I barely made it to the chair before collapsing into it, the cushions catching me like they’d been waiting. My hands were shaking. When had they started shaking?
Eilrys moved with quiet efficiency, pouring amber-coloured liquid from a crystal decanter on the side table. She pressed the glass into my hands. “Drink. It’ll help.”
The first sip burned. The second one less so. By the third, warmth was spreading through my chest, unknotting something tight and vicious that had been coiled there since I’d woken.
“Better?” Eilrys asked, settling into the chair across from me with the kind of grace that suggested she’d been raised in courts and ballrooms.
“Define better.”
Shaelith snorted, claiming the third chair with considerably less grace. She sprawled in it like a cat claiming territory, one leg thrown over the armrest. “Fair point. You did just discover you can spontaneously combust people. That’s got to be a bit of an adjustment.”
The laugh that escaped me sounded unhinged. “I manifested fire and murdered four people. I’m not sure adjustment is the right word.”
I stared at the amber liquid swirling in my glass, watching how the light caught in it. Nothing like the flames that had poured from my hands like they’d been waiting there all along.
“They weren’t just flames, were they?” I didn’t look up. Couldn’t. “The way everyone reacted?—”
“No,” Eilrys said quietly. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and her posture shifted. Less elegant courtier, more... someone else. Someone harder. “They weren’t.”
Shaelith made a sound that might’ve been agreement or warning. Hard to tell.
“Those flames,” Eilrys continued, her voice careful now, measured, “were shadow fire. And shadow fire doesn’t justhappen, Isara. It’s not random magic.”
My fingers tightened around the glass. “Then what is it?”
“Nyxarian.” The word fell between us. “Specifically, it’s tied to their court magic. To their bloodlines. To theirpower.”
I looked up then. “That’s impossible. I’m not—I was human. I crossed the Veil. I’m changing, but that doesn’t mean?—”
“No, it doesn’t.” Shaelith cut in, her tone sharper than broken glass. “Which is why everyone’s losing their collective shit over it. You shouldn’t have Nyxarian magic. You definitely shouldn’t havethat muchof it. And you absolutely shouldn’t be able to wield it with zero training while barely conscious.”
“I wasn’t—” The protest died in my throat. Because she was right. I’d been half-mad with rage and terror, and the fire had answered like it had been mine all along. “Fuck.”
“Nothing about the Veil is random.” Shaelith leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Shadow fire is rare. Exceptionally rare. Most Nyxarians never manifest it. Those who do...” She trailed off, sharing a look with Eilrys.
“What?” I demanded. “Those who do what?”
“Become very powerful,” Eilrys finished quietly. “Or very dangerous. Usually both.”
“Fantastic.” I pressed my palms against my eyes. “So I’ve been gifted cursed fire from the realm that’s hunting me. That’s justperfect.”
“It’s not cursed.” Shaelith shook her head. “It’s yours. And Varyth wants Brynelle and me to train you to control it before you accidentally burn down his castle.”
My head snapped up. “Brynelle. Is she?—”
“She’s fine.” Shaelith’s expression gentled fractionally. “Resting. Those binding ropes are nasty, they suppress magic, burn like acid. But she’s tough. She’ll be back to her usual self by tomorrow.”
Eilrys laughed. “Your wife’s definition of ‘usual’ involves colour-coding battle strategies and alphabetising weapons.”
“She’s very organised chaos,” Shaelith said with a grin that transformed her entire face. “It’s part of her charm.”
The pieces clicked together in my exhausted brain. “Wait. You and Brynelle?”
“We’re married,” Shaelith said simply.
“To each other?”
“No, to the furniture.”
