He stood awkwardly in the empty room, and she saw his hands twitch as if he meant to reach for her. But Yassen stopped.
“I’ll be here,” he said. “No matter what. Just… don’t wander far.”
She smiled sadly. “For better or for worse, you’re stuck with me, and I to you, remember?”
He said nothing in response. But as Elena walked down the porch steps and looked back, she saw him through the window, at the counter, studying the map.
In the shade of the retherin pines, Elena rolled back her shoulders and widened her stance. She had carefully brushed away the dry leaves, creating a small clearing. Her visor itched against her forehead, but she did not take it off.
She raised her arms, extending her right hand in front, her left hand behind. The wound on her shoulder still smarted, but after Yassen had applied the skorrir balm, the pain had lessened.
With a deep breath, Elena sank her weight into her heels and breathed out.
A flame unfurled in her outstretched palm like a bird hatching from its shell.
The Warrior.
Elena watched the flame, breathing slowly. She felt the tension in her chest ease as she meditated on the flame, studying its form, feeling its intense heat.
She pivoted and kicked up her left leg, balancing on her right foot as she folded her arms behind her like the Desert Sparrow. The flame sighed and kissed her fingertips. She could feel its pulse, its desire to live. As she flowed into the Lotus, the Spider, and then the Tree, the flame grew and danced with her in her hand.
When she had burned down her room, the fire had burst from her fingertips like a sandstorm on a summer day. Sudden and destructive. Its power had surged through her body like an electric shock. She had used her anger to call it, to punch a hole in the world, and it had responded in kind.
But as Elena unwound from the Snake and once more extended her arms, she could feel the fire’s energy coursing through her with a quiet, controlled hum. It followed her without hesitation, bent to her will.
Elena drew the flame close to her chest. It bowed, folding into itself. Slowly, she brought her palms together, and the flame’s heat spread down her arms and across her shoulders like wings coming to rest.
She studied the small blaze. How could something so little cause so much destruction? So much pain?
The inferno that had burned the temple and her father had also been full of rage. Vicious and sharp, like a beast tearing through flesh.
And I am to do the same, on this mountain, she thought. But the fire pulsated in her palms, brushing her fingertips. It filled her with a heady heat, warming her limbs.
Elena thought of her father. He had carried the burden of the kingdom for so long. It had driven him to burn the priests, to imprison Saayna. It was unforgivable, cruel and twisted. But as Elena balanced the flame in her hand, heard it whisper, she thought she finally understood him.
You must be ruthless. If you must become a villain, become one. Become whatever Ravence demands, because without you, it will die.
“Everything I do, I do for Ravence. For you,” she whispered, echoing him.
The fire sparked in her hand as if in reply.
The realization set heavily in her chest, binding her. When Samson had asked her how far she was willing to go, she had told him far enough to protect her kingdom. But she was wrong.
The burden of the throne, the burden of the Phoenix King, was more than simply protecting her kingdom.
It meant giving up herself. Her conscience, her peace, her very being.
The flame wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet. Like a chain.
Burning the mountain wasn’t right. She knew that.
But it was necessary. So she would.
CHAPTER 40
YASSEN
Rest thy weary head, wanderer,
