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Ember by ember, their cage diminished before Smokeshadows swallowed them entirely, blocking out the rest of the world until it was just him and her and their syncing breaths.

Garrik didn’t remove his hands. “That is right,” he praised on a murmur. “Keep breathing.”

“Did I”—her lips trembled between the whisper—“h—hurt”—her balance went unsteady—“k—kill?—”

“No. We are all still alive.” Garrik brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Sorry, you did not kill me this time,” he joked with a trembling grin. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Garrik lifted her by the waist as he stood and pulled her to her feet. Steadying her on shaking knees, he scanned down her body.

“I’m fine.” Alora’s words slurred, and she pushed away from the High Prince with what little energy she had left. The movement caused her head to spin as if all the blood was draining—rapidly.

Only it was not her head that was bleeding.

Droplets fell onto her boot in a rhythmic cadence.

Within one step, the darkness circled her vision. Leaving nothing but the sound of her name on the High Prince’s lips before she collapsed into his arms.

Alora.

It’s said that a battle is easier to fight on the outside. Slashing blades against flesh and fighting to the bitter end across a bloodied battlefield piled with corpses. An honorable way to die. But when you’re at war with your own mind, your own heart … the demons haunt with the pain of the past. Nipping at your heels. Slowly chipping away at your broken pieces and leaving permanent scars. Unapologetically, ruthlessly, eatingaway everything you once were until you’ve broken so far down that the only place to go is the dirt below your feet.

That is worse than death.

That is what she felt.

Living death.

Alora was certain her eyes would never open again as she lay in a cloud of nothingness. Her mind suspended outside of her body. The will to convince her limbs to move a far-off whisper.

It was all a dream, right? The training. Jade. Her fire …

Stars above, burn me.

Her fire …

Everyone had seen her. What had she done?

Underneath the heaviness of the blackened abyss, Alora breathed out a quiet groan as consciousness crept in. The feeling in her hands and feet flowed from the faintest of sensation to a warmth covering her like dust on an abandoned redwood chest.

Her aching head rested on clouds, her body, too.

She knew one thing for certain at that moment; she wasn’t dead. And it wasn’t the glow of moonlight and starflames in the Stars Eternal kissing her eyelids.

Again a whimper escaped her dried lips when her aching fingers flinched against soft furs of … of a bed.

Alora stiffened, but at least her heart beat once again, unlike those long moments in the arena where she was unsure whether she was dead or alive.

Metallic thumps on wood startled her. The rushing of what sounded like water streamed into a dense pool shortly after.

The bed sank by her side; the wooden frame creaked from the weight.

She drew a sharp breath when a pleasantly cold, wet cloth was draped across her fevered forehead.

“Welcome back.” A cold thumb brushed her cheek, the High Prince’s calm voice breaking through the darkness. It was nearlysoothing, if not for the small hint of unease that lay within the words.

His darkened silhouette was outlined in her spotting vision. Then, the soft glow of the sun against white canvas. The rays shining through the entrance in a smoky breeze. Her upper armor, sword, and dagger had been shed. Discarded in the shadows beside the door.

She was in his tent.