Chapter 19
GIVE ME brAINS
Jasher, alive and well—check.
Kevin—lying down, as if resting.
The rocks—some in pieces.
The journal—in the executioner’s hands, open as he read, and oh, my stars, had I ever encountered a sexier sight?
The beautiful monster-man leaned against the wall, in his usual position: one leg extended, the other bent at the knee.
He was completely absorbed as he used a claw to gently turn a page.
“Tinman,” I whispered, not wishing to startle him.
He glanced up, a brief flash of relief shining across his face. “We both survived the day.” Perusing me from top to bottom with mounting heat, he flicked the tip of his tongue against an incisor. “No bruises, no Ring. Did Ian gloat when you recanted?”
The searing visual caress kindled a fresh outbreak of goosebumps.
His specialty. “Ian abandoned ship. And Ahav has agreed to keep him alive. But, um, how did you get the journal?” I followed the link of chain that secured him to the wall.
Not broken, and not enough slack to let him roam through the room and find the tome, wherever it had decided to store itself.
He shrugged. “It appeared to me. I took advantage.”
So the journal was no longer following just me; it was choosing when and to whom it revealed itself. That felt deliberate. And dangerous. But why him and not Ahav, the one who’d written it? Unless it was “marked” to Jasher, like his blades?
“And the stones?” I waved to the rock crumbles.
“An experiment.” He closed the book with a snap.
“I thought they might have a treasure inside. They don’t.
But this is a surprisingly decent read. The beginning is a little slow.
Family history blah, blah, blah. The middle picks up the pace, with battles and swordfights driving us toward the shocking conclusion that the Ember is a woman. ”
My brows furrowed. “What makes you so sure?” I mean, I’d wondered but had found no proof.
His brows furrowed, too. “You wrote it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Motions still gentle, he opened the cover, flipped to a specific page near the end and extended the book in my direction. I accepted and scanned the text, reeling. Sure enough. Scribbled in the margins of my notes were those exact words.
Stop missing the obvious. Andrea doesn’t just carry the Ember. She is the Ember.
Breath rushed in, unsteady and loud. Yep. My handwriting. The certainty of the note rocked my universe. No question mark. No waffling.
“I don’t remember when or how I concretely realized this,” I admitted. Didn’t know if I was the one who’d written it or a past Moriah was responsible.
“It says she is the Ember. But maybe it should say was. What if you are the Ember now?” Jasher asked with the same inflection he might use to inquire about a cranberry orange muffin for breakfast.
Something inside me turned at the very idea. But no. “I can’t be. I’ve fixed nothing.”
“What if you can, but you haven’t? You are the wildcard who fiddles with time and travels between worlds.
Impenetrable to flame. You’re blue, a shade required to make green.
Andrea is tied to Elowen but also your family through Morris.
She could have passed the Ember to Elowen who passed it to you. Hidden it in you.”
All good points. “I’m not the one messing with time. Not the Ember.” I moved farther into the room. “Andrea must have come back to life.” She was put in those shells for that very reason. “But if I’m the Ember, I don’t know how to use myself, and that’s worse than not being the Ember at all.”
As I stuffed the journal and rocks—along with their assortment of bits—into the backpack, I thought out loud. “Those rocks must do something. I packed them for a reason.”
“I have an idea what they do.”
When he offered nothing else, I huffed. “Well? Inform the rest of the class, please.”
“And miss the light of realization dawning in your eyes?” Delight curved his lips, as if we would both like the surprise. “No, I don’t think I will.”
I hmphed. First, he kept the key to the code to himself—I knew he knew it—now this. “What was it you told me? Secrets never stay dead.”
He offered his cuffed wrists. “Would you like to negotiate for the information?”
“Not yet,” I muttered. Soon.
“Fine.” He winked. “I prefer you this way. Pretending you’re immune to me.”
From the center of my being, an ache pressed outward. “Okay, stop being all cute and distracting. In less than an hour, we leave with the king to find the Ember.” I stayed mum about my plan to free him sooner rather than later. He wasn’t the only one who could withhold.
Jasher wouldn’t attack me. He might attempt to capture me to make his table-turning warning into a reality, but he wouldn’t hurt me. Of that, I was certain. And if I was wrong, well, we’d find out, and I could finally stop mooning over him.
He rose with effort. I breathed in sharply, unprepared for the sight of his wings. The left one hung at an odd angle, the hard outer rim broken in one place.
“Who hurt you?” I demanded, ready to do murder.
“I hurt myself, and I’ll answer no questions about why,” he stated, catching my wrist as I reached out to assess the damage. Despite his firm tone, his hold remained gentle. “I’m already healing.”
My fury dulled, but only slightly. I drew back and rubbed the heat his hand had seared into my skin. What had happened? What had he done? Why keep it secret?
Though desperate to learn what had occurred, I didn’t push. For now, I continued to prepare for our trip, packing toiletries and the sturdiest outfits from the closet. Not that any of them offered more coverage than a genie costume.
Upon completing my task, I perched at the foot of the bed to await the king. But the journal. It was no longer inside the pack but beside me, and open, words appearing on the page, as if being written by an invisible hand.
My throat worked. So time didn’t just move forward. It doubled back, crossed itself, and left messages.
Trembling, I lifted the tome. I didn’t recognize this handwriting. Just knew it wasn’t mine or the king’s.
Every ounce of me aflutter, I read.
I have not the vocabulary to describe the horrifying beauty of the Ember, though I will try. She is a light too bright, as harsh as a blade, alive, burning with a fire able to consume everything in its wake.
The first moment I beheld her, I did not recognize her importance. I only knew the beast inside me quaked in terror.
She died once, though the shells brought her back. But I have the shells now. If I kill her again, will she stay dead?
My mouth opened and closed, no sound escaping. The beast inside me. Had Ian written this? Correction: Was Ian writing this now, in another timeline? But how would he have seen Andrea? Unless she had, in fact, revived?
“What?” Jasher demanded.
I tried to explain, but my thoughts were crashing together. Andrea had died; Morris had placed her inside “shells; shells the author now possessed. Andrea, who was the Ember, must have come alive again, as Morris had hoped—but only after his death.
A life for a life.
My shock crested. I waited, hoping, praying for more information. When no other words appeared, my lungs flared wide, desperate for air.
“Moriah?” Jasher inquired, reminding me to breathe.
A firm double-rap sounded at the door.
My gaze whipped to him. He watched me, intent, as he stuffed Kevin in his back pocket.
“You may enter,” he called, his voice a low velvet drag. A spider coaxing a fly closer.
I hurried to school my features into a bored expression.
Captain Rourke marched in, finding me first and inclining his head in greeting. “The king is ready for you and your pet, Oracle.”
Okay, enough. “For the last time, he’s not my pet, and he’s not an it. Say otherwise again, and we’ll have a problem.” I used my sweetest tone while stuffing the journal into my bag.
“We just received word that his kind massacred an entire village. Burned them alive in their homes.” The captain’s hands shook with barely banked rage as he freed Jasher’s chain from the wall, yanking hard enough to make any other monstra stumble.
Jasher didn’t. He simply flared his wings—healed, as promised—catching himself.
A hollow ache spread beneath my ribs. I understood the pain of loss, but no soldier was allowed to punish Jasher for crimes committed by others.
“Last warning of the day. If you pull on that chain again—” I choked on the sentence as Jasher smoothly wrenched the link from the soldier’s grip, sending him to his knees.
A second later, he pressed his axes against his foe’s neck.
But he didn’t strike, just let Captain Rourke know he could kill him if he’d wished.
“Obviously, I wasn’t part of the raid,” Jasher stated.
Even restrained, he embodied pure strength. Unbothered, unmovable, and unstoppable. My kryptonite wrapped in muscle and menace. And I really hoped I wasn’t making baby doll eyes at him.
The captain sprang up, far from appeased. The two men squared off.
I stepped between them before my brain started composing sonnets. “I’d rather not watch you die today,” I told Rourke. Somehow I kept my voice level, even though my knees had dissolved into warm chowder.
Pushed beyond good sense, he lunged for Jasher, who readied his weapon.
“No!” I hooked the soldier’s ankle, sending him skidding face-first into the floor before the axe could slice across his throat.
He sprang up, pivoting toward me and furious. Rage roared awake inside my chest. Heat shimmered around me. Water beaded from my pores.
Rourke bowed so fast his armor clanked. “My apologies, Oracle.”
Well, well, well. What was this? I’d gotten through to him, power answering my call before I understood how to summon it.
Jasher froze, just for a breath, his shock lit a spark low in my belly. He sheathed his weapons on his back.
“Let’s talk about this later,” Kevin said from his pocket.
The water beads retreated, but not before leaving me drunk on my surge of power. I fluffed my hair with a little too much flourish. “See that it doesn’t happen again.”
Before I could think better of it, I slid my arm through the monstra’s. We walked out, my storm still crashing beneath my skin, his chain dragging behind us.
“Do you have any idea how terrifying you look right now?” he murmured, low, intimate, admiring.
“I’m sure I appear perfectly calm and rational, because I am,” I said and gave a hmph for emphasis—even as my pulse tapped HELP in Morse Code.
Two guards waited outside with hands on sword hilts. They paled when they saw me.
“Remove the link,” I commanded. “Now.”
“Yes, Oracle.” Though trembling, the shorter one obeyed. Jasher was left only in cuffs.
We fell into step behind the guards. Rourke took up position behind us. Jasher leaned just close enough that the brush of his shoulder set my nerves alight.
“You wear your power well,” he murmured for my ears only. “As if you were born to be queen.”
My good humor soured. His words, meant as a compliment, settled wrong. I had no desire to take Elowen’s crown. Despite everything, my affection for her was growing.
Flash. I stood atop a hill, facing Elowen, wind whipping through my hair.
“You chose him. Again,” she bellowed, a fearsome sight to behold. Here, she bore no scars, only roiling rage.
This vision didn’t feel like prophecy but memory. Flames and carnage covered the ground below us, but to each other, we were the only two beings in existence.
My rage mirrored hers. “You have killed him for the last time!”
“You think you can take me out? Try!”
We ran at each other, slamming together.
A startled breath ripped free, jerking me into the present.
Jasher squeezed my hand, but I sank right back into my head, analyzing. At some point, Elowen and I had been friends. At another, because of “him,” we had become enemies.