Page 68

Jamie

It had been a bright, sunny day. Jamie could remember that now, though the memories were coming slowly—hazily—as if emerging from a thick fog.

At first, it felt like a dream, a strange pressure building up behind his eyes.

But, after only a few moments more, the vague sensation faded, and it began to feel less like a memory, and more like he was actually living it out in real time.

He was in a long, vast corridor, walking past several tall windows that overlooked a massive city of white stone towers and silver spires, set against a backdrop of snowcapped peaks underneath a clear blue sky.

The hall itself was grander than anything Jamie had seen in Jesse’s world, with polished marble floors, high vaulted ceilings, and chandeliers hanging from thick golden chains.

He wasn’t alone. Walking alongside him, a smile on her freckled face and sunlight casting a soft glow on her pure white hair, was Eleanore.

“The arrangements have all been made,” she was saying. “High Councilor Astoria will call you forth to speak after the commencement song has been performed. All you have to do is welcome the delegates and say a few words, and then the gala will officially begin.”

“I still say I have better things to do than perform ceremonial duties like that,” Jamie found himself saying—unable to affect the memory, despite how real and present it felt. “I ought to be focusing on the security of my Nation, not on something so frivolous.”

“Jamie, you know as well as I do how the Nations view their Heirs,” Eleanore told him, as they turned down a side corridor that Jamie realized, instinctually, led to his suite. “During times of peace, this is what the job entails.”

“Yes, I know,” Jamie sighed, the words feeling strange as he uttered them. “I wish… Well, I don’t know. I just feel as though I have no purpose; wasting my days giving speeches and rubbing elbows with dignitaries. But, I suppose it’s better than the alternative.”

The two stopped in front of his quarters, Jamie absently pushing open a large ornate door and leading the way into a spacious and finely decorated sitting room, with a few more open doors off to the side that led to the bedroom, bathroom, and private dining area.

“You’re right, it’s much better than the alternative,” Eleanore agreed. “Feeling a little purposeless is better than needing to be a—”

The door fell shut behind them, and all hell suddenly broke loose.

A blaze of flame shot towards Jamie, the movement barely registering fast enough for him to react.

He jumped aside, drawing in a breath as he summoned a shield of solid ice, ready to defend himself as he took a wild look around the apartments in search of the attacker.

Beside him, Eleanore reacted in much the same way, her icy blue eyes widening in surprise as she summoned a shield of her own. “What—?!”

More flames shot towards them, both Jamie and Eleanore rolling to the side to dodge the attack.

Then Jamie saw her; rushing towards him from the open bedroom door, dressed in dark red robes lined with gold, with her purple hair pulled to the side to show off an intricate pattern shaved into the right side of her head, was Ezra, a trail of flames lighting up his suite behind her as she ran.

A surge of strange emotions filled Jamie that he didn’t yet understand.

And although a flicker of anger did briefly run through him, it quickly gave way mostly to mere frustration.

He lifted his hand, and a storm of light blue icicles formed like spears and fired down at Ezra, though he knew in his heart that, for some inexplicable reason, he wasn’t trying as hard as he could.

As if he didn’t even view her as a threat.

Ezra unleashed a wave of flames to melt the ice as it reached her, determination in her purple eyes. She wasn’t alone either, Jamie realized now .

More fire screamed through the air like a cannon, rushing towards him from the door to the dining hall.

He went into a backspring to avoid it, the heat grazing his face by inches as it shot past him.

Landing lightly on his feet, he raised an arm once more, pulling the water from the air and bringing up a veritable wave of crushing waters.

Twisting in place, he sent it barreling towards the second attacker; a strong and broad-shouldered man with long purple hair and a short beard, his own square jaw set and his eyes grim with fierce determination.

The man raised a shield to block the jet streams, before firing more flames with all the speed of a raging beast.

Fawkes. The name came to Jamie as if he’d known it for ages, and the man himself looked unbelievably familiar, though Jamie still couldn’t place how he knew him.

Yet, an echo of surprise—and, oddly enough, betrayal—coursed through him at the sight.

He looked over to Eleanore, an expression of hurt flickering over her own face as well, before she gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and began to fight even harder.

By now, the entire suite was alight, the fires burning through the furniture as if it were nothing but tinder.

Ezra twirled on her heel, throwing her arms out in a graceful arc of movement and lighting more flames as she spun, until it looked like a fiery whirlwind.

Jamie performed a quick spin of his own, sending a jet stream of water towards the nearest blazes, before firing another round of heavy ice towards Ezra and Fawkes—Eleanore joining him in his efforts.

It was difficult to see through all the smoke, but that wasn’t what made it near impossible to anticipate Fawkes’ next step.

It was the way he moved, it now dawned on Jamie.

One instant he was in front of them, and then—just as quickly—he was gone, standing several paces away as if he’d never been there at all.

Bits of wood and plaster began to crumble and rain down upon them, as Ezra and Fawkes continued to attack as hard as they could on one side while Eleanore and Jamie defended themselves on the other.

The roof creaked and groaned as it grew closer to falling .

Black ash flooded the room. It was suffocating, but worse than that, it made it all the more impossible to track the movements of battle.

A blast of fire from Fawkes, shot from where he’d just reappeared, roared toward Eleanore.

For once, she moved a beat too slow. The impact struck her square in the chest, and the explosion of heat and force sent her hurtling backward to crash into a stone pillar with a sickening crack.

Her body crumpled to the ground like a broken doll.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat, followed by a wet, choking cough. Blood spilled over her lips.

“Eleanore!” Jamie cried out, an echo of dread piercing through the memory as he rushed to her side.

Her armor, what little protection it had ever offered, was dented and scorched, dark with fresh crimson, and a deep gash split across her forehead, blood streaming down the side of her soot-covered face.

With a trembling hand, Eleanore tried to push herself up, only to collapse again, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

That was all the opening Ezra needed.

A burning, searing pain unlike anything Jamie had ever known suddenly cut deep into his flesh.

His body seemed to shatter with a feverish, unimaginable agony and his lungs contracted sharply in his chest. He realized he was screaming, all thought driven from his mind as he collapsed to the hard ground.

For a moment, he could do nothing but gasp and shake, the pain so unbearable that he nearly forgot where he was and what was happening.

He could vaguely hear Eleanore screaming his name, but it didn’t quite register in his mind why.

All he knew was pain; an overwhelming, cutting loss, as if something deep within him was being carved out.

Finally, the pain began to dull—though it didn’t disappear completely—and he regained just enough awareness to open his eyes and look up.

Ezra stood before him, smirking gloatingly down at him as she held, in her hands, a strange black orb that seemed to glow with flickering, fiery red lines, tendrils of orange and crimson swirling around it like flames dancing in the wind .

“I trust you know what this is?” she sneered, her voice raspy from the smoke.

Jamie gasped, trying to push himself to sit up, only for sharp pain to cause him to drop to the ground again. “No, you… c-can’t!”

Strong hands gripped tightly at Jamie’s arms, and he was hauled roughly to his feet. It was Fawkes, lifting Jamie up with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. Jamie tried to defend himself—but as he called upon his powers, nothing happened at all.

Ezra was laughing; the breathless but triumphant laugh of someone who had fought hard against a stronger opponent, and somehow won.

Instinctively, Jamie knew that Fawkes was about to vanish together with him, taking him away from Eleanore in the blink of an eye, now that Jamie couldn’t fight back any longer.

“Your powers won’t save you now,” Ezra boasted. “You know what they say; one good turn deserves—”

Thwack!

The sound, soft and dull and quiet and yet somehow louder to Jamie’s ears than a peal of thunder, was accompanied by a sudden seizing of muscles in Fawkes’ arms. He let out a choked, stunned sort of rasping cough, his eyes widening in pain and horror as he dropped Jamie back to the ground.

Immediately, Jamie fought to get back on his feet, a sense of dread filling him as he looked up to see a large, jagged knife of golden ice protruding from Fawkes’ stomach—cutting all the way through from his back.

Eleanore had stabbed him.

“NOOOO!”

The scream was ripped from Ezra’s mouth, the young woman staring upon the scene with an ashen face and haunted eyes. She darted forward, but as Fawkes began to fall, Jamie was the only one close enough to catch him.