It took entirely too long to remember that I know how to warm myself. It was one of the first things Becks taught me, and my only excuse is that trauma has left my brain jumbled. After I pull myself together enough to generate some heat, an idea comes to me.
If I can make fire, can I heat the chain up hot enough to break or melt it?
I’m pretty sure I’m in a sewer, but I have no idea where I am or how to navigate these tunnels. Still, if I can get free, at least I’ll have a chance.
Right now, I’m a sitting duck. A lamb waiting for the slaughter.
With that last gruesome thought hovering in my mind, I concentrate on making a ball of flames in my palm like Becks taught me. It sparks to life quickly, forming to about the size of a plum, the soft light flickering against the tunnel’s curved stone walls.
A swell of pride blossoms in my chest. A week ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do that on my own.
Turning toward the flat wall behind me, I reach down with my free hand, feeling for the manacle clamped around my ankle. My fingers trace the chain connected to it, following it to the metal ring bolted into the stone.
I shiver, thinking about why this setup even exists. What other purpose would a chain and manacle secured to a wall serve if not imprisonment or torture?
Shoving the thought aside, I inspect the chain, searching for a weakness. The links look old, rusted and brittle, but when I give them a sharp tug, they hold fast.
What temperature would I need to reach to bend or melt the metal?
I’m not sure. Different metals have different melting points, and I have no idea what these links are made of. Iron or steel, maybe.
Either way, it hardly matters. It will take more heat than I have ever drawn from my magic before.
Forgetting where I am, I suck in a deep breath to steady myself and immediately choke on the taste of sewage. I won’t be making that mistake again.
Finding the middle point, I grasp the chain with the hand that’s holding the fireball and manipulate the flames to coat the section of chain I’m clutching. It isn’t long before I’m sweating underneath my wet clothes and coat, but the chain on either side of my hand is glowing red and the fire coating it turns blue.
“Come on. Come on,” I whisper, trying to increase the heat my magic is producing.
Finally, I feel something. The links clenched in my fist are bending, distorting under the pressure I’m putting on them.
A flash of excitement runs through me. It’s working!
I pull, using my body weight for leverage, and the links start to stretch.
My heartbeat thuds in my ears.
Almost there. Almost there. Almost there.
The heat peaks, white-hot now; the metal softens in my grip, glowing brighter, as sweat drips down my temples.
The warped links finally tear apart, molten edges sagging as the chain drops to the floor and I stumble back, free.
I did it. I actually did it.
Spinning, I head toward the mouth of the tunnel, stumbling blindly forward, not knowing where I’m going except away from where I was imprisoned.
Despite all that’s happened, all that I’ve learned about him, it’s Becks’ face I have in my mind as I flee. My heart twists with the thought that he may not be alive.
No. He has to be alive.
I don’t know how it happened, but in just a few short weeks the thought of living in a world where he doesn’t exist has become unfathomable.
I keep my hand on the curved stone wall, picking up the outline of the tunnel as my feet splash in the water with every step. I’m almost to the first turn when a dark shape appears from around the corner.
The gasp hasn’t even left my lips before I’m flying back through the tunnel. I don’t stop until I slam into the wall with bone-jarring force. I crumple to the ground, flopping into the thin layer of putrid water.
My mind is scrambled eggs as I try to make sense of what just happened, too disoriented to grasp hold of my magic.
