Chapter 8
The tang of blood taints the air—so thick it coats my tongue. Bodies dart in every direction, some bleeding, others pressing bandages to their skin. Some are so badly burned their skin is peeling away from their bodies.
My stomach churns.
Kressa scans the space, avoiding my gaze. “Thank you.”
I scoff. “If you’re so thankful for me helping you, then let me and my crew go.” Stopping short, I pull out of Elias’s hold and face her. “We want the same thing.”
“You have no idea what I want.”
“Then take off the cuffs and show me.”
A swallow makes its way down her throat, and she shakes her head. “You’re my father’s prisoner, not mine.”
She shoves open a set of double doors, and I follow her into a study.
Bookshelves line the wall to my right, and straight ahead, through a wall of windows, Ignata glows red.
Embers scatter into the sky as wielders smother the flames with earth, but the damage is done. The wooden homes are charred skeletons.
Elias follows behind me, shutting the door. But it’s not enough to cast out the wails of pain coming from the foyer.
“The wyverns collapsed the entire southern tower,” Golan says, facing the windows. He shakes his head and spears a hand into his hair. “It’s hellfire out there. They haven’t been seen since the fall of the Fire Court, so why are they—”
He turns, and his voice cuts short as his gaze lands on me.
His eyes narrow. “What is she doing out of her cell?”
Kressa steps forward. “We need to postpone her execution.”
I hide the surprise coursing through me, but beside me, Elias raises a brow.
“And why is that?” Golan says.
“She saved my life.”
A bitter laugh comes from his throat. “You spent the better part of three years searching for her, and now this? I’m already hesitant of your ability to take over the crown. You know what this would mean for you right?”
She swallows and, to her benefit, straightens her spine. “You know what the wyverns must mean, father.”
“They could mean anything,” he says, stepping closer. “But our agreement was clear. You bring me Briar Calisdana, and I give you the crown. You’re willing to lose your position for this?”
My breath hitches. The list—the one with my name at the very bottom. It wasn’t simply revenge that motivated her to find me. She wants to become queen.
“I’m not losing anything, and she might be of use.” Kressa steps forward. “Serinos has awoken. The Fire Court has returned. That information justifies delaying an execution, father.”
A stone forms in my throat, eating up the air. This is why Kressa didn’t want me to mention her fire power. If her father knew about it, he would never grant her possession of the Earth Court. But if she ruled with a dual power that strong—the rest of the continent might not stand a chance.
The Sea might not stand a chance.
“With all due respect,” Elias cuts in, “we have larger issues at hand. Countless people died from the wyvern attack—dozens of homes lost to the flames.”
“And there will be more if we don’t address the wyvern,” Kressa spits back.
The door whooshes open, slamming into the wall behind it. An advisor I’ve yet to meet stands in the doorway, a bead of sweet running down his temple.
His fingers curl around the doorframe. “It’s missing.”
“What’s missing?” Golan hisses.
The advisor hesitates, and Golan lurches forward, fisting the man’s collar. “What is it?”
“The emerald.”
Kressa curses under her breath, and the blood drains from Golan’s face.
“That’s why my power was so weak,” Kressa whispers to herself.
Golan’s fingers unfurl from the man’s collar. “Are you sure?”
The advisor nods. “When I saw the attack on the southern tower, that was the first place I went. And when I got to the vault, it was empty. Someone has stolen the emerald.”
Golan’s attention shoots to me, and he crosses the space until his boots stop an inch from mine. Before I have a chance to step back, his hand shoots out and he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back.
“You have it, don’t you?”
He hovers over me, his breath hot on my cheek.
Kressa steps closer, but stops herself. “She was with me during the entire attack. It would be impossible.”
But Golan’s grip only tightens. “This is the same woman who walked into our home—a guest, and slit your throat without thinking twice. You don’t think she’s cunning enough to find it?”
“I don’t have it,” I bite out, wincing.
“I’ll check her mind,” Elias blurts. “Take off her cuffs, and I’ll check.”
Kressa swallows, tracing her fingers over the keyring at her belt. “She didn’t do it, I’m pos—”
“Do it,” Golan snarls. “If she took the stone, her life is ending this moment.”
I fight his hold. “It wasn’t me!”
He twists tighter and jerks my head farther back, my throat bared to him. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Kressa unlatches the keyring and edges closer. Weaving behind me, she slides the key into the cuffs. They drop from my hands, and she catches them before they fall to the floor.
Heat billows into my chest, churning along with the rage filling my veins. Warmth burns at my palms, and I curl my hands into fists.
Kressa shoots a wary glance at Elias. “Go on, then. If she had anything to do with this, I’ll kill her myself.”
I scoff. “Could you?”
She clamps her mouth shut, and her attention focuses on my hands. Control the fire.
My brows pull together, and fire pools in my stomach—spreading through my limbs. I swallow, and my heart races in my throat. She’s worried the fire will make itself known.
Elias circles me, and shadows dance over his eyes as he scans me. This is why mind readers are killed the moment their powers manifest—why his father keeps the power such a secret. In the wrong hands, a power this strong is dangerous.
The heat in my chest spreads to my legs and up my arms, begging to be released. Elias’s steps falter, and his gaze flicks to Kressa for a heartbeat.
Her eyes widen.
He slows to a stop and settles his gaze on me. There’s a question in his expression, but he shakes his head “It wasn’t her.”
Golan unravels his hand from my hair and steps back. Yet Elias hasn’t pulled his attention from me, scanning me like he’s piecing together a puzzle.
Red blots my vision—anger threatening to overwhelm me.
The cuffs snap back onto my hands.
The heat dissipates.
Golan turns on his heel. “Elias, stay here. We need to figure out who took the emerald before it falls into the wrong hands.” He stops, facing Kressa.
“Take her back to her cell, then ensure the infirmary has enough staff to tend to the wounded, starting with the infantry. If the wyverns return, we need to be prepared.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” she says. “However, Calisdana is to stay in my quarters. In the spare room, of course.”
Golan’s eyes narrow. “And why is that?”
“It has come to my attention that some of the guards might be sympathetic to her cause. Anyone could have access to her cell, but I’m the only one with the key to my quarters.”
Golan chews on his cheek, and my pulse races.
“So be it,” says Golan. “But don’t forget the commitment you have to your people or the deal we had.”
“I would never.” Kressa drops into a bow. “Give me three days, then we can proceed with her execution.”
“Don’t disappoint me again.”
The remainder of Golan’s advisors file into the study—all but Gemma. My mouth turns dry, and I stare at the doorway, waiting for her to follow them. If something happened to her, or my crew, I couldn’t bear it.
“You are excused,” Golan says to Kressa, tilting his chin to the door.
“I could be of help.” She shifts forward. “Don’t you think I—”
Golan levels her with a stare that twists my stomach. I swallow and turn away, hating the effect it has on me—the same way Caelus looked down at me for a decade.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Golan says, his lip curled away from his teeth.
Kressa’s face falters for a heartbeat, but she pins back her shoulders and nods. “Yes, Your Highness.”
She wraps her hands around my chains and leads me toward the door. Elias hedges a step in front of her, but she shakes her head and pulls me into the hallway.
“What was that about?” I say as the door shuts behind us.
We’re swallowed by bodies—the burned and injured being carried on stretchers toward the eastern wing of the castle. People dart in every direction, and royal guards do their best to direct the chaos, but it’s useless.
Kressa scoffs. “Which part? The fact that wyverns have returned or that our emerald is missing?”
We exit the main hall and climb a staircase I haven’t ventured up.
I shake my head. “Neither. Why didn’t your father want you in there with the advisors? Shouldn’t the heir be involved?”
“You’d think so.” We pause at a landing, and she pulls me to the right.
“But my father blames me for what you did. Apparently, if there was no one there for you to kill, he would have seen Caelus’s attack coming.
If it were up to him, Elias would inherit the crown.
” She shrugs and stops at a door bracketed with glowing lanterns.
“We had a deal. I hand you over and I become queen once you’re executed. ”
I stare at her as she unlocks the door and pushes it open into her quarters. She gestures for me to enter, but I remain rooted to the spot.
“This is why you’re unconcerned with the bond. It’ll break when I’m killed.”
“As long as it’s not by my hand, yes.”
She reaches for my shackles, but I jerk out of reach. “And your father has no idea what I am to you?”
Lunging forward, she wraps a fist around my chain and throws me through the doorway. I stumble, slamming into the back of a couch.
It’s so dark I can hardly make out the layout of the space, the only light coming from the light of the moon. Kressa slams the door shut and bolts the lock, crossing to me in three long strides.
“I will tell you one more time, Calisdana.” She brings her face within a breath of mine. “We are nothing to each other.”’
I grit my teeth and meet her glare—the gold flecks in her eyes nearly glowing in the low light. “That’s not what you said a few days ago. You made promises.”
“I made those promises before we knew who each other were. There are things about me that you don’t know about, and you never will.” Her voice lowers, tone growing colder. “I have a court to protect, and that responsibility comes before anything I want.”
“What is it you want, then?”
Her chest heaves—her breath so close it wafts against my cheekbone. Moments pass by in silence, and if it weren’t for the rhodium, I’d be able to taste whatever emotions are warring in her mind right now. Read her thoughts.
“I want to be as far away from you as possible,” she says.
My stomach sinks, and I back up a step, navigating the back of the couch.
There’s a hollow space behind my sternum, and if it weren’t for the cold, unforgiving look in her eyes, I wouldn’t believe her.
But why shouldn’t I? If the roles were reversed, and she had been the downfall of the Sea Court, I’d kill her regardless of the bond between us.
She swallows and guides me toward a door pressed into the far side of the living room.
“Then why extend my execution three days?”I whisper.
“Like I said, you may be of use.”
I scoff, eyeing the portraits on the wall. But it’s too dark to discern the features—whether or not they resemble Kressa the way her father does.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I say, my words harsh and accusatory.
She looks away, withholding an answer. But it’s enough. Whatever she’s keeping from me, it’s big.
Out the window, smoke rises from the buildings, curling into the sky. Somewhere far in the distance, between the dip in the valley, the sea awaits me. “You knew that my power can’t reach the sea from here,” I say.
“The harbor is freshwater, and so are the channels we took to get there.” She slides the key into the lock. “What’s your point?”
I lift my cuffed hands. “Then why the rhodium?”
“Two reasons.” She pushes open the door. “One, you have no control over the fire power you pull from me. And two, it keeps your thoughts out of my head.”
“You don’t need to hear my thoughts to know what I’m thinking.”
“Then humor me, Briar. What’s on your mind?”
My lip curls, and I burrow my teeth into my cheek. “That I hate you. I hate you for keeping me from my crew—the sea that I sacrificed everything to get back to. I hate you for all of it.”
The air shifts between us.
She grabs my chin, jerking it up until our gazes meet. “Say it again.”
I narrow my eyes. “I hate you.”
She pushes me backwards into the room. “Good.”
The door slams, and the lock clicks into place.
Darkness surrounds me, and I smack my palm against the door hard enough to make it shake. It’s met with silence, then a slam of the door leading into the castle.
I’m alone.
I shake my head and turn to the bed in the center of the room, its four posters reaching for the ceiling.
And on the mattress—
My brow furrows, and I stride closer.
A folded piece of paper rests on the quilt.
Picking it up by the edge, I turn it over in my hands and unfold it. The room spins around me as I read the name signed in the signature.
Isolde.