Page 131 of Embers of Ruin

“No.”

I try again. Nothing. Again. And again. The same thing happens every time. A flicker of gold stirs beneath my skin. The glass brightens, humming louder, and I feel my magic ripped away before I can touch it. It’s like trying to breathe while someone keeps stealing the air from my lungs.

“No,” I say again, louder this time, as though volume has ever convinced magic to cooperate. I slam my palm against the nearest wall. The glass doesn't crack. It doesn't shudder. It doesn’t even have the decency to leave a smudge. The impact ripples through the curved wall in a faint pulse of white light before disappearing entirely, as the chamber effortlessly absorbs the blow. Seven hells, where am I?

“Let me out! Is this some twisted game? Let me OUT!”

My voice ricochets around the dome, splintering into warped echoes that chase one another through the glass until they no longer sound like mine. It’s like being trapped inside the hollow shell of a bell, listening to my own panic ring back at me from every direction.

My heart begins to pound, and I force myself to breathe as I look around the chamber again. This isn’t my room, and this isn’t the palace. It isn’t even Andell. I know because ever since I arrived, I felt the city pressing against my magic. It’s always there, a quiet pull beneath my skin, constantly trying to siphon something from me. I learned to place a transparent shield between myself and the palace’s strange hunger, dulling the sensation without ever silencing it completely.

Here, there is nothing.

The absence settles heavily in my chest. The city is gone. The pull is gone. Every time I reach for my magic, the chamber strips it away before it can answer me.

Someone didn’t just move me. They took me somewhere beyond Andell. Worse still, I can’t feel Thorin. Ever since I accepted the mate bond between us, there’s always been the faintest awareness of him at the edge of my thoughts. I spent days pretending it wasn’t there, convincing myself it was only my imagination, but it never disappeared. Now it has and I know something is terribly wrong.

Does Thorin know where I am?

Has he realized I’m gone?

Is he looking for me?

…Or is he relieved?

My wrist burns again. Fiercer this time, the heat shooting up my arm before settling beneath my skin. I stagger, pressing my hand over it until the pain dulls. I don’t know what it means, but I want it to mean something. I want it to mean he knows. That somewhere beyond this glass, beyond the white light and the humming walls, Thorin has realized I’m gone.

The thought steadies me.

He knows.

He has to know by now.

He is always aware of me. Somehow, he always knows where I am.

Or at least…

I pray he still does.

* * *

A thin movement beyond the glass draws my attention. I spin toward it, heart jumping, and for a moment I see only my own warped reflection. Then shapes gather on the other side of the wall—figures blurred by the strange material, shadows of people standing where I cannot reach them. Their voices seep through distorted and low.

“She’s awake.”

“Yes, and the chamber is draining her.”

“The cage will hold. There is no way she can break free.”

I slam both fists against the glass so hard pain shoots up my arms. “Let me out of here!” I scream, pounding the barrier again.

The glass ripples faintly beneath the impact, the white light brightening and then settling again. One of the figures steps closer. He’s tall and thin, cloaked in a heavy gray robe. When his face comes into focus through the distortion, I find eyes that glow a deep, unnatural crimson.

They remind me of something that should have burned itself out long ago but never did. And they look oddly familiar.

“Where is my magic?” Panic flares in my chest. “Who are you?”

The man smiles. “We are The Rebellion.”