Page 141 of Embers of Ruin

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. I curl into a ball on the floor, smiling like an absolute madwoman.

He’s coming for me.

* * *

I’ve been asleep maybe ten minutes when it starts again. Golden light flashes against the cottage walls. My father calls my name, panic thick in his voice. I squeeze my eyes shut as Mara’s voice cuts through the memory.

Tell him you did it, Lyra.

The words claw at me, as vivid now as they were the first time I remembered them. Only… I frown. My thoughts snag on the memory. That isn’t what happened. Mara never said those words. At least... I don’t think she did. The certainty I've clung to for years begins to unravel, leaving me wondering how much of this memory belongs to me—and how much belongs to her.

My body jerks upright. I’m sprawled across the cold glass floor. I scrub a hand over my face and let out a slow breath, knowing sleep won’t find me again tonight. The door at the far end of the chamber opens with a soft groan. A young man with thick black curls and rich ebony skin steps inside. He stops a few paces from the cage, studying me in silence.

Why does everyone here insist on talking to me? More importantly... what in the goddess’s name do they want?

“Lyra?” he calls quietly, almost as if he’s afraid of waking the dead.

Not yet. Not now. I’m too tired to talk.

“You’ve been here three days,” he says gently. “You must be exhausted. Frozen nights. Roaring dreams.”

I lift my chin. “Yes. I’m exhausted from this place and everyone in it. However many of you there are.”

“Every night, back to the light. Back to the cottage.” His fingers trace a ragged line across the glass. “Walking through muddled memories is the only way to stay alive in here, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. “It wasn’t your fault.”

That sentence would’ve infuriated me days ago. Now, I barely react.

He tells me my parents forgave me before they died. He says Mara was weak. Manipulated. How would he even know?

Finally, I rasp, “Get the fuck out unless you have something useful to say.”

His head tilts slightly. “I do,” he says softly. “Everything you’ve been told about the Shadow King is a lie.”

I don’t say anything, because I need to know where this is going and if he has information that will be useful.

“The villages teach that he hunts people born with magic. That he locks them away.”

He shakes his head. “I have magic. If those stories were true, I wouldn’t be sitting here. I wouldn’t be walking through your dreams every night.”

I search his face for any sign that he’s lying, but I don’t find one.

His words echo through my mind, and I wonder if I heard him correctly. “Then where are they?”

“Hidden.”

He lets the word settle before continuing. My heart races. Every answer uncovers another question.

“There’s an entire settlement of magical families living under the king's protection. Children. Healers. People who’ve spent years hidden from the rest of the continent while The Rebellion searched for them.”

I stare at him. “Why?”

He lets out a weary breath. “Because if everyone knew people with magic were safe, they’d start asking who’s really making them disappear.”

His gaze hardens. “The Rebellion needed a monster.”

My stomach twists with understanding as cold fury coils through my chest. “So they made one.”