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The Fire Starter

By Gloria Clover

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Chapter One
Amaryllis Filippopoulos lay in the hayloft hours after her father's second squad of warriors had left the estate grounds empty-handed. She'd sleep here if necessary. They would not find her. They would not take her to this latest dastardly farce of a wedding. Always, she would outsmart them.
And she would never marry.
Her father knew she wouldn't. Why couldn't he accept it like the man he'd once been? Age seemed to steal from men what marriage stole from women.
Electra, her bodyguard and best friend, dropped into the hay at her left. "Rasmus waits in the ferns beneath your apartment. He must believe you are in the castle."
"Rasmus is a boulder at best. A twice dead cow otherwise."
Electra laughed softly. "I know—dried in the udder and no longer breathing. Amy, you're cruel."
Amaryllis allowed the nickname only because of the rational explanation Electra had given her the first time she'd used it. "Princess Amaryllis Filippopoulos, if I must address you formally, the danger will have struck before I complete your name."
Why couldn't everyone be so rational?
"I'm disgusted Father's trying again so soon. Just three months ago he tried to marry me off to that dense mass he swore was a nobleman."
"Your father grows anxious. He knows his time is short."
"He could live for another twenty years." She ignored her friend's pitying look because they both knew her ninety-six-year-old father had aged drastically in the past five years. Then another thought struck her. "Burn it," she exclaimed. "Electra, if you are still here, who has he taken to stand in proxy for me this time?"
"As I refused to say the vows the two times I stood in for you, I would guess your father finally accepts my allegiance lies with you, even though he is high lord of Celosia." She rubbed away a piece of brown grass that poked into her chin. "Zoe. He's taken Zoe."
Zoe, her best maid, who worked quickly and efficiently without sound. The one whose wage went to feeding her four younger brothers and sisters. Zoe would not have the courage to refuse saying the vows.
"It doesn't matter. The proxy vows will disintegrate quickly enough when the marriage isn't consummated."
From the corner of her eye, Electra sent her that shrewd, pitying look Amaryllis detested. "You hope," her friend said. "I've already warned you I am not prepared to kill a man just because he had the misfortune of agreeing to marry you."
"I can elude a man." Of that, Amaryllis was confident. Where she stumbled was what she would do with her time while she did her eluding. As manager of her father's vast estates on Celosia Island, she was used to being productive. Already she was bored in the hayloft. If Electra hadn't tracked her here and kept her company on and off all afternoon, Amaryllis would have been sneaking past Rasmus to get back to her apartment to work on the estate accounts or to finish putting together the supplies for the serfs down in Adonia. Which, come to think of it, needed to be done.
She pushed into a low crouch. "Enough of this. You distract Rasmus. I have things to do."
"Your father has been known to send three rounds of warriors."
Amaryllis growled at the truth of the statement and then stiffened. Had mentioning the

men brought them? Certainly that was the clop of hooves that reached her ears. She scuttled backward against the barn's cool stone wall and looked through the loft opening toward the front gates.
Three men rode through on massive war horses, but they were not her father's knights. They wore white and purple instead of the Filippopoulos green and black. What nobleman claimed purple? Amaryllis wrinkled her brow, and she motioned Electra closer. "How is it I do not recognize the colors?"
Once she got a look at the warriors, Electra smirked. "'Tis because you have refused to acknowledge anything pertaining to your newly betrothed."
"Burn it all," Amaryllis muttered, staring down into the courtyard where the knights had reined in and the small party of serfs behind them had stopped. Electra spoke the truth. By design, Amaryllis had missed the last two lord's meetings because she didn't want to hear anything about this off-islander her father had invited into their midst. It wasn't like her to shove her head in the hackneyed sand ... but what was happening to her father?
Keril—her father's second-in-command—greeted the strangers with a deep bow. Upon closer inspection, though, she realized these men weren't strangers, but warriors of Athena, the estate her father had gifted to this supposed prince.
For a moment Amaryllis's thoughts wandered to Electra's place in her life. Amaryllis's father had insisted she needed more than a companion, but also a protector who could travel with her everywhere. So, though he ultimately held Keril responsible for her protection, her father expected Electra—
Her thought broke off sharply. Her gaze lit upon an unsaddled horse led by one of the serfs. Small, white—no, dappled with the slightest gray—with gray mane and lighter tail. A most beautiful.... "Is it an Arabian?" she breathed. "Is that the new type they speak of down at the racing lanes?"
"I believe so." Electra's voice held her own awe. "He is magnificent."
"Let's go down."
Electra shook her head and motioned back toward the courtyard. Rasmus strode into view.
The disappointment swamped any exclamation Amaryllis wanted to make. It truly burned that she was the second most powerful person on the entire island, yet she couldn't even traverse her own home without fear of being captured as a criminal and escorted to her wedding.
She hated being female.
***
Females amazed him.
Prince Valryan Shaye Molan allowed his gaze to settle upon the bent neck of the young mouse pushed to his side. He hated to admit it, but he'd expected more. Her reputation had suggested fire and grit and a certain disdain of convention that this poor terrified girl lacked in absolutes.
"Dear one," he murmured, hoping to put her at ease as he captured her shoulder in one large hand. Her entire body convulsed. "This should not take long. Stay strong."
Her head dipped lower.
Valryan hoped it was fear of being the center of attention and not fear of himself that quaked through her. He'd hoped for marriage based in love.
To their left, a clerk on a side bench shot to his feet. "Our Lord Filipp, high nobleman of Celosia Island!"
Valryan's hand dropped from the girl's shoulder, and he shifted to watch his betrothed's father stride into the room flanked by a half dozen warriors in green and black.
"My apologies for the delay," the old man barked. "The wedding can proceed. Princess Amaryllis remains unavailable to travel this day, so Zoe can complete the vows as planned."
As planned? Not Amaryllis? Valryan's gaze dropped back onto the shrinking child before him. He had planned to exchange vows with his intended. But thankfully the mouse wasn't she. "I hope your daughter is not unwell, sir," Valryan offered instead of the fifteen other questions lodged in his brain. Mainly, when would he meet his wife?
"She's always unwell," her father snapped. "Unwell in attitude, duty, and gratefulness. If you think you are capturing a prize, Prince Molan, you are not. I am gifting you the rulership of my island in a treasure chest, but the key to opening it is smoldering metal."
If Valryan hadn't spent the better part of the last three months getting to know this man, he might have been surprised at his candid summation of their agreement. But Filipp wasn't known for his diplomacy any more than his daughter was known for being demure. With practice, Valryan contained his smile. He had been sent to Celosia to marry its princess and lead these people back to their true King. Whatever way the marriage came about wasn't his most pressing concern.
The old buzzard's iron-colored brows drew together, then he lowered himself onto the front bench in the ancient temple of Aphrodite. "I have appointed Zoe as the official proxy for this day's events. I have the authority. The wedding will be legal." He nodded imperiously to the equally gray-haired gentleman facing them from the altar. "Proceed, Cronus."
That Filipp would offer an explanation should cause Valryan some concern, but he focused on the stand-in priest—Celosia hadn't had a true believer in Aphrodite for over three millennia—and his stand-in bride, whom he doubted had enough voice to make it through the ceremony. Suddenly he wished for a friend, a classmate, someone who knew the King and understood he was the only one who could truly unite two beings into one flesh.
***
Four hours later, Amaryllis remained hidden in the lower hayloft. Now, however, she had an exhilarating view of the awesome horse. The Arabian had been stabled directly below her.
The warriors of Molan had refused Filippopoulos' hospitality and returned to their own lord who was even now most likely taking advantage of his position and indulging in sexual relations with Zoe.
Like she had wits to spare, poor girl.
One of Molan's serfs had remained, and Amaryllis had nearly despaired that he would never leave the stable. But he'd finally gone to the evening meal.
With a last look across the darkening courtyard, Amaryllis crooned to the horse below. "Greetings, you fine, gorgeous animal." She dropped into the spacious recesses of the horse's stall and held out her hand, palm up, fingers arched downward to discourage nibbling. The horse shifted and sniffed at her. Warm breath from his wide, quivering nostrils sprouted goose bumps across her bare arms.
She slid closer. "So, the gossip of the day—if I kept up adequately from my high perch—is that you are a wedding gift to me." She rubbed between his wide, wise eyes. "Your master supposedly has become my master. If you could talk, I guess you would say that you've said no more vows than I have to be in such a position."
The horse lowered his head and leaned into her shoulder. She buried her hand in his full mane and breathed in his magnificent scent. "Life is a foolish waste of time, my friend, to strive so hard for nothing and then die to nothing." A strange sting built in the back of her eyes. "My father used to accept that." She, in turn, rested her head against the horse's. "But to ride a beauty like you would make this day have worth."
The horse's head jerked up, nearly taking her jaw with it, and its ears flicked forward and back.
Then Amaryllis heard the hoof beats as well. Ten? No, double, perhaps triple, the number as the sound drew closer. Surely not her father's warriors. They too would have remained in Aphrodite for the wedding feast, guarding her father and her new husband—if anyone on the island should actually believe the legitimacy of such an event without a willing bride.
Unless something had happened to her father?
Amaryllis slipped from the stall, sticking to the shadows of the walls as she raced to the barn entrance. Bright light flashed, and she flung up her arm to shield her eyes. She paused and leaned into the door frame. A unit of soldiers surged through the now splintered gate of Filippopoulos. Certainly not her father's men who would have demanded the entrance be opened for them.
Her betrothed's, then?
Amaryllis nearly stalked out to meet them, appalled that they would come with such force to take her. What manner of man had her besotted old father bound her to?
"Halt!" The front guard called as he hauled his sword from its sheath.
Light exploded from the lead man's fist, and the guard flew backward fifteen feet. Someone else yelled, then men began pouring from the dining hall. Some were her father's warriors, armed only with their short swords, but most were serfs, men who worked with her father's horses, whose only training in warfare was the games they'd played as children.
Again the light shot from the knight's fist, and another man, clutching his chest, flew backward.
"Get in the castle," she screamed, not wanting to leave the protection of the barn. "Go back and bar the doors!"
Apparently, no one heard her. They scattered under the burning ray of light that shot from the knight. The enemy drew their broad swords, but no one could get close enough to engage them in battle.
"Bring out the princess!" The lead warrior motioned toward the castle, and his shout echoed into the far corners of the estate. "We'll let you live."
"Who goes there?" A voice demanded from one of the castle ramparts. Amaryllis recognized Keril with a surge of hope. He would get the serfs to safety.
"One whose cause will be met," the big knight returned. "We will see who is the fool tonight."
Fool? By the fighting love of Ares, she knew that voice. She knew it because she had been forced to humor the giant mass of density for two months last autumn while she assessed his estate and pretended to consider his marriage proposal. "Pirro," she acknowledged. "You prune-faced rock."
Had his fancy, illegal weapon actually killed the men he'd knocked from their feet?
"Pirro," Keril called down, "what is the meaning of this attack? The house of Filippopoulos will not stand for such insubordination. Lord Filipp himself will eat your liver before Sunday."
Pirro shot a bolt of red light into the ramparts toward Keril's voice. Stone and concrete tumbled downward.
The first jerk of fear swept through Amaryllis. The weapon was powerful. More powerful than anything her men had access to tonight. Perhaps more powerful than anything they had in the hidden armory.
"I want the princess."
"You know we are commanded to die for her."
Something in Keril's tone made her believe he judged the time to be soon. He too recognized the destruction in Pirro's weapon. This would not be an honorable fight, but a massacre.
"I would not hurt her, Sir Keril. Send her out."
Pirro was such a girl. She wanted to punch his big, lying mouth.
"I only wish to marry her."
"She has married another tonight, Pirro. You are too late."
"She has not! The proxy will not hold unless the marriage is consummated."
"Then burst in on her bridal chambers in Aphrodite, not here!"
Keril was doing an admirable job; she almost believed him herself. If nothing else, he'd given the serfs time to scatter and flee into the growing darkness. She hoped the rest of the staff had fled for the dungeons because it appeared the new weapon could take the castle down around them.
"Do you think me stupid? Amaryllis isn't in Aphrodite. She would never willingly surrender. That's why I've come to take her."
"You missed your chance, Pirro. Her father has chosen the new prince from off island."
Ugh, bad reminder of how far her father's decision-making skills had fallen.
Pirro's weapon shot burning light into the rampart.
Rasmus and four other knights, now fully armed, stepped out of the castle's shadows. Without a word of warning, Pirro shot the light weapon into the ground mere daktylos from their feet. Fire scorched the grass.
Perhaps she should stop this now, before real damage was done. Being so dense, Pirro was hard to reason with, but he was also like a child in meeting his immediate wants, so it shouldn't be hard to turn his focus from marriage to something manageable ... like restocking his fish pond.
She pushed from the barn wall and found herself yanked backward.
"No way," Electra said and pulled her farther into the barn. "Those aren't his people, Amy. There's something wrong with this whole setup. Think. How did Pirro get an illegal laser weapon?"
"I don't know, but I can't very well let him pick off Father's men, now can I?"
"It is their job to protect you, not yours to protect them."
Amaryllis had heard that maxim many times in her nearly twenty-five years of life. She just couldn't believe it. With wisdom came power, with power came responsibility, and with responsibility came weight. A heavy weight that never left her shoulders.
"Come." Electra continued to steer her into the darker recesses of the barn. "I've brought your cloak and a flask of water. I need to get you out of here, now."
Amaryllis slipped the cloak over her head even as she disagreed. "I'm not leaving the castle."
"You are. Go west, then circle south when you are free of the estate. Stay close, but off the main road. You should be able to make Aphrodite before dawn. We'll trust your father's men aren't too drunk to protect you there."
"Surely this isn't necessary—"
"To my bones I believe it is!"
Amaryllis took the flask Electra shoved at her and tried hard to see her friend's face. "Is it possible to get to any of the ancient weapons tonight? A bow and a strategically placed arrow should do the trick. A sling and a rock from the castle walls...." Her voice faded away when she got a good look at Electra's face.
"Perhaps the others will remember the old weapons. It is not my responsibility to save the entire estate."
"You are not coming with me." The realization preceded an ache in Amaryllis's stomach.
"I am decoy as well as bodyguard."
"Electra."
"We have no time. They are closing in. Pirro is but decoy as well. I may not be able to get you out even now."
"Electra." She heard the terror sinking into her voice and tried to quell its growth beneath her rib cage. "Come with me."
"I have trained for this moment all of my life." Electra grabbed her face and kissed her left eye. "Princess, gladly will I die for you."
Amaryllis groaned.
Electra kissed her right eye. "Amy, do not take away my purpose for living. Go. Go. If you are safe, I will not have to die for you this night."
With a guttural cry, Amaryllis swung away, clutching the flask in one hand and the edge of her cloak in the other. She ran into the nearest stall and jumped, catching one knee on the stone ledge of the open window. Immediately, she checked herself. A man crouched two windows down, another one was three beyond that. She and Electra were surrounded.
***
Valryan stretched and flexed his shoulder muscles upon the inn's second best pallet. What an amazing wedding night. All that he'd ever dreamed of.
More like a nightmare.
He grasped the medallion that lay against his bare chest and strode into the throne room of the one true King. Thankfully, expectantly, he was now clothed in a tunic of white and a cloak of deep purple. He dropped to one knee. "My King."
"My son."
Warmth and light pooled around him, and Valryan found his anxieties melting into nothingness. "The wedding was a bust. No bride."
"Hmm."
"The old codger swears it's legal by proxy, but I'd have more faith in the marriage if you'd performed the ceremony."
"Your princess doesn't acknowledge me."
"True." Valryan rubbed at his chin. "I've been here more than three months, Dad. When am I going to meet this infamous Amaryllis Filippopoulos?"
"Your time is not wasted."
Valryan smiled up into the beautiful eyes of his King, the one who understood him inside and out. "I know I have spent much time with Filipp, working on the scripts and sharing your principles. He wants to believe."
"But he does not."
"I don't understand what holds him back. Pride? An inability to admit that he's been wrong all these years?" Valryan shook his head. He didn't really expect the King to answer questions on what motivated another.
"What holds you back, son?"
Valryan grinned. "Impatience."
The King smiled back at him. "Then you should head to Athena and proceed with your mission."
***
Amaryllis dropped back to the dirt floor inside the barn. She turned to find Electra at her elbow. "We are too late."
"I feared as much."
They heard the zing of the laser weapon and more rocks tumbling to the earth. "I should confront them."
"I will." Electra motioned for the green cloak. "Keep the flask. Give me back the cloak. Hopefully your fear will keep you warm tonight. Be alert and run as soon as I draw the men into the courtyard."
"What if they don't leave their posts?"
"Then, my friend, you are on your own, for I can only succeed as your double until my features are brought into the light. Then the ruse will be known, and the hunt will be for you once more."
"Don't get yourself killed."
Electra tugged the ankle-length cloak from Amaryllis. "As princess? The worst I could do is get married."
Amaryllis laughed one small puff of humor. If ever a woman desired to be a man more than Amaryllis did, it was Electra. That likeness had drawn them together nine years ago. Both had been disguised as squires down at the lanes. Both had immediately recognized the other for what she was. Except Electra hadn't believed Amaryllis was the high lord's youngest daughter. Neither had Amaryllis believed Electra had washed ashore two months earlier as the lone survivor of a rocket crash.
Time had proven them both true.
Now, Amaryllis grabbed Electra's wrist as she turned away from her. "Remember that Pirro likes to think himself both strong and smart because of his size. But he's more like a stubborn child than a strategic warrior. Don't expect him to do what you would do."
Electra nodded. "And you remember when you reach your father, that regardless of how he responds to this crisis, he loves you."
Amaryllis swallowed the pain. "Be careful."
Electra nodded with a sharp dip of her chin, then pulled the cloak over her head, and strode to the barn door.
Amaryllis expected her to race into the mayhem, calling attention to herself, but she slipped into the outer darkness without a sound or backward glance. Amaryllis swallowed again and straightened her shoulders. Time to put action behind years of big talk. She could take care of herself.
She crept back to the open window and judged her odds of escape. Even if she could sneak by the crouched men, she was certain there would be a second and a third layer of men waiting to snare anyone attempting to escape. Especially a woman. Especially a woman with red hair. Unfortunately, her image was well-known to the twenty thousand inhabitants of Celosia Island.
Outside, shouting ensued. The men below her stiffened and one motioned the other toward the courtyard. One down, Electra. What of the others—
"The princess is attempting to escape!" he called from the corner of the barn. "She's heading for the water tower."
Men materialized out of the darkness and converged on the eastern trail toward the water tower.
Amaryllis stared hard into the night, trying to see if anyone lingered. She wouldn't have left her post, but men were such glory hounds that Electra's ruse might well have succeeded. She pushed onto the window ledge and swung her legs outward.
"Got you!" a deep voice growled moments before a large hand clamped around her ankle.
Amaryllis gasped. Disgusted with herself for the involuntary expulsion of air, she overrode her second impulse to yell. That would only bring others. Instead, she rammed her free foot into her attacker. Bare feet were little competition for a manly skull. She aimed for his throat and hit her target. They both cried out in pain.
He released her ankle.
Amaryllis tumbled backward into the barn. Unable to get her hands or feet under her body, she took the full force of the four-pous drop onto her back. Breath whooshed out of her and wouldn't return. Get up. Get up! She hadn't killed the man. He would call the alarm as soon as he could. Get up. She couldn't breathe.
Then, just as suddenly, she could. She sucked in air and held it until her body regained feeling, strength, and mobility. Rolling to her knees, she groaned, then pushed to her feet, wavered, and reached out for the stall beside her to stabilize herself.
A grunt drew her attention to the window. The soldier had jumped and now pulled himself in.
Amaryllis looked for a weapon, then ran. Heading deeper into the barn, she stuck to the shadows created by the walls of the stall. Where? How? What would Electra do?
The Arabian nickered behind the stall door to her right. She pushed it open and slipped inside. Her foot stung, her backside ached, and her head throbbed. No way she could outrun or outfight a trained warrior.
She ran her hand over the horse's nose and face, down his neck to his strong, muscled chest. Was he fast enough? Would he accept her without rein or saddle?
"Come on, Princess, I know that was you." She could hear the warrior systematically checking the stalls as he came down the aisle after her. "I won't hurt you."
Amaryllis hiked her tunic to her waist and jumped. Catching the Arabian's mane, she hauled herself onto his back and swung one leg over. She stayed low, leaning into his mane, gripping his sides with her knees. "Please," she whispered, and she felt his muscles bunch beneath her.
The man pushed open the stall door, and the horse sprang forward. Amaryllis hung on. With a cry, the warrior went down beneath the barreling chest. Amaryllis didn't look back to see if he escaped the hooves. She knew that she should know how to guide the horse with her knees and hands, but she couldn't think, could only cling, as the beast shot forward. He gained speed with each stride, and by the time he broke free from the barn, he was already at a full gallop.
Amaryllis tried to raise her head enough to see where they were going, but the wind stung her eyes. Men shouted and their grasping fingers grazed against the bare skin of her legs and arms, but no one could catch hold. The horse pounded through the already broken front gate of the Filippopoulos estate, and Amaryllis buried her face in its mane and hung on.
The shouts waned. She supposed they would be mounting their horses and coming after her. She strained to hear beyond the wind rushing past her ears. Had Electra escaped? Could Keril muster enough troops to follow? Her fingers cramped, but she refused to loosen her hold. If she fell at this speed, she would surely die.
The Arabian raced on.
After a time, Amaryllis again raised her head, knowing she should take stock of her surroundings and guide the horse. An overcast night had advantages and disadvantages. Thankfully those who gave chase would have difficulty picking up her trail.
Though she couldn't see beyond the horse's nose, trees streamed by them on both sides. So they had not taken a road or even a hunting path. The horse must have eyes like a feline to race through the forest without any hitch in his stride. As branches whizzed over her head and shoulders, Amaryllis ducked her face into the horse's mane once more.
After what seemed like hours, the horse's gait shifted, and with every muscle sick from being clenched without release, Amaryllis tentatively lifted her head.
The moon, a gentle third of its fullness, shone upon the sloping meadow before them. The Arabian continued up the low rise without breaking stride, and a castle developed out of the night mists before her seeking gaze.
She blinked, hoping to loosen the terror and fatigue from her overwhelmed mind. Think, she urged herself. Where had the animal brought her? What castle was within an hour's gallop?
Or had it been longer? Her mind had shut down; her only focus had been to stay astride.
Who were her enemies? Pirropolous was too far to the south to be of consequence. But what if Pirro had closer allies? Electra seemed certain it was not his own men who had ridden out with him this night.
The Arabian cantered through the open iron gates, then halted. Whose insignia had hung there? Amaryllis tried to lift her head higher, to clear her sight.
"Who goes there?" a voice called from the night.
Why wouldn't her fingers loosen? Why couldn't she straighten her back? "Your princess," she croaked. She couldn't even understand herself.
A light came at her from the left. A burning torch. A man's fingers curled around its stem. She couldn't see beyond the light.
"'Tis Phoenix!" The torch shifted. "He's run a great distance."
Amaryllis became aware of the heaving sides of the magnificent beast beneath her.
"And a girl!"
She wanted to comment on the man's astute powers of observation, but the clouds seemed to have covered the moon again, and no amount of blinking could clear her sight. Her head dipped lower of its own volition.
Finally, her muscles unlocked, and she began to slide.

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