PROLOGUE
ELENA
The desert howled around them in rippling waves, spitting sand and rock against the curved window of the hoverpod. Even through the thick glass, Elena could smell the desert: its dry camphor, underlaid with something bitter and savage.
“Brace for landing,” the pilot called.
Elena did not sit. She placed her hands against the sill and leaned forward so that her nose pressed against the glass, leaving a smudge of ash. She needed to see it with her own eyes, to affirm that the rumors were real. That these, the dark amorphous forms of billowing sand, were wraiths of a god made alive.
A god so cursed that the desert raged before it.
When the mountains of the Agnee Range snapped up through the storm, Elena went rigid. There, nestled between the dark teeth of the cliffs, was the Eternal Fire. It licked the open sky as if sensing her approach. She began to shake. Not long ago, she had come to these same mountains with the blazing, glorious hope of a kingdom behind her.
Only ghosts followed her now.
The pod docked, and Elena stumbled after the Black Scale soldiers asthey ascended the temple stairs. The winds were not so fierce this high, but she could taste salt in the air, intermingled with the acidity of smoke. With it, memories came flitting back: the hot breath of the inferno, the piercing note in her father’s screams, the temple crumbling like a crushed flower underneath a cruel hand.
Elena faltered on the steps. Above, in the ruins of the temple where she had been crowned queen, the ghosts awaited. Her father, Ferma, the guards, all those who had died in her name. All the ones she could not save. She felt their unearthly stares prick her flesh with the cold, tender care of a carver’s blade cutting through a skinned bird.
Ahead, one of the soldiers turned. She had dark, liquid eyes and a tattoo of a skull hand wrapped around her throat. She smiled, and the ghosts wailed.
“Come, he’s waiting,” she called.
With a stuttering heart, Elena let go of the crumbling railing. The wailing of the ghosts manifested into a keen, needling down her ears and setting her teeth on edge. Elena slipped her hand into her pocket and grasped Yassen’s holopod. She traced its familiar scratches, and her chest loosened a degree. He had led her this far. Been so brave, so fierce. She borrowed courage from it and from him, wherever he was.
Elena trudged toward the Eternal Fire, blinking furiously as its heat buffeted against her face. Fallen columns and crushed diyas littered the ground. Scorch marks marred the white marble foundation, but her gaze, like an arrow flying true, settled onhim.
The man basking within the inferno, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her heart ratcheted up a notch, and all her earlier anticipation came crashing back. The flames sensed it. They trembled at her approach, rising, singing in soft hisses. As they grew louder, Elena felt the air tighten until it grew sharp, physical, like a match poised to strike.
The man turned.
The match struck, and Elena felt a deep, burning sensation ripple through the air and her body, cauterizing her nerves.
Eyes too blue, she thought.Eyes cursed in the desert.
They drank in the sight of her: the tousled hair of a month of no sleep; the cuts on her arms; the darkened skin of her hands. A slow smile spread across his face.
“I knew we’d find you,” Samson said.
His voice seemed to come from the flames themselves, a thick, crackling song. The flames swooned. Her mind teetered between disbelief and fear. He could not be alive. Heshould notbe alive. But then Samson stepped forward and took her hands, and the shock of his touch, warm and tender like the flames she summoned, jolted her back.
“You’re alive,” she said.
He smiled again, so bright and blinding that for a moment, Elena felt her fear dissipate, flooded out by relief.
“You’re alive,” she gasped. She crushed him in an embrace, and Samson laughed, the flames rumbling with him. He smelled of smoke and ginger, like spices roasted and set alight. His arms were heavy and strong as he pressed her into his chest and rested his chin on top of her head.
“I am, my rani,” he said.
That was when she noticed the flames.
Not the ones of the Eternal Fire, but theothers. They crawled up the staircase, encroaching on all sides. Blue like an unblemished sky. Blue like the roiling sea. Blue like his cursed eyes.
Elena pulled away. A question, the one that festered inside her like a parasite as the Black Scales had smuggled her out of Jantar, rose in her throat. She did not want to say it and make her fears real. But Samson only looked at her, expectant. And she saw then that his smile had never reached his eyes.
“How?” she said, her voice a low rasp. “How did you survive?”
