Page 47 of Dare

“Our kingdom created flames. From volcanoes to the ashes of Summer tinder, we’re the ones who know fire best.”

“Boasting is impractical, unimpressive, and won’t do the job.”

“Fuck you, prince. Sand drifters also cook fish this way. I’ve built plenty of blazes.”

“That must have been a long time ago,” I volleyed.

She flinched. Then she glowered, continuing to twist and grind the stick with a vengeance. Any rougher and the instrument would snap.

Yet within seconds, cinders spiraled into the air, a nest of amber and blue flames igniting into an inferno. My eyes snapped toward the female’s victorious expression.

Yes, Summer was fire.

She was fire.

Her reference to Summer tinder resurrected the details of Autumn’s castle blackout, when Briar had been trapped in the stronghold. Her attackers had been influenced by Rhys and supplied with the ashes of such kindling. Sprinkle any blaze with those cinders, and it could be controlled from the ashes’ original source, thus enabling a person to ignite or douse multiple flames remotely from a single location. That method had snuffed every candle, hearth, and torchlight in the fortress.

By comparison, the pit’s ashes were unlikely to help us here. We hardly required multiple flames unless we intended to burn down the forest.

The blaze crackled like parchment. We used sticks to secure the fish. The aroma of seared meat and sputtering grease alleviated my resentment toward her, and I gave a brisk nod of gratitude.

We drank from the canteen and savored our repast in small portions. Bland at best, yet the hot slide of food down my throat reminded me of home. Chalices topped with mulled wine, pots of steaming broth, platters heaped with game.

Nourishment revived my pragmatic side. This interlude had to end, starting with the essentials.

“Where are we?” I asked.

My dining companion wiped an arm across her mouth. “The Phantom Wild,” she said with a straight face.

My eyes tapered. “Do not lie to me,” I cautioned. “Ever.”

“I don’t lie about legends.”

“Tell me where we really are.”

“That is where we really are.”

“You expect me to believe we’ve landed on some realm out of an infernal Summer lullaby.”

“No,” she sang. “I expect you to gag on your dinner.”

So she would force me to squander my breath. “Did you overhear intelligence in the tower? Does Summer keep this rainforest confidential from the Seasons? Did you and your sand drifters locate it but not tell anyone? Are they here? Are you waiting for them to find us?”

“No. No. No. No. No.”

Well. Although I could hear her, that word wouldn’t have been difficult to read from her lips, even if the opposite were true.

I scoffed. “There’s no such thing as the enigma you speak of.”

“There is,” she advocated, pissed off. “The song is about a hidden forest floating in the ocean, the birthplace of rain and water.” She quoted, “Tempests swirl, pools drown.”

“A coincidence.”

“Bullshit. Tempests that swirl? Pools that drown? It sounds rather like the whirlpool that almost swallowed you whole, don’t you think?”

I had no reply. Not yet.

The beast knelt, opting for an area that was damp from the rainfall. In the firelight, she began to draw, engraving the sand and producing strings of words. An ardent emotion radiated from her, the sight akin to rhapsody.

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