Page 9 of Heat of the Everflame

“No!” I shouted, thrashing against their grip. I swung my shackles over my head and connected with the solid flesh of a skull. A voice swore as the arms caging me loosened.

“We’ve got her,” someone announced. The others released me and hurriedly ran out of my reach. One of them clutched a bloody gash at his temple, the promise of retribution burning in his glare.

I watched in horror as the Arboros Queen was dragged further away. “Lumnos!” she pleaded, her bright green eyes bulging wide.

I tried to rush toward her, but the hefty chains snapped me backward. “Arboros!” I cried helplessly.

A few men in the group lingered beside me and chuckled at my panic. One of them spat at my feet. “Say goodbye to your pretty friend, Descended scum.”

Boiling adrenaline surged through my veins. I pulled at my chains, straining against their hold as my feet clawed divots into the earth.

Having not been raised as a Descended or given the benefit of their in-depth education, I had no clue how far I could go before my body snapped. My very skin and bones were an enigma.

And what about the flameroot—did it dampen strength and healing like it affected magic? In my years under its influence, I had never attempted to push myself beyond what I believed a mortal could realistically do.

But what if I wasn’t as weak as a mortal—what if I was capable of so much more?

At first, the men watched me in haughty amusement. Even as a Queen, in their eyes I was just a frail, pathetic woman, struggling pointlessly against the superiority of nature and of men.

But I had almost given up once before, and it had nearly cost me everything. Since then, I’d sworn to never be weak again. With or without my magic, I would not stop fighting—not now, not ever.

I strained forward against my chains. Mud curled around the soles of my impractical silk slippers as the balls of my feet sank deeper into the rain-softened soil. The iron shackles bit painfully into my skin, their metal joints squealing under the force of my tugging.

A crackling sound reverberated through the forest. The men’s laughter abruptly stopped.

I grunted and pulled again at the manacles until the chain links began to groan and warp.

Behind me, the crackling grew louder, and I gained a step.

“What in the glaciers of hell,” one of the men mumbled, his face blanching.

“The tree,” another breathed.

I spared a glance over my shoulder. The trunk of the tree was cocked at an angle, roots dangling in the air and dripping clumps of freshly turned sod.

Even the Arboros Queen stared in disbelief.

I wasted no time, burrowing a new foothold and lurching forward in short, powerful bursts. With every yank, the tree tilted further, more and more roots springing free from the earth. The mortals began shouting, swarming, calling for help, surrounding the trunk.

With a liberatingclink, the chain holding my right arm snapped apart.

Chaos broke out. Some Guardians fled, while others called for help. A few clawed onto the remaining chain that kept my left arm tethered.

“You can’t hold me forever,” I growled at the man who’d escorted me. “Let her stay here safely with me.”

A split second of indecision wavered over his face. He squared his shoulders and snatched the wooden club from his colleague’s hand. “Get the other one to Mother Dell,” he ordered, then turned toward me. “I’ll handle her.”

I heaved forward with every ounce of remaining strength. The tree crunched and swayed, threatening to fall, as a crowd of Guardians pushed against the trunk to counter my efforts.

Their fight was as useless as a flower striking a nail. Despite the flameroot’s effect, I was strong—incrediblystrong. Stronger than I ever would have imagined. I wasn’t sure the throng of mortals could have made a dent against me even if they were triple in number.

The thought was as exhilarating as it was worrying. Were all Descended this strong—and this difficult to contain?

I might have taken a moment to fret over what that would mean in the coming war, had the final chain not snapped free just as a club came barreling at my skull.

My momentum launched me forward not a second too soon, the weapon whizzing past the tip of my nose. I darted around the man before he could make a second attempt and sprinted for the horrified-looking Queen of Arboros.

And I might have made it, had my newfound finery not caught up with me. The long, silky blue-grey gown I had chosen for my coronation—because it reminded me of Luther’s eyes, and I’d wanted to feel like he was watching over me, I remembered with a sharp pang in my chest—tangled around my legs and sent me sprawling. I scrambled to get back to my feet.

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