Page 11 of Ignite the Infernos

I start to run, the terrain fighting me with each step. My feet sink into the hot, abrasive sand as it gives way to my strides only to pull my feet deeper into its clutches. Fire sears me from the inside out, and I let the inferno claim me.

One step, I’m a drake sprinting through the desert, and the next I’m an obsidian dragon taking flight. I roar as I climb into the blistering sky, the sound a declaration of my rage, my wrath, my vow. I will never give up. I will rip the deadlands apart dune by dune if that’s what it takes. Ever Tenebrae is mine, and there is nowhere she can hide that I won’t find her. I don’t care how long it takes.

Chapter 6

Ever

HOME. I’VE HEARD IT’S WHERE your heart is. I don’t know if that’s true, but if it is, I suppose it’s good my heart is a battered, broken mess. If it were whole, I couldn’t leave a piece of it in The Wells, where I grew up with my mother, or lay a different fragment to rest with my kindred in King’s Keep. Then there’s this place, the hard-won home of the Syphons. This cruel, desolate wasteland, with all its difficulties and obstacles. It isn’t the kind of place anyone wants to call home, and yet it claims quite a few shards of my shattered existence.

I stare at the hidden pathway before me and easily conjure an image of the arid valley I know exists just beyond. It’s protected by the three largest sand dunes the northwest part of The Scorch has to offer, and hidden by magic so ancient it only exists in carefully guarded stories passed down to a select few.

I’ve spent months imagining this moment, dreaming of the day I would be right here, picking my way down the path between dunes until I’m on the precipice of the place jokingly dubbed The Oven. So why, after everything I’ve done to get here, am I hesitating?

The pallet of supplies that’s once again floating behind me whirrs noisily as I stand and stare. The magi-tech isn’t faring well against the sand and sun, and the contraption whines, almost as though it’s begging for a break or pleading with me to do something . . . anything but just sit here.

Sweat spills down my body in a relentless torrent, and my skin is stiff from the continuous battle of burning and healing. The suit Nixy gave me is dead, and sadly it will stay that way until I can charge it—something I don’t have the equipment for out here. I peeled the top half down and tied it around my waist, leaving me in armored pants, a tank top, and the sky-blue scarf I’ve wrapped around my head and shoulders to help fight off the elements and conserve my magic.

I need to move. I can’t just stand here like some blinking beacon waiting to be spotted by a patrol, and yet I can’t take those last few steps. Not yet, not until it stops feeling . . . wrong.

Ren isn’t here.

My Flight isn’t here.

He isn’t here.

The home I’m walking into isn’t the home I left, and for the first time since I escaped Wistan and his Tainted, I feel that on a visceral level. I try to focus on the positive, to think about my sister and the others safe inside the wards. Yet as much as I want to see Enslee, to run into her arms and find solace in her presence, she’s the reason that Boshle, Yaira, Pier, Taylin, and Kamay are missing, and the fury I feel over that fact is overriding the relief and triumph I should be experiencing right now.

The others will be happy I’m back, I know that, and there’s so much to do as we all prepare for phase two. But we have a traitor in our midst, possibly more than one, and I have no idea who it could be. There’s zero chance I’ll be able to let my guard down until we find them, maybe not even then.

That’s the thing about trust—you offer it blindly, never thinking it will be the blade used to carve out your heart when you least expect it. Only now I know the betrayal is coming, and the anticipation of it feels like a slow slide into madness.

I hold a deep, fortifying breath in my lungs for three seconds and then slowly blow it out.

It’s time.

Before I can second-guess myself or come up with any other reasons to stall, I start down the path. The shade from the surrounding dunes drops the temperature a couple of degrees, but going from soul-melting to blood-baking isn’t much of a relief. The pallet of supplies following behind me makes a spluttering noise, like it’s asking me to wait up, but I press on despite the way the plinth is lagging. It’s made it this far; if it dies now, the others will just have to carry everything in.

I reach the magical wards faster than I thought my tired legs would carry me. The hair on my arms lifts in warning as a magic-charged static crawls over me. I shake out the sensation from my hands and pluck a dagger from my thigh. I run the sharp steel across my palm and wait a few seconds for blood to pool in the shallow wound. Stepping closer to the protective barrier, I press my hand against the wards no one can see aside from those of us who were there when they were created.

My fingers tingle and little sparks dance around the outline of my palm. The cut starts to close, and then the hard surface of the wards softens. I fill my lungs with one more bolstering breath, and then I push through the magical shield.

The cold that overwhelms me is a shock to my system. It’s like falling into a frozen lake. My body flash freezes and my lungs seize and recoil from the air’s glacial touch. The sweat on my skin becomes ice, and just when I start questioning whether I can take another second of the wards’ frigid embrace, I step out on the other side of the protections.

Sweltering heat and sand greet me once again, and the mirage of an empty valley I saw on the other side of the wards disappears to reveal the Syphon camp . . . and three crackling shock spears pointed directly at me.

“Declare yourself or fry,” a deep voice barks in warning, and it shouldn’t be the thing that fissures through my defenses to break the lock on all the emotions I’ve been keeping at bay . . . but it is.

Tears well in my eyes, and my throat constricts as I take in the three guards and the expanse of sand, metal, and canvas behind them. I open my mouth to say something, but the plinth of supplies I thought I’d abandoned suddenly smashes into the wards, and in response, the protective magic sends out a warning pulse. The defensive measure sends me careening into the sand, and I land hard with a pained groan.

“Welcome home,” I wheeze to myself, deciding to just lie where I’ve landed and let the pallet take the win.

Clearly, I learned nothing from the last time that damn thing tried to take me out. I let loose a defeated sigh and acknowledge the not-so-subtle metaphor that layers perfectly with my current situation. I’m still firmly on the side of fuck fate, but I’m not dumb enough to ignore admonitions from the universe.

Proceed with caution, and watch your fucking back.

Got it, stars, reading you loud and clear.

Bright blue fabric covers my face, and I tug the scarf down so I can see while I start to get up. For reasons I refuse to acknowledge, the sky-blue fabric caught my eye at the storehouse when I was there buying supplies. It hits me how stupid I was not to take it off before I crossed through the wards. Of course Gable, Imogen, and Sofann were on high alert.