“There’s a bomb!” I shout, but the storm swallows my warning.
The stench of smoke and burning flesh fills my nostrils.
The sounds of battle are deafening in my ears.
The clang of metal.
Shouted orders.
The final groans of the dying.
But loudest of all—thunder.
In the midst of the chaos, I seehim.
He’s a blur of dark leather and steel, his sword flashing around him like lightning itself. He impales one man, his sword pushing clean through the rebel’s abdomen.
He lifts his other hand skyward.
Lightning answers.
The sky splits open, and a massive, blinding bolt shoots down before my eyes and incinerates three men headed for him. Even after the bolt vanishes, the terrifying shape of the lightning flickers before my eyes, like a haunting, violent phantom.
My heart pounds in my ears. My lungs can’t get enough air, useless pants sawing through my chest.
Father was wrong. Iama sniveling child.
Don’t come out, Mayah. No matter what you hear.
Another bolt crashes down, closer to me this time, and a strangled yelp tears loose.
Loud footsteps sound on wooden stairs.
Me. They want me.
My hands claw at the frozen ground, knuckles whiter than the snow. A fierce clap of thunder jolts my bones. The snow is cold and wet beneath my knees.
My face is wet with tears.Or is it rain?It can’t be rain. I’m in my closet. Where is Mama?
The carriage I escaped explodes into millions of tiny pieces, wood chips spraying out in a shower of jagged edges.
That gets Zevayr’s attention.
His head snaps toward the sound, then swivels frantically until his gaze lands on me. His brows furrow. Concern? Anger? Another bolt of lightning crashes down, barely a foot to my left, and I scream and scream and scream. A body collapses beside me.
I’m not a betrothed princess anymore. I’m six years old again.
The door is opening.
The thunder is angry.
The world is burning. And
I
can’t
breathe.
