Page 137 of Embers of Ruin

My eyes remain fixed on the woman.

“No.” I swallow. “Who is she?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

His mouth curves into the faintest smile. “You still have much to learn.”

I drag my eyes away from the page. “What are you talking about?”

He closes the book with deliberate care. Relief washes through me before I can stop it.

“That,” he says quietly, “was the wrong question.”

I frown. “Then what should I be asking?”

His crimson eyes hold mine with unnerving patience.

“You should be asking why she exists.”

* * *

THORIN

Another council table splinters beneath my hands.

The crack of breaking oak reverberates through the war room like thunder, silencing every guard and council member gathered around it. Maps slide across the fractured surface before spilling onto the stone floor beneath us, parchment curling as my shadows pour over them in restless waves.

No one moves.

No one speaks.

They have all seen my temper before, but none of them have seen this.

The mark on my wrist has not stopped burning since Lyra disappeared. Every hour it reminds me that she still lives somewhere beyond my reach, trapped behind magic powerful enough to sever almost every trace of the bond between us while leaving just enough behind to torment me. I feel flashes of her terror like lightning striking across an empty sky before vanishing again. Confusion. Loneliness. Exhaustion. Every glimpse disappears before I can hold onto it, leaving me grasping at shadows while she suffers somewhere I cannot reach.

It is a cruelty I would not wish upon my worst enemy.

The curse feeds upon every helpless thought. Darkness crawls over my forearms in branching veins, winding beneath my sleeves while the shadows at my feet grow thicker, heavier, more alive with every heartbeat. They no longer obey me so much as anticipate me, rising before I command them, as though they share my desperation.

“We searched the western routes, Your Majesty,” Mazelle says carefully, dipping her head. “We have found nothing.”

“Have you searched the northern passes?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. There was no sign of the rebels. Not even a trace.”

“The river crossings?”

“Still nothing, Your Majesty.” Mazelle lowers her gaze. “We will find her.”

Each report lands like another stone added to the weight crushing my chest. Three days have passed. Three days of searching every village, every ruin, every abandoned temple and forgotten cave within hundreds of miles of Andell. Three days of discovering only empty camps, cold trails, and rebels clever enough to vanish before my Shadow Guard arrives.

Three days without her.

My eyes are completely black. I cannot suppress the darkness threatening to unleash itself on everyone in this room.

“The Rebellion knew exactly how to orchestrate her capture. This betrayal came from within. Andell is a fortress. Someone with intimate knowledge of this palace had a hand in it.”

My shadows surge around me, carrying my fury through the room.

“If they intended to kill her, brother,” Onyx says quietly from across the room, “she would already be dead and you would not feel her as you do.”