“Salem…” he rasped, his grin broadening. “Salem… the evening star… the fallen king of Mag Mell…”
“Ah. You’re acquainted.”
“He will set us free…”
I knew it. “Do you work for him?”
“We… are…” He spoke in a choked tone, eyes wide. The sound of his voice sent chills up my neck. “We are… the oldest ones. We are… the buried ones. You made us… suffer. We will punish…”
He reached for me, and red, heated air blazed from his fingertips like claws. Then his face contorted with rage.
I swung for him, the blade carving through his neck. It only took a moment, and his head rolled across the pavement, flames snuffing out.
I stared as his corpse shimmered away like a desert mirage. Then—all at once—the air cooled, and the rain started falling again. It felt like a balm cooling my hot skin. The blood had already turned to dust on my sword.
I sheathed the sword. What was this creature? He’d said Salem would set him free, but that was all I knew. His whole presence was anathema to me—drought and fire. Water was life. This thing was death.
I glanced at the trees, their leaves blackened and shriveled. Then I stared stupidly down at the pavement, ignoring the humans bustling around me. I barely registered the sound of the sirens wailing as I stared at the ground where the creature had once been.
The way he’d heated the air, wilted the plants… Was this part of Salem’s army? Gods have mercy, I could only hope there weren’t more of these things coming.
I sheathed my sword again, slipping back into the shadows. Police lights flickered around me. Already humans were bustling around the injured woman, helping her sit up.
Since I wasn’t actually a knight, I didn’t want to be here when officials started asking awkward questions. Like who are you, and what are you doing with that blood-soaked sword?
I walked quickly back to the castle, eager to get within its magical protections again before an army of these fire fae showed up—with Salem leading the charge.
2
Salem
I sniffed the air, smelling smoke. Flames seemed to follow me wherever I went.
I pulled out my alligator-skin flask and took a sip of brandy, letting the sweet flavor roll over my tongue.
I’d been in Jerusalem when the Romans burned it, then again when the crusaders arrived and seared their way through the city, leaving charred bodies in the streets.
Around me, shops selling religious trinkets crammed the narrow street. I stopped to look at one of the displays—a table cluttered with pictures of saints, glittering crystal beads, and the image humans so loved of a man being tortured to death on a cross. For some reason, that brought them comfort.
I leaned over, my eyes on a ceramic figurine of a saint. He held birds in his hands.
The crusaders had come cursing my name, promising to vanquish me. Enemies of Lucifer.
I didn’t like that name anymore. Lucifer. It meant light-bringer, and I was nearly out of light.
Instead, I’d given the name Lightbringer to my sword—a blade as ancient as the fall itself, hewn from the stars.
I flicked the saint over, and he sent the figurines behind him tumbling.
As I slipped into the crowd again, I ran my fingertip over my sword’s iron hilt. If I pulled it from its sheath, celestial flames would dance down the steel. The real Lightbringer. Not me.
In any case, not a single crusader found me on their pilgrimages. They’d left mountains of bodies behind, one faction fighting another. Frankly, I couldn’t tell these human tribes apart. They all seemed the same. Angry about books, their stories written in fire and blood.
At least their holy flames had kept me warm, and that was all I needed to know.
I slid through the crowds like smoke. No one seemed to see me unless I wanted them to.
My fingers were on the hilt of my sword again, an old habit.
I’d be sending for Aenor soon, compelling her to come to me. Her impending arrival was stirring something dark in me. I had a feeling she’d awaken some of my most primitive impulses when she was in my complete control. And maybe I liked that thought.
Was that… excitement I felt?
As the narrow market street opened, I glanced up at the sky. My gaze landed on a plume of dark smoke curling above the buildings of the narrow streets. Maybe I’d suppressed the real beast in me, but I couldn’t help but move closer to the sound of pain.
Flames and suffering drew me closer, like a magpie to a jewel.
On a narrow road, wedged between shops, a home burned. From the window, a young auburn-haired woman screamed. Something about her stairs being on fire. Gods, the drama of some people.
I breathed in the scent of smoke, filling my lungs. The woman’s shrieks brought a little smile to my lips.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened my eyes again, my gaze flicking to her wooden door. I prowled closer to it, pressing a palm against the wood, letting heat surge from my hand. The door ignited, then crumbled to ash.
Fight fire with fire.
As I crossed inside, the smoke curled around me in a wispy embrace. Inside, the building was an inferno. Good thing flames didn’t hurt me.
The sound of drums pounded in my blood, a dark and steady beat.
Drums, to drown out the screams of the dying…
The wooden banisters were on fire, and flames lined the edges of the stairs. Soon they’d be ash.
I moved up them quickly, drawn to the sound of shrieking. Screams pierced the air—no drums to drown them out here.
The woman sat on the floor now, soot smudging her white dress and her cheeks. Sweat trickled down her temples.
The fear in her eyes heated something in me. Something from the bad old days… Just a flicker of emotion that sparked and died again.
Perhaps I wanted to see her burn before me. A sacrifice.
Was it pleasure I felt? I wasn’t sure, but it was a relief to feel something again, even for a moment.
But instead of watching her burn, something compelled me to cross to her, the floor creaking as I did. In minutes, it could collapse, and she’d be dead.
She reached up for me, arms straining like a child’s.
I scooped her up. “I’ll bring you down,” I said quietly. “Stay calm.”
It wasn’t a shock that the woman refused to stay calm. Humans rarely did when you asked them to, and often worked against their own best interests.
Instead, she screamed, her nails digging into me, and I carried her down the stairs, shifting her body carefully to avoid catching her clothing in the flames. She began coughing uncontrollably, then buried her face into my chest. She coughed into my sweater. She was in complete hysterics, though I supposed oxygen deprivation did that to a human body. Frail little things.
As I reached the bottom, I heard the wood groan as the stairs tumbled to the floor behind me. Crossing outside, I breathed in the clear air. I tried to put the woman down, but she clung to my neck, her grip like iron. She was still coughing into my chest, about to be sick. I held on to her, no longer as interested in the creature as when she’d been near death. Now she just seemed an irritation.
After a few minutes, her coughing slowed, and I was able to shift her down to stand on the pavement. Still, she gripped onto my mohair sweater.