Page 65 of Fear the Flames

Page List

Font Size:

Our tent is only a few feet in front of us. The wordourssounds too personal and too untoward for our situation, but it’s the word that fits. I brush off the weirdness and just focus on the warmth I’ll feel when I get inside.

“Not so fast, angel.” Cayden’s hand lightly brushes against my elbow, and I jump slightly.

“Sorry,” I mumble while playing with the sweater sleeves. He retracts his hand, but I don’t have the courage to look at his face. I suppose I’m still a bit on edge from the kiss last night.

“Don’t apologize.” He gestures to the tent on his right, keeping his hands to himself. “This is where I take meetings now.”

Another meeting to discuss another person that tried to kill me—a new tradition. I enter the tent with Cayden at my back, and I’m stunned when I see a fire blazing in a bronze pit behind a large, round table. There should be smoke wafting through the tent with a fire that high.

“It’s enchanted,” Cayden states behind me. “No smoke is produced.”

“It’s ingenious.” I walk over to warm my hands and prove, with my own eyes, that there’s truly no smoke.

“There’s one in your room,” he says, walking further into the tent and taking a seat at the table. “It adjusts to the temperature in the air. If it’s a cold night, then the fire will adapt to keep your room warm.”

“Really?” I can’t keep the smile off my face as I look into the fire. Some people don’t realize how brutal it is to be without fire or warmth. It’s something I’ll never take for granted.

“However; you’re always welcome in my bed if you’re feeling particularly cold,” he suggests. I glare at him over the fire, but my half-hearted glare only increases his smirk.

“Morning.” Saskia’s voice filters throughout the tent, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the flames. Something is pulling me in, locking me in place. “Where’s Ryder?” she asks, but I don’t hear what Cayden answers. Their voices drift away from me, and the only things I can hear are the crackling logs and flames.

The flames dance in front of me, and I lean forward. There’s something in there—images dance within the orange and yellow flames as they did the night Cayden and I witnessed the fire cult’s ritual. I see several sets of dragon wings flapping and overlapping with each other as the flames flicker. Sweat gathers on my forehead, but I can’t back away. The wings morph into five sets of eyes flashing through the flames: black, blue, orange, red, and purple. The eyes stare at me as if they can see into my very soul. They beckon me to get closer, to reach out to them. I’m thrust from my trance when someone squeezes my shoulder. I jump back from the flames; my pulse is beating uncontrollably, and blood rushes in my ears. I gather myself enough to offer Saskia a weak smile.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Concern flashes in her eyes.

“No,” I lick my dry lips and shake my head. I must look like I’m crazy. “Not a ghost.” There’s a pulling sensation in my chest. I have this feeling like I want to run to something, like it’s summoning me. My clothes feel too tight, and my head feels light.

Saskia scrunches her thick brows. “Did you see something in the fire?” She glances behind me, but the visions have vanished.

I plan on telling Cayden about the visions when we have a moment alone, but Saskia is the head of intelligence and knows about the heist. It may help if she knows about the visions, too. I open my mouth to tell her but snap it shut when light streams into the tent. Ryder and a man with graying hair walk in. The man bows his head toward Cayden, who nods in acknowledgment before his eyes land on me again. His boot taps lightly against the ground. He was probably watching me the whole time I was standing by the fire; he never misses anything.

“You two haven’t formally met,” Ryder says in my direction. “This is Braxton. He’s one of the Generals of Vareveth.”

Braxton walks around the table and stands before me. “Your Majesty,” he says, bowing at the waist. A memory rings in my brain as he straightens up.

“You were at the tavern,” I speak aloud. He was the man in the street that Ryder gave orders to.

He shifts uneasily on his feet. “Regrettably, I was the one General Neredras was looking for.”

“He had information about soldier movements that should have been delivered directly to Ryder,” Cayden shortly states.

I instantly sense the mood shift in the room and look back to Cayden, who stares at Braxton with the icy expression he normally wears. He said he had soldiers he trusted looking into the information the traitor gave, but I can tell Braxton is on the outs by the way Cayden is glaring at him. I quickly glance at Saskia, using my eyes to tell her we’ll continue our conversation after this is over, and walk to the chair next to Cayden. He pulls it out for me without breaking his glare toward Braxton. I lightly kick his leg under the table, and a corner of his lips quirks up behind his hand. He reaches down and squeezes my thigh briefly before retracting his grip. Saskia, Ryder, and Braxton take their seats at the table. Saskia has a quill and paper at the ready, and Cayden gestures for Braxton to begin.

“The good news is that the major threats seem to be rooted out.” The words don’t calm me because any threat is a threat, and anyone that prefaces a sentence with good news usually has bad news to follow it.

“The bad news?” Cayden inquires, eyes narrowed in Braxton’s direction.

“I don’t understand how they could have managed all of this without having a contact here,” Braxton states. Saskia stops her scribbling and looks in his direction.

“You think a spy leaked where Elowen would be?” she asks.

“I think Her Majesty was followed the minute she left the castle, but that’s not what I’m referring to,” Braxton begins his thought, but Cayden finishes it for him.

“You think someone close to Garrick snuck over the border before, or while, I moved my soldiers around. Someone that wouldn’t be part of the action but would organize assassination attempts. It would have to be someone undoubtedly loyal to Imirath.” Hearing my father’s name is like throwing a bucket of ice water over me.

“Do you think it was a soldier in his personal guard? Those are the soldiers he trusts most,” I remark. My hands grip the arms of my chair while I wait for his answer, even though I can already assume it. His personal guard is filled with the soldiers that tortured me; he trusted them to keep quiet.

“That would seem most likely,” Braxton confirms.