My father jerked my chin with his fingertips. His gaze softened, the steel in his eyes tempered by something far deeper.
Is that fear?
“This is the only way,” he murmured. “You’re my son, but you’re not invincible. Rebellion isn’t strength—it’s ruin. You’re too much like him. That same fire, that same defiance. It ruined my brother and I won’t let it ruin you. Or this kingdom. Fire destroys, Calix.”
Then he straightened and set my sword at my feet. “When you return, you’ll take your place by my side, in the role I choose for you.”
I hated my resemblance to him. Hated those green and blue eyes—the golden hair my brothers and I shared. The sharp, strong cheekbones and firm jaw. The wide, Ederyn forehead.
But he was wrong. I’d never settle for a role chosen for me. Though my other powers were smothered now, I would find a way to reignite them.
Fire consumes everything in its path. Even chains.
My path was mine to forge … or burn.
Part One
THE DREADWOOD
Chapter 1
Seren
Only the strongest survived the Dreadwood—if we didn’t kill them first.
As the only humans living in the forbidden forest, our task as soldiers was grim. Liriens were a threat to be eliminated. No questions. No exceptions. That was the Viori way.
I unfastened the rope to the watchtower, tension coiling in my gut. No matter how much I’d prepared myself for this moment, the Viori way suddenly felt less fair.
Esme watched me with wide, expectant eyes. A leather armor vest hung loosely over her woolen tunic. My sister’s skin paled against the silvery moonlight as I placed the soft rope in her hands. The two long brown braids over each shoulder made her look so young. “I’m right behind you.”
Esme’s knuckles whitened as she tried to lift herself. Her feet swung, seeking a foothold on the evergreen’s branches, and I fought the temptation to interfere. Months would pass before she climbed a rope properly. This first, struggled climb to the watchtower was part of the process.
She slipped, her hands skidding against the rope. That will leave rope burn. Spots of color stained her cheeks. “I can’t do it, Seren!”
“You can do it.” I kept my tone patient. “There aren’t any tasks tonight you can’t do.”
Esme stomped, then turned back to the rope.
“Tuck your knees higher to your chest,” I offered.
“I’d rather climb the branches,” she grumbled.
That would be easier. Faster. At this rate, we’d spend the first hour of the night shift getting up to the watchtower.
Many minutes later, after crashing through branches and showering pine needles down at me, she was up.
I grabbed the rope, locking my feet as I ascended. Eight practiced pulls and I swung over the watchtower’s side.
My bag slid onto the wooden floor, and I squeezed her shoulder. “You did really well.”
Her lower lip puckered, and she rubbed sores below her thumbs. “Not as good as you.”
“I’ve had eight years of practice.” Not to mention I’d been climbing ropes since I was four—an advantage of being my father’s shadow.
“Sit.” I knelt beside my pack. My mother’s healing potion worked wonders with rope burns. As I dripped some onto her hands, the potent scent of pine stung my nose.
“Rub it in. With any luck, the sores will heal by our next night shift.”
