Emberhawk - Jamie Foley Page 0,76
This wasn’t his mother.
What else was he right about?
Zamara watched Ryon with a gaze so bright he thought his own eyes might be burned just by meeting them. “What a fine young man you’ve grown into. Have you been well?”
Ryon wondered how elementals could be killed—they must not be fully immortal, since the legend of Felix said he died generations ago. “And look at you. You haven’t aged a day.”
Her laugh was a melody all its own. “Your wit is as sharp as ever.” She tilted her chin up at Kira. “And you’ve got yourself a woman, I see.”
“She’s not mine.” Ryon took a half step to slide in front of Kira. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be rude.” Zamara flipped Deirdre’s long black hair over her shoulder. “I only ask because I seek a mate for my daughter.”
Ryon’s stomach lurched and twisted. She wanted him to marry his cousin, Illiana—Lysander’s little sister?
“You mean Deirdre’s daughter?” he managed.
“No, Illiana is mine.” Zamara’s eyes flashed as she grinned. “The older boys were Deirdre’s.”
Ryon’s lungs refused to expand. Illiana was nearly Kira’s age. Did that mean . . . Zamara had been impersonating the queen for around thirteen years?
His thoughts tumbled into a dizzying knot. So he hadn’t known the real Deirdre since early childhood. And Zamara had been the queen through the entire Sacrificial War. So the human sacrifices they’d been making to the “goddess” Zamara actually were going directly to her—physically?
Ryon struggled to control his reaction. “Elementals can . . . breed with humans?”
“Oh, don’t be prudish. The Valinorians have been interbreeding for generations.” Zamara took a pair of long strides, her silver dress flowing as if underwater as she crossed the distance between them. “But Illiana is half mortal, of course.” She raised a flawless hand and brushed her fingers across Ryon’s jaw. “She has always favored you.”
Ryon nearly lost his breakfast all over her surreal dress. Marrying one’s cousin wasn’t rare among the monarchy, but Ryon would rather marry a slophoof.
He leaned back from her touch. “S-surely . . .” His voice died, then revived with effort. “Surely the son of the traitor is the worst possible choice.”
Zamara tilted her head. “On the contrary, the list of suitors is short. The blood of our people runs thin.”
“Why don’t you find an elemental mate for your elemental daughter?” Kira blurted.
Zamara looked down on Kira and wrinkled her nose. “Hold your tongue, girl.”
Ryon clenched his jaw. “No.”
Zamara frowned at him. “What was that?”
“I said, no.”
The ruby lips pursed. “You will be pampered beyond your wildest imaginings. And Illiana is young and beautif—”
“I said, no, bleed you!” Ryon drew his dagger and flipped it to Zamara’s throat in a heartbeat. “What did you do to Deirdre?”
Zamara ignored the blade. She pointed at Kira. “You would waste your heritage on a filthy muddy like this?”
“Leave her out of this. My heritage was nothing but human sacrifices to a false god, and I’m glad my father put an end to it.” Ryon pressed the knife into her flawless porcelain skin, drawing a stream of silver blood. “How did it feel to lose to a human?”
The forest erupted in a maelstrom of light. The trees and grass alighted with white-hot flame and the river evaporated in a burst of steam. Ryon choked on searing air as Kira screamed beside him.
As abruptly as the fire came, it was gone. The white birch were charred black, and their leaves fluttered down around them as ash and cinders. The river surged and splashed, then calmed as if nothing had happened.
“I came offering you redemption, Idryon, because I am a merciful god.” Zamara’s eyes were eerily placid, as if she’d quenched their rage with her flame. “Denounce your father and return home, and I will make you the most powerful king your people have ever known.”
Ryon’s hand shook as he pulled it back. His dagger was nothing but molten slop that slid down Zamara’s dress. He dropped the leather hilt and smelled burning hair. Little black spots curled along his arm and blew away on the breeze.
“You’re no god,” he whispered, knowing the words would be his last. His heart ached for his mother, his sister, the orphans, Kira—but he couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t become Zamara’s puppet like Lysander, doing evils by her whim and living as a tortured husk. “There is only one god, and he will punish you for everything you’ve done.”
“Blasphemy.” One of Zamara’s perfect black eyebrows rose. “I wonder