I slam the book shut as my legs give out, and I crumble onto the sofa, the faces of those men flashing through my mind over and over.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I say through the pain tightening in my chest, but apologies can’t bring back the dead. Nothing can.
Fire burns beneath my skin, that cursed magic yearning to be free, but it’s not mine.
Nothing is mine anymore!
Except the Phoenix.
For some unexplainable reason, I have been able to control the Phoenix with Rowena’s help—to call on it, to dismiss it when needed.
But nothing else.
My crimson magic might as well be dust inside me. Dust I cannot call on. Dust I cannot use without Aleksander commanding me to.
Bastard!
I stumble to my feet, knocking over the chair at my desk. My sketches scatter across the floor—drawings of Jasce, seashells, and ocean waves.
As I bend down to pick them up, my gaze catches on the metal around my wrist, and I freeze. Something’s different.
Instead of one bracelet, two silver bands circle my wrist now.
Anger smolders through me as I wrap my fingers around the metal and try to rip them free, but they don’t budge.
“Fuck!” I scream the word over and over as I hurl my sketches onto my desk. Most slide off, hitting the floor again.
My fingers tremble as I grab my turquoise ring and twist it, my heart aching with a desperate, all-consuming need for Jasce.
His strength, his comfort, his love.
I picture his face as I grip the ring tighter and tighter. “Jasce,please, I need you so much.”
The walls spin around me, colors blurring and bleeding together in a dizzying whirl. My breath catches, and my stomach drops as I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself against the disorienting tide.
When the chaos finally subsides, I open my eyes. Crystal walls shimmer with an otherworldly light, refracting and reflecting the elements of the six tribes of Tarrobane—darkness, light, air, earth, fire, and water.
My breath hitches as I spin in a slow circle. The air here feels different—lighter, cleaner, as if filtered through layers of mountain snow.
But none of that matters. Because there, standing mere feet away, is Jasce.
How?
I allow the thought to linger for only a moment before I launch myself at him. He catches me easily, his arms banding around me like steel. I bury my face against his chest and inhale.
“Jasce,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his back. “Jasce.”
His hand cups the back of my head. “I’m here, Annora.”
“I killed them,” I choke out, the words tasting like bile on my tongue. “Aleksander commanded me to use my magic, and I—I couldn’t fight it. I burned them alive.”
The horror crashes over me as I cling to Jasce, as if his strength could somehow chase away the darkness staining my soul.
“I’m a monster,” I say, my words raw and painful against my throat. “Your brother has turned me into a monster.”
Jasce’s fingers thread through my hair, his touch gentle, loving, caring. “No, you’re not a monster. Aleksander is the monster for forcing you to do this.”
“I should have fought harder,” I insist, my voice raw with self-loathing. “I should have found a way to resist him, but I didn’t. Instead, I let him use me and twist my magic into something evil.”
