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SMOKE

ELYRIA

Cedric was fire incarnate.

It wasn’t the same orange-red blaze that had covered Gael from wing to toe, though. White-gold flames danced across Cedric’s skin, rippling in waves over his chest, his arms, his face. The heated air around him shimmered, distorted, the pillows by his feet crumbling into black ash as flames consumed them. The thin golden ring in his warm brown eyes expanded, his irises glowing like liquid fire as they were pinned open, unseeing.

Elyria couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe. Could only stare, her mind desperately trying to piece together what she was witnessing with what she knew.

There had always been something other about him, hadn’t there? Some reason why she felt drawn to him, called to him. Something that only grew more apparent as the trials went on. She saw him fall. She could still feel the way her heart cracked as he sunk into that fiery lake.

Yet here he was.

And it was like he brought all the fire with him.

Movement suddenly returned to Elyria’s body, that trilling tug in her chest propelling her forward. She let it, not sparing a single thought to the idea of resisting.

As if in response to her approach, Cedric stumbled back, breath catching. He tensed, his molten eyes squeezing shut. He clenched his fists. The fire licking at his limbs grew higher, suddenly leaping off his body like it was trying to ward off an attack.

He was a blazing beacon in the void, an empyreal effigy.

Awe and terror swelled in Elyria’s chest as she took another step closer. “Cedric,” she whispered. He didn’t respond. Didn’t react. Perhaps he couldn’t even hear her over the roaring heat.

Still, Elyria kept saying his name, her eyes never leaving him, barely noticing the shouts and movements of the others. Kit darted forward, her hands aloft, water flowing through the air, weaving around him, only to evaporate in a wave of steam. Zephyr was still, rooted to the spot, green lips parted in shock. Thraigg’s mouth hung open.

“He’s going to burn out,” Nox said evenly, as if they didn’t particularly care but thought perhaps someone ought to know.

“Cedric,” Elyria repeated. “Cedric. Cedric!”

Still no response. His fists were still clenched, his body shaking. This fire, this flame— his flame—whatever it was, wherever it came from, it would consume him. The image of Gael’s blackened fingers, her skin crumbling into ash, tore through Elyria’s mind, and she swallowed back bile.

Not him.

He was not allowed to go like this.

The Crucible could not have him too.

Like a marionette being pulled by that golden thread, she reached for him. The agony was immediate. White-gold flames bit at her flesh. For a fleeting moment, she wasn’t here. She was pinned to a table in a ransacked tavern, Raefe’s disgusting flametouch searing her legs .

No .

This wasn’t then.

He wasn’t him.

Cedric was good .

And he needed help.

He needed her.

Screaming through the pain, Elyria fully thrust her right hand into the blaze and wrapped it around Cedric’s forearm. It hurt. Badly. The flames gnawed at her skin. She bit down hard on the inside of her lip, tasting blood, in an attempt to distract from the pain.

But still, she held on, her fingers digging into him as he tried to pull away, thrashing to dislodge her. With a gasping breath, she summoned her shadows, letting them flow from her hand, wisps of smoke that coiled around him.

Shadows twisted with his fire, wrapping him in a blanket of cooling darkness. One heartbeat or a hundred could have passed as Elyria and Cedric stood there, entwined.

Flame and wild, shadow and sun.

Inch by inch, the raging inferno subsided until only smoldering embers remained, flickering weakly beneath his skin.

Little by little, the shadows— her shadows—smothered the flames.

Elyria’s legs buckled, her power dissipating into the ether. Cedric fell with her, their arms still intertwined, their bodies crumpling together, limp and empty.

For a minute they lay there in the middle of the room, chests heaving, eyes wide with shock. Cedric was pale as a ghost, his clothing in tatters, all color drained from his face. His entire body trembled.

Still shaking herself, Elyria ignored the pain blazing up her right arm and reached for his hand with her uninjured one. “You’re all right. I’ve got you,” she said, deja vu washing through her.

Painstakingly, as if it required every iota of focus and concentration he possessed, Cedric nodded. Together, they got to their feet, each leaning on the other as they staggered to a bench along one side of the chamber. Zephyr and Kit tittered around them, unsure as to how they might best help.

Elyria wished they would all step back, step away. He needed a minute. They just needed a minute.

Cedric’s voice was raw, his head hung low as he rasped, “What am I?”

Elyria didn’t know how to answer that. She was wondering the very same thing herself.