Page 39 of A Storm of Fire and Ice

As we walked through the vast halls, our boisterous laughter echoed off the walls. Aria was almost as loud and obnoxious as I was—almost! I could already imagine Fannar calling the two of us “double trouble” when he’d see us together.

As Aria pointed out the finer details of the architecture, I marveled at the beauty of our surroundings, the rich tapestries and gleaming chandeliers. The scent of ash and fire enveloped me as we wandered the ancient castle. My fingers trailed along cold stone walls, tracing grooves and etchings older than memory.

Aria enthusiastically regaled me with tales of our parents, her memories of our mother’s singing and our father’s booming laugh. Her stories painted a vivid portrait of the family I’d lost, bringing them to life. We swapped notes of our similar experiences growing up in foster care and, eventually, discovering our fire abilities.

As we ventured deeper into the castle, Aria led me to an opulent sitting room, which was lushly decorated with thick carpets and ornate furniture. Luxurious curtains, draping to the floor, framed large windows, and warm light spread across the room from a multitude of dazzling jewel-toned lamps. A large portrait hung over a crackling fireplace with a gilded mantle.

I paused at the painting of a happy young family. A king, a queen, and their two daughters.

My family.

It was the portrait I’d seen in the Fire Kingdom history book that had set this whole journey in motion.

“Mother,” I whispered. “Father.”

“When I just need a break from everything else going on in the castle, I sit here and talk to them,” Aria began hesitantly, her fingers lightly brushing over the golden royal crest embedded into the bottom of the picture frame. “Your music box . . . I still hum that melody to myself to remind me of Mom.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I used to listen to it every night before bed. It was the only constant thing in my life.”

Aria grasped my hand tightly, as though she could pass her memories directly to me through touch. Empathy filled her eyes. “Not anymore.”

My vision blurred with tears. That music box had been my only comfort as a child, and now I understood why. It reached across miles, realms, and even lifetimes to the mother I’d barely known and the sister I’d just met. The melody had been a thread connecting us all along.

I’d never truly been alone.

Together, as we stared up at the smiling faces in our family portrait, a missing piece of my soul clicked into place.

I was home.

Chapter Twelve

Gwyneira

Thehissoflightningand sounds of ice shattering against wood echoed through the training gym, which was mostly deserted except for three other students at the far end of the building. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows across the floor. The air was heavy with exertion. Sweat glistened on our bodies as we relentlessly attacked the training targets.

Brontes, his body taut with concentration and his storm powers crackling around his hands, sent a bolt of lightning hurtling toward a target, smashing it to smoldering pieces.

I let loose a flurry of icy arrows, their heads honed to razor sharpness, and watched them sink deep into another target until it looked like a hedgehog stumbling out of a snowdrift.

Fannar tucked his chin and widened his stance, summoning a glacial wall between him and an impending volley of pretend fireballs. An onslaught of red paintballs burst against his icy shield.

On the surface, we formed a formidable trio, and training alongside my brother was another dream come true. But I knew this wasn’t enough. Fannar hadn’t summoned flames since the fall of the Ice Castle, and despite the intensity of our training sessions, Brontes’s ice powers still hadn’t manifested at all.

“Nice job, Gwyneira!” Brontes complimented, though his gaze flickered toward Fannar with concern.

“Thanks.” I tried to sound upbeat, but my heart tightened as I watched Fannar as well.

He’d been struggling the last few hours. It was evident Helena’s absence left more than just a void within our group. He hadn’t been himself since she left.

“You got this, brother!” I cheered.

Fannar peered around the icy wall he had constructed, perusing an offensive path to take out the paintball launcher. He spotted an opening in the deluge of paintballs hurtling from the red-lacquered contraption. With a desperate lunge, he broke out of cover, attempting to dodge the shots, but he misjudged the timing.

My eyes squeezed shut as I flinched, only to hear the series of loudthwap thwap thwapsounds. When I reopened them, Fannar was covered with big splotches of vibrant red paint.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, disappointment cracking his usually stoic icy exterior as he slumped to the floor.

I exchanged a concerned glance with Brontes, silently acknowledging the strain on our team. How could we hope to reach our full potential when one of our own was drowning in pain and the other absent?

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