Page 117 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
He laughed. “Please. You are nothing without your magic. Nothing but a peasant and a whore!” He laughed again, wicked and cruel, “Who would be afraid of a little girl like you?”
I smiled—sharp, dangerous. “You should be.”
“I should come in there right now and wipe that smile off your face! Perhaps, whip you again. You do not speak to your King like that! You will kneel!”
“You are not my King. And it is you who will kneel to me,” I snapped back, my words laced with threat.
His smirk faltered just enough to make me savor it before he turned.
“Wait,” I said, and he stopped.
“She’s controlling you,” I chuckled. “You stupid idiot, she has been controlling you this whole time. How does it feel, to be a little bitch controlled by a woman who is the very thing you hate… a woman who is stronger than you? Stronger than you’ll ever be, even with the dragon.”
He turned to me with rage in his eyes. “What do you know of the dragon!? What are you even—”
I cut him off.
“Shut the fuck up, you stupid pile of trash. Gods, you are so dumb, it’s a miracle you can breathe without someone reminding you how. The Queen is a Mage and she’s been pulling your strings like the spineless puppet you are. You’re nothing. You’ve always been nothing. Just a crown on an empty skull.”
I let the pause hang, watching the fury build in his face before twisting the knife. “Tell me—does that shriveled, pea-sized brain of yours ever manage an original thought, or is it just a pile of rotting mush your wife plays with when she’s bored?”
His nostrils flared, but before he could speak, I cut him off. “The dragon does not belong to you. And his name isMisundranaryan.” I smiled, slow and deliberate. “Remember it well—because I’m going to make you say it as you beg for mercy. He will be the last thing you’ll eversee before he rips you apart and scatters what’s left of you so far across the realms no one will even bother to bury you.”
Aymon’s jaw worked, but no words came. He turned and stalked away, the weight of my promise at his back.
Time passed.
I need to forgive myself.
I am worthy.
I do not bow.
I am the storm they fear.
I am the fire they cannot cage.
I am a motherfucking Elementara Fae. And I am the rightful heir ofallthe thrones.
The truth didn’t whisper—it roared. I couldn’t hold all of my magic while my heart was still bound in chains of shame. I had been my own prison, my own jailer. And it ended now.
I took a deep breath. And then another—deep, steady, unshaking. My wrists flexed against the barbed wire, blood dripped down, making it easier for me pull my hands out. Scalding pain burst through me as it tore into my skin. I gritted my teeth, twisting harder until the wire ripped free, shredding my arms. I unwound my ankles, barbed wire cutting into my palms.
I collapsed forward onto my knees, head bowed, chest heaving.
“I forgive myself,” I whispered into the silence.
Misun’s growl rolled through my mind—low, deep, and proud.
Something inside me split wide open—like a dam finally breaking after years of pressure. A roar tore from my throat as I slammed my palms into the silver floor.
Magic didn’t just surge out of me—it detonated. The air split with a deafening crack, and I felt a magical ward explode like a bomb had gone off. The chamber convulsed violently, dust and shards raining from the ceiling. The silver walls screamed as my magic tore through them. Veins of light raced over their surfaces before they splintered, shattering into molten fragments that hit the floor with a hiss. Piece by piece, they crumbled away, revealing the cold stone hidden beneath.
Mage Hand shimmered into being—dark swirling light coiled around my fingers as its weightless shape formed over my hand. Its fingers glowed brighter than I’d ever seen them. Its movements were fluid, deliberate—like it was weaving a spell older than the stone around me. Threads of golden light spiraled from its fingertips, coiling in the air like living runes. It moved with unshakeable purpose, unclasping the iron-silver cuff from my neck with a precise, almost reverent touch, then it sank into the cell door’s iron.
The magic whispered through the lock—a soft, almost seductive hum—before something deep within it gave way with a sharp, echoingclick. The heavy door groaned open, not with force, but as if it had been persuaded to obey.
A rush of power spilled into the room, brushing over my skin like the breath of a storm, and I felt Misun in the back of my mind—steady, watching, ready.
