45. Antony
Chapter Forty-Five
Antony
The charcoal tower is finally in my sights, but I might not make it.
Inside my armor, my body is burning.
I lied when I told Stellen I couldn’t travel with him and Thyra because I wanted to avoid the Ember Fae. Rather, I needed to fly as far as I could on the Iron side of the border to avoid Ember’s sunlight.
Even the first gentle hints of morning sunlight were daggers to my vampyric flesh, biting harder than my mother’s starlight, which at least I was born into, a small amount of her power passing to me.
I was certain that the short distance from the border to the black tower wouldn’t pose a danger to me. Not so. The moment I crossed into Ember’s light, I was struck down, tumbling to the top of the mountain range.
Now, steam rises across my armor as I draw on the last of my strength and tell myself I’m going to deliver this page to Thyra if it kills me.
Stellen could have taken the page from me by force. I would have let him. Instead, he, like my mother, must have thought to ensure I didn’t leave Thyra against her wishes.
My vision blurs as I stumble the final distance to the black tower on foot, throwing myself toward the slightly ajar trapdoor at the structure’s base, missing the mark and smacking into the stone instead.
As I slide to the ground, pain scorches every inch of my body and all I can smell is my own burning flesh.
Damn. Maybe if my heart weren’t a mangled muscle in my chest, I wouldn’t be so weak.
I try to remind myself: pain is life.
Probably not in this case.
I collapse fully to the sweltering black rock, mentally roaring at myself to crawl inside already.
Impossible. My mind is shutting down.
My ears buzz, and I can’t hear anything other than Thyra’s startled cry before I black out.