Page 8 of Of Flames and Fallacies

But time isn’t a luxury I have.

I gather materials and work the rest of the day bending and weaving inside our home. The sun sets by the time I stop. Blisters nick my fingers, and my stomach roars with hunger. I’m partly relieved my mother hasn’t stirred since I’ve been home.

The trap isn’t complete enough to warrant it a successful one. Slumping in the chair I’ve been sitting in, I chew my lip, pushing the trap onto the table in defeat. The candlelight scatters dancing shadows across the opposing wall. I watch in silence, hoping for some hidden sign or answer. But nothing comes to me. Instead, I flick my gaze over to where my mother carved into the wall last week.

Secrets never die, they’re just buried in a grave.

Secrets never die, they’re just buried in a grave.

Secrets never die, they’re just buried in a grave.

Secrets never die, they’re jus

Over, and over, and over. Until the fourth row down it pauses halfway through the sentence, where I stopped her. I started hiding any sharp objects, for fear she might someday turn it on herself.

Or…me.

Leaning back into my chair, I rest my heels on the seat across from me. The seat she used to sit in. How I would do anything to have her back in that chair. Or anything, at all, just to have her back.

Perhaps I’ll feign ignorance if it truly is a dragon egg. Insanity from malnutrition…maybe my mother’s mental illness is genetic?

With a sigh, I push to my feet. There’s no use in ruminating on it. Not when I can do that tomorrow.

I blow out the candles and shut all of the windows. By the time I’ve tip-toed back to my room and collapsed into bed, exhaustion drags at my eyelids. I stare at the ceiling and the wooden pillars slanted above me.

They tie me back to the forest. To my father and brother. The forest makes me feel so small, and my problems so minute in comparison. That it really, truly doesn’t matter. Whether tomorrow is the day I die. Or the day after. At least I wouldn’t suffer anymore.

Because I’m not cut out for this. I wish I could switch places with my brother or father. I know they’d figure a way out of this. They’d take better care of my mother than I’ve been able to. I wonder if they’d be as ashamed of me as I am of myself. Because at the end of the day, I’m incapable. Useless. Helpless.

My eyes fall closed, and I drift into sleep.

A sharp creak and crash rips me out of my slumber. My eyes flash open to orange-bathed beams above me. I’m not sure if it’s morning, or how I’ve managed to sleep in so late.

“Katerina!” my mother screams.

I whip out of bed, blinking away the sleep as my gaze focuses. A wave of unsettling heat washes over me. Flames lick up the side of the wall and the dresser near my door, crackling from the intense heat.

“Mother!” I run toward the door. Another loud crash sounds outside my room, and the ground shivers under my feet. I hastily grab the doorknob, the heated metal sears my hand. I jerk back. Snatching my cloak I left draped over the edge of my bed, I wrap the fabric around my hand before twisting the knob and pushing the door open. It stops after a few inches. On the third attempt, I ram my shoulder into the wood, an ache flashing in my arm. Still, the door doesn’t budge. My breath comes out in pants from the exertion and smoke filling my nose.

A familiar set of blue eyes flashes in the small gap between the door and frame. My mother frantically stuffs a bag through the opening, her nimble fingers working the satchel inch by inch. “Take it!”

I grab the bag, tugging it until the pressure releases and it slips free. Rivers of perspiration glide down my neck and back. My gaze flickers to the fire, now only a few feet away and climbing toward the ceiling. Thick smoke weaves its way into my lungs, tickling my throat. I slam against the door once more, desperate to get to my mother, but the heavy wood barely budges. My breath quickens with growing realization—I’m trapped.

“Listen to me!” my mother shouts over the roaring flames. “Find Cole, and take her back to the Dragon Lands. You aren’t safe here. Don’t come back. Trust no one!”

“Her? What are you talking about?” A cough steals my breath, the mix of heat and smoke burning in my chest. “Meet me at the front. Can you get to the front door?”

She shakes her head with soft, misty eyes. Despite her tears, the glassy look I’ve come to know is missing. In fact, her entiredemeanor is different—lucid in a way she hasn’t been since before my brother died. “I love you so much, Kit.”

My heart plummets. She hasn’t used that nickname since I was a kid. Since before she got sick. With a grunt, I drive my shoulder into the door again, but another cough racks my body. My eyes burn from the smoke clouding the room.

“Stop!” Mother reaches through the gap of the door and touches my cheek. “If you don’t go now, you’ll be dead.”

The tenderness of the gesture and clarity in her gaze paralyzes me.

Something crashes in another room, and she whips her head over her shoulder before turning back to me. “Go. Now!”

The dresser to my left collapses, swinging toward me. I jump out of the way, dodging it just in time. When I peer into the gap where my mother was only moments before, she’s gone.

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