Page 176 of Winds of Ruin
“We can’t,” I soothed.
Lark's face twisted in dismay. “So what? We do nothing? We let Caym eat away at him as he once did to you? We let Caym kill him?” Her words lashed open a new wound. I longed to believe our course of action could be as simple as she imagined it.
She pulled the golden waking stone from Dritan’s pocket and eyed it; she could easily kiss it and wake him now. A line etched into her brow.
“Think it through, Lark,” I said.
Relenting with a groan, she thrust the stone toward me, as though not trusting herself with it.
As soon as it met my palm, a bright light shot from my hand, illuminating the room in an orange glow. Lark and Amara leapt back with gasps as an amorphous flame poured onto the tile floor and rose to the shape of a familiar woman.
At first she crouched, but then she stood quickly.
Firose.
My Source Match had a way of showing up when I least expected her. My throat grew tight, and my fist clenched around the stone.
“You’re here,” I whispered. But she didn’t react.
Lark breathed out, “It’s a memorandum. She cannot hear you. Dritan kept it. It was the only thing he had of his mother’s, but he said it opened only for him.”
Memorandums held a message to one’s loved ones.Last words.Firose glanced to the side as though wishing no one else to hear her whisper.
“Emmerick.” Her voice rasped. “You were kinder than anyone should have been to me, and you owe me no forgiveness.”
My brow furrowed. Firose had been a complicated woman. Her time under Caym’s command hadn’t tainted her heart, only thickened its walls. I’d seen glimpses of her softness; beneath the scheming facade, there was a woman who had once been just as scared and confused as the rest of us. Even through the flames that encased her, I could see the whites of her eyes. The fear-stricken expression told me this message posed a risk to her.
“By now, you know the boy is ours. Origin Lira cared for me in this in-between place until she sent him back to the world, to you—a child born of light. A relic made for a singular purpose. A new Origin.”
Lark’s stare followed Firose, and she kept a hand on her dagger belt. Amara stepped closer to the ethereal enchantment,gazing at the Fire-wielding enchantress like she was seeing, for the first time in a long time, the friend she’d lost.
Firose’s flames licked off her form and mixed with the faint moonlight as she outstretched her hand. “The Sun and Flame Origins paired us for a reason. They once tried tirelessly to match me with your father. But Amara’s love for Corric complicated their plans, so they matched them instead and waited for you. They knew Corric would not stray from Amara, nor would I come between them.”
I grasped the back of my neck, fighting the urge to reach out and take her outstretched hand. My mother stiffened and clutched the beads of her necklace tighter as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Once again, I found myself a pawn in the deities’ schemes. I gritted my teeth against the burn of my existence being so easily manipulated.
“If this message reaches you, please do as I say. For his life—do not take our son to the Origins. I’ve been listening, and their intentions for him are grim. In him, they crafted a light so bright it will only burn once; they will raise him to ruin him. The relics the Princess will possess do not serve you out there; they can only defeat Caym in Death’s domain—in the world beyond yours. You must find your way in, but donotlet them make our son the key as they intend to. They will reclaim him, keeping him trapped in the in-between. They will sacrifice him without hesitation.”
Firose looked over her shoulder as though someone approached. “I’ve already said too much and should not interfere with fate, but please, Emmerick. Protect him.”
The flames dimmed, and the stone in my palm heated. As quickly as she’d appeared, the fire split and ash fell to the ground until Firose no longer stood before us.
Damn them all—they meant to use him. They’d used me…
Amara’s neck snapped in my direction. “She is his mother?”
Bracing for her judgment, I nodded. No disgust crossed her features—only a deeper expression of despair. Amara’s hands wrung in front of her as she stared down at her grandson.
Lark entered the circle of ash that Firose had left behind. “‘They raised him to ruin him…’” she whispered as her cheeks grew flush with anger.
“‘They raised him to ruin him,’” she repeated. This time the words mounted to a loud snarl.
Amara glanced between us before her attention snagged on me. I wanted answers, and I was sick of getting them through cryptic, manipulative means.
“Summon them,” I said. “Please. All of them.”
We would not hand over my son—but they would answer for their actions.
