Chapter 2 — Strangers by Firelight
1287 Words
For a while, neither of us moved.
The altar’s faint glow pulsed against the stone walls, heartbeat-slow, as if the temple itself were catching its breath after centuries of silence.
Corin finally broke it.
“Do your gods always greet guests by shaking the ground?” he asked.
“Only the arrogant ones who forget to knock,” I said, dusting ash from my robes.
A low chuckle escaped him. “Then I’ll try bowing next time. Do I kneel, or just toss myself into the fire?”
“Tempting.” I turned away before he saw the corner of my mouth twitch. “But unnecessary. The temple has rules. You’re not supposed to be here at all.”
He looked around the ruin. “And yet I’m still breathing. Maybe your gods have changed their minds.”
I wanted to tell him gods didn’t change anything—they only watched as we failed—but the words wouldn’t leave my throat. Instead, I walked toward the antechamber, pretending calm while my pulse refused to settle.
“Where are you going?” he asked, following.
“To find you somewhere to sleep. You’ll freeze out there.”
“I didn’t expect the last priestess of the Ember to play hostess.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” I said, glancing back. “If you collapse from exhaustion in my temple, I’ll have to bury you, and I don’t have the strength for that.”
His smile widened. “So it’s mercy, then.”
“Call it inconvenience.”
The corridor smelled of rain-soaked dust and rusted iron. I led him to a small side chamber where the roof hadn’t entirely caved in. A single cot lay there, covered in an old fur blanket. I lit a wall sconce and gestured vaguely.
“There. Try not to snore.”
Corin stepped inside, surveying the space. “I’ve slept in worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
He leaned against the wall, loosening the straps of his gauntlets. Without armor, he looked almost ordinary—less prince, more wanderer. “Do you live here alone?”
“Yes.” The word felt heavier than it should have. “The others are gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Whichever realm the gods send faithful fools who outlast their purpose.”
He looked at me for a long moment, eyes softer now. “That’s not foolishness, Kaela. That’s devotion.”
I hated how my name sounded in his voice—too personal, too human. I turned toward the door, hiding the sudden heat rising in my chest. “Rest. We’ll talk at dawn.”
But I didn’t make it far.
“Kaela,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
The sincerity in that single word unsettled me more than his earlier arrogance. I nodded without looking back and left him there.
---
The temple was colder than before. Wind crept through broken arches, carrying the scent of distant rain. I returned to the altar, sat cross-legged before the faintly glowing flame, and tried to breathe in rhythm with its flicker.
When the heir steps into the flame, the crown will burn…
Prophecies never came kindly. They were riddles wrapped in blood.
I must have drifted between waking and sleep, because the next thing I heard was a clang of metal and a very undignified curse.
I spun around. “What now?”
Corin stood in the doorway, half-dressed, one boot on and the other dangling from his hand. The cot’s frame had apparently collapsed beneath him.
“Your bed tried to kill me,” he said flatly.
Despite myself, a laugh escaped. “It’s ancient. Like everything else here.”
He raised a brow. “So it’s vengeance for my sins.”
“Most likely.” I crossed my arms. “Or maybe it just doesn’t like princes.”
“Understandable.” He bent to pick up a fallen plank, grimacing. “I think I’ll sleep by the fire instead.”
“Suit yourself,” I said, suppressing another smile.
He followed me back into the main hall, carrying his blanket. When he dropped it beside the altar and sat down, the flame brightened a fraction, as if curious.
“You sure it won’t mind?” he asked.
“It hasn’t eaten anyone in years.”
“Reassuring.” He stretched out, hands behind his head, staring up at the fractured dome. “You ever think about leaving this place?”
I hesitated. “Where would I go? The world out there doesn’t remember us.”
“Maybe it needs reminding.”
“From a half-dead priestess and a dethroned prince?”
He smiled sideways. “Sounds like the start of a very bad legend.”
Something in his tone made me laugh—an unexpected, honest sound that echoed strangely in the vast chamber. His grin widened, boyish and brief before fading back to thoughtfulness.
“You’re different when you laugh,” he said.
“And you’re quieter when you’re not bragging.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
The silence that followed was softer this time. Outside, thunder rumbled far away, low and tired. The fire cast amber light across his face, catching the curve of a scar near his jaw. I found myself studying it too long.
He noticed. “What? Do I still have ash on me?”
I blinked and looked away quickly. “Just wondering if arrogance leaves a mark.”
He chuckled, voice low. “Only when burned by a priestess’s glare.”
“Go to sleep, Corin.”
“Yes, my lady of embers.”
I should have been angry at the teasing, but the warmth in his tone undid me a little. I turned back to the flame and whispered a silent prayer—to the gods, to fate, to anything still listening—that he would be gone by morning.
Because the longer he stayed, the more the temple seemed to wake… and the more alive I felt.
---
Morning came gray and wet. Rain dripped through cracks in the ceiling. The air smelled of damp stone and faint smoke. I found Corin already awake, crouched beside the altar, studying the flickering light with unusual focus.
“You shouldn’t touch it,” I warned.
He didn’t move. “I’m not. I just… feel it.”
“Feel it?”
He looked up, eyes reflecting the dim glow. “It hums. Like it’s alive.”
My breath caught. Only priests could sense the flame’s pulse. No outsider—not even a bloodline mage—ever had.
“What are you?” I asked quietly.
He smiled without humor. “A man trying to fix what my ancestors broke.”
“Then you may be the most dangerous kind,” I said.
“Good,” he replied. “Danger gets things done.”
Before I could answer, the flame surged again—stronger than before. Symbols flickered across the altar’s base, lines of light wrapping around Corin’s hand. He flinched but didn’t pull away.
“Corin!” I reached for him. The light leapt between us, a warm rush that stole my breath. For a heartbeat, our palms met in the glow—fire against skin, skin against fate.
Then the light vanished, leaving only the soft hiss of rain.
We stood frozen. His heartbeat pounded loud enough for both of us. Finally he spoke, voice hoarse. “I thin
k your god just made a choice.”
I stared at our joined hands. “So it seems.”
And even as I pulled away, I knew nothing would ever be the same.
- Writer
