Page 43 of King of Flames and Shadows

In this strange, endless moment, there is nothing but a heavy, pulsing energy, pushing outward from my chest in waves.

It’s only when the shockwave begins to fade, as the wildness of my pulse subsides, that I feel his weight.

Arvoren’s body is pressed against mine, solid and warm, his strong arms encircling me, shielding me from the storm of glass. His scent—iron and cedar, laced with the faintest hint of smoke—wraps around me as I come back to myself, my senses overwhelmed by the stark reality of him. I am trapped beneath him, pressed to the cold, hard marble, and I can feel the strain of his muscles as he curls protectively over me, as if I’m some fragile thing he can shield from my own power.

This is the new reality of us, I realize with a vague, unmoored kind of resignation. He protects me, and in doing so, he tethers me unyieldingly to the ground, to him.

Gradually, I become aware of the flickering light of a nearby fire, of the heavy air thick with dust and broken glass, the chaos of a room torn apart. Bits of broken marble and shattered torches lie strewn about, and a few flames still sputter, casting broken shadows on the walls. The remnants of shattered glass crunch beneath his knees as he shifts above me, and I feel the warmth of his hands steadying me, one on my shoulder, the other tangled in my hair, a tight, protective grip. His voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, hoarse but urgent.

“Calliope?” His face hovers above mine, tight with a rare, unguarded worry, his dark eyes frantic as they search my face.

I try to focus, to center myself, but my vision swims, flickering at the edges like the remnants of an expiring fire. Mychest feels heavy, each breath a struggle. I don’t know what I’ve done—don’t know what this power is that tore free from me like an animal, raw and wild and consuming.

“Calliope,” he says again, his voice softer, a rare tenderness threading through his tone, as if he’s afraid I might slip away.

The heat of his hand on my face grounds me. His fingers are firm, and I realize he’s wiping something from my skin, maybe blood, maybe tears—I’m too far gone to know. I blink up at him, his face blurred but steady, as though he’s the only solid thing left in the world.

“What … happened?” I manage, the words thick on my tongue. My voice sounds distant, faint, as if it’s coming from somewhere far away.

He hesitates, his face shadowed, before he speaks.

“Your power,” he murmurs, his brow furrowed with something like awe. “It—” His words falter, and I watch his mouth tighten, his gaze flickering over my face as if he’s searching for something. “The sanctum … it couldn’t hold you.”

I try to rise, but his grip tightens, and he presses me back down, a fierce protectiveness etched into every line of his body.

“Don’t move,” he commands, and the authority in his tone is so absolute that I stop, too drained to resist.

But somewhere, deep in the pit of my soul, there’s a fire that still burns, that knows I must not yield. My voice is a faint whisper, defiant even in weakness. “Let me … go.”

A bitter smile touches his lips. “And where would you go, Calliope?” he asks, almost gently, though his words hold a darker edge. “You think you can outrun this? You think you can outrun the thing you are?”

I cough weakly. “I’m not a witch.”

Arvoren raises his head, looking at the destruction all around us. He laughs, a furious, barking thing, as if truly taken off guard.

Somewhere in the depths of me, a voice stirs, faint as a whisper yet clear as crystal. I close my eyes, and in the darkness, I see her face—my grandmother’s face. Her voice rises from the shadows, soft and wise, steady as the ground beneath my feet.

"Calliope, you are stronger than you know. You were born for this. Remember who you are, child. Remember what I taught you."

Her words drift through me, like an anchor, like a lifeline pulling me up from the depths. I feel a warmth in my chest, steady and insistent, a fire that refuses to be extinguished, no matter how tightly I’m held. It’s more than defiance; it’s a truth that roots itself in the very core of my being. I am no witch. Whatever I am, I’m more.

Arvoren’s hand on my cheek, the heat of his breath on my skin, the darkness of his gaze—suddenly, all of it feels too close, too confining. My pulse quickens, my breathing shallow as panic claws its way up my throat, tightening like a vice. I can’t be bound to him. Not this way.

As my vision darkens at the edges, my last thought is not of the shards of glass or the shattered sanctum. It’s of her voice, echoing through me, filling the hollow places with a warmth and strength I thought I’d lost.

And as her voice fades, as my body finally gives in to the weight of exhaustion, I find myself clinging to that single, lingering thought—one last, desperate hope, burning even as I slip into unconsciousness.

"You are stronger than you know."

Chapter 19 - Arvoren

The smell of iron fills the air, thick and stifling. It seeps into the walls, clings to the stones, heavier and sharper than the smoke from the torches or the harsh chill of the morning’s cold. It’s the scent of chaos, of something ancient and now broken. And Calliope lies at the center of it all, her slight form a shapeless outline, hefted onto a mattress and tucked beneath a heap of blankets in the center of the sanctum, hair splayed around her face, still as the dead.

The glass is still lying everywhere, fractured like glittering sand across the stone floor, catching dawn’s weak light. Crusting paint drips from the walls as if shaken loose from years of settlement, holy relics cracked and hanging by frayed cords. The tapestries bleed into grotesque versions of themselves, streaked and warped, their woven tales of victory and grace turned to dark, uncertain shapes.

Behind me, the healers murmur, dabbing cloths across her brow, whispering incantations, but none can make sense of what they see. No more than I can.

I clench my fists. My bride. My problem.

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