Page 102 of Cursebreaker

But his throat bobs on a swallow, and the glow of his irises fades as he gets to his feet, hauling me upright. He winces at the sound that escapes me, but he doesn’t wait to see if I’m able to stand on my own before dragging me down the hallway in the direction of the east staircase.

The Manan from my blood seems to give him the energy he needs to stand, but it’s not enough to bolster his firebreather affinity. And though I was able to use the power of the Lightbringer to escape from the debris, when I try to grab hold of the Manan in the air once more, it’s like trying to spark a fire in the pouring rain.

We race through the Pearl, dodging fiery debris. It’s as if I were back in the Burning Lands with Will, choking on smoke as we wind our way through the maze of fire. My coat protects me from the worst of the blaze, and I’m thankful for the extra layer as I duck under a flaming beam that blocks our path. We’ve almost made it to the staircase when another blast rattles the palace, and the planks give way beneath me.

We stumble back just as the staircase crumbles into the raging inferno that devours the main foyer.

“We’ll have to jump!” Henry says, turning around.

It’s difficult to see, but I know we stand at the edge of the platform where a bridge, now reduced to ash, once connected this landing to the parlor beyond. It’s at least a twenty-foot drop to the jungle below. Enough to make me hesitate even if I had full use of both legs. But it’s either stay here and burn alive waiting for a rescue that may never come or jump and pray that we’re able to make our way to the beach.

I take Henry’s hand and give it a squeeze. He squeezes back.

We jump.

My gut twists, but there’s little time to think about the fall before we’ve made impact with the ground. A sharp pain shoots up my tailbone, and it feels as if my leg has been ripped in half, but when I blink through the haze of smoke, I see that I’m still in one piece.

With one hand, Henry attempts to hold the fire at bay, forming a wall of flames on every side, and with the other, he struggles to help me to my feet. But it’s no use.

I can’t tell if I’m dizzy from the lack of oxygen or the loss of blood. Probably both.

I hardly feel his touch as Henry hoists me into his arms and carries me through the jungle—the jungle, where the fire continues to spread, not the beach. Why aren’t we headed toward the beach?

“Underlings!” he hisses. “Too many of them. We’ll need to—” He coughs, wheezes. “We’ll need to find another way out.”

He stumbles, his entire body vibrating from the effort it takes to keep the fire from engulfing us. A few times, the flames lash out and he whimpers, but he never stops moving. I struggle to force my eyes open, but Henry keeps shouting at me through gritted teeth, urging me to stay awake. I’m not sure how long he can continue like this. I can feel the inferno pressing in as Henry taps the last drop of Manan from his veins. He stumbles, and I know, as we lurch forward, that we may never get up again.

We land in a clearing near a cluster of homes on the outskirts of Ember.

My vision tilts as I throw myself over Henry’s body, checking for his pulse. It beats steadily at his throat.

His eyelids flutter, and he wheezes. “I guess—we’re—even,” he says just before he loses consciousness once more, and a sob escapes my lips like a strangled imitation of laughter. We’ve escaped the roar of the fire that consumes the Pearl only to be met with a new form of terror in the jungles of Ember.

And we’re not alone.

Bodies litter the undergrowth, limbs strewn haphazardly about the jungle floor. Blood splashes the leaves, sprays the tree trunks, washing everything crimson. At the center of the carnage, a Gore turns to face us, a leg dangling from its jaws.

I unsheathe the dagger strapped to my thigh.

The Gore laughs.

But it doesn’t advance. And a pathetic wail escapes my lips when I see why.

“Child of the sea,” comes a familiar, smoky voice. “We meet again.”

I would recognize the Sylk that killed Owen—the Sylk that haunted me during the months I spent at Bludgrave Manor—by its voice alone. But I’m not prepared to face the host it’s chosen to possess.

Orella stalks toward me, her crown of seashells askew, eyes gleaming red.

“No!” I cry, hot, angry tears burning my cheeks. “Let her go!” I scream. “Let her go!”

Orella cocks her head, a wicked smile curling her lips. “With pleasure.”

Shadows seep from her flesh as the Sylk departs, taking possession of a nearby corpse, and Orella’s body hits the ground with a dull thud.

I lurch to my feet, swaying, and strike at the Sylk’s new host, but I’m unsteady, and it dodges with little effort.

The corpse shakes its head, tsking. “Not quite,” comes the voice of the Sylk. “Keep trying.”