Page 12 of By the Flames of Her Fury

My fingers balled into fists beneath the sheets. There it was again—another solution. Another fix. I didn’t know when Everett and my brother would realize sleeping wasn’t the problem. I was.

“I don’t need some ridiculous tea, Everett,” I barked. “I just need you to leave me alone.”

He flinched, and it was like a punch to my gut. Shame instantly flooded me, and I sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry,” I said, bolting upright in the bed. Unwanted tears stung the backs of my eyes. I hated when I snapped at him like this.

“I’m so sorry. I’m just tired,” I whispered as I wrapped my arms around his neck. His hands fell to my back, hesitant at first, then gripping tight. “I’m sorry, Swift. I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured into my hair. He always said that. “I understand. Things will get better, I promise.”

But they didn’t, and I loved him too much to make him watch me fall apart. So I ran. Maybe Starke was right—I was always chasing the next thing, always running, always searching. That was the only way I knew how to live. Because if I stayed still for too long…I was afraid I’d keep shattering, until there was nothing left of me to hold.

5

Everett

“Rett! Rett! We need you,” a small voice cried out, muffled behind the bedroom door. “Teller’s having a bad dream again!”

I closed my eyes and rested my head against the doorframe. I hadn’t slept in thirty hours. It was just one of those weeks here at the Keep. My friend Tessa liked to blame it on the full moon—the children were restless and emotions ran high, causing their magic to sometimes get a little hectic.

I gently pushed open the door to the bunk room, where six of the children who lived at the Keep slept. Sure enough, little Teller was thrashing around on his bottom bunk, wolf claws breaking through his fingers and shredding his bedding as he slept.

I crossed to his side and knelt, wooden floorboard creaking beneath me. “Shh, Teller, it’s alright. You’re safe here.” I continued to murmur a string of reassurances as I took his hand, carefully avoiding the claws.

Calling on my Illusionist power, I sent calming visions into his mind. I envisioned a beautiful landscape overlooking the mountains of our province, Drakorum, with loving hands cocooning him as a breeze rolled over his skin. There was a tug behind my eyes as the illusion passed to Teller. I waited for a moment, hoping that would be enough to calm his dream, but his muscles were as rigid as ever. He tossed his head, letting out a whimper.

Sometimes the visions weren’t enough. Sometimes they needed something stronger. Gripping his hand, I took several deep breaths. I emptied my mind and imagined myself stepping forward into the darkness of Teller’s subconscious, as if I was stepping off the end of a staircase.

I was suddenly standing inside a cell. Stone walls towered above me, with chains rattling on the ground and the sour scent of sweat and piss overpowering my senses. To my left sat Teller in a torn, gray rag drooping from his shoulders. His mop of blond hair hung in his eyes, which were red and swollen.

His gaze widened when he saw me. “Wh-who are you?”

“I’m Everett,” I said softly, “Do you remember me?” His eyes remained blank. “This is just a nightmare, Teller. You’re safe in bed back at the Keep. Nobody can⁠—”

Someone shook the cell bars behind me. I whirled around and came face-to-face with pale skin, near-white eyes, and a wild mane of black hair.

Malek Mortep.

White-hot, curdling hatred rose in my chest, searing my throat. I bared my teeth as I grabbed the metal bars separating us, but he couldn’t see me. The edges of his thin lips curved as his eyes narrowed on the boy.

Calm down, Everett. This is a dream. You’ll scare Teller.

I crossed back to Teller and crouched beside him. His eyes were glued to Mortep as the Alchemist opened the cell doors. “This isn’t real, Teller,” I whispered. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Hello, little one,” Mortep crooned. “Ready for dinner?” He raised a syringe and tapped it with his finger, sloshing the murky liquid inside. Teller tried to scuttle backward, but his back hit the wall.

I could simply douse him with cold water to force him to wake up, but if I learned anything in the years I’d been working with these victims, it was that if I didn’t let them fight their own battles and figure their trauma out for themselves, I’d end up back in this bunk room tomorrow night.

Teller was a nine-year-old orphan my friends and I had rescued a year and a half ago from the clutches of Kane Scarven, our province’s previous governor. Scarven kidnapped and tortured citizens of the Veridian Empire for years to run vile experiments on their magic. Teller had undergone severe testing under him and his head Alchemist, Malek Mortep.

I stepped in front of dream-Mortep, right in Teller’s line of sight. His terrified gaze met mine. “Listen to me, Teller,” I started, bending low. “You went through something terrible. I know this man hurt you. I know he scared you, and it’s okay to still be scared. These memories will be with you forever, but that doesn’t mean they have to control you.”

He took a shuddering breath before his eyes flickered back to Mortep. I kept going. “Do you remember what happened after this? After all the scary tests and big needles?” Teller looked at me, and I gave him a hopeful smile. “You were saved. You got out of here. You started a new life with people just like you, who love you and want to take care of you. Do you remember that?”

Teller pushed back his hair, the chains at his wrist clanging together. I saw the number branded into his forearm just like mine, along with all the little scars and needle pricks on his pale skin. I forced down a fresh wave of anger.

“Everett?” he croaked out with a big sniff.

I nodded. That was progress. “Yes, I’m Everett. You see? This is all a dream.” I held out a hand. “Can I show you something?”