Page 32 of The Bones of Benevolence

Something overcame me then, something much bigger and more wicked than myself. I pushed my stool back and stood, stalking toward him. His size was much more daunting now that I stood directly before him, but still I stared at him, unafraid. With the crook of my finger I ushered him closer. The man smirked and bent down, my lips moving to his ear as I placed a hand on his cheek.

“You’re going to wish he’d been the one to kill you.”

Fire erupted from my palm, his scraggly beard instantly catching as his skin quickly began to bubble beneath my hand. A few of his friends shot to their feet, blades unsheathed, only to jump back as the man fell to the floor screaming, clawing uselessly at his face. The fire spread quickly, and soon his entire head was engulfed in flames. The heat of satisfaction burned hot in my chest as the smell of burning flesh hit my nose.

What coursed through me was an angry, tumultuous storm of hatred and rage and the sudden need to prove myself. The feeling wasn’t foreign — I recognized it as the same sweet fury that had overcome me at Oxblood Outpost. I let it take control again, its gray talons sinking deep into my flesh as I watched the man writhe and screech in agony.

Rhedros was here, and with him all his rage.

Within moments the man’s screams died, his limbs going still as the fire ate away at his body. The only sound was the crackling of flames in the otherwise silent pub. I grabbed a mug of ale from a nearby table and doused the fire, letting the last of the foam drip and sizzle into steam.

The atmosphere had gone still once again as the last of the smoke dissipated, but something charged seemed to crash through the space, invisible lightning striking me and stoking my fire. Mouths hung agape and eyes were stuck wide across the room when I finally tore my stare away from the dead man.

Nell and Whit’s heads were both bowed, fists across their chests. I turned to Miles, his sword hanging in his hand as he raised the other fist to his chest. But I could tell he was staring at me. I let it bolster me as I took a step forward. I didn’t feel unsure like I did before I learned the truth of my parentage. I didn’t feel angry at the hand I’d been dealt. I felt like the queen I needed to be.

“I am Petra, Daughter of Katia,” I declared, my voice solid and unwavering. “The blood of the Saints runs through my veins. Despite what you may have heard, I bow to no man. I serve no King. And though I may be seen as a weapon, I am the only one who can wield it.

“The truth is, things in this world are changing. While I may not have all the answers, what I do know is I will fight for the good of the realm. Whatever the Rebel King has told you, whatever he says my purpose is,” I let the stares of strangers soak into my skin, let their awe and disbelief reinforce me, “it’s all a lie. There will come a time soon where you are forced to choose between me and your King. Choose wisely.”

My words echoed silently through the pub as I turned to my companions — myPenumbra— and nodded, promptly heading toward the exit.

A thin, gangly man with an eye patch intercepted me, his hair stringy and body visibly unwashed. He was silent, the stare from his remaining eye intense and uncomfortable. But he dropped to a knee in the now-familiar stance — head bowed, fist across his chest. “Daughter of Katia.”

One by one, the patrons of the pub dropped to the ground. And instead of shying away from the proclamation like I’d been doing for days, I pushed my shoulders back, stood as tall as I could, and let them chant.

“Daughter of Katia. Daughter of Katia. Daughter of Katia.”

People from the street had begun to gather at the door as I continued to walk, Miles, Nell, and Whit close behind. The words were a drum beat in my head, the animal within me growing wilder, more restless as power soaked into my bones.

The street became more crowded by the second, some people on bended knee, others simply curious, watching, waiting. Stepping into the mild night air, feeling dozens of eyes on me, I let the feeling overtake me, let my blood — the blood of the Saints — push me forward.

“Is it her?” a woman’s voice yelled from the crowd.

“I don’t believe it,” someone else yelled.

I turned to Miles, his gilded stare sending something through me that caused my blood to pound harder through my veins.

“Show them,” I heard Katia whisper in my ear.

“Show them who you are.” Rhedros.

On a dusty, torchlit street in a foreign town, I listened. I let my head fall back, let my arms raise as the wind picked up and my palms ignited. But this time the wind wasn’t whipping and the flames weren’t angry; the air was strong and steady, rippling through the cloaks of the gathering bystanders. The flames were tamer, dancing toward the sky like seagrass in an ocean current. No blisters bubbled on my palms, no pain racked my body. It felt sweet and it feltright, likethiswas what these powers were meant to do.

I was vaguely aware of the crowd as every single person dropped to their knees. Someone wept with joy, a few people chanted in prayer, and I continued to burn. With a deep breath I pulled my flames back, urged the wind to die down, and let the world flood back in, content in this body, content in this role.

But my head hit the dirt road like a stone as a blade sunk deep into my chest.

Chapter 13

“This is a fucking nightmare. The moment we’re out of here, I’m going to–”

“Stop fussing.”

“She could have died and you’re going to tell me to stop fussing?” Rhedros’ voice echoed through the darkness.

“Watch your temper, Rhedros,” Katia replied. “She was never going to die.”

He clicked his tongue. I was back in that in-between, the void where I saw nothing but an endless expanse of black, no bodies to the voices that echoed around me. But there was another voice this time, a low, muffled droning of words I couldn’t distinguish.

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