Page 2 of Kingdom of Flames & Flowers
I was angry because deep down, I knew she was right. ‘Flower’ was a stupid name, anyway. Why couldn’t I be called a ‘flame’ like the boys were?
Flowers were weak and died easily. You couldn’t eat them without gagging. Shava claimed the royal family had an entire garden of them up at the castle, just forlooking at and smelling.It was wasteful; that was space we could use to grow crops.
And now the fireguards were back, but not to give out food. I stood before them for the reaping.
They paused as they went down the line, full of children and young women alike from my street.
“Marigold Mudthrice.”
I stomped my foot and scowled. In that moment, my rage was so great I forgot the rule about not talking to the fireguards. “That’s not my name! My name is MARI!”
The unfamiliar fireguard bent down to get a better look at me. My mother wasn’t fast enough to pin my arms back to my side, and I punched him as hard as I could in the face with my six year-old muscles.
He flinched and wheeled back, surprised. Then he laughed and laughed, the other fireguards joining him.
Then he turned and hit me so hard I saw stars.
Pain was the only thing I knew, along with my mother’s gasps and sobs as she hovered over me. They pulled her away, and the fireguard added a few kicks for good measure.
“You’re lucky I don’t have her whipped. Insolent brat.”
He spit on me for good measure.
My mother bowed her head in apology as the second fireguard made a mark on his paper, his hand shaking, and face pale. The guards who came for the reaping weren’t kind like the everyday fireguards were. It was a hard lesson to learn. My mother’s grip on my wrist was like iron as she hauled me to my feet. I twisted away at the strength of her grip, but she held me firm.
Above the dome, the dragon roared in fury. The dragonsbane metal that protected us all hummed as the beast landed heavily on top of it, the metal glowing as it rained down fire and brimstone to no effect on the people below.
The fireguards moved on.
Mother sent me to bed without supper for my actions that day. Not like I missed much since it was only dirt cakes for dinner. I hated dirt cakes. They were bits of flour mixed with dirt and whatever herbs could be traded and spared between the women. My head hurt horribly, and it was a week before I could run the streets again.
When I was eleven, the fireguard had to hunt me down for the reaping. I’d hidden in the old tunnels that used to be mineshafts before they had built the wall and everyone had to stay inside of it.
I wasn’t the only one who knew of the tunnels. Shava was the one who’d first introduced me to them, saying they were a great place to hide if any of the men bothered or chased you. I knew my absence would cause trouble, but I wasn’t going without a fight. It’d taken four fireguards to haul me out of my hole, covered in mud and dirt. The one who’d beat me five years ago was gone, but the others were the same, including my favorite, older fireguard. He’d laughed at me like the other fireguard had, but his laugh was different. Bits of gray hair peeked out from below his helmet. I saw the look of pride in his eyes. Helikedhow I fought.
Another damn tick went next to my name.
When I was sixteen, I was deathly ill with the flux. It was a stomach sickness that was common in my quarter. The fireguards hadn’t even bothered to stick their heads in the door to confirm I was ill—except for the older fireguard. He’d frowned when he saw me lying in a dirty corner of our hut, covered in sweat and clutching tightly to our only matted fur blanket.
I recovered, but many didn’t. They dragged the dead in front of each hut door and fireguards collected them on a cart. Rumors flew, saying they fed the bodies to the dragon. We didn’t hear any roaring from the dragon for an entire year, so perhaps that was true.
I hoped not.
I’d gotten lucky that day. That’s because that year the fireguards took all the older girls to make up for the dead ones, and in one fell swoop, all my friends were gone.
Including Shava.
I never really cried, but that day, I did. I’d lost my only protector and the closest thing I’d had to a friend all in one swoop.
Only the ugly and sick remained, along with the mothers and their children. And the old crones. And the boys and men no one wanted. No one had any use for any of them.
Today I was a woman of one and twenty.
I wasn’t a child any longer. I wouldn’t run and hide or try to fight a fruitless battle. I wasn’t sick either, though I’d tried. My mother had caught me adding the pergainsa berries to my water, which would have made me violently ill. She’d cracked me across the face and pointed to the door in a silent order to go stand in line with the others. It was the most alive I’d seen her in months.
It was slim pickings this year. Most of the women my age were gone, taken five years ago, or had died from stomach illness. My friends had been gone for ages. There was a fresh slew of babies held by women with sad eyes and faraway looks. There were no men standing next to them, meaning they were just victims like my mother had been.
It infuriated me.
