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F RELL GRIPPED THE chair’s arms to withstand the fiery pain. Sweat beaded his brow and ran in rivulets down his face. He panted out his agony through clenched teeth.

He fixed his gaze on the cramped room’s tiny hearth. The small attic croft sat high atop a chandlery shop. The space normally smelled of honeycomb and lavender, all rising through the floorboards from the vats of molten beeswax cooking below.

Only now the air reeked of charred skin.

Smoke of his own seared flesh sifted in a curl from where his foot rested atop a stool. The hot iron had been pressed hard against his sole, at the tender arch. Frell swore it burned down to the bone.

Finally, Symon removed the iron’s fiery tip from Frell’s flesh, but it still felt like the brand was there, scorching away. “All done.”

The man stood, leaned over, and shook his hand. “Frell hy Mhlaghifor, welcome to the Razen Rose.” He lifted the branding iron and showed the glowing petals of the same bloom. “With this mark, all ties to lands, loyalties, and devotions are burned away and forfeit.”

Frell nodded, having already sworn as such. Here was the true reason he had stayed behind in Azantiia. He had intended to secretly join the Razen Rose. To use their resources. To gain their spread of spies and allies. But mostly he found himself best aligned with this shadowy group.

Symon straightened. “We’ll get you balms to help you heal without any festering. But nothing for the pain. Until it scars, let each step remind you of your oath, so it burns as deeply into your heart as the fire did into your sole.”

With the deed done, Symon sank to a chair by the hearth. He set about tamping leaf into a pipe. “Let us discuss our strategies going forward. The Rose recognizes a narrow window to achieve our goals. Eligor still recuperates. And Nyx’s group is still three months out before they reach the Crown. With the location of the turubya key known, we must not sit idle.”

Frell nodded. “I will continue my research into The Fist. But none dare enter that mountain unless they have the strength of a fully empowered Kryst or can commune with the dangerous horde who haunt that fiery peak.”

“I don’t disagree. But we know the threat that the new Vyk dyre Rha poses to the world. She had been enslaved in the past to Eligor. If he succeeded millennia ago, then he has the knowledge to do so again. This must not be allowed to happen.”

“Then what do we do?” Frell pressed him.

“We wait for our moment, force it if we must.” He stared hard at Frell. “But know this. We cannot let either side secure the key. It must be ours. We cannot leave the fate of our future, the fate of the world, to shining bronze or to shadow queens.”

Frell slowly nodded.

Symon used the hot brand to light his pipe—then pointed the fiery iron rose at Frell. “If need be, both must be killed.”