A blur of white hair and fury hit the ground a heartbeat later. Shaelith, her usually perfect composure replaced by something that looked suspiciously like bloodlust.
She didn’t pause to assess. She sprinted to Brynelle’s thrashing form, sliding to her knees beside her.
The winged male moved like liquid death. His blade sang as it arced through the air, the steel gleaming with an oily iridescence that made the air around it shimmer.
One of the masked bastards tried to run.
The male caught him mid-stride, that massive blade taking his head clean off in a spray of arterial crimson that painted the burning grass like abstract art.
I couldn’t stop it.
The flames poured from my skin like I was bleeding starlight and shadow, each pulse stronger than the last. They reached for the remaining attackers with serpentine grace, beautiful and terrible and so fucking hungry I could taste their need on my tongue.
One of the masked bastards was trying to crawl away, his legs charred, leaving a trail of blood and burned leather. The fire found him anyway.
“Please,” he gasped, the word wet and broken. “Please, I have?—”
The flames didn’t care what he had. They cared what he’d wanted. What he’d planned to do to my children.
Shaelith’s hands worked quickly at Brynelle’s bindings, her fingers finding the knots and pressure points with the efficiency of someone who’d done this before. The ropes fell away like dead snakes, their sickly glow fading as they hit the ground.
Brynelle rolled over, gasping, her dark skin marked with angry red welts where the cursed ropes had touched her. But she was breathing. Alive. That was what mattered.
The fire disagreed. It wanted to find more enemies, more threats to burn. It pressed against my ribs like a caged animal, desperate to break free and hunt.
“Isara.”
The name came from behind me, low and careful, like someone trying not to spook a wounded animal.
I didn’t turn. Couldn’t. The flames were climbing higher now, reaching for the sky like they wanted to set the very air on fire.
“Isara, you need to stop.”
Varyth. Of course it was Varyth. Come to watch me lose control, come to see exactly what kind of monster he’d pulled from the Veil.
“Listen to me.” His voice was closer now, though I couldn’t hear his footsteps over the roar of flames. “The fire is yours. It obeys you, not the other way around. Draw it back.”
I tried. Gods, I tried. But the flames had tasted blood and freedom, and they didn’t want to go back to whatever dark corner of my soul they’d crawled out of. They wanted to burn everything. Everyone. Until the world was nothing but ash and the memory of those who’d thought they could take my children from me.
Cool mist wrapped around me like silk, threading through the flames. Not fighting the fire—claimingit. Absorbing it. Drawing it back into whatever abyss it had crawled from.
The relief was instantaneous and devastating.
My knees buckled. The world tilted sideways, reality reshuffling itself into something that made sense again.
Strong arms caught me before I could hit the ground.
Varyth’s chest was solid against my back, his heartbeat steady and sure beneath the fine fabric of his shirt. The mist poured from him, cool and soothing, wrapping around us both like a cocoon.
“Easy,” he murmured against my hair, his voice rough. “I’ve got you.”
My vision swam, black spots dancing like burned moths behind my eyelids. But through the haze, I could see Shaelith kneeling beside Brynelle, her white hair a stark contrast against the charred grass.
“Get her to the healers,” Varyth snapped, cutting through the ringing in my ears. “Now.”
Shaelith didn’t argue. She slipped her arms under Brynelle’s shoulders, hauling her upright with surprising strength for someone so slight. Brynelle was conscious but shaky, her iridescent wings dragging behind her as they moved toward the castle.
The winged male was crouched over one of the bodies, the one whose head was attached, at least. His massive hands moved with surprising delicacy as he searched through charred leather and ash.
