Page 5 of Heart's Flame

The path he was on led to another small farming village. When he was halfway there, he dismounted and stood still amongst the trees, listening. Since he’d made his way out of the capital, he’d been stopping periodically and checking for someone following him. While his horse happily munched on a patch of still green grass along the side of the path, he knelt in the road and rested his hand upon the earth. Sending his power out, he searched, feeling animals alive and scurrying as well as the decomposing bodies of ones now feeding back into the earth. He pushed further, looking for human essence, and nearly broke contact when a zing of potent recognition shot up his arm.

Marcellus.

Knowing he was near, Vian climbed to his feet and pulled his horse away from his grazing. They set off at a canter down the road, determination and the need for answers burning through the voice in the back of his mind urging caution.

What if this is a trap?

“Then I’ll ride in willingly,” Vian whispered to himself, urging his horse onward.

He slowed his mount, cutting into the forest past the stump of a giant old oak tree. The country house he owned was farther east, but Demitrius lived here, cloaked by the forest and nestled in the base of the foothills. Technically, his house sat across the border in Null land, but barely.

As they moved deeper into the trees and daylight turned to sun speckled shadows, Vian dismounted and walked his horse the rest of the way. If his memories had indeed been tampered with, he was surprised that he still remembered this. Across a shallow creek sat a squat wooden cottage. It’s thatch roof was sun-bleached and patched with fresh mud in places, and even from a distance, he could see the bundles of dried herbs hanging among crystals on leather thongs around the edge of the awning covering the small wooden porch.

Vian led his horse toward the cottage, hitching him to a post beside the house. He filled a bucket left there with water from the creek and set it for the horse to drink. The sounds of the water trickling along, birds in the trees, and the rustle of leaves in the cool wind were all that met his ears. If Demitrius was home, he wasn’t currently in or near the house. He stepped up onto the porch, running the fingers of one hand over a bundle of rosemary. Lifting his hand to knock, he dropped it as that same prickle of awareness he’d felt two nights ago in the tavern washed over him.

“He’s not here,” Marcellus said, stepping around the side of the cottage. Vian’s horse lifted his head, snickered at the new arrival and went back to his water bucket.

All Vian could think was how different Marcellus looked in the daylight. His golden hair glowed with the sun’s rays and his face was tan, bright blue eyes watching Vian from only yards away.

“Where is he?”

“I’m not sure. He left something on the table for you, though. The note said you’d be able to use it to find him and lead us there.”

Vian cocked an eyebrow. “He was so certain I’d come?”

A slow smile pulled up one corner of Marcellus’s mouth. “He was.”

“And you? Were you certain? You’ll forgive me if I’m skeptical as I can honestly say I wasn’t sure of it myself.”

“Yet, here you are.” Marcellus took another step, bringing him to the edge of the porch. It was the closest they’d been since nearly killing each other on the battlefield.

Vian’s own black eyes stared into the crystal blue depths looking back at him. What was it about this man? For all Vian’s life, he’d been taught Nulls were his enemy—that they didn’t want peace with the humans and mages of Ferron—only war. A war that had been brutal and left him scarred. Now those same hands that’d scarred him hung easy and non-threatening at Marcellus’s sides.

The air between them grew heavy the longer their gazes held. Warmth spread like fire-ants, blossoming out from Vian’s belly and moving lower.

“What is this?” he whispered.

Marcellus shook his head and lowered his eyes. “It’s probably best if your father explains it.”

His father. With confusion and disbelief trying to push their way to the front of his mind again, Vian gave Marcellus one more long look before turning and pushing open the door to the house. The herb scented air inside was stale, hanging lifeless in a house that felt like it hadn’t seen an occupant in days.

“How long has he been gone?” Vian asked, making his way toward the sturdy oak table. Vague, faded images of sitting on the long bench to one side of it as a boy filled his mind. He’d call them memories, but they didn’t feel like it. They felt like he’d dreamt them, as if his mind had conjured an entire dream world that he’d visited over and over in his sleep. While his mind couldn’t provide exact details of his time there, his heart cried out with longing. He’d been happy here, he was sure of it.

“They left when I went to find you outside the village.”

“And yet you don’t know wherethey’vegone?”

Marcellus narrowed his eyes. “No, I don’t know where they’ve gone. We felt it was safer that way in case you decided to arrest me.”

I would never arrest you, was on the tip of his tongue before he even thought about it, but he bit it back. Because he should have arrested Marcellus the moment he’d seen him. Of course, he should have arrested Laiken, too, simply for being a werecreature that hadn’t properly caged himself on the full moon. He refused to see Laiken put to death and his best friend’s heart shattered over something beyond their control, and somehow, with whatever their strange connection was, that same feeling extended to Marcellus. If he was being honest, Vian wasn’t sure he could lift a sword against the other man at this point.

“I’m not going to arrest you,” he uttered, turning his attention back to the table. In the middle of the worn surface sat a single arrowhead. It’s tip was pointing toward the rear of the house and beneath it was a small bit of parchment. Reaching out, he picked up the arrowhead, it’s rough stone edges scratching along his palm. It was a calming, strangely warm weight in his hand. The note it’d been resting on was simple:“When you’re ready, this will lead you to me. -Dem”

“I assume you know what he means by that?” Marcellus’s voice came from over his shoulder, so close the rush of his breath caressed Vian’s neck.

He glanced back, meeting those blue eyes again. No one other than Coren ever dared stand so close to him. He was a Conservatory Mage and thus regarded with respect and fear. He’d never relished in the fear like some of his fellow mages did—like his mother certainly did—but he didn’t mind the barrier it created around him. Even with that voice in the back of his mind still trying to convince him this was a trap, he didn’t mind the Null being in his personal space.

“I know what to do,” he answered, stepping away from Marcellus’s warmth and toward the back of the cottage where another door led out into the garden. Fresh-turned, earth-scented air filled his lungs as his feet cut a path between rows of squash plants. When he reached the garden’s far edge, he lowered one knee to the ground and clenched his fist against the arrowhead in his other hand.

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