Page 76 of King of Flames and Shadows

I wish I was more surprised by it. I’m not, of course. I trust my instincts, but clearly, I have not trusted them enough.

Something cold and visceral sinks in, then. For a moment, I’m not sure what it is.

It hits me in a rush. “Left you—are you okay?”

My gaze snaps back to Lyra. I squint desperately against the firelight, hands reaching again for her. That’s when I see it—the deep crimson spreading across her side, the way she’s been holding her cloak closed. Her hand is slick with blood, and her skin is too pale, her breaths too shallow.

“No …” The word chokes out of me as I grab at her, my hands fluttering helplessly over her wound, as though I could somehow hold her together, keep her here.

I pull her into my arms just as she collapses forward, holding her torso in my lap, her head on my stomach. I try to stop the bleeding. But I’m a healer. I know when someone is too far gone to be saved.

And she used that healing draught—likely brewed by me, likely the last thing she had left of Essenborn, saved all this time—onme.

“I’m sorry, Calliope,” she whispers, her face pale, her bloody lips trembling with the effort to speak. “I wanted to reach you sooner … to warn you …”

“Lyra, please.” My voice breaks. The life is draining from her too fast, spilling onto the cold stones beneath us. The heat of her blood saturates my torn skirts. I feel hot tears streak down my cheeks, each one a searing burn against the ice-cold terror settling inside me. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll get you help, I’ll—”

But she shakes her head weakly, a soft, pained smile slipping across her lips.

“It’s … it’s too late for that.” Her voice is soft, each word labored, slipping out in gasps. “Just promise me … you’ll make him pay.”

The rage burns through me then, a pure, unbridled fire.Linus. His name cuts through me, a jagged blade. Lyra didn’t deserve this. None of it. She should be safe, laughing with me, sharing stories over a quiet fire in a world not filled with this endless chaos.

“Calliope …” Her voice draws me back, weak and barely audible. She meets my gaze, her eyes wide and dark, flickering like a dying flame. “I never told you … but you were the only one who ever made me … laugh. Back in Essenborn. Remember? You were … so kind to me…”

She breathes in once, then again, and then her chest stills. She slips away, the light in her still-open eyes fading.

I pull her into my arms, my tears falling against her hair, her face, mixing with the blood on her skin. The fire crackles and roars around us, but for a moment, all I can hear is the silence that fills the space she’s leaving behind.

The village square bustles with life, filled with the shouts of merchants and the laughter of children darting through the crowd. I stand alone, clutching a bundle of herbs close to my chest, trying to stay hidden in the shadow of the blacksmith's shop. But they see me anyway.

"Look, it’s the witch!" jeers one of the older boys. His friends snicker, kicking dirt in my direction. "What are you doing here, Calliope? Out to curse us all?"

My cheeks burn, and I hug the herbs tighter, looking down at my feet.

“Just … leave me alone,” I manage to mumble, but they only laugh harder, stepping closer.

My grandmother died months ago. The scars on my face still have yet to heal. I’m wrapped in bandages like a plague victim. Every day, I am more ashamed of my face.

"Or what?" another boy taunts, grinning meanly. "Gonna cast a spell on us?"

Before I can answer, a voice slices through the crowd—sharp, fierce, and unmistakable.

"Get away from her!" Lyra steps forward, planting herself between me and the boys. She’s small but unwavering, her hair catching the sunlight like a crown, her eyes alight with a fire that dares anyone to challenge her. "If you don’t leave her alone right now, you’ll regret it."

The boys hesitate, glancing at each other, their confidence cracking.

"Oh, yeah?" one mutters, trying to sound tough. "What’re you gonna do, Lyra?"

She lifts her chin, unafraid. "I’ll tell every mother in Essenborn exactly what you’ve been doing at the schoolhouse,"she says, her voice steady and fierce. "And they’ll know who the real cowards are."

It’s enough. Their bravado deflates, and they mutter under their breaths as they slink away, not daring to meet her gaze.

When they’re gone, Lyra turns to me, her fierce expression melting into something soft and kind.

"You okay?" she asks, reaching out to place a gentle hand on my arm.

I nod, though my heart is still hammering in my chest. She gives me a warm, encouraging smile.

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