Chapter 32
The morning sun cuts across the trees, painting the jungle in molten gold. Lowan and I step out from behind the waterfall together, and I can’t stop the spring in my step. My whole body hums with energy—yes, from last night, but also from what I finally figured out.
“Good morning,” I call brightly.
Zillah looks up from where she’s sharpening her dagger. “Well, aren’t you chipper?”
Arden snickers under his breath. “Wonder why.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t wipe the grin off my face. “I had a breakthrough last night.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” Zillah deadpans.
Arden nearly chokes laughing. I plant my fists on my hips.
“Not like that. I mean, yes, that too, but no—that’s not the point.
The point is, I finally learned how to pull my phoenix fire Thread.
I can find it, follow it, hold it steady.
All of it. I could do it multiple times last night, so I’m ready to practice for real. ”
There’s a chorus of raised eyebrows and curious looks. Arden elbows Lowan. “Took multiple tries, huh? Very noble of you, Feathers. Anything for research, I suppose.” Lowan just smirks, unbothered.
“Although,” Arden adds, eyes glinting with mischief, “I guess you aren’t too worried about being set on fire. But, I mean—death by orgasm? Not the worst way to go.”
The entire group stares at him.
I gape. “That would be horrible! It’s not—do you know what burning alive feels like?”
“No idea,” Arden chirps. “But, you know… burning while—” he makes a thrusting gesture with his hips, “—not the worst trade-off.”
I glance around, desperate for backup. “No! That would be awful. Right?”
One by one, they contemplate for a moment, and then all shake their heads or mumble variations of “Actually, could be worse.” Even Remli shrugs like she’s considering it.
“Oh, for the love of—” I throw my hands up. “You’re all impossible. The point is, I think I can control it. Zillah, you can still shield in case something goes wrong, but I swear, I feel ready this time.”
The laughter softens, replaced by a ripple of interest—anticipation even. For the first time, I don’t just feel the power burning inside me. I feel like I might actually wield it. The excitement buzzing in my veins carries me straight into the next step: showing them.
I try the Thread I found last night with Lowan, but nothing comes up. The air is just cool and bright and awkwardly ordinary. I take a deep breath to try again—
Then, Selene lifts a hand, and the world narrows down to that single motion. Zillah’s shield snaps around us with a soft electric hum, a half-circle of light that wraps us like a promise. Everyone’s heads pivot toward the trees.
Remli shifts immediately—muscle and fur and a streak of shadow melting into the trunks. Arden breathes in quick and hard; his jaw works like he’s biting down on something bitter. Lowan steps forward with a grace as dangerous as a storm. He moves in front of me, blade whispering free.
“Quiet,” Selene says. Her bow is up, arrow ready.
For a beat, no one moves. Arden’s shoulders coil. He’s looking for Remli, and fear is fusing with impatience into something ugly. He steps forward, but my arm shoots out to stop him. He leans into my space and, through gritted teeth, spits, “Get out of my way.”
Lowan’s shadow lengthens across us as he slides between, silver eyes lit like a blade just pulled from the forge. His voice is quiet, but it carries like thunder.
“Threaten her again,” he says, “and your fear for Remli will be the last thing on your mind.”
For a heartbeat, Arden and Lowan stare each other down, two predators deciding if they’ll strike. The air hums with it, my pulse a drum in my throat.
Then Zillah’s voice cuts through the trees: “Enemies!” The forest explodes.
Black shapes spill like ink through the trees.
King’s Guardians—more than a handful—move with that terrible, trained silence, faces hidden, eyes flat.
They spread, disciplined, and cruel. Several carry a crossbow that’s smaller than it should be, a net coiled in the barrel.
Another slips a weighty cord over his shoulder.
Lowan looks at me; his eyes flare. He says, clipped, “They’re here for you.
They will NOT touch you.” He sounds furious at the idea of their daring to come for me.
Silver eyes flashing, he says, “You two head for the cave. I’ll be right back.
” Metal sings as he shifts. Wings tear him up out of the trees, and he's gone.
Arden and I exchange a look. I try to make him listen.
“Arden, go back to the cave. You only have a dagger, and your magic hasn’t—” but the sound of Remli’s yowl slices through the leaves, and everything sensible dies.
Arden’s head jerks at the sound, and he charges toward it without answering. He doesn’t wait for me.
I follow because I will not leave him to blunder into whatever hunts Remli.
The trees thrum with the first strikes—branches snapping, a grunted curse, the rasp of fabric.
Something slashes near Arden; he staggers.
I step in, and my sword answers a blow that would have found his ribs.
The blade cuts through cloth and the breath of a man; all I glimpse are narrowed, violet eyes, and then the body collapses in a haze of foul, black smoke.
There are three on us now—three King’s Guardians pushing through the undergrowth.
We fight back to back, as if we trained for this moment.
Arden moves with a wild, skittering sort of bravery; he takes a swipe, misses, and then finds a rhythm that surprises me.
He’s a raw thing, yes, but he’s learning fast. I duck under a strike, feel fabric kiss my cheek, and Arden lunges, only to be snared mid-stride—a net hisses out, tangling him like a fly.
He hits the ground hard, thrashing, cursing.
Another guard is already swinging the cord for me.
My body goes rigid. Helplessness claws at me, hot and suffocating. No. No. They will not take him. They will not take me.
Suddenly, I feel it. My Thread screams: Lowan. It’s visceral—sharp and bright with terror and rage. The spike stabs the center of me; he’s in trouble. He’s close to something dangerous, and the need to get to him overwhelms me.
Something tears loose inside. It burns, wild and uncoiled. Flame erupts from my skin, from my lungs, from everywhere. The guards scream a keening, inhuman wail as fire roars out, consuming those black shapes until only ash and smoke remain.
And then—silence. My chest heaves. The world smells of char and ruin. Arden stares at me through the mesh of the net, eyes wide, as if he doesn’t know whether to thank me or fear me.
Arden says nothing as I slice open the net.
He makes to bolt deeper toward Remli’s yowls, but I shout for him to wait.
A short sword lies discarded in the foliage, charred but intact.
Better than just a dagger. He snatches it up, tests the weight with a swipe, then sprints after her.
I have to let him go—because Lowan’s pull has gone dark in me now.
I can’t feel what he feels anymore. Only the absence. Only the fear of losing him.
I shift. Wings tear free, flames sparking as I claw upward through the trunks, higher, consistently higher, so nothing can spring at me from below.
From above, everything unfolds in brutal clarity: Zillah braced at Selene’s shoulder, her shield a humming globe of force; Selene’s arrows stitching red silence through the trees; Arden a blur of strawberry-blonde waves as he frantically searches for Remli; and Lowan—four against one.
He moves as if he were born with a blade in hand.
Lethal grace. He’s smiling, but it’s not joy—it’s the smile of someone who makes war into art.
Relief loosens my chest, even as awe roots me in place. His fight doesn’t look like terror at all. It looks inevitable.
My chest drops when I see it: a crossbow-net aimed straight at me.
The barrel gleams with woven teeth and barbed weave.
It does not intend to kill; it seeks to snare a body in flight, to haul down something a rope cannot hold.
They want to take me whole. The terror he felt was not for himself, but for me.
Lowan’s focus snaps to me like a wire cutting taut. Our Thread flares—hot and white with his rage, a jag of fury at the idea of anyone capturing me. His emotion slices through me, but that flash costs him: a blade arcs toward him as if the world has slowed.
I don’t think. A sound tears out of me—a wild, desperate cry—and my flame answers like an oath.
It detonates outward. The Phoenix-fire Thread spirals, a living halo of heat; my whole body pulses with the force. Time fractures into one bright, furious instant: I see friends and enemies alike. I will—spare and destroy. The magic obeys.
The King’s Guardians collapse into sour black smoke; their weapons melt and hiss away. My friends hang frozen mid-strike—unharmed, untouched—Ash and hot air spin around me; the forest smells of iron and burned cloth.
I hover for a moment, alight and trembling on adrenaline, then lower myself to the ground and shift. Lowan drives his sword into the earth and crosses to me, slow, dangerous, sweat gleaming on his brow. His silver eyes burn with something fierce and proud.
“You,” he whispers, low and raw, “you are mine—you radiant, fucking woman.”
Lowan grabs my face, hauling me to his mouth. He kisses me as if it’s been a hundred years since he last tasted me. Footsteps. He growls, ripping his mouth from mine, but it’s only our friends.
No one speaks. We are all smeared with blood, sweat, and ash. Lowan looks at Selene and Zillah as if it pains him to look away from me. His hands stay locked on my face.
“Do you sense any other danger? Do I need to fly and check?”
Zillah shakes her head. “No. We are safe. For now.”
Lowan’s eyes snap back to mine, his desire barely contained. “Good. Leave us.”