Page 132 of The Spark that Ignites
She was snared, trapped as she writhed against the hold.
No. This couldn’t be happening. Her mind raced, her thoughts muddled and—
Behind Melantha, somewhere far off, an icy onyx blaze shot through the sky, hurdling toward them like a dark comet.
Emmery squinted and then laughed—a small broken sound.
As Melantha enveloped her in her own flames her magic suffocated her in a fierce wall of heat. But she didn’t fear, and she did not stop. She would no longer be afraid, in fact, sherefusedto let her own flame strike fear into her heart. Emmery burned. She needed time. And she would do anything for it.
Emmery didn’t pause until Aera hurdled into the temple and struck Melantha with a blast so vicious, she fell to her knees. Aera twirled in the air and an obsidian icy whirlwind circled Melantha as she clambered to stand and hissed. Baring her teeth, Aera revealed no fear in her amber eyes.
Winded, Melantha leapt into the air and shot through the open roof into the sky. Emmery extinguished her flames in one swift breath. Her vestige was a mere dusting of gold now and sweat dripped from her brow.
Emmery wiped her nose. Blood again. A wild fluttering encompassed her heart, pushing against her ribcage like wings—
Aera sprinted forward, wrapping her in a soothing chill as she nuzzled into Emmery’s neck. The relief was instant as the black ice cascaded across her skin.
She limply hugged Aera. “I love you, little one. You did so well.”
The fox yipped, nudging her to stay awake, but Emmery slumped to the ground. She was so damned tired and weak, and the darkness beckoned.
Maybe it stole her, or she went willingly, but either way, Emmery lost herself in it.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Somewhere between dreaming and consciousness, Emmery drifted. As she tumbled back into her body, she kicked, screamed, and bit anything that dared touch her. But before she could grasp enough awareness to run, the darkness dragged her back. If it was minutes or hours or days, she didn’t know. All she knew was she weightlessly floated—her limbs distant.
When she finally came to, she drowned in a suffocating comforter, a mountain of pillows, and slippery sheets.
The walls, bedding, bedframe, desk, dressing table were entirely white, lifeless and plain—sterile. Opposite the decor at Castle Dusk. She held no recognition of her surroundings. All that white hurt her damn eyes, and it was like they’d modelled it after the training room she despised so strongly.
Emmery stood from the bed. The cold marble floor slapped against her bare feet, but the room itself was warm. She looked down at the unfamiliar night clothes, a forest-green unlike the copious white. She pinched the silk between her fingers.
What was going on? All of her things were gone—her daggers, pack, cloak, and Aera was nowhere to be seen. The last thing she remembered was the temple. Melantha. Fainting.
Emmery’s heart sped as she stalked to the door and placed a tentative hand on the knob.
Locked.
It didn’t budge as she pushed. Nor when she threw her weight into it.
Shit. Someone had locked her in here.
Determined to burn it down, she held up her hands, eyes narrowed on the smooth white wood, but nothing happened. Flexing her fingers, she tried again. Her magic hummed beneath her skin, clawing for release but caged. Instead of the heat of flames, utter coldness answered.
She studied them in the bright light, fresh fear spiking her chest. On the backs were markings in words she didn’t understand. They glowed an iridescent hue as she rotated them.
Emmery’s hurried footsteps carried her to the bathroom. She twisted the handles and tepid water poured out. Not caring to roll them up, her sleeves soaked in the water as she scrubbed her skin.
But the marks remained.
She groaned, leaning against the sink.
The room was deadly quiet; only the nerve shredding tick of a clock diced the silence and battered her brain. Her heart fluttered as she searched for windows, doors—any escape.
A knock on the door had Emmery leaping out of her skin, her shoulders stiff and readying for a fight. She dried her hands and sopping sleeves on a towel before tossing it aside and reaching for a potential weapon. Her only option was a candlestick, but it was better than nothing.
“Come in?” Uncertainty laced her voice.
