The gold felt good. No, better than good: it felt like perfection. No wonder alchemists had studied it through all time. Its heft, its luster, the way it sang in his brain was more calming to his nerves than all the draughts his physicians might prescribe. Though he knew it was a sickness – that he was obsessed and should find a way to curb his appetite for the metal – Rhey Vasili plunged his hands deep into his hoard and let the coins run through his fingers. He wanted to stop. He meant to. He’d tried to. He’d even managed to stay away for a day at a time. But he always returned to his chambers, to seek the solace precious metal afforded him. He feared he’d never rid himself of the hunger for gold.

The curse of his kind: the most powerful amongst them eventually grew sick. Feral. First, they were fascinated by gold, then, by the dark - last, came flesh and fire. This was how he had come to be crowned before his time - his father had left when his hunger for gold had devolved into a taste for flesh. He would suffer the same fate one day; there was no cure for it. He knew that was the reason why the Elders had called for the Claimings; they wanted the Kingdom to have a Queen, and an heir, when the time came. They were preparing for his fall.

Rhey hadn’t had the time to count and touch all his coins for weeks, but he was almost done, when the doors to his private chambers clanged open. He stood, ready to growl at whoever had dared invade his sanctum, but his scowl disappeared when he took in the unexpected visitor.

“I need your help; we don’t have a moment to lose. Please, Rhey, come with me.” Demelza already had him by the arm and was dragging him towards the door, babbling about someone who needed saving.

“Slow down,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on. Who’s in danger?”

Demelza sighed. “I have a friend…”

Rhey smiled. “You have a lot of friends, many of whom get in more trouble than you could shake a stick at. Who’s done what and what do I need to do to fix it?”

Demelza dropped her voice. “Her name is Xandrie.”

Rhey frowned. That was an unusual name, and he wasn’t familiar with it, which did confuse him as he absorbed every detail, forever branding them in his memory. Rhey never forgot anything.

Demelza dropped her voice. “She’s human.”

“Human?” He tried not to sound alarmed, but if Demelza was found to be consorting with a human, there’d be hell to pay. He fixed her with his most authoritative, steely gaze. It had no effect on her, whatsoever. She knew the penalties for fraternizing with a human, but here she was saying nothing was more important than saving this woman.

“Look, I can’t explain it, but it’s as if we’ve known each other through time. I have no idea how or why, but I feel like she’s in danger. She’ll get tortured, I know it. You have to help me, Rhey.”

“You feel it?” said Rhey. “You haven’t actually seen it?”

“That’s what I am a trying to tell you. I don’t need to see it. It’s in my blood, my bones, my everything. Xandrie is in danger and we need to help.”

Rhey threw his cloak over his shoulders. “The Elders will skin our hides when they find out, Elza.”

Demelza smiled briefly.

“Mine, perhaps. But you do happen to be their King.”

* * *

The sentence had been “Death” but they were making a pig’s ear out of executing her. In other circumstances, she might have found it entertaining.

First they’d come at her with long flaming torches, lit her clothes on fire, and lobbed bundles of kindling at her. Her tunic and trousers hissed and singed and fell to the floor, but she stood naked and unharmed. She could even feel her hair about shoulders. She should have been bald and eyebrow-less, but not a single hair on her body had been burned away.

Right, so that was weird as all hells, but she wasn’t exactly complaining. Whatever luck she had, she just hoped it carried on.

Xandrie ran through the scene in the alley with Darsen a hundred times or more, trying to make sense of what had happened. Not the “attempted rape” part, that much didn’t need investigating. The man had assaulted her with intent, plain and simple. No, the thing that interested her was the burn marks she’d left on his chest. That, along with the fact that her executioners weren’t able to roast her to death, led her inexorably to the conclusion that fire was, somehow, her friend. She knew it hadn’t always been the case - she’d burned herself plenty of times. But somehow, now, she had magics, after all.

She laughed humorlessly. Her family had written her off, called her a dunderhead, laughed at her attempts to conjure herbs from the ground as needed, but perhaps she was to have the last laugh?

She heard her latest assailants before she saw them. An entire contingent of the Guard was coming at her with the most incredible array of weapons. She counted ten steel-headed pikes, fourteen rapiers, a dozen or more lances and who-knows-what else. They’d arranged themselves like a Roman legion, line after line of chain-mail-covered cowards, waiting on the order to charge.

Xandrie closed her eyes and hid her face under her hands for good measure, but seconds passed, and nothing. She dropped her hands, and frowned, confused to see their weapons at her feet. None had touched her; none had made it closer than a foot. They’d been stopped by a wall of dancing golden flames.

Eventually, the wall of fire dropped and three guards sprang into action, binding her wrists, punching her in the kidneys, and dragging her back to her cell. She’d been back behind bars for less than ten minutes, when she heard her jailors talking about how best to rid themselves of, “the one who consorts with the Demon.”

Just so much crap. She’d never so much as read about a demon, let alone summoned one and agreed to do its bidding. These people were extremely excitable, to say nothing of gullible.

“The ducking stool is ready, sir.”

Xandrie felt a chill run down her spine. She’d seen people drowned in the pond at the center of the village; their eyes bulging and tongue swollen to twice its natural size. Not a pretty sight and not the way she planned to end her days on Eartia. The thought of her breath being gobbled from her lungs by the water sprites filled her with dread.

There was commotion in the corridor. Someone high up must be coming to have a gander at the prisoner. She hadn’t heard that much noise the entire time she’d been in captivity. What the hell were they doing?

She pulled her scabby, flea-infested blanket over her nakedness before the door opened.

Xandrie wasn’t given to gaping, but the man standing in the doorframe was decked out in such incredible attire, she scarcely knew where to look first. Her eye was drawn to the shimmering gold edging around his crimson cloak, then down to his leggings – holy hell, the man was stacked – then back up to his broad shoulders and mane of wayward hair.

But it was his eyes that made her stomach do somersaults. She didn’t let that show, of course. He was clearly a trap of some kind, some Duke or Earl who wanted to curry favor with Darsen, sent to escort her to a watery end. She narrowed her eyes and readied herself for the next onslaught.

If she was going to go down, she’d go down swinging.