The flames surged higher, so bright they turned night to noon. Light gilded the surrounding hills, painted the scree-covered slopes of the Goatfells in shades of copper and gold. She’d never burned this fiercely before. Never pushed this hard. The fire sang in her blood, wild and exultant, and hungry for more.
But it still wasn’t enough.
Dark shapes burst through her wall of flame. Some burned, collapsing into columns of black smoke. Others made it through, wings spread wide, mouths open.
Fighting erupted around her—shouts, grunts, and shrieks. She didn’t dare look. Didn't dare break the thread connecting her to the flames.
Wings filled her vision, leathery and tattered like storm-shredded sails. The wraith dove straight for her.
Suddenly, Alar was there, blades flashing. The Slew recoiled, its face twisting with rage. Then Cailean appeared on her other side. Then Bree. The three of them moved as one, driving the wraith back until it fled, wailing, into the smoke-choked sky.
Relief crashed through Lara's chest, so intense it nearly broke her concentration. Together. They could do this together. They could—
Something massive dropped from the sky like a stone, landing a few feet away with an impact that made the ground jolt.
Then it rose. Unfolding. Growing. Taller than any man. Broader.
Fear hit her like a fist to the gut.
The flames around her guttered. Died.
Slew poured through the gap above her head, but Lara barely marked them. Her gaze had locked onto the thing standing before her, and she couldn’t look away.
Hair like knotted kelp. A melted face that might have been Marav once. Empty eyes. That gaping maw full of splintered teeth. Smoke coiling around black-clad limbs.
She knew this one.
It had come for her at Gateway in Duncrag, had nearly killed Alar to reach her. The other Slew had been smoke and fury, but this one had been solid. Her fire had barely driven it back.
And now, it had found her again.
Mor tore free from her warriors, blade singing through smoke-thick air.
The steel bit deep into the massive Slew’s shoulder. The wraith snarled, the sound bestial, and one sinewy arm whipped out. Long fingers fastened around Mor’s throat.
The Raven Queen’s mouth gaped. Her free hand clawed at the fierce grip crushing her windpipe while she drove her blade in again, deeper, the steel disappearing into shadow-flesh.
Alar flew at the Slew, twin blades flashing. Its head snapped toward him—that was all it took, that shift of attention—and it flung Mor aside like a discarded poppet. Shadow coiled around Alar and the wraith as they clashed, dark tendrils writhing.
Lara locked her knees, even as her legs threatened to buckle. Sweat soaked through her tunic, cold against her skin despite the heat still radiating from her raised hand. Her vision blurred at the edges. The exhaustion wasn’t just tiredness, but a weight dragging her down toward the ground.
But she couldn’t fall. Not now. The others couldn’t fend off the restless dead. Without her fire, they had no chance. Especially not againstthisSlew.
She had to regain control.
Her gaze dropped to the fire pit still burning a few feet away. Usually, she coaxed the flames, whispered to them, let them flow through her like water finding its course. A partnership. A dance. Everything Ruari had taught her about stillness and control and the quiet place inside where fear and fury couldn’t reach.
Gone. All of it. Unraveled.
Desperation hammered against her ribs. Her usual way wasn’t working. The fire was slipping from her grasp. That Slew was going to kill Alar, and then it would come for her.
She had no choice.
Her left hand clenched tighter, nails biting crescents into her palm. She stared at the flames in the pit, not asking butdemanding.Now!The word tore through her mind like a blade.Incinerate them all!
The fire bucked against her will like a wild pony. She slammed back, threw the full weight of her desperation and rage against it, forced it to bend. Her fingers snapped straight.
Fire exploded from her fingertips.
