Throne Shaker (The Clash and the Heat Book 3) Page 4

  “But you think he killed her?”

  “Don’t judge me too harshly,” she said. “You are a queen. You have the luxury of condemning others. I have sworn an oath to serve the royal leaders of this country, no matter what it is they’ve done.”

  “No, you’re right,” I said immediately, thinking of the things that I myself had done, the people I had killed. It was probably impossible to be a ruler without staining one’s hands red. “I don’t think badly of you, Solene. Thank you for telling me. I am glad to have the knowledge.”

  * * *

  I wanted to confront Jalal, but I knew now wasn’t the time. We had other things to worry about. It would have to wait.

  We were only days away from the fortress now. I wanted to halt Remy’s troops somehow, to give us time to settle in and fortify ourselves inside. But I wasn’t sure what I could possibly do to accomplish such a thing.

  I had spoken to both Solene and Bisset about it. Neither had come up with any viable plans.

  It was late at night, and I should have been asleep, but I wasn’t. I was roaming the outskirts of Remy’s camp. He thought he was being clever by sleeping in a tent that was exactly like all of the other soldiers’ tents, but I noticed how many men came and went from his tent, and it was obvious where he was.

  I could easily get in there now, because everyone was asleep now. There were guards, but they could only guard so many directions at once. I could get to him. I could crawl into his tent and slit his throat.

  But I couldn’t kill him before.

  I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it now.

  Still, it should probably be done. I couldn’t trust him, even if we negotiated and came to some kind of agreement. I would have to get rid of him. He was right. This was what it was always going to come to between us.

  The world wasn’t big enough for both of us to exist, not unless one of us was directly controlling the other, and that wasn’t going to happen again.

  No, I was going to have to kill him. Truly, it would be better if it were me, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t want Remy’s last moments to be with—

  Flames exploded out of the middle of the camp, surging up out of the ground with a shower of orange sparks.

  I screamed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I hadn’t seen the living flame explode before. I had come to the aftermath, but I had never been present when it happened, and this was huge and bright and hot.

  I staggered backwards. The flames were so close.

  I started to laugh.

  Oh.

  How could this have happened? Was the blaze watching over us as the Order used to say? They said the blaze worked in favor of those who deserved it. I had never quite believed it, but this… this was wonderful.

  This explosion had taken out Remy’s entire army.

  Men were rushing out of the flames, on fire, yelling and swearing. More were screaming inside.

  I could put the blaze out.

  But I needed these men gone.

  I didn’t put it out.

  I stayed and watched, walking around the perimeter.

  Maybe I was waiting for him. I wasn’t surprised when he crawled out of there. He was the only man to come out of the blazes who wasn’t on fire. Not his hair, not his clothes, not the long black cape he wore.

  He was coughing, though, as he lurched forward, and he was dragging someone, one of his men. But the man was on fire and he wasn’t moving.

  I watched as Remy knelt down to try to help the man, but the man was already dead.

  Remy got back to his feet and went back into the fire. He pulled out someone else.

  That man was still alive, but he was screaming, and Remy was rolling him over, trying to beat the blaze out.

  But living flame didn’t stop burning.

  The man stopped making noise. Stopped moving.

  Remy knelt over him, and I moved closer. I could hear the harshness of his breath as he gazed down at the dead man. He was nothing more than ash now.

  “You can’t save them, you know.”

  He looked up at me. “You. Did you do this?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. It’s what’s wrong with Islaigne. This is what happened ten years ago, when I left. These explosions happen randomly. They burn and burn and people are killed. But this is what my magic is for, don’t you see? I can put out the fires, save my country. I thought my magic was only important connected to you, but I had a purpose all along, and I…” Why was I explaining this to him? I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  He turned to the fire, the flames reflecting orange in his dark eyes. “You can put out the fires. Can you put this one out?”

  I shook my head. “Save the army invading my country? Why would I do that?”

  He swung back around to look at me. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

  We didn’t speak for a time. The flames crackled and snapped and burned, and I watched him staring down at the body of the man he’d pulled out of the fire.

  Finally, he stood up and he squared his shoulders. He came for me.

  I held my ground. “Is this when you do it? When you watch the light go out in my eyes?”

  He stopped, inches away from me. “Aren’t you going to fight back?”

  “When I left, you begged me not to,” I said in a lilting voice. “You said we could make things work between us. What changed?”

  “Maybe if you’d stayed, we could have.” He clenched his hands into fists. “But you ran off and you took Dubois, and I couldn’t just let you—”

  “What? Leave? Why do you think you have any right to—”

  His hands around my neck, stopping my words.

  I was surprised for some reason, as if I hadn’t thought he’d actually do it.

  He tightened his grip.

  It hurt, and I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the scarred skin on his hand, from where the magical orange diamond had burned into him. I didn’t know why I was thinking about that. I needed to resist. I needed to stop him.

  “You rob me of all my senses, do you know that? You send me spiraling into madness. Everything about you—” He let go of me abruptly. He threw up his hands and turned to look at the flames again. He was shaking.

  I massaged my neck, thinking it might bruise, gasping for breath.

  “Blazes.” He turned and stalked off into the darkness.

  I went after him. I don’t know why. I tried to convince myself, as I hurried behind him, that I was going to catch up to him and kill him since he hadn’t had the wherewithal to kill me. I’d failed last time, but this time, I had more resolve.

  He stalked through the night and entered a copse of trees, stained by the dancing flames, reflecting the fire on one side of their bark.

  I caught up to him and took him by the shoulder, forcing him to look at me.

  Half his face was orangey-red, lit by the fire that was burning beyond us. His jaw twitched.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. What? Why had I said that? “I never wanted you dead, Remy. I tried to convince myself I did, but I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I wanted power, but I don’t think I understood it. I… I just wanted to mean something, to be important. I thought if I had your magic, if I was the queen of … of everything, then I’d matter. It sounds so… stupid to say that now.” I let out a strangled laugh.

  “Five hundred men.” He pointed in the direction of the fire. “Give or take. That’s how many are dead because you won’t put out the flames. If I promised you that I would leave? Would you do it then?”

  “I want to trust you,” I said softly, “but I can’t.”

  He laughed bitterly. He sank both of his hands into his hair. He knew I was throwing his own words back at me.

  “You apologize now,” I said, lifting my chin. “You admit your wrongs against me.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.” He reached out for me.

  I shied away, frightened he would try to strangle me again. I collided with a tree trunk.


  He stepped closer, boxing me in.

  I made a noise in the back of my throat.

  He pressed his body into mine, and now I was caught in the middle—tree at my back, Remy at my front. He kissed me.

  I opened my mouth to him, gasping at the heat of it, at the intensity of it. I had missed kissing Remy, I had to admit.

  His hands were on my waist, and then they moved up, crawling over my ribcage and then over the walls of my breasts. His mouth left mine and worked a hot trail over my jawbone, down to the sensitive spot beneath my earlobe.

  I clutched at him, gasping, moaning.

  He ripped himself away from me. “I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t,” I panted.

  He seized my shoulders and turned me, pressing me face first against the tree trunk.

  I cried out. “What are you—?”

  But then he was yanking my trousers over my hips, and the words died in my throat.

  The bark of the tree bit into my cheek. I whimpered. The night air was cold against my bare skin.

  Then he was against me, and he was warm. He was inside me, and he was scorching and huge and invasive and good.

  I let out a strangled cry.

  He put his mouth to the place where my neck met my shoulder. He thrust against me.

  I felt our magic surge, and I didn’t put it out. I let it go through us, and it was white hot and bright.

  Sparks flew out, into the tree trunk. It shuddered. Branches fell off and a tongue of white flame rose out of its core.

  He reached around and found the center of me, between my thighs, and he pinched me, and I fell to pieces. A hot, insistent climax worked through me, waking up my magic, the dousing kind, which moved within me unbidden and smothered out the flames on the tree, leaving it black and smoking.

  He grunted, tensing against me, spasming inside me. And then pulled away and stumbled off from me, leaving me there against the tree, my legs shaking.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I got my clothes back in order and caught my breath before I went looking for him.

  I found him on the ground, leaning against a trunk, staring at the fire.

  He didn’t look up when I approached. “I’m not sorry I tried to kill you. You deserve it.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “We need to talk about the terms of your surrender.”

  He barked out a laugh.

  “You have no army,” I said. “You need to go and never come back. You will never attempt to lay a claim on Islaigne again.”

  Now he did look up at me. “You going to go limping home to Dubois now? Do you think he’ll smell me on you?”

  “He’s not here,” I snapped, and then I realized I shouldn’t be giving things away. “He’s on a mission away from Islaigne.” Why hadn’t I given one thought to Guillame when Remy had his mouth and his hands on me? Guilt reared up in me. I hunched my shoulders, sick of the feeling. Would it never go away when it came to these men?

  Remy got to his feet. “He’s away, hmm?”

  “Yes, he’s away, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “I have questions, you know. When was the first time with him? Was it on that ferry?”

  “This is what you want to talk about?” I glared at him. “You’ve come over the ocean and brought a thousand men to their deaths, and it’s all because you’re jealous?”

  “Just tell me.”

  “No, it wasn’t on the ferry.” I tossed my head. “Listen, we’ll hash out the terms of surrender, and then we’ll go to my fortress and write them up and sign them, make it all official, and then you’ll go home to Dumonte, and you and I—”

  “So, then, when? Was it not until after you left? Did he wait for you all that time without having you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I think about it a lot. I think about you a lot. So, yes, it matters, but I can’t really tell you why. I need to know everything that happened with you and him, if only so I don’t have to keep imagining it and wondering.”

  “The night that my carriage lost a wheel and I came back late,” I said. “That was the first time.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh, I’m an idiot.”

  I sighed. “And then not again until we left. There. Are you happy to know?”

  He took a breath. “No. Not happy. Never happy. Nothing about you makes me happy. That’s why, if you were dead—”

  “Let’s stop pretending we’re going to kill each other, shall we?” My voice was sharp.

  He bowed his head. “You like him better than me, but why is that? Because you can’t deny that you and I—”

  “I don’t like him better,” I said. “I just… I couldn’t stay, not after I tried to kill you.”

  “I told you that you could,” he said. “I begged you, as you pointed out.”

  I only sighed. “Why are we talking about this?”

  “Come back.” He swallowed.

  “What?”

  He let out a helpless laugh. “I need you. Come back.”

  “Need me to help you conquer the world, because—”

  “Just need you,” he said, and his voice cracked.

  My lower lip started to tremble. His saying that affected me. I almost felt as if it dealt me a mortal wound. I couldn’t speak.

  “You can bring him,” he said. “I said before that I couldn’t share you, but I’d rather share you than lose you, and I… I miss Dubois, too. I had grown used to his company.”

  “Remy, I… I can’t.” My voice wasn’t strong.

  “Why not?”

  “Because Islaigne needs me, can’t you see that? It’s as I was telling you, my magic, it can help my country. I have to stay here and put out all the fires. It’s what I was meant to do.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long time. He eyed me, and he looked vulnerable and young, like he did when he was sleeping.

  I reached out to touch his arm.

  He pulled back, flinching as if it hurt.

  “Stay here,” I said.

  “What?” He couldn’t believe this.

  “You could stay in Islaigne,” I said.

  “And do what?” he said. “Follow you around while you put out the living flame? Wait around for my turn when you’re not with Dubois? Who would I be if I did that, Fleur? I wouldn’t even be myself.”

  Maybe he was right. He would be miserable here.

  I hung my head.

  He turned away from me and looked to the east, and I realized the sky was growing lighter, that dawn was coming.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “A clean break, then,” he said. “I retreat, and I lay no claim on your country. Islaigne is yours. In return, you release me from this marriage, so that I can marry someone else. I need heirs, after all. Kings need heirs.”

  I still didn’t speak.

  He looked at me over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows.

  “Of course,” I said. “I couldn’t demand you stay married to me if we were apart.”

  He spread his hands. “Let’s go draw up the papers,” he told the lightening sky.

  GUILLAME

  “So, this is about your queen again?” Captain Atlas Valez eyed Guillame from beneath the rim of his tricorn hat.

  Guillame hadn’t been looking forward to this meeting, but he didn’t know where else to turn. Atlas was his best contact amongst the pirates, and he now commanded almost all of the fleet that Guillame’s late father had commanded. He was the man to see if Guillame wanted to get something done, and he couldn’t allow the fact that he and Atlas had history to get in the way of this. Fleur needed him, after all.

  He and Atlas were in a port not far from Dumonte. It was the third place that Guillame had sought Atlas, and he’d finally gotten lucky. His assumptions about Atlas’s movements on the seas had proved correct.

  They were seated in a tavern, at a rough-hewn wooden table in the corner.

  Atlas’s mug o
f ale was empty.

  Guillame had just called for another round for both of them. He licked his lips. “She’d be the one paying you, yes.”

  Atlas rubbed the stubble on his chin. He was an incredibly attractive man, with sandy curls that always looked a little tousled, as if he’d just gotten out of bed. Looking at him, Guillame couldn’t help but remember the times he’d been in bed with Atlas. He remembered the way the man smelled, a mix of rum and the sea and his own spicy sweat.

  Guillame’s throat was dry. “I know that it might be awkward between you and me—”

  “Oh, because you promised me you were going to drop off a jewel with her and come back and be with me, but instead you decided to stay with her? I can’t see why you’d think it’d be awkward.” Atlas smirked, leaning back in his chair.

  A wench who worked at the tavern came by with two mugs full of ale. She set them down, winking at them both as she took Atlas’s empty mug away and then left them again.

  “I should apologize for all that,” said Guillame quietly.

  “You were understandably distraught after the death of your father.” Atlas took off his hat and looked it over before setting it on the table. “By your own hand, no less. You were out of your head. You took comfort in me, but that’s all it was.”

  “It’s not all it was,” said Guillame, sitting up straight. “No, you weren’t… I wasn’t using you, Atlas.”

  Atlas smirked again.

  “I didn’t mean to use you,” said Guillame quietly. “She left her husband. She chose me.”

  “Oh, she did?” Atlas scratched his neck, thinking this over. “Well, then. I suppose it doesn’t matter at all that she strung you along for all that time and made you watch her with another man, and—”

  “It wasn’t like that. She was forced to marry him. She never truly cared about him. She simply had to—”

  “I thought the plan was to kill the husband,” said Atlas. “Right? Wasn’t that it? He was an evil man who wanted to conquer the world, and you were just restoring goodness to the world by transferring his power to her, your sweet, pure love.” His tone got more sarcastic as he went on.

  Guillame took a drink of his ale.