Page 3 of Embers of Ruin

I blink at her. She couldn’t have picked a better time to question me about my health? “The boy is dying, and you’re worried about my sleeping habits?”

“Someone has to.” Her mouth tightens and her gray eyes narrow. She’s always been good at reading me. I just wish she wouldn't do it right now. “You’re too thin and the bags under your eyes are swallowing your beautiful face.”

“I’m not too thin, Mara.”

“You absolutely are! Your cheekbones could cut glass.”

Despite everything, a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Mara clicks her tongue in satisfaction. “There she is! You look exhausted, girl.”

She would be exhausted too if she spent days using magic to save lives. I don’t say it aloud, but it’s a truth we both know.

My smile vanishes as quickly as it came. “Where is he?”

The worry immediately returns to her face. “This way.”

Without another word, Mara hurries through the small cottage and I follow close behind. There is barely enough space for the three of us, but it feels like home because it once was my home. A narrow cot occupies most of the room, pressed against one wall beneath a small window. Beside it sits a battered wooden table cluttered with glass vials, bundles of herbs, and a basin of cloudy water. The boy lies motionless atop the cot, barely clinging to life. The sight breaks my heart.

His cheeks are flushed an angry red, skin slick with sweat. Each breath rattles weakly in his chest, shallow and uneven, as though even drawing air has become a struggle. I’ve seen fevers before—many of them—but this is worse. So much worse. Without intervention, he won't survive the night.

I kneel beside the cot and set my satchel on the floor. The moment my hand touches the boy’s forehead, heat sears through my palm. Too hot. He’s far too hot, but beneath the fever something else lurks.

A chill snakes down my spine. I close my eyes and focus, allowing myself to feel beyond the surface. The heat is there, consuming him from within, but beneath it lies a coldness that has no place in a living body. It flows through him like tightly coiled vines, burrowing deeper with each passing moment. My eyes snap open and I gasp, looking up at Mara’s face. She looks horrified and rightly so.

“This isn't natural,” I whisper as my fingers hover over his chest. “It’s something dark.”

“He's burning on the outside, but he's freezing … ” I murmur, gently pressing a hand to his arm. I examine him carefully, checking his shallow breathing, the pallor of his skin, and the stiffness in his limbs. I notice the remedies scattered throughout the room—the damp cloth near the basin, the half-empty glasses filled with herbal mixtures, and the crushed leaves and powders spread across the table—everything tells the same story. Mara has done all she can do.

“How long has he been like this?” I find her gaze, knowing I won’t like her answer.

Mara wrings her hands, eyes darting between me and the child. “Days,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “His parents fear he doesn't have much time left, and I have to agree. What do you think is wrong with him?”

I hesitate, studying the boy. Gods above, he is so small. Many things could contribute to his condition—a fever left untreated, poor nutrition, the harsh realities of life in Elvora. But as I look at him, I know that doesn't tell the whole story. I feel the darkness lurking beneath his skin. It coils through him like black ink spilled into water, spreading outward. Most people cannot sense it. I know for a fact Mara can’t.

I reach for the boy’s wrist and feel for his pulse. It flutters beneath my fingertips, faint and uneven like the wingbeat of a whitler caught in a storm. He is fighting. A fight he will not win without help, but he’s fighting.

That’s a start.

I was never supposed to use my gift. I know my magic should remain hidden forever, a secret I carry to my grave for my own safety. My parents drilled the warning into me from the day it first appeared. Hide it, Lyra. Bury it. Let no one see what the gods placed in your hands.

But promises feel different beside a dying child.

The boy's breathing hitches—a sharp, painful sound shattering any lingering hesitation. Gently, I press my palm against his chest and close my eyes, exhaling slowly. At first, nothing happens—then warmth stirs beneath my skin. It spreads slowly, gathering strength until it pulses through my veins like liquid. I draw in a steady breath and release my magic into the boy. The darkness resists, but I push back, sending my healing magic throughout his body, attacking the source of the sickness directly.

It clings to him, burrowing deep inside his small body, fighting to remain. It pushes back against my power, attempting to latch on to me—then it breaks. Warmth floods into the boy as color returns to his cheeks. The feverish heat beneath my hand begins to ebb, replaced by the steady rhythm of a healthy heartbeat. His breathing evens out, each breath deeper than the last. Suddenly, the boy gasps and his eyes fly open. He sucks in a lungful of air and stares around the room in confusion, as though waking from a terrible dream. When I finally pull my hand away, the shining aura surrounding me vanishes, leaving a faint tremble in my fingers.

For a moment, no one speaks, then the boy looks up at me with awe. When he speaks, his voice is barely more than a rasp. “Am I dead?”

A breathless laugh escapes me. Not today, sweet child. Not today.

“No,” I tell him, brushing his damp dark hair away from his forehead. “You have several long years ahead of you, youngling.”

Mara's eyes grow wide. No matter how many dozens of people I heal, her reaction never changes.

“By the gods, Lyra, you’ve just saved his life!” she exclaims, staring at me in amazement. “Thank you, child. His family will be most grateful.” She places a hand across her heart, dipping her head slightly as she crosses herself with Illurine’s sign.

“I know magic is banned in Solaris,” she whispers venomously, “but the gods have blessed you. You were born to heal, Lyra Tarethyn. Don’t ever forget that.”

“It’s the least I can do,” I say quickly, rising to my feet.