Slumped in his leather chair, Soren made the shadows dance across the walls with the flame of a candle when Iskra entered.

  “It’s late.”

  “I won’t accept this marriage,” she snapped.

  Heat surged along her arms, and flames burst from her palms. He set the candlestick down on his desk, cluttered with scribbled manuscripts and books.

  “This alliance is essential, Iskra. Our survival depends on it.”

  “I am not a piece on your chessboard,” she shot back.

  “If you don’t control yourself, that power will consume you.”

  The flames wavered, dwindled, then gave one last red flicker before dying out.

  “This marriage is necessary, Iskra.”

  “Soren…” she murmured.

  A burning sting pricked her eyelids, but she swallowed her tears before they could spill down her cheek. Chin held high, she turned on her heel.

  She slammed the door and stormed through the castle corridors. The moment she crossed the threshold, a gust of wind lashed her face. Ahead of her rose a thicket, an entanglement of gnarled branches and foliage. She plunged into it, and the boughs parted at her passage. The clearing opened before her, revealing a carpet of flowers. At its center, Marte lay resting, stretched out in the heart of that sea of greenery.

  “Are you asleep?” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry, Iskra,” he breathed.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “This situation doesn’t please Soren either.”

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  “He doesn’t care at all!”

  “He keeps talking about power games, as if nothing else mattered!”

  Her chest rose as heat spread up the back of her neck.

  “He didn’t choose to become the head of the lineage.”

  Thorns burst from the ground, their spines brushing against Iskra’s skin.

  “They feel your distress,” Marte murmured.

  She closed her eyes, letting the plants wrap around her.

  “Who am I going to marry?”

  “You don’t know?”

  Iskra shook her head.

  “With Count Hanté of the Brumevigne family.”

  “Have you met him before?”

  “Only once. And it left a mark.”

  Her fingers brushed against the petals.

  “When he looked at me, I felt as though he were reading me from the inside. And my plants gathered around him, as if they recognized him in a way I can’t explain.”

  “Thank you, Marte.”

  She turned on her heel. But as she left the clearing, her steps grew heavier. She clenched her fists, and heat pulsed within her.

  Her fingers crackled, and her feet left the ground as she hurled herself into the air. Behind her, the clearing faded, swallowed by shadow, as she streaked toward the rear of the castle.

  She crashed down among the rocks. Beneath her feet, the stone split apart, revealing a web of glowing cracks. A monolith stood before her. As she advanced, flames rose, devouring the air around her. The moment her palms touched the scorching surface, the air trembled. A low rumble rose from the heart of the structure as it began to liquefy. Her fist slammed into the molten lava—once, then again, then again—each blow sending up blazing sprays as the incandescent mass shuddered beneath her strikes.

  “Calm yourself, Iskra,” Soren murmured.

  She hated his ability to breach her mental barriers, to slip inside without warning, without permission.

  “You risk terrifying those you wish to protect,” he continued.

  She closed her eyes, struggling against the inferno roaring within her. She wanted neither to obey nor to yield. And yet, she gave in.

  The flames wavered one last time, then went out. The landscape was nothing but a field of ruins. The ground had turned into a cracked, shattered carpet.

  “Come to me.”

  She rose into the air, cleared the castle walls, and sped through the corridors. The door to Soren’s study stood ajar.

  Inside, he was crouched before a circle drawn directly on the floor. His fingers slid through the chalk dust before a sigh escaped him. Beside him, a copper bowl smoked, releasing a metallic scent.

  “You called for me?” she said flatly.

  “Bandits have been spotted to the south, a few dozen kilometers from the castle. They must be stopped.”

  “Why me?” she growled.

  “You need to blow off some steam.”

  She clenched her jaw before turning on her heel. Behind her, the flickering light of the study faded away.