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  Until he met Demitto. Just the thought of the emissary made him smile, even though it took an effort to curve his lips. He thought about the moment when Demitto had walked into the Hall, striding towards him with the full weight of Heartwood behind him. Later, he doubted his own senses, but at that moment the emissary had seemed filled with light that radiated from him to all four corners of the Hall, illuminating the room and everyone in it. Tahir thought he had never seen a man so handsome or charismatic, and even though he had tried to show his usual boredom and disdain, inside, his heart had pounded and his body had warmed.

  “Tahir.”

  The sound of someone speaking his name jolted him out of his pleasurable semi-doze and made him open his eyes.

  He looked around. How could anyone be talking to him? Achingly tired, he peered into the shadows in the corners, wondering if the girl Horada had returned to talk to him.

  A figure moved in the shadows and came forward into the light of the single lantern above his head. Tahir stared, and then joy burgeoned inside him like the flowering petals of a rose. “Demitto!”

  The emissary dropped to his haunches before him and looked into his eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes… well no… well yes, I am tired, but I am not hurt really, I just…” Tahir’s eyes filled with tears. “I do not understand. Why… how…?”

  Demitto placed a finger against his lips and glanced up at the grating above the door. “I had to make sure the guards had gone. I am sorry to have made you wait for so long.”

  “It does not matter, now you are here…”

  Demitto indicated with a twirled finger for him to turn around, and Tahir did so. The emissary fiddled at his manacles, and then the iron cuffs fell away.

  Tahir rubbed his wrists and then pushed himself tiredly to his feet. “How are we going to escape? There are so many guards.”

  “Do not worry. I know my way out of here.” Demitto held out a hand. “Come on.”

  The young lad’s heart surged and he slid his hand a little shyly into the older man’s grasp. His skin was warm and dry, and Demitto smiled as he led the Prince over to the door.

  The emissary took a key from his pocket and slotted it into the lock. “Stole it from one of the guards,” he whispered. He turned the key and, opening the door slowly so it didn’t squeal, he inched it open.

  The corridor was, surprisingly, empty.

  “Where are the guards?” Tahir wondered, and then he realised. “Catena? Is she here?”

  “Not far,” Demitto said.

  “And Atavus?” Tahir had tortured himself with the memory of his dog’s high-pitched squeal, sure he had been killed. “Is he dead?”

  Demitto’s eyebrows rose. “No, no. He is here too, with Catena.”

  Tahir filled with joy. “Oh, thank the Arbor.”

  Demitto smiled. He waited a moment, listening, then slunk out into the corridor, holding tightly to Tahir’s hand. “Come on.”

  With a flame dancing in the centre of the ambassador’s hand, they crept along, Tahir’s heart pounding so loudly, at first he thought drums were playing in another cavern. At the end of the corridor, Demitto turned right and they crept through another silent cave.

  How deep did the cave system go? Tahir knew they must be well into the mountains, possibly miles in, and the thought of having to walk for a few hours made his heart sink, even though he was eager to escape.

  “Are you tired?” Demitto asked, pausing to look around the corner of a corridor.

  “I cannot remember the last time I slept,” Tahir admitted.

  Demitto turned back and motioned for silence, and the two of them waited in the darkness. Tahir could hear voices in the distance, and he panicked at the thought of being found, but the people must have chosen a different path because the voices grew no louder, and gradually faded away.

  Demitto waited for a moment and then looked around the corner again. Still holding Tahir’s hand, he led him out and away from the noise.

  They walked for some time in semi-darkness, their feet scuffling on loose stones and fallen debris. Occasionally they passed the doorway to other caverns, lit with flame, from which voices echoed, but Demitto ignored them and stuck to the passageways, taking them even further from the centre.

  “I long to see the sun again,” Tahir confessed. “When it was there every day I did not give it a thought, but now I have no access to it, it is all I think about.”

  “That is always the way of things,” Demitto said. “What else do you miss?”

  Tahir thought about it. “The freedom, I suppose. I was very lucky – even though I was the King’s son, I could do whatever I wanted, within reason. I was not left by myself very often, but they did not stop me having the run of the castle and most of the city. I mean, I knew from an early age that my destiny lay in Heartwood, but for a long time it seemed very far away.”

  “And now it is so close.” Demitto paused at a doorway. For the first time he didn’t pass but instead walked inside.

  Tahir followed him in. They were in a smallish, square chamber, the walls polished to a smooth sheen and painted with red and golden figures and patterns. In the centre was a round pool of water. It did not appear to be boiling, but the steam that arose from it suggested it must be hot.

  A small torch had been placed in a bracket on each wall, and Demitto closed his hand and extinguished the light in his palm.

  “Is Catena to meet us here?” Tahir asked.

  “Yes.” Demitto led him over to a bench on the opposite wall, and they sat, shoulders touching.

  Tahir sagged against the emissary, wishing he could just lie down and go to sleep.

  “Rest for a while,” Demitto said. “You are young and not yet at your full strength. It is no wonder you are tired.”

  “I am tired,” Tahir admitted.

  Demitto touched his hair. “It is a shame to think you will not come of age. I am sorry for that.”

  Tears filled Tahir’s eyes at both the words and the tender touch. Too tired to wipe them away, he let them trickle down his cheeks. “I knew I would never be a knight,” he said. “I have neither the talent nor the ambition. And what was the point in training when I knew I would not live past my fourteenth birthday?”

  “It must have been very difficult for you.” Demitto’s hand continued to stroke his hair.

  “Yes.” Tahir’s throat tightened, so he chose not to elaborate.

  “How much do you think the fact that your future had already been written affected your youth?”

  He thought about it. “In some ways it made me careless, reckless. I did not care what I said to anyone or what they thought of me. But in other ways, it made me take fewer risks, because there seemed no point in training or trying new things because I knew I would not have the time to carry them through. Now I think maybe I should have been more adventurous, travelled more, but at the time I suppose I was angry. I did not want to see more of the world and know what I would be missing.”

  “I understand,” Demitto said, “but it saddens me to think of all the things you will be missing. The thrill of battle. The delight of getting drunk.”

  Tahir’s lips curved in spite of his sadness. “I suppose.”

  “Falling in love,” Demitto said.

  Tahir’s smile faded. He concentrated on his hands, thinking how dirty his fingernails had got.

  Demitto put a finger under his chin and lifted it so the lad had to look up at him. “You have fallen in love then?” he questioned.

  Tahir’s cheeks grew warm. He couldn’t think what to say.

  Demitto’s expression softened. “Oh.”

  Tahir lifted his chin out of the man’s hand, face now burning. “Please, I…” He cursed himself for not denying it. Would the man get angry or disgusted?

  But Demitto just continued to stroke his hair. “Do not be embarrassed.”

  “You cannot ask that of someone,” Tahir said, looking away and closing his eyes.

 
“Young prince, you have led a sheltered life with few heroes to idolise – it is only natural that you look up to me. I am not alarmed by it; only flattered.”

  Tahir didn’t know what to say to that. He was conscious of the emissary’s touch on his head. He had never been touched like that before.

  Demitto picked up a stray hair and tucked it behind Tahir’s ear. “It is not fair. You should have the whole of your life to explore love and sex.”

  The burning sensation slid down from Tahir’s cheeks to his neck and chest.

  The emissary continued to stroke him. “It is so sad to think you will never know another’s touch.”

  Tahir’s insides twisted, a mangled wreck of sadness and bliss. “Yes.”

  “You are a handsome young man. Your eyes are like twin suns – I have never seen anything like them.”

  Tahir raised his gaze. He knew people found his eyes unnerving. When he was younger, he had grown angry when other children stared at him, and pointed or giggled, but as he had grown older he had learned to use them to his advantage. Now he caught the emissary’s gaze, and Demitto’s own eyes locked on his.

  “Sad to die so lonely,” the ambassador murmured. “So unloved.”

  A fresh tear ran down Tahir’s face. “Stop…”

  Demitto cupped the lad’s cheek and ran his thumb across it to wipe away the tear. “I cannot believe no one will ever love you.”

  Tahir’s lip trembled. “Do not… I cannot bear it.”

  Demitto’s eyes were clear. He leaned forward and, before Tahir could react, pressed his lips against the young prince’s.

  Tahir stilled, shocked, heart pounding at the feel of the man’s warm lips against his own. Demitto waited a moment, thumb still stroking his cheek, before moving back. Tahir stared at him, face burning again, unsure what to do or say.

  “Did you like that?” the emissary asked.

  Half-afraid, half-excited, Tahir nodded slowly.

  Demitto’s mouth curved up. He looked across at the warm water, the heat rising slowly. “That looks so inviting. I think we should get in.”

  Tahir stared. “Now?”

  The emissary shrugged. “Catena may be a while. I think we are safe here. Would you not like that?” He stood and began to undo his belt, the Heartwood buckle glinting in the light of the torches.

  Tahir’s jaw sagged. He got to his feet, eyes wide as Demitto undid the clasps on his leather tunic and then dragged it over his head. The sleeveless linen undertunic joined it, and Tahir stared at the man’s glistening brown skin, his developed muscles.

  The breeches joined the rest of his clothing, and then Demitto walked down the steps into the warm water. “Aaah!” Up to his waist, he smiled and held out a hand. “Join me!”

  Tahir walked to the edge of the pool. He wanted nothing more than to plunge into the water, to watch it close over his skin. To feel the emissary’s lips on his again. His hands rose to his belt, began to unbuckle it. Then he paused.

  Demitto beckoned. “We do not have long. Come on. I know you wish to be with me.” His wet arms gleamed and his long dark hair clung to his muscular neck. “Know some happiness before the end, young prince. Join me.”

  Tahir said nothing. His heart raced. “Your Heartwood belt buckle. You lost it at Realberg.”

  The emissary looked at his clothing and frowned. “It was found and returned to me.”

  Tahir shook his head, ice sliding down inside him. His head began to spin. “This is wrong.”

  “Tahir…”

  The Prince closed his eyes. Oh Arbor’s roots, what have I done…

  Heat flared around him. His eyes shot open.

  He stood on the edge of the pit of magma in front of the pyramid. His toes were burning, his skin scarlet from the heat. Gone was the room with the water pool – gone was Demitto.

  Pyra stood beside him, face filled with fury. “Get in!” he yelled.

  Tahir looked at the magma. He had been about to step into it of his own volition, talked into it by a vision of the man he loved. Shame and indignation shot through him that Pyra had used his idolism of Demitto against him, to try and talk him into killing himself.

  He stumbled back, tripped and fell on the floor, cowering as the Incendi king towered over him.

  “Get in!” Pyra screamed.

  And suddenly Tahir understood. The King could not kill him. He may be able to physically hurt him, but he could not take away his life. The Arbor still protected him, even deep in the mountains, miles from Heartwood. He might be alone, he might never have known affection in his life, and he might die without ever knowing another person’s touch.

  But the Arbor loved him.

  He pushed himself to his feet, rose up and stood before the King, and said one word.

  “No.”

  III

  Comminor and the other three members of the Umbra pushed onward, even though they were all tired and desperate for a rest.

  Comminor had always considered himself a fit man. Although not as young as the rest of them, he swam daily in the palace pool, joined in the training most days, and still led small groups on hunting camps in the outer Embers where the salamanders and turtles grew big enough to wrestle. He had not gained his position as Chief Select through force, but nevertheless a ruler had to portray strength and competence, and he had worked hard to maintain that view of a leader.

  Still, in spite of his fitness levels, he was tired, his body longing for rest. Sarra and the Veris couldn’t be too far ahead of them, he thought. They had come upon the body of the young woman called Kytte, obviously injured in the fall from the Cataracta, so he knew he was on the right track. Sarra would have to rest at some point because of the baby. Therefore if he and the Umbra didn’t rest, they would be able to close the gap that much sooner. So he pushed on, threading through the corridors without pause, laying his hands on the rock and feeling the passage of those before him like a murmur through his veins.

  Not only a bard and a Select, Comminor was also a Saxum, sensitive to the voice of stone, able to hear the whisper in the rock of past millennia of inhabitants. Just like the faded pictures on the walls, the hum of voices spoke to him, telling him of the rise and fall of civilisations, a whole history laid out beneath his fingertips, with Sarra riding atop those voices like a reed on a river.

  He could sense her, and her presence wrapped around him sensuously like smoke, creeping into his pores, his head, until he could think of nothing but her.

  “Comminor.”

  The voice spoke loudly, a little impatiently, as if it had not been the first time it had called his name. He looked over his shoulder and slowed as he realised the Umbra had stopped outside a small room and were seating themselves on the floor inside.

  He walked back to the doorway. “We must keep going.”

  “We have to rest for a while,” Viel said. He had dark shadows under his eyes and his shoulders sagged.

  Comminor stood with hands on hips. “We must press on. Get up.”

  Paronel said nothing, clearly too tired to even reply. Josse also looked exhausted. He raised his head, determination on his face, along with not a little wariness. “No.”

  Comminor said nothing. He demanded many things of his followers, and complete obedience was one of them. Usually he would have beaten Josse for that reply, and the man knew it. But this wasn’t the Embers. And nothing would be served by using force at that particular moment.

  Instead, he went into the room, gathered some of the dry moss from the back wall, brought it to the exhausted Umbra and lit it with a flame from his hand. The fire crackled merrily in front of them, and he sat down, taking comfort from the warmth.

  Josse stared at him, obviously shocked he wasn’t going to be reprimanded. But he said nothing, and the four of them sat silently for a while as their muscles gradually loosened.

  “How are we going to get back?” Paronel said suddenly. “How will we make it up the waterfall?”

  Comminor said nothing, just
stared into the flames.

  “You do not think we will return,” Viel said softly. “Smoke and fire.”

  “Why?” Josse whispered. “Why is this so important that you would risk the Embers by never returning?”

  “I am doing this to save the Embers,” Comminor said. He did not know yet whether he would return, but he had left the city in the care of several other trusted Umbra. He had also left a letter declaring that they pick his successor if he did not return, and leaving instructions for their chosen person to read the Quercetum and learn the truth. One way or another, the Embers would continue.

  “I do not understand.” Josse’s indignation burned as bright as the fire before them. “We have dedicated our lives to you. Are we so worthless that you would throw our lives away as if they are broken shell?”

  Comminor smiled. “It is because you are so valuable to me that I asked you to come with me. This task is more important to the survival of our people than anything you could imagine.”

  “I do not believe you.” Paronel looked near to tears, fists clenched with anger. “You wanted Sarra in your bed, and you were angry that she proved you a fool. You want to punish her for having a mind of her own.”

  “Part of me does,” he admitted. The words did not come easy. He had never had a confidante and always kept his thoughts to himself. But the only way he was going to get them to come with him was by finally revealing the truth. “But that is not all. The Veris must be stopped, or they will bring about the end of the Embers.”

  “How?” Josse looked curious in spite of his resentment, and both the others also gave him inquisitive looks.

  “I have been charged with a task,” Comminor said. “I am the last member of the Nox Aves, a group who have connected through the ages with one purpose – to keep our people alive.”

  And so he told them about the Quercetum, and the history of their ancestors. He told them about the balance of the elements, and the invasion of the Darkwater Lords, and the rise of the Incendi. He told them about the creation of the Embers and explained how it had remained safe for a thousand years, isolating itself from the rest of the world, protected by a line of Chief Select who knew the truth and vowed to protect the city, thus ensuring the survival of their race.