Chapter One #2
I wonder at what temperature my tunic will ignite as I drag myself across the blistering floor.
The petrified lava is so hot beneath my fingertips, I think it might turn molten as it was a millennium ago, the last time this volcano erupted.
I push past the pain, forcing myself to continue forward.
Closing the gap between us, one excruciating sliver at a time.
It is not only physical pain that thwarts my progress.
My very soul seems to sear, fueled by the Remnant bond that links me irrevocably to Penn.
Usually I find our connection calming. Comforting.
An unconscious tether in the back of my mind, letting me know where he is and, in rarer times of great emotion, what he is feeling.
Like the scent of burning leaves on an autumn wind, I can sense him from afar and find my way to him if necessary.
There is nothing calming about our bond in this moment.
Nothing remotely comforting. It is a charred current of unadulterated energy that scorches a path from his heart to mine.
Within my own reserves of maegic, deep within the wild storm that swirls inside, I feel the placid waters of my power beginning to simmer beneath Penn’s heat.
All that is cold and controlled at the core of my being seems suddenly in danger of sparking.
By the time I reach him at the center of the chamber, I am struggling to keep my own destructive abilities in check.
“Penn, you have to stop this.” I lift a hand toward him but jerk it back from the flame as pain bites at me, a stinging lash across my fingers. Blisters bloom on my skin. “Please, Penn. Please listen to me.”
The fire is so bright, so hot, it is hard to see and even harder to breathe.
I try three more times to reach him through the ball of flame that surrounds his body, telling myself it is only pain, that any burns I receive will heal quickly, but I never manage to touch him before snatching my hand back, my singed flesh smarting in agony.
More blood is pouring from his ears, dripping down his chest in rivulets. Within the ball of fire, his skin is stark white. Corpse white.
Please, a small voice cries out from somewhere deep within me. Please, Pendefyre. Hear me. Stop this.
But he does not.
I cannot use my power to help him any more than I can use my hands.
In desperation, I reach within to the bond that burns between us.
I grab hold of that invisible tether that connects my heart to his, connects fire to air, and begin to tug on it, a spool of yarn without end, unraveling his psyche into mine.
I am not certain it will work. Not until I see the flames consuming Penn starting to disperse, weakening as I absorb some of the damage he is inflicting upon himself. I nearly bite through my lip as my nerve endings bake, as the marrow in my bones crackles with heat.
Skies, how much pain he is in, if this is but a shade of his power.
I cannot handle much more without doing myself serious harm.
But there is no choice. Blood pours from his eyes as well as his ears now, trickling down his cheeks, dripping off his sharp jawline.
And so, I take more. I pull his fire toward me, into me, until I think the blood will boil in my veins, until I feel my limbs turn to kindling, until each breath burns like my lungs are full of embers.
I channel every bit of heat and flame into the deepest recesses of my own power, where the air currents within me blow hard enough to extinguish them. Candles in the wind, no match for my storm. The flames around Penn weaken further, growing faint and translucent as they lick across his flesh.
More.
The heat is unbearable. I think my body will crack apart, think my mind will cleave beneath the force of it.
The world fades around me, blackness closing in at my peripherals.
I am losing the battle against unconsciousness.
Just before my final shred of strength falters, my inner voice cries out one last time—a pained and broken prayer to the man crouched beside me.
If you die here, you take me with you.
He hears me. Somehow, someway, he hears me.
The flames splutter out with a whooshing sound that echoes off the walls.
The relentless wave of heat subsides so fast, I am certain I must be hallucinating.
In a blink, I can breathe again. Ragged, desperate gulps of superheated air—but at least I am breathing.
I stare down at the veined lava floor of the chamber where my hands and knees are planted.
My arms and legs tremble with the effort to keep from collapsing entirely.
The sleeves of the plain uniform I wear to treat patients at the infirmary are scorched beyond repair, the skin beneath flushed the angry scarlet shade of a fresh burn.
My fingers are a mess of char, the tips blackened.
I stare at the damage for a moment before my arms and legs do finally give out and, in an exhausted heap, I fall.
I never hit the floor. Two strong arms close around me before I make impact. Within the space of a breath, I am cradled against a broad chest, staring up into the King of Dyved’s scowling face.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” he growls, fury staining every word.
“That’s an odd way to thank me for saving your life,” I snap hoarsely, shoving against his hold—a move I regret instantly, as it sets off a fresh wave of pain that racks me head to toe.
“Thank you? I’d like to shake some sense into you.” His touch is utterly gentle, belying his enraged declarations. He holds me like I am made of glass, his large hands careful not to put undue pressure on my ravaged skin. “What you just did was beyond risky. I could have killed you.”
“And, if I had not taken that risk, you would have killed yourself, you ungrateful lug!”
“Better me than you.”
“Don’t say that.”
His eyes are still smoldering with maegic. They lock on mine, two embers, burning, burning, burning. There are deep, bruise-like shadows of exhaustion beneath them. Traces of blood still trail down his cheeks, drip onto his chest.
“I know you were trying to help,” he murmurs after a long pause. “But you put yourself in harm’s way unnecessarily.”
“How was it unnecessary, Penn? You were lost in the maegic. The fire was consuming you.”
“I had it under control.”
“That’s not what it looked like. Not to me, not to your men, not to anyone with eyes.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I?” I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I think, whether or not you want to admit it, you’re playing a dangerous game. Pushing yourself so close to the edge, it’s only a matter of time before you slip. You’re driving yourself to your own death. Just like King Vorath did.”
“As I said already,” he grits out, “I had it under control. I would have reined it in before things went too far.”
“Excuse me if I find that hard to believe when you’re sitting here covered in your own blood.”
I push against his hold again, and this time he lets me go.
I scoot backward, craving a bit of distance.
I haven’t the strength to get far. I only make it a handful of paces before I stop to catch my breath, planting my palms on the warm stone to keep from toppling over.
It will take a bit more time before I’m ready to find my feet, but already I can feel my body beginning to heal, the blisters and welts that bloom across my skin smoothing over into supple, unscarred flesh.
My eyes lift back to Penn. He is watching me, a grim set to his jaw as he examines my rapidly healing injuries.
Through our bond, I feel a series of strong emotions.
Guilt, pain, gratitude, rage, longing, self-loathing.
And, beneath it all, a burning need for retribution that no amount of time will ease.
The only thing that might do that is wrapping his hands around Efnysien’s neck and squeezing until his life force flickers out.
“I’m worried about you,” I whisper eventually.
He flinches and looks away, teeth clenching together. “You don’t need to be.”
“You’re overly fixated on the wards, Penn. Obsessed, even. It’s not healthy, coming here every day. Draining your powers like this.”
“I’m merely ensuring the city is safe. I would think after everything that happened on Fyremas, my efforts in that regard would be understandable.”
“No one questions your intentions. And no one blames you for what happened that night.”
He scoffs, a bitter sound. “No?”
“No,” I echo softly. “No one. Except, perhaps, yourself.”
His head whips back to me. “Who else should I blame if not myself? It was my wards that fell. It was my power that was extinguished. It was me who was left almost entirely useless in defending my people, my city, from slaughter.”
“Even without your powers, you defended the city. You are the best warrior in Dyved. Perhaps in all the Northlands.”
“Yet I could not keep them safe. I could not protect them.”
“You did everything you could—”
“And it was not enough!” he roars, the sound reverberating against the walls.
“They needed more, and I let them down. I will not allow it to happen a second time. Not while I still breathe. Not while there are still souls in this city who need my protection.” He pauses, panting hard.
“Not until Efnysien is dead and gone, his bones scattered to the most distant corners of earth and sea.”
“Your people need you for more than just protection, Pendefyre. They look to you for strength, yes, but also for guidance. For leadership. To them, you are their hero and savior. You are their king.”
“It is not my name the minstrels sing in the streets, but yours. Rhya the mighty, Rhya the brave.”