Page 41

Chapter Forty-One

Annora

The sun dips low in the sky as we make camp near a House of Crimson village on our tenth day of travel. In the distance, the mountains rise up like stone giants, their craggy peaks cutting jagged lines across the horizon.

I sit on a log until a warrior approaches me and informs me that my tent is ready. I nod my thanks and make my way over, ducking inside the spacious interior.

As I undress and wash away the grime of travel, I think about my younger sisters back in Bakva.

Emerin should be working on her poem about the founding of House of Silver right now.

She always writes at sunset, claiming the changing colors inspire her best verses.

And Tahira, she’s probably sneaking extra desserts from the kitchen.

The moment I settle on the bed, the tent flap rustles, and Kythara enters, balancing a tray laden with a jar of wine, a basket of dried dates, and a loaf of wheat bread.

“I thought you could use some refreshment,” she says as she sets the tray down on the table. Then, she pours wine into two goblets and hands me one before taking a seat near me.

“Thank you. I’m famished.” I tear off a hunk of the soft bread and chew it slowly.

“How are you doing?” she asks. “I know these long days of travel can be difficult.”

“It helps to have a friendly face around. Tell me, what do you like to do when you’re not traveling? Do you have any favorite hobbies?”

Her eyes dance as she speaks. “I love sculpting.”

“That sounds lovely. I enjoy sketching.”

“You’ll have to show me your drawings sometime. I’d love to see them.”

“I’d be happy to share my sketches,” I say as I eat a date, chewing it slowly before continuing. “Though, I’m afraid I haven’t drawn much lately.”

“I haven’t had time to sculpt either.”

We talk a while longer, swapping stories about our artistic endeavors and laughing over shared experiences of sculpting mishaps and failed sketches.

Eventually, Kythara rises from her chair, gathering the empty tray and dirty dishes. “I should let you get some rest. It’s been a long day of travel.”

“Thank you again for the food and the company,” I say, truly appreciative of her kindness.

Warmth glints in her eyes as she smiles down at me. “Anytime, Annora.”

With that, she ducks out of the tent, and I sit on the edge of the bed, but I barely have time to gather myself before the tent flap snaps open, and Aleksander fills the entrance.

“Come with me,” he says in a flat voice.

It takes all my strength to follow Aleksander through the camp to the corral, where my horse is saddled and at least fifty Watchers are assembled.

My gaze meets Brathen’s, and a chill runs down my spine at the hardness behind his eyes—eyes that remind me of my grandfather.

He wore that same look of ruthlessness and determination. Nothing stood in his way. Not family, not friends, not even those he claimed to love.

“Get on your horse,” Aleksander says.

I stiffen, not appreciating the way he’s speaking to me. “Why?”

“Just do it, Annora.”

I grit my teeth, grab my horse’s reins, and pull myself onto the mare’s back.

Typical Aleksander. He thinks he can just order me around, and I’ll obey.

Curse him!

I dig my heels into my horse’s flanks, and she bolts forward. Wind whips past my face, tears at the hem of my surcoat as I encourage my mount to move faster and faster.

Without warning, silver flames erupt around us in ghostly tendrils. My mare whinnies as we’re yanked backward through the air, and we slam to a stop right where we started—next to Aleksander’s smirking face.

How?

The question dies in my throat as I spot Brathen, his masked face tilted toward me, silver flames dancing between his raised fingers. He lowers his hands, and those fucking flames disappear.

Bastard!

Anger flares through me as I lash out at him. “How dare you?”

“I do dare,” he says in an erringly calm voice.

“Now, now, Annora,” Aleksander says, his voice screeching through my ears. “Settle down.”

“You settle down, coward!”

Instead of lashing out at me, his face hardens as he speaks. “Go to the village. Use your Phoenix and destroy it.”

My muscles seize as my body moves without my consent, my mind emptying of everything except Aleksander’s cruel command.

I turn my horse toward the House of Crimson village nestled in the valley below, its thatched roofs and winding dirt lanes oblivious to the violence about to be unleashed.

Aleksander, Brathen, and the rest of the masked Watchers follow me. When we reach the wooden gate circling the village, the Watchers quickly smash it open with a battering ram.

The moment the gate falls, the Watchers storm inside and cut down anyone who tries to resist. Cries of panic fill the night air as the villagers scramble to escape.

I slide from my saddle, my feet hitting the ground with a thud.

“Emberdione, I need you,” I rasp, my voice foreign to my ears.

She materializes in a swirl of sparks, her wings glowing crimson in the darkness.

“Destroy it all,” I order.

She obeys without hesitation, lashing out with her magic. Thatch roofs ignite in an instant, the flames greedily swallowing everything. Walls blacken and crack as the fire races from house to house.

I stand motionless as the Phoenix’s destruction spreads—unable to stop it, unable to feel anything but the empty space inside my chest.

The Watchers hunt down everyone trying to escape. They slaughter the men and capture the women and children.

Emberdione soars overhead, every beat of her wings sending another wave of fire crashing down, engulfing homes, carts, and the remnants of ordinary lives.

A house collapses nearby, the thatched roof caving in as embers shoot into the sky like angry stars.

A man rushes toward the burning building, calling out names I can’t make out.

He doesn’t make it far before a Watcher intercepts him and cuts his throat.

The man crumples, his outstretched hand inches from the door.

My heart screams as a child darts past me, her face streaked with soot, eyes wide with terror. She trips and falls, scrambling to get up as Emberdione’s shadow looms overhead.

Stop.

Please stop.

Emberdione’s flames rain down like molten tears, each droplet igniting another piece of this village.

A woman clutches her baby to her chest as she runs past. The infant’s cries pierce through the roar of flames, through the screams, through the sound of my heart shattering.

“More,” Aleksander commands from behind me. “Burn it all.”

My body responds without my permission. “Emberdione, continue.”

The Phoenix lets out a mournful cry before diving toward the center of the village. Her wings spread wide, casting crimson shadows across the ground. Where those shadows touch, fire blooms.

The heat blisters my skin, but I can’t move. Can’t look away. Can’t stop the destruction pouring from my hands, from my Phoenix, from this cursed magic.

Through the flames, I spot the village elder. He stands in his doorway, head held high as fire consumes everything around him. His eyes meet mine across the chaos, and I see no fear there. Only sadness. Only pity.

For me.

I don’t deserve his pity. I deserve his hatred. His curse. His condemnation.

But he simply nods once before Emberdione’s next wave of flames swallows him whole.

The Phoenix lands beside me and waits for my next directive. I have none to give.

“Enough. You may go,” I manage to choke out.

Her wings fold, and she dissipates into a swirl of glowing embers.

Aleksander mounts his horse, and I follow, pulling myself up into my mare’s saddle.

I want to scream at him, to claw at his smug face, but I don’t.

What good would it do?

It would change nothing!

“Come,” he orders.

I turn my horse, following his lead, and as we leave the scorched village behind, I look back. Embers rise into the sky, carried by the wind like silent cries for mercy that were never granted.

Twenty of the Watchers remain behind, rounding up the surviving women and children. They herd them like cattle, prodding them with the butts of their spears and forcing them to march behind us.

Bile rises in my throat as a Watcher strikes a woman who stumbles, her child clinging to her skirts. The little one wails, and the sound pierces through me.

I did this.

I am the monster who unleashed destruction upon these innocent people. Their blood stains my hands, no matter how much I wish I could wash it away.

I glance at Aleksander, riding tall and proud at the head of our macabre procession. Does he feel no remorse? No flicker of guilt for the lives he’s destroyed?

Of course not. He’s too busy reveling in his victory, in the power he wields over me and everyone else.

Curse him!

I try to block out the sobs and whimpers trailing behind us, but it’s impossible. They seep into my bones, carving out a crater where my heart used to be.

What have I done?

I want to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all, but I remain silent.

Even as the village fades into the distance, the stench of smoke and death still clings to my skin.

Forgive me.

Please, forgive me.

But even as I beg for absolution, I know there can be none. Not for me. Not after this.