Ember threads appeared in the air around him, like cracks in the wall of a burning house. They twisted around his fingers, jewel-bright. He channeled all that fire through his body, imbued it with his will.
Burn.
The word was in his mind, his own inner voice. But another voice echoed it.
The forest burst into flame.
It was quick work, faster than a forest fire should be. The trees were immediately consumed, burning wildly, torches in the night-dark.
“Excellent,” Eoin murmured, the flames reflecting on his face, hollowing out his features.
Within moments, the trees were ash. The forest was desolate, the plain beyond them clear to see. More a copse of trees, really. Nothing too impressive.
If he downplayed it in his mind, maybe it’d feel less momentous. Maybe his fingers wouldn’t itch to do it again.
Malcolm came to his side, his jaw clenched tight. He knelt at the edge of the burnt woods, placed his hands to the ground. Green flickered at the corners of Gabe’s vision as the grass of thefields beyond encroached on the cleared land, moss furring over the corpses of trees. A minute, and the field was lush, primed for sowing.
“I hate this,” Malcolm murmured as he stood, backed away. “Ihatethis.”
Eoin stared at what they’d done, openmouthed. Then, with a whoop of laughter far wilder than expected from a seasoned politician, he started applauding.
The rest of the Brotherhood picked it up, calling their praises into the night air.
Gabe barely listened. He just watched as steam rose into the darkness, the last dregs of smoke disappearing into the light of the full moon.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LORE
Every emotion is a tool.
—Kirythean proverb
There were ropes attached to the walls in the hold of the Ferryman’s boat. Lore assumed they were for securing cargo, but after the second wave hit the side of the hull, she wrapped them around her waist and tied as tight a knot as she could, anchoring herself to the side. Across the hold, Dani followed her lead.
It kept them from being thrown across the room, but damn, the rope biting into her gut was almost as bad.
As it turned out, Dani was the seasick one. They sloshed back and forth, Dani going pale and sweaty before turning her head and losing what looked like the jerky and hard bread that had been dinner the night before. Lore watched her dispassionately. If she’d been free, she still wouldn’t hold back Dani’s hair.
A few minutes of furious rocking, the boat turning back and forth so steeply Lore was sure it was fully on its side. But the Ferryman knew his shit, and they never capsized.
Then it was over.
Lore sat still in her ropes, consciously holding her musclesloose to move with the ship, waiting for the next wave to hit. But a minute passed, then a minute more, and the waters outside seemed placid. She relaxed, marginally. Hopefully the rest of the journey stayed calm.
Dani still looked a little shaky as she untied her ropes and stood, casting a rueful glance at the puddle of sick on the floor. “I’m going up. It smells like vomit down here.”
“Imagine that,” Lore muttered as the other woman climbed the ladder.
Something glimmered in the top of Dani’s boot right before she disappeared onto the deck. The hilt of a dagger. Lore supposed it was a good thing one of them was armed, but it wasn’t lost on her that Dani hadn’t been forthcoming about it. She tucked the information away.
Lore took a moment to get her bearings before standing on unsteady legs. She hadn’t paid much attention to the rest of the hold when they first came down here, preoccupied with the loss of Nyxara in her head and an imminent trial-by-sea, but now she took the opportunity to look around. Other than the open area where she stood, the hold appeared to be divided into a few other rooms, with one door toward the stern and another to the prow. The stern door was open, revealing bare bunks and a chamber pot. The door at the prow was closed.
It was caution more than curiosity that drew her toward it. This was the last situation in which she wanted to be caught off guard. Lore searched around the floor of the hold until she found a splintery old chest with metal reinforcements at the corners that looked easy enough to pry off. The old metal piece had a sharp edge; a few minutes’ work, and she had it in her hand, thin and narrow enough at one end to use as a lockpick.
It wasn’t necessary. The door opened smoothly when she turned the handle. Still, Lore tucked the sharp implement into her boot. It wasn’t a dagger, but it might do in a pinch.
The room was empty, other than a table in the center. A handful of silver instruments were placed at equidistant spaces around its surface. Some looked like pyramids, balancing delicate metal bars on their points. Others were arches with weights hanging from chains, preternaturally still. She thought of the thing Dani had brought the Ferryman, the silver balance to pay their way. It would fit right in here.
