Curse of Stolen Flame (Firebird, #1)

CHAPTER 1

The morning was cold, but the autumn bite was no match for Kindra’s fire.

Her flames curled just under her skin as she moved through the forest, warming her against the fall morning chill. Winter was several weeks away yet, but already the Evalanian Mountains were a brilliant white, smothered with snow. Though the afternoons were still pleasant, the mornings and nights had fallen victim to the bitter winds and icy storms that blew in over the Pryllian border, coating Harthwin in glistening frost every morning.

That same frost crunched softly beneath Kindra’s boots as she approached the bandits’ camp she had been scouting for the last few days. She’d caught wind of their presence last week when Filip, one of Harthwin’s best hunters, spied them setting up and reported it.

He hadn’t reported it to her , of course. He’d told one of the village guards, who had then mentioned it loudly when she walked by the guardhouse later that day. Kindra rolled her eyes as she ducked behind a bramble bush. She’d been doing their job for them since she was thirteen, and still, people went to the guards with concerns about safety. Still, the villagers asked them for help when there were bandits or scouts from Pryllia or deserters coming too close for comfort. Still, they refused to outright acknowledge everything she did to keep them alive.

Even though they knew it was her.

Always, they saw the smoke rising as they traded at the market or chopped their wood.

Always, they smelled the scent of burnt flesh that followed her as she walked back into town .

The familiar surge of anger rushed to the surface, and Kindra took a deep breath to force it back down. There was no place for anger right now. It made her magic less controllable. More deadly.

Before her, the bandits’ camp was quiet, the fire down to mere embers. If she focused on it, she could feel it sputtering, gasping for air. A part of her itched to feed it some of her magic and bring it back to life, but she ignored it. Later. That would come later.

One of the tent flaps opened, and a seedy young man stepped out. He couldn’t have been more than five years her senior. His clothes were old, and the leather armor strapped across his torso was thin and cracked. He was dirty, his shaggy brown hair clumped and matted.

Kindra watched him as he fed some wood to the fire, feeling her magic flicker as the flames licked at the log and regained their strength. A moment later, a second man emerged from the tent, his own appearance just as worn and ragged. He joined his companion at the fire, pulling some stale bread out from the crate next to him. They talked quietly, and Kindra didn’t bother straining to hear.

Every time, she hoped it would be different. That it would just be a relocating family passing through or a group of friends on an adventure. That it was a mistake or a misunderstanding.

But it never was. Nobody wanted to come this close to the Pryllian border for fun. It was the same reason why Harthwin hardly ever got new residents—nobody wanted to live within ten miles of one of Alverin’s most vengeful neighbors.

Sure enough, the two men began to move about their camp, rifling through sacks and crates to expose what could only be stolen things: a silver necklace, a gold ring, a bejeweled dagger. Alarm and anger flared at the sight of a slashed open corset, still stained with blood. Kindra waited for her cue.

A few minutes later, it came:

“We could see what there is to find around Harthwin,” one of the men suggested.

“We’ll need to be careful,” the other responded, “It’s a Wielder town.”

“Yeah, Earthwardens.” A scoff. “As if any of them would have enough magic in their blood to do anything. ”

“No, there’s a Firefury that lives there. Some girl. I’ve heard she protects the town all on her own.”

Unable to help herself, Kindra smirked.

“Then we’ll have to be sure the bitch doesn’t catch us.”

The smirk disappeared. She readied her flames and stepped out from her hiding place.

“Hello, boys,” she drawled, strolling casually over to the fire. They jumped up from their seats, hands flying to their weapons.

“Who the fuck are you?” the first bandit spat.

She smiled, calling to the flames, and they surged up to greet her, wrapping around her arms. “Why, I’m the bitch herself, in the flesh.” She cocked her head. “Now, what was it you were saying about Harthwin?”

She was upon them before they had a chance to reply.

An hour later, Kindra walked past the meager guardhouse on the way back into Harthwin smelling of smoke and burning wood. The men had escaped relatively unscathed. She’d been content to watch them flee with their tails between their legs and not have any more injuries or deaths on her conscience. They weren’t coming back; not until she was long gone, so she’d taken the time to poke through their belongings. Bags filled with stolen jewelry and silverware, crates loaded with pilfered food—she stuffed the best-looking food into a sack, grabbed up some of the other goods, lit the entire camp on fire, and watched it burn to nothing. Once she’d put the fire out, she made her way back to Harthwin with her prizes.

It wasn’t often that the people she dealt with had food or trinkets she could bring back with her, but when they did, she figured there was no harm in re-purposing the goods for the people of Harthwin. Better to give it to those who deserved it than to leave it behind as a pile of ash.

“Took care of those bandits for you,” she snapped as she passed the two guards playing cards. “You’re welcome.”

They didn’t reply, but they at least had the decency to look embarrassed, their faces reddening.

She stopped at the small earth temple they kept for Aspa, goddess of the forest, and Dovon, god of animals, dropping off the bag of food to the earth priestess, who took it from her with softly muttered thanks and averted eyes.

Kindra made her way through the small market next, trading the jewelry for food and a couple of blankets for the coming winter. As she walked, she picked up bits of news; a bit of a rarity in Harthwin, considering how isolated the village was: another border skirmish down by Breyenth; another group of Pryllian scouts caught too far past the border; debates on if the king would send any soldiers here; concerns about whether he would care about the eastern villages at all when everything finally boiled over and war was finally declared.

As usual, the vendors made their exchanges with her as quick as possible, hardly showing any gratitude for what she’d brought them or what she’d just protected them from.

As she walked away, she reminded herself that they did thank her in their own way. She and her mother always got more than what they bargained for at the market. When something broke at their house, the carpenter would repair it for free. A random basket of eggs, vegetables or cheese had shown up at their door more times than she could count. Those usually appeared right after she went into the woods and came back smelling like death.

But there was another consequence, one that was both a blessing and a curse: everyone left her alone.

Of course, she wasn’t a total pariah, and her mother was well-liked by the entire village. When Kindra was younger, she’d had tons of friends who’d all marveled at her budding magic. But then she’d turned thirteen and started setting people on fire, and well, it was understandable that the other kids quit asking her to come play with them in the woods. Even though without her, Harthwin would have been robbed and pillaged down to nothing. Even though she had never hurt a soul who hadn’t tried to hurt her or anybody in her village first.

Again, that bitter anger rose, and again, she choked it back down. She’d rather be this, uncaged and wild, even if her childhood best friend no longer lingered to talk when they ran into each other. She’d rather be this, frightening and avoided, than be forced to live a life where her magic wasn’t able to breathe .

Her final stop was the metalsmith, an elderly man named Elric. He was an Earthwarden and used his small bit of earth magic to help craft fine blades and strong armor. He was also one of the only people in town who wasn’t too frightened of her to strike up a conversation. He greeted her brightly when she walked in, and when she handed him the pair of daggers she’d brought back, he smiled and thanked her.

Kindra always looked forward to her visits with him. That’s why she always saved them for last; it softened the blow of the fear and wariness everyone else felt towards her.

“Would you like these, too?” She held out the assortment of silverware. “You could melt them down, use the silver for something else.”

He reached out and took the silverware from her hands. “Yes, I definitely could. Are you sure your mother won’t want these? They’re quite beautiful, if a little worn.”

“No, she has a set already from a couple years ago,” she replied hesitantly, preparing herself for the inevitable stiffening of the shoulders and loss of eye contact. That was what usually happened when she alluded to one of her… excursions.

But Elric simply nodded, moving to set the silverware on his workbench. “Then I shall use them to create something new,” he said with a gentle smile. “Now, I’ve got something here for you in exchange.” He began to move about his shop, his aged and wrinkled hands roving over various weapons and pieces of armor, searching.

“No need,” Kindra said quickly, “I don’t need anything.”

“Nonsense. You deserve something for these lovely gifts.” He paused, turning back towards her, and said without any fear or disdain, “You deserve something for all that you do for us.”

For a moment, she was stunned into silence. Even he had never actually acknowledged what she did. She’d never expected him to. She’d been content with his kindness. That had always been enough.

He held her gaze for a few seconds longer, his eyes sad. Kindra waited to see if he’d say anything more, but then he returned to his search. When he faced her again, it was to hand her a dagger. As she looked down at it, her breath caught.

It was beautiful, as all his creations were. The blade was as sharp as ever, but it was the hilt that captured her attention. Crafted with a level of detail only Earthwardens could achieve, the bronze was engraved with sweeping, elegant flames. They circled the entire grip, snaking up to the pommel.

He had made it specifically for her. Something about that made her want to cry.

Kindra took the dagger, running her thumb over the flames. He handed her a sheath, and she attached it to her belt before slipping the dagger inside. “Thank you,” she said after a moment. “I… thank you.”

“It is the least I can do, Kindra,” Elric replied. “Tell your mother I said hello.”

She nodded and made her way out of the shop, both relieved he’d said nothing else and wishing he had at the same time.

Kindra meandered along the worn dirt road that led back to the cottage she shared with her mother. Beside her, the small river that ran alongside Harthwin babbled quietly. The crisp chill from that morning had faded into a comfortable, gentle warmth, and she stopped to remove her cloak. The sun always soothed her; she was less inclined to succumb to her bitterness when she could feel its calming rays.

She rounded a corner and her home appeared, tucked away amongst a grove of trees. It wasn’t more than a few minutes away from their neighbors, but the towering oaks made it feel more secluded. Kindra appreciated that. It was nice to come home and be away from the wary eyes of the townsfolk.

The front door opened, and Sera Bedelyn appeared, wearing a stained apron. “Home already?” she asked as her daughter made her way up the cracked stone path to greet her. Sera surveyed her with sharp intensity. “Safe? Unharmed?”

“Didn’t really put up a fight,” Kindra offered by way of explanation. Her mother stepped aside to let her in, and she moved through the small, cozy room to set her basket on the table. “They fled.”

She didn’t miss the flash of relief in Sera’s brown eyes as she shut the door behind her. “But they were bandits?” Her mother pressed, following her to the table.

“Yes,” Kindra replied bluntly, punching down the swell of irritation. Her mother still hoped that every time Kindra ventured out to dispose of threats, she would discover there was no threat at all, that she’d come back with a new family or gaggle of friends in tow.

Kindra had given up on such foolish hopes long ago.

“Are you sure? Did you wait until you really knew?”

“They had bags filled with stolen shit, Mama,” Kindra snapped, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “A blood-stained corset, for gods’ sake. Besides, they were talking about Harthwin. We were their next target. I wasn’t going to wait until they assaulted somebody on the way into town before doing something.”

The silence between them was thick with tension. Kindra hated it. “I took some of the stuff that wasn’t gross or too broken from their camp before I burned it. Traded it in town,” she said after a heartbeat, not meeting her mother’s gaze. She gestured to the basket.

After a pause, her mother nodded, reaching out to touch the blankets. “Wool?” Her voice was ripe with surprise.

Kindra mustered up a smile, relieved that they were changing the subject. “I know. Pretty lucky, right? Not often you see anything other than itchy pelts.”

Sera gathered the blankets in her arms, pressing the soft fabric to her face. It was almost childish, but it made Kindra’s heart warm. “How did Fenryl even get these? It’s so hard to find this far away from the plains.”

“Who knows, but we’ll be warmer this winter because of his luck.”

With a genuine smile, her mother went to place the blankets by the hearth, muttering a prayer of thanks to Dovon as she did. Kindra always found it odd that she chose to commune with the Earth deities, despite being part of a Firefury family. Perhaps it was due to her father being dead, or her mother not being a Wielder herself. It probably didn’t help that Kindra had never shown much outward interest in the Fire deities—what was the point, after all, in a village with no fire temple?

Deep down, though, Kindra wondered if the reason Sera went to the earth temple every week to offer prayer was because that was what the rest of Harthwin did, and she wanted to feel like she belonged. It was an Earthwarden village, after all; apart from Kindra and the local Healer, the remaining Wielders were all blessed with earth magic. The Healer was revered, of course, because all Healers were, and Harthwin was blessed to have one. Kindra was…well. Kindra was Kindra .

“Could you give the fire a bit of a boost?” Her mother asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. Kindra had the flames roaring once more with the wave of a hand. Sera patted her shoulder in thanks as she carried the basket of food to the small kitchen in the back of the cottage. Kindra settled into the worn rocking chair by the fire, finally relaxing for the first time that day.

She leaned her head back, listening to the sound of her mother putting food away. She removed the sheath from her belt and pulled out the dagger Elric had given her, studying it. Without thinking, she drew a thread of flame from the fire and wrapped it around the blade, admiring how the metal gleamed. You deserve something for all that you do for us. Elric’s words echoed in her head, and she smiled softly.

There was a knock on the door, and Kindra cast the flame back into the hearth as she moved to answer it, setting the dagger down on the table as she did so. A young courier stood before her when she opened the door. “Hello?”

“Is this the Bedelyn household?” the courier asked. In his hands was an envelope.

“Yes, what is it?”

“This is for you. From His and Her Majesty of Alverin, King and Queen Annalindis.”

Kindra’s mouth went dry. She stopped registering what he said after the words ‘royal family.’ No , she thought. No, no, no.

“Miss? The letter? Will you take it?”

Kindra snapped back into reality. The courier was holding out the envelope for her to take. Stiffly, she took it from his hands. “Thank you,” she whispered, panic almost rendering her mute. She closed the door in the courier’s face without waiting for a reply.

“Kindra?” Her mother came in from the kitchen. “Who was it?” Her eyes fell to the envelope, and she spotted the Royal Seal, pressed into wax. She froze. “It can’t be.”

Kindra could hardly breathe. “This can’t be happening,” she croaked. Her hands were shaking so badly she could hardly maintain her grip on the envelope. Her mother hurried to her side, gently prying the envelope from her hands. Without ceremony, she ripped it open and pulled out the letter within. Gnawing on her bottom lip, she read it. Kindra didn’t need to. She knew what it said.

“They are coming in two weeks,” Sera said, and Kindra sank to the ground. “Prince Jasper is coming. He has… they have heard of your talents, and he wishes to make you his bride. They believe you are a strong candidate to…” She trailed off, kneeling to join her daughter on the cottage floor. “It is… this is an honor, Kindra,” she tried, but the tremble in her voice gave her away.

“I don’t consider being the royal family’s brood mare an honor,” Kindra spat.

“It is the highest honor in Alverin to be chosen,” Sera tried again. “They believe you could be able to break the curse—”

“I do not care about the curse!” Kindra screamed, her emotions—fear, shock, and anger, always anger—surging up inside, causing her to spark and ignite from her fingertips. “I do not care about the fucking curse,” she repeated, ripping the letter from her mother’s hands and standing up. “They can’t do this to me. They can’t take me away—I will not go. I cannot.”

“Kindra, the decision has been made. They are coming. They will—if you were to refuse—the Annalindis family is capable of terrible things—”

“Of course they are,” she spat, “That’s why they got cursed in the first place. Because they are cruel and terrible and committed atrocities we can’t even begin to understand—they brought this on themselves and now I am to be the one who pays for it? Who loses everything? No.” She shook her head back and forth rapidly, her wild dark curls falling in her face, pacing about the room. “No. I can’t—I would rather die, than this,” she declared, her breath coming in shattered gasps. “I would rather die.”

Her freedom, her everything —it was being ripped away from her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—

“Please, Kindra. Please try and see this in a positive light. I know it seems terrible. I do. But you have to understand,” her mother pleaded, her eyes flashing with terror, “they will not take no for an answer.”

Kindra stopped listening. Her ears rang; her vision blurred. Her skin was burning. She lunged for the front door, staggering outside and around the back of the house. She stumbled into the clearing where she’d first learned to use her magic; the grass had long since burned away, leaving a wide circle of dirt.

She was vaguely aware of her mother calling after her. Her knees gave out again and she collapsed, her fire erupting from her in a fierce, grief-stricken wave just as a scream tore out of her throat. It burned through the letter clenched in her fist, burned through her clothing, until she was nothing but a naked, raging girl engulfed in a ball of flames. She stayed like that, hunched over and burning, until her magic petered out. And then her mother was there, wrapping her in a cloak, guiding her back inside.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered, settling Kindra into her bed, “It’ll be all right.”

But Kindra could hardly register the words, could hardly decipher them except to know that they were the biggest lie she’d ever been told. She could not even muster up the energy to cry. She was burned up; hollowed out. As exhaustion kicked in and she began to drift unconscious in her mother’s arms, she thought of Elric and his dagger, his kind words and sad eyes.

Her last thought before falling asleep was that all she’d done for her home—for herself—had been for nothing.