Page 74 of King of Fire and Flames

Twenty minutes later, a jinn who, for some reason had taken the shape of a centauress, arrived to water the library’s trailing vines and potted plants with a long spout that connected to her bulging saddlebags. She completed her duties quickly, leaving me to concentrate on reading instead of flicking her curious glances every time the clip-clop of her hooves sounded on the parquet floor nearby.

The soft-blue sky suddenly darkened to burnt peach as sparks rained down in a glorious shower of fire. What caused the spectacle, I couldn’t say. But the sight stole my breath, and I stared at it until my eyes glazed over, indulging in memories of Arrow and how delicious his big, warm body had felt, shuddering inside and around me.

I had sworn I’d never fall for his pretty lies again. But it was clear now that he’d been telling the truth all along. He did love me and had come to Taln for one reason only—to get me out of it. I could no longer deny how I felt about him. The Storm King hadn’t betrayed me, which meant I was free to love him until the day I died.

Pretending to read, I flipped another page, the crisp sound evoking memories of my bookshelf-lined bedroom in Mydorian. I recalled the bliss of lying beneath heavy blankets, letting my imagination soar beyond the palace walls into the thrilling realms of distant lands and other lives.

I had also been a frequent visitor to Mydorian’s light-filled library. With its whitewashed floors and silver branches of an enormous sapoula tree holding up the domed, open ceiling, it was quite a contrast to Taln’s three-storied, dark-wood building full of secrets and shadowy corners.

I studied the long, crimson tassels of candelabras that hung from the ceiling like upside down love-lies-bleeding plants and the candles burning on reading tables. The flames cast a purplish light over the flowering creepers that climbed the shelves, providing relief from the somber, closeted atmosphere.

Facing the mountains, I closed my eyes for several moments, promising myself I’d only think about last night one more time before returning my attention to the book.

“Hard at work, I see,” said a voice from above, startling me out of my reverie.

Damn. Guilty heat flushed over my cheeks. I glanced up, finding Arrow looming over me dressed in leathers and a cloak, the golden feathers on his chest plate tinkling as he shifted his weight and crossed his arms.

“Hello,” I said, the image of him unfastening those exact pants all-too fresh in my mind.

“What are you pretending to do in the library?” he asked, frowning.

I snapped the book shut. “I’m not pretending. I’m hunting for useful information. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been hunting you. I told you I’d come looking for you after this morning’s meeting. Didn’t expect to find you here, though.”

“Why not? I can read you know.”

“Yes. You can read very well. Everything except me, apparently.” A smirk replaced his frown. “Found anything interesting?”

Prompted by the Storm King’s arrival, a guardian emerged from a high level of an internal tower, cleared his throat, and hurried halfway down a spiral staircase that ran the full height of the black-crystal-clad structure to stop just above us. Oval windows in the tower overlooked each level of the library, likely for monitoring visitors while the guardians worked inside it, busy with administrative tasks.

“Is all well?” the silver-haired male asked, the movement of his crimson wings fluttering the long whiskers of his mustache and wafting his robes around his stooped frame.

“Perfectly fine. Thank you,” I answered with a cheery wave while concocting a lie. “King Arrowyn has come in search of books on ice sculpting. He considers himself exceptionally skilled in the art. Did you know that he runs competitions in the Light Realm inside a purpose-built ice conservatory to protect the sculptures from the desert sun? He’s quite determined to win this year’s event and is seeking new inspiration for his designs.”

The old librarian looked thoughtful. “It’s doubtful we keep anything on the subject. As you can imagine, with our kingdom’s heat, it’s not a popular pastime, especially not one kings are known to engage in,” he said with a judgmental sniff.

A map of the library appeared in the air in front of him, tiny flames morphing into what looked like a catalog of books that the guardian flicked through with a crooked finger. “No, I can’t see anything specifically on ice sculpting. Has the competition being going for long? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s not a well-known event. Arrowyn proudly started it in his twentieth year. But please don’t go to any trouble. I’ll help him look through Taln’s art collection. I’m sure something there will ignite his creative passions.”

The guardian dropped a bow and retreated up the steps, leaving me alone with Arrow’s hostile stare.

“Ice sculpting?” he growled. “Really? That’s ludicrous. As if I would—”

I swallowed laughter and grinned. “I’m sure it’s a fine activity for a Storm King. And to be honest, I think you’d look very attractive chiseling away at sculptures, half-naked as you worked.”

“Huh. Might have to try it one day,” he said with a smirk. “I can think of many uses for the ice that you might enjoy.”

Patting the cushion next to me, I brought out the book I’d hidden behind my back when the guardian appeared on the staircase. I checked for any physical signs that Melaya might have been eavesdropping—skin tingling, nausea etcetera—and found none. “I have discovered something interesting in this book. It says…”

He held a finger to his lips, silencing me as he mouthed the word, “Wait.”

Thunder clapped, and the city streets below sizzled, steam rising off the paving stones. Arrow looked over his shoulder and out the window, staring as if mesmerized by the fire rain.

“What causes the phenomenon?” I asked. “It’s beautiful.”

“Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

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