Page 44 of King of Flames and Shadows

“Bring in more nurses—medics, doctors, every last one in the city, should she require it,” I order, my voice rough. The guards hesitate before stepping back out into the castle below, the remnants of glass grinding under their boots.

A shadow moves at my side. I don’t need to look to know it’s Darian, his silence heavier than any question he could ask.

“What do we know?” I growl, though I already suspect the answer.

“They’re gone, my lord,” Darian says, his tone even but his eyes wary. “The priestesses, the records—Varya took them all and vanished just after dawn. She cautioned that the Guard do the same. Claims Iepehin and the other Gods are displeased by this union. She says they will resist to all ends this woman whose powers…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I know what he’s thinking—this human woman, whose powers are unknown to the major Gods, whose magical strength seems to rival even theirs.

I’m not surprised they left. I’m not sure I could possibly have expected anything else. The woman had served our house for years, held herself as a beacon of trust and obedience. Yet at the first tremor of true power, she ran with her relics and her beliefs like a coward.

“Our perimeter?” I press, though I can feel the tension building in my throat, already knowing it will be worse.

Darian inclines his head, his voice barely above a murmur. “The creatures from the wastes have begun to gather, sighted just beyond the mountains. Wolves, bears—twisted versions of themselves, maddened.”

I exhale, long and slow. “And the Fellveil?”

He hesitates, which only deepens the tension in my chest.

“It’s holding for now,” he says, almost reluctantly, “but barely. Undead. And the Grimkeepers have seen things beyond even their ken. They’re stretched thin. They’ve been awakened by the power she wields.We’restretched thin, My King. It shall not hold for long now.”

I feel the weight of his words as surely as if he’s thrown a stone into my gut. I see it in my mind as if tormented by a vision: the Fellveil, the mountains, the sanctum, my kingdom itself—all of it turning to dust and chaos at her touch.

“Find everything,” I say, my voice harsh and precise. “Every story, every scrap of history. I want her grandmother’s secrets, the secrets of those who came before. I want witnesses, records, every name Calliope’s ever known, every person who has ever talked to her. Leave nothing out. And for the Gods’ sake, send whoever we can spare to find my traitorous brother before he takes advantage of this mess.”

Darian nods and steps back, his movements soundless, deliberate. I feel the weight of his gaze on me as he leaves, but I don’t turn. Calliope is all I can see—the fragile form of her face, her hand slack atop the silk sheets, her mouth barely open as she breathes, shallow and uneven. Whatever she is, I will know it. Whatever power she wields, it will either be taken advantage of or swiftly stomped out.

A writhing coil of worry in my gut—protectiveness, desire, fury, all one beast—lashes out, its wrath heightening. Determinedly, I ignore it.

By midday, I’ve abandoned the broken glass and shattered relics of the sanctum for my study, a place meant to contain my control, not … whatever this is. But even here, at my own desk, I can’t escape her. Scrolls of ancient lore lie scattered across the table, pages of hurriedly scrawled notes on old powers, rare bloodlines, faint suspicions that trail off into little more than village gossip. I know nothing solid about her line, nothing about the power that lies beneath her skin, coiled tight like a snake ready to strike. The people of Essenborn called her a witch, but they’re all dead now.

Even now, she denies it. The words she spoke sound ridiculous now, a feeble denial in the face of the destruction she’d left in her wake.

There’s a knock at the door. I nod for Darian to enter. He approaches with his usual calm, though I can sense a tension in him, a crack in his unreadable mask.

“The city is … unsettled, my lord. There are rumors of an omen, of some spirit or God disturbed within the castle walls. And more than one trader has reported strange shadows along the river.”

A bitter taste rises in my mouth. “Let no one leave,” I order sharply. “And any public talk of omens will be met with swift arrest. Let them fester in their paranoia in the dungeons, if they should like to know my castle so badly.”

Darian nods, then pauses, as if weighing something. “I was there last night. I saw her,” he says, his voice low. “That power—it wasn’t hers alone. Or if it was, she is … she’s …”

“I’ll have you arrested too,” I snap without much heat; I’m not sure what I expect him to say.

“I will always caution that you move with both eyes open, Arvoren,” he clarifies quietly, before I wave him out. His words leave an uncomfortable itch in my mind, but I brush it aside. I cannot afford to linger on doubts.

By late afternoon, I instruct the staff to move her to my quarters, past the still-smoldering wreck of her old chamber. Healers move in and out, checking her breathing, administering potions, the smell of herbs and salves thick in the air. I sit at her side as she lies pale and unmoving in my bed, barely a shade of the girl I married—a girl who, until last night, I would have dismissed as headstrong, irritatingly defiant, intriguing in her powerlessness and her rage, but only that. Not this. Now, even in dead sleep, she appears barely human, a subtle glow to her skin.

Her fingers lie slack on the edge of the blanket, so small and delicate. The sight grates against the memory of thatraw power ripping through the stone. The woman who had shattered the walls around her now looks like a child, fragile and defenseless, yet she still emanates a power I can barely describe.

Without thinking, I reach out, brushing a strand of her hair from her forehead. Her skin is cool beneath my fingertips. She murmurs something, barely a whisper, her voice trailing off into something incoherent, though her words echo, strangely, in my mind:“I am no witch.”

I watch her a long moment, wondering. Did she know what power lay inside her? Or did she hide it even from herself, a denial that shattered under pressure? For the first time, a thin thread of sympathy pulls at me. She’s not an invader, nor a rival; she’s my bride, the woman who belongs to me as surely as this castle, this kingdom. And yet, she holds a power that terrifies me.

“Do you know what you are, Calliope?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. I lean close, my words slipping into the silence, almost as if I fear she might hear them. “Do you even want this power, or are you just as lost in it as I am?”

She doesn’t answer, her only movement the slight rise and fall of her chest. But there is a shift in me, something I can’t quite ignore. She is my wife, yes, bound to me by duty and by the rules I uphold. But I will not let her slip from me into something that will tear this kingdom apart. Not now. Not ever.

I owe it to my family, my house, to slay her if she should threaten that which I rightfully rule.

My fingers rest against her hand, her skin cool but not lifeless, and I vow silently that I will learn the full measure of her power. Whatever she is, whatever she becomes, I will see it realized. And if she is indeed more than any of us knows, then I will see her prepared.

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