Page 75 of Of Nightmares & Fire (Elusive Umbra #1)

Chapter fifty-five

Astraea

The dunes spread out as far as the eye can see, their golden color blanched like fossilized bones.

The waning sun lights the sky in a blade of fire along the horizon, and above that, the dark night is already settling in.

Kyros’ hand rests lightly at my hip, and when the horse stops near all the others, he leans in.

His breath on the back of my neck sends a series of shivers through my body.

“You're sure you’re ok?” He whispers, and I nod.

The ride to the dunes was mostly silent for both of us.

I suppose I’m thinking about what is to come and what we have lost. The story Kyros told me of his loss brings up the pain of my own.

Though it seems like he remembers everything, I have a different sort of pain with my lack of memories.

This is the first year since my father took the kingdom that I have not been in the palace for my birthday.

I always dreaded the celebrations my father threw in my name.

Even as a child, I knew that what he did was wrong.

I could see that his celebrations were nothing more than a reminder of what he was capable of, rather than a celebration of new beginnings, as he often called it.

“I’m ok. Are you sure it's alright for me to be here?” I still feel like this is a celebration that I should not be welcome to. He hesitates just long enough that the question settles in my stomach. He doesn’t think I should be here.

“You are meant to be at my side.” His arms wrap around me in a backward hug, and I close my eyes as I allow his warmth to strengthen me, even if his words cause more questions to surface.

Zinya wasn’t wrong about wearing a cloak; the sun is barely down and the cool summer air is already beginning to threaten a chill.

“It's about time we make it down to the pyre. Let's go.” Kyros hops from the horse’s back and then reaches up to help me down next.

Even though it's been only days since we were last here, my legs seem to have forgotten how to walk in the soft sand.

Kyros helps me through it as we make our way to the top of one of the dunes.

The sound of people gathering, whispers mostly, carries from the other side like a breeze.

When we finally crest the hill, just as the last rays of sun disappear along the horizon, multiple cloaked figures can be seen standing in a circle.

They surround a wooden structure in the center of a large body of people.

It appears we are some of the last to arrive.

As we walk forward, heads turn toward us and nod to Kyros and me as we pass.

Each one reverent, parting ways and giving us an easy path to the inner ring, where the others are already sitting.

They sit on throws and tapestries of all colors, which, though muted by the rising silver moon, are still beautiful.

“Who are they?” I ask, looking up at Kyros, who keeps his gaze held on the cloaked figure in the center.

“These are leaders of the Neer people, those thought to have the most powerful magick, besides that of the king.” Kyros says, and my brows stitch together in confusion.

“My father doesn’t have magick…” I say, looking back to the dark cloaks that are waving in the slight wind.

“Not your father. The true king.” He says, and any questions I had about that died on my tongue when the drums begin, stealing away my attention.

The slow, but powerful rhythm is mesmerizing, and when the pounding becomes strongest, a sudden flash of light—magick bursting into flame—becomes blinding.

The torches in each of the Neer leaders' hands blaze, lighting their hooded figures in copper and gold and casting moving shadows of the deepest black across the opening where their faces are hidden.

The fire keepers and their mocking display in the braziers back at the palace hold no semblance to the wonder of actually seeing true magick ignite.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Cole says as we join the group.

It really is amazing and everything I have seen only brings up more questions as to why my father is so against the use of magick…

She tangles her arm through mine and squeezes me slightly, pulling me from my thoughts.

She looks up at Kyros, and so do I as I feel him tense at my side, looking forward.

Taking a step away, he drops my hand, then his gaze sweeps back over his shoulder.

He looks at me with pursed lips. The nostalgic man who was telling me of his childhood just moments ago is now long gone, and in his place is the broody man I have come to expect.

“I’ll be right back. Stay with Mavros.” He says gruffly, with no room for argument, before leaving me staring at his back.

He walks up to one of the cloaked men in front of us with a torch and clasps arms with him in greeting.

Murmurs start up all around us as heads turn to face Kyros.

I notice now that he too is wearing a cloak similar to the other leaders.

Mavros slings an arm around my shoulders and teases Cole with his fingers at her chin. Rearing back, she swats at his hand.

“Are you always a nuisance?” She asks, but with the gleam in her eye, I know she is just teasing back.

A natural smile from undeniable happiness comes to my face seeing her at such ease.

It’s almost enough to make me finally accept that we have—I have—made the right choice in being here with all of them. With Kyros.

“Today!” A voice echoes around us, calling attention to the center of the pyre.

The pyre itself is intricately woven together like a basket and is taller than two men.

Baubles and parchment hang from braided branches like gifts on a yule tree.

“We gather in these sands that hold the ashes of our lost ones to celebrate their sacrifice and give guidance to those who have joined them. Those who have been felled by the cruel ways of a usurper, an illegitimate king who stole everything from our kingdom!” I feel myself shrinking under Mavros’ arm, and he does too.

He rubs my shoulder, smiling down at me with closed lips.

“It’s ok, princess. He took from you too.

Don’t think you don’t belong right here.

” Mavros whispers for only me to hear. He pulls me to where the sand has been cut from the ground in steps, with stone laid on the surface, making tiered seating around the pyre.

Mavros gestures for me and Cole to sit, and he, Zinya, and Viltarin take up the space behind us.

When I look back toward the pyre, it’s Kyros’ stare that slams into me.

If I didn't know any better, I’d say he looks worried.

His eyes flick over my shoulder, and I follow them to see Mavros with his usual grin gone and only a flat line in its place.

Gone is the joking twin, and back is the warrior brother.

It doesn’t give me confidence that whatever is happening is going to be good.

The man standing next to Kyros continues on with his speech about guiding the light of the flame to Runerth and picking apart everything my father has done during his reign.

My eyes stay on Kyros, though. His shoulders remain rigid as he stands next to the Neer leader, as though every word is pulling an invisible thread that is ever tightening his posture, the scowl in his face deepening with every tug.

“Since the night the false king stormed our lands, there has been one thing keeping us all hopeful for the future. The true heir will light the pyre, and he will rise with the flames, just as the Shula Morana. He will be our death flame, and when it is all burned away, a new era will remain!” The word sounds like a gong in my head; loud, echoing, and absolute.

My eyes flutter as I try to make sense of what I am hearing and what I am seeing.

The Neer leader hands Kyros the torch. With the firelight closer to his face, I can see the jump in the muscle of his jaw.

He stares into the flames, then his brows furrow further as he looks up to me.

Our eyes clash like swords in battle. Questions, answers, hurt, and betrayal—it all swirls through the air, sinking into me with every breath.

Shula Morana: Death Flame. She will be the death of you. She will be the death of us all.

Colette reaches over, grabbing my hand, and I can hear her hushed tone as she says my name, but I can’t rip my eyes away from the man lighting the pyre.

The prince of Eathian. The true heir of the kingdom my father stole.

The true King? Bile rises in my throat and tears well in my eyes, but more than that, the heat in my chest burns with my rising anger—and something else.

I attempt to stand, but a large hand claps down on my shoulder, keeping me in place.

I draw my gaze from Kyros, turning to see who is holding me down.

Mavros leans in, his hand firmly keeping me seated, but not painfully.

“For what it's worth, we told him to tell you.” Mavros says with remorse, and I can’t help it; the first tear escapes beyond my lashes.

My lip trembles, as do my hands, but I steel my spine.

I turn back toward the rightful heir: the King.

His back is to me as he makes his way around the base, lighting the woven branches into a grate of roaring flames.

“I can’t be here.” I didn’t mean to speak the words aloud; they snuck out just like the tears that now steadily stream down my face.

I turn my head and look at Cole. Deep-rooted sadness is filling her eyes.

Eyes that likely mirror my own. I was just beginning to feel as though I was somewhere I belonged.

I was just starting to feel that perhaps—I could trust. Now everything burns. Shula Morana; Death Flame.