Page 121 of The Crown's Awakening
“Well?” Larkin asks.
“She is fond of Asharin,” it says calmly. “And knitting. She dislikes most others. She has little access to meaningful information, but there is a gathering of Matrons tonight in the south wing. It is likely that information will be exchanged.” It pauses. “I will report anything of value.”
It bows again and leaves the room.
Nox exhales. “Well. That is one.”
Her attention shifts already, moving on.
“Now where the fuck is this Arthen?“
CHAPTER 37
The Terrible Metaphor
Later that night, the warmth between us lingers even after our bodies go quiet, his body heavy against mine, his breath slowing where it brushes my neck. My fingers trace lightly along his back, feeling the heat that never quite leaves him, the quiet intensity that lives beneath his skin, even at rest.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“I saw the undead,” I say finally, my voice quieter than I intend. “How easily they killed. How did you handle all of them alone, even as a Siakar?”
He shifts slightly beside me, one arm still draped across my waist. “Siakars are strong,” he says. “That helped.” There is a pause, something heavier moving beneath the surface of his words. “But… I was able to use fire on them.”
I push myself up onto my elbows, looking at him. “How?”
He exhales, glancing away for a moment before returning his attention to me. “Do you remember when I brought up the firebird during our first meeting?”
“Yes,” I say carefully. “The terrible metaphor.”
A quiet laugh leaves him, softer than I expect. “Yes. Well… it was not entirely out of nowhere.”
I settle back slightly, watching him now.
“As you know, firebirds are rare creatures,” he continues.
“Yes, and they throw their young into volcanoes,” I mutter.
He ignores that. “They are not just creatures. They are… weapons. Or they were. Many have forgotten. There has not been a true Fyrekin in a long time.”
“A Fyrekin?” I repeat.
“It is a leader,” he says, choosing the words with care, “someone who can wield them. There is said to be a kingdom full of them. Hidden. Nearly impossible to find. They are ruled by a Fyrekin and a council. The council exists to ensure that whoever holds that power is worthy of it.”
I study him more closely now. “What does this have to do with you breathing fire?”
He is quiet for a moment before answering. “My father’s father was of that line,” he says. “Eventually my grandfather died. My father wanted the Fyrekin power. Obsessively. The ability to control them, to command that kind of force.”
Something in his tone shifts, darker now. “He killed his own brother to secure it,” he continues. “Believing it would guarantee the council’s choice.”
I inhale sharply.
“They refused him,” Colsar says. “They deemed him unfit. And when he knelt before them, they told him their choice was… me.”
I sit up fully now. “What?”
“I know.” His voice remains calm, but there is something beneath it. “I was a child. I did not understand what it meant. Only that he was furious, and that the declaration made him hate me more than he already did.”
He looks away briefly.
