| Chapter Nine | Blaze of Hells |

  Adara did not remember falling asleep.

They stayed awake through the night. Draining, chopping, wrapping, disposing, and scrubbing the floors and walls until they were new shades of clean. In standards of her royal king, this room was cleaner than his dinner feasting plates. The studded jewels on his crown were dull in comparison to the state of the room.

They scrubbed until their fingers blistered and bubbled with blood. They scrubbed until their backs ached from being hunched over. They scrubbed until they heard the roosters crowing, telling everyone else to wake up. They scrubbed until their eyes ran red and tears flew down their cheeks from the fumes of the sterile soaps. They scrubbed until they collapsed with tiredness.

Adara's eyelids were heavy when she woke, a thousand weights hold them down as light filters into the dark room.  It was not the light that woke her, but rather the intense pain that spirals down her neck and back. The bruising on her side from the wyrm attack was aching. No doubt from the work of the night before.

She stretches, arms tangled in the cotton pillows as she arches her back against the mattress, her back popping and cracking. Sitting up, she pushes the hair from her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Raising her eyes, she meets tired eyes, red, watery. Octavian's.

He leans against the door, his legs sprawled in front of him. Sword on his lap, the shiny metal glistening in the light. His head was hung low, but he straightened as she woke. He stayed watch all night, in case anyone came for them. He would not admit it to his prince, or the girl he swore to protect, but he felt fear in these lands.

"Good Morning, Nightsong," Octavian murmurs, despite his sour mood, he sports a seemingly genuine smile. "Before you say anything," he frowns, "I do not wish to rehash the events of yesterday, not my part in it."

She stands up, walking gently over to him, reaching one hand to him and the other to his sword. He puts a hand on the sword, his eyes climb slowly to her own. She snatches a hand back, fast, like it had been scalded by hot water. The other one grips his hand and helps him to his feet. He opens his mouth, but she just smiles.

"I understand, Octavian," she murmurs, "I was never quite good at trust myself." 

  Adara walks over to the curtains, pulling them open, the bright sun beats onto her face, the smell of roasting scorpion and glazed pig fills her nose.  She could not help but admire the smell, the feel, the longing. She wished to recede into the desert-lands and life a small life where she could do as she pleased.

She knew she would never be so lucky.

  The light casts a gentle beam onto the prince's hooded eyes.  If she hadn't seen him before, she would think he looked almost angelic, but she knew his wicked ways.  It is always the kindest of faces that turn out to be the most savage of all the beasts, she thought.  Thinking less and less about the prince himself.

"Good morning, my prince," Octavian says, but he is drowned out by the loud rattling of a wooden cart being pulled on the sandy cobblestones outside of the window. It was full of death. Dead people, dead animals. Pulling the cart was a smaller man, a boy, a younger orc child. A reaper. It was no job for the young.

The sounds of the death cart was alp she could hear as her hair is pulled. Adara cannot even cry out as she is pulled back, a hand clamped over her lips. All she could feel was the chest rising and falling against her back.

"What did you do to me?" His chilling voice slices through the air, "you bitch."

"Let go of her," Octavian unsheathes his sword.

She feels the muscles in his chest tense tightly. His hand still pushing into her flesh. His rings are cold, cutting into her, biting her lips.

"You dare to raise your sword to me?" The prince growls, beast-like.  "My sworn protector, betrays me for our treasonous prisoner?" He laughs, his voice rattles in his chest, caught there. 

  "I took my vow as a knight to protect you, same as I took a vow to keep her safe," Octavian brings the sword up.  His eyes seemed to shine with something, not tears, but rather a blaze of Ahnos' rage and fury.  "We must take down the King Dasheem, but you are too much of a fool to realize it."

  "I know of my duties, do you?" The prince snarls.

  "I know I am sent to protect a prince who does not want to be a king," Octavian spits back.  For the first time, raising his voice, letting the anger shine through.  "I have seen kings, your all-father, those across the Forgotten Seas, and all of them were true kings, you are nothing more than a boy playing a game."

  "What am I to you, Octavian?" The prince glares.

  He frowns at that, taking in a sip of silence.  "You are the prince of Ceehillm, Prince Leonidas, the first of your name, sworn protector of the realms, peacekeeper and warbringer," he murmurs.  "But you do not want it, because you wish for a simpler life," he sighs, lowering his blade.  "You are lost."

  The prince holds Adara, not how he had before but now around her arms.  Pinning them at her sides. 

  "She poisoned me, lured me into a stupor."

  Octavian says rather simply, "you were drunk, and wishing to stay here for the rest of your mortal life."

His arms go slack as he releases Adara. He takes a step back and sits on the bed. His eyes held something, disappointment. Sadness. Confusion.

As much as Adara wished to hurt him, she could not. She has had to chose between fate and destiny many times, and she has chosen wrong each time thus far. Her hands pull the gloves up, tightly.

  "I am," the prince frowns, quiet, "sorry, Adara."

Sorry for killing my mother? Sorry for killing my father? Sorry for killing that boy in the woods? What are you sorry for? Sorry for killing me? She wanted to scream at him, but she kept her mouth closed.

"I truly am, regardless of what vile thoughts fill your head," the prince whispers, staring at the floor. She just stares at him, her thoughts confirmed.

"I can forgive you for many things," Adara frowns, taking a step closer. "For the boy, my village, even for my parents," she murmurs, "but I need you to figure this out, now."

"Adara-" he starts, but she places a gentle hand on his lips.

"I need you to act like a king, prince Leonidas, you need to figure out what we are doing," Adara says, "I will follow you, prisoner or not," she whispers, letting the hand rest on his shoulder.

The prince turns speechless as he gazes at the floor.

"You might find this hard to believe, but I hate my king," Adara grimaces as she can see his bright yellow eyes, staring at her. "If you want him dead, I am there, but if you want him as a prisoner, you will come to be very disappointed."  She thought she could feel his coarse, cracked hands on her own.

  Silence.  Sickeningly sweet.  It fills their lungs and drowns them.  A bliss-filled death.

  "Just know that if you decide this royal life is not for you and you no longer crave to kill my king," Adara murmurs, "I am leaving, and I will not hesitate to kill you as I did your men."

  "Consider the message well-received," the prince smiles, a small smile, but a smile.

  "Since you two are done having a battle of words, how about we get some food?" Octavian raises a brow, lifting his hands in the air exasperatedly.  Making wild gestures.  "Why don't you fix us something?" He puts his sword in its sheath. 

  Adara laughs, "I do not cook, sorry to disappoint," she smiles, "never learned."

  "My prince, I suppose it is up to you then, because as you know," Octavian smiles, "I burn everything I touch."

  "That is fine and all, but I do not have food to prepare," the prince cracks another gem of a smile.  Adara could not help but notice how the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile.  She could not help but see how the tooth next to his front one was turned a small bit, barely noticeable.  She nearly forgot who he was. 

  "There is a market down the street," Adara murmurs, remembering being tossed into the underground cell.  "They have chicken, cow, hogs, scorpion, wyrm, and probably all sorts of seasonings."

"Well, then let us go," Octavian smiles, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword, already making his way out of the door. Adara holds a hand out to the prince, nearly holding her breath. He takes it gently and allows her to help him up.

"What do you people eat in your land?" Adara asks quietly as they walk into the scorching sun. Almost immediately, she could fee the sweat drip down her forehead. She pulls her hair into a ponytail and lets it hang down her shoulder. "I know vaguely."

"Well when I was growing up in Ceehillm, we ate a lot of bear and elk," The prince smiles, remembering.  "After a while we would import the pork and beef from Taledius and his people at the border as well as other, much smaller outputs in Sojarth."

  Adara frowns, "I know not what an elk nor a bear resembles, but they sound lovely," the prince laughs.

"One day, when all of this is over, maybe I could show you," he laughs, and she smiles. The thought of going to Ceehillm was a terrifying thought. Even more so that he suggested it. The prince. Leonidas. Assuming they survived.

"Maybe," she murmurs as they round the corner of the street. A troll sitting atop a large camel walks in front of them, large tapestries on the sides of the animal. Ahead of them laid more vendors. Wines, cheeses, meats, spices, a goods galore. Ahead, Octavian was browsing in front of a shriveled goblin woman, gazing at an assortment of teas.

"Come get your money's worth," an orcish man shouts, "only the finest sand-luroks, grown and raised in the sands of fire."

"What are they saying?" The prince asks quietly, his voice sounds foreign. Almost worried or scared.

"They are selling sand-luroks, top of the notch, purebred," Adara whispers, lowering her head as a crowd forms around the man. The two were pushed into the circle, right across from him.

"What is a sand-lurok?" The prince asks, and before she can open her mouth, the man yells. Beckoning all to be quiet. He kicks a small wooden crate on the sandy ground. A chorus of high-pitched squealing and growling fills the air. They sounded like some form of reptile, but Adara knew better.

He kicks it again, and the prince reaches to his sword as the animals begins screeching. Adara covers her ears at the sound. In a swift moment, the man lifts the front off of the box, revealing an empty box. Dark and shadowy.

"What kind of mockery is this," the prince murmurs. Adara can't speak as suddenly, small chains lying on the ground are all pulled taught in the air. Everyone in the crowd backs up, except Adara and the prince. She closes her eyes and sticks a hand out in the open air. It seemed like open air.

Her hand encases a coarse hair. So coarse and sharp that it slices her glove down the palm, her skin safe from the barbs.

In the blink of an eye, the air around her hand begins to change. Bright purples, blues and green scales flip over like dominos, revealing a large cat-like creature. It was long and slender, it's body covered in those bright scales. A long tail hung low to the ground like a lizards. On its poised head was thousands upon thousands of poisonous barbs.

The animal gazes with it's vile-yellow eyes, hissing and leaping into the air again, vanishing.

The prince grabs Adara's arm and pulls her back as another appears, walking as far as the chain allows. It opens its mouth, full of sharp needle like teeth, it's snake-like tongue flips out, black poison leaks onto the sand below.

"Let us let the bidding commence," the man laughs.

The prince drags Adara through the crowd, breathing deeply. "And I thought bears were dangerous," he grumbles, "you cannot even see that thing coming."

"It is not so bad, but there is no cure for that poison," she murmurs. "I have seen many die to it."

"Come on, let us do what we came here for," Adara shrugs it off, glancing once more back at those sand-luroks. Sold for their poison. She just shook her head and allowed the prince to lead her through the isles of tents.

Adara and the prince walk for a short while before they come to the end of the tents. A pure black tent stood at the end. Food, drink, and blankets laid on a large cloth fit for a bed. Adara makes her way over to it before recoiling into the prince's chest. Her eyes close on instinct as she brings her hands to her chest, squeezing them.

The Adwabi.

Adara peels her eyes open slowly, one of the men comes forwards. He places a hand on Adara's, holding it still, the hard, cold hand chills her to the bone. She shook with something, fear even. The prince puts an arm around Adara.

"No need to be frightened, little red," the venom-laced voice fills the air. Adara rises her eyes to the large white ones, large black slits down the middle. The man peers down at her, backing up slowly and crouching down next to three other Adwabi.

"What are they?" The prince whispers in her ear as she averts her eyes to the foods. Behind them were large black vials. Sand-lurok poison. In others were white liquids, brown, purple, red, yellow, green. All poison.

The Adwabi were a part of Adara's kingdom, but shunned by both kingdoms. They were vile creatures. They lived in dark places, underground, dark green scales cover their bodies, lizard heads, long tails. They barely qualified as living. They sold all of the poisons, dark disgusting works. They caused the stand-still between the two kingdoms.

The use of their poisons became prevalent in the last war, so much that even civilians held the liquids. The poisons, as well as their creators, were banished. The sight of them was enough to scare Adara, and that frightened the prince.

"Adwabi men," she whispers as she bends down and takes up a few packs of meat and water. Her eyes hover over the toxins, but she refrains. She wouldn't dare. Dealing with the Adwabi was asking for a stab in the back. Once you buy from them, you cannot stop. Poison was a dangerous game.

"How much do I owe you?" Adara's voice didn't belong to her. It was that of a child's. Scared. The prince tightens his grip.

"Little red, we do not believe in taking a woman's money," the man opens his mouth, a tongue similar to the sand-luroks spills from his lips. It flicks the air in front of her face. Her hands shake as she holds the food. "We believe in something a little different."

"I am not bedding with you," she steps back into the prince.

"Now, now, dear, we simply believe in debt," he smiles. A gross, sinister smile. "We give you these as a gift, and you owe us later on."

"What kind of debt?" She whispers.

"Simply, whatever we want," he flicks his tongue out, and it grazes over her cheek. The prince pulls her back as she leaned into him. "Apart from bedding with you, little red."

"I suppose that it is a deal then?" She asks, and she pushes the prince gently off of her and she sticks a hand to the man. She was taken by surprise as he takes her hand and pulls her onto the ground, keeping a tight grip on her. Adara tries to pull away but she cannot.

She watches with watery eyes as one of the others pulls a hot poker out of a pot, the end red and hot.

"No," she kicks the man, but he just grips her harder, running his other hand through her hair. "Stop," she spits.

"Let her go, I will go in her place," the prince interjects. Silence. Several other vendors had stopped and glanced at the commotion. Shocked. Despite them not understanding his words, they understood what he meant. The Adwabi man releases her, letting her fall into the sand and beckons the prince closer.

The prince kneels down and holds her hand as they take the poker to the flesh just above the waistline of his pants. Ripping his shirt up. She could hear the sizzle of his skin, and she felt tears fill her eyes. He grit his teeth hard, she could see how tight his jaw was. He never cried out, never shed a tear.

When they pull the iron away, the prince releases the breath he was holding. His chest rose and fell so hard it looked as though he fought a horde of foes. Despite it all, he barely held her hand. On his skin was now a snake head, fangs bared, a large circle around it. The flesh was hot and looked waxy.

As tears drip down her cheeks, the prince rubs his thumb over them, catching them. He sacrificed hisself for her, and she could not help but cry. She was not sure of the last time a person did that for her. Not in a long time.

"Now we will always be able to find you," the man hisses. "And you will know you are indebted to us." He laughs. The man hands Adara the food and drink, and slips a small black vial into her palm. "A little bonus for the trouble," he smiles.

"Good luck little red," the man calls out to her as she takes the prince's hands and walks slowly next to him. She wipes away a few stray tears, shame fills her chest. She could have done more. But she did not. She felt weak.

As they walked back to their small room, Adara sees a group of men standing around something. Rather than stirring more trouble, she simply walks back to the room. The prince was quiet the whole time, his hand gripping his shirt, keeping it from touching his brand. She grimaces.

They branded him like an animal, and it made her sick.

  "Let me get a salve to help with the pain," Adara says as they walk inside.  "Get that shirt off and lie down, don't touch it."

  Adara sets the food down and washes her hands.  She watches the prince remove his shirt, and she almost blushes.  She shook the thoughts from her mind as she slips the vial of poison into her waistband of her pants.  Out of sight.  It does not leave her mind in the slightest.

She takes the tub and fills it with water, dunking large chunks of mostly melted ice into it. "If it gets infected, you might as well be dead," she runs a hand through her hair. "Why would you do this?" She gasps, "what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about not letting them do this to you," the prince grits his teeth as he walks to her. He lowers himself into the tub, holding her hand as he submerges, allowing her to set him in. "I was trying to do the right thing."

Adara closes her eyes as she leans against the tub, her chest aches. He was like her father. Her father was a kinder man, but out on the appearance of a bad one. He would do anything to look chivalrous, even if it would kill him. She was afraid if that happening here. Now. She would not let it.

"Don't ever sacrifice yourself for me, no matter how small it may seem," she whispers. Although she was quiet, he heard the threat. He makes no remark. He ignores her words. "Don't you ever do it again."

Another cart is wheeled down the sidewalk, loud and ominous.

"Are you two in here?" Octavian asks as he pushes the door open, "There you are, what happened?" He asks, staring at the sight in front of him. Adara kneeling over the prince, his arms and legs and head sticking out of the tub in the middle of the floor, his pants soaked, his head decorated with droplets of sweat or water. He was not sure.

"What happened?" He says, demanding an answer this time. Adara swore she could see the pain on his own face. She thought him in more pain that the prince was. It almost hurt her, to see his face.

"Your prince was a fool and took a brand," Adara rolls her eyes, standing.

"What king of brand?" Octavian grumbles, lifting the prince to his feet, up to his calves submerged in water. "By my god, who did this to you?" He frowns, a dark gleaming in his eye. He blames himself. For not being there. Adara frowns.

"It appears we owe a debt to the Adwabi, whenever they wish," the prince frowns.  Octavian glances at the mark, before turning away.  "I am alright though, do not worry about me, you know I can handle it."

  "You can handle my foot in your ass if you do not stop taking risks."

  "My god, who taught you how to speak in front of women?" The prince smirks.

  Octavian just laughs, cupping his hands.  He hisses in pain, and Adara frowns as she helps the prince out of the tub.  "What in the world is the matter?" Adara frowns. 

  "A group of men were going to kill this little guy, so I took it," Octavian shrugs, holding his hands out.  Adara grimaces.  In his hand was a small dragon.  Not even bigger than her hand.  It was just hatched based on his size.  He was black as night, like the prince's hair, but he had flecks of gold down his spine, a golden tipped tail, and his feet were splotched with the fine sun color.

The thing had green eyes, much like Adara's, but brighter and younger. Full of life.

"You should have left it," Adara mutters, "They are bad luck, that is why we kill them."

"Well, I will not allow it," the prince frowns. "For my wellbeing, I think it should live."

"Well if the two of you want it, then I suppose we must," Adara grumbles, and the small creature crawls to the end of Octavian's finger, crawling onto her hand. It scurries up her arm, nestling gently on her neck, wrapping its long tail around her neck. Its warm scales heat her skin, calming and comforting.

"How long were we out there?" The prince asks, gazing at the setting sun.

"Too long, far too long," Adara frowns, taking her back into her hands and slinging it onto her back. The dragon makes a deep rattling noise in its chest before spitting black smoke, tendrils whip from its nostrils and into her hair. She looked as though she were on fire.

"We must acquire transport, we must leave this place before we are discovered," she grumbles.

Adara takes the princes bag into her own arms and begins to walk out the door when there is a loud knock. Deafening. She opens the door slowly, the dragon creeps around the back of her neck, hanging on with its tail. A troll guard, one from Bal'Sol.

"Are you Adara Nightsong?"

She frowns, "I am, why do you ask?" She asks.

"I have a letter from my king, directing to the lady-orc leader," he frowns, "I was told you could direct it toward her."

"Of course," she smiles, taking it gently, the paper warm.

With that, the man turns and walks away with a few other guards. A deep pit dug into her gut. Guard. Infantrymen. The Adwabi. The ideas did not sit well in her stomach. She feared an assault, but she kept her mouth closed as she leads the men down the sidewalk and back to the market.

"Hello?" Adara shouts into the crowds. "We are looking for a ride into Bal'Sol."

Despite her voice being quite loud, the crowds of men, women, and children ignore her all the same. She grits her teeth and prepares to scream again when a hand touches her shoulder. The prince. He points at someone further away from the group, a troll man who stood alone.

"If you need a ride, I have the ride, but only if you have coin," the man does not even look at her as he laments as though he had done it a thousand times before.

"I have a gem," Octavian takes the hilt of his sword into his hands and bangs it against the side of a cement pillar, knocking a ruby out of place. "This should cover it well."

The man looks up at that, his eyes reflect hard against the ruby, and she swore she saw money in his eyes. "For this I can take you anywhere, even to the damn humans," he laughs. To him it was a funny joke, but to her it was so much more.

"Bal'Sol is out desire, kind sir," Adara watches as he slips the jewel into his chest pocket of his white linen shirt. "A one way trip, if you do not mind."

"Of course, dear," he smiles and pushes himself off of the wall, gesturing to a small wooden cart with a thin sheet covering the top, bowed out so it had plenty of room to stand in. The man helps Adara inside, letting her sit down before letting the men climb in.

"Get comfy, it will be a long ride," he smiles before pulling up the small latch at the back. He cracks another bright smile before climbing to the front, striking his camels with an old leather whip, and setting off in the streets.

"What is that?" The prince asks quietly, and Adara frowns as she runs a finger over the wax seal, a D, for her king Dasheem. It came straight from him to her. She takes a hard swallow before breaking it, unraveling the sheet. In the dim streetlight, she makes out the words.

"To my dearest, I do hope this letter reaches you before my troops, for they are a gruff group. I have taken it upon myself to send a group of warriors to the human keep in the mountains, to avenge those slain at Juula. Despite the encampment being full of my kingdoms outcasts, they deserve justice.

My dear, it is likely that the king of gold will be upon us in a flash of the sand gods, and he will not be kind. I request that you keep alert, and if possible fall back into Bal'Sol to be protected to the fullest extent.

We can never be too safe these days, keep safe, and when we reign victorious, we will slay the king and his royal family, as they did to ours.

  Dwasabi, King Dasheem."

  Adara glances up at the prince and Octavian, the dragon grumbles.  If this letter was correct, and the words were not untrue.  Then in her hands laid the word that would shatter two kingdoms to their cores.  In her lairs laid a declaration of war.  And it was all of her fault.