Page 61 of A Kiss of Flame

Elodie looked up at him, pain and contempt dripping from her voice. ‘I’ll say what you want,’ she spat out each word. ‘Whatever you want. Let’s get this over with.’

‘Bring her,’ Sassone barked at his men. He didn’t question her change of mind or the reasons for it. Perhaps he thought the enchanted chains had done his work for him. Perhaps he was that arrogant. Or perhaps, Wren realised, his position was too dire for hesitation. The knights were at the gates. ‘There isn’t much time. We need that confession in public, now, where everyone can hear her. Her knights need to hear it. As does all of Pelias.’

Wren stifled a sob and the shadows surged around them again, angry now, upset with her. They teetered on the edge of her control and she felt it too, the wild magic in the air, exacerbating everything and sending the balance of light and dark off its axis, spinning recklessly as a drunk.

The moment Sassone and his men had dragged the still chained Elodie from the cell, Wren turned on Anselm.

And lost the last grip on her powers.

Shadows coiled around him like ropes. She flung him back against the wall, pinning him there, and felt the dark power that was her birthright erupt inside her.

‘Why did you do that? Why didn’t you help me free her? Do you want your father to kill her?’

She hardly recognised the man there, smothered in darkness, his eyes wide in abject terror.

‘Wren please,’ Anselm managed to heave out, before shadows surged into his mouth until he choked on them.

Elodie had called her a monster. Had said Wren was nothing to her. Not her child, not really. And now… now… what was she doing? What would Anselm call her right now?

Please…

Who was begging her? The man or the shadows? It almost sounded like the voice of the Nox. It was so strong down here. Now it all rebounded on Wren, drowning her in its power. And she was ready to surrender to it.

‘Let him go,’ Olivier snapped. His sword touched her back, Aurum-forged and icy cold. But even seeing the evidence of what she was and what she could do, he didn’t panic, not entirely.

What was she doing?

The shadows recoiled, dumping Anselm unceremoniously on the cold slabs of the floor. He gasped for air, trying to pull himself up.

Olivier stepped back and she turned to see the ghost of fear on his handsome features. It didn’t make him back down though. He was a knight. He took his vows seriously. ‘What… what are you? We fight the Nox, with flame and sword.’

And there it was, the reaction she expected. Every time.

But to her surprise, Anselm pushed by her, and with one hand swatted Olivier’s sword aside, standing between them defiant. ‘She’s our princess and we are sworn to protect her.’

Olivier frowned at him as if he was mad and then he exhaled slowly. ‘It’s magic and that is no concern of ours. Men give it up to serve the Aurum and we don’t need to have anything to do with it. It is necessary, I understand that. But this…’

‘Olivier,’ said Anselm softly. Just his name. An admonition. And a warning. Olivier stared at him, frowned but then, slowly, he nodded.

‘Very well, I trust you.’ The word was pointed and only for Anselm, Wren knew that. ‘Don’t get us killed.’ Then he gave Wren a curt nod. ‘Princess.’

The glow of flickering lanterns reflected off his sword and armour, a brief glimmer of light. But it was light, here in this dark and terrible place. Wren found the breath she hadn’t been able to draw into her lungs. It came with a surge of relief as she pulled herself up to her full height and fixed him with a look of gratitude and desperation.

‘I’m Wren,’ she told him. ‘Not princess, not lady, not… not anything else and we are running out of time. I don’t care what Elodie said. We have to help her.’

CHAPTER 33

ELODIE

Pain coursed through Elodie’s body.

Each time she thought she had managed to gain some sort of equilibrium, had managed to reach a place where she was balanced precariously on the edge and might be able to reclaim some sense of herself, or perhaps even grab a scrap of her power, the darkness surrounding her resurged, swallowing her down again.

It was far more than the power of shadow-wrought steel. More than anything she had encountered before.

Someone had made this, created this – a spell which riddled the black manacles and collar, twisting the old magic’s light and dark, blending the two and switching them back and forth in a whirlwind of pure chaos – just for her. Someone who could turn the magic she thought she knew so well inside out.

Sassone couldn’t have done this. Not on his own. This was witchkind magic, but Elodie had never encountered anything so vicious. Not even the rebel witchkind or the College of Winter would willingly do this, not even the Sisterhood of the Nox. This was magic twisted and corrupted. And there was nothing Elodie could do to counter it.