Free Embrace the Fire by Tamara Shoemaker Page A
Authors: Tamara Shoemaker
one of his three Pixie Divisions disturbed Sebastian. Julian Pixiedimn had admitted his passion for Sebastian's niece, Kinna, the red-haired minx, and in a strange twist of power-mixed pity, Sebastian had betrothed the two of them, hoping to use the engagement to control Julian. Sebastian fully intended blackmail; the boy was talented, but Sebastian also relished the idea of entrapping his niece into a marriage where she could never escape.
Since Julian had at last agreed to head the Pixie Division, Sebastian had revoked the betrothal; when his niece fled the Tournament with her Mirage Dragon, he'd determined to bring her before him, dead or alive, and one didn't grant marriages to fugitives. He'd sent a message to the Pixiedimn, impersonal and to the point: The Crown forthwith releases you from your betrothal to a traitor. The girl is now a wanted fugitive and should you receive word of her whereabouts, you are to report it to the Crown immediately.
Sebastian wondered where Julian's loyalty really lay. Though Sebastian had promoted the lad in a world where it was excruciating to earn a living for a family, the Pixiedimn's passion for Kinna could cause havoc in his plans, and Sebastian wasn't sure he could bend this reed before his will.
Uncertainty of anything soured Sebastian's mood. He ruled a kingdom, albeit a smaller one than was his rightful inheritance, and necessarily, he had to trust those he put in leadership under him. But that didn't mean he couldn't lengthen his personal supervision incrementally.
“I'm coming with you.”
Lanier had been in conversation with another Council member. All talk abruptly ceased. “Pardon, Your Grace?”
“I'm accompanying you to the Forgotten Plains. Are you deaf, Lanier?”
Lanier straightened his offended spine. “Nay, Your Grace. I ... did not think you wished to place yourself so directly in harm's way.”
Sebastian whipped to his feet. “Are you calling me a coward, Lanier?”
“Nay, Your Grace.” Lanier dropped his gaze to the table.
Sebastian stared hard at his Commander. Without turning his gaze even half an orlach, his voice rebounded through the room. “Council is dismissed.”
When Lanier bowed to leave, Sebastian gripped the table. “You will remain, Lanier.”
Quiet whispers accompanied the men as they made their way from the chamber, suspicious glances cast over their shoulders. Sebastian waited until the door boomed shut and he was alone with his Commander. He stepped around the table, standing toe to toe with Lanier. To his credit, the man didn't flinch.
“Never forget, Lanier, you are what you are because I made you. I made you , have you forgotten?”
“Nay, Your Grace.” Lanier's whisper was barely audible.
“And you live because I have allowed it.”
“Aye, Your Grace. I am grateful.”
“Without me, the vultures would feast upon your bones and then defecate across the moors of the Lismarian plains, filth for the Trolls to feast upon, because I saved your sorry hide from the raider-infested streets of your village. Do you deny it?”
“Nay, Your Grace. I do not deny it.”
Sebastian's jaw tightened as he stared at the man. His left hand gripped the back of the chair next to him. “You will never, not ever, call my judgment into question again, particularly before my Council. I lowered your rank once, Lanier, in favor of a fresh-faced boy, and I can do it again. And next time, I will lower it so far that there will be no rank left and no head upon which to bestow it. Do I make myself clear?”
One of Lanier's eyes twitched in the long silence that followed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Sebastian made a concerted effort to relax his spine. He stepped away from the man and released the chair. His sharp breath resounded in the room.
Frost and ice spidered outward from the chair where his grip had pressed, feathering in furls and curlicues. Lanier's gaze was still resentful. It rested on Sebastian's face, not the chair. Sebastian turned
Since Julian had at last agreed to head the Pixie Division, Sebastian had revoked the betrothal; when his niece fled the Tournament with her Mirage Dragon, he'd determined to bring her before him, dead or alive, and one didn't grant marriages to fugitives. He'd sent a message to the Pixiedimn, impersonal and to the point: The Crown forthwith releases you from your betrothal to a traitor. The girl is now a wanted fugitive and should you receive word of her whereabouts, you are to report it to the Crown immediately.
Sebastian wondered where Julian's loyalty really lay. Though Sebastian had promoted the lad in a world where it was excruciating to earn a living for a family, the Pixiedimn's passion for Kinna could cause havoc in his plans, and Sebastian wasn't sure he could bend this reed before his will.
Uncertainty of anything soured Sebastian's mood. He ruled a kingdom, albeit a smaller one than was his rightful inheritance, and necessarily, he had to trust those he put in leadership under him. But that didn't mean he couldn't lengthen his personal supervision incrementally.
“I'm coming with you.”
Lanier had been in conversation with another Council member. All talk abruptly ceased. “Pardon, Your Grace?”
“I'm accompanying you to the Forgotten Plains. Are you deaf, Lanier?”
Lanier straightened his offended spine. “Nay, Your Grace. I ... did not think you wished to place yourself so directly in harm's way.”
Sebastian whipped to his feet. “Are you calling me a coward, Lanier?”
“Nay, Your Grace.” Lanier dropped his gaze to the table.
Sebastian stared hard at his Commander. Without turning his gaze even half an orlach, his voice rebounded through the room. “Council is dismissed.”
When Lanier bowed to leave, Sebastian gripped the table. “You will remain, Lanier.”
Quiet whispers accompanied the men as they made their way from the chamber, suspicious glances cast over their shoulders. Sebastian waited until the door boomed shut and he was alone with his Commander. He stepped around the table, standing toe to toe with Lanier. To his credit, the man didn't flinch.
“Never forget, Lanier, you are what you are because I made you. I made you , have you forgotten?”
“Nay, Your Grace.” Lanier's whisper was barely audible.
“And you live because I have allowed it.”
“Aye, Your Grace. I am grateful.”
“Without me, the vultures would feast upon your bones and then defecate across the moors of the Lismarian plains, filth for the Trolls to feast upon, because I saved your sorry hide from the raider-infested streets of your village. Do you deny it?”
“Nay, Your Grace. I do not deny it.”
Sebastian's jaw tightened as he stared at the man. His left hand gripped the back of the chair next to him. “You will never, not ever, call my judgment into question again, particularly before my Council. I lowered your rank once, Lanier, in favor of a fresh-faced boy, and I can do it again. And next time, I will lower it so far that there will be no rank left and no head upon which to bestow it. Do I make myself clear?”
One of Lanier's eyes twitched in the long silence that followed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Sebastian made a concerted effort to relax his spine. He stepped away from the man and released the chair. His sharp breath resounded in the room.
Frost and ice spidered outward from the chair where his grip had pressed, feathering in furls and curlicues. Lanier's gaze was still resentful. It rested on Sebastian's face, not the chair. Sebastian turned