A single flame rose, like a beast raising its head at the sound of prey. It uncoiled and sniffed the air. Yassen felt time slow and the seconds stretch as the flame slithered closer until it was mere inches from his hand.
The fire snarled and exploded, heat striking his face. Yassen stumbled, but it was too late. He tripped, careening toward the pit when a hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar. He gagged, surprised, and then Elena was pulling him back.
“What are you doing?” she snapped.
With a snarl, the fire smashed down.
Elena screamed as they fell back, the flames rushing toward them. And then Yassen remembered the night on the cliff, the flames eating his hand, and the memory of it, the pain of it, shocked him into action. He hooked his arm under Elena’s shoulder and muscled her up. Together, they stumbled out into the corridor.
Elena sank against the wall as Yassen gripped his knees. His body buzzed as if the heat of the fire was inside of him, but he knew it was only the adrenaline. For a while, they said nothing. Only the sound of their heavy pants filled the hall.
“That,” Elena said finally, “was utterly stupid.”
“I know.”
“What were youthinking?”
“I wasn’t,” Yassen said.
“You could have been burned. Phoenix Above, you could have fallen into the pit and died.”
“I know,” Yassen said, more softly this time.
Elena sighed. Ash dusted her chin and neck. When she spoke again, the anger was gone from her voice. “It was the fire, wasn’t it? So beautiful that you couldn’t resist.”
It was a vision, but he could not say that. “You almost wielded it, right?”
She pulled back her sleeve, revealing patches of burnt skin. “No. But I practice every day.”
“Your Highness—”
“Just Elena, Yassen,” she said. And when he did not speak, she smiled. “It’s no trick.”
At this, he laughed. A short, astonished burst, quick and bright, but suddenly, Elena was laughing too.
“Mother’s Gold, what kind of mess have we gotten ourselves into?” she sighed after their laughter faded. She spoke quietly, as if to herself.
Yassen hesitated, but seeing her there, hearing her laugh and ask him to call her by her name, he found the courage to speak. “Maybe it’s a blessing you can’t hold fire,” he said carefully. “You’ve seen what it can do.”
And just like that, her face closed, and the softness left her eyes. “Are you implying that I can’t control fire?”
“No, I mean—”
“That I can’t claim my birthright?”
“Elena, please, I didn’t mean that.”
She stood. For a moment, he thought she would leave, walk off without a word like before, but instead she stayed, fists curled, face turned toward the inferno as if listening to its hum. When she spoke, he heard a tremble in her voice.
“I need to learn, Yassen. If not for the people, for me.” She looked at him, her eyes glistening in the dim light. “To prove to myself that I am not a fraud.”
He wanted to tell her that he understood. That when he hung off that cliff, when Samson asked if he was taloned, when pain seized his arm in the dark hours of the night, he felt her same fear. The Arohassin had thought he was useless after his injury; the Ravani thought he was a traitor for his misdeeds and his father, but he was still Yassen Knight. Still capable of winning his freedom from them all.
“I,” he began and stopped. Elena waited, but he could only stare, the words lodged in his chest. To tell her the truth would mean damning himself.
Elena scoffed. She pushed past him, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders as she strode through the corridor.
Yassen stood there, waiting for his heart to calm.
