It made no sense. None. It wasn’t just illogical, it was in opposition to everything her father ever acted on. He was not one to destroy what could give him more power. He was one to claim it.
Unless he deemed it harmful to his goals. Beyond his control.
It was a mess, all of it, and Kyrja had no idea what she could do to stop it. Legally, her hands were tied. The only role the Heir could play in the execution of justice was to verify it was done according to the rules. And though Fodur had bent them, he’d given lip service enough that if she argued, she could be held in contempt and stripped of her honorary seat on the High Council.
She could do no good to Nik or the rest of their people if she was locked in her room. She could do precious little now.
They reached what looked to be a dead end, a wall ahead of them to match the ones on either side. Fodur waved a hand though, and she sensed channels of ice inside the obsidian thatthawed, flowed, and released a lock. Another command from him and the flow of water split the wall into two perfect halves, both of which slid away to reveal…
A cave?
Heat blasted up, rolled out, and the sting of sulfur clawed at her nose.
Volcano—they’d made their way into the heart of Mt. Helviti, and the ledge Fodur led their group out onto overlooked the mountain’s fiery throat. He pushed the heat back with a wall of ice, though she could feel the effort it took, the constant replenishing.
As they passed into the dark with its ominous red-orange glow coming up from below, Perla leaned close. “I’m going to create a distraction. If you want this man to live, then at my mark, cut your finger, his, and give him your blood. Do you understand?”
Her blood to his would finish the Awakening—it was usually done with water as a conduit, but wound-to-wound would do the same work, just without the instant cleansing and healing. And if he had fire magic, then…what? Would that save him from the heat of the volcano?
Because her father’s words suddenly rang with new clarity.
May the flame be your judge and the lava your executor, if it finds you worthy of death.
Kyrja nodded, throat too tight even for a whisper.
The twelve members of the High Council arrayed themselves in a line, six on either side of Fodur, who stood before a rocky outcropping that stretched several feet over the glowing abyss, several yards away from where Kyrja, Perla, and Nik stopped just inside the door that slid closed again behind them. When the visiting princess released Kyrja’s arm and took a step forward into that empty space, Kyrja closed the sudden gapbetween her and Nik and called water from the air, into her hand. Froze it into a blade of ice.
Wind roared, whipped, bursting through Fodur’s wall of ice, capturing noxious clouds of yellow fumes and pulling them toward the Council. They all shrieked, coughed, spun to avoid the gas. Kyrja sliced her finger, reached for Nik’s, opened a cut where the first Blade had bit him.
Nik tried to pull his hand away—instinct, no doubt—but she held it fast and caught his gaze. “Trust me,” she said. Then she let the ice melt in the blasting heat and pressed her bleeding finger to his.
He stopped fighting the moment she asked for his trust—a gift, one she’d asked for so many times with children in the clinic.Trust me. I won’t hurt you. Trust me, I want to help. Trust me.Joy had always filled her when a little one stopped squirming and let her ease their pain.
It was something even brighter, even weightier when Nik locked his gaze to hers and went still.
Then, fire. It streaked through her hand, up her arm, straight to her heart, which pounded like the guard’s drums.
Not like her own Awakening. Because Einar’s magic was the same as her own? Because it was fire in Nik’s blood, not ice? Or was it something else, something more? Something that made her draw in a sharp breath and look at this man who’d become a friend in a way she’d never done before.
Made her see the green of his eyes, the cut of his cheekbones, the breadth of his shoulders in a new light.
In the crowds of the streets, he’d just been a rare brunette thane. In the chaos of the bombing, he’d been strong arms to aid those who needed him. In the dark of the prison, he’d been a keen mind and a quick smile.
Now? Now she realized he was beautiful. Always had been—but now she saw, and she realized what it meant.
The beauty of the Awakened.
How? Where did it come from?Fodur’s words, about angels and daemons, made no sense—not coming from him. He didn’t even believe in creatures of spirit. He couldn’t possibly think they’d taken on corporeal form and created unions with mankind.
As for her own fledgling beliefs, she didn’t know. And would have to sort it out later, because Perla was already clearing the air and turning back to them with a smirk, her gaze dropping to their red-smeared fingers. She met Kyrja’s gaze. “It worked?”
Kyrja dropped Nik’s hand, veins still buzzing, skin still prickling all up and down her arms. She pulled more water from a spring to stop the bleeding of her finger. “It worked.”
“What worked?” Nik sounded breathless, as dazed as he’d looked after the mark appeared on his palm. “What was that?”
“Your salvation, if I’m right.” Perla took his left hand with one of hers, placed the opposite palm against his cheek. “Do not fear. The Triada is with you.”
Snow whipped around them, turning to rain before it could even sting Kyrja’s skin. Fodur, for all his endless lecturing about the dangers of emotion, looked locked in cold fury as he glared at Perla. “Your Highness, interfering with our legal—”
