Page 117 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

Peace. It wasn’t entirely foreign to me despite the bitter twists and turns of my life so far. I had experienced peace before in the library at Valnar Castle. Sitting at Adele’s dinner table. Nestled in Mordric’s arms. I clung to that final image. Nothing could touch me as I rested against his muscled chest. I was safe there. My fingers twitched as warmth began to rise to the surface of my skin.

“Good,” came Enhart’s voice. “Lean into that feeling.”

This kind of heat was different from the sunlight that scorched the land from above, or the heat that wafted off of an open flame. It was somehow both painful and pleasant, a puzzling contradiction that pooled beneath my skin as my thoughts turned to Mordric. The euphoria that had burned within me when he first kissed me. The surprise when he told me he loved me … and I’d said nothing in return. The heat sputtered out. That was not a memory I wanted to hold on to in this moment.

I shook my head to dislodge that particular memory from my mind, but found I could focus on little else. My confidence withered and curled inwards like a wounded animal. This was impossible.

“Perhaps a walk will help you clear your head,” said Enhart after some time.

I blinked my eyes open. “Where exactly am I supposed to walk? Into the water?”

He shrugged. “You do love a dip in a lake, as I recall. Perhaps it would help.”

“Gods above,” I muttered darkly. I stalked toward the other end of the isle, flexing my hands. My boots squelched through the mud as I scolded myself silently. Why couldn’t I just draw on my peaceful memories without stumbling into something unpleasant? I had felt peace with Mordric. I had.

I drew in a breath, turning and drifting back toward the prince.

“Better?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Focus,” he reminded me.

“Okay, okay,” I replied.

I reached for another memory. This time, it was something simple. Mundane even. I was safe again, tucked into Mordric’s chest as his hand cupped my cheek. His other curled around my shoulders, drawing me close to him. The curtains fluttered as a breeze spilled through the cracked window, causing my skin to pebble. My chest rose and fell in a contented sigh. The heat rose again, bubbling merrily beneath my skin. I inhaled the scent of petrichor. “Don’t do this,” he had said.

Wait, was that right?

My eyes flew open, but fear didn’t even have the chance to sink its claws into me before a groan sounded from beneath our feet. The ground heaved as if the earth itself had belched, sending me stumbling back several steps. A crack formed in the soil. Transfixed, I stared into the earth as its flesh was laid bare before me.

As I held my breath, a stream of cobalt flame wafted out of the fissure. It writhed in midair inches from my nose like a serpent.

In the ensuing silence, I could have sworn that I heard the quiet thrum of a heartbeat from the being that floated before me. A being. That was the best way to describe it. A creature risen from Ferinor’s immortal realm. It held memories. Wisdom, maybe. And it recognized me as if we were old friends. My skin sizzled as the flame coiled tenderly around my trembling fingers. Perhaps not. Perhaps we had tolerated each other, though, in another life.

The ground heaved again, the flame slipping through my fingers, returning whence it came. The earth knitted itself together and the fissure faded, leaving only an ashy scar in the soil.

“Fuck,” came a voice. My head snapped up. I’d nearly forgotten that Enhart was here. “You did it,” he said, beaming at me.

His grin faded as I swayed. “Are you alright?” he asked, snapping forward to grasp me firmly by the shoulders.

I sucked in a breath as our stares connected. It was his voice. The memory that I had called upon. The feeling so powerful that it had summoned the Ealdorfyre from the depths of the underworld itself, was of him.

This vampire who had made his disdain for me plain the moment we met. This spoiled princeling who thought that I was beneath him. This man who— I lifted a hand absentmindedly to my lips, remembering the taste of the blood that saved my life.

His brow was creased with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I said finally. “But I think that’s enough for today.”

He grinned. “Whatever you want, Flamebearer.”

“To Finn,” said Agnes, raising a goblet of elderberry wine. The violet liquid shimmered in the flickering candlelight.

We sat in the university’s dining room with Enhart and Ivor, their voices echoing across the chamber. The stained-glass portraits of the founders watched over us. For the first time in days, my skin wasn’t smoldering from the heat of the Ealdorfyre. It was as if the pressure had been building inside me ever since I’d first conjured it, and I’d finally found release. I supposed Enhart’s point about my so-called gift stood. I’d have to thank him someday.

“Hear, hear,” said Enhart, his eyes twinkling.

“This is quite an accomplishment, indeed,” Ivor chimed in.