Page 127 of Crown of Wrath

Maeve stares at me in shock. Then I hear a scream in my mind. Sia.No! Get away! Maeve is safe! That’s Rhion!

But Gethin’s grip is too strong. I am many things, and there isn’t a warrior better than me with a sword, but I am weaponless and in the grip of my enemy. I won’t survive this, and I know it.

Show this to Maeve,I say to Sia in my mind. I don’t wait for her to respond, knowing that she’s listening to me alone. I show her an image of us together. Not the night we married. Not the night in the cave. Those were wonderful memories, but they aren’t what Maeve needs. They’re what I’d spend my days reliving, but they’re not the memory she’ll need in the coming days.

Images flow through my mind, and I know Sia is memorizing them all.

All of it happens in less than a breath, and when Gethin pulls me toward him, his fingers becoming bony daggers, I think of the time Maeve and I danced. Pure joy. Unparalleled happiness. Ecstasy in a way that nothing else can compare.

Pain flows through me like every time that I use my House of Flames powers. This time, a shriek fills the air. When the hand that’s holding my wrist tight loosens, I push myself tighter against him. I let the memories flow like water, one perfect memory after the next, and the flames roar, covering my body in a way that no immolation in the history of the House of Flames has ever done. I am a bonfire. A house fire. A forest fire. I am the sun, and there is nothing more glorious.

Today, I will burn brighter than anyone else because I know that this is the last time I’ll ever burn.

Interlude 7

DarianEmlynwasamistake. His father never wanted him as his Lesser House bloodline was his dominant House, and thus, his father couldn’t use him. His mother tolerated him, but his birth had been an attempt to increase her social standing and power. Darian’s failure to become a part of the House of Steel meant her failure to fulfill her side of the bargain.

Darian was a mistake that would have become a slave early in life if a single man hadn’t stood in front of the collar for him. Cole Cyrus knowingly claimed the blame of a trick that could have started a war. He was forever marked because of his choice to protect a friend in a world where friends are weaknesses, a piece of information that Casimir had tried to instill in him for years.

Cole had never cared what House he was in. He hadn’t cared what use Darian had. He hadn’t cared about Darian’s weaknesses or tendency to get into trouble. Cole had given Darian his loyalty, no matter the cost, and without a thought for what Darian could provide him.

Cole had created a bond that Darian believed was unbreakable.

As he flew above Draenyth, he saw what no one else did. He saw the woman that Cole bartered himself for was wrong. He saw that the crystal armor on her body bent ever so slightly. He noticed that her hair was just a little too dark and her eyes were just a touch too light.

Cole would never have noticed, but Darian saw it all, and pure panic filled him as he called for Sia.It’s not Maeve!he shouted to the djinn. That’s all he could do. He was too far away. He wasn’t strong enough to fight Gethin. He wasn’t a warrior like Cole.

So a hawk shed a tear that day from hundreds of feet in the air. A hawk who was Cole’s best friend—an Immortal that was never wanted and was always just a little wrong for this world. Through the bond that came from his debt with him, he did the only thing he could do. He said, “I’ll protect her.”

And as Gethin pulled Cole to him, Cole looked up at Darian and said, “Protect her from herself.”

Then he exploded in flames.

Calyr the Gold had told Casimir Cyrus to make his son strong enough to weather any storm. He had said that it was the key to his House’s survival. He had said that nothing mattered as much as Casimir’s ability to build his son into a piece of steel that nothing could break or even bend.

Yet, now, after begging the shadow walker to bring him back to the breezeway so he could help his son, barely capable of standing on his own, he isn’t sure of anything. On the breezeway overlooking the House of Steel’s districts he watches as Gethintrades his son for Maeve, and he knows that nothing he could have done would have made his son strong enough to resist Gethin today. He had been the hammer and anvil that tempered his son. He had done everything in his power to beat the weakness out of him. Still, Cole had surrounded himself with weaknesses. How many times had Casimir proved to Cole that his friends would only cause him pain?

Now he understood. The people that Cole had surrounded himself with hadn’t been weaknesses. They’d been his purpose. He’d stood tall no matter what pain or punishment was brought to him because the thought of those people had bolstered him. Without that purpose, he’d…

He wouldn’t have been Cole Cyrus. He’d have been a ghost of the Prince that the world needed.

Casimir’s son was strong enough to keep everyone safe. Except himself. It was the only weakness he’d ever had, and that willingness to stand in front of a blow is what made Prince Cole Cyrus so much better than his father.

As Gethin pulls Cole to him, Casimir’s heart breaks. There’s no question what is about to happen. Casimir falls to his knees as he watches his son bear the wound for someone else for the last time. He sees everything, from the glance up at the hawk flying above them to the smile on his face to the muttered comment to Maeve.

Then he explodes in flames so brightly that Casimir’s eyes burn from watching it, but Casimir understands that pain doesn’t matter. This moment that his son immolates so strongly that even Inni would be proud is important. This is how he will remember his son. Pure joy. It’s the only way he could burn so brightly.

Casimir is sure that Gethin’s skin is charred so badly that even he will struggle to heal from it. But it isn’t enough. A darkness moves across Cole’s body, and ignoring the flames thatcover him, Gethin presses a charred, hooked claw through Cole’s chest. A single bone blade slides through Cole’s chest and into his heart.

And the light is extinguished.

Casimir watches as his son falls to the ground. His fire is gone, and Gethin’s body is covered from head to toe in charred flesh. Any other person would be dead. Any other person.

But not Gethin.

Casimir can’t mourn the loss of the battle, the war, or even the world. Instead, he can only see the man laying on the cobblestones, unmoving. Those open eyes are bright orange, and he has a smile so wide it looks like he’d been laughing.

Cole had died happy. Regardless of everything else that had happened in his life, regardless of what Casimir himself had done to his son, Cole had found joy. Not the false joy he’d taught his son to use in battle—the kind that would power his flames even in the worst of times. This was real. This was something he’d never known.

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