Page 66 of The Nightblood Prince

In darkness, I dreamt of fire.

Of Changchun, a walled fortress stretching as far as eyes could see, half buried under sand, half drenched in blood.

In my dream, a symphony of screams melted into a roaring buzz, just like on the battlefields.

The city erupted into wild flames ignited by the fire powder strapped to the Rong soldiers who pretended to be defecting refugees seeking asylum in Lan’s unsuspecting arms.

Under their cries for help, the world was painted scarlet by the inferno that grew redder and redder until it blinded my sight.

Against the violent light, shadows leaped from the city walls in their last attempts to flee. When their bodies crashed against the still winter-hardened soil, they sounded like limp cuts of meat hitting a butcher’s slab.

I heard their bones break, shuddered when the force of the impact shattered their bodies into crimson puddles.

I smelled the stench of death in the air, felt its icy breath at my neck.

In my dreams, I screamed. Until my throat went hoarse, until my voice had been sanded to a husk.

My master told me once, a long time ago, that you are our best hope of a better tomorrow. Of peace. Your fate is the answer to everything. It will either bring the ruin of the continent, or save it .

Did I have to conscript myself to a life trapped behind palace walls for such a future to exist?