Chapter 17 Seven Men
INDIE
"Flamekeeper," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You can't trust them. Not Mara. Or even Eldora."
My heart raced. I pushed to my feet, the silk pooling around my ankles. "What are you talking about?"
She glanced toward the window, then back to me, lowering her voice to a frantic rasp.
“They're planning a ritual. After the trials end. I don't know the details, only that it involves you, the flame, and... blood. A lot of blood. They say it's to 'stabilize' your power, to make sure the Flamekeeper serves the temple forever. But I overheard Mara telling the inner circle... it's not stabilization. It's control. They want to chain your fire so no outsider can ever claim it fully."
Ice crept into my veins. I thought of Zade's touch moments ago, the flames caressing him. If they bound me...
"No," I breathed. "They can't—"
"They can," she insisted, moving closer. "The spring, the oils…they've been dosing you. Weakening the wild part of the flame so it answers only to them. If the trials drag on and no one claims you cleanly... they'll do it at moonrise. You'll be safe from rivals, but you'll never be free. You'll be theirs.”
Fear gripped me. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the faint thrum of my bond with Zade. "Why are you telling me this?"
Her eyes welled up with tears. "Because I was meant to be one of the sacrificed maidens. They promised my family honor—”
Before I could ask more, a furious pounding shook the door.
The attendant froze.
The door burst open and a tall woman, stormed in with two female guards behind her.
"Forgive the intrusion, Flamekeeper," the woman said. "This attendant is... unwell. She must return to her quarters immediately."
The girl shrank back, but the woman seized her arm in a bruising grip. "Come."
"Wait—" I started, stepping forward.
The woman bowed shallowly, not meeting my eyes. "It is for your safety, Flamekeeper. She has been... erratic. We will handle it."
The guards pulled the attendant towards the door. She twisted, locked eyes with me, and mouthed two silent words: ‘Be careful.’
Then they were gone.
My pulse thundered so hard I felt it in my fingertips. The room suddenly felt too small, the silk too tight, and the golden pendant at my throat too heavy. I touched it and yanked my hand away like it burned.
They were dosing me. Binding me. Planning to chain the fire that had protected me, that had welcomed Zade.
I couldn't breathe. Was I only here to become some kind of puppet?
Eldora's voice came through the door, muffled but calm. "Flamekeeper? The sun has shifted. The trials must resume."
I forced my legs to move, taking deep breaths. By the time I reached the corridor, my hands no longer shook, I had clenched them into fists.
Back on the dais, the throne felt colder than before. The remaining men still knelt, but the air had thickened with unease. There were fewer bowed heads now. Some of them must have slipped away during the break. The smell of scorched flesh lingered still.
Mara raised her hands. The drums rolled again, the sound ominous.
And right then, the next contender was called.
He rose with a snarl. He took two steps towards the dais, then he stopped. His gaze darted to the blackened patches on the ground where others had fallen. Then to me and to the faint golden glow still shimmering under my skin.
"Fuck this," he spat. "She's a death trap."
He turned and bolted. Murmurs erupted among them. Another man stood. Then two more. They didn't even glance at me. They just ran into the woods.
The crowd thinned visibly. Fear had finally outrun greed.
My eyes scanned the remaining figures, desperate.
Zade was much closer now.
He simply walked forward, his eyes fixed on me.
The remaining men watched him approach, some with confusion, others with dawning fury. A low growl swept through a few alphas.
Mara's voice pierced across the tension. "The next contender may approach."
Zade climbed the steps without breaking eye contact. The bond snapped taut between us, electric and alive.
When he stopped inches away, the air shimmered. Golden flames already flickered at my fingertips, reaching towards him like they had last night, eager.
He lifted his hand slowly and the clearing held its breath.
His palm hovered near my cheek. And then tendrils of flame licked at his wrist almost playfully, curling up his forearm like they were greeting an old friend. The bond between us thrummed so hard I could feel it in my teeth.
I couldn't breathe.
Every eye in the clearing was locked on us. The remaining men—fewer now, maybe thirty—leaned forward, their fists clenched. Some growled low in their throats. Others looked ready to rip Zade apart just for standing there.
He didn't flinch, clearly unbothered.
His violet eyes held mine, unblinking, promising ruin and safety in the same breath.
The flames climbed higher, wrapping his hand, his arm, dancing toward his shoulder. There was not a single blister or even a hiss of pain. They shimmered brighter, almost joyful.
A low, collective inhale swept the crowd.
Zade's lips curved in satisfaction. I nearly smiled back. But I couldn’t do that, not in front of the others.
"Told you they'd remember, Bunny,” Zade whispered in my ear and I bit my lower lip, fighting hard not to grin.
The flames didn't stop at his arm. They flowed between us like liquid gold, spiraling around his torso, brushing my shoulders, my hair, encircling us both in a warm, protective cocoon. The air shimmered with heat, but it was the kind that soothed instead of scorched.
He was the only one.
The only one who could touch me without burning.
I wanted to sob with relief. I wanted to drag him down and kiss him until everything else disappeared.
But then I saw Mara.
She stood at the edge of the dais, her silver eyes narrowed to slits. Her mouth was a thin, bloodless line. The composure she always wore like armor had cracked, but it was there. A cold, calculating displeasure.
She hadn't expected this.
My stomach churned.
I forced my voice steady. "Stand aside," I said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "There are still others."
Zade's gaze lingered on me, blank for one terrifying second. Then something darker flashed through it. Amusement? Irritation? Possession?
He didn't argue. He simply stepped aside until he stood at the side of the dais. One boot propped casually on the lowest step, arms crossed, watching like a predator who already knew he'd won the hunt.
The drums struck again, and the next contender rose.
He was different.
Taller than most, leaner, with pale silver hair and eyes the color of storm clouds. When he reached the dais and lifted his hand towards my cheek, I braced myself for another victim.
But then, the flames answered.
Golden light surged forward. They wrapped his fingers and his wrist and climbed his forearm like vines seeking sunlight.
A stunned murmur rippled through the crowd.
Then the next man.
And the next.
Seven in a row.
Each one approached. Each one touched. Each one was wrapped in harmless golden flame.
The air buzzed with shock, confusion, and fear. The men who had stayed now stared at the dais like it had become holy ground. Some dropped to both knees. Others looked ready to flee again.
I sat frozen, disbelief gripping me.
How?
The flames had been merciless before. Now they had become... selective?
My gaze darted to Mara again. Her face was expressionless now, but her knuckles were white around the staff she held.
The eighth man stepped forward.
He was broad and full-bearded, with a cruel smirk tugging at his mouth. He sneered as he climbed the steps, flexing his fingers like he was about to claim a prize. And when he reached for me, the flames exploded.
Golden fire roared up his arm. He screamed as the blaze raced across his chest, searing his flesh.
The crowd recoiled and I stared, numb with shock.
Why him?
Why now?
The pattern made no sense. Seven of them had been spared. One burned.
My head spun. Wait, what if this was Mara’s doing? What if—
Suddenly, a loud voice pierced through the air.
"Indie!"
My head whipped towards the sound.
At the edge of the clearing, shoving through the kneeling men, was West.
His shirt was torn, his hair wild. Even his eyes were frantic. In his arms he cradled a small, limp form wrapped in a blanket.
Lila. My daughter.
Her face was flushed, her eyes closed. Her breathing was strained and shallow. Sweat dampened her curls. She looked so small. My heart plummeted.
West staggered forward, clutching her tighter.
"Indie, she's burning up. She won't wake up. The healers can't help her. They said... they said only the Flamekeeper can heal her.”
No…
Blood drained from my face. He’d been telling the truth when he first came to me?