Page 29 of Flame and Sparrow

His hair, dark blond with hints of red, was long enough to tie into a knot—and some effort had been made to do this, but several strands had pulled loose, presumably ruffled by the hood he’d been hiding beneath. It should have looked messy, especially combined with the bit of scruff along his jawline. And perhaps it would have if that jawline had not been so strong, so sharp, and the rest of him had not looked so disgustingly…perfect.As if nothing about him could ever truly look disheveled.

His eyes were definitely silver, but I now saw hints of blueish-green in them as the day brightened around us, like pockets of calm water breaking up a grey and stormy sea. The cloak he’d worn had been cast aside, and beneath it he wore a finely-tailored shirt of white linen, its sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms covered in strange markings—swirls of black edged in red.

Like the godmark I’d seen on his wrist earlier, these red edges seemed to glow, making me think of molten rock cracking through charred earth. With each pulse of glowing light, the walls of flames surrounding us brightened as though both the fire and markings were tied to the very beating of his heart.

“You can spit at me again if you’d like, but it won’t put these fires out.” His voice was low, a rumble of confidence flirting with arrogance. He waved a hand, lazily, at the walls, and the flames roared even higher, their glare bright enough to obscure the sun itself. “Only I can do that.”

I shook my head. “This is a dream.”

“Not exactly.” He chuckled.

I was not amused. “Explain, then.”

“This isEligas.”

The word didn’t immediately make sense to my exhausted and jumbled mind, but after some effort, I recalled the mention of it in one of the few books that had survived the Morethian Manor’s destruction—it was the emptiness between realms. In some stories it was said to be a place of judgment for mortal souls. In others, it was merely a neutral place filled with pathways that the divine used to more easily traverse from realm to realm. Time stood still here, and nothing within its boundaries lived or died. Not a wholly divine place in and of itself, but also not a place where mortals could tread without divine help.

And not one they couldleavewithout divine guidance, either.

It took several attempts to push words out through my dry lips. “That would mean…”

His brow arched as if daring me to finish my sentence.

I said nothing.

Neither did he. He also didn’t move—scarcely even breathed—but another wall of fire rose behind me, hemming me completely in. The only way out now would be charging directly through him, and then…to where?

I couldn’t leave this realm on my own. My legs shook at the thought, threatening collapse. There was nothing to brace myself against. Nothing but fire and strangely cold earth and the unsettlingly beautiful man before me.

Another lazy wave of his hand sent ropes of fire twisting away from the main walls, then sectioned them further into droplets that fell like leaves loosed by a sudden breeze.

Fire should not have moved in such a way.

I flinched as the first of those firedrops landed and died against my skin…until I realized they hadn’t burned anything.

I swallowed hard. “Why aren’t any of these flames hurting me?”

“They very well might in just a moment, depending on how you decide to act from here.”

“You’re toying with me,” I accused. Like a beast playing with its food before ripping it to pieces and devouring it.

“That’s only part of it.” He caught one of the falling firedrops. It flared brighter in his hand, and he appraised me through the flame before looking instead at the sky, studying it as though he could still see the humans-turned-to-smoke floating through it. “I also don’t want these humans thinking they control the fires of justice and vengeance or anything else in this realm. And such pitiful sacrifices are not really my taste, anyhow.”

“Pitiful?” The word snapped from my mouth before I could catch it.

It was likely one of the kinder ways to describe what I looked like after more than ten days in a dungeon, but my jaw still ached from the effort of clenching back a nasty retort.

“Sorry to have offended you with my appearance,” I muttered.

He accepted the apology with a graceful nod—as though I’d genuinely been asking forgiveness—and continued on as if he’d missed the sarcasm in my voice entirely. “So I decided to intervene, in hopes they might learn and do better next time.”

“With a less pitifuloffering?”

“Yes.” He crushed the drop of flame he held, extinguishing it.

As I watched the flame go out, I could no longer doubt the conclusion I’d come to almost immediately after glimpsing his face. It had to be him. And it had to be said, even if merelythinkingit made it hard for me to breathe.

“You really are…him.” My voice came out in a whisper despite my best effort to speak normally. “The middle-god of Fire and Forging.”

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