Page 4 of A City of Flames

“Do you think we have time to run?” I grimace, watching Idris getting nearer.

“No,” Illias says. “But maybe if we pretend to be doing something—and he’s standing in front of us, ah, hello brother, fine day—”

“Both of you, home,” Idris grits his teeth, trading glances between Illias and me. His voice low and hard, like always. “Now.”

Facing Idris or a rümen? I’d choose the rümen again.

By the time we arrive at our secluded cottage on the other side of the village, it’s already past midday. The light breeze—despite Emberwell normally never getting cold even through the winter months—flicks strands of my hair around as I near the grey stone walls. You can make out the steel powder trapped in the mortar between stone walls to ward off any possibility of a dragon. People say it’s a weakness for them; however, it’s hard to obtain unless you come from the city. Luckily working for Ivarron has its perks, particularly when I steal from him, much like the faerie blood vial in my sheath pocket.

I burst through the wooden door, trudging inside. Light encases me from the open windows. My eyes then trace the flower-decorated carvings I have done on each corner of our rickety home. My carving tools rest on the floor to one side, which Idris gifted me on my birthday a few months back.

“There you guys are,” Iker says, jolting up from the wooden chair by the fireplace. I frown, noticing he’s cradling a pure white rabbit in one of his arms as he waltzes over.

I would ask how, what, when, and why, but I am too afraid of what the answer might be. I turn, following his movements as he goes to stand between Idris and Illias.

Taking the opportunity of having the three in front of me, I look at them—at their features. How Illias’s and my soft upturned noses differ from Iker’s slightly crooked one, the result of Ivarron’s men’s beating. Regardless they all shared that same defining jaw covered in a thin layer of stubble, and what everyone knows us for... the Ambrose hands. Strong, rough, full of creativity even with Illias’s two fingers on one, and my jagged scar.

“Threatening to kill Kye?” Idris’s rage-filled voice drags me back to the current situation. “Really?”

I keep my face neutral. It’s not as if I was going to act upon it.

“You know what it’s like to have someone who works with you run up and say that you need to keep your sister in check?”

Well, it seems Kye truly has a death wish.

“If I may.” Illias treads to my side carefully, pointing a finger in the air. “She’s had a rough morning trying to capture a rümen—”

I silently pray for him not to go on, but it’s already too late as Idris looks at me with narrowed eyes.

“What?” He raises his voice. The golden tan of his skin, the same complexion all four of us share, pales at the mention. “Do you have any idea how dangerous those are? There’s no cure if they bite you, Nara.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” My brow quirks. “I hunt down creatures for a living, Idris. Anyway, why are you so worked up about this now? It’s not like we haven’t had this conversation a thousand times before.”

“This time you are hurt,” he points out and glances down at my thigh, which I have failed to cover with my cloak. “And because rümens are lethal predators.”

I know they are. “I can’t just stop,” I whisper, looking downcast.

“Then I’ll deal with the consequences of Ivarron if I have to, but you’re not working for him anymore.” That makes my head shoot up, brows furrowing. Idris had attempted that in the past, and it didn’t end well. For any of us. “When Mother fell ill, she entrusted me to look after you. Explain to me how I can do that when you’re out there, putting yourself in danger—”

“Mother may have entrusted you with our safety,” I say, moving in closer and emphasizing my words. “But you do not get to decide what is best for me and what is not.”

Idris scoffs, shaking his head like he’s always done with me. My fist clenches. I am sick and tired of watching him treat me like nothing more than an unruly child. For eight years, he’s had to look after us, carrying the burden of both our parents’ deaths, when neither was his fault. But not once did he stop to think that we didn’t need him to decide everything for us.

“Nara, I think—”

“No,” I cut Illias off but keep my gaze fixed on Idris. “Time and time again, you have disagreed with me on everything. When I told you I wanted to become a venator, you shut me down, yet I know for a fact father would have been proud if it meant I was carrying out his legacy.” My nostrils flare and my blood boils. “I’m twenty-one, Idris. Not a child and not the weak little sister you think that I am.”

Silence.

Utter deafening silence resonates in my ears as I stay staring right into Idris’s eyes, the swirls of blue and green in his iris brightening against the shaft of light. Those eyes that are the same color as mine. The same as our mother’s.

I wouldn’t mind not backing down. After all defying Idris is a habit of mine, but of course, Iker intervenes with a whistle and smiles, slapping one hand onto Idris’s shoulder. “She laid one on you, brother.”

“Shut it, Iker,” Illias says. “It’d be in your best interest not to get involved seeing as you disappeared all of last night at the tavern and didn’t come back until the early hours of dawn.”

“And with good reasoning,” Iker says, covering the rabbit’s ear. “I heard Idris cooked a dreadful venison.”

We all look at him, not knowing whether to tell him that a rabbit is no elk. Idris is the first to sigh deeply, deciding to ignore Iker as he says to me, “Get that wound cleaned and dressed before it gets infected.” And shoulders past me.

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