Page 28 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Orange and red streamed from her palm, engulfing the small patch. It burned instantly, the snow around it melting and revealing more decayed patches of earth.

“Good,” Kayson said, taking a step backward. “Now turn it off. Draw it back in.”

“Turn it off?” she repeated. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“You see the flame pouring out of your fingers; now, will it back in. Tell it to retreat. Imagine yourself pulling your hands from the molten flame and the reservoir disappearing.”

Her hands started straining, her head ringing. Stop , she demanded inside her mind.

But the flames didn’t listen, only seeming to burn brighter. More snow melted, more grass burned. Her hand was shaking now, embers swaying with every movement. “I can’t get it back,” Arenna hissed through her teeth.

Her body felt hot. Her vision muddled.

“Breathe,” Kayson instructed, his voice calm. “You can will it back; you just need to stay calm. You are the master; do not let the flame control you.”

She felt it then, the depth of her power plummeting into her very being.

There was so much raw, uncontrolled energy dwelling within her, beating through her veins.

It felt like claws raking down her brain, leaving a stinging flame in their wake.

She sensed the desire within her power, a need to take over.

And then it did.

Flames seared from her hands, blazing into the trees ahead and bathing the ground in gold. The dead trunks caught instantly, embers racing across bark as fire consumed the forest with ravenous urgency.

Panic surged through her as she turned, horrified by the destruction she’d unleashed. Arenna sucked in a breath, shaking her hands as if she could fling the flames away. “ Kayson ,” she rasped, voice trembling. “Tell me what to do.”

An agonized groan rang out behind her, and Arenna spun, terrified at the sound. Kayson fell to his knees in the snow, his back to her. Flames surrounded him, kissing the collar of his tunic and burning the patches of earth peeking through the snow beside him.

“ No ,” she whispered. As if her magic recognized the pain in her heart, fire winked out. It vanished from the trees, the bushes, and her hands.

Arenna rushed to his side, grabbing a handful of powdery snow and pressing it against his neck. He lurched forward, a scream forming and dying in his throat.

Despite his violently trembling body, Arenna held him steady in the snow, refusing to let him slip from her grasp. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind— burns need cold, as quickly as possible . They didn’t have water, but the snow would have to be enough.

She pressed him gently into the frozen ground, hoping it would draw out some of the heat. “I know it hurts,” Arenna whispered, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead.

Kayson flinched.

“I have healing herbs in my pack,” she said, standing. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Arenna barely made it four steps before a strangled sound followed her. She turned just in time to see the emissary’s eyes roll back in his head as his body slumped sideways in the snow.

Cursing under her breath, Arenna rushed to her pack and tore it open, digging through the stolen supplies from Aiwin. Her hands fumbled through the mess of items until she found a roll of bandages and a small tin of crushed herbs.

She grabbed a cloth and her waterskin, soaking the fabric until water dripped between her fingers. Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst from her chest.

Clutching the supplies, she sprinted back through the snow, nearly slipping in her haste.

Dropping to Kayson’s side, Arenna drew her dagger and carefully cut away the scorched remnants of his leather shirt.

Breathing became difficult.

Burns marred his chest and arms. The left side of his neck and the underside of his jaw were red and bubbling, and she had caused this.

Her lack of strength, of control—her failure to take accountability—had nearly killed Kayson.

Swallowing the clog in her throat, Arenna opened his mouth and placed a leather strap between his teeth. “This is going to hurt,” she whispered.

Taking a deep breath, Arenna pressed the soaking cloth against his burns.

Water sizzled on his hot flesh, and Kayson jolted forward, clutching her forearms to stop her. He spat out the leather strap, seething. “ What —” His eyes flickered between her and her hands, taking in the healing items scattered around them. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you,” Arenna replied. “I know what I’m doing.” She grabbed the leather strap, holding it out to him. “Quit acting like a child and put this back in.”

Kayson’s eyes flared, his jaw tightening. No words were needed for Arenna to sense his fury; he wanted her dead, and wanted to refuse her help. Despite this, he took the strap and placed it between his teeth, letting his head thump against the ground.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” she whispered. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on the sky.

Arenna poured more water onto his burns, swallowing the lump in her throat each time his body reacted, each time he groaned. The guilt was unbearable. The weight of knowing this was all her fault was overwhelming. Yet, she didn’t stop cleaning.

When the burns were thoroughly rinsed, she dabbed them with a dry cloth. “This is aloe vera and lavender. It’ll take the pain away and reduce swelling.” Arenna sank her fingers into the tin.

She spread the mixture across his wounds, peeling away small bits of his leather shirt that clung to the once bubbling flesh.

Kayson stiffened but didn’t stop her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

Once more, he didn’t reply.

As she moved to apply a second layer to a particularly deep burn, her heart skipped. The angry red flesh had begun to fade, the torn skin gradually returning to its normal tanned hue.

She stared, breath caught, as the frayed edges of his wound knit themselves back together—as if guided by an invisible needle and thread. “This stuff is good,” Arenna murmured, sitting back on her heels, “but not that good.”

“I’m a fast healer,” Kayson gritted out.

Confusion settled. Arenna looked to his round, human ears. “ Like Sorrows you are,” she snapped. “Bodies don’t just stitch themselves back together. Tell me the truth.”

Kayson took a breath. “If you aren’t eating or sleeping, you’re training. Something like this can never happen again.”

Arenna blinked, thrown by the deflection. He’ was purposefully ignoring her question. “Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth,” he spat, groaning as he pushed himself onto his elbows.

Fury fluttered in her chest, threatening to explode into anger.

“I have every intention of ensuring this doesn’t happen again.

” Arenna gathered her healing supplies, cradling them close to her heart.

“I’m sorry that I recently discovered an ancient power and that I don’t know how to control it.

I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire.

I tried to help you,” she said, shaking the supplies toward him.

“Maybe instead of being a jerk, you could be thankful.”

“ Thankful ?” Kayson snapped, rising swiftly to his feet. “You nearly burned me alive, and you want me to kiss your feet for fixing it?”

Arenna scoffed, turning on her heels to distance herself. He was impossible. Insufferable. Horrible . “You are incredible, emissary. Truly, a prize worth a million gems.”

“You aren’t in your castle anymore, Serpent. Despite what you may think, the common people do not like you. Do not like your husband. This is the real world, and you best learn how to take it.”

Arenna didn’t answer, didn’t turn to face Kayson even after he huffed and walked away. She clutched the supplies close to her chest, breathing through the rapid pounding of her heart.

Flame pounded against her palms.

Arenna swallowed through the anger and followed the emissary back to the horse.

* * *

By the end of the day, Arenna and Kayson reached the bottom of the cliffs.

Smeeds Port stretched for miles in the distance, its tall, rickety buildings visible even from their camp.

Salty air stung her eyes and filled her mouth.

It was all she could smell and taste, yet she didn’t mind it—rather, she missed it.

Neither of them spoke after their incident, even after Kayson picked a small campsite near the base of the cliffs and dismounted Kalika in one fluid motion. He quickly set up their bedrolls and arranged a ring of stones for a fire.

Arenna kept to herself, moving farther up the cliffs to gather whatever dry wood she could find after the storm a few days prior. One by one, she collected logs, tossing them into her cloak. When she had enough for the night—and then some—she tied off her cloak and slung it over her shoulder.

The emissary stood at the edge of their camp, gazing down at Smeeds when she approached. He didn’t so much as turn as her boots crunched against the snow, but he called out over his shoulder, “Light it.”

She said nothing as she padded through the snow with achy legs. Arenna arranged the logs in the fire ring, then stretched her hand over them, closing her eyes.

Her reservoir was dazzling and beautiful, filling her mind with its brilliance. It had grown since the last time she had practiced her magic, even though it was only hours ago.

In the distance, lay mountains blanketed in green trees and clouds drifting in the sky overhead. Arenna smiled as she ran her hands through her molten power.

She remained silent, eyes closed, until she heard crackling and felt warmth radiating against her freezing skin.

When she opened her eyes, the logs were ablaze, flames dancing in the salty breeze that blew through their camp.

Arenna settled beside the fire, shrugging off her boots and propping them against one of the rocks, hoping they would be dry enough by morning.

Dinner was quiet and hardly filling. They ate the last of their bread and what little was left of the rabbits from the morning. But tomorrow, they would be in the bustling heart of Varios, hopefully with enough food and water to get them through the next leg of their journey.

A branch snapped, pulling Arenna’s attention to the thicket of ashen trees, their leafless branches unable to conceal what lay beyond. Her pulse quickened as she reached for the dagger strapped to her hip. “Is a fire too dangerous?”

Kayson didn’t stir. “We’ll be fine.”

“There could be vorgrith or ferals,” she began, but the words caught in her throat. “Orods have been spotted in Burwood before,” she whispered.

Though rare, orods were among the most terrifying of the Rot’s creations.

It was unknown what they had been before the plague gripped them, but scholars believed they were some of the earliest victims. They resembled a grotesque fusion of man and spider, with torsos of mutated, splotchy red muscle, human-like heads, and mouths filled with razor-sharp teeth.

Eight legs surrounded their bodies, each ending in a sharpened point. With no eyes, nose, or ears, they were said to use the nerves in the tips of their feet to sense their victims, tracking and devouring them once found.

Arenna shuddered. “We shouldn’t risk it.”

“Trust me,” he said. “No harm will come to us.”

She laughed, dry and unconvinced. “Not if my life depended on it, Emissary.”

Determined, Arenna stood and walked toward a pile of snow near the cliff’s edge, intent on snuffing out the fire. They had already eaten, and she would deal with wet boots if it meant avoiding an orod attack. No fire was worth that risk.

“You are safe with me, Arenna.”

She froze. It wasn’t the words—it was the way he said her name. Like it belonged to someone he knew.

She didn’t care for him, not really. He was sharp-tongued, guarded, and often rude. But something in the way he spoke just then—a softness that didn’t match his usual edge—landed in Arenna’s chest and stayed there.

Her instincts screamed to stay alert, to distrust Kayson, to remember every sharp look and colder word he’d thrown her way.

And yet . . . Arenna turned.

Kayson sat against his bedroll, which he’d moved closer to hers without saying a word. He didn’t meet her gaze, didn’t speak again—but something in his posture, in the quiet stillness of him, told her he meant what he’d said.

Fear still lingered in her chest, but it dulled slightly, replaced by something unfamiliar—trust, fragile and tentative. Arenna didn’t know why she believed him. She just . . . did .

That night, Arenna rested with her back to the fire, eyes scanning the pitch-black beyond. She didn’t let herself fully relax, but she let go enough.

And when exhaustion finally pulled her under, just before her eyes shut, she glimpsed a faint dancing display of purple in the distance.

The lilac hue distorted the forest, climbing the trees and fading into the stars.

Arenna might have questioned it. Might have reached for her blade. But instead, she let her eyes close.

Sleep called to her, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t hesitate to answer.