Chapter 32 Ash Before Fire
thirty-two
Ash Before Fire
Zydar
A week had passed since Miralyte's resurrection, and the world felt different around her.
She stood in the center of the training chamber, wings spread wide, sunlight pouring through her skin like she was made of liquid gold. The power rolling off her was intoxicating. Dangerous. Every day she grew stronger, more controlled, more devastating.
And every day, another body was carried to the Cloud District.
This morning it had been Keelin, a young soldier barely past his hundredth year. The rot had taken him in his sleep, consuming him from the inside out while he dreamed. His screams had woken half the eastern wing before the healers could reach him.
I watched from the doorway as Miralyte gathered sunlight in her palms like she was cupping water.
The golden fire danced between her fingers, responding to her will with an ease that should have taken centuries to master.
She was learning faster than any fae I'd ever seen. Faster than seemed possible.
"Again," I said.
She nodded, closing her eyes. The fire in her hands intensified until the entire chamber blazed with warmth. When she opened her eyes, they glowed like twin suns.
She gestured, and flames erupted across the stone floor in perfect spirals. Not destructive fire, but creative. Life-giving. The kind of magic that could bring back forests, heal wounds, restore what had been lost.
The kind of magic that might cure the rot eating through my court.
"Better," I said, stepping into the chamber. "But you're still holding back."
"I'm not holding back. I'm being careful." She let the flames die, leaving only warmth in the air. "This power... it wants to consume everything. I can feel it pushing against my control."
I understood. I'd lived with storm magic all my life, knew the constant battle to keep it leashed. But hers was different. Older. More primal.
"Show me," I said, moving closer.
She turned to face me, and I saw the hesitation in her golden eyes. "Zydar..."
"Trust me."
She nodded slowly, then reached for my shirt. Her fingers found the buttons, working them loose with steady hands. When she pushed the fabric aside, we both stared at my chest.
The rot marks were still there. Faded but not gone. They traced delicate patterns across my skin like veins of precious metal. Beautiful in their way, but still deadly.
"They're better," she said softly, pressing her palm flat against my heart. "So much better than they were."
"But not gone." I covered her hand with mine, feeling the warmth that seemed to pour endlessly from her skin. "The others are still dying. Every day we lose more."
Her face crumpled with guilt. "I should be able to help them. This power, it should be enough."
"You saved me."
"Did I? Or did I just slow it down?" She pulled her hand away, turning from me. "What if this is all I can do? What if I can keep you stable but everyone else dies anyway?"
I caught her chin, turning her back to face me. "Then we find another way."
"There is no other way. Gryven was right about that much."
Gryven's name hung in the air between us like a curse. My oldest friend. The man who'd raised me after my father died. Now exiled to the Fog District, stripped of rank and title, condemned to live out his days as a common soldier.
He'd betrayed me. Chosen duty over friendship, the realm over trust. And part of me understood why. The Rot was killing us. Miralyte's heart could cure it. The equation was simple, brutal, and completely unacceptable.
"He made his choice," I said quietly. "Just as I made mine."
"You exiled the only father figure you had because of me."
"I exiled him because he disobeyed my orders."
"Maybe he was right to."
I stepped back, staring at her in shock. "Don't you ever say that again."
"Zydar—"
"No." My voice carried the full weight of my authority, the storm magic responding to my emotion.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and the windows rattled in their frames.
"You are not expendable. You are not a sacrifice to be made for the greater good.
You are my heart, and I will watch this entire realm burn before I let anyone harm you. "
She stared at me with wide eyes, and I realized I'd revealed more than I intended. The possessiveness in my voice. The absolute certainty that I would choose her over everything else, every time.
Then her lips curved into the most infuriating smirk I'd ever seen.
"Yours?" She stepped closer, that dangerous glint in her golden eyes. "That's funny, because last I checked, I don't remember agreeing to belong to anyone."
The challenge in her voice hit me like lightning to my heart. This wasn't the trembling mortal girl who'd been dragged here months ago. This was something else entirely. Something that made my blood sing with equal parts desire and the urge to prove exactly how wrong she was.
"Is that so?" I moved toward her, slow and deliberate. "Your body seems to think otherwise."
She laughed, the sound bright and mocking. "My body has excellent taste. Doesn't mean it makes the decisions."
"Doesn't it?" I was close enough now to see the way her pulse fluttered at her throat, to catch the scent of sunfire and defiance that clung to her skin. "Your heart is racing."
"From annoyance," she shot back, but her breathing had quickened.
"Liar."
She tilted her chin up, meeting my gaze without flinching. "Prove it."
Rage and desire ignited in my blood like wildfire. I wrapped my hands in her hair, pulling her mouth to mine in a violent kiss. There was nothing gentle in it. Nothing soft. Just pure, unbridled lust poured into every motion of my tongue and teeth.
She kissed me back with equal ferocity. She clung to me, her nails digging into my shoulders, each breath a mingling of hot, hungry gasps.
When I finally broke the kiss, we were both breathing hard. It took every ounce of my self control not to devour her all over again.
She looked up at me, her eyes dazed but triumphant. "Not convinced."
"Careful what you ask for, little sun queen."
"Oh, I'm terrified." She rolled her eyes, the gesture so perfectly human it made something twist in my chest. "The big bad warlord might actually have to back up all that posturing."
Heat flared through me, primal and possessive. "Posturing?"
"What else would you call it? All that growling and chest-thumping.
" She reached out, trailing one finger down the center of my chest where my shirt still hung open.
The touch was light, casual, and it burned like molten gold.
"Very impressive display. I'm sure it works on all the simpering court ladies. "
I caught her wrist, not roughly but firmly enough to stop the maddening caress. "I don't want simpering court ladies."
"No?" Her voice dropped to something lower, huskier. "What do you want then?"
The question was loaded with promise and threat in equal measure. I could feel the power radiating from her, warm and intoxicating. Could see the fire beginning to dance beneath her skin.
"I want you to stop pretending you don't feel this too." I tightened my grip on her wrist, drawing her closer. "I want you to stop fighting something we both know is inevitable."
She laughed again, but this time it had an edge. "Inevitable? You really are arrogant."
"And you really are stubborn."
"It's one of my better qualities."
"I can think of others."
"Can you now?" She stepped even closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. "Care to share?"
The sudden vulnerability in her tone caught me off guard. This was still new for her. All of it. The power, the wings, the way she could stand toe-to-toe with a warlord and not flinch. She was learning to inhabit this new version of herself, testing boundaries she'd never had before.
It made her even more dangerous. And infinitely more appealing.
"Your stubbornness," I said, keeping my voice gentle despite the fire building in my chest. "The way you refuse to break, no matter what's thrown at you."
She ducked her head, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "That's just survival."
"No. That's strength." I reached out, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Most people would have shattered under what you've endured."
"Most people don't have much choice."
"You always had a choice. You could have given up. Could have let the despair consume you." My fingers traced the curve of her jaw. "Instead, you came back from death itself."
She looked up at me then, those golden eyes bright with something I couldn't name. "Only because I had something worth coming back to."
The words hit me like lightning. Direct, honest, devastating in their simplicity.
"Miralyte—"
"Show me," she said, stepping back and spreading her wings. "Show me how to fight like you do."
The sudden shift caught me unprepared, but I recovered quickly. "You want to spar?"
"I want to learn." Her chin lifted with familiar determination. "If I'm going to face Ylvena, I need to know how to do more than just channel sunfire."
She was right. Power was useless without skill to direct it. And if she was determined to challenge the Sun Court's usurper, she'd need every advantage.
"Fine," I said, moving to the center of the chamber. "But we start slow. You're stronger than you realize."
"I'll be careful."
"See that you are. I'd prefer not to explain to Narietta why we burned down the training hall."
She laughed, the sound bright in the stone space. "Afraid of your little sister?"
"Terrified," I said solemnly. "And you should be too."
"Do your worst, warlord. I can handle anything you throw at me."
I saw the challenge and embraced it.
Miralyte turned out to be a surprisingly quick study. Her hunter's instincts, honed through years of tracking and survival, had become truly deadly now that they were paired with a fae's supernatural grace. What had once required effort and concentration now flowed through her with fluid precision.