Flame in the Forest

Can a love built on her father’s lies and betrayal survive?

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“Fifteen times now, Vesta’s father had imprisoned her. Every time, that asshole Captain Penik had been the one to haul her out of the cell. So when the heavy door rattled open, she stood carefully off to one side, out of sight in the darkness, still as the mountain itself. 

And when he stepped inside, she kneed him in the groin.

He cursed as he went down. Served him right. Outside the cell, her father’s low chuckle echoed off the stone. She strode past the fallen captain of the guard, head high as a princess’s should be and as regal as she could manage while dizzy with hunger. She tried not to smirk, but she didn’t try terribly hard.

Outside, night claimed the sky. She didn’t know how long she’d been imprisoned. Long enough that she’d slept several times and she needed a good meal or ten. But even more, she needed to be away from her father, and to do that, she’d have to survive this little gauntlet of his degradation first, so she kept walking.

Four flaming braziers struggled to illuminate her father’s terrace. The royal fortress of the Emberlands was crafted entirely from the black volcanic rock favored by their goddess, the Earth Mother. The rock consumed light like the Hollow Ones consumed souls. The Hollow Ones—the undead that plagued her people, killing any who they tainted with their poison, adding them to their horde. Not that her father lifted a finger to help fight the scourge. 

“Father.” She stopped as her eyes met her father’s. Her ordeal wasn’t over yet. The monsters would have blended in well on the terrace. Everything was cloaked in shadows.

“Vesta.” His blue eyes glinted almost black in the dimness, his expression a mix of amusement and cruelty. Typical. The wind  ruffled his black hair. He wore a dark cloak lined in crimson and a fitted gambeson of deep maroon. He stood about a dozen paces from three unfortunate “targets” set up on wooden stands. These targets were close
enough to her that she could have thrown rocks and hit them.

But of course, unlike her father, she wasn’t a sadist.

Two targets were alive, one was not. She stifled a shudder at the smell of blood on the wind, catching her breath when she saw that the farthest stand held the silver cage containing her sweet pet firecat, Mercari.
Another cage contained a squealing piglet, likely destined to become a meal. Its cries indicated it was hardly in agreement with this plan. In the center between the two live animals sat the decapitated head of a humongous wolf, its accusing stare making her flinch inwardly. She carefully hid her reaction. The head must be the source of the stench.

King Symon Everind, Lord of Embers and—tragically—her father, grinned now. He held a bow, an unusual choice of weapon for him as he was a terrible shot. But he didn’t need to be talented to be cruel at a dozen paces.

He nocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring, aiming at Mercari. Everind squinted at the targets as he pulled back the bowstring further, sliding his aim toward the piglet and back again. “Tell me, Vesta. Do you think my aim will hold true?”

“True as your heart to my mother.” She coughed the roughness from her voice. She tried to keep her voice smooth and steady, but the water in her cell had been minimal. Pouring resentment into her tone helped. “May she rest in the Earth Mother’s great fire.”

And may he burn, sooner rather than later, for threatening these innocent creatures this way. The Earth Mother was supposed to bless the druids of the Emberlands, and especially her lineage, with the power of fire, but as it was, the gift had missed Vesta. She’d spent many a night communing with the earth, longing for the power to set something ablaze.

But she had never longed for it more than right now. Had her prayers been granted, she’d have used the gift on the most  deserving person she’d ever met: her father.

(NOTE: This excerpt is concurrent with editing and is subject to change.}