and skills like that
were reserved for fine arts and valuable texts. Prince David ran
after it.

They ducked under the mast as the picture
flapped around it. Carine jumped, reaching for the paper as the
wind died down. The thin sheet caught in her fingers, and she
slammed the page to the floor, spreading it out with her hands.

“Thank the flames,” Prince David panted.
“Grandfather would’ve killed me.”

Grandfather
to him was King Marcel to
her.

Prince David put his hands on his knees and
leaned over the picture. Carine knelt, hands spread out over the
corners. “It’s beautiful,” she said, offering a genuine smile as
she caught her breath.

It was a painting of a Fletchkey chapel.
Unlike Navafort, Fletchkey was uncivilized. It was a vast expanse
from Navafort’s northern border all the way to the icy poles of the
continent. Within that Fletchkey region were dozens of nomadic
tribes. Some of those tribes worshiped dragons, a tradition that
most Navafortians rejected, favoring instead to pay tribute to
lesser beings: Kavariel and the Great Marcels. Even Alviar had
hinted that dragons were the Etherrealm’s mouthpieces, not its
creators.

Despite its associations, the chapel was
gorgeous, brushed with soft-colored oil paint. There was white for
the birch trees that arched in a half-circle, green for the healthy
branches that wove together at the chapel’s roof, orange for the
tiny flowers that carpeted the grassy floor, and gold for the sun
that brightly shone into the chapel through the trees. A guitar
leaned against the trunk of one of the slender birch trees that
made up the wall. Carine had always wanted to hear a faun song.
When fauns played, plants danced, responding to their melodies.

“You said you liked to draw,” His Majesty
said, pleased. He let himself fall back into a seated position. “I
hope you don’t hate me anymore.” His eyes, light brown and warm,
sparkled.

“I don’t,” she said honestly. In fact, the
extent to which she was starting to not hate him was as
inconvenient as it was frightening. Under usual circumstances, she
would cut off all contact with someone who interacted so
passionately with enchantments. But today, any thought of doing
that was extremely unattractive. Despite his hobby, Prince David
was the one person on the ship who behaved more friendly than
antagonistic toward her, and the consolation of talking to another
person was worth more than holding onto frustration.

“So, do you draw people? Grandfather’s always
having his portrait done. I could recommend you.”

She shook her head. “I just do designs and
flowers sometimes. We don’t usually have paper in our home, so I do
leather engravings.” She showed off her shoes, elaborately done up
in swirls and fleur-de-lis.

“You made this?”

She nodded.

“I used to have those! I mean, not that pair
of shoes, but those designs were popular a few years ago. Everyone
had them.”

Carine smiled. When she was nine, her designs
went mainstream for three or four months. Their shop was flooded
with orders as every eight- to ten-year-old bought a pair. Like all
things, the fad ended abruptly, and Didda was left with expensive
inventory he couldn’t pay for. It took them a while to recover from
their boom, but Carine always remembered the pride she’d felt when
she saw so many others, especially South Esteners, flaunting her
designs.

“The artist herself,” he said, “in the
flesh.”

She felt herself blushing so she changed the
subject. “I think I’ve seen you fence before, Your Majesty.”
Catching herself saying the title, she muttered apologies.

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned. “Out in the
second round, it was mortifying—especially when your younger twin
has enough skill to beat seasoned knights.”

“And Prince Marcel,” she said, letting
herself feel comfortable speaking so casually to a prince. “He
always wins.”

Prince David frowned. “Yes, well, he’s the
heir. He’s a Marcel.”

“Glory to the Great Marcels,” Carine said
automatically, rolling up the painting.

David scrunched his nose. “That’s what they
say, isn’t it? That’s why we’re here. Grandfather made us leave to
protect Marcel.”

“What about Esten then?”

“To be honest, I think Grandfather hopes it
will sort itself out. Or he thinks it will get much, much worse,
and wants Marcel to return and take kingship of the ruins.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Carine said,
her stomach twisting.

David’s dad was already dead, a victim of the
border wars. If his grandfather, the king, planned to do nothing
about the Heartless Ones, even if he thought that the situation
would worsen, then there really wasn’t hope for Mom and Didda. She
pictured them now at home where the windows were shattered and the
door marked for death if Didda ever returned from the pig sty, if
Mom ever escaped the baker.

“Sorry,” Prince David said, bumping her
intentionally with his shoulder.

The friendly gesture surprised her, and
before she knew it, she was telling him what had happened with
Selius coming to her house and the prowler after her heart. Her
voice was no louder than a whisper, so David’s head bowed close to
hear.

“Mom told me to run, and I did. At the time,
I thought it was the only thing I could do. My parents can’t bear
to lose another child. It would kill them. But now…” She looked up,
and David met her eyes. “Now I feel like I abandoned them, and when
I picture a future in Ilmaria, it means nothing to me without
them.”

“You didn’t abandon them,” David assured her.
“And don’t worry about Ilmaria. We’re not going to dump you off
somewhere to let you fend for yourself.”

“Then what will I do? The princes’ knights
can’t babysit a Navafortian shoemaker.”

David thought. “You want to see your parents
again, right?”

“More than anything,” she said softly.

“Then somehow we’ll have to get you back to
Esten after it becomes safe again. In the meantime, you’re right;
you can’t rely on our knights to protect you. How good are you with
a sword?”

Prince Giles pushed himself off the mast with
his shoulder and stepped over a pile of winding rope. A braided
metal dragon’s tail, part of his helmet, covered his nose. “People
believe that the key to protecting oneself is through blocking,
constant defense.”

Carine smiled. “I think I’ll be able to
remember that, Your Highness.” Defense was her life’s mantra.

“People who believe that are mistaken.” His
eyes pierced. “If you are to survive, you need to know a few basic
advancing steps. If you can only block, your opponent will slice
you through. Understand?”

Carine nodded. She was dressed in David’s
chainmail and held his heavy sword in her right hand.

“Very well.”

Prince Giles slashed his sword at Carine’s
side. She swung to block and succeeded. A smile spread over her
face, but Prince Giles struck again. This time, he danced around
the rope piles and behind a crew member that crossed the deck
eating a baguette. The metal of the sword rapped against her
chainmail, sending waves of motion up and down the coat.

“See? You are dead, in this case.”

“Okay. May we try again, Your Highness?”

Prince Giles grinned. No sooner had he done
so than he swung at her side. She blocked, ready this time. It was
the same first move as before. But Prince Giles moved swiftly.
Inches from her face, he blocked her sword with the chainmail in
his arm, placed his blade up to her neck, and with his free hand,
crushed her hand on the hilt of her sword. He now had control of
both swords, and pushed her back to the main sail. A few crew
members stared, watching. The eating one seemed to think he was at
a theatrical performance.

She was pathetic.

“See?” Beads of sweat formed under Giles’
dark hairline. “You’re thinking defense. Take action.”

“Let’s try again.”

She could do it this time. She would step
first over the rope and strengthen her grip on her sword. This
match would be hers, and no one would think her pathetic, not the
eating man or David who sat against the cabin wall grinning.

Prince Giles stepped back, preparing to fight
with the most extraordinary posture. Carine lifted her neck, trying
to imitate him, to impress him. Her lips pressed together in
concentration.

His Highness bowed slightly. She curtseyed.
Without hesitation, she advanced, lifting her sword to crash into
his shoulder. Before it did, his blade’s point touched the exposed
chainmail on her stomach.

“Overzealous,” His Highness Prince Giles
said, grinning.

Carine let her arm drop, defeated.

“You’ll get it,” Prince David said. His
bleached shirt flapped in the wind.