Page 29 of King of Flames and Shadows

“No, you—” I begin, but she’s already gone, melting into the shadows like she was never there.

Panic surges in my chest, but I force myself to turn and run, slipping back through the passageways as quickly and quietly as I can. The footsteps draw closer, voices harsh and demanding, and I press myself against the wall, heart hammering wildly.

“Did you hear that?” one guard mutters, his voice sharp with suspicion.

“Check the tombs,” another orders, and I catch the faint glint of armor as they round the corner. “I swear, if one of those slum rats got in again—”

Distantly, there is a fierce din, a crashing and shattering so immense that I briefly wonder whether Lyra intends to bring this entire castle down upon us.

Exclaiming, the guards sprint away.

I don’t wait to hear more. I dart down the hall, footsteps soundless, breath tight in my throat. When I have finally hauled myself from the catacombs, I slip through a side passage through the empty castle and take the twisting stairwell back up to the main levels.

It isn’t until I’m back in my quarters, the heavy door closing softly behind me, that I finally let myself breathe.

Lyra’s face lingers in my mind’s eye, fierce and determined, a spark of hope against the oppressive darkness.

She’s alive. She’s alive, and so am I. And I’m not alone in this place anymore.

Inside me, I feel the faint spark of my rebellion as it rekindles to a fiercely rejuvenated flame.

Chapter 11 - Arvoren

When I find her, standing upon the very top of the east tower, the early-morning sun casting her in harsh, golden light, something inside me goes very still.

She’s standing at the tower’s edge, toes barely gripping the rain-slick stones, arms spread wide like she’s testing the wind. She’s taunting the void below to claim her.

It’s hundreds of feet to the surface of the lake below, from which sharp rocks protrude, their vicious peaks battered by the lake’s dark, churning waters.

Though bird of flight she may be, she will not survive this fall.

“Calliope,” I say, my voice echoing sharply through the swirling air. I’m careful to keep my tone even, even as a thousand fears and curses roar through my head. “Step away from the edge.”

She doesn’t turn to look at me. Her gaze is locked on the jagged rocks, the black surface that boils and seethes against its banks like a living thing. I can’t see her expression from this angle, but I can feel the tension radiating off her. A volatile, desperate energy that snaps like lightning in the air between us.

Distantly, in the very back of my mind, I can hear the horns that blew over the city in mourning the day my parents were killed.

“You need me more than I need you,” she murmurs, voice carried faintly on the wind.

“Do I?” I ask softly, watching her back, the tense line of her shoulders, the curling and unfurling of her fingers at her sides.

She’s testing herself, I realize. Pushing against her own boundaries—against mine. Again. Always trying to find the limit of my patience, my restraint, my resolve. It’s all she knows how to do.

I take a single step forward, just enough that I can see the way her shoulders rise and fall with each breath. I force calmness into my voice, lacing it with a cruel false sympathy. “Then prove it, little bird. Take the leap.”

She goes rigid at my words, her torso coiling as if with pain, as if she’s gathering herself to do it. She’s weighing every ounce of courage left inside her. But I see the hesitation in the tightness of her jaw, the slight tremor in her legs. She’s afraid.

And it infuriates me, that fear, because I know it’s not for me. She’s not afraid of me.

She’s afraid of falling.

“Or perhaps I overestimated you,” I continue, letting a hint of derision slip into my tone. “Perhaps you’re not quite as brave as you want me to think.”

Slowly, she turns her head just enough to glance at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are wide, glassy, shimmering with anger and—Gods, pain. She looks … undone. In the gathering light of a heavenly sunrise above my shrouded city, she is, for a moment, emptied of all she had when she arrived mere days ago. No more rebellion, no more resolve, no terror and rage and terrific, furious obstinance.

She is hollowed out. Perhaps some part of her wouldn’t mind dying after all.

The sight of it twists something deep in my gut, an uncomfortable lurch of emotion I can’t afford to acknowledge.No. She’s manipulating me again. Twisting my emotions, sowing seeds of confusion, of pity. I can’t let her have that power.

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