Page 66 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)

T ears blurred Emmery’s vision as Juno thundered away from Castle Dusk. Blustering wind ripped her braid loose and silver strands clung to her sullen face. The undeniable ache in her chest, freshly carved by the hand of betrayal, wouldn’t ebb. But she’d done this to herself.

Her cloak did little to warm her in the morning air and her cold reality sank in. She tumbled back into that familiar loneliness as her heart froze over and unmendable fissures cracked. The black, gaping hole inside her swelled. Expanded.

All her choices up to this point proved she was a fool.

And even after all these years she hadn’t learned.

For all she knew, Briar planned a trap as well.

She'd been deceived, lied to, and trusted a man with a flashy smile, kind eyes, and malicious intentions. Maybe Destonne had done something to him, made him agree to this, but she couldn’t be certain.

All she knew was she put Vesper’s life before her own sister, and the blame was irrefutably hers to bear.

Vesper was right. She should have let him stay dead.

Emmery buried her face in Juno’s mane. The sleepless night weighed on her like a heavy blanket and she drifted into darkness.

Giving her head a shake, she pried open her eyes and raised her bleary gaze to the horizon.

The foreign lavender sand and pink sky stretched for as far as she could see.

Gone were the snow-capped mountains, lush valley forest, and sparkling, iridescent blue ocean.

Where were they? It was as if they transported somewhere else entirely.

But that wasn’t what caused Emmery’s heart to sink.

It was her childhood cottage with the unmistakable, weathered wooden siding, porch with daffodils despite the cold, and the broken doorknob propped up by a board.

But a strange purple smoke obscured the windows.

As she dismounted Juno, she gaped in disbelief.

Had she somehow travelled back across the gate?

No. That wasn’t possible. Guardian Kaah would never allow it.

The sand shifted beneath each step, and her hands shook as she set the wooden plank aside and turned the handle. The door creaked open and purple smoke puffed out the entrance. She coughed, shielding her face.

“You could have knocked,” a sing-song voice called from the far corner of the cottage.

Emmery squinted through the smoke. A woman, no taller than a child, sat on a kitchen chair, her short, emaciated legs dangling aimlessly.

But there wasn’t anything childlike about her.

She radiated infinite wisdom and a deep magical thrum that spoke to Emmery’s bones.

Swaddled in a black puffy dress fit for a doll and no shoes, she grinned.

Her skin glimmered like a sapphire and her round, plummy eyes beneath thick spectacles reminded her of an overripe blueberry.

Emmery cocked an eyebrow. “In my defence, this is my home.”

The woman’s shoulder-length black hair parted, revealing a scarred translucent cavae . Rather than under her collarbone, it centered her forehead. “I believe you mean it was your home.” She laced her crooked fingers. “Sit.” An order.

Emmery sank into the fawn-brown sitting chair, too tired to protest. It was the one her mother frequently fell asleep in after she became sick.

Countless times Emmery had carried her frail body to bed.

She dug her fingers into the torn, canvas armrest, the familiar motion soothing.

But when Emmery opened her mouth, she was cut off before a word left her lips.

“You are wondering why you are here.” The woman unclasped her hands and slowly drummed her fingers together, one by one. “Naturally.”

Emmery’s silver brows pulled together. “Who are you? And how did I get here?” Only a few lanterns lit the dim cottage. The purple smoke thinned but lingered and the scent of crackling firewood filled the air. Scattering the sitting room were books and papers. Had she gone through her things?

Emmery frowned at her childhood novel, The Lonely Toad , open on the table.

“I have many names. I have been called The Last Oracle. Others called upon me as the Foretold. I have even been called Sordid Lady Death.” She laughed, a wicked little sound rasping in her throat. “But my friends call me Zyphira. At least they would if I had any.”

Her stomach dropped but she fought to keep her mask of calm.

Zyphira . The one who had found Vesper and told him of the prophecy.

This was her chance to get some answers, though a quiet shame whispered in her ear that she wasn’t worthy of them.

Emmery fixated on the odd smoke swarming the woman’s head. “Quite the list of titles,” she observed.

“Indeed.” She gave a black toothed smile. “You may call me Zyphira.”

Emmery didn’t return the smile, her heart weary. “We’re friends?”

“Oh, Emmery dearest, you would not want me as an enemy.” Her stomach clenched at the sound of her name. Zyphira gestured to the room, her long black fingernails matching her teeth. “I have been waiting for you for some time now.”

“Why did you call me here?” Emmery chewed her lip. “And this of all places.”

“I didn’t. You did. It’s a tad disappointing. I was hoping for something more”—she waved her gnarled hand—“luxurious.”

“Yes, well, my imagination has been dulled by lack of sleep.” Emmery studied the room.

It felt like her cottage. Smelled like it.

All these things were hers ... and yet, something was off.

“I assume we’re not actually here.” She clawed at that evasive thread wiggling at the back of her mind.

“Is this the Divide? I—I think I remember something about it. From a dream. But I didn’t think I could be here awake. ”

“Very good. You’re quick, child. I like that about you.” Her head bobbed in a single enthusiastic nod. “And you have momentarily slipped into sleep while Juno cares for you. The Divide can always be found when needed. You wished yourself here and, poof, you arrived.”

“I suppose you wish to discuss the prophecy.” Emmery’s chest tightened recalling her failure to relight the flame. “And my sheer lack of progress.”

“You, Emmery Hawthorne, Daughter of the Spring, born in the image of the Goddess, have a calling which you have run from,” she stated, the words suspiciously rehearsed. “You have heard the prophecy. Or at least a version of it.”

Emmery’s gut twisted with guilt. “Look, I’ve been a bit too busy to find my disciples and when I tried to relight the flame, it nearly turned my hands to charcoal.

So, I’m not sure what you want from me. You made a mistake.

It can’t be about me.” She couldn't meet those plummy eyes rounding with disappointment. “I don’t want people to die, and I know about the fever, but I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, and I haven’t even heard the full prophecy—”

Zyphira snorted, the sound utterly shocking.

She cleared her throat and recited, “Golden flower, silver petal, more precious than any metal. Hot iron in thy veins, bond, tether, melt the chains. His bones, her skin, through love alone bring the next kin. Burden and bless, sixteen and four, no more, no less. Seek the six and the half, together burn it all with wrath. A story to rewrite, a spark to ignite. Do not forfeit peace for pain, for only ash will remain. Before the beginning, begin again.” Zyphira’s spectacles dipped as she gave her a satisfied smile.

A chill snaked down Emmery’s spine as the words glazed over her skin. “I feel like I should have written that down.” There was too much, and it sounded like nonsense. This was real life and that was poetry. A jumble of words strung together to make her life a damn mess.

“It is carved into the Skyborne Temple, where the basin awaits the khaos flame. Where Prince Vesper told you of your destiny.” She drummed her fingers together. “However, he neglected to tell you of before. The past you shared. It’s important for you to know.”

Emmery’s world stilled and her skin pebbled. She opened her mouth to speak, and no words came. She sat there for a tense moment before finally choking out, “I’m sorry ... past we shared?”

“Yes, the years before you lost your memory. Before you returned over the Iron Gate.”

Her pounding heart thrummed in her face, throat, ears and she couldn’t catch her breath.

Emmery’s mind raced, reaching and sifting and weaving it all together.

Back to all the moments Vesper and her shared together.

Briar’s familiarity. Callias’s unexplained distaste for her.

Juno’s name being the same as her stuffed horse.

Her clothes fitting effortlessly.

Her room at Castle Dusk, tailored for her.

She clutched her head, her fingers threading into her hair. “No.”

“Those holes in your memory are there for a reason, child.” She peered at Emmery above her spectacles.

“You did not wander the woods after being attacked and you were missing for two years, not two months. You were here before. Called to the gate where the Merikhs found you, took you in, cared for you and you took a blood oath to marry the Prince of Ellynne. You had a bright future here until everything happened.”

“I don’t understand how I was gone. My family didn’t remember—” Emmery’s heart stuttered. “ Wait . I was betrothed to ... Vesper?”

“The pactum that sent you back over the gate was powerful magic. Powerful enough to defy the fabric of time. Before you completed your trial and assumed your magic. Before you crossed the gate, though those here remember and everything you touched remains. Only death can sever a blood oath, unlike the pactum. Death or magic of this magnitude.” Zyphira smiled again.

“And yes. You were his and he was yours.”

The room was suddenly too small, the walls shrinking and she pulled her knees into her chest, rocking in the armchair.

Deep breath in. Out.

In. Out.