The scent of smoke cuts through my fury. My ears perk, and ahead, rising over the treetops, is a thick, black plume. My pace quickens, paws pounding harder, the soil quaking beneath me as I close the distance. I stop on a lurch at the top of the hill and look down.
A village, ablaze. Thatched roofs burn like torches, sending plumes of ash into the air. The small stone cottages are crumbled. A well has been torn apart, brick by brick. Bodies lie scattered across the streets, their lifeless forms illuminated by the flickering flames. Villagers. My people.
And among the ruin, goblins dance around the wreckage of the well. They jeer and laugh, their pikes dripping with fresh blood, raising them in mock celebration.
Primal fury crests up my body, and my flames change, erupting into a searing, phantasmal green. The color burns brighter than the fire consuming the village, stronger and more powerful than any fire I’ve seen before. I throw my head back, and a howl tears from my throat. The goblins turn, their laughter cut short as they see me.
I leap down from the hill, the ground splintering beneath me as I land. The first goblin doesn’t even have time to scream before my claws rip through him, his pike clattering to the ground. The others charge, but they’re nothing but pathetic wastes of flesh. My teeth sink into one’s throat, and my claws eviscerate another, their blood staining the ground as the green flames scorch their bodies.
I am a reckoning.
I am justice.
I am the Green Flame.
Their pikes glance off my flaming fur, shattering as if striking solid steel. One tries to run, but I’m faster. I pin him down with a massive paw, my fangs sinking into his ribs as his scream dies in his throat. More goblins fall, each one reduced to ash and smoke under the weight of my fury.
When the last goblin collapses, silence falls over the burning village. I stand at the heart of the chaos, my chest heaving, the green flames still a scorching tide across my fur.
Thrand fears me, as Caspian feared me the day I saved Dayton’s life. But they’ll see. They’ll all see. I’m not afraid of magic. Of all my weaknesses, this was never one. I can control it. Harness this power. Save everyone, at all costs.
This is who I’ve always needed to become.
14
Ezryn
Ican’t believe this. It was only days ago Caspian and I battledacross Hadria, trying to kill each other. Now, I’ve traversed into the most dangerous city in all the seven realms and purposely put myself between Caspian and death. Not only that, it looks like I’m going to rescue his murderous little sister too.
The prick better let me win at moonlight mastery for ten years.
Well, there’s nothing for it. Everything about my life went sideways the moment I saw a dark-haired human running across the bridge outside Castletree. I should come to expect the unexpected now.
Even if that means saving the lives of two people I loathe.
But if Rosalina’s taught me anything, it’s to look on the positive side of things. I’m hungry to test out the Hammer of Hope, and I really don’t like that bald guy’s face.
“Well, well, well, so nice of you to visit, Ezryn,” Caspian coos from behind me. Somehow, he still manages that annoyingly smug tone, despite looking half-dead. “I’d invite you to my palace for tea, but you’re sort of interrupting my execution.”
“Lucky for you, Rosalina doesn’t want you dead,” I say, shooting a look back at him. “And my queen always gets what she wants.”
A blush rises to his ghastly pale face.
“Enough talking,” the Nightingale snarls. “Can you fucking swing that thing or not?”
“My pleasure.” I heave the hammer over my shoulder and meet the gaze of the bald man with the whip. “Let’s get this done.”
I surge forward, a sense of exhilaration rushing through me. The twenty men jeer and raise their weapons, running to counter me. Instead of attacking their leader at the front, I leap into the air. With a boom, my hammer connects with a cluster of stalactites. I roll backward just as the jagged rocks crash to the ground. Screams echo through the halls as five of them are buried under the rubble.
The Nightingale dashes forward as gemstones rain down upon her. Her gaze locks on the man with the whip and the glowing weapon at his feet.
Rosalina’s Bow of Radiance. My teeth grind together. The Nightingale—Wrenley—is the only person besides Rose—or Queen Aurelia—who can wield that bow without its token. Dayton told me of the queen’s blood they share, how she nearly killed him with it. But it would turn me to ash the moment I put my hands on it. I can’t stop Wrenley and all these assailants. I have to choose.
“Fuck,” I growl under my breath, then rush toward a man raising a crossbow directed at her. With a single swing of the hammer, I send him clattering down the tunnel, his broken bones making him limp as a rag doll.
Let’s hope this decision doesn’t get me killed. For now, Wrenley seems intent on the man with the whip.
“The little bird wants her shiny?” the bald man laughs. He cracks his whip, the end curling around the bow and snapping it out of Wrenley’s reach. She snarls and draws a knife from a holster on her thigh, the hilt jewel-encrusted.
