“Do you remember what you are?” Torryn asks, drawing my focus away from the others. “Riven says you aren’t human.”
Before I can answer, Sylvin steps in. “Or where you come from? Surely something stirred when you looked at us. Or was the awe too overwhelming?”
I hesitate as a new emotion rises within me with his last question: annoyance.
“No,” I answer flatly, not appreciating his self-inflated ego. “Nothing.”
Sylvin hums softly, like my emptiness is something to study.
Torryn nods once, as if he’s not surprised.
Azyric prowls behind them, scanning the unscathed forest in the distance.
And Riven…he watches me, still. Unmoving and unblinking.
His gaze is like a snare around my throat. There’s hunger in it, slow and simmering, like he’s savoring something no one else can taste without even touching me.
“Then perhaps,” he murmurs, stepping forward as my skin pebbles, “you’ll let me help you decide who you’ll become.”
The weight of his words sinks into my chest.
It’s not a question or a threat, but I shiver nonetheless…because a part of me wants to say yes.
He keeps his distance, eyes trained on me, but Sylvin and Torryn both step closer. A rumble comes from the latter and my gaze swings to his. His eyes arenarrowed, lingering on Riven as a snarl curls his scarred lip.
Apparently, he doesn’t like Riven’s suggestion.
They may stand on the same scorched earth, but they don’t stand together.
Sylvin breaks the tension with a sigh and a dramatic shake of his sleeve, like he’s knocking off invisible debris. “Well. Now that we’ve all had our brooding moment, might I suggest somethinguseful?”
His blue eyes slide over me, glittering as sunlight begins to break through the clouds. “We can’t call you ‘the girl.’ It’s terribly impersonal.”
Riven huffs a quiet breath, seemingly in agreement.
“She doesn’t know her name,” Torryn says, voice flat.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t give her one,” Sylvin counters. “We’re kings, not a pack of wolves. We should at least attempt civility.”
Torryn’s chest puffs up as he takes a deep breath, and my eyes can’t stop volleying back and forth between the three of them and their simmering animosity.
Why are they all together if they hate each other? Are they allies or enemies?
“What would you say to Liora?” he continues. “It means my light. Given the way you rose from the earth, it feels poetic.”
Frustration flares up within me at the casual use of the information they have on me, but I push the annoyance down, hoping they will willingly discuss the information they havewithme soon.
The name he offered is beautiful. Ethereal, even, but it hovers in the air like a crown too heavy for my head.
Torryn grunts and shakes his head. “You want her to carry a soft name like that into a world at war?”
He doesn’t wait for Sylvin to reply, turning his attention to me as he crosses his arms against his chest.
“Branna,” he offers, voice full of confidence. “Strength and fire. That’s what you’ll need to survive this.”
That name is heavier and like it was forged for someone else’s battle.
Before I can respond, Riven steps forward, his eyes gleaming with that same, sharp hunger. “Seraphine,” he murmurs slowly in offering. “The helpless look in your eyes makes me ache with reverence.”
