I’m naked, my body glowing amber, my clothing burned to nothing.
The only object that remains unharmed is the dragon’s hide under my arm, and, I’m certain, the supplies I folded within it.
My control is gone, my fire swirls within my body, and the Oracle’s unmoving figure haunts me.
She’s my cure. My freedom from fire.
I can’t let her die.
A roar rises to my lips as I begin to run, splashing through lava, chasing the path of a thread I can now only see in my mind.
A thread that draws me into darkness.
Chapter Eight
Antony, King of Iron
Air roars into my chest, an agonizing breath defying the darkness that consumed me.
I lurch upward, only to lose my footing and crash back to the ground, my knees banging the rocks, my right palm planted at my side, my ears ringing and my head spinning.
For the shortest moment, a blood-red thread extends across the air in front of me, wrenching at my chest where it’s attached to my heart, attempting to pull me upright again.
And then it’s gone.
Leaving me unanchored and disoriented.
Ice rises at my back, chilling my spine while a black mountain ridge stretches out before me, shrouded in inky air.
Where…?
Where am I?
Another painful breath rages into my chest as I recognize the bloodlands and with that recognition?—
Memories roar back at me.
Rushing back in flashes, disordered and chaotic, eachone agonizing. More painful are the gaps between them, blackouts during which I have no recollection of what I did or what might have happened.
Thyra’s fearful form dominates my mind, her cheeks pale and blue eyes filled with terror, the image of her reaching for me, her callused palm upraised, outstretched, trying to connect?—
“Thyra!” Once more, I try to find my feet, try to shove myself upright, only to end up where I was, my knees kissing the ground, thecrackthey make against the rock sharp as the buzzing in my ears abruptly stops.
My roar echoes into the unsettling silence. “Thyra!”
She’s gone.
And now another memory assaults me, driving me back into the ice as if it were happening right now, the gleam of Stellen’s sword delivering a blow that pinned me to the ice wall, incapacitating me.
My left hand flies to my heart, where my blood is tacky on my bare chest.
How am I alive?
Stellen’s blade should have cleaved my heart apart.
I was certain it did…
Unless the sword traveled the path left open by the iron blade that used to rest within my chest.
