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CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

Oralia

The maze stood ominous within the thick mist swirling through the entrance like a portal to another realm. I wiped my hands on the skirt of my gown before tugging on the soft black gloves. Samarah, being a timeless god, needed no protection against my touch—something I’d realized after our struggle the night before. This morning she’d entered my rooms on a breeze, Sidero at her side. Another tentative truce formed between her and my friends.

It appeared all one needed to do to endear Samarah to them was threaten her.

Both had offered to walk with me through the grounds, but I’d declined. I took another deep breath, sliding my fingers over the fading bite at my throat, before stepping into the dark. The path was not long, and in merely a few turns, I found Zayne seated again at the edge of a wide pit with a small journal in one hand and a charcoal writing stick in the other.

“Is this a bad time?” I asked softly, not wanting to startle him.

Zayne lifted his head slowly, a smile breaking across his face. With quick, easy movements he closed the book and placed it to the side along with the writing stick before rising to his feet. The god was taller than I remembered, though I’d been so baffled at the time perhaps I had not noticed. In my memory, we stood at the same height, but in reality, he towered over me, pressing a hand to his heart and dipping his chin. His thick hair was shorter than most other gods kept it, curling around his ears and sliding across his burnished golden-brown cheekbones with the movement.

“Have you been well?” The question was a bit awkward as I realized once again Zayne had yet to speak to me.

But the god gave me a grin, nodding once before extending out a hand. I placed my gloved palm in his before he gestured to me with his other in a way I assumed asked the same question.

“I do not know if I can truly answer that,” I murmured while he guided me around the pit and toward another path.

Zayne turned his head, a thick brow raised, and I blew out a breath. “I am weary, and we have only recently begun. I worry I will not survive what I must to win this war…to return Ren to this world. And I fear more and more there is a betrayer in our midst—that someone we trust has Typhon’s ear.”

A hum rumbled in his throat, and I wondered what it meant. Whether it was an agreement or merely a noise of understanding. But he patted the back of my hand, squeezing once while we traversed the labyrinth.

Tomorrow, we would set off for the next piece of Ren. My stomach churned with acid at the thought. Samarah had insisted on joining, so our little band of three had expanded to four. I did not know how the others felt about her presence, but personally, I was undecided. She was undeniably powerful but unknown. I was not sure if we could trust her not to slaughter us or whoever was in our path.

Zayne stopped before a wide wall covered in rotted vines, twisted together like a pit of snakes. With another squeeze, he dropped my hand before catching my gaze to ensure I was paying attention. Another hum slithered through the space—the same melody I’d heard the last time we were together—before he pressed two fingertips upon the vines.

The wall burst into flames.

I gasped, stumbling back, but his hand shot out to hold me in place, fingers tight around my wrist. With careful tugs, he drew me forward, lifting the arm he held toward the flames.

Scalding heat licked at the back of my neck, not from the fire but from embarrassment. Zayne gave another noise of encouragement, tilting his head toward the wall of fire before I pressed my hand against it. The flames shimmered, licking at the fabric of my glove as if desperate to touch my skin. Curling around my wrists and forearms, a tickling warmth slithered into my veins.

When I pulled my hand away, the flames lingered, flickering in the cool mist before I frowned. My magic pricked, and I exhaled, the fire catching once more to slither between my fingers. Zayne nodded, citrine eyes alight with what I hoped was pride, before he gestured back to the wall.

The fire was out, and the wall stood as it had before, untouched by the inferno.

I removed my gloves before I spread my fingers across the vines, sending the same trickling warmth forward, breathing slowly, imagining the flames with each exhale. Surprisingly, as I focused on my task, the vines did not die beneath my fingers, and I wondered if this was the trick to pulling back the death magic from my palms. It took longer than I hoped for the wall to catch and the fire to illuminate the narrow passage. But I smiled when it did, some piece inside of me locking into place.

It was not control I needed but surrender.

And then Zayne gestured, swiping his hand across the wall in a way that made me think he was asking me to put it out. I frowned, pressing my palm against the fire, only for it to burn brighter. Panic skittered up my spine, and I gave him a worried glance, but his face was merely set in solemn contemplation.

He patted my shoulder and shushed me with comforting sounds. I had to put the fire out. But the only thing coming to mind was rain, how if the skies opened it would put the blazing pyre out with ease. Aelestor’s power was what was needed, not mine.

One drop fell.

I looked around us, wondering if Aelestor was close, but we were alone. Something new shivered through my chest—infant magic waking for the first time.

Another drop.

The skies opened, and water fell in sheets, snuffing out the flames, and soaking my hair to my face, my clothes to my bones. We stared, wide-eyed, at each other.

“Perhaps I am going through prime once more,” I murmured.

Zayne huffed a laugh, giving a small shake of his shoulders that made me think he was remembering his own prime. This was much like when my full magic had first manifested. I had wished for rain, and my magic slithering through my skin had listened. I couldn’t wait to tell Aelestor. The rain fell in a steady rhythm, cooling the last of the heat from the fire until we stood soaking wet within the maze with Zayne’s face tipped up toward the sky.

I wondered what it was about this place that called to him. Why would he choose to spend most of his existence alone rather than with the rest of the kingdom? Surely, he had friends or companions. I’d seen him in the inner circle meetings, though no one had spoken to him save Ren or Morana. Even Thorne was unacquainted with him.

But as Zayne drank in the storm, I thought I understood how, with a power as volatile as the one living within him, being alone might feel safer. Had I not felt the same about my own? The scars marring his palms, like the ones on my wrists, were evidence of that danger.

“Did the fire burn you…when you were young?” I asked, wiping water from my eyes. I took a deep breath, drawing my magic back, imagining it coiling within my chest like a serpent in its nest.

Zayne drew his chin down, all the wonder dripping from his face with the last of the storm as it ebbed away. Fire sparked on his fingertips, warmth wrapping around us to dry the worst of the water before he offered me his arm. It took me a moment to understand he wanted to guide me somewhere else. I assumed he was navigating us back toward Infernis but we stopped within a tiny alcove so dark it might have been midnight beyond.

He gestured, tugging me forward in encouragement to cross the threshold. I swallowed thickly, hesitating only a moment. The darkness swallowed. I could feel more than see Zayne beside me, the shallow echo of his breaths within the alcove deafening.

A single spark flared.

But the fire did not come from him. A small boy stood before us, thick hair brushing his shoulders. Green grass swayed beneath his tiny boots. Though I could see nothing beyond him, I could sense he was alone. The first spark danced across his hands, but his brows drew tight in confusion, little shoulders trembling in fear. I jerked, wanting to comfort him, only for Zayne to wrap a hand around my forearm.

“Mama!” the boy cried, terror zinging through his voice.

The spark within his palm grew brighter, white hot, flaring with each panicked breath he took.

“Mama!” he screamed in terror and pain as the fire spread across his palms and up his arms, licking at the skin bubbling and blackening in the heat.

My ears rang with his horrified cries, one blending into the next until it was a single agonizing wail.

The image blurred, and a sob wrenched through my throat. He was so alone in his fear, screaming out for his mother while his power consumed him…It was rare powers manifested in childhood, and I knew the fear all too well. Long, agonizing minutes later, a woman ran into view, blonde hair shimmering behind her before she scooped him into her arms. Water cascaded over his blackened arms, but it was too late to soothe.

Zayne guided me out of the alcove, but I did not take my eyes off the boy until the darkness blotted them from sight.

“You did not speak again, did you?”

He shrugged, gesturing for me to follow. But his shoulders were stiff with the memory and sweat gleamed on the back of his neck. It was easy to understand why he would not speak again. To a young god who screamed for help, for his cries not to be answered would be horrifying. For his magic to turn on him must have been scarier. Yet he communed with his magic, controlled it, and mastered it while refusing to live with others.

The weak afternoon light spilled across my face as we crossed the threshold of the maze, and I wondered if he would join me for a meal if I asked him. I feared he would agree because I was lathira and not because he truly wanted to. So instead, I smiled at him, squeezing his shoulder once.

“Thank you for teaching me today.”

He frowned, shaking his head before tapping my chest, saying without words that I had taught myself. But he had been there with me in the maze, encouraging me when I faltered and staring in wonder with me as the rain fell. I gave him a nod, deciding not to push him, and wandered back to the castle to find Horace in preparation for tomorrow.

At the steps, I turned back to the maze, catching sight of two figures at the entrance. A small sliver of warmth crawled through my chest as Zayne stepped into Samarah’s embrace.

And then tears burned as the God of Nightmares rocked the God of Fire in her arms as if he were merely a child once more.