“No, sweet girl. But listen, there’s something you need to know.”
Shoving my thoughts away, I focus on her words.
“That conduit on your wrist can only work as long as you continue to fear your powers.”
“But—”
“I know it’s scary, but you can do scary things. I’ve seen your struggles, and I know your pain. Dig deep down and grab ahold of the power that Iywan wants to take from you. He cannot reign over what you already dominate. You are Carys Meredyth fa Rhodri, daughter of Queen Morwenna, the Good, heir to the throne of the kingdom of Erleya. The power that Iywan seeks is already within you.Use it.”
I blink, tears flushing the blood from my eyes, flowing freely down my face and stinging every gash inflicted by Eefa’s blade. The tunnels disintegrate around me, and I find myself bound to the saltire in my cell again. With sickening realization, I find neither Aneirin nor Ellynne present.
Instead, I’m left with Eefa.
Her head is tilted, and she regards me as if I’m some rare creature to behold. “Oooh, goodie, there you are,” she purrs. “I thought I’d lost you for a moment. Now where were we? Maybe this time I’ll destroy those pretty, golden eyes of yours.” She lifts the dagger, this time with the intention to stab.
I draw in a breath, finding that heat in the center of my chest. I grab ahold of it, but my memories taunt me.
Aneirin’s screams.
My mother placing the amulet around my neck.
Years of discordance within myself, shame, guilt, hopelessness, worthlessness, and instability, all filling me to the brim until I fear I may implode.
Don’t run from your memories; reign over them.
My pulse roars in my ears. Energy vibrates through me. I clench and unclench my shackled hands, torridity overwhelming my body as anger and frustration sear a path up my throat. A conflagration flares at my wrists, and I scream in rage. I yank my wrists free as the manacles melt away.
Terror flashes across Eefa’s face. She turns to run, but I grab her as I step out of the molten shackles binding my ankles. I knock her dagger aside with my wrist as she lifts her hand again. Grabbing her face, I stare into her soul, my body trembling with ire. “Ellynne says hello,” I drawl.
She starts to scream as my hands glow bright orange. The sound of skin sizzling reaches my ears. Her fear morphs into pain and her pain back into horror. She claws at my hands, the whites of her eyes showing, but her palms come away blistered and seared. When her screaming subsides and her body goes limp, I release her. She drops to the ground, her head hitting the stones with a sharpthud.
Her formerly pretty face is unrecognizably charred. I stare down at my palms, expecting flames. Instead, a thick web of black veins runs from the palms of my hands up my arms, disappearing where my tunic is rolled at my inner elbow. Icy hot rage unlike anything I’ve felt before sinks its teeth into me, and I let out a scream for all the torment I’ve endured in this godsforsaken dungeon.
A cold presence strokes the boundaries of my mind, promising me strength, fueling my fury. Even as blood, tears, and sweat stream down my face, I find myself numbly striding through the gates that Eefa hadn’t bothered to close. I advance down the corridor to the door and burn a hole straight through it, ripping metal shards away, before stepping over to the other side. Steely determination lances up my spine and I turn, snarling at Lieutenant Bronn and Cadet Aela as they come at me.
One swipe of my hand, and they scream as black flames lick up their ankles, slowly creeping up their bodies. Their garbled cries are music to my ears. A smile tugs at my lips. But they’re on the ground, gasping for air, begging for death, and the black flames have not even singed their clothing.
How unsatisfying.
My head tilts, and that familiar caress in my mind nudges me.Burn them.
I throw my palms out toward them. Orange flames engulf their bodies. Not looking back, I stride onward, their cries following me down the tunnels.
Get Iywan.
I run through the tunnels, the darkness welcoming me like an old friend, eagerness dancing along my skin as I think of what Iywan’s face will look like when I burn him alive.
My bare feet pound against the ground as I hurry through the tunnels beneath Paramount. When I find the stairs, I take them two bounding steps at a time. My heart cannot beat any faster, but no fatigue touches my body, no tension—no fear—remains.
“The princess has escaped!” a voice calls out from somewhere to my left.
Squinting, I make out a silhouette approaching me. I stretch my hand out, and his screams fill the small atrium. I rub my face and turn to the other guard who approaches from my right. It’s the brawny woman with the one unseeing eye. She holds up her hands in surrender, slightly bending a knee in a curtsy far worse than Durvla’s. “Your Highness, I’m on your side,” she says quickly.
Take her dagger.
I hold my hand out. “Give me your dagger.” My voice is low and surprisingly calm.
The soldier woman doesn’t hesitate but quickly removes the dagger from her belt and presses it into my palm.
