Fire - Kristin Cashore [26]
A small determination flamed inside her breast. She decided to adopt Roen’s attitude.
Neither the king nor the commander would be too much for her.
OF COURSE, CIRCUMSTANCES don’t always align themselves with human intention, and Roen could not be everywhere at once. Fire was crossing the main courtyard with Archer after dinner, on her way to the sleeping quarters, when it happened. In the same instant that she sensed minds approaching, the gates flew open. Two men on horses clattered inside, overwhelming the space with their noise and their presence, backlit by a bonfire blazing outside the gates. Archer and everyone else in the courtyard dropped to one knee, except for Fire, who stood paralysed, shocked. The man on the first horse looked like every painting she’d ever seen of King Nax, and the man on the second horse was her father.
Her mind was on fire. Cansrel. In the light of the flames his hair flashed silver and blue, his eyes blue and beautiful. She stared into those eyes and saw them staring back at her with hatred, anger, because it was Cansrel come back from death and there was no hiding herself from him.
‘Kneel,’ Archer said beside her, but it was unnecessary, for she fell to both knees.
And then the gates swung shut. The white blaze of the bonfire receded, and all was yellow in the light of the courtyard torches. And still the man on the horse stared at her with hatred, but as the shadows settled it was no longer Cansrel’s hatred. His hair was dark, his eyes were pale, and she saw that this was nothing but an ordinary man.
She was shaking, cold on the ground. And now of course she recognised his black mare, and his handsome brother, and his handsome brother’s roan. Not Nax and Cansrel, but Nash and Brigan. They swung down from their saddles and stood arguing beside their horses. Shaking as she was, their words came to her slowly. Brigan said something about throwing someone to the raptors. Nash said that he was king, and it was his decision, and he wasn’t throwing a woman who looked like that to any raptors.
Archer was crouched over Fire, repeating her name, his hand gripping her face. He said something firmly to the arguing brothers. He lifted Fire into his arms and carried her out of the courtyard.
THIS WAS SOMETHING Fire knew about herself: her mind made mistakes sometimes, but the real traitor was her body.
Archer lowered her onto her bed and sat beside her. He took her cold hands and rubbed them. Slowly, her shivering subsided.
She heard the echo of his voice in her mind. Gradually she pieced together the thing Archer had said to the king and the prince before picking her up and carrying her away: ‘If you’re going to throw her to the raptors you’ll have to throw me as well.’
She caught his hands, and held them.
‘What happened to you out there?’ he asked quietly.
What had happened to her?
She looked into his eyes, which were taut with worry.
She would explain it to him, later. Right now she was stuck on something she wanted to express to him, something she wanted urgently from her living friend. She pulled on his hands.
Archer always caught on fast. He bent his face to hers and kissed her. When Fire reached to unfasten his shirt, he stopped her fingers. He told her to rest her arm, and let him do the work.
She surrendered to his generosity.
AFTERWARDS THEY HAD a whispered conversation.
‘When he came into the courtyard,’ she told him, lying on her side, facing him, ‘I thought he was my father come back to life.’
Shock broke across his face, and then understanding. He brushed her hair with his fingers. ‘Oh, Fire. No wonder. But Nash is nothing like Cansrel.’
‘Not Nash. Brigan.’
‘Brigan even less.’
‘It was the light,’ she said. ‘And the hatred in his eyes.’
He touched her face and her shoulder gently, careful always of her bandaged arm. He kissed her. ‘Cansrel is dead. He can’t hurt you.