Page 1 of The Sun God’s Prize (Child of Scale and Fire #3)

The world is an echoing ocean of darkness and pain, and I can’t find my way to the surface.

I’m drowning in it, devoured, rising almost to the wavering limit, so close I can make ripples if I reach out. But when I do, something sharp makes me gasp, and I’m sinking again, deeper and deeper.

I’m never going to find my way to shore. I’m going to die here, alone and suffocating. And yet, how am I breathing so far beneath the waves? I’m sucking in air thick and heavy, my lungs heaving for breath that does nothing to satisfy me.

It takes a long time for the sinking to slow, and by then, I’m on fire inside, the cool nothing that surrounds me doing little to soften the pain.

And then I’m screaming, clawing my way up again, fighting the pull of that deep, endless black, contorting myself into physical rejection, my rebellion costing me far more than strength.

Sobs come, often and harsh, and peripherally I feel something clamp over my mouth and nose, and I really can’t breathe anymore.

“…go,” a voice drifts into audibility from a warped, warbling sound to words, “or she’ll die…”

The heavy thing falls away from my nose, my lips, the sharpness coming again, and I plunge one more time into the depths.

I don’t know how many times it happens. I do know that each time I fall, it grows harder to fight, that my strength drains from me into that chill and dragging blackness, and that the pain saps me as much as the battle does.

My rage doesn’t die. What makes me sear in fury never will, I’m certain of it. What drives such anger, I can’t recall, even as the hate behind it bubbles and boils. But the energy I have to burn in its honor dissipates at last, unsustainable, until I’m limp and hanging in the arms of emptiness.

Where only agony holds sway.

Which is why I’m so surprised to blink and open my eyes, to look up at stars that bobble and flicker overhead, to hear the lap of water against something close to my ear, and the harsh breathing that fills in the rest of the sounds.

My breathing.

“There’s another boat,” someone hisses. “They’re still following.”

“Quiet,” another snaps back. Silence goes on for so long that I think I must be distorting time when the second speaker says, “They’ve moved on. Let’s go.”

“We need to take her back.” The third person’s light, female voice is full of terror, trembling with it.

Motion near me draws my eyes, though I can’t seem to move my head at all.

Small hands lay clasped in a lap, the fearful one crouched next to me, on her knees. “They’ll kill us when they catch us.”

“We’re not going back.” The second speaker is a woman, too, her tone dull and flat, devoid of fear that clutches the younger. I know that voice, I’m sure of it, as I do the girl’s.

Both are sources of the hate I hold so close.

“You knew what you were getting into.” The one I heard first is male and filled with his own kind of panic. I fold him into the internal inferno.

“I didn’t,” the girl wails softly, though far too loudly for the man, it seems. There’s a flurry of motion, the world rocking in an abrupt rush, violent and nauseating, followed by a sharp crack that makes her hands rise, her body flinch. Has he struck her?

“Shut up, Fethest.” A heavy footfall makes my body rock again, and I realize why the air smells like salt and the stars waver. I’m in a boat. Did they rescue me from the water? When I was drowning? I should thank them for that.

Except the hate won’t allow it. Who are they?

Wait, Fethest. I do know her. Don’t I? I close my eyes, sighing. I’m so tired, too tired to question. The truth remains, I know her and the other two. I must be safe.

You’re not , a voice whispers in my mind. But you are coming to me now. It was the best I could do .

Who are you? I ask that back in the quiet, but there’s no response. Not in my head, anyway.

“Remalla.” I open my eyes again, and she’s hovering over me, the woman with the dull and empty voice.

She’s shrouded in a hood, her face achingly familiar.

A lock of blonde hair falls out from her covering, and she slowly, precisely, slides it back after it tickles the end of my nose. “You’re awake.”

That’s the wrong name. She doesn’t call me Remalla.

“Vivenne.” Yes, of course, my aunt. My mother’s sister. General of Heald and my mentor, my beloved teacher and family.

She observes me for a moment. “She’s not fighting.”

“I told you,” Fethest snaps with tears in her voice, sounding angry. Why is she angry? “It’s dangerous to give her so much.”

“It’s necessary,” Vivenne says with a tiny shrug under her cloak. “Will she remember?”

“It depends on her mind,” the man speaks up.

Portuk, my memory says. I want to tell Vivenne that I do remember, to answer her question.

But I’m staring at him, lost in the surfacing pockets of recall.

He’s drakonkin. And so am I. Though I never knew it, not until recently.

And wait, I have a father, too, one I thought long perished.

He’s alive.

The queen is dead.

I’m crying suddenly, but I don’t know why.

Something hurts, far worse than the tingling pain in my limbs and torso, much more than the throbbing beginning in my head.

It’s my heart, swelling in agony, like a bubble fills, pressing hard against my chest, a hard, heavy and poisoned thing that will burst at any moment and take my life.

The queen is dead .

“Mother,” I whisper. My mother.

Vivenne flinches. It’s a bare movement, hardly one at all. But I see it because I’m staring up at her. “Jhanette,” she says. “You remember.”

It’s so very hard. And now the headache overtakes the threat of my heart bursting, and I whimper. Why is that such a terrible thing, that tiny sound of pain? It is, though, even if I can’t recall why.

Especially for Vivenne to hear.

“There’s another boat coming.” Fethest’s panic has my aunt looking up, though it’s casual, her arm snaking outward, and I just catch it in the periphery as Vivenne’s fingers wind around the young healer’s neck and squeeze.

I listen to the sound of Fethest choking to death, and can’t remember why I should care.

“Hush.” There’s silence from the three of them, the healer’s protest cut off with force. There’s only the soft rocking of the boat, the odd echoing lap of the water on the hull, and nothing.

— emi —

No, not yet , the voice whispers, her impatience soft and sad. I’m sorry, she must come alone .

And yet, insistence pushes against the ache in my head and the lassitude that won’t let me remember, and I hear it again—

— Remi! —

“Atlas.” I gasp his name, because it’s Atlas, the kinspark lighting in a flare of lost dragon magic, setting off a chain reaction inside me that surges into a firework of agony, burning everything away—

I’m me, trapped in the bottom of a rickety boat, pinned down by the two traitor drakonkin and my not-quite-right aunt, captive, but not for long. I reach through the connection to Atlas, my beautiful Overprince, to Zenthris, the rebellious rogue, my loves, searching for me.

— I’m here —

Something sharp stabs my skin as Vivenne hisses, her only show of emotion, and though I’m already struggling, I’m weak, so tired, drained to the last drop, even if I’ll fight until I die.

Until I kill her.

And then I’m drowning in the ocean, sinking deeper and deeper under the water until there’s nothing but the chill, floating emptiness.

When the agony starts again, I embrace it.

I open my eyes. There are stars. So pretty, the stars. Sparkling and wobbling like that. Something is touching me, but I can’t make it stop, even though it’s heavy on my chest. Or is it just hard to breathe? It’s difficult to know for sure.

Everything rocks, my stomach heaving suddenly in rebellion, but when the contents rise, there’s nowhere for the sick to go.

“Turn her over.” That dull, empty voice is harsh, low. I’m choking, my chest on fire, and then I’m on my side, coughing as something hits me hard on the back.

“You’re going to kill her.” The young woman’s voice. I know it, don’t I? Like I do the other flat, emotionless one. But from where? There’s accusation in that girl’s tone. “Then they’ll kill us for sure.”

A man laughs, a barking sound, like a dog’s biting anger. “Trust me,” he says, “if they catch us, that one alive or dead, we won’t survive it either way.” His voice falls off, then he speaks again. “There, is that them?”

“Let’s find out.” The older woman’s tone hasn’t changed at all. “Watch her. I’d prefer it if she didn’t die this way. She still has a task ahead of her.”

I feel the world sway, hands on my face. My cheeks are very hot, and pins and needles crawl over every inch of me, climbing my limbs, rippling over my torso. It’s so hard to focus past these moments of here and now. Something’s not right, I’m sure of it, but should I care?

“I’m sorry,” the girl’s voice whispers to me, hoarse and close, the heat of her breath on my ear.

“I didn’t… I thought.” She clears her throat.

“Portuk said you were dangerous, a threat. I believed him.” Her whisper carries a hint of terror to it as her words tremble.

“Why did I believe him?” She sighs softly, breath a shaking stream over my hot skin, stirring the prickling further and making me whimper.

“She’s given you too much,” the girl says.

“You may never recover. I’m so sorry.” She gasps softly.

“But I swear to you, Farah is fine. I didn’t hurt her, just knocked her out. She’s safe, Remalla.”

Farah. A small face flashes in my head, followed by the image of a bright, red piece of fruit.

Apple? The need to weep squeezes my throat, my chest, even if I may never understand why it appears from nowhere to choke me.

But it’s the second name that catches my attention. Remalla. That’s my name. I cling to it like it means something, even if it doesn’t, not right now. I should be sad.

Shouldn’t I?

Don’t worry , the voice in my head speaks to me, distant, so distant. I’ll make sure you regain what you’ve lost. But this is the only way. You’ll just have to trust me .

All right , I think back to her. If you say so .

It’s her turn to sigh. You’re going to be very angry with me when you are yourself again , she tells me.

But they would have insisted on coming with you.

They would have died where you’re going, Flame.

You would have lost them, and all would have fallen.

I hope you understand when the time comes. This was the only option I had .

I don’t respond because I have no idea what she’s talking about, or if she’s even real. The boat (I’m on a boat?) is rocking again, and someone’s foot appears in my line of sight, crossing over my body.

“Get her up,” the woman’s voice says. A man grasps me and tugs me upright, and I’m going to throw up again, I can’t help it. He curses as the bile burbles up, and I’m suddenly face-first over water, heaving helplessly into the black surface. “Be careful with her,” the woman says.

“Then you carry her,” he snarls back. He jerks me upward again, and this time there’s nothing to come up, even if disorientation and nausea war with each other to make me puke.

I’m over his shoulder, flopping against his backside, unable to move at all as he steps up out of the boat and onto a flat, wooden deck.

We must be where we were going, then. Except, there’s suddenly fire and shouting, and when I feel myself fall, there’s no way to stop myself from hitting the boards hard.

Or from rolling over and over, images caught in my vision while I tumble, of swords and torches and a sudden rush of people from the dark.

All just flickers of instants that go away the moment I plunge into the cool, black water.

***