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  Burn

  A Kingdoms of Earth & Air Novel

  Keri Arthur

  KA Publishing PTY LTD

  Copyright © 2019 by Keri Arthur

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-6483246-7-6

  Created with Vellum

  With thanks to:

  The Lulus

  Indigo Chick Designs

  Hot Tree Editing

  Robyn E.

  Chris W.

  Julianne P.

  Marjorie A.

  The lovely ladies from Central Vic Writers

  J Caleb Design for the amazing cover.

  For Ineke

  Who wanted her namesake to be a baddie dying a gloriously gruesome death, but who will have to settle for a drakkon helping to save the day instead.

  Author’s Note

  While each book in the Kingdoms of Earth & Air series is set in the same world and has the same rules of magic, it is a stand-alone series. Every book is set on a different continent and features a different hero and heroine. Time frames may also differ.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Keri Arthur

  One

  I woke to the cold restraint of metal cuffs, the gentle chink of chains, and the sway of a slow-moving vehicle.

  The scents that rode the air were thick and sharp and spoke of blood, unwashed bodies, fear, and anger. Underneath all that ran the heavy musk of at least two dozen men, but there were women here too—four or five of them, sitting to my left. The fear was strongest from their direction.

  Fear and pain.

  I flared my nostrils, unobtrusively drawing in the wider aromas while keeping my eyes firmly closed and my head down. There was little other information to be found in the stale stirring of air. Wherever this prison might be, it was locked down as tightly as the cuffs on my wrists and ankles.

  There was no conversation to be heard. Not inside. Not outside. Nothing other than the occasional stifled sob from the woman seated beside me.

  Why were they all here?

  Why was I here?

  I had no memory of this place. No memory of the events that led to being incarcerated.

  No memory, even, of who I was.

  What I did remember was a fire so fierce it could destroy entire cities in the sweep of leathery wings. A shout of warning—an order to retreat. And then light. Bright, fierce, white light that froze in an instant. Falling, a cry on my lips and agony ringing in my ears and mind. Crashing, not into land but into water.

  Drowning. And then not.

  Then nothing until these cuffs and chains.

  It wasn’t amnesia, of that I was sure. Rather, there seemed to be a barrier of ice between more recent memories and me. I rather suspected that until all those barriers had dissipated, I’d have to put up with informational gaps.

  Aside from that absence of memory, there was a strange void in my soul, a dull ache above my left eye, and vague twinges in back muscles that had taken the brunt of a fall that should have killed me. My clothes and boots were damp—no doubt a result of my plunge—and the weight of my guns and knife was absent. The latter was likely the result of my being captured, but I couldn't be certain. Like my name, it was knowledge that remained locked behind the ice.

  In fact, there was only one thing I was absolutely certain of right now—unlike the majority of people in this pod, I hadn’t been beaten or otherwise abused.

  I took another deep breath and this time tasted little more than the ash and anger emanating from the man sitting to my right. His tension rode the air, and the arm that pressed against mine was taut with the fury I could sense but not yet see. He might be chained but—unlike most in this place—he was not defeated.

  And it was rather odd that I was so quickly getting the measure of a man I hadn't yet viewed.

  I carefully opened my eyes. We were in a long, silver cylinder that was pointed at one end and flat at the other. There were no windows, no guards, and no visible means in and out of this place. It had old fears stirring, but I ruthlessly pushed them aside; now was not the time for a childhood phobia to rear its head. Besides, there logically had to be a way out. Magic was capable of many things, but I doubted they'd yet created a spell able to transport people through metal walls.

  The men sitting opposite were chained in pairs and looked to be as mentally broken as they were physically. But beneath all the blood and the bruises were weather-beaten faces that spoke of long hours in the sun and calloused, dirt-stained hands that suggested they were farmers rather than warriors. Earth witches might be responsible for keeping Arleeon's farmlands fertile and productive, but those capable of harnessing the full power of either the earth or the air were a rare commodity and, as such, treated almost as royally as those who'd once ruled. Of course, witches never personally tended the fields or grew the crops; that was a task reserved for the needy or for those accused of minor crimes—it was both a form of repatriation and a means of providing work, food, and shelter for Arleeon's less fortunate.

  And given the importance of such farms, they were also very well guarded, even though Arleeon had not seen a hostile incursion by anyone other than the Mareritt for centuries. There had to have been a major rebellion for farmers to be this badly beaten.

  Of course, there was no guarantee I was actually in Arleeon, even if those in this prison vessel had similar coloring to myself. Given the vague memories of falling, it was always possible we’d somehow been blown far off course and crash-landed on another continent.

  But even as that thought rose, an instinctive part within whispered no.

  I frowned and shifted my gaze to the left. The women were in a similar state of disrepair, though their demeanor and the haunted look in their eyes suggested the attack on them had been of a far more personal nature.

  Something sparked inside of me, something that was born of anger and yet held a fiery heat that hungered for retribution. I could understand the use of force to quell a rebellion, but there was no excuse for rape. But it wasn't like I was in a position to either help these women or track down those behind the assaults. Not until I was free, anyway.

  I shifted fractionally to get a better look at the man sitting on my other side; the chain that linked his cuff to mine rattled, and a red light flashed in warning. A movement detector was active within the pod.

  “Act broken and do not move,” the stranger beside me said, his words so soft they were barely audible. “It will, in the end, save you some discomfort.”

  His voice spoke of deep, dark mountains and soaring ice-covered peaks. Of plunging valleys and aqua blue lakes. Of home, even if I couldn't exactly remember where that was right now.

  “Perhaps it would be wise if you followed your own advice, given your anger burns the air.” I paused, my gaze sweeping his long length. He wore the same rough woolen pants and sturdy boots as the rest of those in this pod, but I was certain he was no farmer. The callouses on his big hands spoke of a familiarity with weaponry rather than tending and tilling fields. “And if they watch, do they not also listen?”
/>   “They care not about words in this pod, only actions.”

  “Then they're fools.” Words could raise an army, cause it to achieve success against almost impossible odds, make it fly hard and fast toward certain defeat. I'd seen it—experienced it.

  Just for an instant, a memory rose. A dark-haired woman standing on a high dais, her blue eyes shining as her words carried easily over the kin and drakkons filling the pass. The roar of approval that had followed her speech, and the deep, deep pride that had welled through me even as my voice joined the others. My commander, my sister...

  “Perhaps,” the stranger was saying, “but they are fools who currently hold our lives in their hands.”

  But not for long, if the barely repressed anger rolling in unseen waves from him was anything to go by. There might be no immediate escape from this pod, but once beyond the metal of these walls, all bets were off, chains or no.

  I leaned my head back and surreptitiously studied his profile through narrowed eyes. His skin, like mine, was brown, but his nose was strong and almost too sharp, and his chin determined. His close-cropped hair was black, as were his long lashes. Though I couldn't see his eyes from my position, I knew they would be blue—the same aqua blue of the snow lakes that formed after the spring melt high in the Harndale Mountains. Which wasn't where I was born but was very similar in topography.

  I frowned and tried to chase the snippet back through the ice, tried to force memory forward so I could recall my past, with little success. Which was frustrating, but there was nothing I could do except wait for the barrier to melt.

  I refocused on the stranger and saw the angry-looking scar that started at the base of his ear and disappeared under his rough woolen shirt near his collarbone.

  Someone had attempted to cut this man's throat. I wondered if they'd survived the encounter. Wondered how he'd survived, given the severity of that scar.

  “Where do they take us?” I hesitated but held back the need to ask who “they” were. I didn't want to expose my lack of memory. Not yet. Not until I was more sure of where I was and who this man was.

  He shrugged, a movement that had his big shoulder briefly brushing mine. “You women are more than likely bound for the flesh markets in Tendra. The rest of us will no doubt be earmarked for the mines.”

  Tendra was a name I recognized, though I had no awareness of flesh markets within her walls. But it did at least mean I’d crashed in Arleeon rather than elsewhere.

  The woman to my left sobbed loudly. I shifted and surreptitiously squeezed her thigh. She jerked away from my hand, and as the light flashed once again, the scent of her fear and pain grew stronger. She wasn't comforted by my touch—quite the opposite, in fact.

  I frowned, my gaze sweeping her. She was young—no more than fifteen or sixteen, at a guess—and very pretty. Her face was unmarked, but her clothing was in disarray; one breast was exposed and bore bruises that spoke of brutish hands, the traces of blood farther down her clothing of innocence lost.

  Anger stirred again, sharper than before. But again, it was useless. I clenched gloved fingers, watched the drops of moisture leach from the leather, and imagined it as blood. The blood of our captors. The blood of those who'd raped these women and broken these men.

  I might not remember who I was, but it certainly seemed I had a vengeful bent.

  I returned my gaze to the warrior. “We cannot let that happen.”

  Even from this angle, his smile was sardonic. “We're locked inside a prison pod and held down by chains. We have no weapons, and the minute we make any untoward move, we’ll be nullified.”

  “And yet you have a plan.”

  He carefully glanced around. “What makes you think that?”

  I'd been right about his eyes—they were indeed the aqua blue of the melt lakes, but as cold as the ice that gave them birth.

  I smiled. “You may wear the clothes of a farmer, but you’re not one of their number.”

  His gaze swept me, impersonal and assessing. “And you wear the uniform of a long-destroyed fortress and yet have the coloring of a Mareritt ice maiden—” He stopped abruptly, his gaze narrowing. “Are you all right?”

  No, I wanted to say as disbelief spun through me and my racing heart ached. I'm not. And I’m certainly not Mareritt. Why in the wind’s name would he even think that?

  But the words were stuck in my throat, and my mind was awash with so many conflicting emotions that I could barely even think.

  All because of three simple words that unlocked another memory.

  Long. Destroyed. Fortress.

  He could only mean Zephrine—my city, my home—as our uniform, though holding the same fire-resistant properties, was different in design and color to that of Esan, our sister city. My entire life was wrapped within Zephrine’s stony walls—my father, sisters, brother, lovers, and friends all lived there. Even my mother should have been there, though she was a warrior like myself and, despite her years, was unlikely to have remained grounded if we'd been under attack.

  How could it all be destroyed? How could they all be gone? The fortress had for eons successfully guarded Arleeon's western border against the marauding might of the Mareritt. Their bleak and almost inhospitable lands might encompass ours, but thanks to the turbulent seas that protected us on one side and the vast, treacherously high length of the Blue Steel Mountains on the other, there were only two points through which they could attack.

  Zephrine had guarded one of those points.

  It couldn't be gone. It just couldn't. There might be frozen patches of nothingness in my memory, and a sense of loss in my soul, but it wasn’t the all-encompassing devastation that should have been present if such a calamity had befallen my entire family.

  I couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. Not until I saw the evidence with my own eyes.

  I swallowed heavily against the tightness in my throat and chest, and said, as evenly as I could, “Is that how you came to be in this pod with these farmers? Zephrine’s fall meant there were none to come to your aid?”

  His gaze swept me again, but he didn't ask the questions I could see in his eyes. “In a sense, yes.”

  “Define ‘in a sense.’”

  He raised an eyebrow, those questions stronger. “Why? The answers you seek are something any Arleeon soul should know.”

  I hesitated but very much suspected if I wanted to gain this man’s trust, then I at least had to be somewhat honest. “Perhaps this Arleeon soul has a very patchy memory, thanks to a bump on the head.”

  Though I was more than sure it wasn’t the reason for the ice fracturing my memories, it was a reasonably believable answer.

  “Zephrine’s fall was hardly recent.”

  So he’d said earlier. Problem was, I couldn’t accept it as fact. Not until I saw her ruins for myself—or indeed, regained memories of such destruction. “Were you part of a detail assigned to protect the Talien farmlands?”

  And if he had been, how had he and these farmers ended up in a prison pod?

  His gaze rose to my forehead. Judging me. Judging my words. “No. Quite the opposite.”

  I frowned. “You were attacking them?”

  “Not the farmers or their lands, but the Mareritt supply train passing through them to Karlia. Unfortunately, our source failed to mention the full unit of soldiers running protection detail.”

  None of which made any sense. The Talien farmlands lay deep in the heart of Arleeon, and Karlia was the central hub of that community. Unless Esan, the fortress that guarded the eastern pass, had also fallen, there was no way known the Mareritt should have gotten anywhere near that area. Even if Zephrine had been destroyed, Esan would have relocated enough of its forces to keep the frost scum at bay while we rebuilt.

  I scrubbed a gloved hand across my eyes. It almost felt as if I'd stepped into some sort of time slip. The world of this stranger didn't appear to be mine, and I didn't think the gaps in my memory lay at the heart of that feeling. There was something n
ot quite right with these people and this place—not that I could remember seeing much of either beyond the metal walls of this prison.

  “If you were part of an attack, where are your people?” My gaze swept those chained nearby. None of them were warriors, of that I was sure.

  Another sardonic smile touched his lips. “And why would I tell an ice maiden that?”

  I frowned, unsure why he kept calling me that when the hue of my skin was as rich as his. “If you truly thought I was a spy, you wouldn’t have spoken as you have.”

  One dark eyebrow rose. “I've told you nothing a spy wouldn't already know.”

  “Why would a spy be placed in a prison pod? That makes no sense.”

  “The Mareritt do many things that make no sense to the rest of us.”

  Which almost sounded as if they were now living within Arleeon, but that surely wasn't possible. Even if both fortresses had been decimated, it was hard to believe Arleeon's people would have gone down without a fight.

  Maybe this was all some sort of weird, waking dream. Or rather, nightmare. It’d certainly make more sense than the entire world as I knew it having been turned upside down.

  “I’m no Mareritt spy, you can be assured of that.”

  Amusement twitched his lips but failed to melt the ice in his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect a spy to say anything else.”

  “True.” I hesitated. “How long have we been in this pod?”

  “Close to eight hours. I suspect they’ll stop overnight at Break Point Pass—they’ve cells there to accommodate prisoners.”

  Break Point Pass? Where in the wind’s name was that? Until I knew, there was little hope of understanding where I’d fallen in this topsy-turvy world.