Page 67 of A Kiss of Flame

She tore through the twisted spell and pulled out everything she wanted or needed. Her hair flowed out as if she was underwater, black ink in the night, and her eyes blazed darkness. She was gathering more power, more than he had ever seen her channel before and unleashed it, sending it after Sassone, tearing through all the wards around her like paper to summon more.

So much power. So many shadow kin. Everything that hid in the dark corners of the city, born of fear and despair, nursed on injustice, it all flocked to her now. They would all die. Everyone. Not just those who threatened her, Finn realised. Not just those running away, but those charging into the castle as well. And those outside the walls. And everyone hiding in terror. The knights, the people of Pelias, everyone, friend and foe.

Those who didn’t die would know what she was. And then they would kill her.

But there was light as well. Everywhere she dragged away the darkness, there was light and she somehow gathered that together as well, focusing it as if through a prism, pouring it into Anselm’s still form. The more darkness she pulled into herself, the more light she could force into him. Into all of them, Finn realised. It sang in his veins, in his and Olivier’s, in Roland’s and the knights’, the light of the Aurum filling them as they battled their way forward. All because she was trying to save Anselm, trying to heal him. That was what she was doing, without thought to the consequences.

‘Wren!’ he yelled. ‘Stop!’

He was too late. Far too late. He knew it at a glance. His knees longed to drop to the ground before her, and his heart screamed at him to submit to her, to be hers and let her take him and do with him whatever she wanted.

And maybe Wren was already gone. She was saving his friend’s life. She was sending retribution after those who had threatened Elodie and hurt her. But in doing so, she’d lose herself to the Nox.

At the sound of his voice, her head snapped forward, long black strands of hair snaking over her face. She fixed her attention entirely on him and smiled. Her eyes were dark and endless. Empty now of all that was Wren.

Olivier held Anselm in his arms, trying to staunch the flow of blood, his eyes clenched shut against the light that poured through them both.

Finnian, my beloved, the voice purred. It wasn’t her voice. But it was all around him, rippling through him. The wild magic lashed against his will, and only his need to help Anselm let him withstand it.

‘You have to stop,’ he shouted desperately at the Nox, praying it would understand him. Those traces of the Aurum’s light still lingering in him flared like wildfires and went out. ‘The knights will see. They’ll kill her. If they see what you’re doing here, if they see what your creatures can do to Sassone, they’ll burn her and then what will you do? The knights are coming and they will know. They’ll see the dead, what you’ve done to them. Everyone will know. Please, stop. Just stop and think.’

If they hadn’t already seen. If they didn’t already know. And here he was trying to reason with the darkness.

Anselm’s strength, such as it still was, gave out as the light surrounding him flickered out and Olivier couldn’t hold him up. He lowered Anselm to the cobbles as gently as he could so both of them wouldn’t fall. Then Olivier dropped down beside him, his hands shaking.

‘He’s dying,’ he shouted. ‘Finn, do something. He’s dying.’

Wren watched them, her head tilted to one side like a cat’s, her eyes unbearably dark, holes into an endless night. The wave of shadow kin subsided, but it didn’t depart. It drew back to her, a cloak of seething, hungry night, waiting. Any moment now the Knights of the Aurum would arrive. His friends, his comrades, all full of holy light and ready for battle… Any moment…

Finn dropped to his knees. He didn’t know what else to do. His friend was dying, Wren’s friend. She’d never forgive herself. He had to reach her somehow. ‘Help him. Please.’

She tried. She cannot. And what do you offer?

Offer? What could he possibly offer?

‘Whatever you want…’ He knew what it wanted, what it had always wanted. He whispered it like a dark admission and closed his eyes in acceptance. ‘I’m yours. Hers. Gladly. You know that.’

Everything went quiet. Far too quiet.

Cold hands touched his face, hands that trembled. Wren. It was Wren. She drew in a shaky breath and her voice was weak. ‘I think… I think he’s stable. I thought it wouldn’t—’ And then she saw his expression and the devastation around her. ‘What – what did I do?’

The darkness around them had gone. They were only four people, cold and shivering in the night, drenched in blood and sweat. Bodies were strewn around them. He didn’t want to think about that. He’d killed some. So had Olivier. But not that many.

He couldn’t tell if Sassone was among them. He couldn’t tell if some of them had ever been human.

Finn couldn’t tell her what had happened. ‘Help me, love. We’ve got to get Anselm out of here. We have to get you away before…’

The knights were coming. Even if no questions were asked, they would never find a healer in time, not if they waited here in the ruins of Castel Sassone. And there would be questions. So many questions. They’d have to explain why they were here, with the son of a traitor and the heir to the throne dressed like some kind of stable boy. And as for explaining what happened to Sassone’s men… or the remains of them…

‘But where can we go?’ Wren asked. Olivier lifted Anselm’s limp form as if he was no more than a bundle of rags and looked to Finn for direction.

There was only one place close enough. They didn’t have time to go any further. Anselm certainly didn’t.

Finn only hoped he wouldn’t eternally regret this.

CHAPTER 36

ROLAND