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Prologue

The gleam of bright crimson hair and shadows burst behind Herrick’s closed eyes.

Grief, heavy and consuming, ripped through him at the memories of her, but he grasped onto them tightly, wrapping his consciousness around them as he fought to stay within the bliss of his dreams. They were the only place he could reach her now.

The dank floor of the dungeon underneath him sapped whatever warmth his body created.

It didn’t matter to Herrick. The only comfort he could seek was in the oblivion of sleep, infrequent and restless as it was, and even there, he was haunted by the sight of deep red hair tumbling over bronze skin that always radiated the fire beneath it.

It was difficult to track time in the darkness of the cells below the Palace of Wind and Embers, but Herrick managed to tally the days he spent locked away from the rest of the world.

By counting the infrequent meals that were delivered to him or by the silent guards outside of his cell changing shifts, he was able to keep some semblance of a routine to get him through the long hours of quiet.

The high-pitched sound of metal scraping over stone screeched from behind Herrick, liquid sloshing roughly in a container as though it was ready to tumble over.

Herrick waited for the steps to recede before he shifted the threadbare blanket they had thrown into his cell, revealing the scratch marks on the floor.

Using the edge of his manacled wrist, Herrick scored another line into the stone before covering it back up and rolling toward the tray containing his meager meal.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since he had spectacularly failed at ending this war before it could start.

Two weeks since he had been captured by the Flame King and thrown into this dungeon, all but forgotten.

Two weeks since… Herrick couldn’t finish the thought, his soul rejecting the words that lay heavy in his heart.

He and his friends had tried to infiltrate the Palace of Wind and Embers to use what they thought was the dalkr Hela on Helvig, but…

she had escaped with the weapon sooner than planned for reasons still unknown to Herrick.

They had gotten close, and Herrick had witnessed her stab Helvig with what they thought was the dalkr Hela .

The King should have died, but instead, he stood and manipulated water into a beam shot straight for her .

Something that should have been impossible for the King of Flame to do.

Helvig had smugly explained to them that the weapon was actually the Bone Dagger— a weapon made from the bones of a powerful Elven that gave its user the ability to wield all types of galder .

And when Helvig escaped, she tried to go after him until the Lieutenant General of Flame screamed.

She threw herself in the path of a stabbing sword rather than allow her sister to take the blow.

Shutting down the rising agony that always accompanied the memory of holding the woman he loved as she died, Herrick reached for the metal tray containing the usual paltry meal.

Tough bread, chunks of hard cheese, a dried cut of some kind of meat, and a cup half filled with water.

Never any utensils or items that could become a weapon.

After eating his meal without really tasting it, Herrick launched into what had become his routine: exercising his body with the limited movement the chains allowed him as he went over each detail of their failed mission.

Bracing his feet under the bars of his cell, Herrick sat and pulled himself up until the muscles in his abdomen burned and begged for reprieve.

He only pushed himself further until the air burst from his lungs, and he stopped only long enough to turn over and start his push-ups.

He was a prisoner, but that didn’t mean Herrick would allow himself to weaken.

He needed to be prepared for whatever punishment Helvig would dish out.

Every day that Herrick spent in this cell, he waited to see if the King of Flame would show his face again, but there hadn't been so much as a whisper of him since that first day. He had no idea what sort of pain the tyrant king was raining down on Logi, but the prolonged silence didn’t bode well.

He thought back to how angry Helvig had looked when he told Herrick that the General of Flame had been thoroughly punished for causing the death of his Heir.

Whatever sentiment Helvig harbored for his daughter had clearly been the cause of this anger, which puzzled Herrick.

It was this thought that he lingered on as footsteps echoed from down the hall.

Unfazed, Herrick continued holding his plank, his muscles screaming in protest as the slow, methodical steps came to a stop in front of his cell.

“General,” a smooth, low voice said. “You’re looking… well.”

Herrick released his hold, collapsing onto the damp floor for only a second before he stood, using the last of his waning strength to hold himself upright in front of this stranger.

Before him, in full General of Flame splendor, stood a warrior Herrick had never seen before.

He was as broad as he was tall; his obsidian hair in the low light of the dungeons shone with strands of burgundy that contrasted the light gray of his eyes.

The uniform of the Flame General had typically been deep auburn, but this stranger opted for black-on-black adornments so at odds with his light irises.

Cruelty flickered in those gray eyes as they looked Herrick up and down, finding him somewhat lacking if his amusement indicated anything.

“Helvig finally sent someone to see if his prisoner was still alive, I see,” Herrick said lightly.

“Something like that,” the Flame General replied before mocking a bow to Herrick. “Baldr, the new General of Flame, at your service.”

“Congratulations,” Herrick responded, his tone so at odds with the dead look in his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be just as much of a wretch as your predecessor.”

The new General of Flame—Baldr— chuckled once, his lips kicking up in the corner as he turned to the guards next to him.

“Open the cell,” Baldr ordered, his hands still clasped behind his back.

The guard nodded, and the cell door swung open.

“Now get out,” Baldr continued as he stepped into the cell, stopping just in front of Herrick.

He did not take his eyes off the General as the guards turned and walked away, leaving the two of them alone in the cell.

The chains around Herrick’s wrists clinked as he flexed his hands in anticipation of what this new threat would do.

Baldr only cocked his head to the side, the movement predatory as he studied the man in front of him.

They stood eye to eye and seemed to be similarly built, but Herrick was at a clear disadvantage chained to the wall.

“Did you want something in particular, or are you just going to stand there?” Herrick asked, breaking their tense silence.

Baldr chuckled, the sound lifeless. It struck a chord of familiarity in him, but the connection was gone before Herrick could grasp it. “We are going to be spending a lot of time together, General. Best not use your remaining strength to try and irritate me.”

Herrick grinned, baring his teeth at the new General. “I can’t wait.”

The General of Flame flicked his fingers, unlocking the chains around Herrick’s wrists and falling to the floor.

Herrick moved quickly toward the General without hesitation, but his opponent was ready for him.

Baldr's fist slammed into his stomach, the force and strength of the hit sucking the breath from Herrick's lungs as easy as the shock of being submerged in cold water.

Before air could enter his lungs again, Baldr raised both hands and pushed a wall of fire toward Herrick, forcing him back against the wall.

He choked as his back slammed into unforgiving stone before he coughed and his chest filled with oxygen.

Ropes of flame wound their way around Herrick’s previously liberated wrists, close enough to be uncomfortable but not to burn.

Before Herrick could summon his galder to extinguish the fire with his water, Baldr clamped a metal band around his neck. His galder faded away from his fingertips as if it had never been there.

“Shall we begin?” Baldr asked, flames dancing at his fingers as he descended on Herrick.