I let go of the power, sucking in a gulp of air.
Her laugh was soft. Beautiful. Deadly. “Little Summer ember. Still pretending you understand the first thing about a god’s power.”
Furyfire stirred in my veins.
Slade shifted to my left, Thorne to my right, both ready.
Callan exhaled slowly. “Heliconia,” he said, voice low, persuasive magic lacing the words, “perhaps we should?—”
Heliconia lifted her hand.
A cold wind slithered across the floor, coiling around my ankles like a serpent.
“Behold,” she said, her voice carrying to every corner of the room, “the girl who thinks herself chosen. The girl who thinks draining an army makes her a god.”
“I don’t think I’m a god,” I said. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t become one either.”
Her eyes flashed with a depthless, ancient rage. “You are nothing more than a vessel, child. And a fragile one at that. Your body is cracking under the weight of the magic you possess. The gods made a mistake choosing you. You were always meant to break.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’ll break you first.”
With a snarl, Heliconia stepped forward. The frost on thefloor thickened, spreading in spiderweb cracks beneath her feet. Ice crawled up the pillars. Torches flickered, dimmed.
The room hummed with power.
Screamed with it.
Callan swallowed, stepping subtly aside—not openly aiding me, not openly defying her. The gathered courtiers shrank back, some ducking behind columns, others clutching loved ones, trembling.
Heliconia’s voice went soft. Lethal. “And now, little Summer ember, your power is mine.”
The thread sprang to life, only this time, my Makarios magic screamed in pain as that hunger was fed on. And the life force I’d so easily sipped from—now gave of my own to the monster on the other end.
My fire roared as I struggled to sever the connection. Furyfire dripped from my fingers, landing on the rug, sparking into embers that ate at the material. Sparks flew, landing on gowns, igniting cloaks.
Slade cursed and leaped into action, grabbing the closest fae and winking away on a trail of shadows.
Thorne’s hand shot to his blade.
The life-thread Heliconia had gripped between us—thin as a spider’s web seconds ago—snapped tight like a garrote. My magic bucked violently, clawing at the inside of my ribs.
No. No—stop?—
Heliconia smiled, her teeth small and perfect and carved for cruelty.
“Too late, little ember.”
I gasped, collapsing onto one knee as the connection inverted again—her siphoningme, not the other way around. The Makarios part of me screamed in agony, yanked open like a wound as she pulled at the core of who I was.
My life force tore from me in hot, ripping surges.
My fire guttered.
My vision swam.
I heard Slade shouting something. All I could feel was the hollowing ache inside me as Heliconia fed.
Frost bloomed across the floor, reaching for my hands, my legs, my throat.
