Page 117 of Salem’s Rise

My life for his.

“Be happy, Jacqueline. You won,” he says, his eyes holding mine as the flames rise higher. “Bring Josh home.”

The words should feel like salvation.

He’s giving me permission to let him die. Telling me this is what he wants, that I don’t have to feel guilty for accepting the sacrifice he chose to make. He wants me to take what he’s giving me and save Josh.

The realization comes with horrible, merciless clarity.

Without Silas standing in my way, I could actually win The Rites. He and I are the only competitors to have won two trials. If he dies here, there will be no tie. The strongest competitor in The Rites will be gone.

My gaze drops to the flames beneath him. I’m so close to winning, I can taste it. I could get the boon. I could bring Josh home.

For months, every decision I have made has led me here. Every lie I have swallowed, every threat I have ignored, every trial I have survived. I came to Salem’s Fall for my brother. I entered The Rites for my brother. I have endured all of this for the smallest chance that somewhere at the end of it, I could undo what happened to him. And now the biggest obstacle standing between me and that impossible wish is just moments away from certain death.

I always feared The Rites would force me to do something terrible to win, but I don’t have to kill Silas. I don’t even have to hurt him. All I have to do is… nothing.

The realization makes me sick.

Silas chose me over his own life. He could have won this trial, won The Rites, become everything he was raised to be. Instead, he used all his power to save me and is burning alive in front of me while telling me to be happy about it.

I cannot purchase my brother’s life with Silas’s. I won’t stand here and just watch him die. Not if there’s anything I can do to stop it.

But… what can I do?

Silas’s eyes lift weakly toward mine as I step closer still to the flames. And Lucien…

Lucien is watching me, something in his eyes pushing me to find the answer.

I force myself to think. There has to be a way to stop this. Josh always said I was the best puzzle solver he knew. All of his most difficult games, I always cracked the code first. I can figure this out too. I have to. I must be missing something—but what?

There are four elements. Four Houses. Fire, Water, Air, Earth. Every trial has been structured around their strengths and weaknesses. As impossible as it may be, I’ve seen my competitors draw power from the elements at some point during The Rites. If Silas is right, and the Fourth House never wielded an element, then what did it wield?

Nothing?

That makes no sense.

The Hawthornes wouldn’t have murdered my father if our House was powerless. They wouldn’t have erased us from Salem’s Fall history or tried to kill me the moment they realized I had returned.

And what about the bridge? I hadn’t understood what was happening then. I only knew the wind had wrapped around me, holding me when I should have fallen. I’d felt the air respond to me. Had someone else controlled it—or had I wielded it myself?

Silas would not lie to me now. If he said the Fourth House had no element, I believe that’s what he was taught. But what if everyone has been thinking about it the wrong way? What if the Fourth House never had a single element because its power was something else entirely?

Everyone else seems to reach inward to access the elements. Lucien creates fire with a motion of his hand. Silas calls water to himself. Rowan and Georgina command the air. Lena pulls earth upward. I keep waiting for something to awaken inside me, but what if that was never the Fourth House?

I look around the clearing.

The elements are all here.

Water still clings to the air around Silas, faint remnants of what he used to save me. Wind circles Rowan and Georgina in agitated currents. The earth remains raised around Lena’s stake. Fire pours from Lucien’s spell through the two stakes still in flames.

What if I don’t need to summon my own element? What if all I need to do is take hold of what already exists?

The thought catches somewhere inside me.

I have spent my entire life believing that love was dangerous because loving someone meant needing them, and needing someone meant trusting they would still be there when you reached for them. Losing my father nearly destroyed my mother, and somewhere along the way, I decided strength meant never depending on anyone but myself. If I didn’t truly need anyone, no one could leave me with something missing when they were gone.

But what if I had it all wrong?