Chapter 13 | Raining Embers
The crimson tents were burning.
Great pyres of burning red-orange fire, a great beast that spread with an errant breath – had consumed the tents of her enemies. Aire did not care about who died in the fire – each dead Crimson was a loosened grip of tyranny. Embers fell around her like rain.
The sky was bleeding.
Aire braced her bloody hands on her briste, trying to breathe. The air was ashen, blackening the inside of her throat.
Ice continued to creep down her spine, an instinct inside of her demanding that she face the incoming threat. But were they a threat? The fire had surrounded her – a wall that would not give her a crack to slip through. It would stop the Bloodbounds from coming to her too.
Grief, choked with panic balled in her throat. "I cannot die like this," She croaked.
But she was not brave enough to face the fire's bite. Even the smoke would not lull her to sleep before those shapeless teeth lashed into her flesh and charred her bones.
The growing wall of fire, leading into the camp rippled. The great flames began to twist and hiss. Like a wind had touched them, they began to bow outwards – hollowing as a shape appeared between them, shrouded by smoke.
There was no mistaking the long, lean shape. The slow prowl of a hunter who knew she was cornered.
Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, but the heat itself was beginning to abate. Salt-wind touched the back of her neck, a cool kiss to batter back the oppressive heat. Aire froze as she saw him, untouched by the flames.
It could not be.
Ash streaked along one cheek and a spray of blood darkened the harsh line of his jaw. Yet, there was no wound there. As he cleared the wall of fire, it rushed to close behind him. Yet, the air was clearing, and each rattling breath Aire took, felt clean and crisp.
"Have you been abandoned, sweet one?"
Wind touched her cheek, a soft caress. Like the first touch of the sea – before one saw the great rolling water, the roiling waves. The wind that cleansed her lungs, cleared her mind.
His blade was unsheathed, freshly washed with blood. As her gaze fell to it, she saw the slow drip of blood from the tip landing on the short grass. Right beside a discarded blade. She jerked her gaze back to his, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Abandoned, or I have deserted them? It does not matter. You will not find them."
A whisper of a dry smile flickered across his ash-streaked face. "You have not deserted them."
"You seem sure of that, Bloodbound?" She resisted the urge to look at the sword. All she needed was a sliver. A whisper of a mistake on his part and she would have a weapon. Even if it didn't make a difference, she would die with the thrill of a fight in her blood and his weapon embedded in her gut. If she could not run, as she wished to, she would die fighting.
"You risked your life to save them in Irial. You gave those young boys more food than you gave to yourself, when you knew they were not looking. You watched over the others in the dark, fought for them when those Crimsons threatened them. All unnecessary acts, and yet you did them."
"You've been watching me closely."
"You and the others are my wards."
"A strange way to say prisoners." She snarled back. "I will not die a prisoner now."
YOU ARE READING
Wicked is the Curse.
Fantasy'Magic Wielder Aire, finds herself at the heart of a rebellion she has always tried to avoid, to dismantle the brutal Empire that hunts her people.' A tale as old as time. Magic is forbidden in the ever-growing empire of Kaelara and those who wield...
