The sword aiming for her throat lit up in a gold and orange glow that had its origin on Lory’s hands—no, on her arms and legs, her entire body, and she stared in awe and panic as her magic flared brighter and brighter, until it became an uncontrollable beast, ready to destroy the world.
A corona of flames ate away on the bonds holding her, nibbling and chewing until they finally broke, and she landed in a feline crouch in the scorched grass beneath her boots, grinning up at Ricca through the deadly curtain that now was both her weapon and her armor.
With a strangled sound, Ricca staggered away from the heat streaming from Lory like an answer to the ice that had ruled her chest. No betrayal, no sorrow, no emotion at all found space where fire now ruled, its tongues sharp and deadly, its fingers like daggers aiming at whatever put itself into its path.
Lory’s vision darkened at the edges as Ricca swiped for her with her sword, her own blade sluggish to meet the ashling’s attack.
“Run,”a voice commanded in her head, and this voice, she recognized.
Like a lifeline, Khayrivven’s presence drifted through her mind, a dream—half-waking, half-asleep, in a trance that she wouldn’t allow to take her focus.
“Run, Lory. Please.”
His plea ran through Lory like a bolt of Solen’s lightning.
“I beg you.”
Set us free, Elory the Flame,the deep rumble that wasn’t entirely of this world seemed to respond to Khayrivven’s pleas, and Lory blinked away the distraction, bringing her blade down on Ricca’s forearm with a blow that could have shattered rock.
A scream tearing from her throat, Ricca retreated a few paces, making enough space for Lory to dart past her, the corona of fire wafting behind her like a banner. Her legs dragged, heavy with exhaustion, and her arms were like lead at her sides, her mind sluggish, thanks to the Almelyte powder, but her magic—that was present, bright and untamable.
As she turned into a path framed by rocks, she caught a glimpse of Ricca, who was patting her legs and her broken arm to put out fires, and as she danced from foot to foot in a burning circle, her knees buckled, and her movements slowed. When Lory lost her view on Ricca, the ashling had stopped fighting the flames, her screams fading as she rolled on the ground—until she fell silent and stopped moving.
Lory ran as fast as her feet could carry her, flames catching onto every dry twig they could find, every blade of grass she fleetingly touched as she passed through the rocks.
She needed to get away, or she’d set the whole mountain on fire and, with it, everyone on it. She couldn’t run back toward the outpost, and finding a drained Thal to use his water magic to extinguish her flames—she couldn’t risk him using his powers in his state. And Aiden, with his impossible ice-magic, was dead.
A sting in Lory’s heart made the fire flare higher, making the bigger branches above her head catch flames.
No matter how hard she tried to rein it in, she couldn’t control it. Like a carpet of orange and gold, it spread around her, limited only by the rocks framing the path. South, she had to go south, as far away from Thal and Tabi as possible before she fainted from exhaustion and her wildfire consumed the mountain.
Come to us, Elory the Flame,the voice beckoned like an echo in the night.
Lory ignored it, stumbling and slipping over the uneven ground, grabbing for the sharp rocks for support.
A river—any source of water would stop this madness spilling out of her.
Khayrivven hadn’t warned her that she’d lose control like that if she took the Almelyte powder. Perhaps it was better he hadn’t, or she might have never taken it, and she’d be dead now—like Aiden.
Tears blurred her vision, and that anger about his confession burned in all shades of red and yellow.
Water. If only she could find?—
Lory only realized where she was headed when the gaping mouth of a cave greeted her with darkness from a good fifty feet ahead, moonlight painting the rocks hanging from the opening like glimmering teeth.
Come to us,the voice repeated—not Khayrivven’s. Not anyone’s. Just a rumble of darkness and power.
Her chest was heaving, and her side burned like someone had stabbed her, but her legs kept going, as if summoned byan invisible tether, carrying her to a steep incline that would have seemed insurmountable to anyone but a street rat who used to climb the facades of Dunaii houses without breaking her neck. Her fingers ached as they slipped over jagged rocks, and hot blood spilled from her palm, drying up in the inferno that she couldn’t shake. Up and up, until she hoisted herself over the threshold of the obsidian cave, arms and legs shaking, and breathing ragged.
Only when she made it a good ten feet inside did the pull release her, and with nothing to catch on, no wood or grass or flesh, the flaring fire toned down to a layer just thick enough to protect her. It didn’t destroy her clothes or her hair, didn’t bite her skin; it didn’t heat the metal slipping from her fingers as a wave of exhaustion made her sway on her feet.
Come, set us free, Elory the Flame,the voice beckoned once more as Lory’s knees hit the rough stone beneath her.Look at us, Elory the Flame.
And from the shadows of the cave, a gigantic creature stepped forth, lowering its lion head adorned with mighty antlers. It stomped its paw, bright lilac eyes smoldering, as they met Lory’s, the wisdom of the world swirling in their depths. Lory blinked through the corona of fire engulfing her, darkness pulling on her vision once more, but the voice in her head was clear as it rumbled,“Bright burns the Flame.”
Thirty-Two
Khayrivven
