Page 49 of The Ember and the Emerald

I floundered. The journal was absorbing the flames. Within seconds, the hearth no longer crackled. Only wood and ashes remained, the book resting unharmed atop the smoldering pile.

“That is…deeply unsettling.” I trembled as I freed the treasure from the rubble. Hot to the touch but not blistering. Pages untouched by the heat. There wasn’t even a streak of soot on a single page.

“Another unexpected twist.” Jasher examined it with new intensity. “It is as heat resistant as the monstra.”

Dazed, I glided to the bed and eased upon the foot. “Did you lie before? Is there magic in this land?” I traced my fingertip over the journal’s weathered cover. The leather, once rich and supple, had faded to a deep, earthy brown, as if darkened by age and use. Intricate embossing, now softened by centuries of handling, decorated the edges, depicting swirling vines. A tarnished metal clasp, adorned with a delicate engraving, secured the secrets within.

“I may be many terrible things, Moriah,” Jasher replied, flipping the coin once again, “but I’m not a liar.”

Spoken with such conviction, I couldn’t help but believe him. I slid my gaze to him and jolted. He’d set Kevin aside and now watched me, smoldering.

“There’s no magic in this world,” he reiterated. “Ask anyone.”

“But how did the book find me when I’d burned it?” I petted the journal’s cover and remembered how the hat had continually returned to me. “How did it eat those flames?”

“It’s marked, unbound by time or circumstance,” he said slowly. “Like my axes.”

“By who? What? How?”

His jaw tightened. “By you. The journal, not my axes. Mine were marked by someone else.” He said no more.

“Who?”

He flicked his tongue over an incisor. “Someone who aids Ian. I cannot speak the name.”

Interesting phrasing. “You are forbidden to speak their name, but you can give away your commander’s secrets without issue?” Not buying it.

“Believe it or not, princess, I want the time loops stopped, too.”

All right. I’d let go of the “mark.” For now. “Did Ian start the loops?” I asked point blank.

“Not to my knowledge. And since we’re speaking plainly: I think you started it. I have my suspicions about why.” His own shadow grew behind him, snuffing out any light. “Desire is involved. The kind that breaks worlds.”

Want something—or someone—bad enough and boom, time loop? “I might, perhaps, desire you, despite how cruel you’ve been,” I admitted with a grumble. Because wanting him wasn’t the danger. Trusting him was. “But I didn’t kick off the loops.”

His pupils expanded over his irises. “Are you sure? You might, perhaps, be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Each word sounded dragged through clenched teeth. “Resourceful. Stubborn. Witty. Charming when you wish to be.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “And I might, perhaps, very much want to see you dance again. A desire that continues to grow. Soon, it might be strong enough to bridge worlds.”

My next breath seared my throat. I almost set the book aside. Almost stood and glided to him. Longed to crouch before him and exchange words for actions.

I forced myself to stay put. “I danced for you?”

“Only once that I’ve recalled. But that was enough.” His gaze dropped to my lips, and his smolder turned into a slow, consuming blaze. He lowered his lashes, dark crescents shadowing the heat in his eyes. “It was glorious.”

Shivers rippled through me, strings of control pulling taut. Look away, look away. He was playing a game, flirting to win our private war. Something. Anything but what it felt like: falling in love again.

“Fate says be brave. Monsters say be crunchy,” Kevin announced from his perch.

“Shut up, Kevin.” I avoided looking at Jasher. “If I’m going to find the Ember you hope to steal, I should read.” I also had plans A, B, C, and D to plot out.

Ignore the disappointment in his expression. Read.

I dropped my gaze to the journal, flipped to the back and wrote my silly code. Mangoes. Donuts. Was this a recipe? Libraries. Oceans. Was I supposed to go somewhere? Avoid somewhere? Eclipses. A certain time?

I hated Past Me.

I flipped to the middle and paused on Mom’s artwork. A stray thought hit like a baseball bat. Did she know Oracle Rye had left Kansas without her? She must.

Talk about a knife straight to the heart. How betrayed she must feel. Angry with me. Hurt. Or had she puzzled out who I was by now? Oracle Rye, her daughter. Maybe Daddy had admitted the truth.