Page 17 of By the Flames of Her Fury

Devora nodded. “Already on it. Nox and I have talked through everything. We know how much work you and Kieran both do here, but we have enough help to cover it while you’re gone.”

“And the Shattered Spine?” Arowyn pressed. “Have you thought about that? It’s still super dangerous. And we don’t know what these Triad Realm people are like. They could kidnap you to sacrifice to their fish gods.”

“It’s nice to know you care, Arowyn,” I deadpanned.

“The empress assured me that while there are still some dangers with traveling, we have crews working on making the Spine more accessible,” Nox said. “You shouldn’t have any problems there.”

I hummed. “You really have thought about everything, haven’t you?”

“If I weren’t the governor, I’d already be on that ship,” he said fiercely.

“That’s all great, but there’s only one more thing,” Arowyn said, eyebrows raised as she looked between Nox and me. “What if you do find her, and she doesn’t want to come back?”

Silence filled the room, coiling around my stomach and squeezing uncomfortably. I was prepared to fight for her, to risk dangerous borders and cross uncharted seas, to destroy anything that may cause her harm. But this was an obstacle I didn’t want to think about facing.

“I’ve always respected her wishes,” I said, fighting the urge to clench my jaw. “That won’t change. But I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try.”

Arowyn nodded in understanding, and the others looked at me with expressions of pity I so often saw. I turned my attention back to Nox, who held out his hand to me. “There’s nobody else I trust to find her, Everett. Wherever she is, just make sure she’s safe.”

I took his hand. “I will, Nox. I promise.”

Kieran stepped forward. “We both will. Through flame and ash.” The rest of us echoed the phrase, which had become the motto of the Ashen Order over the last few years.

Something stirred in my chest, clenching around my heart. Part of me had always known Vera was meant to soar beyond the boundaries of this empire, and I never wanted to get in her way. But at the end of the day, what was the point of my love if it didn’t make me move mountains to be with her?

My songbird.

And I was going to find her.

7

Everett

SEVEN YEARS AGO

“Mama, he’s gonna find me. Please don’t let him take me. Please, Mama!”

I rolled onto my side, and sharp pebbles dug into me. The girl was crying in her sleep again, her mumbled words drifting through the little hole separating our cells.

When another whimper came, I groggily dragged myself up so I could peer through it. It was hard to see much—just what was directly in front of the hole. I caught the very top of a blonde head thrashing back and forth before she stopped and rolled into a ball.

“Hey,” I whispered, not sure what made me do it. Down here, it was every man for himself. The cries of the other prisoners were a steady backdrop to this life, so frequent it didn’t even faze me anymore. I had learned to ignore it or it would make me go mad.

Until her.

“Songbird,” I tried again, using the nickname I’d given her last night. At least, I thought it had been last night. The only way to track the passing of time was when the guards brought meals twice a day—if a handful of peanuts and a cup of brown water could be called a “meal.”

Her crying stopped. She sniffed, and her head stirred from the floor.

“So…are you still alive over there?” I asked, then closed my eyes and nearly smacked myself. Four years in this pit had made me forget how to talk to a living person.

“I think so,” she responded after a minute. There was a shuffling sound, and then her golden eye appeared at the hole. “How long has it been?”

I shrugged, then realized she couldn’t see me. “A few hours, maybe. I think the guard rotation is happening soon. I counted the time between them once, and it was about thirty-six thousand seconds, give or take.” I bit down on my tongue. I hadn’t spoken that many words in years. It was like my lips were finally connecting to my brain and spewing random sentences.

“Who was that man?” she asked. “The one who stuck me with the needle. Malek something.”

Anger ignited at the sound of his name. “Malek Mortep,” I growled. “He’s Scarven’s head Alchemist. He hasn’t been here for very long. I think Scarven hired him recently.”