“But if the situation arises again, if you get into danger again—and you’re right, you do seem to attract death like moths to a fucking flame, so I’d say there’s a pretty big stars-damned chance it’ll happen—you should know that I wouldn’t hesitate to save you. I’d do it again and again and again, because I don’t want you to fucking die!”
Her eyes blazed as she came to stand in front of him, her nose only a few inches from his own.
“You’re the one who put the idea in my head that we might just have a chance to finish this thing and get out of here alive. I don’t even care who ends up with the fucking crown at this point, I just wantthat. I want theafterthat you promised. And I’m not willing to lose anyone else to the celestials’ mad games.”
Cedric shook his head, his breathing growing shallow, his pulse pounding in his ears. That icy cold in his chest was spreading, a squirming feeling creeping through his veins. It felt a little bit like mana, though he didn’t even have to look at the drained token still hanging from his neck to know that was impossible.
“I—” He pressed his trembling hands over his heart, trying to tamp down the feeling spreading there. “There’s something wrong with me.”
“Breathe, boyo. Just breathe.” Thraigg’s voice was low, restrained, the kind tone one might use to calm an animal thrashing about its cage. He shuffled close enough to reach out a thick hand and pull Zephyr back.
“Cedric...” The silver fire in Elyria’s eyes was immediately replaced with concern as she lifted a hand to reach for him.
He recoiled instinctively. “No,” he said, voice tight. “There’s something...wrong.” His mind was spinning. He didn’t belong here; he wasn’t meant for this. Lord Church had gotten it wrong. All of Havensreach had gotten it wrong. He wasn’t capable of winning. He wasn’t made for this.
The air in the room felt suddenly charged—too hot, too cold, too thin, too thick. His erratically tracking eyes met Elyria’s for a split second, some unreadable emotion flicking across her face.
“Cedric, you need to calm down,” she said. “You’re going to?—”
And that’s when Cedric realized that it wasn’t ice that had been slowly spreading from his chest and into his veins.
It was fire.
A heat simmering just under his skin, so piercing, so bright, it had felt freezing.
Light exploded from Cedric’s chest, filling the room from floor to ceiling.
And he combusted.
39
MAN ON FIRE
CEDRIC
I can’t breathe.
The fire is suffocating.
It’s everywhere, crawling up my limbs, roaring in my ears, scorching my throat, my lungs. My vision is warping, the walls of the Sanctum bending and twisting like they’re dissolving under the heat.
I look down, see the white-gold flames licking at my body, searing my clothes. Are they melding into me? Fusing with me, replacing my flesh with charred fabric? Or is it melting off me along with my skin?
But no. There’s no blistering flesh, no skin dripping from my bones.
Scalding, oppressive heat is everywhere and yet I still feel...
Cold.
And that’s when I realize the fireisn’t just around me.
It’s in me.
I can feel it radiating from my chest, pulsing out through my limbs with every erratic beat of my heart. It’s expanding, surging. It’s trying to burst free.
It’s succeeding.
I press my palms against my chest, where the flames are hottest. And like sparks igniting a pile of kindling, mental images start to unfurl, one after the other.
