CHAPTER TEN
EMMERY
As Emmery walked across Ellynne’s capital, she refused to let a single tear well.
The newly mended streets, once charred and crumbled cobblestones, thudded under her boots.
The city seemed to come alive and between the freshly painted chestnut-brown shutters, the bakery’s woven welcome-mat, and the scent of sugared pastries flooding the streets, this broken city was unrecognizable from the ashen mound they’d walked across only months ago.
Vesper had injected life back into this place she’d stolen it from. Brought light where she’d left the charcoal of death. It offered some shred of peace.
When she reached the edge of town, the wind sang through the colossal black gates at her back.
Ahead Destonne leaned against Vetle, his legs crossed at the ankle, a dead coldness in his eyes as he snapped a twig between his fingers like the bones of his enemies.
He tossed it over his shoulder but didn’t bother to check where it landed.
The action in itself made her grateful he hadn’t joined her.
When Vesper had discovered her restraints, he’d looked as if he’d wrap his hands around the King’s throat and wring the soul from his body.
Aera sauntered over to Emmery and she scooped the fox into a tight embrace.
While she’d wanted to bring her too, she’d insisted Aera stay with Destonne.
There would be no place for her furry companion's anger and gods help her if she bit a chunk out of Vesper’s ankle.
She slung the fox over her shoulder then rubbed her eyes.
The King raised a brow at her. Maybe he noticed the relieved slump of her shoulders from the lifted burden of confronting Vesper and spilling the words that had crawled up her throat all these weeks.
The relief of laying her hurt, doubts, and truth at his feet.
Maybe it was the newfound sureness in her steps, and the confidence earned from staring down her troubles.
Or maybe it was the tiniest spark of joy to see the kingdom thrive again.
As Destonne studied her approach, Emmery almost forgot how irritated she’d been from his tardiness that morning, because it was Vesper’s words that set her nerves on edge.
Destonne is dangerous.
She’d assumed as much. It’s why she fought to keep that barrier between them whenever he drew near.
I know he can be charming and make you think he’s not all bad but he’s a talented liar and you need to be careful.
Maybe he’d lied to her about her past to sway her willowy uncertainties to his side.
It cinched her gut to think and sent her tumbling down a waterfall of fear.
Would he hurt her? He didn’t seem the type to harm people without some twisted justification, however, for all she knew, he executed those prisoners over the last few weeks purely for his own sick pleasure.
Vesper was right. She needed to be careful.
Destonne pushed off Vetle and gestured for Emmery to mount, but her refusal must have read clearly on her face because the King paused, hesitation threaded into his posture.
Enough was enough and she was on a roll of righteous demands and fearless honesty.
Emmery thrust her hands toward him. Those iridescent marks glittered in the sun like shiny, suffocating handcuffs. He pressed his lips together at her wordless request, and his fingers twitched at his sides, his brows creased as he eyed the leather-bound book tucked under her arm.
“Take them off,” she said, her voice a flightless bird, yet, beneath the words, the soaring demand of an eagle.
“Are you sure you don’t want to burst through them? Give me another intoxicating display of that golden flame of yours?”
She couldn’t tell if he was serious with the lack of anything in his expression.
No humour. No malice. No frustration. He merely appeared as tired as she was.
He had taken the time out of his day to escort her here.
He could have sent Brennen with her or some other nameless guard.
It was a small kindness, a glimmer of support she hadn’t realized she needed, though it wasn’t voiced between them. The King was complicated.
Emmery sighed as the heaviness of the day settled into her bones.
“Please.” The word snagged in her throat but manners seemed to go a long way with him.
He thrived off them. And if it earned her that little taste of freedom, to call Juno and see those brilliant lavender eyes and embrace her fuzzy, white muzzle, she would set her pride aside. She could play this game too.
As he stepped toward her, the space between them collapsed, and the toes of their boots kissed. She straightened her spine and lifted her chin in her best attempt to look down her nose at him, though he was over a head taller.
“Promise you won’t set me on fire?” The scent of sweet mint flooded the air between them with his soft laugh.
“If you behave.”
He muttered something akin to unlikely but reached up and pricked his finger on his crown.
Emmery had watched a thin man with the blessing of charm manufacture the marks, but she’d never seen them removed.
The man had created them with a dab of blood and she’d assumed that it was his blood, but as Destonne placed a droplet of crimson on each mark, she realized it was the King’s that turned the key and locked these restraints.
So he would be the only one to award her the freedom her khaos flame screamed for.
Of course. It tightened the leash he kept around Emmery’s neck, the one she strained against until she choked and collapsed in a breathless heap.
As Destonne took her hands, the coarse yet gentle press of his heated touch seared into her skin. He blinked rapidly, the way he often did when he touched her, but this was different to how he had held her that day he’d retrieved the coin from her fist or sealed their pactum.
This was tender, almost an apology. He swept his thumb over the marks and spread his blood, and as he did, the restraints evaporated.
A violent wind knocked her in the chest and she staggered back a step, her magic pulsing and her vestige a crashing wave filling a vacant tidepool. Her golden flame itched at her fingertips and purred a distant hello and a louder release me. Emmery plugged that drain before her magic overflowed.
Destonne’s lips parted as her magic throbbed like it had its own gravity, the halo of her vestige glowed around her hands, still cradled in his.
This was the new power from relighting the khaos flame. She tasted it on her tongue, heard it in each jagged breath, and relished it in the steady pump of her heart. It’d been tamped down for too long, and now that she was free, magic burned in her eyes, her blood, her chest, deep in her marrow.
Yet Destonne didn’t appear afraid. If anything, a hint of marvel twinkled in the blackened chasm of his stare.
If she read his face clearly, he almost appeared as if he wanted to own her flame.
But she would never share. He was a fool not to be afraid of her like everyone else.
He would be dust scattered over the roots of the Tree of Eternal Blood before he could touch her magic.
She became increasingly aware as his hold on her hands lingered. And that brief moment, when he should have pulled away and didn’t, flushed her cheeks, and left her skin feeling entirely too tight.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice a rough exhale, her relief palpable.
The King cleared his throat then dropped her hands like they were made of cheap, tattered fabric he’d outgrown. He turned to Vetle and mounted.
Emmery tapped a single finger to the silver cuff around her bicep, then waited on bated breath for Juno to come to her.
When the steed appeared from the dimension held within the enchanted metal, a gathering of whites and lavender and wisps of ghostly magic, Emmery pressed her lips to Juno’s muzzle, climbed onto her back, and set off at a gallop toward Blackdawn Castle.
She didn’t dare provide a single second for Destonne to set the pace.
When Emmery spotted that long navy hair and an unmistakably loud feminine voice hit her ears, her chest constricted. She froze in the castle foyer, her nails biting into her palms as she didn’t breathe, like it would keep her hidden where she stood in plain sight.
Briar’s hands flailed in overly enthusiastic gestures as she shared some story with Brennen, which he acknowledged with a bob or two of his head and the occasional canine smile.
The two chatted like they knew one another, which they very well could have living only a kingdom apart all these years.
But Briar had this infallible way of seeping into one’s good graces and leaving a stain on their heart.
She’d certainly left a mark on Emmery’s.
Amongst all the white, Briar was brilliant fluid artwork in her bright red jumpsuit moulded to her flawless body. As she conversed with Brennen, she swept her hair over her shoulder and revealed the burns marring her entire left side. The guilt Emmery had been battling surfaced.
She’d done that. It was her fault Briar had suffered.
In an attempt to shove away the shame, Emmery studied how strikingly similar Briar and Fionn looked now she knew they were siblings.
The delicate curve to her nose, the same upturned almond eyes, her crooked smirk that held a startling amount of both confidence and warmth, and sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, were dead giveaways.
Though their hair and eyes differed, Briar’s a burnished navy and scarlet and Fionn’s a raven-black and velvety brown, it was still clear they were related.
The thought of Fionn brought an ache to Emmery’s chest. She’d only had a moment with him before her and Destonne departed for Ellynne.