A Burning in the Bones (Waxways #3)

Chapter 52 Ren Monroe

52 REN MONROE

Ren paced back and forth.

Like a caged animal.

Theodore Crane was seated. He kept rubbing his wrists where the bindings had left cuts and irritations. They’d both used the ceremonial rod to light the candle again. The room’s spell had activated. Time was counting down. The required burn for two people wasn’t nearly as long, but any delay was enough to fill her mind with the darkest possible thoughts.

What was happening? Had an army ambushed them? Would they arrive only to find all their fellow wizards already slain? Or had the others ported and found Meredream waiting for them in the distance? The summoned army too late to stop them? There was no way of knowing. Panic and uncertainty drummed inside her skull. She also felt Theo across their bond. Her own heightened emotions had muted her normal sense of him. Over the last two minutes, he had moved from adrenaline to panic—then panic to fear. She found herself desperately hoping he had the good sense to pull her across their bond. She could help him.

I need to do something. Let me do something.

Crane broke the silence. “Are you sure we should go? I just… if it’s a trap, aren’t we porting right into it? The two of us… we could still survive.”

Ren didn’t shame him for saying the truth out loud. She’d already considered and dismissed the same idea. In fact, there was some former version of Ren Monroe that would have already plotted her own escape. Save herself. Survive and see tomorrow. Crane was right, after all. There was a possibility that when the portal activated, they would arrive in a field full of corpses. A feast for crows. And then it would be the two of them against whatever was left of the waiting army.

Could they really survive that?

She doubted it. But there was also a chance the other wizards were still alive. Fighting back against the Makers. Ren imagined Avid and Able and Nevelyn casting protective spells. She could see the children—Winnie Fletcher amongst them—huddled behind the older wizards in terror. In that version of the world, Ren’s choice still mattered.

“If we save even one of them, it will be worth it.”

She could hardly believe those words had come from her. Gods, I’ve been spending far too much time with Theo Brood. Crane only nodded in response. His eyes were still on the ground. Ren decided to offer him a way out. After all, he was not responsible for any of this. He wasn’t the one who’d spent a decade plotting out a revenge. He had not bonded with a boy, fought an empire, and weakened it to the point that some outside force found a way in. That was all her fault. Not his.

“Look, you don’t have to go. I promise you, there is no shame in it. We are knocking on death’s door. It is very possible that we will port and be dead within minutes. I can’t tell you what will happen. All I know is that I have to go. It is not a choice that I can make for you. As one of the heads of House Brood—I command you to do whatever you want. There will be no punishment if you leave now. No judgment at all. Theodore, the choice is yours.”

Ren turned and began pacing again. She listened for the scrape of his footsteps. The sound of him retreating from the room. It never came. When she glanced back, he was rubbing his wrists, crying quietly to himself, but the true measure of Theodore Crane was that he didn’t leave. He stayed in his seat and braced himself for the unknown. Only thirteen years old—and marked by a bravery few would ever know. Ren nodded to him before taking her own seat.

The exterior lights flashed again. About five minutes left. She tried to settle her mind. Think through spells. What to do if they ported into a long-range battle versus close combat. She mentally rehearsed the steps she would take. How she would react to someone with a sword or someone with a spear or someone with a hammer. All the small variations. Unbidden, she saw an image of her mother. How would she react if that was the face she saw across from her on the battlefield? Desperation flooded her senses. A primal fear. What any animal felt just before it faced its own death. Ren thought the feeling was coming from her own thoughts until she sensed it.

The sharp and familiar tug from Theo.

Ren allowed herself to be pulled through space and time, but the expected sensation of arrival never came. Her eyes opened to inky darkness. She could not see her own feet or her own hands. Darkness stretched in every direction. A realm of endless shadow.

Am I in the waxways?

Ren’s thought was answered by movement. Two eyes flickered open and they looked like twin flames. The purple light was bright enough for her to make out the edges of that hulking form, where shadow ended and dragon began. She knew without asking that this was their dragon too. The dark puppeteer behind the attack on the city—behind the manipulation of her mother.

Finally, I come face-to-face with my creator.

She heard laughter in the words. Ren had been prepared for sharp-edged threats or gilded promises. Dragons were famous for their guile. Luring people like her into a false sense of security. Was that what he was doing? She mentally steeled herself before locking eyes with the great creature.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Another laugh. It tolled in the air like a broken bell.

It means what it means. You are the one who brought me back to life, Little Ren Monroe.

The words echoed. Back at Safe Harbor, the voice speaking through Viceroy Gray had called her that too: Little Ren Monroe. She’d found it odd then, but she’d lacked context. They hadn’t yet solved the riddle that a dragon was involved. Putting those pieces together made the moniker feel even stranger. Why would an ancient, dead creature call her by that name? Arakyl spoke again.

I have known you for a long time, Ren Monroe. I was born the day that your father died.

Ren felt an initial jolt of confusion. That was followed by a slow-burning anger. She hated when people tried to use her past against her. The dragon’s tactics seemed obvious. Maybe he was reading her mind? Pulling out sensitive memories and wielding them like knives.

There it is. That rage of yours. It burns, doesn’t it?! All the way down into the bones.

“Shut up,” Ren said, her chest pumping. “Just shut up.”

Distantly, she felt Theo. He was still trying to pull her across the bond. Still asking for her help. She knew that if she leaned into that feeling, it would work and she would leave this place and this conversation and this looming hatred behind—but her anger would not let her go so easily.

“You’re a liar,” she accused.

I’ve never been as good at lying as my brothers and sisters. Rage always suited me better than guile. Besides, I’ve no reason to lie to you. Not now. I tell you a truth: our kind live on in these temporal spaces. The waxways as you call them. Do you understand? We cannot fully depart from the world. We are bound by the magic we used in life. And so our souls are buried in the dark. Left in perfect silence. Unless someone comes along. Your kind are like… lanterns. A light by which we can see again, even if it is only for a short time.

Ren had researched as much as she could on the subject. None of the most renowned experts on dragonlore had described this—but Arakyl’s claim did sound like a match for what she knew. Dragons reacted to people, and they specifically reacted to two types of people: those who came in close proximity to their burial sites and those who felt the deepest emotions.

Fear or delight or… anger.

“But I’ve never been anywhere near your grave….”

And yet… I felt you. The burning rage. The righteous fury. You burned so bright that the other dragons all hesitated. I claimed you before they could recover, because I knew that if I let you… you would bring me back to life in a way none of the others could. You opened the door—and I have FINALLY figured out how to walk through it.

Ren felt the pulsing again. Theo was pulling her harder than he ever had. There was a tremor of panic laced through his emotions now. She had no idea if she had been in this place for a second or a minute or an eternity. Time in the waxways was notoriously fickle. She did notice, however, that Arakyl had been slowly closing the gap between them. Inching ever forward through the shadows.

“Even if that’s true… I’m here to close the door. I am done with revenge. I am done watching others die because of me. We will not let you win.”

That terrible laugh again. She saw the dragon’s teeth glinting like knives.

But is it ever done? Are we ever sated? Come now, child. I am the unspoken secret that has wormed its way to the very center of your heart. I am the truth you’ve never told anyone else, even though you’ve thought it a thousand times. I am the voice that whispers… kill them all.

Ren wanted to tell him that he was wrong. Scream that the words were not true—had never been true, but what he was saying crept through her like a paralytic. Overwhelming and terrible and familiar. It was a truth that she’d been keeping even from herself. Hidden away so she would not have to face the worst part of herself.

You pretend to be tame for him. Your precious Theo. You act as if your rage has actually been sated. As if it were truly enough to simply kill Landwin Brood. To trade one father for another! But deep down, you want them all to burn. Every house left in ashes. Every piece of gold melted down for scraps. Every single man and woman who walked over your father’s grave… LET ME FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED.

LET ME… BURRRRRNNNNNNN.

There were tears racing down Ren’s cheeks. The dragon’s jaws opened and she knew if she said yes—Arakyl would consume her. She could hear that whispered promise in her mind. That he would make her into the same sort of god that he once was. The rest of the world would burn and maybe, just maybe, the world she wanted would rise from the ashes. She felt the darkest parts of her waking up, stretching their limbs, ravenous for all that power.

Until a hand gripped her shoulder. Painful. Real. She looked over to find Theo with her in the dark—and he was just strong enough to pull her away.