Page 77 of Ignite the Infernos

“What can I do?” Aeson demands, his hands moving to cup my face.

“Protect me,” I whisper, trying to add, Until I’m back, but I’ve already been yanked under the torrent of my trauma.

I’m back in the armoire with my sister, but somehow Aeson’s vow of “always” has followed me here, and the echo of his voice floats in the air around me. My father is fighting the drakes that are holding him. The queen’s arms are being held by two monsters, but she’s dropped to her knees and her forehead is pressed to the stone floor. The keening wails that escape both of them haunt me to this day. Pieces of ash float around the room. Ronin vomits from the overwhelming smell, and Novak stares in shock at a streak of blood slowly drying in front of him.

I want to throw up too, but I force it back because if we’re caught . . . My eyes stray to my brother of their own accord and something breaks inside of me, something I know can never be fixed.

Brooks, the boy whose laugh made everything better. The brother who shouted, I love you right when we first met, making our parents laugh and helping Enslee and me feel less nervous. That beautiful soul is a pile of smoldering ash. I can still make out his tormented face and the way his hands and arms tried to protect him from the fire. The air catches flakes of him and starts to carry them away. I tell myself it’s invisible fairies, collecting the pieces of my brother so they can put him back together somewhere far away, somewhere safe, somewhere he’ll never suffer again.

The memory releases me, but I come back to myself agonizingly slowly, the smell still trapped in my nose and the holes in my existence where all of my kindred should be, cavernous and searing. Aeson has pressed my face into his chest, and he’s holding me tightly. I’m clinging to him like he’s the only handhold stopping me from falling off the edge into the abyss.

“Come back to me, My Soul,” he whispers steadily in my ear. “Let me face the ghosts with you.”

With a whimper, I nuzzle closer to him, inhaling big lungfuls of his scent to chase away the lingering reek of my memories.

“I’m back,” I mumble into his chest.

“I know,” he answers, a large palm caressing my hair from crown to tip.

“How long?” I rasp, my throat tight and my chest aching as I fight back feelings I’m not safe to let loose here.

“Not long,” he assures. “They’re closing the roof now, and those that didn’t reveal are still fighting.”

“Fighting?” I question, not expecting that answer.

Aeson chuckles, and the feel of it does more to ground me than any of the techniques I’ve taught myself along the way. “Yes. Several people are trying to take swipes at Duke Dowzer, since Newden resides in his territory,” he explains, connecting the dots as my mind reboots.

“You said she had a charm or something that covered it all up. Why isn’t she wearing it?” someone demands, and my spine stiffens.

Aeson’s smile is downright virulent as I step back from him. He’s quick to help me smooth my hair, wipe the tears from my face, and adjust my clothing so that everything is once again where it’s supposed to be.

“Why is she walking around like that? It’s dangerous,” the same male shouts, and I peek around Aeson’s shoulders to find Duke Warrik, red-faced and blustering.

“Funny,” I snap, venom filling the word. “Weren’t you the one questioning my marks at your last little meeting?”

I approach the duke and the golden table he was pounding his fist on dramatically. Warrik’s irate flush deepens, and the room grows quiet.

“You wanted to look, Duke Warrik. So look. What’s the problem?” I growl, spreading my arms out and twirling so the few drakes that have managed to fight their reveal can take me in.

“We were not prepared,” Warrik stammers, his jowls shaking with his weak defense. He stands next to Lorn, and his reedy frame is laughably frail next to the large Scion.

“Yes, you were,” Lorn snaps, whirling on the duke. “My father told you that she has been mistreated. You were informed that she needed rest and time to heal. You, Duke Dowzer, and Duke Anjou pushed for this meeting against the advice of your king and Ever’s Bonded. You have it now, and this is how you behave?” Lorn growls. “You dishonor your line with such abhorrent conduct.”

Like he’s trying to avoid the blows of Lorn’s words, Warrik jerks back, his panicked gaze bouncing around the room expectantly. If there was ever anyone here that would have willingly stood up for him, they’ve flown the coop.

Duke Anjou suddenly steps forward. “Forgive me, Scioness. I will never let a lapse in judgment like this happen again,” Anjou pleads, bowing to me. His sandy blond hair curtains his face, and the little braids with crystals woven into the plaits sway with the change in position.

I stare at him, unsure what to say. I try to think of what Enslee would do in my position, but nothing comes to mind.

Shit.

I’m no good at winging the whole benevolent thing. I’m more of a cut first ask questions never kind of a girl.

“Uhhh…Do better,” I finally mutter, hoping it’s enough.

It’s not a pardon by any means, but I also want this whole fucking farce to be over with.

Anjou bows a little deeper, and then he straightens and moves to stand next to his seat. Duke Dowzer pushes away a count who’s still trying to shove him, even though the drake’s attention is trained on me and Duke Anjou. The count staggers back, and Dowzer hurries to his chair at the end of the table while straightening his clothes and running a hand through his ruffled brown hair.