Page 32 of Ignite the Infernos

“Where is her dragon mark? Are we sure we’re not all being played?” Duke Warrik interjects, and the ire mounting in the room shifts to him.

“She bears a dragon mark, and an Oric confirmed her lineage, not that anyone needs to do anything other than look at her to see the resemblance to Merik,” my father answers, his patience suddenly thin. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Warrik cuts him off.

“Where?” the Burner demands. “None of us saw one at her Naming, and there was very little hidden by that dress she wore.”

I’m across the table and reaching for Duke Warrik’s throat before his face can even register a sliver of surprise. Arms that feel more like a steel band wrap around my chest, and before I crush the insolent Burner’s windpipe in my palm, I’m pulled away. A growl that promises nothing but pain rips out of my throat, and the duke finally seems to register the danger he’s in. He scrambles out of his chair, and retreats as far away from me as he can get. Lorn is suddenly by my side, and my father steps into view, trying to block Warrik from my line of sight. It does nothing to calm my rage, and when the duke indignantly begins to stammer his objections to my behavior, my answering bellow shakes the chandeliers until they’re clattering and chiming a warning high above.

My eyes are ablaze with fury as I set my sights on the Burner. “Keep your filthy fucking eyes off my mate, or I’ll remove them from your insolent head. Do you hear me!”

Warrik’s stare is wide and his features are florid with both shock and outrage. He looks around the room in search of support, but not one drake jumps to his defense.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Lorn orders quietly in my ear.

I nod and then tap the arms caging me in twice, and Duke Bleddyn immediately releases his hold. Lorn guides me quickly toward the doors, and I follow him without a fight. In three strides, I’m out of the stifling melee of the chamber and stepping into the bright hallway beyond.

“What happened?” Ogdan demands, his gray eyes bouncing from me to the closing chamber doors as he and Sondar quickly flank me.

“Just our revered scion letting the dukes know they can only push him so far,” Lorn answers, and I shake my head.

“I probably just played right into their hands,” I assess, stomping farther away from the Conclave while trying and failing to shake off my rage.

“It’s fine,” Lorn assures me. “You know Dad will make it work in our favor. They’ll stop asking questions that we can’t answer, and you just proved that your bond is working exactly as it should by making you a territorial psycho. Just go, I’ll fill you in on anything else that happens.”

I nod, and with a comforting slap on my back, my brother returns to the Conclave and hurriedly disappears back through the doors.

I fume in silence as I retrace my steps back to the dock. Thankfully, the air gondola is still waiting, and we quickly file in. The hatch seals, and the second we’re airborne, I fill the airboat with an enraged shout that purges every ounce of fury from my smoldering depths. The glass encasing the airboat rattles but holds, and I start to pace.

“They’re going to challenge me for Ever,” I finally confess when we’re halfway back to the travel station. I start ripping off my clothes, starting with this infernal cape. “They aren’t saying it outright yet, but they’re laying the groundwork. They’ve already started to sow seeds of doubt.”

Growls spill out of both Ogdan and Sondar, and their rumble of support is exactly what I need to finally harness my anger and channel it into something useful. I need a plan, because I will not let this bloody happen.

“Fucking bastards,” I snarl, running my fingers through my gritty hair. “They’ve got me behaving like a feral dragon over a bond with someone who might just slit our throats when we least expect it.”

“Nah,” Ogdan counters. “Ever’s the type to slit your throat while looking you dead in the eye,” he jokes, and I can’t help but huff out a laugh.

Stars, I wish that didn’t entice me the way it does. All of this would be so much easier if I could just stay mad. Ever more than deserves it, and yet I can’t help hoping on some level there’s a redeeming explanation that make sense of everything.

I’ve stewed in my feelings for days, brined in the betrayal, and steeped myself in hurt, but what kind of monster pulls their enemies from the wreckage? What class of conniving fiend checks your pulse and ensures you’re breathing when they could have just as easily ended you right then and there? Do evil people whisper their secrets to you while holding your hand? Do they look as lost and resigned as Ever did right before she walked away?

My head and my heart are divided. One is for the Syphon, the other against, and they like to swap sides regularly just to fuck with me. I feel like I’m losing my mind, and the only cure is a fire-haired female with a mouth on her that could make a dead man blush, and an alarming preoccupation with fighting and weapons, not necessarily in that order.

I exhale a deep breath and call my scale armor. I roll my neck and swing some of the stiffness from my shoulders and arms. Trouble is closing in fast, and I need a plan, but first I need to find Ever. And we’re getting close . . . I can fucking feel it.

Chapter 15

Aeson

THE AIR GONDOLA LANDS IN the royal sector of the travel station. Ogdan and Sondar escort me toward the jump portal, and Sondar gives the waiting sorcai the coordinates to our destination. The Span Crafters hurry to manipulate their magic, linking the focus stones of the arch here with the stones that were recently activated in the northwest corner of The Scorch.

I haven’t set foot in the new camp Herm and Blay have been organizing for the last few days. I was headed there this morning when the summons from the Conclave arrived. I look up through the glass ceiling of the station and realize I was sitting in that meeting longer than I thought. It felt like minutes, but it’s afternoon already.

The loam hounds were released in the new sector this morning, and the last I heard, things were looking promising. However, promising is a tricky asshole that’s played me for a fool one too many times. I’d like to see less promise and more progress, because fuck trying to find a needle in a haystack—this hunt is more like trying to find a drop of water in the ocean.

“Ready, Scion,” one of the sorcai declares, signaling to me and my Wing that we’re all clear.

The arch before me now frames a bright blue sky and an endless span of black sand. I give myself another second to enjoy the cool temperatures of Four Tiers, and then, with a resigned exhale, I follow Sondar into the wall of magic with Ogdan at my back. There’s barely enough time to register the tingling sensation of the sorcai cast and the pull of the portal before we’re stepping out into a solar flare masquerading as a desert.

The heat is suffocating to the point of immediate misery, and I’m not the only one that groans when we’re once again at its mercy. Instantly my sour mood ferments into overheated agitation. My affinity does its best to regulate my temperature and soothe my skin from the sun’s sudden onslaught, but it’s a battle that can’t be won in a wretched place like this.