Fireblood (Fireblood 1)

The gray-eyed knight escorts me through massive mahogany doors, and I’m dwarfed by elegance I’d never imagined. The stone floors echo our steps. A crystal chandelier lights the inner ward with an amber glow, giving the illusion of warmth despite the chill in the air. Velvet tapestries—blue, silver, and crimson—hang ceiling to floor.

As we ascend a spiral staircase, my head spins from the height. I want to latch on to the stone railing to steady myself, but I’m afraid to touch anything. I’m so out of place within this element that I feel detached, as if in a dream. Four flights bring us to the top level, and my body is taxed. My emotions are drained.

After passing five rooms, we stop at the sixth, and the door swings open.

A middle-aged woman, her auburn hair pulled into a braided bun, ushers me inside the room. “My dear,” she says, her voice both soft and excited, “what a journey you’ve had. Sit, sit.” She beckons me to a burgundy velvet settee near a brass fire pit.

I say nothing and sit as instructed, welcoming the heat from the flames while taking in the tall stone walls that reach toward an arched ceiling. Giant wooden beams cross the open space above, and a chandelier hangs from the center one, casting the chamber in soft light.

“Maid Madity,” the knight says. I look up at him, having forgotten he was here. “The prince wishes the princess to retire for the evening, then to break her fast with him in the atrium come morning.”

She bobs her head, her eyes creasing as if irritated by his presence. I like her immediately. “Yes, of course,” she says. “Go now, Sir Larkin. I have a travel-weary charge to tend to.” She shoos the knight from the doorway.

I stare vacantly at the dormer window across from me while Maid Madity flitters about the room, hanging clothes—though not the clothes I brought—in a mahogany armoire. As she folds linens on the tall bed, I notice her gray servant’s tunic hangs a little lower on her left side, and there’s a slight limp in her walk.

She hums as she folds. It’s as if the realm has continued on. Like the transmission never occurred. Only my world has forever changed.

My head aches as I try to piece together all that has happened. I think of Hadley watching the transmission as Prince Sebastian announced my name. What went through her mind? Did she race

to my home afterward, only to find me and my father already gone? Will I ever be able to see her again?

Mr. Levine’s actions are clear now. Somehow, he was aware of what was about to transpire. I don’t know how, but he had to have been. He was making sure my father would be taken care of after I was removed from his care. It would have assuaged some of my fears, but Mr. Levine’s kind and perilous effort is moot now.

Maid Madity stuffs the now-folded linens under the bed, and the fire pops. I startle, but quickly check myself, and scoff at the intricate illusion that is our world.

Karm is surrounded by a force field. It protects us, hiding us from Outside. The wasteland. Only here does grass and vegetation grow. Only here do we have the means to genetically fashion animals, giving life. Like my father’s farm where I helped him clone animals to sell at the market. After the nuclear fallout of the Final War, and the Virus that came shortly after, nothing remains of the old world except destruction, death, and plague.

And the storybook world of nightmares.

Growing up, I heard tales of beasts mutated by the fallout, so large and distorted that they devour everything in their paths. I was told of people no longer able to use their eyes, blinded by the loss of ozone, with adapted senses that sniff out their prey. Humans.

I shiver and sink closer to the fire. They’re only stories meant to keep us complacent, I remind myself. It’s why we accept King Hart’s rule, his realm. No one dares to question for fear of being tossed into the Outside.

My father never confirmed or denied the myths of Outside, but he did teach me of the world that once lived where the wasteland now thrives. He read me banned books at night when I was a child, sneaked them to me as I grew older, and taught me about the laws that used to govern the different sectors of the world. And how very different Karm is from that world.

Now, I’ll never lay eyes on my father again.

The signs of the Virus first appeared in him nine weeks ago. He was having difficulties remembering cloning procedures he’d done a thousand times before. I tried my best to take over, to cover for him, making sure to meet our quota of cows, pigs, and our recent addition of chickens. When he became bedridden last week, though, we fell behind, and truly, it was then only a matter of time before the Force came.

Even if the prince had never announced my name, I couldn’t have hidden my father away much longer. The Virus that took millions during the Final War lurks in every citizen’s blood. It’s not a matter of if, but when the Virus will take us. Although it seems to skip children, preferring instead to take us in our prime.

My father evaded it longer than most, although he has little time left now.

Soon, he’ll die in the Oubliette. Alone. Forgotten. We’re never to speak of the Taken. They’re a stain, an imperfection in our otherwise perfect realm.

I shed plump, hot tears. They burn as they trail down my cheeks.

Maid Madity adjusts the apron along her curvy hips and attentively approaches me. “Princess Zara?” My eyes snap to her plain yet charming face. “Do you wish me to wash your feet? You must be worn from your trip.”

I shake my head and wipe my face hastily. “Nay, thank you.”

“How about I brush out your hair?” she tries again, a warm smile curling her lips. “You have such beautiful blonde tresses. A good brushing will bring back their luster.”

My brow furrows. “My father has just been abducted by the most ruthless knights in all of Karm,” I snap. “I hardly think a bath and hair brushing will soothe me.” I cringe and pinch my eyes closed, immediately regretting my harsh words. It’s not her doing as to why I’m here, why my father is now—as I sit in this lavish chamber—being sent to the Oubliette. However, my mind cannot summon the spirit to placate her.

She bows her head. “Understood, m’lady.” She leaves the room, and the door bangs closed behind her.

Willing my body to move, I slog across the floor toward the balcony and push the glass doors open. The evening air is crisp and scented with smoke from the torches. I breathe it in.