Page 64 of The Ember and the Emerald

The journal—in the executioner’s hands, open as he read, and oh, my stars, had I ever encountered a sexier sight? The beautiful monster-man leaned against the wall, in his usual position: one leg extended, the other bent at the knee. He was completely absorbed as he used a claw to gently turn a page.

“Tinman,” I whispered, not wishing to startle him.

He glanced up, a brief flash of relief shining across his face. “We both survived the day.” Perusing me from top to bottom with mounting heat, he flicked the tip of his tongue against an incisor. “No bruises, no Ring. Did Ian gloat when you recanted?”

The searing visual caress kindled a fresh outbreak of goosebumps. His specialty. “Ian abandoned ship. And Ahav has agreed to keep him alive. But, um, how did you get the journal?” I followed the link of chain that secured him to the wall. Not broken, and not enough slack to let him roam through the room and find the tome, wherever it had decided to store itself.

He shrugged. “It appeared to me. I took advantage.”

So the journal was no longer following just me; it was choosing when and to whom it revealed itself. That felt deliberate. And dangerous. But why him and not Ahav, the one who’d written it? Unless it was “marked” to Jasher, like his blades?

“And the stones?” I waved to the rock crumbles.

“An experiment.” He closed the book with a snap. “I thought they might have a treasure inside. They don’t. But this is a surprisingly decent read. The beginning is a little slow. Family history blah, blah, blah. The middle picks up the pace, with battles and swordfights driving us toward the shocking conclusion that the Ember is a woman.”

My brows furrowed. “What makes you so sure?” I mean, I’d wondered but had found no proof.

His brows furrowed, too. “You wrote it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Motions still gentle, he opened the cover, flipped to a specific page near the end and extended the book in my direction. I accepted and scanned the text, reeling. Sure enough. Scribbled in the margins of my notes were those exact words.

Stop missing the obvious. Andrea doesn’t just carry the Ember. She is the Ember.

Breath rushed in, unsteady and loud. Yep. My handwriting. The certainty of the note rocked my universe. No question mark. No waffling.

“I don’t remember when or how I concretely realized this,” I admitted. Didn’t know if I was the one who’d written it or a past Moriah was responsible.

“It says she is the Ember. But maybe it should say was. What if you are the Ember now?” Jasher asked with the same inflection he might use to inquire about a cranberry orange muffin for breakfast.

Something inside me turned at the very idea. But no. “I can’t be. I’ve fixed nothing.”

“What if you can, but you haven’t? You are the wildcard who fiddles with time and travels between worlds. Impenetrable to flame. You’re blue, a shade required to make green. Andrea is tied to Elowen but also your family through Morris. She could have passed the Ember to Elowen who passed it to you. Hidden it in you.”

All good points. “I’m not the one messing with time. Not the Ember.” I moved farther into the room. “Andrea must have come back to life.” She was put in those shells for that very reason. “But if I’m the Ember, I don’t know how to use myself, and that’s worse than not being the Ember at all.”

As I stuffed the journal and rocks—along with their assortment of bits—into the backpack, I thought out loud. “Those rocks must do something. I packed them for a reason.”

“I have an idea what they do.”

When he offered nothing else, I huffed. “Well? Inform the rest of the class, please.”

“And miss the light of realization dawning in your eyes?” Delight curved his lips, as if we would both like the surprise. “No, I don’t think I will.”

I hmphed. First, he kept the key to the code to himself—I knew he knew it—now this. “What was it you told me? Secrets never stay dead.”

He offered his cuffed wrists. “Would you like to negotiate for the information?”

“Not yet,” I muttered. Soon.

“Fine.” He winked. “I prefer you this way. Pretending you’re immune to me.”

From the center of my being, an ache pressed outward. “Okay, stop being all cute and distracting. In less than an hour, we leave with the king to find the Ember.” I stayed mum about my plan to free him sooner rather than later. He wasn’t the only one who could withhold.

Jasher wouldn’t attack me. He might attempt to capture me to make his table-turning warning into a reality, but he wouldn’t hurt me. Of that, I was certain. And if I was wrong, well, we’d find out, and I could finally stop mooning over him.

He rose with effort. I breathed in sharply, unprepared for the sight of his wings. The left one hung at an odd angle, the hard outer rim broken in one place.