Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (73 page)

“What?” he said aloud, half turning. There was no one there. He quietly scanned the courtyard, suddenly wary for any would-be attacker, but found nothing. And then he heard it again—somewhere, far off, the sound of singing. A woman. She had a beautiful voice, and though it was tinny and distant it carried easily through the snow-silenced air whenever the wind fell. It sounded somehow familiar, yet alien at the same time—like something he had heard in a dream.
Beautiful,
he thought, enchanted, and he headed off in the direction of the singer.

~

“Have you...had any dreams lately, Clare?”

Serah's question took her somewhat by surprise, but she thought back a moment to humor the woman. “No,” she said slowly, “none that I can remember. Why? Should I have?”

Serah blinked, and then looked back out the window. “Sometimes those closest to the Titans have strange dreams. I thought perhaps you might have had one. It could have shed some light on Will's...problem.”

Clare debated her next words carefully, and when she finally said them she instantly regretted it. “Did Borost ever have dreams?”

Serah looked as though someone had just twisted a dagger in her spine. “Borost,” she said flatly. “Why would you ask about Borost?”

“The way you talk about him. The way you looked when I told you he had died in the forest.” Clare folded her arms under her breasts and leaned back in her seat. “I guess I just now put two and two together. He wasn't just talking about me when he told me to follow my heart. He was talking about you, too.”

Serah's eyes were dead—emotionless. When she spoke again, her words came out in a dull monotone. “I loved him,” she said simply. “And he loved me.”

Clare looked away. “And you never acted on that love.”

“Once.”

Clare turned slowly back to Serah.

“It was when he was still young, just after Davin died,” Serah continued softly, and her voice shook. “He came to me where I grieved in the Dark Forest, and...” She broke off and hid her face with her hand. “I do not wish to speak of this anymore.”

“But you must.” Clare's words were as hard and relentless as steel. “You, who are suddenly telling me to act on my love with Will. And now I find out you're a hypocrite.”

Serah gaped like a fish. “I—you—”

“So why should I, then?” Clare interrupted, her voice rising. “Why should I love Will if all it's going to do is tear me apart in the end? Why should I—”

“Because I made a mistake!” Serah cried, and the pain in her voice was so great that it stunned Clare into silence. “I am a living testament to what will happen if you choose not to follow your heart. I have made the mistake for you, Clare, so that you do not have to. I promise you, my life is not an envious one. I have suffered for five hundred years because of my foolish choice.”

“Then why?” Clare asked softly. “What happened?”

“I was afraid,” Serah whispered, and she hid her face once more. “I was afraid I would lose him, and I thought it better to have nothing to lose. But in the end...in the end I lost everything, you see?”

Both women were silent for a long time. Serah looked out the window with glassy eyes, and Clare, for her part, simply stared at her hands in her lap. “I'm...I'm not even sure I love Will anymore,” Clare finally said, and Serah flinched visibly as though struck. To Clare, the admission made her own words all the more real, giving life to the idea that had sparked within her.

“Why?” The word was flat. Dead. Completely devoid of emotion—and at the same time brimming with barely contained rage.

Clare took a deep, shuddering breath. “I guess I'm...afraid. I'm afraid that if I'm around him, something like Spaertos could happen again. And I can't be the cause of that. Not a second time.”

Serah did not respond. She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut as though in pain, and Clare had the impression that Serah was waging an inner war over what next to say. The desert woman stood abruptly and walked over to the window, her movements unnaturally stiff. She placed one hand on the sill with exaggerated care and took several deep breaths. “I knew this was a mistake,” she whispered to herself.

“What?” Clare asked, stunned. She had been expecting some sort of vicious reprisal.

“Nothing.” Serah's response was curt, but she simply sounded tired rather than angry. “I will take my leave now. I urge you to reconsider your actions. I would also suggest speaking with Katryna or Castor. They may be able to shed some light on Will's actions.”

“You didn't hear me,” Clare said, but her words came out with far less strength than she had intended. “I...no longer care about Will. I don't care.”

Serah stared at her for only a moment longer, and then turned in a flurry of sand-colored robes and made for the door. “I hope for all our sakes,” she said, “that you decide to change your mind.”

She did not slam the door as Clare had expected, and once the latch had clicked softly closed she was left alone with only her tempestuous thoughts to keep her company.

~

He followed the sound of the song through a winding, twisting labyrinth of stone figures and bushes blanketed in white, pushing through the thickening snowfall as though it were a feather-light curtain. Even as he drew nearer the words refused to make themselves intelligible, and he began to wonder if the song was in a different language; if it was, however, it was one that Will had never before encountered.

His breath misted in the air, churning before him in a little billowing white cloud before dissipating rapidly into the chill air. Each sound he made seemed unnaturally loud, and he tried in vain to silence the throaty crunches his boots made in the snow.

And when he finally saw the singer, his breath hitched in surprise. She was sitting on the edge of a stone fountain, its bear-shaped spouts long ago rendered inoperable. Her skin was pale white, her hair long and shining black in contrast. And her eyes were bright, glittering violet—it was a color Will had seen only a few times before, one that made rare appearances and only then in the Freelands.

She was also naked.

He stopped perhaps ten paces from her, transfixed both by the song and by her ethereal beauty. She was, he admitted to himself, even more beautiful than Clare. And yet, the longer he stared at her, the more a niggling sense of disquiet grew in the back of his mind. She was almost
too
beautiful—
too
perfect. Her slender form curved in exactly the right places, her unblemished skin was marble-smooth,
her ample breasts were round and full. Her hair pooled about her shoulders and hung down her back in a silken mane; her eyes were set in a feminine face with full lips and a sharply slender jaw.

And yet...to Will she seemed almost artificial. No woman could possibly look like her. Was she, perhaps, a spirit?

Her song did not falter when he came into view—indeed, she seemed to have been waiting for him, and her eyes caught his as soon
as
he saw her. The violet irises suggested pleasures beyond Will's wildest dreams. Her song slowly trailed off and faded at last on a soft, low note, and the tune seemed to meld with the sighing wind. For a moment she said nothing, choosing instead to let her eyes rove over Will's body. It gave him a feeling akin to an insect being studied in a field.

Finally, in an entrancingly beautiful voice full of barely concealed longing, she purred, “Willyem.”

He licked his lips nervously. “D-Do I know you?” he stammered. She smiled, and her chest rose with a deep breath, pushing her breasts invitingly in Will's direction. He found his eyes drawn to the cold-hardened nipples, and tore his gaze away an instant later. She giggled.

“No,” she breathed, “but I know you.” She stood and began to walk languidly toward him. Her long legs were taught, and the muscles slid sensuously beneath alabaster skin. She trailed one of her hands from her thigh up to her breast, and Will, despite everything he tried, found himself increasingly aroused. When she stopped she was but a hand's breadth away from him, pressing lightly against his chest. She was not as tall as Clare, and had to tilt her head upward slightly to look him in the eye.

“What is it you desire most?” she whispered, and leaned up to gently nip the lobe of his ear with her teeth.

“Not you,” he whispered back, his voice hoarse, and with a titanic effort of will he forced himself to move away. He could only manage a single step.

“Are you sure?” the woman asked, her lips turned downward in a gentle pout. “You would rather have that woman in the fort? But why? My body is soft and supple. ” She reached up and drew one of his hands to her breast; the skin was cold, almost uninviting, and yet he found his fingers tightening slightly regardless. She pushed into his grip, her nipple grazing his palm, and moaned softly. “Mine are so much better than hers, are they not? So much bigger, so much fuller. 'Tis not even a fair competition. And that is only one part of me.” She trailed her hands up to the back of his neck and drew him down to her mouth, her lips parting for a kiss, and his nostrils flared as they caught a sudden and inexplicable burst of lemon in the air.

But something was wrong with this woman—very, very wrong—and the Other inside of him stirred angrily, arching its back and snarling like an enraged plains lion.

Comprehension dawned on Will in a flash, and he shoved the woman roughly away from him. He staggered backward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. “Fallen,” he spat, suddenly wishing he had a sword.

The woman threw her head back and laughed. “Well done!” she cried, and clapped her hands mockingly. “Well,
well
done, little dragon!” She no longer held an air of desire, and Will felt his own dwindle rapidly away. Now he had the impression that he was being circled by a predator.

“Where is your army?” Will demanded, and panic surged through him—nobody else knew of the woman's presence. All of his friends and comrades were in Horoth, unaware of the danger.
Clare
was in Horoth. He had to get to her—protect her. He began to call upon his power.

But then, to his surprise, he felt the Other's presence recede, sinking quickly back into the depths of his mind as though...as though it were afraid.

“My army?” the woman purred. “I need no army to defeat the mighty Dragon King. Just these.” She squeezed her breasts and winked. “I am here alone, my love. Here only for you—”

“Shut up.” Will's eyes darted left and right, searching for a trap, but he saw nothing. He turned his glare back to the Fallen One, his hatred bubbling up inside of him like liquid magma. “Listen closely, witch, because I am only going to say this once: I've had enough killing to last me a lifetime. I do not wish for any more, but I will gladly kill you if you force my hand. Now leave. Go back to where you
came from and never return. I'm giving you a chance to—”

“Dear Willyem,” the woman cut in with a wicked grin, “I think we both know that if you were able to kill me, you would have already done so. But I sense a certain...absence within you. Has someone perhaps overstepped his bounds? I hear Spaertos was in
such
a ruin. 'Tis quite a tragedy, all those lives
wasted.
”

Will glared at her. “What do you want?
Are you here to kill me?
”

She laughed and turned away, showing him the curves of her backside. “'Tis not
that
I have come for. Not necessarily. I do so enjoy toying with my food before I eat it, after all. But no,” she turned back to him, “I have not come to kill you.”

“Then what. Do. You. Want?” he bit off every word, barely restraining the rage building up inside of him. To his dismay, however, he found that the rage still did not bring the Other with it. It shrank back even further, curled into a little shivering ball in the back of his mind, its presence so faint that he could barely sense it at all.

“I want to make you suffer,” the Fallen One hissed. “'Tis a terrible thing you've done, my sweet. A terrible thing indeed.”

“You forced my hand.”

“And yet,” she chuckled, “the world does not know that. It makes it all the more delicious to watch. You realize, do you not, that the good people of Pallamar will tear you apart now? After killing so many innocents, how could they possibly trust you ever again?”

Will had no answer; she was right. He glared at her, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“The most amusing part for me,” the Fallen One continued, “is that we barely had to do a thing. Corrupt one, corrupt a thousand—and let the Dragon King do the rest.” She gave a throaty chuckle. “And I must say, you've performed your part admirably. Even we had not hoped for an entire city. But you, my love...you are something
special.
”

She walked up to him once more, her lips parting in an evil smile. “But back to what I came for. You see, you never asked which one I am.”

“Who are you, then?” Will hissed, but his words held none of their earlier fire.

“Why,” she whispered, leaning in close to him again, “'tis I, Insanity.”

Before he could respond her hand darted up to his face, and with one nail she tapped him in the center of his forehead. Blinding pain erupted throughout his body, and the last thing he heard her say before he was swallowed by writhing tendrils of darkness was, “Enjoy your time with Clare. I know
I
will.”