A Desire for Fire & Bone Read online

  A Desire for Fire & Bone

  By J.C. Saint

  Content Warning:

  While this is a work of fiction, it contains depictions of fantasy violence, gore, death, emotional and physical abuse, anxiety and panic attacks, character deaths, self-harm, and self-inflicted wounds. Reader discretion is advised.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Adora

  Chapter 2: Ariene

  Chapter 3: Adora

  Chapter 4: Ariene

  Chapter 5: Adora

  Chapter 6: Ariene

  Chapter 7: Adora

  Chapter 8: Ariene

  Chapter 9: Adora

  Chapter 10: Ariene

  Chapter 11: Adora

  Chapter 12: Ariene

  Chapter 13: Adora

  Chapter 14: Ariene

  Chapter 15: Adora

  Chapter 16: Ariene

  Chapter 17: Adora

  Chapter 18: Ariene

  Chapter 19: Adora

  Chapter 20: Ariene

  Chapter 21: Adora

  Chapter 22: Ariene

  Chapter 23: Adora

  Chapter 24: Ariene

  Chapter 25: Adora

  Chapter 26: Ariene

  Chapter 27: Adora

  Chapter 28: Ariene

  Chapter 29: Adora

  Chapter 30: Ariene

  Chapter 31: Adora

  Chapter 32: Ariene

  Chapter 33: Adora

  Chapter 34: Ariene

  Chapter 35: Adora

  Chapter 36: Ariene

  Chapter 1: Adora

  Late summer air clings to my sweat sheen skin.

  I have stood on these grounds a hundred times before but each time, I feel their eyes. The eyes of those who watched the births of thousands of Artisans of the past. My heart skips beat, not out of fear, but ecstasy. After so many years, it is now my turn to discover who I am meant to be. To earn my title and finally become what my Mother wanted for me. Or what I hope she wanted for me. With the skipping of my heartbeats heart beats a fist closes in my chest.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder next. It’s a warm comfort next to the cold fist clamped onto my heart. I turn to see Azar. His wrinkled face looks to my gaze, and he smiles.

  “Thinking of her?” He says as if reading my mind. I let out a small chuckle.

  “Of course.” Those words alone are enough to grow a lump in my throat. I was barely five when Azar told me of my mother’s passing. Then his words felt strange to hear and I believed I was unable to understand them, but now, a knife wrenches through my gut. Azar never pressed much on the details, but he did tell me one thing.

  She promised to protect you, before herself. And she died doing that.

  “She would be as proud and ecstatic as you are.” He squeezed the flesh of my shoulder before heading into the shadows of the arena, calling me to follow.

  I followed Azar into the Elder Temple, a sandstone building that branched out from its spiraling center into four square homes. Every training Artisan came here. They were mentored by one at the age of 16 before beginning their Rising. The ceremony where the gods gave them their gift, their Art. I’ve been with Azar my entire life, so it only felt fitting that he was my mentor and his apprentice.

  “What are your Four Oaths?” His voice was crisp in the darkroom. He sat in his large chair in the corner before shutting his eyes, resting his staff against the wall, and clasping his hands on his lap. I scoffed, should have expected he would test me in the final hours before my trial.

  “I thank the gods for their blessing.” Gratitude always came first.

  “I ask them for understanding.” Then comes then the fear of losing control.

  “I learn of my new self, newly reborn.” Work towards control.

  “I promise to never main, hurt, nor kill with the gods’ blessing.” And finally, set an accord to protect yourself and others.

  Azar grumbles when I finish. Old grouch. His eyes open and he blinks at me for a moment too long. My mouth falls open, but before I can say anything an Elder barges in.

  “Azar,” we’re greeted by the shrill of Jitai’s cry. She is panting, sweat covers her grey brow as she locks eyes with the older man. Azar scrunches his nose and rises to his feet. He grabs his staff and ushers me out. “What? What is happening?”

  “Nothing of your concern.” A flash of raven’s wing hairbrushes past me. Iradesa. I lock eyes with her. She’s the youngest Elder on the council, and only the gods know how she got herself there.

  “Please, Adora. I will find you before it's time for you to Rise. But now,” he looks back to Jitai and Iradesa. The greying Elder is ashen and shaking. “We must convene.” He smiles one more time before scurrying back into his room.

  “Could this be the year? Could she be the one?” I catch a shrill of Jitai’s voice.

  Silence falls over. I turn back but catch the piercing gaze of Iradesa. Her eyes flash a cold grey and a gust of wind pushes me over. “Go!” She barks. I jump back to my feet and scurry off, cursing beneath my breath.

  I rest in the bay of the windowsill as I watch the sun fall in the sky. The pane is marked with lines to mark its height. A code we came up with for Rising orphans. I smile as my fingers graze the fading paint. So many of the brothers and sisters I made here have Risen and gone off to better things. Building homes and bridges with the Terranites. Cleansing the water with the Aecor. Giving us a gentle breeze beside the Gaelia. I wish I could say I still see them, but some are so busy, and others are… An echo of a scream rips through me and a tidal wave of memories rushes forward. Screams and cries. Blood and tears. It all consumes me so quickly, and I—

  “How’s it going, mousey?” Demetrius’s voice snaps me from the memories. Gods-given.

  “Azar kicked me out because the Elders needed to have a meeting,” I mock with my hands in the air, sticking out my tongue. If I am being honest, it was mostly Iradesa that gave me ill feelings. She’s never liked me. And I reciprocate back to her.

  “As always, the bitter-tongued Adora ravages the dorms with her disdain for the council.” I roll my eyes at him, but I’m cut short when the sun gleams through the window and onto his golden hair. His amber skin glows in the sunlight with beautiful green eyes that mark his status in the Terranites ranks.

  “Today is your day and do not let anyone take that from you.” He sits across from me. And beautiful is an understatement for how he practically looks like a god in the sunlight. I scoff and swallow.

  “How can the gods make one man so pretty?” I punch his shoulder. He smirks.

  “And how can the gods make one girl so desperate for her brother?” He jokes and I play a gag. Demetrius has been with me at the orphanage since I first came here. I could never tell why he seemed so adamant about staying even after he Rose.

  “I’m excited to see where they put you.” He looks to the empty beds. The tidal wave hisses in my ears as it crashes onto the shores of my mind. “They save the best for last.” Demetrius smiles, but I can see there’s something bittersweet behind those green muscles. How his brows press together without the slightest movement. If now wasn’t the time, then I don’t know when it is.

  “Why didn’t you go with the rest of them?” I ask, feeling the knot in my chest swell. There has to be good reasoning. No one would want to stay in this hellhole.

  We sit amongst the setting sun’s light and the gentle chirp of tired birds. I open my mouth to take back my question, but he beats me to it.

  “You remember that day?” I do. Vividly. The same day Mother died trying to protect me was the same day they took so many of my brothers and sisters, so many Artisans taken that they nearly wiped out an entire generation. My heart wrenched and my blo
od boiled.

  “After that day, I- we lost so many that- that I almost lost myself, Adora.” He turns back to me, but this time his eyes have glossed over, and a wall of tears dares to erupt down his cheeks. “You were one of the few lefts and I needed something to tether to, and for some gods-forsaken reason, you were what I needed to tie myself to.” Every part of me wants to wrap my arms around him, but in the back of my head, I don’t feel deserving of it. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve this, and I just wished they would have tethered him to someone else.

  “Demetrius,” I reach out for him, but Azar ushers himself into the room. Demetrius quickly wipes his tears before standing and bowing.

  “My Elder.” He says before standing back up. Azar acknowledges Demetrius, but his attention is on me. I turn back to the window and the sun has hit the bottom line. The single line of white paint. That’s when we were supposed to leave for the arena. That’s when I have to leave and it’s now.

  “Adora,” my name on his tongue is heavy like stone and I feel the pressure build in the air. It’s time to prove myself. To show everyone, every Artisan in Larune that I am ready for this. I nod and follow him out, but not before catching a glimpse of Demetrius. He’s bottled up everything. He’s breaking and he does it before my eyes as he waves. His hand shoots to cover his face and he crumples to the ground.

  My chest tightens.

  “Now, remember,” the entrance into the arena is dark but the echoing of chatter fills the tunnel with so many different voices that I can barely hear Azar.

  “We have to trust that the gods have a gift for you today.” He speaks of a worst-case scenario. It;’s happened very few times throughout the centuries, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen to me tonight. When the gods don’t bestow a gift unto you, it could mean they’ve forgotten about you. Left you to fend for yourself. It’s a Riser’s greatest fear.

  I look to Azar in hopes that won’t happen. He smiles again, gentle like a dog and wide.

  “It’s not going to be like the others,” he says. “For years, I have been waiting for this day and I cannot believe that it will be happening before my eyes.” I assume his words are for himself, but the bones in my body rattle in a way that tells me otherwise. And I take their word with care.

  “Shall we, my dear Riser?” He holds out his elbow for me. I smile back and link my arm in his.

  We walk into the arena and the noise is louder than I could expect. Hundreds of Artisans sit in the stands and cheer out. All of this for me. Flowers have been tossed onto the ground. Different gems have fallen onto the sand. And the air is alive with power and strength. It warms my heart.

  Azar leads me to the Elders who stand next to one another in robes of their respected Art. Iradesa draped Gaelia grey and white. Jitai covered Terranite green. Ronan is dressed in Aecor blue. I turn to Azar, his purple silk shines as the sun sets into the knight. Torches have been lit by the many who stand in the lower basin of the arena. Artisan warriors in position if something should go wrong. The flicker of the fires fills the Arena with amber light, and I can’t help but smile as my blood runs hot and fast, my heart beating in time to each lick to the tongues of fire give to the air.

  “Adora,” Azar begins to speak, and the onlooker’s hush. The arena goes silent.

  “Tonight, is the night that the gods lift you to the heavens and bestow upon you Art.” My heart flutters.

  “When you Rise, you will finally join our ranks, our ways, our culture, our people, your people.” Iradesa steps up with a bowl of black paint in hand a brush in the other. She begins to paint an intricate design to call forth the gods’ lights, their words, their power from the heavens. When she’s done, Azar continues.

  “When you Rise, you will pledge an Oath to thank the gods.” Jitai slips behind me and braids three pink flowers into my hair. “An Oath to remember them for their gift.” She takes another section of my hair and braids three more white flowers into my dark hair. “An Oath to learn of yourself.” Three more, green. “And an Oath of promise to protect.” And finally, three red ones to complete the crown. They’re weightless above my head, but their stems still remind me of where I am, who I currently am. And if all goes well, I will no longer need them to remind me of who I was.

  “When you Rise,” this is it. Ronan sneaks behind me, presses his hands against the back of my neck, and begins to whisper the ancient words that will grant me temporary solace into the gods’ kingdom. The air goes still.

  My blood runs cold with each word he speaks. He ushers out entire paragraphs before I have time to understand and translate, but it’s pointless, all that matters is once he’s finished.

  “You will be reborn.” And at that very moment, I expect bliss. Complete and utter ecstasy as Azar and Ronan finish their words in tandem. I shut my eyes and wait to feel anew. Different. Better. Complete. Reborn. Risen.

  But nothing comes. No new sensation. Nothing comes to me but a gentle breeze. My eyes flutter open and I see no elders. The arena has gone dark, and people are murmuring.

  Gods. I haven’t done it. They haven’t blessed me. I feel tears sting behind my eyes.

  “Azar-” I try to call for him, but pain rips through me. A burning sensation tears through me, filling beneath my skin until it bubbles. My heart skips a beat when I realize what must happen next. Every bubble pops.

  “Ahhh!” A blood-curdling scream roars through me and throughout the entire arena as the night sky is lit ablaze by endless flames from my arms, my legs, my hands, my back. The fire boars through me at unthinkable speeds and I wonder how I’m still alive.

  Until the pain becomes too much, and the black takes hold of me

  Chapter 2: Ariene

  I stuck in a sharp breath.

  The corset on my waist is squeezing me in every possible painful way. I try to urge the handmaiden to tighten its strings to ease how tight she pulls them, but I earn a groan of disapproval from my mother sitting on the ottoman of my vanity.

  “Graceyn, please don’t mind her.” She steps up from the ottoman and scurries over to me. Even below me on this pedestal, she still seems to tower over me. Her straw blond hair and porcelain complexion have always loomed over me. Since I was a child, I have always felt her eyes boring holes into the back of my head or burning out my eyes in their sockets. Now, a few days before Eren’s wedding she still finds a way to never hold back on her insults.

  “It is her fault for scarfing the Pan Cake in the kitchen.” A flurry of shame billows inside me. “For some reason, the chefs do not listen to me.” They don’t listen to you because you never show them a single spit of kindness. I want to cough at her, but it’s pointless, she’ll find some way to usher me back into my place.

  “Indulge me, Ariene.” She takes my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. Not one for affirmation, one to hold me in line. “Why do they spoil you so?”

  I swallow at her question. Of course, I know the answer. Yet the words still choke in my throat. He gave them the order. And it will always be him that they follow, Mother. He never treated them as lesser than. He treated them as people.

  “I don’t know the minds of the workers, Mother.” My eyes dart down the mirror to catch a glimpse of Graceyn’s face in the reflection. She remains flat and unmoved, pretending my words didn’t bother her, but even I wouldn’t be able to ignore such distastefulness. My throat thickens at my shame, and I can’t move myself to look at the tailor and his seamstress.

  Mother sighs. “Of course, you wouldn’t know. You barely know how to think for yourself.” Her hand slips out of mine and my fingers twitch to have them back in my grasp, the feel of even her soft, cold skin I seek out. My heart jitters when phantom touches graze onto the bare skin of my butterscotch upper arms. Bold and firm. Tight yet gentle. Warm. I feel the ghost of him on my skin and I lean into it, not caring whether or not he is there.

  The seamstress taps my leg. Her honey hair glistens in the morning sunlight beaming through the large patio windows.
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  I’m back to reality. I lolled for a second and mother’s shook her head in disapproval. Only the Saint above would ever understand her.

  “You need to be proper for your sister’s wedding. I can’t have you turning this into a rag show.” She hisses, glaring at me through the reflection. The billow of shame beneath my cheeks dissipates.

  “I’m not-” I try to say, but the door swings open in a panic as Eren rushes in with her wedding gown. A wave of pure white and silver lace, decorated with embroidery of golden flowers and feathers.

  “Mother!” Eren shrieks. Her face is in ruins with wet makeup, her straw hair is wet and clings to her cheeks, and she’s barely covering herself in a robe. The tailor and seamstress look away, halting their work.

  Mother turns to her eldest daughter in horror, staring at the soaked wedding gown. Horror pales on her face.

  “Eren!” She shrieks back and takes the dress from my sister. Shortly after Eren’s grand entrance, Isai walks in, shame covering her face when she catches a look of the queen, darting away from mother’s sharp gaze. Isaia and Eren have been best friends for as long as I can remember. I can still recall the day they threw me out of Eren’s room and made fun of me. To this day, they still mock me for being the least favorite daughter.

  They both deserve what’s coming to them.

  “What happened?’ Mother nearly growls, restraining from making a fool of herself, but the snarl and hiss behind grit teeth is enough for all eyes in the room to see her frustration.

  “We- We were—” Isai nudges Eren. “I was showing Isai the dress before she left. A handmaiden had drawn a bath and I tripped and fell and- and- and-” She lost her voice as sobs broke free. Eren, the poised, put-together of the Carida daughters, fell apart within mere moments. Bawling into her hands, throwing her soaking wet body onto my dry sheets.

  “That’s my bed!” I say, but, as usual, am ignored.

  “Can we fix it, ma’am?” Isai looks to mother. Mother glances up at her and groans.

  “I do not know.” She turns to Graceyn. The handmaiden steps over and takes the sopping wedding dress. She grimaces at the feel of wet lace against her skin. It takes her a single moment to decide.