Page 23 of Ignite the Infernos

He’s trying to be supportive, trying to find the silver lining in a situation that’s murky and dark, but his statement feels like a roundhouse kick to the gut all the same.

“The others need you now, Scioness,” he continues. “They’re looking to you for direction, which means it’s time to put all of this behind you and prepare for what’s coming.”

I’m rendered mute for a moment.

Did he really just say that to me? Like the last four and a half months were nothing more than a failed mission and now I need to get my head back in the game? I understand what he’s getting at—I’m all too aware of what’s at stake—but I’m not built to just put all of this behind me, and quite frankly, I never want to be.

Iker’s silver gaze searches mine, and my heart clenches when I realize what he’s doing. I know the look on his face. I haven’t seen it since I was young, but I recognize it. Iker’s looking for some secret phrase or emotional button he can press that will snap me back to being the dutiful heir. A weapon forged and wielded for the greater good of the queen and all Syphons, a role I’ve long accepted and stopped questioning . . . until now, because what the fuck?

“I’m allowed to process, Iker. I’m allowed to mourn,” I declare defensively.

My affronted tone has his features hardening, and I rush to throw up any and all defenses I let down to facilitate this conversation. I was stupid to think we’d get anywhere other than him trying to manipulate me. I should have known the minute he admitted to discussing this with Enslee and still choosing to push me for more that this is where we’d end up.

“Mourn her,” Iker agrees gruffly. “But don’t let her loss be in vain. Don’t hide away, licking your wounds, when there’s work to do, work that honors Ren’s sacrifice and the others’.”

I huff out a hollow laugh at his choice of words.

Licking my wounds?

If he only knew.

Disappointment bleeds into my gaze, but I shutter it behind a mask of indifference. I know better than to be surprised by his attitude. Iker and the other wyverns have never excelled at being soft or overly emotional. I’ve always chalked it up to their roles as guardians and their histories as warriors, but this . . . this is too much.

I toss Iker a lazy salute. “Got it. Good talk,” I declare before turning and walking away.

“Scioness,” he calls after me, and I can’t tell if there’s actually a note of contrition in his voice or if I just want there to be. “You need to understand—”

I tune out what he’s saying, uninterested in the bullshit justifications he wants to lob my way. “It’s fine, Iker. I’ll get back to being a good little soldier now. Thank you for reminding me of my place.”

“Ever,” he censures, no doubt shocked and affronted by my disrespect.

Well, he better get used to it. I’m not a little girl anymore, looking up at him with worshipful eyes. I’ve normalized this shit for too long. It’s time to wake all the way up and start seeing things for exactly what they are.

Kathal Noctis is the fucking king of Drameric, and he doesn’t treat his sons like they should be unfeeling robots. In fact the few times I interacted with him, King Noctis was warmer and more understanding than any of the guards from The Wells have ever been.

An earsplitting roar shatters my thoughts. I spin, prepared to find Iker as a wyvern, ready to attack, but the sound isn’t coming from him. A massive shadow stretches across the western dune, the shape rippled by the rolling sand. My gaze snaps upward, and my heart forgets to beat. A colossal teal dragon swoops overhead.

A monster.

A masterpiece.

Both.

My instincts respond of their own accord, and I duck with a gasp as though the teal dragon’s trying to snatch me where I stand. Then I remember I’m inside the wards and the dragon can’t see me, let alone take me.

Alarm stalls my steps, and shock roots me in place as I take in the enormous creature. Before I can recover, another dragon whizzes by, this one dark purple and carrying two huge boxes. Shouts sound off all around me, breaking me out of my stunned stupor. Adrenaline floods my system, and I sprint for the stack, my thoughts reeling.

The Horde is here.

And we are not fucking ready.

Chapter 12

Ever

I RACE FOR THE STACK of shipping containers the Syphons have fashioned into a home, leaping for the top edge of the closest one. The metal is warm against my palms, but thankfully not searing, and I hurriedly pull myself up and then jump for the roof edge of the next assembled layer. Level by level, I scale the stack faster than I ever have before—thank you, new dragon strength. I swing up onto the summit of shipping containers just as the dark purple dragon sets down its cargo near the ridges in the distance. The teal dragon also sets down a gigantic box, one I didn’t notice it was carrying until now.

Unnerved, I scan the sky for more of The Horde, but it’s clear of clouds and other monsters at the moment. Ignoring the cold dread collecting at my nape, I turn to Vasu, the guard on watch this morning, and hold out my hand.