Page 43 of Embers of Ruin

“There it is. The charm this kingdom clearly adores.” I cross my arms over my chest. I'm done being ordered around.

His gaze returns to mine. “You brought life here yesterday, and you are going to do it again.”

“Yes, I did. Accidentally. I lost control.”

“Then do it deliberately,” he says simply.

“I don’t intend to build your dream garden, Thorin.”

“I will give you one more opportunity. Press your hand to the ground, and use your magic.”

“I refuse. My magic isn’t yours to command.”

“Ah, I see. You need motivation.” He says it so quietly only I can hear. “Do you know what your problem is, Lyra?”

I don't answer. I just watch him, my fists clenched so tightly my nails bite into my palms.

“You lack conviction.” The single word lands like a blade, and I flinch. “Perhaps I should give you some.”

He tilts his head, his silver eyes lingering on me as though weighing a decision. A heartbeat passes before he turns his head slightly. “Briar.” He lifts a hand in a small gesture. Briar immediately breaks away from his conversation with Onyx and strides toward us.

“Lady Tarethyn needs a healthy dose of motivation. Given what I know about her unwavering morality, I'm afraid I will have to use you as incentive.”

“How can I assist, Your Maj⁠—”

Thorin's shadows lash out before I can even gasp.

They wrap around Briar's throat, hauling him off the ground as his hands claw uselessly at the darkness. The shadows writhe around him like living smoke, coiling and uncoiling as they tighten around his throat. Darkness spills across the garden, swallowing the torchlight. Thorin doesn’t so much as glance at Briar.

His eyes remain fixed on me.

“Thorin! What are you doing?!” I scream, watching in horror as Briar tries and fails to break free of Thorin’s shadows.

My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears. This is exactly what Thorin wants. He has backed me into a corner where there is only one choice. I can refuse…but if I do, Briar dies. If I use my magic, I can save him. I don't particularly like any of the guards in this palace, with the exception of Onyx, but I won’t have anyone’s death on my conscience.

“Touch the earth, Lyra. It’s simple. Make something grow—or I will kill Briar. See? Simple. The decision is yours to make.”

Briar's boots kick helplessly above the ground. Every strained breath, every desperate pull against the shadows twists something inside me tighter and tighter until I can't tell where my panic ends and my magic begins.

Something gives. I shove past Thorin and slam my palm against the earth. My eyes find his. “I pray Illurine never welcomes you to her gates, you evil bastard.” The words leave my mouth as something inside me tears open.

Heat surges through my veins, so fierce it steals the air from my lungs. It races down my arm and bursts from my palm, flooding into the earth beneath me. Golden light fractures through the black soil in jagged veins, splitting the ground as it races outward before sinking deep below the surface. The glow lingers for only a heartbeat, pulsing beneath my hand like the land itself has found a heartbeat. I force every ounce of myself toward a single point beneath the dead rosebush.

Live.

For one terrifying heartbeat… Nothing. Then the earth trembles beneath my palm and a thread of green breaks through the black soil. It rises slowly at first, unfolding from the earth with impossible determination until a single tender sprout stands against the dead garden, alive.

The warmth inside me sputters, then fades, leaving me breathless. Thorin’s shadows disappear as abruptly as they came as Briar crumples to the ground, catching himself on his hands as a harsh gasp tears from his lungs. He coughs violently, dragging desperate breaths into his chest before pressing a trembling hand to his throat.

“You have my apologies, Briar.” His voice remains calm. “I trust Lady Tarethyn has learned the lesson. I would rather not repeat it.”

Silence settles over the Sacred Gardens. I glance toward Onyx, who watches Thorin with his jaw set hard, the muscle ticking beneath his cheek. It seems he meant what he said the day he dragged me from Elvora.

This gives me all the more reason to trust him.

CHAPTER 12

Afew weeks in the Shadow King’s palace have taught me several important things. First, I should never, ever trust the Shadow King. Second, I know I'm only here because of what my specific magic can do. I just don't know what he intends to do with it. Why else would he have me breathing life into a dead garden, pushing my magic further every day?