Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt Read online

about them for protection. Nicholas called a halt at a crossroads

  and gave her a hunk of bread and a flask of water.

  When she was finished eating, he called to half the men.

  “Take her to Montanyard.”

  “You don’t understand,” Sera said. “I have to go east, to

  my home. Is that so terrible a crime?”

  “Not someday, when the world is a safe and decent place.

  But you’ll never survive such a journey alone, and I can’t afford

  the men it would take to guard you beyond my borders.

  Especially now, when even the borders are no longer safe.” He

  stared bleakly into the distance.

  She hated the look on his face, the anger, and the weariness.

  “Selonia was destroyed,” he said.

  “Dear Heaven.” All that she had hoped, all that she had

  been running to, now shattered.

  “You’ve never seen Selonia, have you? It was a lively

  summer town, full of theatres and assembly rooms and baths.

  The buildings were put to the torch two days ago.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” She thought of the people

  who worked in Selonia, the attendants who helped the wealthy

  take the waters, the maids and seamstresses and stonemasons

  who lived in Selonia. “Oh, Nicholas, how many were hurt?”

  Nicholas turned his head at the low break in her voice. His

  expression softened at what he must have seen in her face.

  “Perhaps there’s another way to convince you that your place

  lies here, helping me keep my country safe. Come with me, and

  you can see for yourself.”

  The men fell in beside them again, and they cantered down

  the eastern road.

  ***

  Emmanuel Aestron walked through the Temple Square,

  acknowledging the respectful bows of the young men and

  women gathered to debate philosophy at the colonnade. He

  inhaled the sweetness of the wisteria vines curling about the

  Doric columns and festooning the marble trellis shading the

  students as they resumed their logical arguments. He passed

  the marketplace, nodding to the farmers whose stands brimmed

  with jeweled fruits and vegetables piled in artistic patterns of

  color and shape. The scent of fresh apples and autumn

  strawberries followed him as he wound through streets lined

  with perfectly proportioned marble buildings, their columns

  topped with friezes of Arkadia’s heroes and Mages.

  At the palaestra of Demosthenes, he turned in, pausing in a

  small courtyard. Two lads, just bathed after wrestling by the

  looks of their wet hair and fresh bruises, reclined on benches

  beneath a tree, sipping water. Seeing him, they both sprang to

  their feet and bowed.

  “Hypocritas, how good to see you,” he said to one of them,

  the son of a friend. “Is my grandson here?”

  “Yes, my lord Emmanuel. He won his bout. Now he is in

  the bath. Shall I fetch him for you?” At his nod, the boy ran off

  and returned a moment later with Jacob Augustus, who

  outstripped him as he quickly crossed the courtyard, his towel

  hanging over one shoulder, a loincloth affixed to his hips for

  decency’s sake.

  Emmanuel could never look at Jacob Augustus without

  pride welling up from some deep place inside him. His body, as

  beautiful as it was, exemplified the perfection of his mind and

  his spirit. Strength and harmony encompassed it, a result of the

  work Emmanuel knew Jacob put into it. Tall and strong, his

  specialty was the pankration, the no-holds-barred wrestling that,

  for some reason, soothed Jacob’s soul while disciplining bone

  and sinew. Since Sera had gone from Arkadia, Jacob had used

  this outlet more often than in the past.

  “Walk with me,” he told Jacob.

  Jacob nodded and they strode into the bright sunlight of

  the street. “What news?” he asked his grandfather.

  “She tried to escape. The king has found her again. He takes

  her to Selonia.”

  “Where she’ll feel more sympathy for these Outlanders.

  Rostov is clever. He ties her to him, and to his world.”

  Hearing the bitterness in Jacob’s voice, Emmanuel sighed,

  reaching within for forbearance. He knew he owed his grandson

  an explanation and didn’t much relish the reaction he anticipated

  from Jacob. The boy would doubtless hate him for days before

  he understood the right reason that prompted his actions. Best

  to get it over with, he thought.

  By now, they had left the city center and walked through a

  quiet neighborhood filled with houses. Emmanuel stopped at a

  bench beneath a willow at the edge of a public park. He sat and

  motioned for Jacob to do the same.

  In the quiet, he could hear the buzzing of bees, and across

  the green, a group of girls and boys sat, concentrating in the

  stillness on brightly colored balls balanced in the air above them.

  Some of them had gotten their balls to spin. A tutor watched

  them carefully. In this way, the more gifted among them would

  be chosen to attend the academy, learning to expand their powers

  for the good of Arkadia’s citizens.

  He wanted to weep for Sera, all alone in a strange world,

  without the comfort of a mentor as the startling strength of her

  power began to evidence itself.

  Emmanuel turned his attention to his grandson, who sat on

  the grass at his feet, plucking the blades one by one with his

  restless fingers. “You have a right to be angry with me, Jacob,”

  he said. “It is my fault that Sera has gone to the Outlanders.”

  Jacob shrugged. “No Grandfather. You have reason to let

  her stay for a while.”

  “But it preys on you, that you must trust this Nicholas

  Rostov to keep her safe. I have to tell you why Jacob, and that

  I had more to do with Sera’s flight than you believe.”

  Jacob sprang up before him, his blue eyes, so like Sera’s

  narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Emmanuel remained seated, wishing calm, watching his

  grandson’s face soften a bit, feeling his mind open again to him.

  “You know that Sera is not only Arkadian. She is the daughter

  of an Outlander king, and thus, the lawful heir to the throne of

  a troubled nation, should she wish to choose her heritage.”

  Jacob nodded, his gaze on Emmanuel’s face.

  “Your love for me has kept you from realizing the truth. Do

  you believe that I did not look into the soul of the Outlander

  Sera saved and asked us to heal? Do you think I did not know

  he lusted for riches, that he held honor cheap and would easily

  sacrifice it to get what he wanted? Do you really suppose that

  any thief could have stolen the Heart of Fire from its resting

  place if I had not wished it free?”

  Jacob’s burning gaze seared Emmanuel. “You arranged for

  her exile in the Outlander world, for her captivity, for the

  brutality and shame she has suffered and seen?”

  Emmanuel’s heart cracked beneath the weight of his

  grandson’s outrage. “I did not foresee the Nantal burning her

  Hill cloak. But I knew that Nicholas Rostov would visit Hadar’s
<
br />   palace.” He stood and reached out for his grandson.

  At the touch of Emmanuel’s hand on his shoulder, Jacob

  flung himself away, staring at him in fury. “You wished her to

  go to him as a hetaera?

  “Jacob.” Although his power was strong, Jacob could not

  withstand the compulsion of Emmanuel’s voice. “It is in the

  worst of circumstances that the true nature of a man reveals

  itself. I wished to see what Nicholas Rostov was made of. And

  I wished for Sera to see it and choose her destiny freely.”

  “You cannot keep her safe. You cannot watch her every

  minute.”

  Emmanuel slowly sat again on the bench. “You know the

  Outlander tale of the Garden?” He motioned, and Jacob dropped

  to the bench beside him.

  “From their holy book?”

  “I was thinking of the story by their John Milton, that

  Paradise Lost,” Emmanuel said. “You remember?”

  Jacob nodded.

  “Sera, like Adam and Eve, is gone from the Garden now.

  Danger is all around her, and greed and hatred. But she has

  something she never had here. She has free will. She has the

  right to grow up, like Adam and Eve, and the right to choose

  her destiny.”

  “ ‘And the world was all before them, where to choose

  Their place of rest, and Providence their guide,’” Jacob

  said slowly.

  “Yes. Do you understand?”

  Jacob gave Emmanuel a reluctant nod. “I understand. But I

  do not like it.” He looked at Emmanuel, his face filled with

  misery. “Grandfather, if the time comes when I think I must, I

  shall challenge you on this and bring her back, myself.”

  ***

  Selonia was a charred ruin. From what Nicholas could see

  as he and Sera rode into the little city, the ravagers had burst

  upon the spa town and destroyed everything. This was a crime

  of madmen who used their foggy religious rationalizations as

  an excuse to terrorize the country and sap it of its will to resist.

  They had not only torched the Georgian assembly rooms and

  the beautiful villas of the wealthy. They had systematically razed

  the workers’ small row houses.

  People were everywhere, dull-eyed with shock, muttering

  or crying out amidst the blackened timbers of houses. The smell

  of charred wood and stone and the nauseating odor of burnt

  flesh clung to the air. Nicholas wanted to tear apart the men

  who had done this to his people, to slice each one of them into

  shreds. But they had disappeared into the terrain like vipers

  after a satanic feast. And he was left to pick up the pieces.

  “Weakling. Unfit to be king,” his father’s voice whispered

  to him. Nicholas had no answer to the damning doubts. But fit

  or not, he was all Laurentia had.

  So he left Sera at his temporary headquarters while he and

  Andre met with the mayor of Selonia and his council. Late into

  the night, the leaders of the town sat with him, giving their

  reports of the damage in property and human lives. He gave

  orders to a group of soldiers to scavenge the countryside for

  supplies and food. He delegated authority, requisitioned

  supplies, and made countless other decisions for hours. By the

  time he had finished all he could do for the evening, he was

  bone weary and still fighting his outrage against the

  Brotherhood.

  He and Andre walked back to his headquarters through the

  empty streets of the city. He could smell the acrid smoke still

  smoldering from the ruins, see an occasional scavenger picking

  through the rubble that remained of his home.

  “I don’t know whether I can control the rage, Andre. I want

  to find them and kill each one of them—slowly. But someone

  is giving them the money for arms, someone who wants to

  weaken us and then conquer. If we don’t find the man backing

  these terrorists soon, the country will suffer more of the same.”

  “Napoleon?” Andre asked.

  “Perhaps. If he takes us first, he can easily plough through

  Jehanna. Beaureve will hold out for a while, but he’ll have all

  the harvest from Laurentia and Jehanna to feed to his army.”

  Nicholas rubbed his tired eyes. “If I could get close to that

  devil and kill him in cold blood, I would in a minute, and sleep

  like a baby afterward. It would be justice,” he said. “I wish I

  were one of the Hill folk. I could foist all of this baggage off on

  the Mage and go find a woman.”

  Sera, he thought. To go as deeply into her body as she could

  take him. To hide from this horror in the scent and heat of her.

  Some time in the night, he had fallen asleep, only to awaken

  on top of her in the morning’s gray dawn. His hands had been

  all over her, his mouth following. And he had wanted closer,

  wanted deep, wanted with an urgency that hit him like a wall of

  flame. He had rolled away from her to stand with his body

  clenched in heat and desire. Fight as he might against it, the

  never-ending lust simply grew stronger.

  “You’re too tired to do any more. Hell, I’m too tired to

  think, period.” Andre rubbed his hands through his hair until

  the blond curls flew in total disarray.

  They had reached the large tent set up for Nicholas. Andre

  gave him a rough squeeze on the shoulder and propelled him

  inside.

  “Get something decent to eat and go to sleep. We’ll know

  more what to do in the morning.”

  Nicholas had just entered when an aide rushed into the tent,

  followed by a breathless messenger, his face sweat streaked

  and dirty with dust from the road. The messenger knelt on one

  knee.

  “Lieutenant Mirovsky, Sire,” he gasped. “I come from

  Count Vorchov.”

  Vorchov—Laurentian Ambassador to Russia!

  The messenger’s face was a mask of fright. “Bonaparte has

  taken Moscow. The Russian troops under the command of Prince

  Kutuzov have retreated to the Kaluga road. What shall we do,

  Sire?” Mirovsky’s gaze clung to Nicholas, as though he could

  magically halt Bonaparte’s inexorable march toward Laurentia.

  Well. One more nail in the coffin, he thought wearily.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. First you will rest and bathe. In the

  morning, I’ll send you back to Count Vorchov with instructions.

  You have my gratitude.”

  The lieutenant pressed his hand to his heart and rose.

  Bowing smartly, he followed the aide de camp out of the tent.

  Napoleon would winter in Moscow. By spring, he would

  be on the road south. How would Nicholas protect his people

  against an overwhelming army when he couldn’t save Selonia

  from a band of terrorists?

  He sat down on a camp chair set up before his traveling

  desk and leaned on his elbows, his head in his hands. He sat

  there for what seemed a long time, dead and empty. He heard a

  shift of canvas, and then felt the breeze on the back of his neck.

  Attempting to obliterate the impression of weakness he must

  have made when thus caught unaware, he straightened his back

/>   and looked over his shoulders, expecting his young aide de camp

  to be standing in the doorway.

  Sera stood there with a tray. The lantern light formed a

  nimbus around her hair. Her eyes were a deep, soft blue as she

  looked at him. All of the life in her seemed to surge toward him

  in that look. It made him want to go to her and hold her without

  having to speak, forever. But he was frozen in shame.

  She walked to the desk and set down the tray. Without a

  word, she pulled the other camp chair close to his and sat down.

  He could feel her shoulder, a light, warm solidity against his

  arm. He fisted his hands in his lap, digging his nails into the

  flesh of his palms. He would not break down in front of her

  now. He would not reveal what a fraud he was.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her profile as she

  stared straight ahead. Her hand settled on one of his, soothing

  it. It hurt to swallow. He shut his eyes, his teeth bared like an

  animal, fighting the need to let her see how much he needed

  this. Her fingers stroked, gentle, relentless against the resistance

  of his fist. His own hand betrayed him. With a sigh of defeat, he

  felt it tremble and open. She turned it, palm up. He squeezed

  his eyes tighter, only feeling the softness of her fingers as she

  laced them through his.

  He shook his head, stiffening, mouth tight. He wouldn’t

  crack. He wouldn’t.

  But he couldn’t control the break in his voice. “A better

  king would have kept them safe.”

  Her voice was soft in the still air of the tent, her fingers

  magic, melting the frozen musculature as she lifted his hand

  and, turning it over, traced a gentle circle on the palm. “I saw a

  woman today at the children’s center. She had lost two of her

  own children and was there to find her sister’s babe. She had

  seen me ride in with you, Nicholas. She asked me to tell you,

  from all of them, how much hope your coming has brought

  with it. She said as long as you are their king, nothing will defeat

  them. She called you the hope of Laurentia. Nicholas, they love

  you here. They know what you do for them.”

  So. They talked to Sera. While he hid from the people, sick

  with what his lack of foresight had wrought on Selonia. And

  she had spoken to his people, and they had trusted her.

  And because of her, they trusted him.