WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT
Surely her temper has not cooled – she is fire, she is volcanic, she is the essence of heat – but that is not to say that she has learned to conceal such scalding temperatures. She’s been pondering Shahrizai’s failure, mulling it over with a sledgehammer. She had always known that Shahrizai might very well have been one upped, as he has been, but she also wishes that she had prepared him better. Been a better mother. For if her son had captured the Deserts throne, then she would have had guaranteed loyalty. With the way things are (with Camrynn being deceitful and traitorous), she truly wishes for characteristics which do not belong to her, characteristics which would have granted Shahrizai a true chance to winning the throne.
But Scorch has never been a good mother in comparison to some. In comparison to others – the harlots of Beqanna who have managed to bed each stallion they come upon, the abandoners and the neglecters and the abusers – she is the essence of a mother. If only her children would come to realize that.
He comes to her while her head is tangled amongst the grasses, her razor teeth shearing them. She finds that ruling the Jungle gives her quite an appetite, and quite a lack of time to satisfy it. His timing is lucky, as she’s nearly full. When his scent comes close enough that she knows he intends on – finally – confronting her, Scorch swallows and raises herself to her full sixteen hands, ears facing backwards, eyes hard.
Her cold expression – or should I say hot – nearly breaks when she sees her youngest son’s cheerful grin, the one she’d grown up encouraging whence she had the chance. Shahrizai’s childhood seems so long ago, she thinks, all scrunched together, as quick as a blink. Her innards twist as her ache to reciprocate his touch grows, but in this instance, she must be like Echion. Hard, cruel, demanding. Everything she’d promised never to be.
”Shahrizai. You’re late.”
Scorch
Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle