Page 82 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
I blinked. “What?”
“That is my name. Misundranaryan.”He said it like thunder trailing off a mountain. It felt ancient and vast—and a little smug.
“Meh-soon-dra-nare-ian?” I said, breaking his name apart to make sure I was saying it correctly.
He laughed at my attempt.“But you may call me Misun,”he added.
A strange sound slipped from my throat—half a sob, half a laugh. I wiped my face, shaking my head at the sky.“Well, Misun, will you ever tell me what you are? Or better yet, where are you?”
“If you need to ask, you shouldn’t know. And if you do not know, you are not worthy of asking.”
“Oh, for the love of all that is holy, are you kidding me?!”
I felt the magic leave me, and I knew that he wasn’t going to be speaking to me anymore tonight. And despite everything—despite the hole in my chest, the grave beneath my feet, the fire in my blood—I found myself smiling. Just a little.
“I’ll forgive myself,” I whispered. “I just… don’t know how yet.”
Shocked, I heard Misun one more time, very faintly, a whisper in the back of my mind.“Then that is where we begin.”
And the wind returned, curling gently around me like a promise. I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and leaned down, pressing my palm gently against the earth over Mother’s grave. “I’ll be back,” I whispered, though the words caught in my throat.
Then I stood, shoulders heavy but spine straight, and turned toward the woods. The path through the trees felt familiar beneath my boots, worn smooth by memory. I kept my eyes on the castle rising above the tree line—dark iron and stone and sharp towers like sentinels watching the world fall into winter. I reached the main entrance, pushing through the heavy wooden doors instead of slipping in through the side halls.
As soon as I stepped inside, something struck me in the chest.
Panic.
But it wasn’t mine.
It hit like a wave—tightening my lungs, curling around my ribs. Desperation. Fear. And something far worse. Agony.
I froze in the center of the grand corridor, heart thundering. The palace was too quiet. The chandeliers above swayed slightly, the candles flickered unnaturally, as if the air itself trembled with warning.
My instincts flared.
Without thinking, I followed the pull—my magic attuned now, guiding me like a thread wound tight in my chest. I moved quickly, keeping to the marble edges of the hallway, my boots light, my hands flexed at my sides.
The feeling grew stronger. I passed the royal wing—and that’s when I heard it.
A scream.
A woman. “No!”
My blood turned to ice.
I broke into a run, the echo of her voice lodging itself like a blade beneath my ribs. The pain wasn’t just hers anymore. I felt it, sharp and overwhelming. Every step I took, her panic burned hotter in my veins.
Another hallway. A sharp turn. The screaming grew louder—clearer now.
“Stop! Please! No! I beg you!”
My heart nearly stopped. I knew that voice.
Kalista.
I didn’t think. I just kicked the door in. The wood cracked and splintered beneath my boot, slamming open so hard it rebounded off the stone wall.
And I saw Hel.
