Page 31 of Burning Her Beautiful
“No.” The answer releases tension I did not realize was coiled inside. “Yet kindness from someone with power can be another snare.”
“Snare or stepping-stone?” Lys asks. She foldsherarms. “If the demon’s affection steadies our steps, perhapswe shoulduse it.”
I trace a swirl in spilled flour on the nearest barrel. “That is the question clawing my ribs. I can wield his trust, yet each hour I want him for reasons beyond advantage. Desire muddies allegiance.”
Lys plants a steady hand on my shoulder. “Anchors only drag you down if you forget you can swim. Want him, but remember why you entered the storm.”
I blink away the prickle behindmyeyes. “Thank you.”
She nods briskly. “Now, your chain maker requests copper filings. He says iron alone echoes too plainly through the vents.”
“I will acquirethecopper.”
We part; she returns to chopping with renewed vigor. I step back intothecorridors, clutching her words like a compass.
Late afternoon dimsthe great hallways to dusky amber. News of tomorrow’s vote seeps through every conversation. Half-blood nobles whisper about collars with terror on their tongues. Humans whisper of chance.
I slip into Yalira’s solar carrying forged ledgers: one details untaxed sapphire shipments; the second lists falsified summons logs linking Sarivya to the nightshade smugglers. Yalira rises from an ivory settee when I enter, her lavender skin luminous against a silk gown the color of thunderheads.
“Iliana.” She greets me with a kiss to each cheek—noble custom she rarely grants her own peers. “Varok said the papers were coming, yet he failed to mention you would deliver them.”
“The corridors listen more tightly when he walks them,” I reply, passingherthe folio.
She leafs through, eyes flashing triumph. “Perfect. The moment the decree reaches the floor, I will release thisevidence.” Her tone sharpens. “Is your demon ready forthefallout?”
“He plots three contingencies deep. But he also trusts me to weave one of my own.” I hesitate. “You must guarantee safe exit channels for humans who wish to flee once chaos breaks.”
Yalira studies me, then inclines her head. “Consider it done. The western stables will shelter them.”
We clasp wrists. After I leave, resolve steadiesmyheartbeat: I can love a storm without drowning if I chart escape for those who cannot ride lightning.
Moonrise findsme perched on a deserted parapet above the auxiliary gardens, legs dangling over a dizzying drop. I hum a low note—one I have not sung since childhood—letting the sound seep into stone. My voice quivers with questions that have no easy answer. The resonance crystals buried beneath the walkway shiver in reply, carrying the hum towardthelaundry vents.
Footsteps crunchongravel behind me. Varok emerges from an arch, wearing travel leathers dark as wet slate. Citron–pine cologne mingles with the night air, pricking senses that remember too vividly the taste of his lips. He stops an arm’s length away, hands clasped behind his back.
“You asked for space,” he says quietly. “But I worried when twilight fell and you were not within safe wings.”
“Safe is relative,” I answer, swinging a foot. “I needed solitude.”
He gazes over the railing, assessing how easily a misstep could spill me into the abyss. “May I sit?”
I nod. He lowers himself beside me, boots resting on the ledge buthisbody angled inward so a single horn would catch me if I leaned too far.
Wind tugs strands of hair across my mouth. Without thinking I brush them away, then glance at him. Concern shadows his eyes.
“Regret?” he asks, voice barely audible above the breeze.
I study the curve of distant lightning on the horizon. “No.” The word tastes honest, yet freighted. “I regret the power you hold over me—but not the night itself.”
Relief flickers, quickly veiled. “I hold power over many. With you I would rather share it.”
“That is the paradox,” I whisper. “Shared power tilts when hearts tilt.” My throat tightens. “If tomorrow’s vote goes poorly?—”
“It will not,” he interrupts. Lightning flashes again, illuminating determination etched into the hard planes of his features. “But if threads tangle, I will cut them.”
“I fear cutting threads may sever more than bondage.” I drawmyknees tomychest, restingmychin. “I need to remain me, not a mirror of your desires.”
He breathes slowly, then tilts his face to the stars. “Tell me what I must do to prove I do not wish to remake you.”
