A Curse of Stone and Fire: YA Fantasy Romance Read online

  “So this is the mess hall.” She waved her arms at the cavernous space. Once it must have been the great hall of the castle. The vaulted ceiling above was scored with old worn beams, tired from holding up the weight of the roof for hundreds of years.

  Philomena had given me a whirlwind run-down on the history of Fire Stone. The castle had been built on an ancient settlement, but no owners of the castle had ever stayed more than one generation before moving on to warmer, drier, more secure abodes. The school had been created a hundred years before, and it was the only institution to stand its ground within the ruins of the castle. The thick stone walls themselves dated back to the time of England’s Edward I. He’d brought war and destruction to the borders of Scotland in his bid to claim the land and quell the Scottish chiefs. But he’d never penetrated Fire Stone, nor got close. Some said the land was cursed before he’d even got here.

  “You know a lot about this,” I’d said when Philomena had given me a lively battle recount.

  She’d grimaced. “I know, it makes me sound like a real geek, but I’m not, I promise. It’s just my parents were so obsessed with this land. I guess I just grew up knowing it all without really having to learn anything.”

  My heart panged at what it must be like to grow up with parents who talked to you, shared their excitement with you.

  But I didn’t need sentimentality. I didn’t have time for it.

  “Here, come on, let’s get some food, I’m starved,” she said, stopping my pity parade for one.

  I cast a quick gaze over Philomena. She didn’t look starved, but my stomach growled and I willingly allowed her to tow me along to a hot serving counter. Round lights glared down on what already looked like dried-up meat, cabbage, and potatoes. I smiled at the woman behind the counter. Her hair tied up under a cotton cook's hat, she was flushed and dabbing at her forehead with her arm. “I’m a vegetarian. Do you have anything?”

  “Aye, lassie, I do.”

  Philomena snorted and elbowed me in the ribs as the woman served up a plate toweringly high with extra cabbage and boiled potatoes.

  “No lentils, or tofu? Protein maybe?”

  She gave me another spoonful of cabbage. With a shudder at my plate and eternally grateful I wasn’t sharing a dorm with a whole bunch of other gas-filled girls, I turned for the counter. I had a little cash in my pocket I could pay with. I’d changed a few spare dollars into not many pounds at the airport.

  There was no counter. It was odd. We didn’t have to pay for anything. No fingertip payment on a touchpad like I’d always known. We just took our towering plates of cabbage and walked to a table. Philomena guided us towards a table with six girls.

  “Hey, this is Maeve.” She nodded her head towards me, her hands busy attempting to get her plate onto the table without losing a potato.

  “Mae,” I corrected. I tried to smile at the people around the table, but my lips wouldn’t behave and stretched into an odd shaped leer. With sweaty palms, I lowered my own tray before I dropped it and made a scene.

  Six sets of eyes lifted to mine, and I gave an awkward wave.

  “Mae’s from America,” Philomena announced, and I wanted to kick her feet under the table. I tried, but she was just out of reach. My foot connected instead with the shin of a blonde girl with elfin features and dazzling blue eyes.

  “Ow.” She bent down and rubbed her leg.

  “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” I trailed off.

  “Language.” A sharp voice called across the room. I turned slightly and found Mrs Cox glaring at me. I gave a wave of apology before dropping my gaze to my lunch companions.

  “Bloody hell, has she got bat hearing?” I muttered.

  “Language!”

  A giggle ran around the table. “Okay, so, introductions.” Philomena continued her role as tour guide. Although as far as I could tell the tour so far had only included draughty hallways, dark and dim classrooms, and a wing we were forbidden to go in because it housed the male dorms.

  I’d been almost relieved to see the odd male student walking about. I was beginning to think Fire Stone had its own unique segregation system.

  “This is…” Philomena jumped into listing a bunch of names, jabbing her fingers at the girls around the table. “Blah, blah, blah, blah,” was all I heard.

  I chuckled, brushing at my hair as my cheeks warmed to an uncomfortable temperature. “Okay, I’ll say sorry now because I won’t remember who’s who for a while.”

  I doubted very much I’d ever learn them. I didn’t plan to stay—just long enough to say hi to my mysterious aunt and then I’d head down to London.

  Philomena speared a greying potato with her fork. “Make yourself at home, Yankee, it’s going to be a long afternoon.”

  I nudged the boiled cabbage around my plate. I’d heard the brits loved their stodgy food, but this was something else.

  “What’s up, Mae?”

  I lifted my gaze to find a blonde-haired, slate-eyed girl watching me. The skin around her eyes bunched as she grinned. “Don’t you like cabbage?”

  I grimaced and stabbed a soggy strand with the tip of my fork. “I’ve been some places with an abstract view of cooking, but this is something else.”

  Not one to go hungry, I placed the limp leaf in my mouth and chewed. And then chewed and then chewed.

  The girl with the blonde hair whose name I hadn’t even registered, burst into a peal of laughter. “Oh my god, you should see your face.”

  I nodded, my lips clamped, and continued to chew. It was only a tiny piece of cabbage but it seemed to last forever. “So, tell us.” She leant forward, her gaze quick, her hand darting in her hair and brushing at imaginary loose strands. “Why did you come all this way, to here of all places?” She took a bite of her chicken but continued to speak despite its obstruction. “Where are your parents? Is this some form of punishment? Are you a tearaway teenager intent on bringing music to your backwater town?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Isn’t that a movie?”

  Philomena snorted. “I’ve already tried that one, Charlie.”

  Charlie, mental note taken, poked her tongue at Philomena. I was just grateful she’d finished chewing her food.

  “Well.” I swallowed. All eyes were on me. I was an under-the-radar girl. My neck began to prickle with heat and sweat. “I don’t come from a backwater. I’ve lived around Queens, New York, all my life.” It was silly but my heart gave a little squeeze as I said the next words. “And my parents died when I was seven.” I offered a shrug. I’d learned years before that the shrug at the end could stop the three-step awkward shit your parents are dead process. The shrug told them you were resigned to the news and dealing with it.

  The table met my announcement and shrug with silence. A pale girl at the end, her hair the colour of ash bark, gave me a sympathetic smile. “Murder? Robbery gone wrong?”

  Philomena rolled her eyes.

  I cracked a smile. “Just a road accident—sorry to be dull.”

  The girl groaned, but Philomena shushed her. “Honestly, your fetish with death is starting to creep me out, Rach.”

  Grinning, the girl shrugged. “What can I say? I have diverse interests.”

  Unable to tell if this was a serious conversation or not, I studied my plate trying to work out how on earth I was going to survive in this place without starving to death. “Do we get to go to any local shops? I’m going to need to stock up on food.”

  Philomena shook her head. “No chance, it's too far. Occasionally we get taken into Braemar village. But it’s just ad hoc, when they fancy taking the minibus out of the garage and ferrying us about.”

  I thought of the letter from my aunt, and the fact I stupidly didn’t even know I was coming to a school. “Do you know a Mrs Melerion?” I asked.

  All eyes swivelled to mine. “She’s the school proprietor but she’s never here, not ever. Every so often she sends gifts: random artefacts that get put into cabinets along the hallways, all anc
ient.” Philomena studied me closely. “Why?”

  “Because she’s my aunt,” I said before quickly adding, “Great aunt, and now legal guardian.”

  If I’d said I’d arrived from the moon there would have been less reaction. “Are you sure?” Charlie swept her hair in front of her face, an impromptu curtain. I glanced behind me to see what she was hiding from—nothing apart from children tackling cabbage.

  “Well, she sent me a letter, that’s why I’m here.” I shrugged. “It seems if she’s my legal guardian, what she says goes. It was delivered by an attorney, there was paperwork.” I cringed.

  When I said it out loud, it seemed preposterous I’d fly all this way because a man in a suit delivered me a letter from an unknown relative and waved a wad of paperwork at me which said I’d upped my family members by a whole one hundred per cent. But then, what did I have to stay in the states for?

  “And she put you in room thirteen?” Philomena tipped her head to the side. “I'm guessing family feud.”

  “I don’t know. I’d never heard of her. Because my parents died when I was so young, I guess I never got to ask them things which may have become important at a later date.” I was being facetious, but I was uncomfortable and squirming. Mainly for not exploring more about my aunt before I left the states. And I was the girl with all the questions. What a fail.

  Philomena grinned at me. “I think I can feel a budding friendship growing here.”

  I couldn’t help but smile back. “Maybe, if you stop asking daft questions.”

  She shook head. “That could be a deal breaker. I’m full of stupid questions.”

  “Me too.” A bustle by the entrance to the grand hall pulled my attention.

  “Ha-ha!” Philomena sounded pleased. “Now, you owe me, but I told you I was going to introduce you to a Prince.”

  I glared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Prince!” She hollered. “Over here.”

  Tilting her head towards my shoulder she whispered, “Tristan Prince, twelve o'clock.” I followed her gaze and watched the man staring back at us. I say man. He was big: powerfully built—not your average teenage boy. But in the open planes of his face was a youthful glow, wide lips, and deep dark eyes.

  A terrible pounding stomped across my chest. I clutched a hand over my mouth, sure I was going to be sick. His onyx gaze bore into the space I filled, his eyes narrowing, the tendons in his neck standing out as he clenched his hands into fists at his side. He looked like he wanted to kill me.

  And that was okay.

  Because I wanted to kill him.

  I strained in my seat. My legs, my arms, they all wanted me across the room with my hands across his throat.

  “Mae, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I struggled to face Charlie. Her hand crept cross the table, soothing and calm, but I snatched my own away. Philomena held onto my elbow while I vibrated with rage.

  “I’ve got to go.” I almost shouted the words. The whole time I tried to raise myself up, all I could think was it would be immensely satisfying to sink a sharp blade into that wide chest.

  Tristan Prince watched me rise from my seat, his face etched into a bitter scowl. Using all my strength, I fled past him out into the dark hallway without landing a punch on his jaw.

  Somehow, I ran back to room thirteen, following the endless corridors and low ceilings. I burst through the door and landed on the bed.

  What was that? I rolled and stared at the ceiling. His dark, furious gaze was burned into my memory. I’d wanted to kill him. To thrust my hand into his chest and rip out his heart.

  I must be tired? Must have jet lag?

  Either that, or I was allergic to Scotland. Maybe it was a severe reaction to the cabbage? What was his excuse though? Other than being an American-hating lunatic perhaps? I didn’t know. I’d expected the day to be awkward, uncomfortable, and ever so slightly exciting. After all this was my first trip abroad. My first trip anywhere. Then, Tristan Prince had ruined it all with that burning coal gaze and my need to remove his face with my fingernails. That wasn’t in my daily plan at all.

  It was as if we were born to hate one another—it was deep within me. How many random guys had I glanced over during the last seventeen years? I’d never wanted to murder one before. I’d never wanted to murder anyone.

  I closed my eyes, still seeing his hate-filled gaze. I shuddered and hoped sleep would find me. A chilled breeze slipped into the room and I attempted to free the blanket from under my back to wrap across my chest. The sounds of birds chirping in distant trees lulled me like white noise. Somewhere water ran free and fast. I’d have to ask Philomena tomorrow where the river was…

  3

  Caledonia

  “Mae!” A screech caught my attention, and I glanced up to find my sister running across the camp. She was grinning, her face flushed, but it didn’t stop me jumping to my feet. Alana was the epitome of decorum. So, even her breaking into a fast walk told me something was amiss. A run meant something monumental was occurring.

  “What say you, Alana?” I smiled my greeting.

  “Agnese is having her baby.” Alana screeched to a halt, flying dust in front of me. I dropped my needlework; it was terrible anyway. I’d only been using it as a distraction from my true job in hand: memorising endless law and scripture. Over and over again I had to silently repeat it. Poking a needle through cotton as a form of distraction seemed to help.

  “That’s fantastic.” I smiled, but then noticed the tightening of skin around Alana’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “The baby. It’s not the right way up. It’s been in the same position for a while.”

  “Why are you here?” I grabbed her by the arm, spinning her with considerable force, “Get Heather, she will help.”

  Alana fought back against my firm push. “You don’t understand, Mae. It was Heather who asked for you.”

  “I know nothing about birthing bairns, and I am certainly no Kneel Woman.” I was years away from learning how to coax a new life into the world: bairn, lamb, even pup. And I was glad.

  Alana paused, her eyes searching my face. “Heather thinks you do. Come, Mae, please. They are both going to die.”

  I grabbed at the cotton dress which hung around my ankles and hoisted it up, flinging back my red robe of learning. Free of the tangle of material around my feet, I was able to make to Agnese’s hut in record time. Alana lagged behind. I may not know anything about childbirth, but I wasn’t about to let that stop me from helping a member of our tribe. Small and close, every member of our settlement was family to me.

  Agnese’s screams split the air and I shuddered impulsively, gulping a breath of cool freshness into my lungs as I pushed through the wooden door. A couple of other village women stood by the doorway, wringing their hands. I nodded to them as I swept in. Heather was stooped over the pale generous legs of Agnese. A rancid smell filled the air. I glanced at the bed to find it covered in a nasty green liquid. It looked as if I’d spilled a bowl of herbs soaked in water. I stepped up, holding my breath from the smell of sweat and foul liquid, and touched Heather on the arm. Her tense face relaxed when she saw me, and she pulled me to one side. Another of the village women stepped forward to take her place, mopping Agnese’s brow with dampened linen.

  “Thank goodness you’re here, My Lady. This goes very ill indeed.” She muttered silently under her breath and raised her eyes to the roof of the round house. “May the goddess help us in our time of need.”

  I held her arm. Her face was flushed, her chest rising and falling, sweat across her brow. In fact, she didn’t look that different to the poor woman on the bed giving birth. “Heather, I don’t know what I can do. My training is incomplete. I know nothing of this.”

  Heather stopped panting, her breath becoming calm. She raised her hands and cupped my face in the most motherly of holds. “I believe you know how to help. Will you try?”

  Her words meant little. I
didn’t know what I didn’t know and according to Druid lore and training, I knew very little. But, as I glanced at the woman on the bed, she was fading, her colour dipping. The child inside her would be worse.

  “Come,” I said. “Tell me what you want me to do.” Swallowing my fear, I stepped for the bed, smoothing my hand across the feverish skin of Agnese. “Agnese, can you hear me?” I leant down and spoke in the woman’s ear, but she didn’t acknowledge me. The labour of birth had her in its grip.

  I placed my palm on her forehead and breathed deeply. It seemed natural and foreign all at once. My eyes closed and I focused. I had no knowledge to reach for but that in my head. I rotated through everything I’d learned so far: every cycle, every harvest, every boon we prayed for. A deep calm settled within me.

  When I opened my eyes, Agnese’s skin seemed a hint less sallow.

  Heather was watching me, her gaze sharp. “The baby hasn’t turned. He’s upside down and facing the wrong way.”

  Unable to help myself, I winced, squeezing my legs together. Childbirth may be a natural gift, but it looked like it could rip you inside out. There was nothing natural about that, surely? I focused, pushing away my own abhorrence and focused myself on harvest and boon, all the things we needed, all the benefits and rewards we earned. Life was one of those. A warm flow, like the glow of liquid metal spreading through my limbs.

  “What should I do to help?”

  Heather moved quickly, snatching my hand from where it was placed on Agnese's forehead, lowering them to her swollen belly. “Next time she cries, hold the baby, feel the baby, and will it to move.”

  I glanced up at her set face in confusion. “I can’t will it to move.”

  She frowned. “Fine, My Lady. Lay your hands on it, that’s all.”