Pronunciation
Treagle: (trē-AH-gul)
Kiltian: (KILL-shun)
Saren: (SAH-rehn)
Raj Vich: (rahsh-VĒSH)
Raja: (rah-SHAH)
Raji: (rah-SHĒ)
Jadoc: (SHA-dock)
Aspano: (ahs-PAH-nō)
Fatima: (FAH-ti-mah)
Georg: (GĒ-org)
A Kiss of Flame
Prologue
Ariana Colla sat across from the Kiltian leader and shifted in her seat as she found him staring at her once again with steady, unnervingly dark eyes. The irises of those eyes were so dark a brown that they were almost black, almost blending in perfectly with the black oval that was his pupil. She wished then that she was Aspano, a high enough level majji that she could read his thoughts. And he was thinking some very intense thoughts. It was written all over his face. Which was odd because he had been otherwise inscrutable during these past seven days of negotiation.
But now his expression was speaking to her. Saying…something. She knew not what. She glanced over at Dendri Adiron, the Aspano majji she had seconded to monitor the thoughts and intentions of the Kiltian delegation, so they might know they were negotiating peace in good faith. But the Kiltian Jadoc, what they called their Aspano majji, was keeping Dendri from reading their leader’s thoughts in entirety. All he had been able to tell her thus far is that they were indeed honest in their desire to make peace.
And what a peace it would be. It would come at a very heavy price. The price of land. Land that would expand the Kiltian country by half. Land the Kiltians desperately needed to house their crowded people. It would mean de-homing thousands of Sarens, but it must be done. Peace must be achieved and maintained.
For the war was going badly.
Oh, at present they were winning, taking back the lands the Kiltians had occupied slowly but surely, but…but war was an expensive undertaking and the Saren coffers were empty. They could no longer afford to feed their troops. Not to mention the extraordinary loss of life on both sides.
Which put them in an untenable position of having to make peace at near any cost. The Kiltians had first wanted to double their land property, wanted to take over the Triagle Territory, a territory that bordered almost the entire length of the southern Kiltian borders. The rich, wide open farmlands would make them independent of the need for grain and produce to be imported. The Kiltian lands were in a highly mountainous region, rich in gold and gemstones, poor in land and the ability to provide food for its people. It had only two ports, one on either coast both east and west. If anything were to happen to either of those ports, the Kiltians would starve by the thousands. By the tens of thousands.
Raja Sin, the Kiltian leader sitting across from her, was to be commended on his bargaining skills; his dogged refusal to do anything but the best for his people. So they had negotiated. Only half of the Triagle Territory would be given. But that half would be enough to feed all the Kiltians independently of the ports and importing and it would allow them to finally spread out into open land.
According to Sin, his people were living in cramped quarters, generations of families in one structure. Dark and cold, these structures were all they had to keep from freezing to death in the brutal Kiltian mountain winters. That and the abundant store of coal those mountains produced.
Coal the Sarens needed.
The Kiltians would not be getting this land for free. They would pay for it with enough gold and precious stones to see the Saren coffers to overflowing. The trade for coal would resume…for it had been suspended these three autumns of war. It had been expensive to import their wood and coal from other sources off continent. This would bring much needed relief to that cost as overland trade resumed at a much cheaper price.
The Kiltians, who occupied the northern tip of the continent called Greuze, were, in Ariana’s opinion, little more than barbarians.
And Raja Sin was the most barbaric of them all.
Still, he negotiated well. She had to give him credit for that. Each country knew they had the other in a tight spot, that they had fought to a standstill, that now negotiating peace was the only way out. The Sarens did not think the Kiltians knew what dire straits they were in…otherwise the Kiltians would have simply pressed onward, waited for the Sarens to weaken, and taken what they wanted that way. Taken more than what these negotiations were giving them.
But Dendri protected the triumvirate’s minds from exposing the truth of their situation and thoughts to the Kiltian delegation.
The Saren government was run by a triumvirate of three of the most powerful majji…made powerful by way of personal power, political power and in military power. Ariana was one of that trio of leaders.
Raja Sin was a monarch. He alone controlled the fate and futures of his people. He alone had decided to declare war on the Sarens. He alone sat across from them negotiating a peace with rabid intensity. His aides…she had forgotten their names…were only there to support Raja Sin by means of personal and mental protection. They spoke very little, leaving every minute negotiated detail fully up to Sin. He consulted with them when he needed to know a certain detail, i.e. how much coal they could initially produce for the Sarens once the war was ended and other such things. But for the most part he was already well versed on the riches his country had to offer.
And the Kiltians were indeed a wealthy people. The same mountains that hindered their ability to spread out and build homes produced riches beyond what they would ever need. So Ariana and her compatriot triumvirs had sold them the land at an exorbitant price, and had negotiated an annual tithe to be paid as well. True, once the Kiltians were occupying the land they could simply refuse to pay the tithe and challenged the Sarens to try and remove them, but these were peace making negotiations and they were each extending a measure of trust to the other.
But she did not trust Raja Sin.
She didn’t know why. The man made her uncomfortable. He was extremely large in stature, made strictly of the finest muscle. Muscle that was on display more often than not. Today was no different. He wore nothing but a vest made of some kind of supple animal skin, the fur gleaming black against the dark tan of its wearer’s skin. He wore black breeches that clung to every hard muscle in his thighs and furred boots that swallowed his calves up to his knees. The fur of those boots were as shining black as the fur on his vest.
He didn’t get cold. Like her he could manipulate all things fire. She was a Torrenic majji. He was a Fyre shaman. They were called different things by culture, but as far as she knew their abilities were comparable. She also did not grow cold in even the most frigid of temperatures. She could call fire to her hand and knew he could too, though she had not seen him do so. Creating a ball of fire was a low level ability, and she was level 22.
She wondered what level he would be comparable to. The Kiltians did not measure by levels as the Sarens did. You either had power or you didn’t. You were either new at it or experienced.
Raja Sin had hair so dark in brown that, like his eyes, could easily be mistaken for black. It was all a matter of the trick of the light in a room. At the ends of each of his thickly muscled arms were beaten gold bracelets. There were gold rings on each of his thumbs, and at his throat was a golden torque with the head of a great cat at its center, the eyes of which were set with glowing green gemstones. In his left ear was a thick ivory piercing, the curved ivory coming to a point about an inch below his earlobe.
Compared to the Saren males who were dressed in cravats, high collars and coats, the Kiltians were dressed like savages. But Ariana did not let the savagery fool her. There was a very clever and cunning brain behind those inscrutable dark eyes.
And he kept staring at her.
His regard made her
skin flush warmly, her hands turned damp and her heart clenched with anxiety. Afraid he would ask for something she was unwilling or unable to give him, she desperately wished for the negotiation to draw to a close. There was no telling what he might ask for next. No telling if it would mean peace or war for them because he did not get what he wanted.
When Jutsin Felone and Mason Hittite, her triumvirate counterparts, stood up and bowed to the Kiltians, she knew it was over. Finally. They had escaped with peace in their back pockets. Only, when the Kiltians were finally out of the capitol building, Dendri Adiron turned to her and told her:
“He is attracted to you,” he said.
“He is a barbarian,” she said with a shudder.
“He is a shrewd man and a thoughtful leader, not unlike yourself. He is also used to getting his way. I fear that if you are an object of desire he will do his level best to acquire you.”
“I would sooner sleep with a gorgon lion,” she spat.
Dendri replied in some way, but she was focused on his previous words. She shuddered at the thought of ever being under those large coarse hands. Her skin grew hot and she forced her mind away from the images such thoughts provoked. Lover to such a man? It was unthinkable.
And yet…images of her pale skin under the darkly tanned skin of his hands came unbidden to her mind. How would it feel to have those hot caresses? To be victim to the burning kisses of his mouth? Would he even bother with a kiss? Tales were told that Kiltians simply rutted like beasts in the fields. There was no respect. No lovemaking. It would be coarse and dirty and primal.
So why then, beneath the shudders of distaste, were there shivers of excitation running beneath her skin?
No! No, it was simply revulsion she was feeling, she told herself. She forced herself to pay attention to the conversation at hand and dismissed all thoughts of Raja Sin from her mind. It was over. There was peace. And outside of the usual governmental niceties, she would not have to spend extended periods of time in his presence. It didn’t matter if he wanted her. He was never going to have her.
Never.
Chapter One
Two autumns later.
Ariana sat before her mirror naked, her flame red hair dressed up high on her head, only a few strategic curls left to bleed down her neck and chest. She reached for the jar of blue freesia scented lotion sitting on her dressing table and regarded her reflection with judging eyes.
She was young yet. A mere twenty-eight autumns old. She had come into her power at a very young age, her ambition and political power inherited from an equally ambitious and politically powerful father. Her lands were vast and valuable, her province one of the three largest in the Saren borders. The only one larger than hers was Mason Hittite’s. He too had inherited his place and power from a powerful father and mother.
She didn’t know very much about her fellow triumvir’s upbringing, only that it had been hard and he had fought his way to his current position through great hardship. It had not been as easy for him as it had been for her…relatively speaking. It had not been easy for her either. Manipulating large power never was. You always sold your soul a little bit each time you made a big decision. And there was always someone unhappy with you for your choices.
She dipped her fingers in the crystal jar of lotion and began to smooth it over her elbows and arms and hands. She had very soft hands. Hands that had never known manual labor. She wondered sometimes if that made her somehow less. She should have learned what it meant to be out of power, she thought. She should have learned what it might feel like to be a non, what the Sarens called those who had not been born majji. Those who had not been born with majic.
But she had been born with power that had shown itself in her early childhood. She had been apprenticed to an influential Torrenic house, learning from a young age how to use her majic and how to utilize it in all the ways she could to gain advantage in the world.
When her father had died he had left control of the Vento Territory to her. The armies and populace of Vento had followed her banner eagerly, her ability as a powerful Torrenic majji leaving them in respectful awe of her. It had been only natural for her to inherit his seat in the triumvirate.
Mason Hittite and Jutsin Felone had been rulers on the triumvirate at young ages as well, but they had both been leaders far longer than she had upon achieving her seat. Mason was a ten autumns veteran of his seat. Jutsin eight. That had been five autumns ago. She had taken her seat just as the Kiltian war was beginning. It had been her first big decision. She had had to decide life and death for thousands of soldiers. It had weighed on her greatly. She had been relieved to see it come to an end two autumns ago.
However that peace had come at a price. And it had not been an overnight success. To this day the Kiltians were still treated with distrust and prejudice. However, it was a more frequent sight to see Kiltians in Capitol City. It was more accepted that they be there. But it was far more likely to find one of the brave, dark-skinned Kiltians in Capitol City than it was to see a Saren in one of the Kiltian towns or villages. Still, there were those with stomach enough for it. Those who had gone to teach the Kiltians how to work the tough Saren soil.
Correction. Kiltian soil. It was theirs now.
Ariana’s lady maid entered the dressing room, a gown for the evening draped delicately over her arms. It had to be fitted and pressed for the evening.
Ariana stood up and reached for the fragile lace chemise and drawers she would be wearing under the dress and slid them on. Once her drawers were tied on, she walked up to Mariah, her lady maid, and held out her arms. Together she and Mariah navigated putting the dress on without disturbing her coiffure. The dress fell into place with nary a wrinkle nor a curl out of place.
Tonight the triumvirates were having a ball. All of the highest of their society would be there, as well as ambassadors and leaders from other countries all over the world. She would have to be at her best tonight.
But it was exhausting sometimes, this call to be perfect at all times. She had to be beautiful, to satisfy the gossip columns in the papers, she had to be poised to make the best impression on others, and she had to hold an air of power around her constantly, so no one would see her to be weak in any way. She was the youngest of the three triumvirs and she always felt like she was having to prove herself the equal to them.
She shouldn’t really. She should just be content in her own power and to hell with everyone else, but she was not so arrogant. At least, she didn’t think she was. She knew herself to be fallible. It was simply that she could not show it to anyone else. It would be like bleeding in front of a savage fortit beast. One would call to another and another and you would be set upon before you knew what was happening and torn to pieces.
As much as she loved her people, she knew just how savage they could be if they smelled a weakness on her part.
The high-waisted gown hugged her ample breasts before falling away to the floor in nearly sheer sheet of midnight blue gauze silk. The underskirt was of a slightly heavier silk to prevent the gown from being seen through, but the top layers were thin and frothy. Beneath her breasts beading and gem work had been encrusted into the waist in a small stripe. The short puffed sleeves were also banded at their ends with similar patterned beading. The neckline was square and as daringly low as was still proper.
She moved to the floor length mirror and eyed herself critically. She was tall for a woman. Her build slender and willowy. Graceful bones and features could be seen beneath pale skin. Her eyes were of a light amber color, almost coming across as gold. She had always thought they did not suit her hair. She should have had green eyes or blue. Those would have complemented a redhead better.
Mariah came up to her holding up the fenwa necklace she was to wear, the beautiful midnight blue fenwa stones a perfect complement to her dress. The necklace would drape elegantly against her upper chest, accentuating the long, graceful lines of her throat. There were small stone earrings to match. Nothing gaudy.
Delicate. Simple.
Yes. She would be beautiful. And it was not conceit that said so. She worked very hard at being the paragon of beauty her people demanded her to be. Very hard. But that beauty, along with her power, was also a curse. No one had the nerve to come up to her and approach her as a man would approach a woman. Her lovers were few and far between because she not only had to judge them acceptable for her to be seen with, but they had to be brave enough to put themselves in her purview to begin with.
There were very few with that type of nerve that she could find herself even remotely interested in.
She pulled on her long evening gloves, tugging them up to her elbows and a little bit beyond. They were black lace. As she did this, Mariah moved her slippers onto the floor in front of her. She stepped into the little beaded things. Every time she took a step black faceted beads would sparkle from beneath her gown’s hem.
Her last touch was a black lace fan looped around her wrist. It hung there ready to be picked up, opened, used with coy flirtation as she charmed dignitaries from around the world.
She turned her head and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was time.
It was time.
Raja Sin was dressed in more clothes than he usually liked to wear. He had not dressed as the Sarens did. Lords no. He could never be trussed up in such high collars and intricately knotted cravats. They wore jackets with square tails as well. More clothes. Sin wore a simple cross-tied white jerka, the light fabric resting loosely around his body. It had long cuffed sleeves, but they were loose and free as well. Along with a pair of snug white breeches and highly polished black knee boots, he was as dressed up as he could possibly manage and still feel as though he could breathe.
He looked around the crowded ballroom with sharp eyes. He was waiting. Waiting for the one reason why he had come there dressed in all this confining finery.
She entered the room and a silence, followed by a rush of approved sound fell over the crowded room. He didn’t blame them. She was magnificent. As beautiful as he had remembered her to be. His heart thudded with excitement. He was overwhelmed with the urge to go to her, scoop her up and march out of the ballroom with her. He would take her on his horse and ride to the farthest reaches of what the Kiltians now called the New Territory. He longed to take her to his home…to his bed. Where he would drink wine from her navel and lick honey from her skin.