Almost as well as I can fly. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.
I’m not worried. She slammed her hand against a branch that struck him in the side, and the tree exploded into flaming cinders with a terrible crack that was nearly drowned out by the roar of the river.
Good. No worrying. However . . . that sounds awfully loud for a river.
That’s because it’s a waterfall. She shivered, and the bare skin of her arms against his felt unnaturally hot.
You need to let go of the fire, Lorelai.
Not until we’re safe.
I’ll get us to safety. I promise. He crested a steep slope that was nothing but stubbles of grass and clumps of dying underbrush. Behind him, an entire army of trees shuffled faster, roots lashing like whips as they came. Throwing himself on his back, Lorelai cradled against his chest, he slid toward the jagged edge of the slope.
We’re safe from the trees. Let go of the fire. Please, Lorelai. You don’t need the pain any longer.
She released the fire and it pooled in his chest, its familiar warmth comforting.
Underbrush sliced into him, and the soil scraped his back raw as he slid. He braced himself, hit the rocks that lined the bottom of the slope, and scrambled to his feet, pulling Lorelai up with him. Above them, trees began shuffling down the hillside. Below them—he peered over the rocks and swallowed hard—below them a waterfall burst out of the solid rock that made up the hillside and tumbled into the river below.
Skies, he hoped there weren’t rocks at the bottom of the drop because they had no other options. The trees behind them were gaining speed, and the quiet shush-shush sound of their roots digging into the ground, pulling them forward, and then ripping free again set his teeth on edge.
It should be fine, she said, though her voice still sounded weak from the pain of controlling his dragon’s fire. My magic will reach the heart of the river. Hopefully it will respond to me.
Even if it doesn’t, you’ll be okay. I’ve got you. And, skies above, please let him be able to keep that promise. Ready?
She met his gaze. Ready.
He grabbed her hand and together they jumped.
THIRTY-FOUR
IRINA STOOD ON her balcony, her hands gripping the gold box containing Kol’s heart while the capital shimmered before her in the pale moonlight. Below her, spread across the grass outside the dungeon’s entrance, were the remains of today’s failed attempt to take the years from someone else’s heart and give them to her own. The pile of bodies contained peasants from the south, gentry from the capital, a merchant from Súndraille who’d failed to pay his import tax, and even a member of the nobility from the western kingdom of Akram, who hadn’t technically broken any laws but who had been necessary to prove Irina’s theory before she dared to put the Eldrian boy’s heart inside her chest.
Every time she tried taking the essence of a foreign heart, her body reacted as though she’d ingested poison. She’d come to believe that her magic, born and bred on Morcant soil with Morcantian blood running through her veins, would not accept the heart of anyone who did not also have Morcantian blood.
Every spell she used to fight Lorelai weakened her. Every failure to stop the princess’s onslaught sent bands of pain around her chest until the very act of breathing was torture. She needed to repair her heart, and there were no prisoners from Morcant in her dungeon. For all she knew, beside Lorelai, there were no other Morcantians within Ravenspire’s borders.
Except one.
She had yet to decide if she could bear to sacrifice that one, even to keep the life she deserved.
The door to her sitting room clicked open, and Viktor’s familiar steps moved across her floor. She turned to find him standing behind her holding a tray with soup and bread, his expression gentle.
“It’s been a hard week for you,” he said as he set the tray on a side table, beckoned her inside the room, and closed the balcony door behind her. His gaze fell on the gold box clutched in her hand, and slowly the gentleness in his face hardened into something like pain. “What are you doing with that?”
She looked at the box. “I need a new heart.”
He frowned. “The boy will come through for you. He’ll bring you Lorelai’s heart, and this will all be—”
“He won’t. He defies me. He’s with the princess now, allied with her while she uses her magic to combat mine.” She looked at Viktor and for once let him see the fear that ate at her night and day. “Lorelai is stronger than me. She’s coming back to finish what she started.” Her eyes stung. “I’m going to die, Viktor. Either because Lorelai will kill me, or because my own heart will give out.”