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I won’t.
I force my lungs to draw in air, ignoring the smell of burnt hair, and open my eyes. There is no fire beyond the sconce. There are no bodies on the ground, broken, burned, and forgotten. Everything I feel is in my head, which means I can control what happens next.
I can concede and flee Overburn like the torches want, like I probablyshoulddo.
Or I can say fuck it.
What’s the worst that will happen? I die? I’d rather feel the cold blade of the Grim Reaper and know its touch was earned than live with the guilt of giving up. Graves doesn’t deserve my death, but if the stars decide it’s my time, then so be it.
I don’t hesitate a second longer before stepping into the arch and putting myself at the mercy of the blue light.
Ithought I knew what pain was, but thediscomfortI felt before being immersed in the glow of this ancient magic is nothing compared to the torture I feel when the blue light unearths the worst day of my life. My skin burns from the inside out. Heat melts the cold air around me, and condensation bubbles on my cloak.
The sensation swallows me.
I’m drowning in it.
There is no pain as cruel as the kind caused by being burned alive. My mind’s instinct is to find safety, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m stuck in the past and present, tortured by what the flames assume is my greatest weakness.
But this ancient magic doesn’t know me, and it sure as hell doesn’t control me. I was born from fire and will never again die by its hand.
The heat beneath my skin licks my veins as the magic claws at my darkest secret. I wiggle my fingers, feeling a cold burn crawl up my arms. For once, I welcome the sensation, and a small smile tugs at my lips becausethisfeeling is one I’m familiar with. There’s a reason I keep this part of me locked away, and it’s about to find out why.
The torches’ magic must sense the change because its blue hues recoil back to its base, taking its suffering along with it. Fresh pine replaces the scent of melted flesh, and a cool winter breeze swallows the sticky heat. It’s striking how vastly different the night is from the hell the ancient magic plunged me into.
I glare at the fire, letting my fury bleed into the air. The torches’ bright blue glow shrivels into a candlewick glow, opening a dark path beneath the lichen-covered arch for me to pass through.
I acknowledge the fire with a passing glance and the torch I look to nearly goes out. It holds the slightest glow in its bracket, not even bright enough to shine outside its holder. I don’t know if I’m proud to have overcome the protection spell or pissed that the ancient magic tried to kill me, but I do know one thing. There is no denying I’m a Daughter of Legend.
A Cerise.
A witch to those who don't know the term.
But by the Cauldron of Life, if this is any indication, I am not evil.
All of it, the heat, the pain, the tingling, vanishes the moment I cross through the archway. The rush of so much magic passing through my body is exhausting, and the condensation the flames created has turned my cloak from a warm reprieve from the night air to a cold blanket I am forced to carry. But I’m alive.
And I have questions.
Too bad there isn't a soul alive willing to answer them. King Travers put a bounty on the heads of all Creatures of Legend when I was a girl, and anyone who sympathized with my kind was slaughtered as a warning.
Defend us and die.
Take us to his soldiers and relish in the spoils.
I have no illusions about what happens when a Cerise is brought to a guard. We’re killed. Sometimes publicly. Other times, in the quiet of the night, somewhere deep within the woods or the dungeons of one of the King’s many castles so that the civilians can’t hear our screams. As horrible as that fate is, I’d rather those options than the blind killings where King Travers’s guards massacre villages of innocent people because they assume the residents are sympathizers.
I adjust the hood of my cloak, covering as much of my face as possible, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. I stop just before the first row of tents beside this path and look around. The trees are quiet, not even a breeze to rustle the leaves, but I can sense a being. I don’t know where he is or what his intentions are, but I know someone is out there.
Watching me.
I close my eyes, feeling my heart pounding, as I open my senses to my surroundings again. Of all my gifts, this is the only ability I’m not afraid to use.
It’s safe.
Unlike the rest of my powers.
Shadows dance and twist in the darkness, weaving an intricate web of secrets around me, similar to what happened earlier but not as intense. The forest comes alive with my magic’s touch, pulsating with the rapid beats of concealed hearts that shimmer like bursts of crimson fire. I watch them, noting their distance, trying to determine which flicker set my senses into overdrive.
