One second, I’m gripping Jules and Phoebe’s hands in the Eyrie, screaming as the portal opens, the next I’m stumbling onto black stone in Thorne’s main hall, knees slamming hard enough to rattle my teeth.
I gasp, bracing my palms on the warm floor.
The Great Flame roars in its hearth, taller than me, casting wild shadows down the length of the throne room. Smoke and heat and the spicy-scorched scent of Thorne’s magic wrap around me.
But I don’t feel him.
Not like I should.
Not like I always do now.
“Thorne?” My voice cracks. “Thorne!”
“Lady Delia?”
I spin.
Masha glides from an archway, skirts whispering, her dark hair braided in a crown, eyes sharp and assessing even as concern tightens her lined face.
“Masha.” I lurch toward her. “Thorne’s in trouble. He needs me.”
Her gaze flicks over me, taking in my flushed cheeks, shaking hands, and gods-only-know-what expression.
“Yes,” she says quietly. “I feel it too. The bond sings loud enough to crack stone.”
“Tell me how to get to the camp. I need?—”
“The chariot,” she cuts in briskly, already turning. “Go to the chariot, milady. The Lord will have gone to the Vein. It is the swiftest way.”
Right. The fire chariot.
I sprint after her, boots skidding on heated stone as we race down a long corridor and out into the courtyard. Ashfell rises around us in jagged spires, every window flickering with flame.
My heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to break free and fly to him without me.
We burst into the stables.
I skid to a stop and swear.
The chariot stall is empty.
No sleek obsidian frame. No harness. No waiting Fire Mustangs.
Just sizzling hoofprints burned into the ground, still smoking at the edges.
Masha curses in a language I don’t know, then slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide.
“Your pardon, Lady Delia. It must be getting serviced!”
“Well, fuck,” I breathe.
My panic spikes—then pauses.
Because there is something here.
At the far end of the row, a stall door hangs broken off its hinges.
A massive Fire Mustang stands just beyond it, half in shadow, half in the light spilling from a wall-torch.
