The Man in The Fire

The fortress shows up right as the sun comes up. I almost wish it hadn't.

It's built into the mountain, black stone stacked up into a sky that's still dark in patches. Blue fire runs along the walls, even now, even in daylight. There are old statues lining the road in, kings probably, worn down by weather, and their stone eyes seem to follow us the whole way.

"It's beautiful," Nyssa says, but her voice shakes a little.

"It's scary," I say back.

"Maybe it's both."

I don't answer that. My stomach's been in knots since we crossed the border, and it's not getting better.

Guards watch us as we walk through the gates, but nobody really looks at us. Inside, it's colder than I expected. Black stone, silver trim, torches everywhere, and none of it makes me feel any less out of place.

"Wait here," the captain tells us, stopping in a long hall with tall windows. "The King will see you soon."

"The King," I say, and my stomach drops all over again.

Nyssa grabs my hand. "You don't have to be scared of him."

"I'm not scared of him." That's mostly a lie. "I'm scared of what happens next."

We don't wait long.

He walks in with two guards behind him, and the moment I see him, the mark on my collarbone burns so hot I gasp out loud. He's not dressed like a king right now — just dark trousers, a plain shirt — but he still walks like someone who's never once had to hurry for anyone.

His eyes land on me. Something moves across his face for half a second. Then it's gone, like he shut a door on it.

"Aurelia Vane," he says, flat, like he'd rather not be saying my name at all.

"Draeven Thorne." I don't bow. I physically cannot make myself bow. "Or is it Your Majesty now?"

One of the guards stiffens. Draeven doesn't. "Draeven's fine."

"I'd rather not call you anything."

For a second I think he might actually smile. He doesn't. "The Council wants you here. Under my protection. Until we know more about your bloodline."

"Your protection." I say it slow, so he hears exactly how stupid it sounds coming from him. "That's what we're calling it?"

His jaw tightens. "You're angry."

"Obviously I'm angry." My voice is shaking now and I hate that. "You humiliated me in front of every pack in this kingdom. You called me weak. And now you want me to just believe you're protecting me?"

"I am protecting you." There's something under his voice, something tight. "You don't know what the Council would've done if I'd claimed you that night."

"So tell me."

"I don't owe you that."

"You rejected me in front of everyone I've ever known," I say. "I'd say you owe me a lot more than you're ever going to give."

Neither of us says anything for a second. It's a bad silence, the kind that sits on your chest. And I hate that some part of me, some stupid traitor part, wants to step closer instead of away.

"You'll have rooms in the east wing," he says, looking away first. "Selene will take care of your friend. Torin's putting guards on your door."

"Guards to protect me," I say, "or guards to keep me from leaving?"

"Both," he says. At least he doesn't lie about it.

A woman steps out from behind him. Tall, long white-blonde hair, eyes the color of dusk. She gives me a small smile — the first real warmth I've gotten since we walked in.

"I'm Selene," she says. "I can take you to your room now, if you want."

"Please," I say. Anyone but him.

We start to walk away, and that's when he says my name again, quieter this time, like maybe he doesn't want me to hear it.

"Aurelia."

I stop walking. I don't turn around.

"I'm sorry," he says. "For how it happened."

"Not that it happened, though."

He doesn't say anything back. I guess that's my answer.

The room they give me is bigger than any room I've ever slept in. Soft bed. Fire is already going. A window that looks out over a garden I'm probably not allowed near. It should feel nice. It just feels like a cage somebody decorated.

"He looked kind of sorry," Nyssa says, sitting on my bed while I stand at the window, staring at the two moons.

"Sorry it happened in front of people," I say. "That's different from sorry it happened."

"Maybe he had a reason."

"Maybe I don't care what his reason is." I put my hand against the cold glass. "He made his choice. In front of everybody. I don't have to give him credit just because my body reacts to him like—"

I stop talking. My face is hot.

Nyssa looks at me. "Like what?"

"Nothing."

"Aurelia."

"It doesn't matter what my body does," I say, more to myself than to her. "It matters what he did. He picked his Council over me before he even let me explain myself."

She's quite a second. Then, softer, "I don't think he looked like a man who feels nothing, is all I'm saying."

"That doesn't help me right now."

She lets it go. Helps me change out of my ruined cloak. Eventually I'm too tired to keep arguing with my own head, and I fall asleep.

I dream.

I'm in a palace I don't know, gold light everywhere, smoke thick in the air. Somewhere close, a woman is screaming, and it's not fear in her voice, it's rage, it's grief, it's too much for one person to carry. I run toward it, bare feet on marble, and I find her kneeling in a room that's on fire, holding a child against her chest.

"Run," she's screaming, at someone I can't see. "Take her and run!"

The kid in her arms turns her face my way, and I realize she's got my eyes.

Then a man comes through the smoke. Young. Bloody. Scared. He takes the child out of the dying woman's arms.

"I have her," he says. "I swear, I have her."

The woman's whole face breaks open with relief and grief at the same time. "Protect her," she tells him. "Whatever it costs. Protect her."

He nods and turns to run, and the smoke swallows him up before I can see his face fully — but I see enough.

It's Draeven.

I wake up gasping. My heart's going too fast. I can still taste smoke in my throat, somehow, even though none of it was real.

"Aurelia?" Nyssa's already awake, sitting up next to me. "What's wrong? You're shaking."

"I saw him," I say. "In my dream. Draeven. There was a fire, and a woman, and a kid—"

"It's just a dream."

"It didn't feel like a dream." I press my hand against my collarbone. The mark is warm under my palm, beating like it has its own pulse. "It felt like something that actually happened."

Nyssa's face goes pale. "What happened to who?"

I don't have an answer for that. But something in me, somethi

ng old, something that isn't fully mine yet, already thinks it knows.