“Arion,” I say, then stop, almost shocked that I’ve allowed myself to say his name and not use an honorific. After everything that has been drilled into my head for days on end, it feels like some great sin. I am worried about how he will react, what he will do, but I still push on. “Thank you for not letting them kill me.”
Opposing him only puts me in danger—and after seeing Vann, there is a part of me that desperately wants to live. I need to stop fighting and wait for…whatever the future might bring.
Arion searches my face and blinks. It doesn’t matter that there are shouts in the distance; he remains unbothered.
“You are welcome.” His tone is softer, almost kind. “It is for the best that you stop trying to understand those women—they are vermin. Just let me handle this. You’ll find it easier here if you leave the world’s tragedies to me.”
He brushes his knuckles over my cheek, gently stroking my flesh. I swallow hard.
A crashing sound of wood splintering and falling comes from behind us. We turn to see one of Mrath’s assassins burst through a side door, face smeared with soot. Her blade is raised, and I flinch back. Arion gladly holds me at his side, content to be the hero again.
But then something stirs inside of me. A power unlike anything I have ever felt brushes along my senses, soft like velvet and twice as plush. For a second, everything goes black. I can almost feel darkness and heat seeping out of my exposed skin.
Before the magic can fully come unleashed, Arion raises a hand, and the air between them ignites. Light flares, then fades. The woman is gone. Nothing left but ash drifting down like snow. My skin burns, and I feel feverish.
But after the blast of power is sent, he slouches forward, as if in pain from his use of the magic. Then he hauls me away, out of the corridor and down a flight of stairs, leading to the wing where my rooms are. Guards trail behind us, and the king limps a little as we hurry.
“Are you all right?” I’m trying to hold him up, despite still reeling from that dark magic earlier.
What was that?I wonder, looking down at my hands.
Me, her voice responds.
What?
She doesn’t answer.
Arion wipes a fleck of soot from his cuff as if it’s dust, but continues to heave. “Perfectly fine, little one.”
My stomach turns as I replay how he practically evaporated those in front of him. Even compared to the darkness itching under my skin, his display is a powerful magic I’ve never seen from any being: elf, troll, or human. “What are you?”
He smiles again, that awful, perfect calm. “A king.”
From what I know… “No elf has power like that.” King or otherwise.
He tilts his head, studying me. “My gods have always given the strongest powers to kings that sit on his throne. It is how we keep all of this intact.” He gestures around him broadly.
He clearly didn’t succeed in toppling Mrath if her women are here. And the magic he used was very close to the same magic bubbling along my skin, the one Cursed One said belonged to her.
“I wasn’t aware that Doros and Nicnevin had such power. I think they possessed more elemental magic than dark magic.” The sentence slips out before I can stop it.
His expression doesn’t change. “You’ve been reading again, haven’t you?”
Vann’s glamoured face flickers in my mind. “Forgive me—I’m just afraid.”
He steps closer, and the heat of his magic raises gooseflesh along my skin. “Power is a river, little doe. It flows where it’s earned. You should be grateful it flows through me, and not someone weaker.”
It shouldn’t flow through him at all, Cursed One says.
What do you know?I start to ask, but then the collar bites into my neck. My knees almost give out.
“Enough questions,” he says. “You need rest. You’re pale.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, though my vision is swimming. The hollow where my Fuegorra used to be aches so fiercely I can barely breathe. They said that it would be safe for me to get rid of this, but I don’t feel strong. I feel like a leaf, blown free by the wind.
Arion drags me along anyway.
The echo of boots cuts through the hallway where we’ve stopped. I worry it’s another rebel, come to kill us, but when I turn, I see Thorne. His armor is streaked with blood, and his blade is drawn. His face, as always, is unreadable.