Page 48 of King of Flames and Shadows

“Perhaps,” I say softly, “perhaps this power you have can be harnessed. Trained.”

Her brow furrows, and I see the flicker of apprehension in her eyes.

“You want to make me your weapon?” she says, voice low but steady.

I don’t answer immediately, letting the idea settle between us like a coiled beast, ready to spring.

“If we’re to survive,” I say at last, “we need every advantage we can seize. You are as much a part of this kingdom now as I am, Calliope, and if this power of yours has awakened, then we must find a way to control it. Such is what it means to be a queen.”

She watches me, her gaze unflinching. I can feel the pulse of her breath, slow and measured, yet her mind is racing, I can tell. She’s not dismissing the idea, not entirely. That, more than anything, tells me she’s willing to consider the possibility, to ally herself with me, at least for now.

I lean back, resting my head on the pillow, and let my gaze travel up to the dark beams of the ceiling. My ancestors are watching me, their bloodline knotted in the stones that hold this place. They lived and died by their own strength, their own cunning, but none of them faced what we now face.

If the Gods have decreed that she is the last of her line, I’ll use that decree to my advantage. I’ll train her, sharpen her abilities until even the Gods themselves think twice before crossing us. She may be my wife by reluctant design, but by morning, she’ll be my weapon, my sword, my shield.

For now, as she lies here beside me, I let the calm settle, the battle planning itself in my mind.

Chapter 22 - Calliope

It’s so cold that my breath mists in front of my face as I step into the courtyard, my skin prickling against the briskness of the chilly dawn. Wisps of mist still linger around the base of the castle, wrapping around the stone columns and archways that surround me. I breathe in the faint metallic scent of magic—a lingering trace of the ritual which led to this, still etched into the air, sharp and unsettling. My pulse quickens, unsettled but resolute.

I’ve promised myself that, for today, I will begin to learn to use this power, or break trying. The weight of that oath, of this place, bears down on me, yet I keep my shoulders straight, refusing to show even the smallest crack.

Either I will attempt to escape this place sooner or later, or I will stay. My uncertainty itself is a point of shame. Either way, I rationalize, if I can harness my power, I’m more likely to survive whatever happens next.

So, I will train, as the King demands.

Arvoren stands at the edge of the stone platform in the center of the courtyard, watching as I approach. I regard him in the hard, cold light of dawn, assessing the faint tiredness in his face, the still-severe set of his strong, dark brow, the tightness of his sharp jaw. His dark hair is somewhat disheveled. His gaze is cold, assessing, with none of the openness I glimpsed last night. Whatever walls he’d lowered then are now fortified, his stare a challenge I refuse to shrink from.

A breeze shifts his dark hair across his face, and he brushes it back, eyes narrowing slightly as I come closer.

"Ready, are we?" His voice is even, but I catch the faintest hint of something beneath—amusement, perhaps. Maybe doubt.Maybe annoyance. These days, they seem to all become one when he speaks to me.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” I reply evenly, holding his gaze.

His lips press into a dull smirk as he nods toward a circle of etched symbols on the ground, glowing faintly blue under the strengthening light of sunrise. “This will amplify your energy. It’ll draw on the raw magic in the atmosphere surrounding you to awaken your natural strength. It’s how all mages of this castle and my armies are trained, and now, it will train you.”

He says it calmly, as if he isn’t asking me to unleash forces I don’t understand.

I glance at the symbols, then back at him. “And what if I can’t control it?”

“That’s what I’m here for.” His gaze darkens, a hint of something unreadable flitting through his eyes. “I’ll restrain you if necessary, pull you from the dais. But I expect you to try.”

I swallow, fighting back a surge of irritation. Everything from him is a command, a demand. I wonder if he even knows how to speak without it.

Darian, who I hadn’t noticed was nearby until now, steps forward. His uniform, the finery of Arvoren’s royal army, is perfectly pressed. He doesn’t look at all like a man who has been woken far too early, though I can tell he’s still somewhat bleary-eyed. His expression is a study in neutrality, his gaze flicking between Arvoren and me.

"Calliope.” He says my name with plain, undecorated finality. I enjoy hearing it when it doesn’t sound like a curse. “Your power is raw, unformed, but that is exactly why it is potent. Try to feel it as a part of you, not something to restrain.Magic responds to intent. Let it feel your purpose." And then, when he catches me staring, slightly surprised: “My sisters are both mages. They went through this very same thing. Now, they fight in the king’s army.”

Draconic mages. They live comfortable lives, I bet.

No time for resentment or regret now. I draw a breath, focus narrowing to a thin thread as I step into the circle. The air hums faintly, vibrating under my feet. I feel the power inside me shift like a restless creature, heavy and huge and hot.

I close my eyes, letting my senses extend beyond my own body, as Darian instructed.

The first rush of energy rises easily—too easily—and the warmth floods through me, overwhelming. Like a tide, trying to pull me under. It’s overwhelming. I try to direct it forward, to control it, but it swells, wild and chaotic, expanding, a force of nature that doesn’t care for boundaries. The ground shudders slightly beneath me, a raw and reckless power surging toward the edge of the circle. I gasp, struggling to rein it in, but it slips through my grasp like sand.

"Focus," Arvoren says sharply. "You’re letting it run loose.”

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