The Deathsinger: Book 2

Ch. 18: Ready or Not

This was it. This was the moment I had been waiting anxiously for. And I felt completely unprepared.

"But..." I recoiled from the fervent gleam in the king's gray eyes. "I...Surely, you don't think I'm ready? We still haven't determined a pattern for the flames."

"After the recent attack, I no longer feel we have the luxury of waiting."

King Brinley waved away my concerns as though they were nothing. As though one mistake wouldn't cost me my life. Those flames may have belonged to my mother, but the scars on my arm reminded me every day that I was not fireproof.

If only he would give me a few more weeks or even days... It would give me more time to hone my speed and reflexes with Remiel. That's what I should have been doing all along. Not playing with magic.

"And how do you expect me to relight the portal?"

This was one thing we had yet to discuss. The success of this entire plan hinged on me being able to reach through my mother's madness and convince her to relight the portal. But he didn't know that. He didn't know whose blood ran in my veins.

The king smiled and snapped his fingers. A small, jumpy elf entered the tent–a brownie from the looks of his weathered skin and tufted ears. In his hands, he held a jar that looked very, very familiar.

"The light of the world," I exclaimed.

The flame inside the glass swelled at the sound of my voice. Its orange fingers licked up the curved walls and teased the lid. It felt as though a lifetime had passed since Astreia and I snuck into Friedesh to retrieve it to save Tievel's life. I had assumed it was gone.

"How will that relight the portal?"

King Brinley held the jar in front of his face and rotated it slowly, looking like the demons painted in some of the mythology books in the palace library.

"Have you heard of the Fyrbyrd?"

A ball of tension formed between my shoulder blades, and keeping my voice casual when I spoke again was difficult. Now was the time to mix lies with the truth.

"I've heard the myths."

"She is not a myth. Her name is Seraphina."

His words wove a spell around me, and though it pained me to admit it, he had my full attention. This was another piece of my past. Something I didn't know about my mother, and I hungered for that information.

"I met her many, many, many centuries ago."

His eyes flew to mine, widening as if he realized what he'd given away. King Brinley was not that old, and I knew then. Knew that Astreia had been right about the king. He had defied the gods and moved his soul into another's body to avoid the judgment fires. From the wicked way he grinned, I knew he planned to kill me if I survived Araphel.

Continuing, he said, "I combed the world for any knowledge of her. Ancient scrolls mentioned her. Once she was a high elf like any other. Gifted in fire magic. A princess of a sun kingdom long since destroyed."

Hoping to hide my eagerness to hear more, I muttered, "This is a very long-winded way to answer my question."

King Brinley tilted his head as he looked at me. "It's a pity you are an abomination. Otherwise, I might explore other ways to occupy your sassy mouth."

I swallowed back a rush of bile. Behind me, the air seemed to thicken, and I wished Remiel could read my mind so that he could hear my desperate pleas to calm.

"As I was saying, I discovered she had not always been a Fyrbyrd. It was a punishment from the gods. For what offense, I could never discover, but they bound her to the portal. And gave her true immortality. There is no veil over her soul. No Deathsinger that can strip her of her gift. It is a fire that burns forever in her bones. A soul fire. Just like Queen Luciana's."