Curse of Stolen Flame (Firebird, #1)

CHAPTER 11

Kindra awoke the next morning to the rising sun, its soft morning rays caressing her face and gently pulling her from sleep. She started to jolt upright, momentarily forgetting where she was again, but the surge of panic vanished as quickly as it had come. Soon she would no longer be jarred by her new surroundings. She couldn’t decide exactly how that made her feel.

She got out of bed slowly, still marveling at the intricate beauty of her rooms. The ceiling, which she had failed to notice yesterday but now took in, was breathtaking, decorated with golden, swirling suns. In the center, a glowing portrait of Cyrie was painted; her eyes closed and hands splayed as though she were soaking up the daylight just as Kindra so often did. It was, she realized, the first depiction of the goddess that she'd seen outside of a book. The fire deities hadn't been spoken of often in Harthwin; there had been no temples or shrines dedicated to them in the tiny village.

Her thoughts were disrupted by Cerulle and Sala entering her chambers, each rolling a rack filled with an array of clothing. Kindra spotted trousers, blouses, simple day dresses and extravagant gowns amongst the mounds of fabric. How did they get my measurements? She thought, and realized with pang of alarm that they very well might have looked through her chest to measure the clothing that was in there. Not a perfect method, but one that would do in a pinch when a fast turnaround was needed.

"Good morning Lady Kindra," Sala greeted her. "I'm glad to see you are awake. We have much to do this morning before your presentation to the king and queen."

Right. Kindra stilled for just a second before swallowing her anxiety down. Today was not a day to be cowed by anything .

“So, what’s first?” she asked, working to keep her voice steady, “A bath?”

Sala shook her head, smiling. “Not yet, my lady. First is breakfast.” As if they’d been waiting for those magic words, the doors opened again and another set of servants wheeled in a cart laden with food: round, fluffy biscuits, steaming sausages, bowls of fruit and oatmeal, pitchers of milk and juice. Kindra’s mouth watered.

“Is this… is this all for me?” How could one person eat this much?

“No, you’re going to have to share, unfortunately.”

At the sound of Jasper’s voice, Kindra twisted her fists into the sheets. She turned to see him stroll casually into her chambers as if they were his. Donned in a similar outfit to what he wore last night, he was the picture of casual elegance.

He was also the last person she wanted to see right now.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

He plopped down in a chair at the dining table as the servants moved the food from the cart to the table, along with two table settings. She noted they were on opposite sides of the table, a fact she was grateful for. “Why, what I want is to have a lovely breakfast with my darling bride-to-be.” His eyes traveled over her, and his mouth quirked up in a wicked smirk. “Who looks very good in red, I must say.”

“Don’t,” she warned, and he shrugged, turning to his attention to the food. She itched, as if she could physically feel the remnants of his gaze on her exposed skin, and she was suddenly very aware of the tiny excuse for a nightgown she was wearing: the same red one she’d first changed into when she’d arrived at the castle.

“Can I—can I have a robe, please?” she asked Cerulle quietly as she moved by with yet another heap of clothing.

“Of course, my Lady.” The Windspinner vanished into the bathing room and returned within seconds holding a long, off-white, silk robe. Kindra took it from her with a nod of thanks and threw it on. Only when she’d tied it shut securely did she stand up and move to join Jasper at the table.

She did not speak a word to him as she spooned food onto her plate and filled her glass with juice. It was orange in color, and when she sipped it, its tangy flavor filled her mouth. She made a small noise of delight .

“It’s juice from the orange fruit,” Jasper informed her, almost as if he knew that she wouldn’t ask even though she was curious. “We ship them up from Dewport. Not quite the right climate to grow the fruit here.”

“Mmm,” was all Kindra said in response, drinking again.

“I wanted to go over the… logistics, I suppose, of today, actually,” Jasper said around a mouthful of sausage. Kindra frowned.

“So,” he continued, swallowing, “at noon, we are to make our first appearance as Alverin’s new hope .” He rolled his eyes, and she fought to keep her lips from twitching up into a smile.

“Is that what they’re calling us?” she asked, spreading some jam onto a biscuit. She popped it into her mouth, and it seemed to melt on her tongue.

“Oh, for a few years, yes. And then we’ll have an heir, that will be, like every other heir my family produces, completely magic-less .” She stiffened and shot him a glare, and he grinned. “Are you so surprised I remembered what you said to me all those weeks ago?”

“I’m surprised you have room in that giant head of yours for anyone’s sentiments other than your own,” she fired back. Somewhere across the room, somebody sucked in a nervous breath, and she was reminded that they were not alone.

Jasper’s eyes danced, like steel in the sun. “Oh, Kindra,” he practically purred, and she elected to ignore the way the words zipped down her spine, “I will always have room for the wonderful things you say in my giant head .”

She opened her mouth to retort once more, but he barreled on, “Gregory asked if you needed a, uh…” He trailed off, wincing, as if he could already tell what he was about to say wouldn’t go over well.

“Who is Gregory and what does he think I need,” she demanded more than asked.

Jasper huffed out a laugh. “You—” He coughed, cleared his throat. “Never mind. Gregory is the etiquette master. He thought you may need etiquette lessons.” He took a bite of oatmeal.

Kindra felt heat begin to simmer just underneath her skin.

“I told him no, of course,” he continued. “You have no problem holding your head high and acting like you’re better than everyone around you. No lessons necessary on that, though it may be good to have somebody show you how to curtsy. ”

She flinched, and he ate another spoonful of oatmeal. “I don’t think that way,” she bit out.

He leaned back in his chair, studying her from across the table. “Don’t you, though?” His voice had taken on that soft, gentle tone she’d grown to hate. A servant bustling out of her bathing room stopped and took in the tense scene with wide eyes.

She dropped a slab of butter into her oatmeal, refusing to answer.

“Your silence speaks louder than any words, Kindra.”

“Then enlighten me, O Wise and All-Knowing Prince,” she sneered, looking up from her meal to shoot him a hateful glare. She knew her eyes were burning bright right now; she could tell by the small flash of alarm that crossed his face. “Tell me what my silence says.”

Jasper held her gaze for a moment, his own eyes blazing with frustration, then glanced over to where the servant—now joined by another—was still standing, as if frozen in place. Watching. Listening. He stood, placing his napkin on the table. “Well, I bid you good morning, Kindra. I think it may be best to have Cerulle and Sala give you today’s schedule instead, seeing as we can’t ever seem to have a productive conversation.” There was a bite of anger in his tone.

“If our conversations are unproductive, the blame lies on your shoulders,” Kindra snapped, standing as well—she was no longer hungry. No, she felt sick, really. Sick at the thought that this was to be her life now, forever tied to this arrogant, presumptuous snot of a man.

She could tell he wanted to say more, could sense that he was barely holding himself back. But people were watching them, and she didn’t have any doubt that they reported to somebody—a spymaster, maybe, or the king himself.

“I will see you outside the throne room doors at ten ‘til noon,” was all he said before excusing himself and storming from her chambers.

Only when he was gone did she relax, leaning against the table. For a moment, she was filled with deep, aching sadness, but she channeled that quickly into rage, the feeling she was much more familiar with. Her mouth filled with the smoking taste of flames.

She wished she could expel it in a way that wouldn’t draw so much attention. But if she were to do so right now, when she was already the subject of so many nervous stares, she worried that could get her in trouble. If not now, then in the future.

If she showed herself to be even a hint of the untamed animal they clearly thought her to be, they may not let her wield at all. At least, not the way she wanted—needed—to.

And that would be a fate worse than death.

Kindra took several deep breaths, her eyes closed. Once she finally felt settled, she stood to her full height and called for Sala.

“Yes, my Lady?” The gentle Healer’s voice was tight with nerves.

“I’m through with breakfast, Sala.” She gave her best attempt at a reassuring smile. “It was delicious, thank you. I’d like to begin getting ready for this afternoon, please.”

For a second, the two young women simply stared at each other. Sala’s eyes bore into hers, as though she were searching for the answer to a question she dared not to ask.

“Of course,” she said, breaking eye contact with a small smile. “This way.”

And she led Kindra into the bathing room.

Kindra hardly recognized herself in the mirror.

Over the past two hours, she’d been transformed. First, a tailor came and officially took her measurements, then hurried off to make last minute alterations to whatever clothes needed them. That had been an experience. The woman had measured her fingers. Her f ingers ! For gloves and rings, she’d said. Kindra had barely restrained from laughing at the absurdity.

Then, she’d been scrubbed raw and slathered with various sweet-smelling creams. Her hair had been washed and styled to sit upon her head in a pile of curls, a few meticulously chosen strays left dangling to frame her face. Her nails had been trimmed. Her eyebrows had been plucked—though not much, due to Kindra’s protests—and her skin had been dusted with a glimmering powder that made her appear as though she were sparkling when the light hit her just right. Her eyes had been lined with kohl, her cheeks turned a dusty pink by rouge, and her lips painted dark red.

And then there was the gown .

It matched the color of her lips—a rich, deep red, accented by thin, delicate golden swirls. The bodice clung to her like a glove, thanks to the corset, and the skirt fell to the floor in a pool of soft chiffon. It had no sleeves, leaving her neck and shoulders entirely bare.

She had never before felt like she did not belong in her own skin, but she felt that way now.

“Just some final touches left,” Cerulle informed her as she fastened a glittering necklace around her neck. Kindra peered at it. Are those rubies? Sala slipped bracelets of a similar style onto her wrists, then fastened two of the red gems to her ears.

Finally, the two women stepped back, finished. They smiled, clearly pleased with themselves.

“How do you feel, my Lady?” Sala inquired.

Like I’m in a body that is not mine , she wanted to say. Like a stranger.

“Different,” was all she said instead, and she hoped she made it sound like a positive thing.

She didn’t know what she hated more: the way her shoes pinched at her toes, the way the corset boning dug into her sides, or the way Jasper looked at her when she arrived outside the throne room at ten before noon.

Gone was the gleam of annoyance and disdain from their exchange at breakfast.

No, she could only find awe in his gaze, now. Awe and… something else. Something nobody had ever looked at her with before.

She decided right then that she hated that most of all, that no amount of painful squeezing and pinching from her attire would come close to the way that look made her feel.

Like she was being stripped bare.

Jasper dipped his head as she approached him, Cerulle and Sala at her side. They had both changed as well, trading out their usual dresses for sleek, black, long sleeve tunics and leggings. Their tunics were embroidered with golden thread in a similar fashion to her gown.

Jasper was bedecked in a fine jacket the same colors as her gown: deep red with threaded gold detailing. His black pants were tucked into polished knee-high boots. His hair was brushed back, though a stray curly lock still flopped across his forehead. Atop his head sat a small golden crown of gilded flame.

He looked every bit the prince he was, so used to wearing such finery it may as well have been a second skin. Kindra felt like a child playing dress-up.

“Kindra, you look…” For a moment, he appeared lost for words, his eyes still surveying her. He recovered quickly, though, finishing his thought, “You look beautiful.”

She nodded her thanks, and then, for the sake of getting through this as painlessly as possible, she said, “You look very nice.”

He smiled, relieved. “Thank you.”

They stood in silence, the tension from this morning still between them.

Kindra looked around the hall. It was a huge foyer with tall, arching ceilings, a space meant to accommodate many people. But apart from the guards posted at regular intervals, it was empty.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, unable to fight her curiosity—and trepidation.

“Inside,” Jasper replied, gesturing to the grand set of doors before her. “I’m sure you noticed yesterday that you didn’t see any nobility in the halls. That’s because they were forbidden to set foot on the third floor, where your rooms are. They are not to see you a second before my parents do.”

Kindra hadn’t noticed the lack of nobility, actually, but didn’t say so. “The servants saw me,” she countered, “and I’m sure the nobility gathered at the windows to watch me arrive, if this is such a big deal.”

“You would be shocked to learn what rules these people are not willing to break.” Jasper’s cryptic reply was soft, meant for her ears only. “And what rules they find themselves unable to care about at all.”

A chill fell over her, so strong even her fire could not push back its bite. Once again, his warning from the night before rang through her mind.

At that moment, the doors began to open, pulled inward by hands Kindra could not see. She could hear the excited titter of the people inside falling away to silence as they eagerly waited to see their new princess.

Fresh panic surged through her, and she struggled to get a solid breath down.

“Jasper,” she whispered, fear making her forget their fight from this morning, forget all the fights they’d had over the past few weeks. She only wanted comfort in this moment, reassurance that she was not in this alone, that he was, like he said last night, scared right alongside her. “I said I wasn’t scared last night. I’m scared now.”

Jasper took her arm, gently wrapping it around his. As the doors opened wide enough to make the two of them visible, he looked down at her, with eyes as terrified has her own.

He didn’t say anything to assuage her fears. He probably couldn’t come up with anything to soothe himself, much less her.

Instead, he took a deep, trembling breath, and Kindra mirrored him. Then, he gave her a grim smile and softly tugged her into motion.

And into the throne room they went.