Page 44 of An Empress of Fire & Steel

She swallowed, wondering if she would ever get the same mark inked on herself.

“We must make our way to the foyer.” Magin stood with a stony expression, his large arms behind his back and a weapon belt low on his waist.

“I will get my cloak,” she said as she turned. Emara glanced at the door as she walked away, half expecting Magin to have left. But he stood like a limestone statue. “Are you waiting for me?”

“If you don’t mind, Miss Clearwater—”

“Emara,” she said quickly. “Please, call me Emara. We don’t need that type of formality.”

He smiled faintly in acknowledgement, his scar only allowing a taut grin.

Her lips thinned. “If you would like to head down, I won’t mind. I have a few things to gather.”

“With all due respect, Miss—I mean, Emara—I can’t. I haven’t been given the order.”

She stilled for a moment, the sack that she had been putting things into swaying on her wrist.

The order. Who was the order coming from?

“And who commands you?” she asked, expecting him to be in charge of the cluster. After all, he had been an empress’ guard before.

He shifted on his feet. “For this cluster, it has been decided that it will be Torin who will command.”

“For the love of Rhiannon,” she said out loud before she could think. “And who decided that? Were you not a guard to the late empress before? Shouldn’t you be in command?”

Magin flinched.

She stopped speaking and clamped her mouth shut.

His gaze met hers. “I was her guard, yes. But Blacksteel has the highest-ranking score from the Selection. And with my failure to protect her”—he cleared his throat—“it was decided that Torin would be our lead.”

A sharp pain shot through her heart. “I am sorry, I—”

Words failed her.

She had been so caught up in having Torin’s name mentioned that she had forgotten herself. Magin had been guarding the Empress of Air the night she was murdered. He probably blamed himself for her death. He would blame himself.

She was a bloody fool.

Her throat closed in as she spoke. “I didn't mean to offend you. If I have, I am deeply sorry. I shouldn’t just assume.”

“You have not offended me,” he reassured her, posture relaxing a little. “I am just deeply remorseful that I did not save her that night. Maradia was a good and honest person, and she loved her craft and coven.”

Darkness flashed across his face, and Emara saw every bit of shame that Magin had endured since the Uplift.

“I am positive that you did everything you could to save her.” Emara made sure she sounded confident, but her voice was small.

“And it wasn’t enough.” Heart-shattering guilt scattered on his face, pulling at his scar.

She inhaled sharply. “Maybe the Gods have given you a second chance,” she said lightly. “Because they can see how worthy you are and want you to feel validated in your duty. We cannot win every battle. We must know loss before we can find the strength to win the war.”

A thankful smile tugged on one corner of his mouth. “Spoken like a true empress, Miss Clearwater. I will take this opportunity to put everything right, I promise you that.”

And she knew he meant it.

Standing in the foyer, Emara was glad that she had borrowed the heaviest cloak possible from Naya Blacksteel. The cold air from the ever-opening door as the hunters made their way out nipped at her hands, nose, and cheeks. She watched as, one by one, the hunters prepared themselves for leave, either with their empress or to journey to their protected person.

“Ready to leave?” a deep voice tickled the back of her ear. She spun to see Torin Blacksteel standing behind her. Her mouth parted to speak, but she halted as she took in what she saw. He, like Magin, was dressed in full guard regalia. He wore a light grey tunic that fitted him like it was made for him, and the high collar, reaching his chiselled jawline, brushed his skin. The light colour complimented his complexion more than she would ever have imagined, invigorating his azure eyes, bright and sparkling. His dark hair lay neatly on his head like a sheen of soft ink, and his skin looked darker against the pale colour of uniform, glowing like the sun. Her gaze travelling down his chest, she could see the crest of House Air pinned against his heart, and something moved in her chest. Silver metal formed two arrows that split through a sword, and it sat behind a dark banner that read, Blacksteel. His crest, pinned beside hers, looked…good.

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