Chapter 16
Serafina
“Fire Wielder.”
I sit up with a start. My heart pounding at the words that pulled me from sleep.
That voice. I’ve heard it before. I know I have. But from where?
Looking around the room, I realize I’m alone, completely and utterly alone.
I touch the place Jax had been beside me, but he’s gone, and in his place is a small, leather-bound journal. His great-, great-, great-, great-grandfather’s journal.
The Pyro King.
When did he leave? And when did he leave this?
Shaking my head, I place my hand over my heart, trying to steady it. But then memories of Jax and his scars, Jax and his eyes, flood my vision, and my heart pounds with an even greater intensity.
Pull yourself together, Serafina. He is the prince. He is not your friend. He is not your concern. And whoever gave him those scars…I am not the one to punish them, to seek vengeance on his behalf, or to burn them and everything they love to the ground.
My hands catch fire.
Even though I may want to.
I lay back in the bed, forcing the flames to dissipate. What is wrong with me?
Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with him. Maybe we need some time apart. And I suppose when I’m back in my village for the third trial, I’ll have exactly that.
I’ll be home, and I’ll never have to see the prince again.
A thought that should bring me peace, only it doesn’t.
I groan, deciding its best to distract myself, to force these ridiculous thoughts oh so very far from my mind.
Picking up the journal, I crack it open. My eyes scan the first page, then the second, then the third, until I’m nearly halfway through the entire thing.
The old king had tried desperately to bond with a dragon. His notes, his writing, becoming more and more chaotic, unhinged, as I turn the pages.
I can almost feel his desperation.
They would not bond with him, just as Jax had told me.
They would not speak to him, except only to say one thing, they believed the king to be impure. Undeserving of the flame he could wield.
The old king wrote that same word over and over and over again.
Impure.
Impure.
Impure.
I close the journal, unable to make sense of most of what was written. But mainly that. That one word he couldn’t seem to stop writing.
What does it mean? Did the dragons believe themselves to be better than the humans?
And if they were better, then why are they all dead?
Over one hundred years ago, countless dragons roamed the sky.
Over one hundred years ago, the dragons called the clouds home and breathed fire over our kingdom.
And now, they’re gone.
Every single one of them.
Grinding my teeth, I decide my time would be better spent trying to command the flames.
And so that’s what I do.
For the next three days.
And not once do I see the prince.
* * *
I burst into a ball of fire, from head to toe. The flames consume me, and my clothes disintegrate immediately, but with no one around, I can’t find it in me to care.
It would be nice to be able to do this during the trial—allow the flames to completely cover me, creating a barrier no one would dare touch. But I’d rather find a different way to protect myself, one that doesn’t involve exposing my bare breasts and ass to a crowd of people.
The ache in my muscles is setting in, slow at first, but becoming more painful and debilitating by the second. I breathe through my nose and close my eyes. There will be distractions in the arena, things that will break my focus, causing my flames to disappear.
I need to be prepared for that. I continue to hold the flames, trying my best to ignore the pain.
Distract yourself. Don’t let the flames die but think of something else.
The third trial is always held in the arena. Every village has one, a massive amphitheater carved from stone, with high walls that trap the contestants inside. Attendance is mandatory for all villagers fifteen and older.
I witnessed it the first time two weeks after I survived my first trial, still raw and trembling from what I’d experienced. I thought nothing could be worse than what I’d just endured.
I was wrong.
I was forced to watch again at sixteen, then seventeen, then eighteen, just five days after I passed the exam for the second trial, earning myself another three years of life.
But it was impossible to revel in that happiness for long, not after being forced to watch the third trial for those who had turned twenty-one unfold.
Then I had to watch again at nineteen and twenty.
But this year, I won’t be a witness, I’ll be a participant, and I wish I knew what to expect.
Each trial has been different. A series of events that no one but the trial coordinators can predict. I suppose it’s a good way to keep the fear fresh.
One year, it wasn’t just one test, but multiple.
The first round focused on accuracy, consisting of throwing daggers into a far-off target.
Something Char has ensured I’d excel at if we were given the same challenge, which isn’t likely.
Ever since he stole me that blade, I’d become pretty good at hitting my mark.
But the second round, I’m not so sure how I would have fared. Well, that’s not entirely true. As someone without Essentari abilities, I would’ve failed catastrophically, but as someone who can wield flames, I probably would have done okay.
Accuracy was still important, but it was coupled with hand-to-hand combat. No weapons were allowed and every fight was scored, every contestant was ranked.
The third and final test was focused on both memory and speed.
A sequence of motions through a narrow track for each competitor was displayed.
One wrong step would result in automatic disqualification.
Only a certain number were allowed to cross the finish line, so contestants not only had to memorize the route, but then quickly implement what they saw to make it to the end before the others.
The memory part, I think I could have handled, but I doubt I would have been fast enough.
Although, I don’t think that will be a problem anymore…
I open my eyes. My flames are still there, the ache in my limbs not as prominent as before.
I allow the fire to die down, so I can see myself more clearly in the mirror.
The person looking back at me feels like a stranger.
My muscles are more defined than they once were, hard lines where there used to be softness.
The more I call upon the flames, the stronger they seem to get.
It’s as if my magic is forging me into something new, something capable of wielding the power I’ve been gifted.
It feels like cheating, but then I remember how painful this used to be, how painful it still is. How every time I call upon the flames, I’m left with a relentless ache that brings tears to my eyes.
No, this isn’t cheating. I’ve earned this.
I smile, thinking about how Norin and the others will react when they see me again, when they realize I’m no longer the girl they thought they could break.
I run my fingers along my arms, the faint warmth of the fire still lingering on my skin.
My smile widens.