Page 63 of The Throne's Undoing

As each image passed, a spark ignited in her mind. At first, it was small--a puff of smoke, a strike of a match. But then, a breeze swept across her, and the flames burst to life, consuming every inch of her body.

She had been taken.Again.

Her entire body vibrated with red-hot fury.

How long had she been out? Where had the Pontians taken her?

Although her memory was hazy, she couldn't recall the nauseating rocking of the ocean, only the faint memory of horses' hooves pounding the ground. She had to have been on the mainland still. At least, she hoped.

No matter where she was, she would wreak havoc.

For the past few months, Kallie had blamed herself for everything that had ensued. She had blamed herself for the death of Fynn, for the homes of innocents burning to the ground on the shore of the Red Sea.

She hadblamed herself for failing her father time and time again.

She had forgottenwhoshe was. But she was Kalisandre Helene Domitius, and she had vowed to set the world aflame.

Despite knowing exactly what Kallie could do, the Pontians seemed not to have learned their lesson last time.

Because when Kallie twisted her wrist slightly, she found her hand unbound.

They trusted too easily, and their mistake would be their undoing.

Kallie's limbs felt heavy, and a prickling sensation crept over her skin, freezing her in place. She refrained from moving, lest she rouse someone's suspicions, and contained her rising terror. Panicking would only get her killed.

No, she needed to assess the situation first.

Her vision was slow to adjust, however. In the thick darkness that enveloped her, her surroundings slowly came into focus as she listened.

Muffled noises echoed from somewhere outside the room. Although Kallie couldn't make out their words, she could identify several indistinct voices. Somewhere nearby, an owl called out into the night, and a chilly breeze kissed her neck, the smell of moss and mold growing stronger.

Quietly, she looked to her right and spotted a cracked window. Moonlight seeped into the room, casting a faint glow across the floors. Small tables were scattered across the large space, the moon's rays catching on the glass vials. A couple of small, empty beds sat between her and the window.

Kallie's brows twisted together. She wasn't in a bedroom then, but rather what appeared like an infirmary.

Close by, there was a slight creaking of wood.

Kallie stilled, her heart hammering. Soon, the creaking disappeared, the sound falling away, and she waited with bated breath.

When nothing came of it, she reached down to the pit of her stomach, and tendrils of her gift stirred eagerly as if her power had been waiting for her to wake.

It's now or never, she told herself.

Gently, she pushed herself to a seated position. Her vision blurred, the familiar warning of a migraine stirring.

Although her limbs ached as if she had been sedentary for much too long, Kallie pushed through it. She looked to the right and quickly muffled her gasp with a hand. Her other hand gripped the stiff cotton sheets, her fingers curling as her chest rose.

There, on the last bed, lay a ghost.

The moon's glow through the window brushed upon her brother's face. But despite the constant back and forth between dreams and reality, Kallie knew she was not sleeping or imagining things.

Fynn was not lying on the bed but rather Terin.

Terin's hair was disheveled and strewn across his face, cutting across his features. In the moonlight, his tan skin had a sickly green hue. The skin beneath his eyes was a deep purple as if he hadn't slept in weeks.

Pain spiked her head, and she balled the sheet tighter within her palms.

Kallie shook away the rising pity she felt for the Pontian prince. He may have shared her blood, but blood meant nothing when the person abandoned and lied to you.

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