Page 50 of Ignite the Infernos

“Why the fuck didn’t he know what it was, Tove?” I roar. “It’s your job, Seeder, to know what kind of flora exists here. You’re the one who’s supposed to warn your Heart and your wing what they’re up against in any given terrain. Why didn’t they know?” I demand. “What kind of evil, dimwitted bitch does that to her Heart?”

The cave goes silent, and Tove stares at me aghast, like it hadn’t dawned on her for even a second that there was anyone else to blame for what happened. Or that the picture she’d painted in her head about me might be wrong.

I stop fighting Ogdan and watch Tove as reality sinks in. Will she be like Amadi and build an existence of blaming everyone else for her problems? Or will she own her actions and do better, showing that she’s someone worth caring about, someone with integrity?

“Tove, go check on Chastain,” Ogdan orders, the resonant command breaching the mounting silence. He drops his hold from around me and puts space between us. Not so much that I could make a run for it, but enough to show a minuscule amount of deference.

Tove’s gaze is distressed when it snaps to Ogdan. Something is silently exchanged between the two, and then Tove turns and strides off without another word. Ogdan turns back to me, and I can feel his stare on the side of my face.

“While we’re on the subject,” I say, my eyes fixed on the path Tove just disappeared down, “I flew next to Jori for ages and he didn’t notice. I had to hit him with a helmet to finally get his attention. He’s going to get himself or someone else killed if he doesn’t sort out his situational awareness.”

“Any other gratuitous assessments of my Wing?” Ogdan inquires wryly.

“Well, since you asked?” I quip, turning toward him.

He sighs and gives me a look that asks, What am I going to do with you? If he wants an answer though, he’ll need to look elsewhere, because these days I have no fucking clue what I’m doing with myself.

“Ever, are you going to cooperate while we escort you back to Four Tiers?” Ogdan asks. “That means no revealing and trying to fly away. No escape attempts or running. No antagonizing the commander or the rest of the Wing.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the last part, and exhale an exasperated breath instead. “Cross my heart and hope to fly,” I say and draw an X over my heart.

“Pretty sure it’s hope to die,” Karis points out, as though he just remembered he could speak.

“You’d think so,” I mutter to myself.

“I need to hear you say it, Scioness,” Ogdan declares, and this time I do roll my eyes.

“I won’t reveal, I won’t try to escape in any form, I’ll keep my hands and words to myself, unless provoked otherwise.”

Ogdan surveys my face once more and then allows an easy smile to slip across his. “Good enough, lass.”

With that, he starts down the path Tove just took, gesturing for me to follow. Karis looms behind me as I go, and I say a quiet goodbye to the caves I spent so many years laughing and playing in. I can almost hear our shouts and chortles as we played hide-and-seek and argued about how to install the pulley system and get the crystals just right.

I squint against the bright sun when Ogdan guides me out onto the ledge where Tove, Chastain, and Jori are all waiting with . . . a Span Crafter from the smell of him. I don’t see any focus stones, so we must be magically rawdogging it back to their camp.

“Frills!” Chastain cheers, and the jovial greeting surprisingly takes some of the edge off the anger and apprehension churning through me. “I ate a beetle because of you,” the Channeler admonishes playfully with a wag of his finger.

I wince and give him an understanding look of sympathy. “Yeah, they’re not too good when they’re raw. If you smoke ’em and get a good char though, it improves the texture a ton.”

The Span Crafter stops doing whatever he’s doing with his hands and looks over at me, horrified. I glance around and see similar shock and revulsion painted across the faces of everyone else. I shrug awkwardly and ignore it, choosing to take in the canyon beyond.

“Ready,” Jori calls out not too much later, and I turn and get my first glance at where we’re headed.

Only it’s not their camp that’s magically coalescing in front of me, it’s Four Tiers. I inhale a deep breath and promise myself, whatever happens on the other side of this portal, I will do whatever it takes to find my Flight, reveal my dragon, and protect the other Syphons. I’ll do it on my own terms this time, with new rules of engagement, and I won’t be taking any prisoners.

Chapter 23

Ever

A CHILL SKATES ACROSS MY skin, weaving its way in and out of the goose bumps that have taken up permanent residence across my limbs. I try to rub warmth into my arms, but it only seems to drain me of what little energy and patience I have left.

It’s cold in Four Tiers, even colder in King’s Keep with the higher elevation and the icy touch of the waterfalls. I tilt my head back and rest it against the stone chair I’m perched in. Through the high glass ceiling, I watch as the gray, listless clouds roll by and try to remember snow. I played in it once, but I only remember kicking it around and marveling at the boot prints Enslee and I stamped around before our mother called us in for the night. I’m sure there were other storms, other days filled with boot prints, red cheeks, and giggles, but they’re lost to me now, buried beneath mountains of dark sand and even darker desolation.

Moths scuttle about in my stomach when the sound of distant footfalls registers. I sit up and expectantly look toward the raised balcony in front of me. There are no stairs connecting my lower deck with the upper one, and the railing between the floors looks more like a footrest as opposed to something designed to keep people from falling. A large stone throne sits front and center, and on each side of it a handful of mini thrones fan out in an arc toward me.

It’s a Hall of Justice—one of the smaller ones, anyway. I recognize it from some of the recordings I watched of the sentences handed down after the sorcai and wyvern rebellion. Drawing closer, the heavy tread is like a death knell. Tension moors me to my seat, while my pulse ascends to the ceiling and starts tapping on the glass in search of a way out. I’ve watched quite a few trials occur in rooms like this; it never ends well for the person sitting in my seat.

I gulp down my trepidation and hold my head high. I consider pulling my hair down from my messy updo to look more presentable, but dismiss that in favor of having my dragon mark visible from all angles. With a boom that makes me start in my seat, a door off to the side of the balcony opens.